0 comments/ 28315 views/ 2 favorites Ritual of Ownership By: Cal Y. Pygia I fell in love with her bottom. She has the most delightful derriere I've ever seen—or imagined. Full, but firm, sleek, and round—but mere words fail to describe the beauty of her magnificent buttocks. They must be seen to be appreciated; indeed, so splendid are they that they must be seen to be believed! They had to be possessed, too. They had to be mine, even though they were hers. Beautiful objects, after all, whether they are things of nature or the body parts of women, must be collected, must be taken, must be owned. The moment that I saw Emily's fabulous fanny, I claimed it, as a prospector claims a treasure. But it is not enough to stake a claim; one must work one's claim, and I planned to work mine, long and hard. There are three steps to the project, three related actions that must be followed, in sequence, from the time that I claim such a property to the moment that it, indeed, becomes my possession. These steps require energy, strength, and stamina, but the effort is repaid a hundredfold, both in the possession that results, at the end of the process, and in the very applications of the steps themselves, as they are carried out. First, preparation must be undertaken. The buttocks must be tested and proven, and there is no way to accomplish this most-important task but to administer a series of blows to the posterior globes; the pale flesh must be made pink, then red, then purple. Such a transformation is wondrous to behold, the blossoming colors demonstrating the enrichment of a woman's passion through her experience of pain. Buttocks, warm and stinging with the prints of a palm, the impressions of a paddle, and the welts from a belt, quicken a woman's sensitivity and arouse her desire. I took her, therefore, across my knee, the sleek orbs of creamy flesh arched over my thighs, and, raising my right hand high overhead, brought my palm down in a flash; her buttock flattened upon impact and there was a loud report, as if a gun had been shot, as the fierce slap landed upon her bottom, and she leaped forward, whimpering, her wide eyes full of astonishment and pain. As I lifted my hand again, I saw the impression of my palm, a dark pink silhouette, in the smooth, white flesh. Her buttock rebounded, jiggling. The sight thrilled me. My cock stirred, stiffening, and I swatted her ass with all my might, my hand stinging from the resounding blow it landed upon the sleek cushion of her buttock. Emily cried out as she sought to lunge forward, her thighs jamming themselves against the barrier of my own upper legs. Her ass was imprinted with another pink outline of my hand. A delivered a flurry of additional swats, first to one cheek and then to the other, in rapid succession, and her bottom began to glow as if a red light shone down upon it, the rosy hue a delight to behold. Now, I took the paddle in hand that I had set upon the coffee table, before the couch upon which I sat, Emily over my knee, and slammed its thick blade down upon her pink bottom. The wood struck with a delightfully wicked report, flattening her buttocks beneath its savage impact. Her cheeks jiggled and bounced, and Emily gasped, as if she could not believe the anguish that filled her inflamed bottom. The soft-pink color that had blossomed in her cheeks deepened to a bright cherry red as I followed this first blow with a dozen more, each falling with swift, deadly accurate precision, in a rapid blur designed to impart maximum pain. She was in tears before the last savage swat landed upon her bottom, wriggling atop my thighs as if she were a mermaid out of water. "Please," she whimpered, "don't hit me again!" Her face was a mess mask of tears, ruined mascara, mucus, and saliva. Her pitiful tone, however, only made me resolve to spank her more harshly, and I was determined now, more than ever, to spare her not a single stroke. Indeed, if anything, I would add a few more lashes with the belt that I now took in hand, having laid the paddle to rest. The thick leather strap fell in a swift, jarring arc that left a wide purple band upon her red flesh, and she screamed in agony. The belt was worse than the paddle, just as the paddle had been worse than my hand. Her bottom was a gorgeous canvas of pink, red, and purple splotches, blotches, discolorations, and bruises. I smiled to see my handiwork and chuckled at the choked sobs, gurgled whimpers, and strangled gasps of her anguish. The belt rose and fell in a blur of motion, whack! whack! whack! echoing from the walls as Emily twisted and writhed upon