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Like most in this vanilla and straight-laced world, as an amateur writer of erotic novels centring on the natural dominance of femininity, Roscoe kept his hobby firmly under his hat, though in reality, he never wore one. It was inevitable that his secret would be revealed sooner or later, such was his lust to reveal all to a women, and know the firm grip of feminine control, while he offered his absolute obedience. Little did he know, that obedience would be total, and the domination he’d be subjected to, would change his life irreversibly ... much to the benefit of the sexual whims of a thoroughly controlling woman, and womanhood in general.

His unrelenting urge to know the heel of womanhood under absolute enslavement, peaked whilst masturbating as he added the final touches to a tale, whilst viewing plump but severe matriarchs ... and the site he used for displaying his erotic writings, which also encouraged social meet ups for discussion of content, ideas, etc. His eyes went to the severity of the mature woman depicted, and with his mind firmly on that meet up site, he spurted his load in a flourish of submissive ecstasy ... knowing he was doomed to subscribe to it.

Having come, he tried to put the site out of his mind, but every time his arousal returned, so did the draw to the site. Now determined to make contact, driven by his curiosity, he quickly assumed another pen name on the site within which his true desires were held under his main nom de plume, and hastily put together some more vanilla like fantasies, verging toward maledom, with which to arm himself when looking for the women he truly desired ... he erected hard at the thought of being punished for his deception, when a suitable woman took command of him after he’d revealed his secret to her, and the sordid depths of his innermost feelings of submission to femininity, described within those tales, were exposed.

The contact for a local group of budding writers of erotica, was a Cheryl, and the fact that the initial contact was a woman, had him as horny as hell, thinking it might have him break down and confess his true motive immediately. The venue for novice applicants was a suitably public place, in this case, a craft fair in a communal hall, where a corner was set out for a ‘Hobby Writers Association’ - contacts of Cheryl’s given the password ‘Madam Bovary’, to distinguish contacts from those just casually happening upon the group; such occurrences would be engaged in run of the mill literary conversation, until they departed.

Roscoe circled the interior of the hall several times, nervous as hell, but already erect with excitement at the prospect of making this breakthrough. He noted a busty blonde woman, her mature and shapely curves not aiding his awkward erection, as she rose to greet various people. Though trying to remain incognito till he found the courage, his distant presence and furtive nature which suggested he had something to hide, was not missed by the worldly Cheryl. She’d noted the pass of every person there, unbeknownst to him, and seeing his obvious interest in passing several times, had her cunt tingling with anticipation as to her knowing expectations, about in which genre of eroticism his pleasures lay.

This initial method of sorting and assessing candidates prior to their invitation to more intimate meetings, was standard practice for this erotic writer’s circle; the mature woman’s expertise in distinguishing the genuine writers from the sexual creeps who chanced liaisons, was more than competent ... and so was her instinct in guessing at which end of the sexual pecking order their interests lay. She knew already, that Roscoe was a candidate with a password, and her judgement on his passing the initiation, already decided before he’d even made contact. She smiled to herself as she caught his cautious glance with the corner of her eye ... surely he must be a submissive, the maledom types simply approached and announced themselves with a brash arrogance ... or did usually.

Her satisfaction was met at last, as on finishing a conversation about Thomas Hardy with someone who’d just happened upon the group - unaware of it’s true purpose, and sent away with details of a mundane site she also ran - she turned to find Roscoe facing her. Roscoe did his best to not look furtive in the eyes of this voluptuous woman, but she could see he was close to breaking into a cold sweat, as he fought to find a way to launch the password at her, his heart racing ... and his cock rigidly upright in his underwear, as he studied her warm, yet somehow commanding smile. He gasped in trying to find the words, and Cheryl’s attractively mature face broke into a more comforting smile as she grasped his hand, initiating capture with her words.

“Do you like reading Gustave Flaubert?...” Roscoe watched the rise of her ample breasts, the nipples just discernible through the fabric of her blouse, hardening with mutual excitement, as she took an intake of breath in prompting his reply. She squeezed his hand as he managed the response she wanted, at long last.

