Ondea's Conquest - Gentleman Golfer

Author's Note: I published a very similar story on another site but I'd like to share this revised offering with the Literotica readers. Hope you enjoy.

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First, ONDEA demands an introduction from one of HER devoted minions. I have been chosen for this honor. I am not worthy, but I will do my very best to please HER.

ONDEA is an Amazon Goddess Extraordinaire. There is not another female quite like HER in all of the world. SHE is an absolutely overwhelming union of breathtaking beauty (i.e. drop dead gorgeous); bodacious body (i.e. toned, muscular, measuring 39FFF-22-37) and an irresistible seductress (i.e. unrelenting, inescapable). SHE is my most cherished fantasy female and millions of others certainly agree.

HER name is a combination from HER Swedish/Italian heritage. It loosely translates as "wicked goddess." Indeed, it is a perfect fit! ONDEA is a supreme alpha, at times a harsh domme, at other times a sensuous vixen and anything else in between that suits HER whim.

Regardless of HER volume of ferocity, there are numerous rich, submissive males who fervently worship HER every breath. Their willing and exuberant generosity has allowed HER to indulge in a lavish, hedonistic lifestyle. Opulent luxury and carefree lechery define HER avant-garde existence. SHE never wants for anything, or anyone. SHE always gets what SHE wants and takes who SHE desires. ALWAYS!

To ONDEA women are sexual essentials while men are subservient accessories. Ladies are HER lovers; males are HER toys. Casual entertainment to HER is teasing, tormenting, degrading and ultimately breaking men. ONDEA's legendary conquests are numerous given HER nearly unlimited supply of vulnerable prey. SHE thrives on scoring, using and inevitably discarding guys at will. Defeating males is a pleasure that gets HER off, again and again and again.

This little story, and those to follow later, describe some of ONDEA's successful and oh so evil escapades.

ONDEA'S CONQUEST #1 - THE GENTLEMAN GOLFER

Somewhere in Nevada is a very exclusive, limited membership golf club. It's name is "Ace." This extremely private resort consists of a world class course, an expansive clubhouse with chic disco, an extravagantly equipped gym and a number of secluded cottages. The clientele are wealthy males only. The staff is a very select bevy of foxy females.

The men are mostly elderly and/or retired. Some are married, others widowers. They keep healthy for their passion for the game. They keep fit and trim for more strenuous, intimate activities.

The ladies are all twenty-somethings and superbly sexy. They provide hospitality services: dining, beverages, massage, dancing and, in addition, a full gamut of personal services.

In short this is a combination of dirty old men and gold-digging minx. What incredibly naughty fun is had by all.

Everyone there knows the scene and plays the carnal game. Although daytime is most often centered around golf and its ancillary activities, the night belongs to the wanton. The softly-lit bar, nicknamed "Lay Me Lounge", and the DJ-vibed dance venue, called "Hard" run till dawn.

Exhibitionists thrive. Debauchery is rampant. The rules are "there are no rules". The only exception is "no public intercourse". Every other sex act is enjoyed anywhere, everywhere. The cottages provide room for salacious fuck sessions and are seldom empty. Tee times are very often happily missed.

Needless to say this rapturous resort is a closely held secret by all. Vetting by the management is intense and thorough. Membership and employment are revered. Indiscretion is forbidden. There are NO second chances. Banishment is forever.

Might this be a challenging setting, even more, a tasty opportunity for a certain adventurous siren to play? Might HER name be ONDEA? Let us see...

...SHE sleeps with gorgeous, sex-crazed babes. Lots of them. All love HER as their divine queen. Actresses, models, athletes, rock stars, porn sluts have all eagerly succumb to HER romantic, yet treacherous power. Many are at HER beck and call. Some (a chosen few) are kept in HER stable of slave-girls. Most joyously live to pleasure only HER. In return they scream in ecstasy when in HER bed, or on HER bench or suspended and filled with a strap-on. Whatever, however ONDEA desires.

Recently, idle pillow talk has lead one girl to divulge "the Ace secret". Of course ONDEA had heard the whispered rumors, but the detailed description by this wench has been quite tantalizing. After the girl had revealed all she knew then a special orgasmic evening was her reward. Soon ONDEA began to plot HER next escapade. SHE would be sampling "Ace".

HER research team spent several weeks in discovery and analysis. HER plan was shaped. SHE didn't need to invade, merely infiltrate. The intent was to target and score one little man. Entice him till SHE possessed him. He would assuredly become HER thrall and provide HER access to the secretive resort. Would SHE find "Ace" a fertile playground? Time would tell...

...Now HER prey has been selected: Thomas Sullivan, a multi-millionaire widower. He's a terrible golfer, but excessively enjoys discussing golf - the game with anyone. He occasionally frequents the night spots, but the ladies say he doesn't come onto any of them simply because he's a naturally shy guy. Not uninterested, not gay, merely polite. This one is quite obviously HER's for the taking. Soon the trap is set.