my lap, pleading, sobbing, screaming, gasping, moaning, groaning, and whimpering; my arm moved with the swift, efficient, fluid action of a machine, delivering a dozen blows with but a second or two between each devastating swat. Emily's ass was more black and blue than red, and a few crimson drops of her blood oozed from slight lacerations in her flesh. Reluctantly, I made myself set the belt aside. I could have beaten Emily's beautiful buttocks all day, every day, and all night, every night, but the spanking, as thorough as it had been, was but the first of the three steps I must accomplish before, laying claim to her bottom, I could make her ass my property for all time. I returned the belt to the coffee table and took the massive latex dildo in hand. Lubricating both its prodigious "glans" and Emily's dimple-size asshole, I poked the tip of the immense artificial prick against her anus, pushed firmly, and watched the cylindrical shaft enlarge her nether orifice as it sought to penetrate her bottom. The dildo met stout resistance from her anus; the tiny ring of muscle was strong and defiant. The sphincter made a valiant effort to resist, but I continued to force the thick, hard column forward, and the head finally shoved its way into the portal to Emily's bowels. A deep sigh escaped her lips, as much an expression of contentment, I thought, as of discomfort, although she made a face, frowning slightly, as the artificial cock entered her. I watched as inch after inch of the rigid column slid through the round, stretched hole, widening her anus more and more. At last, the large latex "balls" at the end of the eight-inch monster shoved firmly against her perineum, and I had buried the monstrous phallus inside her rectum to its full length. I eased the dildo down her anal canal, watching it reappear between her ass cheeks as inch after inch of the thick, firm shaft emerged from her innards. Then, I slid it home again, the column vanishing within the gaping circle of her anus. Now, having spanked and opened her, it was time that I progressed to the third step of the ownership process. I set the dildo on the table, among the spanking implements, and lubricating my cock, which was, by this time, so thick, hard, and long that it ached, as did my balls, which had risen high inside the tight, contracted pouch of my scrotum, that it rivaled the dimensions of the huge dildo that had prepared Emily's anus to receive my manhood, I gave Emily's bottom a sharp smack. "Get your ass up, bitch!" I ordered her. Unsteadily, she rose, gasping at the pain that shot through her well-spanked, red-and-purple ass. I moved the coffee table away, dragging it to the side of the sofa before which it had stood. "Bend over the fucking couch, slut!" I commanded. She knelt upon the carpet, bent forward at the waist, and laid her upper body down upon the cushions of the seat. Her arms stretched before her, forearms and hands resting against the back. I knelt behind her, between her well-spread calves. Taking my well-lubricated cock in hand, I aimed it into the cleavage of Emily's ass, found the gaping anus within, and easily slid my thick, rigid erection all the way through her asshole and into her rectum. By stretching Emily's asshole to many times its normal size, the massive dildo had eased the passage of my prick. Fucking her was as simple as moving my hips back and forth; my cock met no resistance whatsoever from her gaping anus. I fucked her fiercely, frenziedly, forcefully, driving my organ back and forth through her wide anus until, after fifty or more strokes, I reached orgasm, and my semen jetted from my straining, lurching cock, spewing into her bottom. I withdrew, the last volleys and salvos of my warm, thick semen spraying over her buttocks, my seed branding her ass as my property. Now that I had completed the third act of the ownership ritual, Emily's ass now belonged wholly to me, and it was an ass, I vowed, that I would spank and fuck mercilessly, as often as possible, as hard as possible, and as long as possible, each and every day. I told her as much, and she was as glad to be my bitch as I was to have her as my slave. I could tell by her boyish tranny cock: it was as hard as my own had been before I'd spilled my seed and my manhood had begun to dwindle. There was, I saw, even a pearly drop of her ladyboy juice upon its purple tip. I chuckled, shaking my head. How convenient for her, I thought. Since she was going to be spanked severely and fucked brutally every day of her life, Emily might as well enjoy being my bitch. A slave's life isn't