Losing Lacan’s Phallus by Cadamine

Losing Lacan’s Phallus by Cadamine

Explore the intriguing narrative of 'Losing Lacan’s Phallus' – an adult sex story that delves into desire, identity, and the complexities of relationships. Experience a provocative journey through psychoanalysis and passion, where boundaries blur and self-discovery unfolds.<br/> She looked at him with a mixture of delight and malevolent malintent. He was before her, kneeled and head bowed, the bend of his neck setting off his muscular shoulders to pleasing effect.

“Well, it’s been six months since our relationship began and I am pleased to see that for this final month you have been utterly submissive and consistent in your obedience. Would you agree?”

“Yes. It doesn’t even occur to me to defy you now.”

“To think what a cocky, independent and self-satisfied man you were when I met you. You’re unrecognisable now.”

“It’s like a memory of being someone else”. His head remained bowed, replying without facing her.

“To think that for most of our time together, even as you allowed me to dominate you, you were often bratty and defiant. But now you put up no resistance at all. It seems my regime has reordered your mind.”

“If I had a spirit of defiance, it left me long ago”

“Yes, well. I am thrilled with having so succeeded in moulding you. My skills dazzle me. But there is a problem.”

“I..”

“Yes, yes, you yearn to know the problem and please me, etc, etc. Well the problem is that I rather liked it in the old days when you took me roughly and wildly, and I was lost to the oblivion of being… fucked. Fucked physically and fucked psychologically. Do you know what I mean?”

“I… I can do that again. I want to…” he started to raise his head desperately.

She thoughtlessly slapped his head down. “No, no, we’ve already tried that. The dominance has been erased from you. I can feel it. You’re not capable of it.”

“Please, I…”

“Quiet. Don’t speak until I say otherwise. You are pathetic now. I have told you many times as I degraded you that you were pathetic. You knew what you were becoming. When I want to be fucked, I want to be fucked by someone in possession of what Jaques Lacan would have called a phallus. You have a penis, and a reasonably sized one at that, but in our relationship it’s me who has the phallus. You utterly submit to my psychological penetration of you. I could do anything I want to you and you would just take it. In summary: you are pathetic and I never want to have sex with you again.”

Obedient despite this remonstrance against his obedience, he could allow himself no words. But he could not restrain himself from a kind of terrible gasp and a whimper.

“Oh ease yourself. I adore having you here and pathetic. I want you to continue serving me. I exalt in you, my beautiful specimen of unmanned manhood. I look at how I have reduced you and I glory in my own power. It is just that you are now fully transformed into my pathetic boy, my masochistic whipping boy for all my frustrations and sadistic whims, my adoring servant and worshipper. I love it and I condescend to desire you,in a fashion. It is simply that having distilled you into one form of pleasure for myself, I must now procure the part I have removed from another. I will take on a vigorous dominant man as a lover. Perhaps several. You will procure candidates and pay for our dates. You will never be allowed sex with me. I may have you serve them sexually”.

Another gasp-whimper.

“Oh my dear, don’t pretend you don’t feel in your submissive heart that this is right. Having had your phallus taken away from you by me, your being craves balance. You yourself crave the phallus. I know you are now in despair at your degradation, your failure as a man, but do you not also feel excitement at the thought of possibly servicing real cock? You may speak now.”

“I…”

“Touch yourself and tell me”

“Shakily, his hands reached to cock, and he began to murmur”

In a flash she thwacked his balls hard with her narrow paddle. A high gasp-yelp of pain and shock.

“Tell me!” she snapped angrily.

“I…” his voice shifted desperately to action.

“I want to be your pathetic boy and find you dominant men to satisfy you as I cannot”

“Very good.” She smiled and lightly slapped his balls with the paddle in command-encouragement.

“If, if you want me to serve…” he looked up without thinking and gazed at her searching with desperate dewy eyes and a half open mouth framed by full lips.

She thought he looked adorable in his stupid shock. She didn’t rebuke him for looking at her without permission. She just gazed at him in excited triumph, then clasped his lower face in a gesture of control, her other hand reaching to pleasure herself.

