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Archive-name: Amazon/batboy.txt
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Archive-title: Bonnie’s Battered Boy Friend

I first met Bonnie two years ago in a health club to which
we both belonged, and I was immediately struck by her strength,
beauty and femininity. An inch taller than my own 5′9″ and with
a powerful, muscular, yet shapely body that outweighed my own by
a good ten pounds, I was fastinated at the way she could outlift
most of the men at the club and struck up a conversation with
her. When she invited me to come home with her I accepted
eagerly.
However, I soon discovered what she had in mind for me.
Quickly changing into sensuous black tights that revealed every
muscle and curve of her fantastic body, she challenged me to a
friendly wrestling match. Almost drooling at the prospect of
physical contact with this gorgeous Amazon, I readily agreed, and
before I realized it she had me downstairs on a wrestling mat in
her gameroom. We closed, locking hands, and I held my own for a
moment or two while she tested my strength, but after that I
never had a chance. She was stronger and faster than I and knew
every trick in the book. She put me through a dozen holds in as
many minutes, maintaining each hold just long enough to ensure
that I couldn’t escape and then moving into the next one. She
finished me off by getting behind me, wrapping her powerful arms
around my chest, pinning my arms to my sides and lifting me
completely off the mat in a crushing bear hug that I thought
would cave in my ribs until I was completely limp with exhaus-
tion. Then she put me across her shoulders and gave me an
airplane spin that left my mind reeling. She finally ended the
contest–if you could call it that–by gripping my neck and
buttocks and heaving me up over her head, her arms fully extend-
ed, to hold me there, seemingly ten feet in the air, my nose
inches from the ceiling, while I struggled feebly to escape her
grip, and then tossing me on my back, stradding my chest and
pinning my shoulders to the mat with her knees.
After I had regained my breath and some semblance of com-
posure, she asked me if I thought I could beat her at anything.
I told her that I had done some boxing in college, but that I
would never dream of fighting a girl. She laughed and asked,
“What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll clean your clock for you?” and
produced two pair of boxing gloves. I hesitated, but finally
decided this girl needed a lesson, so I put them on and we
squared off. Initially, she seemed content to fight defensively;
I used every trick I knew, but she was incredibly fast, and her
bobbing and weaving caused me to miss almost every punch I threw.
The few that were on target she easily slipped or blocked.
Finally, in desperation, I threw a roundhouse right, but she
stepped inside it and, taking the initiative, began peppering me
with jabs and hooks to my face and body that came with blurring
speed and sent me reeling backward. I tried to cover up and
dodge her blows, but she seemed to anticipate my every move, and
the accuracy of her punches was phenomenal. In the next few
seconds she hit me thirty or forty times, and, although her
punches weren’t hard, my head was reeling from their cumulative
effect. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, her onslaught
stopped, and she stood watching me, a smile decorating her lovely
face as I swayed back and forth in front of her. “Nighty night,
lover,” she said softly. “No more lovetaps. I’m going to put
your lights out with one punch.” Alarmed, I started to back
away, but her body became a blur of motion, and then something
slammed into my jaw with the force of a sledgehammer, spun me
almost completely around and tumbled me backward into oblivion.
When I came to I was lying naked in her bed, and she was
lying on her side next to me looking down at me and running one
hand lightly up and down my body. Seeing my eyes open, she
chuckled and leaned down to kiss me lightly on the tip of my
nose. “Welcome back, baby,” she said. “I was beginning to think
you’d never come around.”
“How–how did I get here?” I blurted.
She laughed. “Why, I carried you up here, of course. After
I took your clothes off. You know, baby, you have a very nice,
soft, little body, just the kind I like to play with. And you
made a marvelous armful as I was carrying you up here, so cute
and cuddly. I think I’m going to have lots of fun with you.”
I gasped and tried to get up, only to find that both my
wrists were locked back over my head in the powerful grasp of her
left hand. As I continued to struggle I felt her other hand
slide between my thighs to firmly cup my penis and testicles in
her palm. I stopped struggling in a hurry. “What–what are you
going to do with me?” I stammered.
She grinned at my helplessness. “Can’t you guess? You
know, beating you up really turned me on in a big way. And that
soft, sexy little body of yours–well, it’s enough to drive a
girl wild. I damn near raped you just carrying you up here. But
now that I’ve got you in bed, baby, I’m going to bang you like
you’ve never been banged before. And you’re going to love every
minute of it.”
I gasped in dismay. That would be the final blow. Being
raped by a girl! The thought sent chills down my spine. “That–
that’s impossible!” I croaked.
She laughed. “Wanta bet? I’ll bet you your paycheck I can
do anything I want to with you. Watch!”
