Breaking the Groom

Author's Note

Breaking the Groom was originally published on Kindle Unlimited, but was taken down because the content violated Amazon's (vague) guidelines. I believe the violence, death, and mind-control mixed with sex was the problem.

The story is about a man whose wedding is crashed by his ex-girlfriend, who happens to be a notorious and powerful supervillain. She takes him back to her lair and subjects him to a number of tortures and sexual experiments to make him love her again. There is extreme tease and denial, BDSM, super-powered violence, and mind control.

I've never been completely happy with this story, and I probably won't revisit it: but never say never. In the meantime, the original is being made available here for free.

Please enjoy, and remember that this is a femdom fantasy. Almost everything depicted would be wrong and/or impossible in real life. If you are a super-powered woman, please use your gifts responsibly and with the minimum of bloodshed.

Part One: Objection

My wedding day goes to crap as I’m about to say “I do.”

With a sudden roar of hurricane-force wind, the church roof peels away and disintegrates. A woman in a skintight purple and white jumpsuit hovers in mid-air: my ex-girlfriend, Valeria. She purses her lips and blows me a kiss.

Etiquette question: at what point in an engagement should you tell your fiancée you used to date a supervillain? Before the church your fiancée’s family has attended for a hundred years is torn to pieces? Perhaps.

Valeria lands with enough force to shatter the slabs of old stone floor. The front row of Janice’s friends and family are pelted with razor-sharp shards flying as fast as bullets. Two of the uncles draw semi-automatics and return fire. We asked them not to bring guns to the wedding, but it’s no surprise they ignored us. I think they’d die if separated from their weapons for even a second.

Against Valeria’s bulletproof body, wrapped in a honeycomb-woven blend of Lycra, latex, and Kevlar, they might as well flick spit balls at an armored car. Valeria puts her hands on her hips and gives them a stationary target: she loves to show off her invulnerability.

Father Green goes down, felled by a ricochet. Blood blooms on his white cassock. My best man takes shrapnel to the arm and runs away.

Valeria returns fire with searing beams of heat vision. She slices though the uncles’ wrists - intense heat cauterizes the wounds. Their hands hit the floor with guns still gripped.

Valeria has crashed my wedding in style.

“You didn’t ask if anyone had reason to object,” says Valeria. “Is that just in the movies?”

Janice marches up to her, a tower of rage in ivory silk and lace. “Who the hell are you?”

Valeria slaps Janice with the back of her hand. My bride-to-be flies through a stained-glass window depicting the story of the Good Samaritan. “I’m the other woman.”

“What are you doing?” I scream. “This is my wedding.”

“Stopping you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

She puts an arm around my waist and - with a mighty leap - rockets us through the empty space where the roof used to be. The ground recedes beneath us. We’re moving too fast for my stomach, already nervous about the wedding, to handle.

“Slow down, I’m going to throw up.”

“Save your breath,” says Valeria. “The air’s about to get real thin.”

I pass out.


I wake, swaddled in high thread-count sheets on a heart-shaped bed. Valeria’s on her side, watching me. I’d forgotten how insanely sexy she is, but having her this close to me, wrapped in a thin suit that clings to every curve like a second skin, brings it all back. Most of it goes straight to my penis. I fight back arousal with mixed results.

“Hey, sleepyhead. How you feeling?”

“Like my head’s full of angry cotton wool.” Harsh sun streams through a curved wall of glass looking out over mountain peaks. We must be in one of Valeria’s secret lairs.

“Sorry. I tried to stay under five thousand feet, but I ran into some anti-air missiles over China.” She strokes my short hair with a gloved hand. “I love you,” she says.

There’s an awkward pause when I don’t say it back.

She strokes my dick and all hope of avoiding arousal disappears at the first touch. “At least part of you is pleased to see me.”

“It’s been three years,” I say. “I didn’t think you were going to get out of UltraMax.”

“They locked me up and threw away the key, but I have a friend who’s good with locks.”

