How I Became A Slave To My Ex, The Bitch
A FemDom Fantasy Story by slave penny
How I Became A Slave To My Ex, The Bitch: She strutted around the room with the pretence of examining its suitability for her cast off, ex husband.
“Well, after you and those expensive solicitors had finished with me this is all I could afford,” I responded.
She continued her strutting. I’d intimated a chair that was available for her, but that wasn’t her way. She had to make her mark, had to take ownership of the situation. It was one of those battle of wills that she always relished. An unannounced contest, unwritten rules. The first to sit would lose, be lower than the other, and not just physically.
I decided I wasn’t going to play her silly game so sat in my chair. Immediately I knew I’d made a mistake. The black thigh boots that covered her tight jodhpurs bore heels at least 4 inches high. She was a bitch, she acted the bitch, she dressed like a bitch but she was a beautiful bitch.
To regain some semblance of credibility and regain lost pride I tried to regain the high ground orally.
“Why did you do that?” I asked. I thought that a leading question of that nature would catch her off guard.
“Do what?” she replied. She had responded in exactly the way I had predicted. Mentally I’d restored a level of control.
“Bleed me financially. After all, you and that wealthy bastard want for nothing and it was you that left me. I did nothing to hurt you. I still loved you. In fact I still love you,” I blurted.
There it was. Why did I have to say that? We both knew it, but why did I have to say it?
Game set and match as far as our game was concerned.
She turned and looked at me, smiled in victory, but didn’t pick up on my statement. She merely answered my question, bluntly and honestly.
“Because I’m a bitch, darling, and he is a bastard. It’s just the way we are.” The matter of fact way she made such a statement belied any pretence at being anything other than what she was. “It’s a hobby of ours, darling. We like to destroy any goody-two-shoes. It’s in our nature. You wouldn’t want to deprive me of my pleasure, would you darling?” Her question was without doubt rhetorical and it was a vein I no longer wished to pursue. Time to move forward.
“So what brings you here today? Come to gloat, come to flaunt yourself so I know what I’m missing? What is it?”
“Oh darling,” she patronised me. “You know me so well. Your quaint place – but how far you have fallen,” she chuckled. Her gloating continued with her confirmation.
“…and you’ve already told me you still loved me. What else is there to say?” It was yet another rhetorical question.
She stopped her browsing around the room and stood facing me. Her legs astride, arms on hips, looking extremely threatening and powerful.
“You still want to fuck me don’t you?” She paused and looked down at me, “Say it. Say you still want to fuck me”.
Any power games we had been playing were now behind us. She was the boss, she was in control. I tried to prevent the gulp in my throat betraying my sense of unease but I had to swallow and in so doing virtually declared defeat.
I looked at her. She was beautiful. I hated her and had every justification for doing so, but oh what beauty. Her tight jodhpurs highlighted her labia majora, her camel toe. The weapon she’d teased and denied me with for many years before she found her bastard. I bet he fucked her, I bet, in fact I knew his cock had full access to that heavenly place.
I had no choice, I had to say it. “I still want to fuck you,” I blurted almost through tears.
She laughed out loud. It was laughter that was designed to humiliate and at the same time glorify her omnipotent victory.
She retained her powerful strident stance and looked down at me eye to eye.
“Now”, she continued as she composed herself, “How are Lucy and her husband Jake?”.
Lucy and Jake had been clients of mine for some years. A lovely, happy couple which is probably why she never liked them.
“How are they settling into that lovely new house of theirs?” she asked.
“Fairly well, I think”, I replied, somewhat mystified.
“That’s lovely, darling.” She leaned over me and continued. “But who was a naughty boy, helping them get that mortgage… mmm diddums.”
Her ironic sympathy as if she was speaking to a baby or toddler did little to decrease my shock at this change in tack.
Her gloved hand crudely grasped my genitals through the cloth of my trousers. Any outward sign of arousal that may have been triggered by her beauty, those boots and tight jodhpurs had disappeared with the fear generated by this new topic of conversation.
“Err… these things happen. We all do it,” I retorted defensively. Her hand continued to probe and caress the bulge which was starting to react to her physical attack. I did nothing to stop her. I could do nothing to stop her.
“Of course you all do and let’s face it, how could anyone be found out.” Her hand slipped between my loose fitting belt under my trousers and briefs to her target. Her leather gloves were still cold from the bleak wintery night that lay beyond the door. The feel of her cold gloved hand on my already warm throbbing cock forced a deep intake of breath. Its natural attempts to salute and glorify her teasing only restricted by the fabric in which it was confined. She aided its route, lifting it so that its new direction to my waist was clear. To completely remove any restriction she demonstrated her dexterity by loosening my belt. The underside of my cock, now stretching towards my waist was exposed to her touch. She gently stroked it and I did nothing to prevent it.
“That’s probably why, on the rare occasions they have evidence, they would throw the key away. After all they’d want to make an example to stop naughty boys, wouldn’t they?”
My worst fears were being realised.
I didn’t have to ask if she had any evidence. I knew she would. She had always had full access to my computer and was fully aware how I’d helped Lucy and Jake obtain their mortgage.
“What do you want?” I asked somewhat sheepishly.
She withdrew her hand from my cock and stood to walk to the window.
“Well what I wanted was to have you and your friend Lucy wallow in prison. I’m a bitch, what else would I want? The world would see I’d done the right thing by dumping you for Gareth.”
She reached the window and turned to look at me again.
“Gareth, however, convinced me that would be such a waste. He would have some boring uses for you in his business but the fun and amusement I could get from a slave was what really convinced me,” she laughed.
“A slave?” I gasped.
“Well darling, we are not just talking about prison. You’d be destroyed, your livelihood gone and ruined. Surely being my slave and plaything has to be preferential, surely?. So..” she continued, “you are to be my slave. What are you?” This was not a rhetorical question. It was a question for which there was only one realistic answer but it was an answer that was beyond belief just a few minutes earlier.
“I am your slave,” I replied.
“You are my slave, your Ladyship,” she corrected.
“I am your slave, your Ladyship,” I dutifully replied.
“That’s a good slave,” she smiled. “Now. You have 5 minutes to put together an overnight case and then you are coming back with me,” she continued as she sat in the chair originally allocated to her. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, your Ladyship,” I replied in abject defeat.
“Good boy,” she responded through her victorious laughter.
I was hers. I was also his. My head was a whirl. My life in turmoil. The woman I had hated. The bitch who had already broken me once by leaving and still ripping my world apart, taking all I had with the wealthy solicitors she could afford. Now she had the one thing that she hadn’t previously grasped. Me, her slave.
I was a slave to my ex, the bitch.
– slave penny