Still holding my wrists pinned behind my head with one hand
and my crotch firmly in the grip of her other hand, she lowered
her head to capture my mouth with her own in a crushing french
kiss that took my breath away. Then, before I could recover, she
was biting and kissing my face and neck with a passion that
amazed me. As she did so, I felt the hand cupping my crotch
start to massage and stroke me intimately, tickling the inside of
my thighs and caressing my testicles while I struggled helplessly
in her grip. Then I felt her hand grip my penis firmly, her
thumb over its tip, as she began to masturbate me. I gasped and
redoubled my efforts at resistance, but she quickly locked her
legs around mine and I was encased in a steel vice from which I
could not escape as she continued to manipulate my body at will.
I had never believe it possible for a woman to rape a man,
but Bonnie had me writhing with a throbbing erection within a few
minutes, as pangs of sexual desire flooded my body. I heard
myself moaning in mingled shame and passion, and as she finally
mounted me and took me inside her I thought I was going to climax
right then and there. Somehow, she stopped me. Something about
the way her hands held my body, that I haven’t figured out to
this day, brought me back from the brink until she was ready, and
then I heard her breathe, “Now!” and the world exploded in an
orgasm that filled my entire being, lifting me with her and
carrying me on a wave of ecstacy to heights I had never known
before.
When it was over, I lay limp and quivering beneath her as
she grinned down at me. “I think you just lost this week’s
paycheck, baby,” she told me softly. “And don’t tell me it
wasn’t worth it. From the way you were moaning, I’ll bet it was
the best you’ve ever had.” Despite being redfaced with shame, I
had to admit she was right, and when I said so she laughed. “For
what it’s worth, baby, you were pretty good yourself, good enough
that I think I may take you around a few more times before the
night is out. After that, well, we’ll see how you hold up.”
She was as good as her word. She held me helpless on the
bed and raped me again and again, so often I lost count. Even
when I thought I had no more to give her, somehow she brought me
to climax after climax, sometimes when it seemed that I was only
semiconscious, controlling my body with her hands and lips in a
way I would never have thought possible. There was no question
of my failing her–she wouldn’t let me fail her; even when I was
moaning and begging her to stop, although I swore my body could
feel nothing else, she would laugh and force me into another,
incredible orgasm.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, she let me up, forced
me to sign my weekly paycheck over to her as payment for the bet
she had made me (I didn’t recall accepting her bet, but with my
left arm twisted up behind my back I really had no choice),
helped me to get dressed and guided me on unsteady feet to the
door. As I opened the door she suddenly put her arms around my
waist and pulled me forward, crushing me against her and bending
me backward in a french kiss that took my breath away. Then,
stooping slightly, she wrapped her arms around my hips and
straightened, lifting me several inches off the floor, and backed
me against the door, looking up at me with a smile decorating her
lovely face. “You were good tonight, baby,” she said softly.
“So I’ll pick you up after work next Friday and we can spend next
weekend having some more fun. Wouldn’t you like that?”
I gasped. “I–I don’t know…” I stammered.
She chuckled. “I do. I’ll pick you up next Friday.
Bodily, if necessary.” She set me down and, with a pat on my
backside, sent me on my way.
That was the beginning. Every Friday night after that she
would be waiting for me after work in her convertible to take me
home with her. A couple of times I tried to resist, but she
simply reached out to take my wrist in a bonecrushing grip and
force me into the car. At her home, she would strip me naked,
change into tights and, after making me bet her my paycheck that
she could do whatever she wanted with me, spend the next hour or
so doing whatever she wanted with me. I tried to reason with
her, pointing out that she was leaving me nothing but my savings
to live on, but she simply laughed and told me to let her know
when my savings were exhausted. After a few weeks, when it
became apparent that I was completely defenseless against her,
she stopped going through the formality of betting me and would
simply take my paycheck and whatever else she wanted away from
me. After she had finished with me, and I was lying at her feet
either unconscious or sobbing and begging for mercy, she would
pick me up, throw me over her shoulder, carry me upstairs to her
bedroom and spend the rest of the night raping me until I finally
fainted from sheer exhaustion. She would make me spend Saturdays
helping her clean her apartment, and Saturday nights she would
take me out, either to dinner or to a movie before taking me to
my apartment, tossing me into my bed and raping me a couple more
times for good measure, leaving me Sunday to recover from my
ordeal. To make matters worse, after several weeks she started
taking me out with her friends, to whom she would brag about how
easily she could beat me up and rape me at will, paying no
attention to how embarrassing her boasts were to me. After a
while, her friends made no secret of their contempt for me,
referring to me as “Bonnie’s battered boyfriend” or “Bonnie’s
love toy.”
