---Olga’s perspective---
A man walks into my lab.
He has a cocky smirk on his face that I’ve seen on the faces of many men before… Though, usually, I would have to look up by about half my height again to see that smile… not down to ⅚ of it(!)
The combination of the smile at nothing and the ugly tuft of hair he keeps on his chin make this man look like a complete imbecile.
He’s wearing a nanoforged jumpsuit that fits tightly to his body, in a fairly obvious attempt to flatter his (for a Twigg) above average bulk and endowment(!)
I’m unimpressed.
At over a metre and (what I’d estimate at) 13kg, he may be a physical specimen of his species comparable to that which Taylor is for Humans… but he’s still most of a head shorter than me and only just over a quarter my weight.
Forgive me if I’m unimpressed by a man who literally doesn’t measure up to an achondroplastic dwarf(!)
I briefly spare a glance down at his… interesting feet… then spend a few moments musing about digitigrady… without letting it distract me from my work, obviously…
Seeming to have given up on getting me to acknowledge him first, he rocks on his fetlocks and asks “Watcha doooooing, Olga…?”
“Filtering and collating all of the barometric data collected from your planet in order to attempt to calculate the rate of recurrence of hazardous storms there, Grriv.” I answer, flatly and without looking up from my analysis.
“That sounds really smart… I like smart ladies!” he simpers, sickeningly.
“Good for you.” I answer, coolly.
“What’s this?” he asks, picking up one of my desk ornaments.
“Put it back.” I say, still not looking up from my work.
“Why?” he asks, stupidly.
“Because it’s…”
*smash*
“*sigh*…fragile.”
“Sorry.” he says, seeming to be aware of how badly his attempted seduction is working for him.
“Pick up the pieces and put them back where they were… I’ll repair it later.” I instruct, irritation creeping into my voice.
He stands there staring at me for a few seconds… then bends to begin picking up the fragments of my model of the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral in Novosibirsk that I got while at university there… and that he just broke!
“Good, you can follow instructions at least(!)” I observe.
His collection done, he begins approaching me where I sit “I… could do a lot more than that… if you’d let me?”
“Hard pass, boy.” I sneer, not dignifying the offer by looking at him as he draws near.
Then, I feel a rough tongue on the side of my face.
In an instant, I throw the tiny man onto his back, slamming him into the ground and pinning him there with a fist full of his lapels pressed into his solar plexus!
My face so close to his I can feel his breath on it, I snarl down at him “You listen to me, you shitarse goat! If I ever feel that filthy fucking tongue of yours on my face again, I am going to reach into your fucking skull and yank it out myself!!!… Do you understand me?!”
---Grriv’s perspective---
I’m transfixed by the face of the beautiful Human woman, effortlessly pinning me to the ground as she roars both reprimands and insults at me, nose a handwidth away.
Spirits! If I hadn’t pissed her off so much that she’s never going to want to have sex with me, this would basically be exactly how I’d want her to do it… only with fewer clothes involved(!)
The harsh, serious, irritable demeanour is exactly what made me so attracted to her in the first place!
I’m… beginning to get… hard…
I’m trying not to but… every time I imagine how much angrier she’ll get when she notices only makes it harder!
“…Is it that you think I’m desperate!? Or have you singled out the woman with dwarfism because you think your pathetic little pecker would be too small for a full sized Terran?! My pity is NOT so deep as to allow me to…”
She stops… and looks down… then she looks back up… the anger gone from the now blank face…
Mouth hanging open, she stands, pulling me to standing along with her.
Hands try in vain to cover the crotch but she simply snatches the wrists and yanks them away… exposing the shameful erection.
“By Perun… You’re hard!”
“Yes…” I admit, expecting the anger to renew and redouble.
Instead, she looks directly down into my face and asks “You… enjoy that kind of thing? Being shouted at? Insulted? Degraded? Manhandled?… Hurt?”
“By women… yes… Not so much when male partners do it…” I say, honestly, feeling the hot blood tinting the green cheeks orange.
She just keeps staring at me… face unreadable…
Then she instructs “Hold out your wrists.”
Immediately, I obey.
She takes one of those flat, square, glowing devices from a pocket and taps at it for a few moments.
Bright blue light shines out of the side facing me and she turns it first on the wrists I hold out, passing it all the way around both, followed by a few taps.
Then she bends down to pass it all the way around the legs, just above the hocks, a few more taps.