“Madam ... Madam Bovary?” Roscoe faltered just a little, as she swiftly tugged him toward an unoccupied table upon which sat a laptop, her grasp and enthusiasm telling him there was no going back now ... she had him, and though she’d not made any gesture toward her sexual orientation, his cock boned at the feeling of already being under the control of a woman. Two other women grinned curtly at him from another table, they knew from Cheryl’s swift reactions that he was an erotic writer, and fidgeted their crossed and stocking clad legs, wagging their tall heels as they whispered their guesses on his story content to each other. Cheryl’s nipples were even more prominent as she casually asked him his name ... and then pondered his site identity, her motherly exterior betraying an inner streak of feminine authority within her tone, which demanded his obedience with an answer.

“ ... and what name do you go by, on our site?” Roscoe fumbled with his words again, nearly compelled to give out his true pen name ‘Crushed’ in the excitement of the moment, and wanting his yearning to be owned, outed, and humiliated, as soon as possible ... but his modesty overtook it.

“Charisma.” He uttered, almost half-heartedly. Cheryl typed it in, and viewed the list of tales ... hastily put together by him. She looked almost disappointed at seeing the categories giving hints to his tales, showing a male very much in command ... but gave a wry smile on seeing that they were all very recent entries; she’d seen that sort of ‘cover’ before. Roscoe swallowed hard as she looked him in the eye.

“Oh really? I’d assumed ... oh, never mind, let’s introduce you to some of the others. We’ll give it just another half hour or so here, before moving on to somewhere a little more private ... I’ve nearly all the fresh contacts on the list.” Roscoe’s balls tingled at the thought of being tested more openly at a more intimate venue; the unaware public milling around on the periphery, gave him the comfort of knowing an easy escape could be made, should his modesty overcome the bold move he’d made ... but Cheryl’s motherly warmth, and her sweet scent, increased both his calm and the stiffness of his erection, as she moved him toward the table seating the two smiling women, purposely avoiding those tables including males.

There were only three other males included in the seated groups of around fifteen arrivals, but the mature blonde wanted to tease as much as possible from him, her cunt tingling nicely as she sat him with the two equally mature women, one of whom she was more than well acquainted with, there to assist with assessments. If he wasn’t into maledom, she’d see the signs, and if he were ... she’d enjoy the discussion anyhow, as she switched regularly, and illustrated that pleasure in her novels. Roscoe’s mind was already deep within the conjuring up of another submissive fantasy, as Cheryl held him to order as he faced the two women, her grasp not helping the bulge in his loose clothing, the eyes of Cheryl’s accomplice noting it, as she introduced him and sat him down, introducing the new member first.

“This is Marie, like you, new to socialising with the group, writing as ‘Pauline’ ... she thoroughly enjoys bondage and maid service...” The woman blushed just a little, but gave him a tart smile, already aroused by opening up her desires in conversation with a woman, her cunt was moistening liberally at the prospect of knowing the erotic thoughts of a male, directly. Cheryl’s hand then gestured toward the other woman.

“ ... and this is a good friend of mine, whose private facilities we gratefully use at times ... such as we will shortly, Lady Cynthia Barham, who writes as ‘Chrysalis’...” Roscoe’s cock perked a hidden salute to a pen name he recognised, but would have to feign ignorance of, as he’d only read with interest, those tales by her which illustrated her femdom streak.

“ ... she loves to write about S&M ... from all perspectives.” His anus clenched and fluttered wonderfully as the elegant middle-aged woman extended a leather gloved hand, and squeezed his in introduction, he was enveloped by the sheer eroticism of just touching the hand of a woman whose tales he’d masturbated over ... and that contact would ensure he masturbated at the earliest opportunity. She seemed to know it, and held his hand tight as she spoke, rather than releasing it.

“I write as ‘Chrysalis’, as I never know what’s going to come out ... but come I often do, once entranced within a story...” She enjoyed watching Roscoe swallow hard, then ensured the ice was well and truly broken, and he was indulged within the pleasures of erotic discussion.

