ENSLAVING JASON -- CHAPTER 4
By Pete Smith
Dudes, I was actually pleased, not angry, when I found that my submissive girl Jase (as I learned the faggots' friends liked to call her) had not written me as instructed about her deepest secret fantasies about being used by a Real Man. You see, I knew through experience that if this faggot really was as young and inexperienced as she claimed to be in her e-mails, one of two things would happen.
The truth is, tender young bitches, because of their deep, life-long societal conditioning to hide what they really are at all costs, cannot confront what they are and what they want done to them. They have spent a lifetime -- whether it be a tender 16 years or 50 or more -- trying to conform to societal notions of what it means to be a man. Unfortunately for the faggot, she is trapped in a hopeless situation: The more she struggles to be something it is impossible for her to be -- a man -- the more her despair and sense of hopelessly grows. If this despondency is left untreated, the girl may turn to alcohol, drugs, compulsive sex or even more extreme measures to gain relief from her despair.
Therefore, it is of the utmost importance to handle a sensitive young girl carefully at this stage of her development. Push too hard or too soon and she will reflexively withdraw, unable to confront and accept what she truly is. If, however, you skillfully guide her and allow her to discover herself and open to you like the delicate budding flower she is, you will lay the foundation for absolute ownership of her mind, body and soul. She will irrevocably identify herself with You and what You demand and desire.
So, at this stage, a precious young girl will do one of two things: either she will provide me with an incomplete list, identifying some things she fantasies about having done to her, but not all, or she will actually confront the fears deep inside her and find herself in a temporary state of emotional paralysis.
And so I knew instinctively that Jase had come to an appropriate and authentic place in her own process of self-acceptance: allowing the fear and self-hatred of what she truly was to come just to the surface, but not yet being able to confront it and allow it to be.
I had a good feeling about this girl. I decided to allow her the space I knew she needed. I also decided to keep my sweaty, piss- and precum-stained jockstrap out of my laundry basket that night. Over the next two mornings, I continued to wear the strap during my long runs around the track field at the nearby high school. By Tuesday night, the cotton pouch was hard and crusty with my dried piss, precum and sweat. The fucking thing was so rank that when I left it on the floor in my closet next to my laundry basket, I could even smell it slightly from the next room in the small apartment I moved into since separating from my wife and two kids six months before. That night, thinking about my promising tender young girl, I jerked my thick, hard cock off twice into the inside of that stinky pouch until the hard, crusty fabric was softened with two HUGE loads of my hot cum. After I came the second time into the strap, I immediately sealed it tight into a Ziploc bag. Never had a more perfect gift been made for a promising young bitch!
Sure enough, I woke that Wednesday morning to find that my instincts and patience had been rewarded. Jase had written me a long e-mail detailing what she had gone through over the past few days. I could have written the fucking thing myself, having read a half-dozen or so remarkably similar e-mails over the last 10 years or so. She told me that upon receiving my instruction, she quickly and excitedly began compiling a list of the things she wanted done to her by a man: she wanted to be tied face down on my bed and whipped with my leather belt; she wanted to have her head forced into my sweaty, musky crotch until my hard, thick cock was inserted completely down her gagging throat; she wanted to have her sweet, tight pussy forced open by my thick, demanding dick and then roughly and thoroughly fucked until my cock angrily spit its hot, thick babymakers deep inside her, finally making her feel complete like the woman Nature intended her to be.
After she compiled her initial list, she found herself stopping. She knew the list was incomplete, but didn't know why. Over the next 48 hours, she said she experienced waves of feelings of self-loathing that were so intense she sometimes felt like she needed to throw up. By Sunday night, the worst of it seemed over, but she could not bring herself to confront the list again. By Tuesday night, her strong feelings seemed to have worked themselves through her mind and body and she said she felt a certain calm and peace come over her. Unable to sleep, in the middle of the might she found herself returning to the list and automatically adding to it. This time, though, rougher things had given way to a theme of service and devotion. She said she longed to massage me, bathe me and serve me however I wanted and needed.
I knew she had reached and passed through a critical stage in her flowering as a beautiful, submissive young woman. She had moved through her own long-held fantasies about what it means to be a submissive bitch and into the open space of craving and needing to serve a Real Man exactly as HE demands and wishes without knowing exactly what that entails.
This is the opening in a girl's mind and soul that the Man can then step into and fill with the force of his own superior personality and will. A girl must be open and willing to be shaped according to the Man's will and desires. This, I knew, is where Jase had now found herself, even though she no doubt did not completely understand what was happening to her.
As I read my submissive girl's e-mail and list, my thick dick was completely rigid. This beautiful young girl's obvious honesty and submissiveness made me extremely horny. I knew she was open and vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be before in her whole life.
I told her I was very proud of her and that I knew it was not easy to go through what she had gone through. I also told her that I had made a very special gift for her: my filthy jockstrap. I described to her how I worn it over the previous weekend while helping my friend move and during my long morning runs. I described to her how the pouch had become hard and crusty with my sweat, precum and piss. I told her how I had then pumped two huge loads of my jizz into the pouch and quickly sealed it up tight and fresh for her.
I asked her if she wanted me to mail it to her. When she responded by saying that she craved it and needed it, I knew she was being completely truthful. I also knew that once she had smelled me and tasted me through my strap, she would have an uncontrollable urge to get to the source of it. Like a crack addict, she would do whatever was necessary to get her fix.
This bitch lived in a nearby city (about a four-hour drive away) and I mailed my scuzzy pouch promptly the next morning. I included instructions telling her about a series of photos I wanted her to take and send me of herself enjoying my strap.
The next night my dick was rigid as I opened her e-mail. She said she faked being sick to get out of school that day and had waited half-crazed and with a constantly stiff, leaky clit for the mail to arrive so she could grab it before anyone else could see or touch the treasured package. By the time the mail finally arrived in the early afternoon, she said she had excitedly soaked her underwear through with her girl juices.
Attached to her e-mail was the series of photos I had instructed her to take of her enjoying her package: first, on her knees, holding the unopened package up to her nose and trying to smell its contents; then a series of photos showing her slowly and gratefully opening the package and holding the Ziploc bag to her nose, dreamily imagining the smell of its contents; then finally opening the top of the Ziploc bag and for the first time slowly and deeply inhaling my masculine smells.
She wrote that the rank smell of my strap hit her head like a powerful narcotic and made her feel a sex high unlike anything she had ever experienced before. After worshipfully smelling and tasting my pouch, she pulled the strap carefully over her head so that the pouch covered her nose and mouth. Smelling and tasting me, she touched herself and rubbed her stiff clit until she had the most powerful climax of her young life. She said her orgasm was so intense she could not help screaming and moaning as her girl juices shot out violently over and over and over, showering her face, chest and tummy with her hot, wet female juices.
She said she was panting like she had run a marathon for a several minutes after her orgasm. Fortunately, no one else was home at the time to hear her screams of intense pleasure.
She used my strap again twice that afternoon to make herself reach violent climaxes, each time spurting her girlish loads onto her beautiful young body in tribute to me and my masculinity.
Over the next few days, she wrote to me daily about how she would use my strap to bring intense pleasure to herself. I followed up by mailing her two pair of sexy panties. I informed that it was unnatural for a girl to wear boys' underwear. I instructed her to wear a pair of the panties at all times under her street clothes while at school and at home and not to wash them without my permission. By the end of the week, she reported that both panties had become hard and encrusted from the girl juices her stiff clit leaked constantly throughout the day as she thought about me and my awesome smell.
By the end of the week, I knew the time had finally cum to make arrangements to meet this girl in person and take her to the next level of devotion and submission to me.
To Be Continued. . .