Then she thinks for a moment before grabbing the tail to pass the blue light just below where the brush is…
Finally, she stands back up and says “Open your mouth, as wide as you can…”
I comply.
She points the blue light inside and taps.
She gives a satisfied nod before saying “I’m working right now. Come to my quarters in six hours. I know you know where they are. Don’t be early. Don’t be late.”
“You mean… you want to…?”
“What I mean, boy… is that I’m working right now… So come to my quarters… in six hours!… Don’t be early and don’t be late!” she says, slowly and emphatically, like she thinks I’m simple.
“Err… How will I know when that long has passed?”
She gives an exasperated sigh and wordlessly turns to dig in a wide, flat box, that she slides out of a side at chest height.
She returns to me with an egg shaped object in hand which seems to have been cut in two and stuck back together.
Her hands twist the halves around, causing the little notches and symbols on the top half to spin relative to the bottom.
“This is a timer. Keep it with you. Do not play with it. I just set it for 5:50hrs so, once it rings, that gives you ten minutes to get from wherever you are to my door. Understand? If you twist it more, the alarm will take longer, making you late… If you push it in the direction it’s winding down, you will make it go faster, making you early. Just leave it alone until it goes off, then bring it to me in my quarters. You think you can follow those instructions?”
I gulp “I can…”
“Good… now get out of my sight.”
I turn to go but she calls after me “And when I say ‘don’t be early’, I assume you realise that includes loitering around in Plus Ultra’s hallway, commonroom or outside my office door! I assume I also don’t need to tell you not to tell anyone else where you’re going or what you’re doing later. Am I correct?”
I nod a Human ‘yes’.
“Good!” she flashes a pair of grey, round pupiled eyes at me, waving a hand in dismissal.
---Olga’s perspective---
I sit in my room, my bare skin wrapped in a plush, dark purple dressing gown which slides frictionlessly over the (very little) clothing I’m wearing beneath it.
Of course, if I need to answer the door to anyone other than that Twigg, I’ll probably get a raised eyebrow over the glossy, PVC heels (in jet black with crimson accents) that are clearly visible beneath my clothing but, if they ask me about it, I’ll either tell them to mind their own business or tell them I was feeling first fancy then chilly(!)
My doorbell goes.
I allow my heels to *clack*, loudly, as I slowly move to answer it.
My door slides open and I stare indifferently down into the ugly goateed face.
With the height I gain from my boots, I’m now nearly 30cm taller than him.
I hold out my hand, palm up.
“Timer.” I demand, flatly.
He looks confused for a moment, then I see realisation pass over his face and he begins digging in a pocket.
He produces the old fashioned, clockwork eggtimer I gave him and puts it into my outstretched hand.
I take it and place it on the nearest table before turning back to him.
“Come in.” I instruct, simply.
He steps inside, his paw toes splaying against the ground as he walks and his tail flicking nervously.
The door shuts and I lock it, engaging the privacy field.
“Sooo… should I take off my clothes or…?”
“No.” I state, simply “We need to have a talk first but, before anything else, I can’t stand looking at that scruff on your face… It needs to go…”
His hand moves protectively to his chin.
I can see he’s thinking about objecting but all he says is “…Alright?”
“Good… Follow me to the bathroom.” I direct, striding past the table where stand both the returned timer and the repaired ornament he broke earlier, then past another table, its contents covered in a thin black cloth that shows a suggestion of their shapes.
I let my heels keep *clack*ing on the floor as I confidently lead this boy who’s caught my interest.
“Sit.” I order, pointing to the styliser chair.
He obeys, without resistance.
I move to the side of the chair and set it to recline mode.
“Oh!” he yelps as the chairback falls away and the footrest comes up, forcing him into a reclined position.
I don’t pull down the styliser.
Even though it could remove that affront to good grooming near instantly, it lacks… the ‘intimate’ touch…
I produce a container of shaving foam and set it to come out hot.
I squirt it into my hands and begin to lather them together.
I approach his face and begin applying it to the goatee.
Catching sight of some stray hairs elsewhere, I decide to apply the foam to his entire lower face and neck.
I wipe the residue off my hands onto the bottom of a clean towel I’ve left over one of the arms of the chair.
From my dressing gown pocket, my right hand withdraws a folded blade.