A mysterious text message chimes Thomas' secret cell phone on Sunday as he is packing to leave the resort and return to his home.

'STAY TILL TOMORROW,' he reads, startling and confusing him.

'Who is this?' he responds.

'YOUR FANTASY COME TRUE.'

'How did you get my number?'

'I AM THE HUNTRESS.'

'I don't believe I know a huntress.'

'POOR LITTLE MAN. WOULD YOU LIKE TO?'

This is getting weird Thomas thinks, but he needs to know who has compromised his cell.

'I think this is a prank!'

'ACE...THOMAS...AND ME.'

Now he knows someone must be leading him on, probably a member or one of the lovelies.

'I do not think this is at all funny or appropriate.'

'RELAX, BOTTOM BOY.'

He's not heard that trigger word in years and it stirs multiple memories of past mistresses. Could this possibly be one of them? He's frazzled now.

'I am so sorry. What can I do for you?'

'TALK THE GAME...TOMORROW...7:00 PM...COTTAGE 24.'

She (if it is a she) knows I love to discuss, as much as, play golf he realizes His curiosity is on high alert. Before he ditches the phone for another more secure he needs to know.

'OK, I will be there.'

'CHAMPAGNE...CAVIAR...FOR ME.'

'Certainly.'

'DISMISSED.'

SHE has established HER authority in less than five minutes. Let the game begin.

------

Monday is a long, worrisome day for Thomas. He has no idea what to expect. Wandering the grounds late morning he sees only one foursome and they are finishing a round on Number 9; probably needing to get somewhere else this morning. He's baffled and apprehensive in the afternoon spending time alone in the vacant lounge. He's certain that security at the resort is top notch and entry by an unauthorized person has never happened, so he's not frightened. He's persuaded himself that this is an "inside job" and definitely a prank. Still, reviewing the text conversation over and over leaves him uneasy, and more than a little titillated...

...As the searing sun sets in the early afternoon ONDEA's stealth entry to "Ace" is being made. It's now 7:15 in the evening, and the resort is nearly deserted. The weekend crowd has vanished and most of the staff is off-site. HER jet black Ferrari roars up to a contemporary, steel and glass structure with an illuminated '24' over the entry door. SHE is confident that inside sits one guy, the prey, quivering with excitement. He has stayed an extra day because 1) he's Bottom Boy and so incredibly curious and 2) because SHE has ordered it. Hearing the rumbling arrival he comes to the window looking out to see an exotic sports car. The driver's side door swings open, but through the darkly tinted windshield he can only make out just a silhouette. It is a female. His anxiety is peaking.

Moments pass with no movement. He realizes that he must act, so he exits the cottage. His pulse quickens as he approaches the vehicle. Each step reveals more of HER: each step makes him weaker. SHE is, at once, beautiful beyond his ability to comprehend. Long, flowing platinum blonde tresses frame HER glamorous elegance. Sleek designer shades with smoked lenses nearly obscure HER eyes, but not the high arching brows and a hint of dark eye-shadow at their edges. Encircling HER neck and plunging like an arrow into a cavernous cleavage is a glistening gold metal choker and breast plate. A complementing band of the same gold surrounds HER tiny, wasp-thin waist. In between is an absolutely enormous bosom of flawless, sun-drenched flesh just barely contained in a taut bustier of leopard skin. Most assuredly, this is a ravishing lady.

"HEL-LOW, TOMMIE," the stunning creature says. A quiver of primal lust shoots up his body and his knees wobble as SHE offers up a hand. Instinctively he cradles it, assisting HER to gracefully ascend from the Ferrari's interior. "T, Ta, Thomas S, Sa, Sullivan," he manages. SHE snickers at his foolishness giving the car door a backwards bump with HER rear. Inches from his eyes he ogles a pair of tremendous tits that wobble mouthwateringly in unison; their large prominent nipples stretch the sheer material. 'Oh, to suckle at HER bosom,' his mind rages.

"FETCH MY BAGS," SHE commands flicking a remote in HER hand which activates the front hood. Then SHE saunters toward the apartment. Speechlessly Tommie watches the gait of a runway model, hips wildly swivel, shoulders lunge back and forth, and one leg is placed far across and in front of the other. Every square inch of HER colossal body broadcasts sex. HER mane of blondness brushes the top of a projecting ass of firm, curvaceous perfection. Delectable twin cheeks and statuesque legs are coated in a skin-fit film of shimmering black latex down to the top edge of HER thigh-high boots. This scintillating pair of fetish foot-gear

sport very tall platforms and a formfitting, contoured surface of reflective black leather. HER stilettos are gold, dangerously slender and soar nearly a foot in height. Tommie is gobsmacked.

