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Akasha's original femdom erotica from 1995 to present.
Now, organized by category:


The Illustrated Story Archives:

The Back Room

Ben: The Humiliation Closet
Jigsaw
The Twins: Part Three
The Cruel Shoes
The Twins: Part Two
The Twins
Gregory's List: The Cuckold Bitch
Deconstructing Stephen
Foot Fetish Frankie
Machines
Party Girls Using His Mouth
Milking Apprentice
Converting Chad
Pussy Collar Torture
Cum Guzzler
Casting Call
Dual Lust
Femdom Reflections on Strap-On Play
Milkmaids
Milking Matthew
Pussy Boy

More Archives:

Forced Femme
Strap-On & Anal
Humiliation & Groups
Chastity
Cuckold
Pussy Worship
Feet
Seduction & Lust
Sheila's Show
Romance
BDSM
Behind Closed Doors
Space Age Love Song
The Corporate Slut


Pussy Collar Torture


(MEMBERS click to see the full size image)

 

My piece called “The Pussy Collar” was one of the first things I ever wrote and posted on the Internet. It was one of the first articles on my web site. The pussy collar was invented out of need; it was created because I knew what I wanted, and the concept seemed fairly obvious and simple at the time.

I knew at a young age that I needed complete control when I forced a man to go down on me. Whether I was sitting on his face and smothering him with my pussy, crushing him with my thighs or pressing my ass cheeks over his nose and mouth, I knew that the most important thing was that I controlled everything about it.


His ability to breathe His ability to move. His ability to lick.

Locking his collar to my thighs and controlling the pressure and intensity while he worshipped my pussy was so simple, so devious. Keeping my “slave” locked in this collar for more than an hour was the minimum. In fact, any other form of pussy worship started to seem mundane. Boring. I wanted the extra stimulation. I needed the whimpers, the struggling, the ragged breathing between my legs and into my cunt in order to bring me off.

When I forced a man to worship my pussy, he did so until his lips and tongue were raw. He did so despite being unable to breathe or move his head. He did so even though I was relentless and unforgiving; his tongue was my property, just like his cock was.

It was only a matter of time before the simple, almost harmless “pussy collar” would evolve into something more devious and delightful.


(c) Copyright 2006. All rights reserved. akasha@akashaweb.com

 

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