Resting my little finger into the hooked tang, my next three fingers on the spine and my thumb on the bottom of the shank, I extract the razor’s edge from within the handle.
“Once your hair is soft enough, I’m going to shave you. This…” I hold up the blade “…is a straight razor… It’s old technology that most people don’t know how to use anymore… but I do and it’s how I’ll be removing that hideous beard… This is incredibly sharp, so, when I have it anywhere near your face, you need to sit still so you don’t get hurt. Understood?”
“I understand.” he acknowledges, obediently.
“Good… While I am shaving you, I am going to speak and you are going to listen. You will not say a word unless you are given permission. Speaking is moving and moving is forbidden. Is that understood?”
“I understand.” he answers.
“I’ll get started then.”
---Grriv’s perspective---
The heart flutters in the chest as the woman with lips painted black (for some reason) brings the metal blade to the face, clutched in a stout, clawless hand.
She places the left thumb on the face, just above where she applied the layer of white, scented froth, and pulls the skin tight.
Holding it at around a 30° angle to the face, she drags the edge over the skin, clearing away the gloop.
It feels… so smooth! Not like the rough, unpleasant experience of every time I shave the face or the back and sides of the skull!
Does it really make so much difference to have such an immaculate edge… or is it the froth?… Or both?
The thought that I’m willingly allowing her to hold a deadly looking blade to me is both thrilling and terrifying!
Is there a possibility that she was actually so angry when she saw me get hard that she asked me here to murder me?
She speaks, words businesslike, matter of fact, grey eyes focused on the task and not making eyecontact “The first thing to explain to you, Grriv… is that I am a [sadist] and a [Dominatrix]…”
Exhilaration courses through me as I listen to the explanations of the untranslatable words she said (that the translator puts into the mind) but I keep still, just as she ordered me to.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“…I’m sure that your translator just gave you some understanding of what those words mean but I am going to explain anyway: Being a [sadist] means that I find sexual pleasure in degrading men… causing them humiliation, suffering and pain… Being a [Dominatrix] is similar. It means I like to dominate men… I like to restrain them, gag them. I like to give orders and have them obeyed. I like to use them to pleasure myself and only return the favour on my own terms, if at all. From your… embarrassing ‘indiscretion’ earlier, I am taking you to be a [masochist] and a [submissive], the natural complements to [sadist] and [Dominatrix].”
She removes the razor far from the vicinity of the part shaven face.
“Is that true?… You have my permission to speak.”
“I’ve… never had words for them before but… yes… I am both of those things…” I answer, honestly.
“Then I believe we can come to an arrangement, you and I… Purse your lips and puff them out…”
I try to do as she instructed.
She rolls a pair of storm coloured eyes in exasperation and clarifies “Without puffing your cheeks.”
I do my best to take the air from between the teeth and cheeks and keep it only between the teeth and lips.
I accidently blow a squeaky fart noise out of the mouth, which she does not acknowledge.
Seeming satisfied this time, she brings the [razor] back to the face and deftly begins scraping the froth off of my top lip.
“The first thing you need is a [safeword]. Something to say other than ‘no, don’t, stop etc.’ to let me know that, in whatever way, you are in trouble and need me to stop the [scene] and release you… Your safeword is ‘Danger’…”
She removes the blade.
“…say it.”
“Danger.” I answer.
“Good boy.” she nods the head.
I try not to shudder.
She brings the sharp edge to the lower lip and I puff them without her needing to ask.
Scraping away at the bottom lip, she explains “The next thing you need is a gagged [safeword]… same function but for if your mouth is obstructed or I’ve taken away your translator. Your gagged [safeword] is ‘Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!’. Do that for me without opening your mouth.”
“Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!” I obey, only using the vocal cords.
Disappointingly, she doesn’t praise me this time.
She finally begins to cut into the long, thick hairs on the chin, peeling them off me, smoothly and painlessly, continuing “The next thing I need from you is consent. This means that I need to explain everything I might do to you, everything I expect of you and you need to agree to it! Just listen for the moment. If you and I do a [scene] together, I will be completely in control. Unless you use your [safeword], no objections you raise will be heeded and I will treat you however I wish. All my orders are to be obeyed, immediately and without question. I will not give you impossible orders. I will restrain you and gag you. I will subject you to extreme pain. I will not break your skin, your bones, permanently disfigure you in a way that would require [regen] to heal or leave you with any visible marks on your face. I will degrade and humiliate you. What I say while acting as your [Dominatrix] will not necessarily be reflective of reality. If there are insults you do not wish me to use, you will need to put them off limits ahead of time as you will not be able to ask me to ease off on them once the scene has started. If you tell me you don’t want me to degrade you about your height, your weight or your penis size or whatever it is you don’t think you can take, now, I won’t. If you try and do it during, they will become all I talk about. There will be no vomit, piss, shit or blood involved in our session at any point. I may spit on you. You are not to spit on me. I will make you make me cum. I may fuck your mouth or arse with a strapon but only in that order. I may force you to cum for me. I may not.”
