The best way to make a wannabe cuck regret what he wished for = a sadistic femdom cuckold.

Occasionally, I exercise my bachelorette power and oust obnoxious, mouthy dudes from my house. The last boy I exiled from my femdom sanctuary was SO pathetic his removal called for a full-blown, extra sadistic femdom cuckold. My only regret is that he might have enjoyed it too much.

I first met “Art” when one of my friends brought him over for an event at my house. He kind of annoyed me right away. Too eager. Too talkative. Endless questions circling around nothing that really concerned him, or that he could have easily answered himself by paying attention or just googling something. Ugh. He wasn’t cute, either. His flaccid blonde ponytail hung limply behind his bland, sallow face. There was a palpable greasiness about him I couldn’t help feeling disgusted by, especially the harder he tried to impress me.

One thing I love about living alone and knowing how I like to run things is being able to tell someone to leave if they’re pissing me off. Sure, I’m a humiliatrix by profession, but in my “real” life (or at least, when I’m not getting paid) I’m pretty nice, usually. However, once someone (usually some stupid man) wears out their welcome in my house — it’s their bedtime. Well, they can go to bed whenever they want, but as far as being allowed to enjoy the privilege of being in my space? They’ve turned into a pumpkin, as far as I’m concerned.

I usually give men three strikes before they’re out the door. Art used his strikes (and my GENEROUS patience) up so quickly it was as if he was trying to race through them.

Art had basically been drug along because my beloved longtime friend, Lena, needed a ride. Rather than just sit in grateful silence (as he SHOULD have done and any man should do under my roof), he continually interrupted Lena and I as we caught up and chatted. Unforgivable. Hilariously, he briefly tried to mansplain some philosophical concept or other to me despite having worse than a “sophomoric” (to put it mildly) grasp, if that.

That he was a complete fool, utterly brainless, didn’t surprise me. The audacity to continue interrupting an actual conversation between two intellectual peers/women, however? That did surprise me, but not in a fun way. I gave Lena a look, which I knew she understood: if this stupid fuck pipes up again, he’s out. A sadistic femdom cuckold wasn’t in my plans for the evening.

One of our other friends, Emily, finally arrived, and the three of us started to take turns reading my personal Good Book from the prayer stand in my living room. The Good Book being The S.C.U.M. Manifesto, of course. Lo and behold, Art just couldn’t hush long enough to let any of us get through even a few short passages. I’d had enough.

“Guess what, mother fucker? I tried being nice. Now it’s time for you to leave.”

Naturally, being a delusional moron, Art somehow felt compelled to argue with me about my decision it was his bedtime. What a fucking idiot. Stupid fuck made me strain my precious, beautiful voice to have to talk over him as I loomed, then physically helped him out the door. I couldn’t help but bust out laughing as I heard him crying out, lamenting all the way to his car: “If I was any other guy . . . if I was any other guy!!”

I have zero patience and no respect for losers like Art who think the world (and women) owe them something. S.C.U.M. Manifesto “prayer group/night” went on as planned, finally devoid of unwanted male presences, voices, etc. Thank Goddess!

A few days later Lena and I were driving around. She asked me what the word “cuckold” meant. She told me Art had approached her and her boyfriend, asking if he could “be their cuckold.” I wasn’t surprised, but I did start cackling hysterically. What a dumbass. Probably the same kind of mouthbreather type jerkoff who actually thinks there is such a thing as free phone sex.

It didn’t surprise me to run into Art the next week. This fucker needed punishment, sadistic femdom cuckold level retribution.

My friend Lena was in the process of moving. Her transition was definitely going to be an “all hands on deck” situation. The problem with Art, though, is that his hands are clammy and useless. And (unsurprisingly), that miserable prick can’t do a dish to save his life.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

History