much, but, masochist that she was, she could at least enjoy the humiliation, degradation, and dehumanization of being my property. NOTE: For an alternative version of this story, read "Ritual of Ownership: Alternative Version" Ritual of Ownership: Alt Version I fell in love with his bottom. He has the most delightful derriere I've ever seen—or imagined. Full, but firm, sleek, and round—but mere words fail to describe the beauty of his magnificent buttocks. They must be seen to be appreciated; indeed, so splendid are they that they must be seen to be believed! They had to be possessed, too. They had to be mine, even though they were his. Beautiful objects, after all, whether they are things of nature or the body parts of men, must be collected, must be taken, must be owned. The moment that I saw Jimmy's fabulous fanny, I claimed it, as a prospector claims a treasure. But it is not enough to stake a claim; one must work one's claim, and I planned to work mine, long and hard. There are three steps to the project, three related actions that must be followed, in sequence, from the time that I claim such a property to the moment that it, indeed, becomes my possession. They require energy, strength, and stamina, but the effort is repaid a hundredfold, both in the possession that results, at the end of the process, and in the very applications of the steps themselves, as they are carried out. First, preparation must be undertaken. The buttocks must be tested and proven, and there is no way to accomplish this most-important task but to administer a series of blows to the posterior globes; the pale flesh must be made pink, then red, then purple. Such a transformation is wondrous to behold, the blossoming colors demonstrating the enrichment of a man's passion through his experience of pain. Buttocks, warm and stinging with the prints of a palm, the impressions of a paddle, and the welts from a belt, quicken a man's sensitivity and arouse his desire. I took him, therefore, across my knee, the sleek orbs of creamy flesh arched over my thighs, and, raising my right hand high overhead, brought my palm down in a flash; his buttock flattened upon impact and there was a loud report, as if a gun had been shot, as the fierce slap landed upon his bottom, and he leaped forward, whimpering, his wide eyes full of astonishment and pain. As I lifted my hand again, I saw the impression of my palm, a dark pink silhouette, in the smooth, white flesh. His buttock rebounded, jiggling. The sight thrilled me. I swatted his ass with all my might, my hand stinging from the resounding blow it landed upon the sleek cushion of his buttock. Jimmy cried out as he sought to lunge forward, his thighs jamming themselves against the barrier of my own upper legs. His ass was imprinted with another pink outline of my hand. I delivered a flurry of additional swats, first to one cheek and then to the other, in rapid succession, and his bottom began to glow as if a red light shone down upon it, the rosy hue a delight to behold. Now, I took the paddle in hand that I had set upon the coffee table, before the couch upon which I sat, Jimmy over my knee, and slammed its thick blade down upon his pink bottom. The wood struck with a delightfully wicked report, flattening his buttocks beneath its savage impact. His cheeks jiggled and bounced, and Jimmy gasped, as if he could not believe the anguish that filled his inflamed bottom. The soft-pink color that had blossomed in his cheeks deepened to a bright cherry red as I followed this first blow with a dozen more, each falling with swift, deadly accurate precision, in a rapid blur designed to impart maximum pain. He was in tears before the last savage swat landed upon his bottom, wriggling atop my thighs as if he were a merman out of water. "Please," he whimpered, "don't hit me again!" His face was a mess mask of tears, mucus, and saliva. His pitiful tone, however, only made me resolve to spank him more harshly, and I was determined now, more than ever, to spare him not a single stroke. Indeed, if anything, I would add a few more lashes with the belt that I now took in hand, having laid the paddle to rest. The thick leather strap fell in a swift, jarring arc that left a wide purple band upon his red flesh, and he screamed in agony. The belt was worse than the paddle, just as the paddle had been worse than my hand. His bottom was a gorgeous canvas of pink, red, and purple splotches, blotches, discolorations, and bruises. I smiled to see my handiwork and chuckled at the choked sobs, gurgled whimpers, and strangled gasps of his anguish. The belt