She pulls the [razor] away from the face and wipes the hairy white gloop onto the fluffy white cloth before folding away the blade.
“Do you understand everything I have just said to you?” she asks, in the same detached tone that I’ve only once heard her not speak with.
“I do.” I answer, trembling in anticipation.
“Is there anything you wish to put off limits or any other request you wish to make at this point?”
“There’s not.”
“Do you consent to [sub] for me?”
“I do.”
For the first time ever, I see this woman smile.
“Then let’s begin…”
---Olga’s perspective---
I push the freshly clean faced boy into the room ahead of me.
“Strip.” I bark.
“Yes, Olga.” he answers, right hand moving to the left of his collar.
“Did I give you permission to speak, bitch? Let alone put my pretty name into your filthy mouth!?”
He falters, unsure if being asked a question is permission to speak.
He plays it safe with a Terran headshake.
“Better!… When you have permission to address me, you are to do so as ‘Mistress’, is that understood?”
A nod.
“Good boy… now lose the clothes!”
His cheeks burn orange from his red blush mixing with the green pigment of his skin as he pulls his arms out of the skin tight jumpsuit.
I was kind of hoping that, without the goatee, he’d look more babyfaced but… if anything, he looks more manly with his chin exposed!
Not that I regret shaving him but, with the squareness of his chin and jaw, plus the relative broadness of his shoulders, muscularity of his body and the roughly 10% extra height he has on most Twigg, it’s very clear that he has no deficit of his species’ testosterone equivalent.
His limp clothes hit my floor, leaving him standing before me entirely nude.
His rock hard cock is… larger than I would have expected…
Doesn’t mean I can’t degrade him about it though(!)
I sneer and wrap my hand around his cock and testicles squeezing “I don’t know exactly what it is you’re hoping to have me fuck, slut… not this little thing, surely(?)”
He lets out shuddering breaths as his slit pupils dilate but does not answer.
“Answer your Mistress when she asks you a question, bitch!” I snarl.
His eyes widen and he stammers “I-I would be p-pleased by whatever you ch-chose to do with the small cock… or the rest of me, [Mistress]! I a-apologise for how unworthy it is of attention from you.”
I smile, pleased, and say “Good answer, boy! I’ll hold you to it.” before pushing him toward the table covered in the dark cloth.
I whip it away, revealing an enormous collection of toys, torture devices and other accessories.
I pick up a freshly printed set of handcuffs that will be perfectly moulded to the dimensions of his wrists, thanks to the scan I took earlier.
“Hands behind your back, bitch.” I order.
He obeys.
I cuff his wrists.
My sub restrained, my hand moves to a heavy porcelain mask.
The outside is harsh, angry, angular and covered in a thin layer of crimson velvet.
The inside is a perfect mould of my upper face.
I bring the mask to over my eyes and nestle it into place, activating the skin adherence to attach it there.
I reach to the knot at my naval and begin untying it to loosen my belt.
I shrug the dark purple dressing gown to the floor, revealing my Dominatrix outfit, in all its glory.
My feet, shins and lower thighs are contained in my tight thighhighs.
On my hips I wear a pair of glossy black panties.
My boobs are nestled into the b-cups at the top of a strapless, cropped corset top, also in glossy black PVC but with the seams trimmed in crimson.
My arms, shoulders, upper thighs and a slice of my stomach are bare.
I’m able to see the boy’s fangs as he stares at me, mouth hanging open, transfixed.
I allow myself a smug smirk as I stride up to him.
I reach past the shaven right side of his head to grasp the braid he keeps of the hair on his crown, yanking it backwards to force him to look up into my mask.