Then I began to notice that every couple of weeks or so she
would have added new weightlifting and bodybuilding equipment to
her gameroom (purchased with my money, undoubtedly!). During
this same period, subtle changes in her body began to become
apparent; her chest and shoulders became broader and deeper, her
body harder and her arms and legs bigger and more muscular, until
my own arms and legs seemed like broomsticks by comparison. She
even gained a couple of inches in height so that, now at an even
six feet, she towered three inches above me which, since she
always wore 5″ heels when we went out together, made me feel like
a small child when I stood next to her. Moreover, as she became
bigger and stronger, overpowering me on the wrestling mat or
beating me into submission in her new boxing ring became such a
quick and effortless exercise for her–and even more painful for
me–that she seemed almost bored. Finally she discovered that
she could arouse herself sexually by simply picking me up in her
hands and, holding me at arms’ length, tickling, squeezing,
bending and twisting my body at will while I screamed and
thrashed about helplessly in her grip. In short, she had become
a complete sadist, and my body had become her defenseless toy, to
be used or abused at her pleasure. Yet, after each of these
sessions when she had me in bed raping me, she gave me such
intense ecstacy that I found myself more and more willing to
endure the pain and humiliation which preceded her lovemaking.
There was one aspect of our relationship, however, that I
could not endure. That was the way she treated me in public. In
every way she made it clear to anyone watching us that, in
addition to towering over me, she was the stronger and dominant
partner. She would always walk ahead of me with long strides,
forcing me to trot to keep up with her. She would open doors for
me and order for me in restaurants. On the dancefloor, she would
lead, with her right arm firmly around my waist bending me
backward and molding my body to hers as we danced, my eyes about
level with her throat. Worst of all, she thought nothing of
fondling me in public, squeezing my buttocks or tickling the
inside of my thighs, or running her hands up and down my body
sensuously to stimulate an erection. Several times when we were
standing at a bar and a stool vacated next to us, she would reach
down, slide one hand under my buttocks and lift me effortlessly
off the floor to place me on the empty stool, much to the amuse-
ment of the others in the bar and to my embarrassment. When I
would plead with her to be a little more discreet, she would
laugh and asked me what I thought I could do about it, and I
could only lapse into helpless silence.
Finally my savings gave out and, when my landlord was
threatening to evict me, I tearfully pleaded with Bonnie to let
me keep enough money to at least pay my bills. Instead, she an-
nounced that I would move in with her and become her housemaid
and personal, live-in playtoy, and that for the privilege of
sharing her quarters and giving her my paycheck every week, I
would be obliged to take care of her home after work. She paid
off the balance of my rent and other bills, sold my few pieces of
furniture and moved me in with her. Although I was initially
concerned that my body could not stand on a daily basis the kind
of treatment to which she had been subjecting me each week, she
obviously had the same concern, for on week nights she contented
herself with lifting, tickling and fondling me, and only occasi-
onally making love to me, but always being careful not to hurt
me. Only on weekends did she give me the full treatment.
Nevertheless, I still found myself rebelling against her
fondling me in public, and the matter came to a head one night,
after I had been living with her about six weeks, when she was
entertaining her friends at her home. I was circulating through
the crowd serving drinks and hors d’oeuvres when I heard one of
Bonnie’s girl friends asking her when she was going to marry me.
Bonnie threw back her head and roared with laughter. “Marry
him!” she exclaimed. “Why should I marry him? I own him! He’s
my little toy. You don’t marry a toy; you play with it, and when
you get bored with it you throw it away.” Turning to me, where I
was serving drinks several feet away, she said, “Isn’t that
right, Baby Buns?”
I put the tray down and went over to her. “I didn’t hear
that,” I said.
She chuckled, put one arm around my waist and pulled me
against her. “I made up a little poem about you, Baby Buns. Want
to hear it?”
I flushed. “Well, I don’t know…”
“Well,” she said, “you’re going to whether you want to or
not. It’s called ‘My Little Instant Erection’. Here’s how it
goes:
When I tickle him he laughs.
When I spank him he cries.
When I squeeze him he screams.
When I fondle him he sighs.
He’s my personal playtoy
With an instant erection;
A snap of my fingers
And he’s ready for action.”

She slid one hand down under my buttocks and lifted me several
inches off the floor to plant a kiss on the end of my nose.
“Isn’t that right, Baby Buns? Tell my friend Jeannie what you
are to me.”
Beet red, I tried to spin away from her. “Bonnie,
please…” But her hand slid around my hips and forced itself
between my thighs to firmly encase my crotch and again lift me an
inch or two off the floor. And this time her voice had an edge
to it. “Tell Jeannie what you are to me,” she said again. “And
don’t make me tell you a third time.”
My voice quivering with embarrassment, I said quietly, “I’m
your playtoy.”
“My LITTLE playtoy. Right?”
I nodded, looking at the floor. “Yes. Your little playtoy.”
Bonnie chuckled and turned to face her friend. “See? Even
he knows what he is. And he loves every minute of it. Don’t
you, Baby Buns.”
