Martin encounters a domineering woman and her humbled husband at the allotments.
This short female domination story contains scenes humiliation and non-consensual gay sex. It is entirely fictional and completely my own work.
Please DO NOT read any further if you do not enjoy fictional stories in which males submit to dominant females, either willingly, forcibly, or by coercion.
Please DO NOT read if you think that stories like this should end up with the male taking control and beating or fucking the female - If that's your bag, none of my stories are for you.
Please DO NOT read if you don't like stories in which men are forced to perform humiliating sexual acts by women.
Please DO read further if you want to learn how the protagonist is excited by his first encounter with a domineering woman, and the unforgettable journey she takes him on.
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I hope you enjoy!
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ALLOTMENT ROSE
My mother retired at the age of 65 and decided that she would take an allotment to keep her healthy and occupied. At first, she grew all manner of fruit and vegetables in a jumble of square patches on the ground, demarked by wavy rows of chalk stones pulled from the soil, but soon she was complaining that low-level planting and weeding was straining her back, and asked me to help her build some raised beds. I'm a very practical person, so planning and building the beds would not be a problem. I drew the designs, ordered the wood, and had it delivered directly onto my mother's allotment.
On the bright and sunny morning when I began to construct the beds, my mother got talking to Rose, who worked the plot next door. She was a solid looking lady in her mid-fifties with straight, blonde and grey hair in a bob, and squarish-round Deirdre Barlow glasses. She had a common accent and I did not find her attractive.
Rose looked at me as I laid planks of wood on the dirt in the approximate locations of the new beds.
"Who's your lackey?" she asked my mother.
"This is my son, Martin," my mother replied, proudly, "He's so good at helping me with this sort of thing."
I waved.
Rose gestured towards a man in the background.
"This is Arthur, he's MY lackey," she said, "he doesn't say much, do you dear?"
Arthur looked up from the dirt. "No dear," he said.
As the day progressed, I couldn't help but listen to Rose and Arthur's conversations. She spoke to him with a kind of gentle condescension and was generally quite bossy. For some reason, I found this quite erotic. Further still, I could tell that she was inventing work for him, asking him to move the hose pipe to one end of the plot, then telling him to move it back again. He did everything he was told to do, but somehow she was never satisfied. "You're such a waste of space!" she would exclaim from time to time.
At around lunch time I told my talkative mother that she might as well go home. Her crops had been uprooted and moved out of the way, and it would be quicker for me to build the beds and level the sloping soil without her. She gave me a hug, handed me the key to the gate, and I locked-up after she'd driven out. Without her chatting to me, I could concentrate better on Rose and Arthur's conversation, and watch how Rose coolly and arbitrarily bossed him around.
As the afternoon progressed, Rose had Arthur weed beds, then weed them again. He filled watering cans at the tap and heaved them to her side (despite the fact that they had a hose), and he dismantled the runner bean frame, only to be told to rebuild it again. I found their relationship compelling and immensely exciting, and was completely but happily distracted by their strange game. Most exciting of all, at one point, Rose stood inches from Arthur as he carefully planted a seedling in the fertile soil. Any onlooker would have just supposed that they were husband and wife, chatting about the planting, but she placed the toe of her boot on the little plant and ground it into the soil. She glanced at me as she did this and caught me watching them, and I swear I saw a smirk flicker across her face. Later on, Rose stood at the edge of her plot, close to ours, and ordered Arthur to move six heavy paving slabs to one corner of her allotment. When he had finished, groaned, straightened his back, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, Rose looked at me with a devilish grin, and called out to him, "I've changed my mind. I want them in that other corner after all." Arthur looked at the two of us for a moment, put his gloves back on, and hauled the slabs back again.
"I want a little storage box building on those slabs," Rose explained to me, "Arthur will be useless at it. Do you think you could help him?"
I looked at the weed-covered, lumpy corner of her plot.
"No problem!" I said, "we'll have to level the ground first or it'll be all wonky. I can help with that."
Rose gave me a wry smile as though there was something naughty on her mind.
"What a lovely man you are," she said.
I took my spade and fork to the overgrown corner of Rose's plot and helped Arthur to clear the weeds. We chatted as we worked and I found that we got on really well, with common interests in classic cars, gardening, and a hatred of supermarkets. Rose tended to her beds and occasionally enquired as to whether or not we were working hard enough. "You lackeys seem to be chatting a lot," she might say, "I hope you're working hard?"
"Yes Rose," Arthur might respond. He often glanced at me with a hangdog look on his face, embarrassed that I was witnessing the way she bossed him around. I, on the other hand, found it quite exciting to be spoken to in such a supercilious way by a woman who should have had no right to do so.