He watches HER enter and disappear. Feeling his mind and body throb with arousal he struggles to raise the two bags from the small compartment. One is a standard travel bag; the other a black leather equipment case (which is very heavy.) Closing the hood he looks up to see HER posing at the door, one arm resting on the jam, the other on an upthrust hip. Thomas Sullivan realizes in this moment that SHE is, indeed, his most longed for fantasy.

"HURRY," SHE calls out as he tots the luggage awkwardly. At the entryway SHE steps forward allowing him to pass through, then re-enters, kicks the door closed and locks it.

"MY BEDROOM," SHE points at the open master suite and Tommie lugs the load in there.

He hears the sound of HER towering heels hit the marble floor, and turning he sees HER surveying the space. Gawd, he timidly decides, SHE is truly a Goddess.

"CHAMPAGNE." He rushes forward babbling, "I would be honored to offer you a flute?"

"OF COURSE YOU WOULD, DARLING." SHE struts to the seating area, undulating like a hypnotic serpent and nimbly slithers down into a white satin lounge chair. The contrast of black against white is spellbinding. SHE looks over and grins ever so slightly seeing Tommie spilling as he pours. Sheepishly he tries to clean the counter and stemware. Then he walks towards HER, jiggling the glasses and sets them down on an ebony table.

"SIT," indicating a chair directly in front of HER. Tommie collapses into it as SHE dramatically raises a leather encased leg and crosses it over HER other, the extreme heel slashing through the air.

He helplessly emits a soft moan, immediately attempting to cover it with a question, "I've na, not seen you here ba, before."

"WERE YOU LOOKING FOR ME, SWEETIE?"

"I, ah, ah..." his thought fades as SHE spreads HER arms up and along the chair back propelling mammoth melons outward, straining against the stretched bustier.

"IF YOU HAD SEEN ME THEN YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN DREAMING OF ME OUT ON THE COURSE." "Well, ah..." SHE interrupts continuing, "TAKING STROKE AFTER STROKE WITH ME IN MIND."

Tommie is getting big and hard with HER every suggestive word. He needs to get under control before SHE sees his bulge. He needs to change the direction of this opening conversation. "Do y, you play?"

"UMMM, A LOT, BABY!" SHE answers, slowly uncrossing and then recrossing HER boots intently gazing into his eyes as they follow the shiny sculpted leather.

"I, I mean golf," he gasps. Finally SHE removes the sunglasses partially hiding HER eyes and Tommie sees their piercing, azure glow that burns into his very soul. His hope to discover his phone breach is long forgotten. His desire for this spectacular vixen is all consuming now.

"NO, HUN," SHE responds, then purrs in addition, "BUT I KNOW THE GAME." Leaning up to reduce the distance between them SHE conspicuously stares right into his crotch and continues, "I TAKE A TIGHT GRIP ON A SHAFT AND STROKE IT LONG AND HARD. THEN, YOU ARE UP, RIGHT BABY?"

Tommie has lost all sense of composure and groans, "Yes, yes."

"YOU DRIVE IT STRAIGHT AND TRUE, APPROACH THE HOLE AND PUT IT IN."

"P, pu, putt," his correction is feeble and ignored.

"UHH, THAT'S WHEN IT FEELS SOOO GOOD, RIGHT?" She smiles slyly, before presenting a moist pink tongue from between HER frosted lips to make a slow, circular tour around HER open mouth. Tommie is speechless and defenseless in HER presence. "YOU MAY TOUCH YOURSELF," SHE whispers. Mindlessly he grabs and moves his throbbing member up into a more comfortable position in his slacks.

"I OFTEN SCORE AN ACE, LIKE TONIGHT," SHE chuckles low and sultry at the current situation, taking a sip of bubbly before reclining back into the white satin that surrounds HER like a soft cloud. "BUT I ALWAYS GET THE BEST BALL, THE VERY BEST," SHE emphasizes the last three words by running hands down the second skin of smooth rubber veneering HER outstretched gams.

"WHY YOU MIGHT ASK?" But of course, Tommie is so enthralled that speaking is impossible. So SHE explains, "BECAUSE I NEVER PLAY WITH A HACKER, AND I NEVER GIVE A MULLIGAN."

SHE extends a boot and shoves the adjacent ottoman aside providing a clear floor space in front of HER. "KNEEL HERE!" SHE demands and as if tugged by a rope Tommie springs up and onto his knees and waddles before HER. SHE caresses his cheeks softly. He smells the distinct aroma of the highly polished leather mixed with the musky scent of expensive perfume. SHE grips his jaw and squeezes, pulling him closer. He moans pathetically, forcing himself to breath. SHE slides a boot against one of his thighs and effortlessly spreads his legs apart. He cannot resist starting to slowly hump the slick surface.