“You know… I really hate men…” I lie, playacting the heartless bitch he and I both want me to be right now “…you’re cocky, arrogant, dirty, smelly, coarse, rude and violent… Really, us women ought to do all of our procreation artificially and let you degenerates simply die out(!)… But…”
I pull down on his braid harder, causing an “Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah…” of pain to escape his lips.
“Those noises… The sound of you worms suffering… That’s why I’m happy to permit your, good for nothing else, sex to stick around… If men die out, who will I torture? Whose shrieks and yelps will be my chamber music? Women can’t give me that thrill! So… I have a question for you, bitch…”
“Wh…?” he starts but I cut him off.
“What portion of men’s guilt are you willing to take responsibility for? How much punishment are you willing to take for having been born a man? How much suffering can you take?”
“…All of it, Mistress!” he breathes.
“Good…” I sneer before grabbing a ballgag (printed to be the perfect fit in his mouth) off of the table and stuffing it between his fangs.
I bring the straps beneath his long, pointy ears, fastening them at the shaved back of his head.
bending down, I barge my shoulder into his stomach.
His upper body folds to impact my back and I wrap my right arm around his legs.
With my left hand, I grab a collapsed implement off of my table of delights before turning from it.
I carry him and the tool over to the low bed, his hot, hard cock squashed into my shoulder, and toss him down.
I absolutely love how easy he is to manhandle!
Domming full sized Human men, half my height again and more than double my weight, there is always the nagging misgiving that, if they felt like it, they could turn the tables on me at any time.
I couldn’t carry them over a shoulder, I couldn’t force them anywhere they didn’t want to go and I couldn’t make them look up at me without them first getting down of their own volition.
I snatch his left leg just above the paw, with my right hand, and drag it to my armspan from the foot of the bed with the rest of him trailing behind.
I toss the device over him onto the bed and, with that hand, pull up a chain, a freshly forged cuff on the end which fits, perfectly, just above his hock.
I round the bed and another chain comes up, locking around his right leg.
Finally, I reach to bring up a third chain with a much smaller cuff on the end.
I grab his tail and pull it straight, between his legs.
I lock the minicuff, just above the brush.
His feet straighten slightly, aligning themselves with his cannons in a way that activates the ‘feet’ areas of my motor-sensory cortex, quickly spilling over into the adjacent ‘genital’ area(!)
Those immobilised alien feet are going to be where I’ll start!
I pick up the collapsed device and climb to stand on the bed, still wearing my thighhigh heels.
Holding the handle, I swing my arm.
Telescopically unfurling from the end, a thin cane suddenly appears.
His eyes go wide at the tool that (from his perspective) just magically appeared in my hand.
I bring the cane to his square, clean shaven chin and press it into the bottom of his throat.
“Looking forward to your punishment, bitch?” I sneer.
He gives an enthusiastic Terran nod, coupled with a stifled “Mmm-hmm!”
“Good boy… There’s just one final finishing touch…” I say, reaching to the temple on the left side of his head “I don’t think men should be allowed translators, since they never listen and never have anything worthwhile to say(!)” I smirk, pulling away the metal disc, meaning that my next words will be heard as incomprehensible Russian to him “There! Now this is how I like to see my men… helpless, dumb animals who exist only to bring me pleasure with their cries of pain!”
I turn and drop his translator into the left cup of my corset, where it nestles between my boob and the plastic, then slavsquat down, bringing the rod to rest across his fetlocks.
“So… to start, how about one for every man who has ever called me a ‘pocket pussy’?” I say in a low voice.
I raise the cane into the air and bring it down.
*swish**crack*
“Mmmm-m-m-m-mmph!” he sobs into his gag.
*swish**crack*
“MMMMMMMMMPH!”
“You’re crying so much already? We’ve only just begun, slut!”
---Grriv’s perspective---
“Одна порка тростью за каждый раз когда мужчина меня гостинг!” snarls the captivatingly beautiful woman in the shiny black outfit and the red mask.
The fat jiggles on her thick arms as she brings the magically appearing stick down on the bare chest muscles.
I cry out in ecstatic pain through the gag in the mouth as she (I assume) counts out the mystery punishment.
“Один! *swish**crack* Два! *swish**crack* Три! *swish**crack* Четыре! *swish**crack* Пять! *swish**crack* Шесть! *swish**crack* Семь! *swish**crack* Восемь! *swish**crack* Девять! *swish**crack* Десять! *swish**crack* Одиннадцать! *swish**crack* Двенадцать! *swish**crack*”
Baring the flat, fangless teeth at me, she brings the rod to my stomach.