“ ... do you masturbate when writing? ... Marie and I have both confirmed we do, it would be wonderful to hear - and imagine - a male doing so too.” He felt Cheryl’s hand squeeze his shoulder from behind him, as if to emphasise that it was ok to speak of such pleasures ... and perhaps to command that he obeyed with the truth. He tried to keep a tone of composure in his voice, show the sort of swagger or arrogance that a male who liked to be in control would give out, as he offered his response to the startling and intimate question she’d offered in such a matter-of-fact way.

“Why yes ... yes of course ... I find it enhances my imagination.” Cheryl grinned at Cynthia before she departed for the reception table once more, as the mature woman tested his sexuality a little further, smirking on toying with the laptop on their table, and looking to glean any pearls of wisdom from it that she could, as she opened a mail sent by Cheryl when he’d arrived: ‘I’m sure he’s a submissive - we must get him back to yours’.

“I’d love to see you sit and strop whilst compiling something, I know how men like to flaunt their cocks before women ... I’ll bet you’d love to do that whilst watched by women, wouldn’t you?” Roscoe wanted to get his cock out there and then, as the humiliation it would award him would be exquisite, but he had to try to show he’d see it from the chauvinistic side, brandishing his phallus like a weapon, to be admired by the fairer sex. He attempted a half shrug, as if to motion it’d be an act he’d be entirely complacent with.

“I’d ... err, enjoy having women see my excitement about what I was writing, that’s for sure.” Marie, being naive where face to face conversations, and being a committed submissive, sighed as she imagined kneeling between his legs with her wrists bound, and being allowed to sniff at his erect cock while he penned a dominant tale, prior to spanking her. Cynthia was far from convinced about his orientation though, his immediate hesitation meant the jury was out with her - maybe he swung both ways too, though if that were so, surely he’d have said so?

She continued to casually probe during conversation about his work, with Marie enthusing about hers, when appropriate, till Cheryl came over and suggested now was the time to make a move. She smiled warmly at Roscoe, as some of the others made their excuses and declined the offer to meet at a more intimate venue on this occasion, no doubt cursing their inability to stay away from an inquisitive partner for long without being noticed by their absence.

“I take it you’ll indulge Lady Cynthia’s hospitality, Roscoe ... it’s so good to have a fresh mixture come together for a couple of drinks, and the conversation flows so much easier in select company too...” His erection boned rigid, he’d thought about making excuses to depart, his mind already primed to exploding point, and lusting to get away and masturbate, but Cheryl’s cosseting warmth, along with her next line, ensured he was hooked and compelled to keep the lustrous wank he yearned for, waiting a little longer.

“ ... there’ll be some old hands already there, some of our more noted patrons, eager to meet and mingle with fresh people, and I’ve plenty of room in my car.” She turned without awaiting his response, knowing he’d follow, which he duly did, viewing the bustle of shapely backside, just a few steps behind, as though on an invisible leash.

Roscoe found himself in the back of her car, with a buxom woman in the middle, and a meek looking little male of about 50, almost hyper ventilating with nervousness, to the other side. Another woman with spiteful features and red hair, sat twisted in the front seat aside Cheryl, smirking at the man and obviously enjoying his discomfort as her eyes surveyed him whilst chewing on some gum. Cheryl glanced across, noting Roscoe’s more than apparent interest in the redhead’s enjoyment, and smirked herself as she viewed the meek man in the rear view mirror.

“Don’t be so scared Rupert, your pleasures are quite the norm in the company you’re about to meet. We’re here to discuss our stories today ... no-one’s going to demand you strip and carry a cane in your teeth ... not on this occasion, anyhow.” The redhead chuckled audibly through her chewing, then sneered with contempt at the male.

“Shame. It’s such a pleasure to see males put in their rightful place ... even the pathetic ones.” Cheryl took another swift glance at Roscoe, then gripped the wheel tight and smirked to herself with satisfaction, detecting a certain air of something other than the contemptuous look he was trying to offer Rupert - jealousy. Roscoe was more than envious of the little man who’d obviously admitted his submissiveness to women. Even if he wasn’t to be made to strip and carry a cane in his teeth, he’d receive a healthy amount of well deserved ridicule from woman aroused and excited, simply by fresh meat. The redhead’s visual contempt and verbal bullying was a good indication of the delights he faced, and she didn’t profess to be a dominatrix; it was just that Rupert’s simpering admission that he viewed women as the superior sex, brought out the spitefulness that many women held for men, and she for one, was going to take full advantage of it.

