Marilyn (NC-17)

She dominates me...quite graphically...


I have rarely felt helpless in my life. Not like this, anyway. The
word "helpless" barely begins to explain the situation. In the most
basic sense, I was helpless in that I could only slightly move my
limbs and could not get off my back, could not get off the floor,
could not break free from her grasp, could not escape the pain Marilyn
was so casually inflicting. I was further helpless in that my penis
was aroused, against my will, and she knew it; her gentle and
not-so-gentle touch kept my manhood at her mercy, obeying her will and
not my own. "Humiliation" is a more apt term to describe my situation.

A man should not be in this position. Bigger than she is, stronger
than she is, younger than she is, I ought be have been able to
overpower her. I ought to have been straddling her chest, looking
down into her eyes and seeing her fear and frustration and
embarrassment...not the other way around. I should never have let
myself be physically overpowered by a middle-aged woman. Hearing her
laughter as I bucked and squirmed in vain beneath her, unable to
dislodge her as she sat like a queen on her throne, I felt my eyes
begin to water again.

Out of energy to struggle any more, I looked up at her, not believing
the picture of my conqueror. Marilyn's chestnut hair was still
stylishly coiffed. Her lipstick shone on her full lips. She looked
like she could be in a business meeting, except that she was wearing
only her underwear. Her lacy black bra hammocked her small breasts.
Freckles dappled her shoulders and chest. Her arms were thin but
sinewy; her triceps, so often flabby on women her age, were lean and
stretched taught as her arms were extended down. I couldn't see her
hands at the moments, as they were grasping my wrists and pinning my
arms tightly to the floor, but I knew her fingers were long and
elegant, and I knew that the nails digging into my skin her manicured
and painted the color of red wine. I couldn't see her legs, but I
could feel them wrapped around my own. Her narrow feet were hooked
inside my knees, and she was spreading my legs apart like an octopus
opening a shell.

Marilyn's low voice was proper, calm, feminine, haughty. "Do you give
up now?" She punctuated her question with a tensing of her legs,
causing me to yelp involuntarily. I didn't answer.

She smirked at my silence, and at my obvious defeat. When she
released my wrists and legs, I continued to lie still beneath her: she
had drained me of my strength. Marilyn slid her slim rear end up to
my chest and spread her knees to the side, placing one shin on each of
my arms on the insides of my elbows, pinning me to the floor.

"Do you give up?"

Still, I didn't answer. I couldn't bring myself to admit it.

Marilyn smiled broadly, showing her white teeth. Leaning back, she
reaching behind her and grasped my penis with her right hand. I
squirmed ineffectually as she began massaging me, first gently and
then more roughly. I could only flail my legs as she brought me
closer and closer to climax.

Before I came, Marilyn climbed off my chest and rolled me over to my
stomach. Twisting my right arm into a hammerlock, she demanded that I
get on my knees. I complied. She reached around and resumed her
masturbation of me, her long fingers and long nails both scratching
and teasing me. Marilyn whispered into my ear, her voice breathy and
sexy and dominant. "I own you, little boy. Never disobey me again."
I tried to pull away but she twisted my arm tighter and jerked my
penis faster and harder. Soon I climaxed, powerfully and painfully.

Marilyn walked in front of me and jerked my head up by the hair. My
eyes were level with her sinewy thighs. "Clean this off," she
demanded, thrusting her hand into my face, forcing me to lick my own
cum off her fingers. I tried to pull away but she held me tightly.
I couldn't believe I was doing this.

When she was satisfied, Marilyn released my hair and drove a knee into
my chest, knocking me to the floor. Standing over me, she removed her
last two articles of clothing, her panties and bra, and then again
straddled my chest. I tried to push her off but she easily pushed my
arms back to the floor and then once again placed her shins across my
elbows. Digging her nails into my cheeks, she forced me to look up at
her.

"It's time for you to satisfy me," she said, smiling. "If you don't
satisfy me, I will really make you suffer."

I wasn't sure what she meant at first, but when she began scooting
forward I realized her plan. As she lowered her vagina onto my face
and tried desperately to wiggle out from underneath her, to throw her
off, to bridge up with my legs, something, anything to escape. But
Marilyn seized my wrists again and drove all her weight onto my face
and rode me like a bull-rider.

At first I tried to fight it, refusing to give in to her. Soon,
though, I tired and realized that I had no choice. I began to lick
her warm, salty pussy.

Beneath her, with her thighs wrapped around my head, I could hear
nothing, and I could see little but her flat, freckled stomach. As my
tongue found a rhythm she began thrusting in time with me, and I
thought she would crush my skull. I occasionally tried to escape but
her grasp on my wrists was too strong. I realized she was enjoying
this, that I was indeed pleasuring her, and the magnitude of it all
descended upon me...here I was, a grown man, a strong man, held
captive beneath her and forced to be her slave, literally, unable to
free myself from her feminine grasp. I cried and cried as I licked,
her wetness and my tears and our sweat all running together.