Men Can’t Cry
The Doctor Submits
By Dimitra Ekmektsis
The opened door revealed the rat bastard sitting behind his desk in his leather armchair, eyes on the screen of his computer, face scrunched in concentration. I stepped into the room, locked the door, and made my way to his desk.
He rose, startled.
“W-What are you doing here…?” He couldn’t hide his irritation.
I brushed a wisp of hair from my face and raised a hand to silence him. My voice was cool, distant. “You arrogant bastard! I know about the bribes!”
“W-What are you talking about?”
“The Mercedes! Your bonus!”
Abruptly, the atmosphere in the room changed as his panic index went into overdrive. The look of absolute, utter horror in his eyes told me all that I needed to know.
“L-Look…” he mumbled, confused. “I’m taking your grandmother off it. You can come and go as you please. What more do you want?”
My astonishingly booming voice filled his office. There was nothing he could do. The person in front of Vangelos wasn’t me anymore. That easy-going, sweet woman was gone. Taking her place was a monster of a Domme. Boy, was he going to get it. Obviously the thought of torturing him aroused me, but I also felt good about doing the right thing and taking the power that had so corrupted him into my own hands.
“Get undressed!” I hissed sharply. “This would not have happened if you hadn’t been so greedy.”
“Can we just talk about this?” he asked.
“What’s there to talk about?”
By the look on Vangelos’ face I could see that he thought I was joking. He strolled toward me, reached out, wrapping his hand around my upper arm.
“You want me, you kinky bitch...” His tone was sarcastic and made explode with rage. Pure, unadulterated, rage. Conceited bastard!
“You’re a fucking asshole, Vangelos,” I shot back as I struck his face with a single, hard blow. “Don’t ever touch me again! I have eyes in my head, you know. Every man I meet in Greece gives me looks – including you. Looking at my figure – my breasts, my legs. I have many offers thrown at me from these men, each of them thinking that he’s God’s gift to women. You need to realize that you are nothing but an unworthy slave, to be degraded and humiliated. This is the greatest privilege you can receive from me. You are my slave. I own you. You will do my bidding without question or hesitation. Do you understand what I’m telling you? Now strip!” I commanded angrily.
“What if I don’t?” he said smugly.
I didn’t like the slave telling me, “don’t”…
I struck him again and his mouth slammed shut.
“If you don’t, everything I have goes to the FCPA,” I said, an edge of danger in my voice. I could see his mind working. If the FCPA even got a sniff that he had accepted bribes, he was dead meat. He stared at me menacingly but I shot him down with my eyes. It certainly had the desired effect.
With a sideways look, he took off his leather jacket. He began undoing his shirt – his jeans, shoes and socks were coming off. He was standing there with his underwear still in place. I pointed to his simple, white boxer shorts and with reluctance he pulled them down, standing self-consciously in his nakedness before me. I examined him. He was kind of a pitiful thing. Vangelos realized that he had lost. A medical degree did not prepare one for real-life challenges.
“Now, bend over the desk and grab the other end.” The fierceness of my own voice surprised me.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to whip you.”
Just saying the words sent my heart racing. Looking him pointedly up and down, with contempt, I reached into the purse and removed the silk cord.
“This is childish! You can’t do that. You can’t turn a man like me into a sub, just because you want to.” He was exasperated.
I didn’t blink.
“Did I hear you speak the word ‘can’t’, slave? I have to admit, I’m very disappointed by that. I can and I will! I want you to understand, I am allowed to do anything I wish to you. Make sure you understand that. By the time I’m done with you, poor little slave, you won’t even be able to stand up.” Blood rushed to his face, flushing it red. Reluctantly, he turned so that his flaccid cock was pressed into the side of the desk and stretched his arms to reach the opposite edge.
No sooner had he done so than I wrapped the ties tightly around his wrists and then to the legs of the desk. I was trembling with rage but managed to calm myself, and stood to admire my handiwork. I had never seen a man so frightened.
“Now let’s discuss my basic rule, slave. You don’t talk to me as if you are my equal. You are beneath me, which means you don’t speak without my permission. Actually, I prefer if you don’t speak at all.” I moved out of his sight, grabbing the large ball-gag from my bag. I stuffed it into his mouth, buckling it in place. That way, the receptionist and staff outside the walls of the small office would be spared his yells.
It wasn’t cold in the room but Vangelos shivered anyway. By craning his neck, he was able to see the weapon I had chosen for him: the famous cat o’nine tails. Nine, ultra-thin whips were braided into a single, short handle. This one was outfitted with exquisite metal stars in each tip.
The ball gag had worried him, but the cat o’nine tails truly frightened him. He tensed as the nine, short leather straps swooshed through the air, even though it was merely a practice move; a loosening of my muscles before I began. Then, with a vicious, overhand swing, I sent those nine whips flailing against his unprotected, terrified ass.
He grunted out his pain but I just ignored him. He moaned and pleaded, putting all of his effort into attempting to make just the word ‘please’ intelligible. His face was red with anger and in response, a second stroke slashed down as he yelped repeatedly, in unmistakable distress.
I stopped abruptly and glanced back toward the closed door of the room. Hearing and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I returned my focus to the slave. I struck again.
I kept lashing at him, each lash consisting of nine nasty little strikes; biting his flesh. It wasn’t difficult to whip him for a whole host of known and unknown crimes.
Vangelos watched in horror as I continued the onslaught, as if a demon were driving me. Twisting at the binds that held him, he automatically turned from the pain, but I was no amateur, and each strike connected precisely where I intended it.
Over the next twenty minutes, I went to work on him. The tingle in my groin grew ever stronger.
He began to cry but that only spurred me on to greater endeavors.
“Are you crying? Good. My grandmother always says that tears are medicine. You should be grateful.”
I continued to flail away at him and impressively welted him from shoulders to knees, leaving his body patterned with pink bruises in perfect lines and crisscrosses of agony. His powerlessness was enough to bring me to the boil.
Dimitra Ekmektsis has had immensely naughty experiences, which have largely been put into writing. She loves to play erotic games with the men who enter her life, and these games have given her ideas for her stories. These stories always include highly charged sex and/ or female dominance. Although English isn’t Dimitra’s native language, she loves to write her stories in English. A portion of the proceeds from her books benefit a 501 non-profit animal rescue called Kingdom New Destiny in Tallahassee, Florida.
Learn more at www.Dimitras-Confessions.com.
© Copyright 2016 Dimitra Ekmektsis. All rights reserved.