Roscoe was taken aback by the grandiose residence that was Lady Cynthia Barham’s home. The huge manor, set back away from prying eyes on a twisting driveway beyond the main road, was more like a stately home, abundant rooms and imposing towers, a setting which would inspire and ignite many fantasies in anyone’s mind ... and had no doubt seen many acted out. Roscoe’s jealousy was tested again, as all Cheryl’s motherly warmth was extended toward Rupert as they all exited the car, ignoring him, and assisting the feeble example of masculinity toward the grand entrance.

“Come Rupert, you’ll feel so much better for letting it all out when you’re inside ... you’ll be made to feel so welcome.” Her words didn’t quell the look of fear in his eyes, nor did her physical assistance correct his stumbling gait entirely, it looked to Roscoe as though he would indeed ‘come’, ejaculating prematurely at just the sight of the place, the entrance becoming a portal of doom for him, and the redhead, whose shapely figure in a tight leather skirt now had Roscoe boning, saw that the pathetic Rupert was taken ever closer to spurting his seed in disgrace, her sneer so supremely genuine.

“There’s no going back now Rupert, you’ve confessed your weakness, and there’s a host of stern women in there who’ll hear you confess it again...” She exchanged glances with Cheryl, who to feigned rebuke at what the redhead was saying, but Roscoe could see the glint in her eye, which showed she was enjoying Rupert’s apprehension as much as his feminine tormentor; both women equally excited about the prospect of his shaming. Her spite continued as they reached the door.

“ ... they’ll read your work, then after they’ve thrown scorn and ridicule at it, you’ll be asked to explain yourself for writing such filth ... and they’ll demand you give up your most sordid fantasies.” Roscoe almost gave out an audible sigh at the pleasure of being humiliated that way, while the small man simply gasped and looked his tormentor in the eye, as if to ask as to why she was being so cruel, but already fully aware of the answer, both perversely aroused - she in particular - her wicked smile expressing just how much she savoured his fear. Rupert’s dilemma was eased only a little, by the arrival of several other cars, which parked up alongside Lady Cynthia’s, who’d arrived previously to greet them, though both he and Roscoe noted immediately that they were to be the only males from the induction in attendance.

The mixture of delight, intrigue, and sexual anticipation upon the mixed blend of femininity as they embarked on this new adventure, was quite plain to see. Marie, who’d sat with Roscoe earlier, virtually skipped across to Roscoe in excitement, clasping his hand and saying nothing, but smirking up at his face ... that thought of her being bound and kneeling to sniff at his erect cock, still having her clitoris tease at the tight thong she wore. Cheryl stood at the top step, still cuddling the diminutive Rupert, who felt as though all those feminine eyes were upon him alone, as she squeezed his shoulders as though to emphasise her capture.

“Let’s all go up now, and indulge our fantasies!” She opened the door to applause, releasing Rupert and strutting through, women bustling past him as he remained motionless. With all inside but he, she turned to face him, and with one hand on her broad hips, beckoned him in with her finger. With just the wag of her digit, Rupert gasped and wobbled in, the focus on him providing a wonderful show for the women ... and Roscoe. Having him inside, the mature blonde who’d mothered him, now showed he was well and truly under her control, and the sneers and continuing applause from those women who’d been privy or made aware of his cringing admissions to the pleasures of a woman having the whip hand, had the expulsion of his seed grow ever closer, as he showed his obedience.

With one eye on Roscoe, she both comforted and teased the submissive male, taking physical control of him by grasping his wrist in full view of the leering women, and talking to him as though he were a child. With the door now closed behind them, and within the walls where she’d witnessed many an erotic debacle, Cheryl’s cunt bulged at their knowing there was no going back now.

