Confessions of a Bound Man

Chapter one: How I Was Taken by the FemDom Congregation

Introductions:

There is a before and an after in every man's life.

Before: when he believes he is strong, cunning, free. And after: when he kneels, collar locked tight, knowing exactly whose property he has become.

My name is Chris. Once, I was respectable. Now I am an owned thing. Body, mind, and soul, offered up to a coven of insatiable, merciless women who call themselves the FemDom Congregation.

It was never an accident. Victoria, my financial advisor, and Naomi, my lawyer, they wove their web for years, each meeting a thread spun tighter around my freedom. They saw something in me I refused to admit to myself: the hunger to be ruled, to be undone. They decided to feed that hunger until it consumed every last ounce of my pride.

They were not alone. There was Diana, the silent accountant who would later drain every cent from my accounts, and Selene, the Congregation's resident mind-breaker, a psychotherapist who turned my own thoughts into weapons against me. And then there was Karen. Goddess Karen, they called her.

If Victoria was the elegant poison and Naomi the iron hammer, Karen was raw appetite and gleeful cruelty made flesh.

The first night:

I met her the night they took me for good. I remember the heavy oak doors of Victoria's estate closing behind me like the gates of a tomb. I remember Victoria's amused eyes as Naomi snapped the steel collar around my neck. And I remember Karen's laughter echoing in that high-ceilinged foyer as she circled me, small but radiating such terrifying force.

Karen is barely five-two, short, curvy, with dark hair that frames a face both angelic and wicked. Her breasts are impossible not to stare at, and she knows it, every sway of her chest is a threat, a promise, and a weapon she wields like a dagger.

She pressed her soft, full curves against my back, breath hot in my ear. "You look so scared, little pet. Good. I love them scared." Then she bit my earlobe hard enough to draw a cry from my throat, the first of countless humiliations she would harvest from me like ripe fruit.

Breaking me in:

They did not break me quickly. That would have bored them. They broke me artfully, each Mistress working her craft.

Naomi kept her sessions clinical, as if cross-examining a guilty witness. She made me repeat, under threat of the cane, that I was nothing but a resource to be exploited. Each confession earned a stripe across my thighs, each lie earned worse.

Victoria preferred elegance. She bound me spread-eagle on a velvet ottoman, dripping wax on my chest while she lectured me about power structures and financial manipulation, every word punctuated by the searing kiss of melted candlelight. She never raised her voice. She never needed to.

Diana toyed with my fear of destitution. She'd show me my drained accounts on her tablet while gently choking me until I nearly blacked out. Each time I gasped back to awareness, she'd whisper, "Look at your balance, worm. Nothing left, and you still beg to serve."

But Karen, insatiable, sadistic Karen, was the one who left me trembling the longest. She would drag me to a private dungeon beneath Victoria's study: a place lined with hooks, racks, and benches designed for pain. She adored edge-play, pushing my arousal to the brink with vicious teasing, then laughing as she denied me release again and again.

She once cuffed my wrists above my head, gagged my mouth, and mounted my thigh, riding it slowly while she whispered filth. Every time I whimpered at the desperate pressure in my caged cock, she slapped my face hard enough to blur my vision. "Oh, you want to come, little toy? Too bad. Your pleasure is poison to me, and I hate poison."

Her cruelty fed her lust until she shuddered and came right there on my helpless thigh, hips rolling and voice moaning into the cavernous dark. When she finished, she slapped my cock through the cage, then left me tied for hours in the smell of her spent desire.

The Congregation:

They called themselves a Congregation for a reason. What they did to me wasn't random torment; it was ritual. They believed that every man is a beast to be tamed, a currency to be spent, a sacrifice on the altar of female supremacy. I was their proof of concept, their living prayer.

When my mind broke, they didn't stop. They built it back into something they could use. Selene whispered truths into my ear while I was strapped down, vibrating devices humming relentlessly against my cage. "You love this. You live for this. You are worthless except when we hurt you." I believed her because she made me believe her.

There were days when I thought Karen's appetite would kill me. She once used me as furniture for an entire night. Her warm, heavy body lounging on my back while she sipped wine and laughed at my muffled groans. She kept a riding crop within reach; every twitch earned a stroke that made my vision spark white.

Naomi would visit during these displays, smirking at Karen's cruelty. Sometimes she'd bend to my ear and say, "Don't think for a second you'll ever escape this. You signed away your freedom with your soul, and you'll thank us for the chains."

And I did. Gods help me, I did.

The realisation:

Now, I no longer ask for release. I no longer fantasize about being free. My only wish each day is to be deemed worthy of serving, to feel the sting of Naomi's cane, to taste the sweat from Karen's thighs, to hear Victoria's silken voice telling me how deeply owned I am.

I am the Congregation's proof that men can be bent, bound, and remade for a purpose greater than their own pitiful pride. And each time Victoria calls me to her feet to clean her boots with my tongue, or Karen drags me to her dungeon to test a new cruelty she read about in some vile corner of the internet, I remember the man I was -- and I thank them for destroying him.

If you ever hear rumors about a house where powerful women meet in secret to break men into worshippers. Believe every word. And if you are a man like I was, foolish enough to think your bank account and your fragile ego will protect you, know this:

They are out there. They are watching. And if you're lucky, or damned, they will find you too.