rose and fell in a blur of motion, whack! whack! whack! echoing from the walls as Jimmy twisted and writhed upon my lap, pleading, sobbing, screaming, gasping, moaning, groaning, and whimpering; my arm moved with the swift, efficient, fluid action of a machine, delivering a dozen blows with but a second or two between each devastating swat. Jimmy's ass was more black and blue than red, and a few crimson drops of his blood oozed from slight lacerations in his flesh. Reluctantly, I made myself set the belt aside. I could have beaten Jimmy's beautiful buttocks all day, every day, and all night, every night, but the spanking, as thorough as it had been, was but the first of the three steps I must accomplish before, laying claim to his bottom, I could make his ass my property for all time. I returned the belt to the coffee table and took the massive latex dildo in hand. Lubricating both its prodigious "glans" and Jimmy's dimple-size asshole, I poked the tip of the immense artificial prick against his anus, pushed firmly, and watched the cylindrical shaft enlarge his nether orifice as it sought to penetrate his bottom. The dildo met stout resistance from his anus; the tiny ring of muscle was strong and defiant. The sphincter made a valiant effort to resist, but I continued to force the thick, hard column forward, and the head finally shoved its way into the portal to Jimmy's bowels. A deep sigh escaped his lips, as much an expression of contentment, I thought, as of discomfort, although he made a face, frowning slightly, as the artificial cock entered him. I watched as inch after inch of the rigid column slid through the round, stretched hole, widening his anus more and more. At last, the large latex "balls" at the end of the eight-inch monster shoved firmly against his perineum, and I had buried the monstrous phallus inside his rectum to its full length. I eased the dildo down his anal canal, watching it reappear between his ass cheeks as inch after inch of the thick, firm shaft emerged from his innards. Then, I slid it home again, the column vanishing within the gaping circle of his anus. Now, having spanked and opened him, it was time that I progressed to the third step of the ownership process. I set the dildo on the table, among the spanking implements, and lubricating my own "cock," which rivaled the dimensions of the huge dildo that had prepared Jimmy's anus to receive my manhood, I gave Jimmy's bottom a sharp smack. "Get your ass up, bitch!" I ordered him. Unsteadily, he rose, gasping at the pain that shot through his well-spanked, red-and-purple ass. I moved the coffee table away, dragging it to the side of the sofa before which it had stood. "Bend over the fucking couch, slut!" I commanded. He knelt upon the carpet, bent forward at the waist, and laid his upper body down upon the cushions of the seat. His arms stretched before him, forearms and hands resting against the back. I knelt behind him, between his well-spread calves. Taking my well-lubricated cock in hand, I aimed it into the cleavage of Jimmy's ass, found the gaping anus within, and easily slid my thick, rigid erection all the way through his asshole and into his rectum. By stretching Jimmy's asshole to many times its normal size, the massive dildo had eased the passage of my prick. Fucking him was as simple as moving my hips back and forth; my cock met no resistance whatsoever from his gaping anus. I fucked him fiercely, frenziedly, forcefully, driving my organ back and forth through his wide anus until, after fifty or more strokes, I reached orgasm and withdrew, having made his ass as my property. Now that I had completed the third act of the ownership ritual, Jimmy's ass belonged wholly to me, and it was an ass, I vowed, that I would spank and fuck mercilessly, as often as possible, as hard as possible, and as long as possible, each and every day. I told him as much, and he was as glad to be my bitch as I was to have him as my slave. I could tell by his cock: it was as hard as the enormous latex strap-on dildo I wore, having donned it in advance of the Ritual of Ownership. There was, I saw, even a pearly drop of cum upon the purple tip of Jimmy's erect cock. I chuckled, shaking my head. How convenient for him, I thought. Since he was going to be spanked severely and fucked brutally every day of his life, Jimmy might as well enjoy being my bitch. A slave's life isn't much, but, masochist that he was, he could at least enjoy the humiliation, degradation, and dehumanization of being my property. NOTE: For an alternative version of this story, read "Ritual of Ownership."