“There Rupert, I’ll hold your hand for you, I’ll show you to some of those ladies I know you can’t wait to meet, though I doubt you’ll be fetching a cane in your teeth today ... as much as we’d relish seeing it.” Though there was a tone of humour in her words, which had the women giggling and nodding their approval to that idea, her glance at Roscoe betrayed the spiteful truth in her eyes, having his erection pulse, as the hapless Rupert was conveyed up a grandiose staircase with the portraits of former inhabitants of the old residence, looking down upon the ascending throng. Those depicting women, seeming to view the two males in particular, with the contempt they deserved.

The women in the group sighed with awe as Cheryl showed them into the huge room which functioned as a meeting place for the Erotic Writers Club, its high corniced ceilings with frescoed paintings of hunting scenes and other rural activities, enough to inspire any budding writer to pen a work. With its comfortable seating spread liberally throughout the expansive length and width which would have easily swallowed the entire residences of most of those now viewing it, the seating within its alcoves and bay windows gave it the air of a gentleman’s club.

Roscoe’s cock perked immediately, as his eyes went to one of those tall windows, and to two smirking women, leading his eyes through it. The view emphasised just how spacious the grounds were, and how secluded, but that if course was not what the women smirked at. In the distance, he could make out the figure of a busty woman leading what looked like a large dog on a leash, the laboured gait of the animal assisted by liberal applications of the stick from its Mistress. Roscoe’s cock boned at the realisation that this was a male being shown for what he’d been reduced to, for the pleasure of not only his Mistress, but whoever cared to view his humiliation.

His interest was noted by Cheryl, with some satisfaction, his eyes betraying more than just simple curiosity at the delightful show of feminine authority. His obvious pleasure was cut short by Lady Cynthia Barham drifting into his field of vision, the mature host now suitably dressed in something a little more comfortable, a flowing dress sporting a revealing cleavage, her large freckled orbs displaying virtually all but the nipples, which poked hard through the thin material to illustrate her sexual excitement at new blood, safely secured in isolation at her home for investigation. Being into all aspects of S&M, she was particularly glad that two males had been secured, Roscoe could see already, his gender were outnumbered by around six to one.

“So good to have two more males to entertain us with their erotic thoughts, it’s so annoying that too many are simply content with voyeuristic relief, where as we ladies much prefer to read of the pursuit of erotic satisfaction... “ Her eyes flickered in a sultry fashion, smiling wickedly at Cheryl first, then indulging both males with her smug gaze.

“ ... and reading and discussing what excites the minds of masculinity is always such a thrill when face to face with those authors, so sexually invigorating for all ... especially as males are always so keen to express the extremes of erotic pleasures.” She looked them up and down, chuckling to herself.

“Now, where to sit you first ... you’re both going to be very popular today ... for different reasons.” The redhead who’d enjoyed taunting Rupert so much, sneered at him then smiled softly at Cynthia, the leather skirted woman revealing to Roscoe that this was not her first visit to this erotic haven.

“I know exactly where our Rupert needs to go ... he’ll not escape the pleasure of being ridiculed, right from the word go.” Lady Cynthia smiled with admiration at the redhead’s enthusiasm, as she strutted down toward the far end of the spacious room, acknowledging acquaintances as she went, glancing back with a sneer occasionally, to enjoy the look of apprehension on the pathetically submissive male’s face. Roscoe was close to spurting himself, as he watched the delightful bustle of her cheeks in the tight leather skirt, then saw her address a group of women, whose legs were all that was visible as they sat in an alcove facing the window.

As she chatted her information and pointed back up toward the blushing, and now openly perspiring Rupert, Roscoe noted that beyond her, in the shade of the end wall, there were two males, sat with legs together, heads down, and their hands together in their laps; uniform in their pose, which was obviously one of being held to obedience. His cock perked, his balls tingling as those shapely legs, both pairs clad in black stockings and sporting stilettos with extensive heels, were drawn back, and the first of two stern looking women came into view. The redhead grinned with satisfaction, as this elegantly superior woman gave a half smile to Rupert, and commanded he come down to her with a wag of her finger.

Rupert gave out an audible sigh of distress, thoroughly enjoyed by Cynthia, the entire group of women he’d arrived with, and Cheryl as she released the grip on his hand.