Redfaced with shame, I nodded humbly.
Bonnie put her hands on her hips, looking down at me.
“Well,” she said quietly, “since you’re being so agreeable, why
don’t you get down on your knees and show the girls the only way
I’ll let you kiss me.”
That was too much. My face burning with embarrassment, I
whispered, “Bonnie, no. Please.”
She laughed and, placing one hand on top of my head, forced
me to my knees in front of her. She stepped forward, straddling
my body with her powerful legs, and then pulled my head up under
her skirt to mash my face firmly into her womanhood. “Open your
mouth, Baby Buns, and show the girls how you give your mistress
pleasure.”
I had no choice. My nose was buried between her legs, and I
couldn’t breathe. As I opened my mouth, my head was mashed up
even tighter into her hairy bush as she gave a deep sigh and then
released me. “That was pretty good, Baby Buns,” she chuckled.
“Any of you girls want to try this with him? If you get his nose
up there just right, it’s almost as good as the real thing!”
At that point something in my mind snapped. With a sob of
frustration and humiliation I spun away from her, rose to my
feet, whirled completely around and tried to backhand her across
the face. Although caught completely by surprise, she reacted
instantly, catching my wrist in a bonecrushing grip and bending
me backward across her thighs. “Did you see that?” she gasped.
“My little toy actually tried to hit me!” With that, she slid
one hand down my back to grasp my belt firmly and lift me bodily
off the floor, holding me at arm’s length like a sack of feathers
while I thrashed about helplessly in the grip of her single hand.
Carrying me to a high chair in the center of the room and
slamming me face down across her lap with a force that took my
breath away, she quickly pulled my pants and underwear down to
expose my bare buttocks. “Boys and girls,” she announced to her
guests, “you are about to witness how a real woman handles a
naughty little man toy who gets out of line.” And with that, she
proceeded to spank my bare bottom with the palm of her hand as
though I were a child.
I don’t know what hurt the most, the stinging power of her
big hand as it descended again and again with sledgehammer force
against my bare flesh or the realization that I, a grown man,
was being publicly spanked by this beautiful Amazon in front of
all our friends. Regardless, within moments I was screaming and
sobbing with pain and humiliation as I thrashed helplessly in her
steel grip, unable to even slow the tempo of her blows. How long
she continued to spank me I don’t know; all I remember is that
toward the end my body was engulfed in a swirling cauldren of
pain and I was sobbing and begging incoherently for her to stop.
Finally she did, lifting me off her lap and setting me on my feet
only to grip my buttocks again with a single hand that sent fiery
fingers of pain shooting through my body and march me, with my
feet barely touching the floor, to a corner of the room and stand
me there, facing the wall with my nose pushed firmly into the
corner. “For the rest of this night, little toy,” she told me
grimly, “you will stand in this corner with that blistered rear
of yours in plain sight for all the girls to see and play with,
and you will not take your eyes off that wall. Do you under-
stand?”
“Y-yes,” I sobbed. “Whatever you–you say.”
And so for the rest of that evening I stood there, facing
the wall, my nose firmly in the corner, with my pants and drawers
down around my ankles and my blistered rear exposed for all to
see and fondle. And they did, much to my physical and psycholog-
ical discomfort. Finally, after several hours, they left, and
Bonnie came over to the corner to get me. Sliding one arm around
my waist, she picked me up, tucked securely under her arm, and
carried me to the center of the room, where she stood me on my
feet in front of her, my eyes barely reaching to her shoulder in
the six inch heels she was wearing. Cupping my chin in her thumb
and forefinger, she tilted my head back, forcing me to look up at
her. “Now, little toy man,” she said grimly, “you’re going to
clean up this mess starting right now. And when you’ve finished,
I’d better be able to eat off the floor or you’ll get another
session across my knee that will make the last one feel like love
pats. I’ll be waiting for you upstairs when you’re finished, and
I don’t want to have to wait too long. So hop to it!” As she
turned to go, she hesitated. “And by the way, if you ever try to
hit me in public again, I’ll break you in two like the ten cent
toy you are. Any questions?”
N–no,” I said, and started cleaning up the mess. When I
was finished, I went upstairs, where she made me sleep at the
foot of her bed, under her heel where, as she had said earlier, I
belonged. For the entire next week, as further punishment for my
attempted rebellion, she forced me to satisfy her with oral sex,
permitting me absolutely no sexual pleasure or satisfaction what-
soever. When she finally did relent and take me to bed with her,
however, she gave me orgasm after orgasm at heights I had never
before experienced, even at her hands, and by the time she had
finished all I wanted was to please her and to be taken into her
body and become a part of her.
We have lived together ever since. Contrary to what she
said that night, she has never tired of me, at least not yet.
And I am content to be the male love toy of my beautiful, Amazon-
ian mistress.

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