“И наконец, это тот раз когда Дмитрий сказал мне, что я, цитирую «идеального роста, чтобы сосать его член, стоя прямо»!”
One lash causes a lightning strike through the bruised, battered body.
I scream!
A pale hand moves to the end of the stick and she folds most of the length of it back out of existence.
Relief washes over me.
As pleasurable as it was to have this woman cover me in bruises, I’m very glad its over…
She brings a flat foot (unnaturally supported into a far more natural toe walking shape by a thin block at the back) to the chest and stands on me with that leg.
She leans down on it, pulling a mocking pout with the lips beneath the Evil Spirit mask she wears.
“Бедный малыш(!)… Это было слишком много для тебя(?)… Вам нужно немного внимания и заботы сейчас(?)”
She tosses away the rod handle and hops from the bed to land with a clack of the foot blocks on the floor.
She walks back over to the low(ish) table and selects some things I can’t see.
Returning, she sways the wide hips, the thicc, bare thighs rippling alluringly.
In one hand, she holds what I can only describe as a dildo, made of the same smooth, black, hard but deformable stuff as the ball gagging the mouth, as opposed to polished wood, stone or pottery.
The dildo is mounted on a base with several straps dangling from it, which I’m unsure of the purpose of.
In the other hand is a small, simple, model of a tree, made of the same material as the gag and the dildo, shaped like a blunt cone, swelling to a bulge and coming back to a stem before flaring back out to a wide, flat base.
The tree, she tosses onto the bed, by me, the dildo she holds up and smirks “Как вам такое внимание(?!)”
She drops it onto the ground, seemingly intentionally, and steps over it before bending down.
She pulls it up the thicc legs and, in that moment, I realise what the straps are for.
It’s not a dildo… it’s a dick!
She’s fastening it over the front of the glossy lowers to give herself a false dick!
Once affixed, she gestures to it and says “Идеально подходит для таких шлюх-мазохисток, как ты, чтобы сосать(!)”
She reaches down to the back of the head and grasps the braid there.
Pulling me into a seated position, she pulls the gag out of the mouth and shoves the cock directly in after it.
I feel the smooth material sliding against the inside of the fangs as she fucks the throat.
---Olga’s perspective---
“Yes… Yes… suck it, bitch!” I pant as I skullfuck my slut, the pressure at my crotch, created by the resistance to the strapon his mouth has, and his wonderful stifled moans causing my damp cunt to be filling my nonpermeable, plastic panties with moisture!
“M-*gag*-mm-*choke*-mmh-*hork*”
“This is what you’re for! This is where men belong! Sucking on women’s dicks!”
Without warning, I throw him off of my dick and back to the bed.
I come down on top of him and seize his windpipe just above his ballgag necklace with my right hand.
He wheezes as I choke him, glaring into his eyes through my mask, my teeth bared in a silent snarl.
“You’re mine, bitch! You belong to me!” I assert, not that he can understand me.
I reach into my corset top to retrieve the boob-warm translator, placing it back against his skull and activating it.
“Any guesses as to where this is going next, slut?” I ask, flicking the tip of the strapon.
“In… the arse, [Mistress]?” he answers.
“Good guess, boy!” I smirk, shoving the ballgag back into his mouth.
I move to the chains and unfasten his legs and tail.
“Roll over and get that arse of yours in the air!”
Without his arms to aid him, it’s a slightly awkward struggle for him to obey me but he manages it.
His behind facing me, he raises his tail to expose his boypussy.
I grab both ends of his tail and thread the brush beneath his handcuffs, bending it back over the top of them to make a loop that I can hold both ends of, on top of his arse.
He has plenty enough slack in the tail that I’m not worried about hurting him that way.
I line up the spittle wet strapon with his hole and wrap both hands around the base and end of his tail to use them as a handle.
I push inside him.
“Your arsehole is nice and loose, slut… Clearly, you are used to having it fucked(!)”
“Mmm-hmm.” he confirms with a nod.
“Shameless!” I laugh, cruelly, as I fuck him “Are you not embarrassed to admit such a thing!?… Afterall, by your species’ standards, I’m sure you think you’re a big. strong. man, don’t you? A big man who rolls over and lets his lovers fuck his arse(!)… Well, sorry to burst your bubble, bitch, but you are, by far, the lightest, shortest, weakest man I have ever dominated… and your cock is the second smallest(!) I have had men literally more than 2m tall and more than 100kg in mass!… You are shorter and lighter than a 4 year old Human(!) You are nothing! You are weak! You are just a thing to be used!”