"OHH, I DO ASSESS PENALTIES AND STRICTLY ENFORCE THEM," The gold metal toe of HER boot stabs into the underside of his sac causing a spasm in his erection. "WHY SHOULDN'T I?"

"You sh, should," he blurts in falsetto. SHE smirks quite sinister-like, moving HER foot further forward and tipping the toe dead center into his ass.

'DO YOU LIKE HOW I HOLE OUT, HUMMM?" The upward force SHE applies raises him nearly off the floor. SHE is obviously expecting a response. Tommie whimpers, "Yes, yes."

"I DO IT NINE TIMES, AND IF I HAVEN'T COMPLETELY EXHAUSTED MY PARTNER...I DO NINE MORE."

Tommie feels himself gush pre-cum into his boxers, his boner begging for relief. His self-discipline has been broken. He gazes upon HER glamorous face and sobs, "Oh gawd, you are so incredible!"

"YESSZZ, I AM, LITTLE MAN." HER other leg extends, then bends at the knee, leather creaking as the sole of HER nasty footwear touches his slacks and slides teasingly down his bulge. "YOU WANT TO PLAY MY GAME, DON'T YOU?"

"More th, than anything in my life," he gushes, maneuvering hungrily on the smooth metal boot bottom. "I'm sc, scared," he confesses in a shaky voice.

"INTIMIDATED BY ME. I LIKE THAT. I EXPECT THAT." SHE moves HER torso in a writhing motion, withdrawing HER boots and abruptly standing. Tommie gasps at the alluring amazon who now soars above him. He looks up the expanse of HER imposing legs into a mouthwatering cameltoe etched into elastic latex; then on up to the underside of HER astonishingly cantilevered tits with a waterfall of luscious hair encompassing them.

'YOU'RE NOT IN MY LEAGUE, BOTTOM BOY." There is that label again and he feels his balls tingle even more.

"I know, I know," he weakly agrees, then cries out, "I don't know your name?"

"YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED," SHE snarls, flipping HER hair side to side arrogantly,

"YOU WILL CALL ME GODDESS." And he did, and he begged, and he groveled for this deliciously dominant diva. SHE continued to torment him displaying HER bewitching beauty. SHE enhanced HER unquestioned superiority with ever more degrading treatment of HER willing boy-toy.

"HEEL, MY LITTLE CADDIE-BOY," SHE purrs, walking Tommie around the spacious room as if he was a dog in obedience training. Eventually SHE leads him into the bedroom and demands he strip. Eagerly he does. Naked he displays how desperately erect he is after nearly an hour with no release allowed. Tommie is none-the-less servile, and living in his dream world.

Obeying the GODDESS, he empties HER equipment bag and is overwhelmed at the array of sex toys as he carefully lays them out. Within minutes he is securely restrained to the bed wearing a multiple cock ring restricting any possible chance of relief. A short riding crop rests in HER hand and lightly trails up the ultra sensitive underside of his petrified prick. Suddenly it slaps the swollen head and Tommie yelps in pain. This will soon become the night of his life.

------

Almost a month later, Tommie "The Gentleman Golfer" has not yet returned to "Ace", but rather has spent nearly all his time serving GODDESS ONDEA; in HER secluded mansion, on extended shopping marathons and at select fetish clubs. SHE has used him mercilessly. He's physically drained, mentally humiliated, and hundreds of thousands of dollars poorer, yet he is euphoric!

In the vast garage at HER villa a new Bugati Veyron sits next to HER Ferrari. In HER expansive closet are several new furs, numerous pairs of recently crafted custom boots and lots of new gold jewelry.

What did he receive in exchange for all his pampering? On his groin in a semi-circle around his package is a brilliant red/gold tattoo that reads, "OWNED BY ONDEA." He will embrace this marking on his flesh forever. It denotes HER cruel conquest of Thomas Sullivan.

There seems to be nothing that SHE has not done to him. Nothing. Yet though he is utterly and completely enthralled by HER and would be HER life-long whipping boy, ONDEA has tired of this pathetic plaything. His fears of being cast aside materialize after an unexpected pegging session more brutal than any before. As SHE releases him from the bondage bench ONDEA announces the end of his servitude will be the next day. He pleads and begs to no avail. That evening he is allowed to slumber on the floor beside HER enormous bed while SHE goes clubbing. Tommie cries himself to sleep.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning SHE returns and he awakens to the vision of the Goddess. SHE is coated in a transparent latex catsuit that adheres like shrink wrap to the ultimate colossal body. The spike-laden toe of a black patent boot is placed next to his face.

No command is spoken or needed as Tommie has been trained. Gingerly he touches, then delicately kisses, then fervently licks the glistening object of his adoration. Abruptly metal shackles are tossed on the carpet from above. The ankle and wrist restraints bounce, their glittering surfaces catching the dim red glow of HER boudoir.