Last Updated on 11 June, 2026 by Cara Sutra
She left him for a wealthier man. She bled him dry through the divorce. Then she came back to claim what she had not taken the first time: him. A FemDom fantasy by slave penny.
This piece of FemDom erotic fiction was first written by slave penny in 2022. If you’d like to read more of his fantasy writing, visit his ongoing FemDom Slave’s Fantasy Diary, or start with the introduction to the series here.
Part One: How I Became A Slave To My Ex
She strutted around the room with the pretence of examining its suitability for her recently discarded ex-husband.
“How cosy,” she announced in the kind of patronising way I knew her capable.
“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 recover some semblance of credibility and my 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?” 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 Martin.”
She reached the window and turned to look at me again.
“Martin, 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.
Part Two: Living As A Slave To My Ex
There was light. To some extent I took it for granted, but the fact that light from the small window, high on the wall of the cellar that was my home, should penetrate the blanket that covered my cage, would, by many, have been regarded as unusual and welcome. I’d been taken as a slave late in the spring so I had only known the summer months in my night time prison. It did not take a great deal of imagination to know how dull, dark and uninviting this place would be in the dark days of winter.
It was presumably the light that had awoken me. How I’d ever trained myself to sleep in the confines of this cage were beyond me, but somehow I had. A very tight foetal position was the obvious initial attempt, but for some reason, it did not work. My body had somehow found a way, although I had to rely on nature to take over each night for me to repeat that particular formula. It worked and I slept. Unfortunately, the constant pain in my lower back was the price I paid during my days of toil.
My physical deterioration pleased her. She had broken me financially and the fact that her once physically fit ex-husband should age rapidly post dumped, added to her reputation and wisdom to the outside world. I refer to the outside world, but in reality, that world was now confined to their inner circle of loyal followers.
Martin was known to be a bastard. He had accumulated his wealth by building an empire founded on violence, fear and ruthless exploitation. With wealth came even greater power; authorities that had previously sought to quash him were now mere puppets on his string. He was a bastard and she was attracted to that. She was a bitch and therefore his kind of woman. They were both aroused by power and relished it.
The light had woken me, but any sleep would soon have been curtailed. Heavy footsteps could be heard approaching over the hard cellar floor. The blanket was removed and my eyes had to adjust to the now intense light. It was one of Martin’s henchmen. The same henchman that had performed this task every morning since she had first taken me as her slave nearly three months earlier. I did not know his name, we never spoke.
He unlocked the padlock securing the cage and left the way he had arrived.
My morning duties had become regimented. A short walk along the cellar took me to a cold uninviting shower. I would shower and dry myself. I had slept naked, apart from one item. After showering I would leave the cellar, up a short flight of stairs into a kitchen. It was here that presumably loyal paid staff would be going about their business. Even after these many weeks there was still audible amusement at my virtual nudity.
The only exception to my nudity was the solid metal prison that encased my penis and balls. Apart from a necessary opening for the purpose of urination my genitalia was fully encased. Even that access was covered with a hard mesh preventing me from touching my own cock, which she had gleefully announced was now hers once the device had been fitted within an hour of returning with her to their domain. Within 60 minutes of her disclosure that she had information with which I could be destroyed, my sexuality was damned and completely hers to toy with.
The silver tray with the two full glasses was in its normal place, by the far exit from the kitchen for me to collect and take up the stairs from the adjacent hallway. I carried the tray up two flights of stairs to their luxurious bedroom, as I had done every morning for the previous 10 weeks or more.
My normal duty was to knock and once acknowledged, enter the room and stand at a set point, about a meter from the foot of the bed holding the tray in my right hand, my left behind my back. I was to stand facing the bed and wait for them to alight and take the juice, which both insisted was an essential start to their day. I was more than aware that the purpose of this ritual went beyond their love of orange juice. They gained pleasure from the physical coital embraces but that pleasure was, no doubt, enhanced by the humiliation imposed on me, her ex, her reject, having to witness it.
Today was different however. His henchman, the one who had released me from my cage earlier, stood at the top of the stairs. As I reached the landing, he stopped me and secured a ball gag into my mouth. I did not resist. Any form of resistance had been drained from me some time before. On this occasion it was his duty to knock the door, which he then opened, allowing me to adopt my normal position.
They were in embrace but both looked up at me with a smile that betrayed evil intent. I stood there for more than 5 minutes as they embraced and groped each other with accompanying giggles.
The door knocked again, and someone else entered. I was not allowed to look anywhere except directly at the Emperor and Empress. The person who had entered, passed behind me and to Martin’s side of the bed. I could now see her. To my horror it was Lucy, Jake’s wife, the couple whose mortgage I had arranged. She was completely naked.
The bitch had always despised Lucy. ‘Goody Two Shoes’ was her nickname for her. How had they done this to her.
Martin reached out from the bed making a small dish shape with his hands. Lucy pushed her pelvis forward resting her naked sex onto his hand. He hadn’t taken her. She had, in fact, given herself to him.
“Welcome to our new recruit,” the bitch laughed. “This morning I am going to initiate her as I did you, and I thought you would like the pleasure of witnessing it.” She laughed again.
I could see a droplet of sweat run down Lucy’s face. Was it a sign of fear? If the initiation was to be similar to mine, that fear would prove justified.
– slave penny
This is a piece of FemDom erotic fiction written by my real consensual submissive, slave penny. To read more of his fantasy writing, visit his ongoing FemDom Slave’s Fantasy Diary, or start with the introduction to the series. For penny’s real-life experience of long-term chastity lock-up, read A Chastity Slave’s Real-Life Lock-Up Diary.
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