“Ai yam!” he mumbles past his gag.
“Well… you know it and you admit it, at least… so I think I can reward you(!)”
I pull out of his arsehole, picking up the plug I left on the bed and plugging him up, causing a squeak of discomfort.
I shove him over and he rolls onto his back.
I stand.
My hands move to my boots and begin the process of exposing my feet.
I slide the boots off with tantalising slowness.
Once both my feet are bare, I reach to the wings of my panties and start to slide them over my thighs.
Once clad in only my corset top and mask, I lean down and ungag him “Your reward, is that you get to have my foot in your mouth while I play with myself… What do you say, bitch?”
“Y-yes, [Mistress]?”
I shake my head “Nooo… ‘Thank you, Mistress’ is what you say(!)”
“Thank you, [Mistress]!” he corrects, breathlessly.
“Good boy!”
I stand back up and straighten my foot toward his mouth.
“Don’t bite me!” I warn as my toes slide between his teeth.
His lips close around my sweaty foot and his rough tongue comes up to scrape the sole, tickling me with his papillae.
My hand moves to my sex and I begin to audition the fingerpuppets(!)
Both the thought and the sensation of my foot being in this slut’s mouth drive me absolutely wild!
My fingers really can’t keep up with how much fucking my pussy needs right now…
Without warning, I yank my foot from his mouth and swoop down on him…
“I’ve changed my mind…” I whisper into his face “…this is your reward… You get to put that useless cock of yours to some use… Your Mistress is going to let you fuck her with it!”
With that, I slide all of my weight down his (in truth, satisfactorily large) cock.
“Thank you, [Mistress]…” he moans, his eyes closing.
---Grriv’s perspective---
The whole body aches from the punishment and the exertion I’ve just been subjected to by this wonderful woman…
I lie with her, on the bed, her idly stroking a shaven side of the head as I enjoy the [aftercare].
The breasts that she did not expose for the entire [session] lie bare.
“Sooo… how many are there then?”
“Achondroplastic dwarves?… Well, there are 2.2 trillion Terrans and the rate of occurrence is approximately 1:20,000, so that’s equal to 110 million who would have it… But the rate who either have their parents treat the condition with gene therapy in infancy or themselves choose to have it treated later in life is around 7,500:1 so that’s roughly 15,000, in total, that that works out to be…? Probably a little higher to account for all those whose parents decided to leave the choice up to them, like mine did, and who haven’t got around to committing to it quite yet. I would be surprised if I wasn’t at least in the right order of magnitude with 15,000 in the entire UTC. I knew of about 500 or so on Earth… we had conventions together(!)”
“Wow!” I exclaim “You just had all those numbers ready to go!”
She puffs a laugh “You had me on two specialist areas; dwarfism and statistics(!)”
I frown “If it’s such a problem that almost everyone gets it treated away, why haven’t you?”
She sighs “Almost everyone asks me that at some point… The honest answer is, if my parents had chosen to get me gene therapy before I turned 2 and they were conscripted, I wouldn’t have resented them for it but, by the time they came home from the War, I was already 9… I remember them asking me if I wanted it now or wanted to wait and see how I felt when I was older… I said I wanted to wait and see and… I’ve been waiting ever since… I know gene therapy is there for me if I ever need it but… well, I’ve never disliked being a dwarf enough to undergo a year and a half of intense growing pain to get rid of it… and, of course, every year I don’t makes it less likely that it will ever happen… Makes me feel more and more like dwarfism is simply part of me… something I couldn’t lose without ceasing to be myself…”
“That’s… I’m… I… don’t really know what to say…”
She shakes the head in a ‘no’ “You don’t need to say anything. This is the situation and I’m happy with it.”
“Well… Good then!” I smile, giving a nod of the head at her.
She smiles appreciatively back (seeming a lot more liberal with smiles than she was before(!))
“If you’re sleeping here, I could make you breakfast in the morning?” she offers.
“That sounds good!” I happily accept.
“Alright then… Any requests?”
I lean in close and ask “You wouldn’t know how to make [pancakes], would you Olga?”
She bursts into laughter!