“Off you go Rupert, you’ll do just as you’re told now ... perhaps you’ll get to carry that cane in your teeth after all.” Roscoe enjoyed watching both Cynthia and Cheryl smile wickedly as they urged him forward, the pathetic male’s erection making his gait awkward as he stumbled forward, bringing even more attention too himself as he went to his humiliation. It was as Roscoe felt the rise of his rigid cock in lieu of the biting jealousy he held toward Rupert, that he saw her for the very first time.

As the diminutive male progressed down through the smiles and sneers of women either side, the other heeled woman emerged with an aura of dominant elegance aside the redhead. With red hair which matched the younger woman’s in a severe bun, the brown eyes and red lips which complemented her sternly attractive features, managed both a sneer and a contemptuous pout within a dominant expression, as she posed her generously curved figure, in viewing not just the approach of the insignificant wretch, but the new arrivals in general.

Roscoe felt a shiver run down his spine as her eyes focused on him, and his cock pulsed rigid as her half sneer, half smile, viewed him with interest, holding him glued to the spot as though paralysed. Just the sight of her, even at this distance, had her ooze the promise of strict feminine authority. Mature, shapely, matriarchal, and unmistakably dominant, she was the woman of his dreams. Cheryl grinned to herself as she watched him swallow hard, and made an audible aside to Cynthia, taking a step further toward teasing the truth about his sexual desires from him.

“I see Marcia Perkins has emerged now ... she’ll soon have him cowering at her feet, ready to beg a private audience with her ... she has that effect on even the most timid males, so attractively dominant is she.” Roscoe tried to look totally disinterested in the conversation, but Cheryl knew he’d memorise that name, and though those who specialised in tales centering around maledom were at the opposite end, she took him and Marie down to a central point, where those such as Lady Cynthia, who enjoyed both domination and submission congregated ... and from where he’d get a closer view of Marcia ... and she of him.

Cheryl delayed his progress just a little, engaging Marie, and taking her from the side of Roscoe, where she was in danger of becoming adjoined to him at the hip, walking her back up the aisle a little, seating her with those whom she knew had a genuine preference for maledom ... as disappointed as she was in being separated from the male whose cock she’d fantasised sniffing. Cheryl had an ulterior motive for the delay; it allowed Lady Cynthia time to strut down to where he’d be sat, and express her suspicions about Roscoe’s true preferences ... they’d investigate him further whilst he was within sniffing distance of the supremely authoritative female members of the writing clique, who’d not fail to notice their efforts.

Cheryl sat him down, and reverted to her motherly mode in introducing him to the smiling faces which greeted him, crossed legs showing generous amounts of thigh clad in sheer nylon, elevated above the low coffee table on which various phones and laptops sat, adding immediate spice to Roscoe’s already erotic enthusiasm. He was more than grateful for those attractive legs, as their low position had him note the phones placed on the table, giving him the excuse to place his down also ... he was determined to get a picture of the delectably stern Marcia, and fiddled with his phone on many occasions, so’s the women sat with him would think little of it, and he’d have the opportunity at some point, to take a lewd snapshot.

As with all newcomers, they briefly viewed his work, and took pleasure in firing questions at him about it, secretly taking great pleasure in seeing that he had to access his own work via one of the laptops all too often, so obviously cobbled together in haste ... and therefore forgettable ... were those efforts. Those instances which pleased the women as they probed, were interspersed with moments of relief for him, as erotica in general was discussed freely, the women often engaging each other at times, freeing him to ogle the majestic monarch of dominant femininity, that was Marcia Perkins.

His cock pulsed erect at the visual treat that she was, that alone having him yearn to masturbate. The tight skirt and blouse she wore that day, seemed to emphasise her authority as much as it did her mature curves, the majestic domes of her full breasts, having him imagine their thimble like nipples, poking hard and erect as she caned him. A movement from one chair, across to where Rupert had been placed on a stool, to have him enjoy the feeling of being exposed under ridicule, had him gasp under his breath at the magnificence of her broad hips and sumptuous rear, tight in the knee length skirt. Oh to have her descend upon his face. Her red hair, high in a spite inducing bun, emphasising the stern cut of her cheekbones and red lips ... he wanted to be at her feet, begging her to dominate him into the dust...