“Go on…”

“If you want me to serve your chosen man, or men, I will do as you wish”

“Then practice”. Her hand pulled out an 8-inch blue-silver dildo.

“This is the minimum-size cock I will now accept. I need at least this much to feel fully stimulated. Bigger than you I’m afraid”

She shoved it in his mouth.

“Suck.”

His eyes expressed his pleading and fear. Her gaze remained hard; wild with focused excitement. His gaze lowered and he pursed his lips around the object. It filled his mouth. Hesitantly, without time to take in what he was doing and what had just been said, he tested out his mouth’s movements on it. She observed with delight.

“Oh what fun this shall be. How much further I shall ruin you. Imagine if our acquaintances knew.” She smiled.

“Don’t forget to show me how you feel about it”, she said with the merest downward glance.

His shaking hand moved up and down on his cock. Looking at her desperately, humiliation welled in his eyes. He sucked on the dildo and brought himself to inevitable climax, coming on the floor in great gushes of thick cum.

Climaxing herself from her own hand she immediately presssed his head down into the pool of his own cum. She continued to pleasure herself, leaving him to take in the sensation of his new transition in a shock of sticky, degraded darkness, face pressed to the cold hardness of the floor, contrasting with the warm goo of his cum soaking into his lips and skin.

She was in a wild thrill of excited delight, her soft and caring side forgotten. Before he had even the beginnings of a chance to regain speech and rational consciousness, and to process what had happened, she filled his mouth with a playful red ball gag and had his limp horrified body tied to the wall.

For hours that evening she tortured him, with him unable to protest or even ask questions. Often she hit him on his balls. Sometimes she ran spiked metal wheels across his chest. Sometimes it was simple whips across the body. Always pausing just enough to let him recover sufficiently to dimly ponder what was happening, to consider how utterly degraded he was, what he had just done and what was to come. She knew she didn’t need to verbalise it further. She knew that with every stroke of pain it was being reinforced upon him that his sexuality was meant only for humiliation. Often she simply sat back to pleasure herself while regarding him–her artwork–leaving him to sob and drool in his gag. She didn’t even speak herself, so taken in the frenzy was she.

Twice, she brought him to orgasm in this state, wiping his cum dismissively all over him. For tonight it didn’t need to be accompanied by further verbal humiliation. The forced orgasms in the light of this exchange simply reinforced his powerlessness over his own sexuality.

Eventually, she took him down in a pleasure-drunken daze of her own, and removed his gag. He collapsed at her feet, unable to form discrete thoughts let alone words. He was beyond thought–shivering in his humiliation and suffering. She gazed to admire her smooth, long-limbed form in the mirror. Her curves felt like electrical currents of pleasure to her, and her lips and smile seemed flush-red with a kind of psychic blood she had pulled from him, sweeping in invisible swirls about her head, drawn up from toes pressed lightly atop the athletic human rubble at her feet.

So was completed the first arc; and he had been plunged despairingly into the new. The day would break for him in fear, and the terrible thud of unchosen excitement, beating under thick layers of shame and sorrow.

Time would allow him to a find words to articulate the change. Previously he had been a kinky lover. Even in the midst of submission he had been allowed a sense of sexual conquest, of making her his. Of being found a delightful, sexually satisfying lover in the traditional sense. Now he was rejected. He had been firmly and permanently deemed a failure as a man and as a lover. It would take a long time for that to fully sink in. She had spent hours making him phsyically understand his degraded state — that his nature and his failure required that he be punished.

And yet he was not cast away– she still pulled eagerly at the cord of domination woven into his mind. No, the change was not that, but being formed into a new being, who from now on would only experience the sexuality of defeat, and in the most perverse and visceral way. And running through all this was the terrible fear that he would enjoy it. Underneath the shame and the fear he had felt a dark thrill of sucking on that thing. It had been exciting to have that bigness invade his mouth. The shame of what he was doing electrified him. He had felt a certain awed reverence in serving the thick instrument that had the size, and was symbolic of the energy, that could please his mistress as he could not. He knew his pleasure would collude with his weakness to utterly undo him.

As she had planned, a tidal wave would wash over him, taking away all the straightforward pleasures of his sexual experience, and leave only those that simultaneously degraded him and served her power.