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For the longest of time, one have been having a dream. A dream which maybe never will be for real.



However, maybe there could be a woman somewhere, whos the same dream as well?



And that would be that she wants a male for herself, to keep him shackles and helpless in her house and make him become her sexual slave.



To make sure he cannot leave, to struggle to get free, or do anything against her will.



To feed the pore male with a Viagra pill and use cock rings and vacuum pumps to make sure that he is ready to be ridden day and night.



Could this woman exist somewhere in the big world?

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3/22/2023 8:41:16 PM

Archaeology is often a detective game. I was on a dig in Iraq. We were digging on the site of a small city that had been claimed by the encroaching dessert over a thousand years ago. The city was home to around three or four thousand people, almost all of them women going by the remains we found, but this isn’t unique. The city in all probability was a widow city. I’ll explain. It’s well documented that throughout our male dominated history, widows are perceived as obsolete. In certain cultures, when a man died, it was expected that his wife, being of no further use to society, would end her own life. Most women with an ounce of common sense fled, and so grew the widow cities. Safe havens from brutal traditions. My gender doesn’t usually affect my work, but being a woman, it was hard not to take things a little personally.

Because of the dry dessert heat, most of what was left behind over a millennium ago had been exceedingly well preserved. I was uncovering a house typical of the era, and furnished accordingly. I’d found chairs, tables, plenty of earthenware pots and pans, all in pristine condition. The house also yielded a lot of weaponry, which was unexpected seeing as the occupants were probably all female. It was exciting to find such well preserved items, but my discoveries weren’t going to rock the archaeological world. As the dig progressed however, I came across one particular that had no obvious function. I did some research to try and find any similar pieces of furniture that may have been found, but nothing like this had turned up before. It was an archaeological mystery. To solve it would be to fit another small piece to a giant historic jigsaw puzzle. Piecing together this jigsaw puzzle is what archaeologists do and so I looked for an answer. What was this used for?

It was carved from a solid block of wood, about six foot long, two foot high and two foot wide. A trough ran its length and one end was slightly raised. On the lip of the trough there were two sets of parallel slots. Perhaps they were used for lifting it. It could almost have been a narrow bed and so I laid down in it to test my theory. It was too uncomfortable to be a bed. My body was wedged tightly into the groove and my head, which was propped up on a deeply indented platform, felt a bit like an egg in an egg cup. This was not a sleep inducing piece of furniture but it was meant to house the human body. The way that the inside had been carefully contoured told me that, but I was still none the wiser as to its usage. The answer came by accident. A small group of us were leaving the following day so we had a little drink together and sure enough the alcohol worked its magic. As the sunset over the Iraqi dessert, five rather drunken archaeologists sat together in a thousand year old house and contemplated the previous tenants.

There were twelve or so women all living together in this one small dwelling. Most other houses that had been uncovered in the area were similar. Between ten and fifteen people living together and working as a unit to serve the needs of a female population in some way or other. One house had a primitive kiln that had baked bread whilst another had various building tools. Here was a city of dispossessed women who had grouped together according to their various skills and talents in order to serve the civic population. Here was a society that demanded respect and further study. Sitting there, a little drunk, I decided to devote time to writing a paper on the subject. I looked around my group of drinking partners and wondered whether any of them had the same idea but they were all studying my unidentified artefact. I suppose if we hadn’t been slightly drunk we’d never have stumbled on the answer.

A noted archaeologist, I won’t mention his name, passed out whilst lying on my unidentified block of wood. His body was wedged tightly in the trough and his head rested face up in the egg cup shaped scoop at one end. The other lightweights trooped off to bed leaving myself, and a close female colleague who shall also remain nameless, to polish off the rest of the booze. Feeling a little mischievous we found some planks of wood and fitted them through the slots carved in my wooden relic. As we slotted the last one into place over his neck, my sleeping colleague awoke to find himself completely trapped and immobilised. We sat back to giggle at our handy work and our colleagues helpless predicament. He took it all in rather good humour and it was only when he made a crude sexual joke about being raped by the two of us that the word eureka came and slapped me hard in the face.

It was so obvious. His pelvis and face were the only accessible parts of his body. This was, for want of a better expression, a rape bench. It was a piece of furniture designed by women to derive sexual pleasure from an imprisoned man. The pieces all fell into place. The realisation excited me both in a professional way and a sexual way. The idea of a helpless male was a real turn on for me, and here was a titillating chance to research a small corner of history where woman ruled supreme and male sex slaves weren’t just an idle fantasy. On a drunken impulse, and also partly to shut him up, I sat on my colleagues upturned face, lightly at first, but then settling full weight. My female colleague was stunned and then amused by my bold action. I don’t know what the man underneath me thought. It was probably extremely uncomfortable for him. His nose must have been squashed flat against the seat of my jeans. I wondered why he hadn’t turned his head to one side and then realised that the furniture had been designed to stop him from doing so. I felt a tingle of excitement and felt an urge to remove my jeans and really have a good grind on his face, but after a month on a dig, I was pretty rank. Showers, baths and other washing facilities weren’t exactly easy to find in the middle of the dessert. I suddenly realised that he would smell through my jeans just how filthy I was and I leapt off his face. I assumed he’d be angry, but when I looked down he was smiling. He sa


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Riverdaughter
 
 Age: 27
 Columbus, Georgia