Training Your Male

By 1Gratiano.

Males are by nature disorderly creatures, and they need a woman’s firm hand if they’re going to live indoors with nice furniture. When I chose my male, I ensured it was already somewhat tractable, even a little effeminate. It’s not that I don’t like a challenge. But I’m a perfectionist and desire to work with someone with potential.

Robert fit the bill admirably. Thin, a little shorter than me, soft-spoken, and, most encouragingly, a little under-endowed, His thing was five inches hard, whereas six is the average.

I don’t particularly enjoy being penetrated. Relatively few women do. A well-trained tongue on my clit is far less trouble and more satisfactory. And a smaller penis on her boy gives a woman considerable psychological leverage since males believe a large member is an asset, which it only is if you want to please a gay man or a masochistic woman,

From the start, I let him know he was “disappointing,” though I reassured him that it didn’t matter. Though this, of course, convinced him even more thoroughly that it did! I was always very loving, affectionate, and even maternal in bed, but whenever his penis came into play, I made sure to smirk, sigh, or otherwise show amusement, scorn, or disappointment, in a way he could not miss. Since he was sensitive and eager to please, sex soon became a matter of him going down on me and then pulling himself off, on his knees, while I stood over him.

“Cum for me like that, to show me how much you love me.”

I made him wear a rubber when he jerked off, so he didn’t make a mess.

Soon we were living together, and my control increased without any predictable limit. After I came, I told him I wasn’t in the mood for his antics. It would be better if he just kissed my cunt and thanked me. But I didn’t want him suffering from blue-balls, or looking for porn on the computer, so he should come to me whenever he was horny, and I would let him jerk off for me. I began asking him if he needed to “make his little mess,” in the same tone one would serve as a child if he needed to use the bathroom before a trip. Then it occurred to me, why not have him make his mess in the toilet?

I had him sit there and jerk himself down into the toilet bowl while I supervised, fully clothed. I let him understand that we didn’t need to waste money on rubbers for his little thing. “Make your little mess right in the toilet. That’s where it belongs.”

I deliberately didn’t wash his underwear, so he had no clean ones to wear. Then I handed him a pair of my old panties.

“Here, wear these till I get around to doing the laundry. It’s not like you need underwear with a pouch for your little thing.” Sheepishly, he obeyed. From then on, any panties that were too faded or worn for me ended up in his drawer, and he wore them.

Pantied, deeply ashamed of his little dick, an obedient and enthusiastic pussy-licker, my male was well on his way. One day I asked him if he would mind if I slapped him around a little before he licked me. “Just in play, it would be kind of hot.”

I slapped his face a few times, gently, then not quite so gently, before he set about his duties. This treatment had its good effect: I had never seen him so eager to lick me.

I introduced face-slapping into our life to correct him when he was discourteous or forgetful. I never slapped him very hard or expressed anger: I told him in an even but firm tone to offer his face, and he would. Then I made him say, “Thank you for correcting me.”

I acquired a leather paddle, and he learned to take down his pants whenever he needed correction. I didn’t beat him very hard or raise my voice. It was an expression of maternal authority. Afterward, I had him stand with his face to the wall with his pants down, holding up his shirt to expose his pink paddled ass for ten minutes or so. Then I would tap him on the shoulder and ask him, “What do we say?”

“Thank you for correcting me. I’m very sorry for my bad behavior.”

Then I would hug him. Sometimes he would even sob a little, like a penitent little boy. And often I felt him pressing his little thing, now very hard, against me.”

“Does someone need to make their little mess?”

I marched him off to the bathroom. He sat on the toilet, soon squirting his thimbleful where it belonged, then blotting himself clean with toilet paper.

“Good boy. You got that out of your system. Now show me how small you are.”

Then he stood up and showed me his soft little thing. I made him shave it so it looked particularly pathetic: soft, pink, and diminutive.

“I always forget just how tiny it is. Now pull up your panties like a good little wimp. What do we say?”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

I give him a time limit to make sure he understands how little I care whether he cums or not. He has three minutes to squirt. I stand over him with a watch while he pulls himself frantically, and I remark how nice his panties look around his ankles.

“Panties really were the right choice for you. That’s where your little thing belongs. You couldn’t really penetrate a woman with it. The thought of you pathetically humping, trying to make me feel something with it! We know that’s not going to happen. You know I don’t like giving blow jobs, and even if I did, I couldn’t put your nubbin in my mouth without laughing. And I’m not going to pretend I like touching it. It’s like feeling up a little boy. That’s why I make you shave it, so you know you have a hairless ‘boys’ small.’

“That was three minutes, and you’re done. Your little mistake is still standing up? I’ll fix that. Turn around so I can paddle you.

“That does it. I paddled the boy right out of you. Let me see how nicely your panties fit now that it’s soft like it should be. Good girl. You can pull your pants up now.”

Things had gone so well that I took him to the next level. I tied him to the bed with a penis-gag in his mouth and beat his ass for him for a long time, till it was well bruised, with marks that would last for a week.

“I need to beat all the maleness out of you. When I’m finished, you won’t be able to get hard, and your little thing will stay tucked and in your panties while you lick me.”

When I showed him my strap-on, he accepted it. Since he was already trained to the paddle, he just took down his panties and bent over when he was told to. He didn’t demur when I started dicking him. I first used a very small strap-on and gradually progressed to one that was big enough to make his inadequacy apparent by the contrast.

“You see? That’s what eight inches looks like. Not like your little thing, is it?”

I loved hearing him whimper while I screwed him from behind. Nothing made it clear who was in charge, who “wore the pants.” I usually let him jerk off into rubber when I fucked him. After he came, he was constantly humiliated and vulnerable.

“Did you like my big cock in you? Good, pull up your panties now, whore. No one needs to see your wet hole.”


The End.


*This story has been edited to fix spelling, punctuation, formatting errors, & basic grammar, but the narrative and plot have remained the same. Even with the limited editing done here, it doesn’t mean any possible major flaws in this story were fixed (That’s the author’s job). The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) are those of the author and do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech.

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