I try to pull her hand away from my dick, but she’s thousands of times stronger than me. “You’ve been given a second chance.”

Her laugh has a hysterical edge. “A second chance to make those sons of bitches pay for stealing three years of my life.”

“They’ll send you back to UltraMax.”

“They might be too busy with me killing them to worry about that.” She shakes her head like a wet dog. “I don’t want to talk about those fuckers, I want to talk about us.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m with Janice now.”

“Janice.” A fleck of spittle lands on my forehead. “Who the hell is Janice?”

“She’s nice. We met through-” I’m not going to tell her that Janice was my handler in witness protection. “-work.”

Valeria snorts. She back flips and strikes a pose at the foot of the bed. “I’m beautiful, I’m funny, and I can fly. What’s she got that I haven’t?”

“I love her.”

“Cassandra will fix that.”



Cassandra is a short, blue-haired woman in a white lab coat. Her domain is a laboratory stocked with unrecognizable equipment, dangerous chemicals, and glowing devices. Everything is organized neatly on stainless steel shelves.

In the center of the lab, surrounded by video monitors and diagnostic equipment, is a gunmetal blue chair. It looks like the one piece of furniture a dentist’s office and an execution chamber could agree on. A menacing array of robot arms hold syringes full of bright liquids.

“Are we ready?” asks Valeria.

“All set,” says Cassandra. Her tone is bubbly, excited.

Valeria rips away the sheet I’ve been using to preserve my modesty.


Valeria strokes my cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Cassie and I don’t have any secrets.”

She drags me to the blue chair and forces me down. Cassandra secures my wrists and ankles with looped metal restraints. She pulls steel bands around my chest and waist that force me to sit straight against the back of the chair.

“Good posture is important,” says Cassandra. “You’ll be in that chair for a while.”

“What’s going on?”

Valeria lowers a tight-fitting metal bowl onto the back of my skull. “Don’t worry sweetie. Cassandra is just going to adjust some of your opinions. No big deal.”

“Not a full brainwashing,” says Cassandra. “It’s a modified Ludivico to induce negative feelings towards your ex-fiancée.”

“AKA Janice the man-stealing bitch,” says Valeria.

I struggle at my restraints, but I’m not going anywhere. “Please, Val, don’t do this.”

“You’re going to want to sit still for the next bit,” says Cassandra. “Unless you like having your eyeballs gouged out.”

Cassandra pulls a thick leather strap across my mouth - it serves double duty as head restraint and gag. Metal fingers tipped with tiny claws swing into position around the edge of my eyes. They grip and pull my eyelids back to expose my eyeballs. I can’t help but look straight ahead.

“We need a baseline reading,” says Cassandra.

A video monitor comes alive. It shows a beautiful slide show of Janice: happy, laughing, enjoying life, kissing me, playing with a kitten. She’s a wonderful woman.

“Positive emotions,” says Cassandra. “I’d say he loves her.”

Valeria snorts. “He thinks he loves her. Poor baby. Start the procedure.”


A robot arm swings across and injects a dose of red liquid into my scrotum. My dick swells to painful erection, straining against the skin like a pig in a blanket. A pair of metal spheres clamp around my balls and a heavy cylinder lined with well-lubricated silicone slides over my dick. I gasp as it wraps my dick in tight, stimulating comfort.

The slide show on the monitor changes. It’s still Janice, but in a less flattering light. A rapid-cut sequence of unpleasant photographs: angry, scolding, sneering, eating a baby, lording it over the depths of hell with a pitchfork. I’m pretty sure some of them are photo-shopped.

Music plays: hateful, auto-tuned pop with too much bass, too loud, on a two-minute loop. Beneath the music are words, whispered at the edge of audibility. I can make out “Hate,” “Fear,” and “Disgust.”

The metal spheres around my balls deliver electric shocks every few seconds on an unpredictable schedule. It’s painful, but not agonizingly so. I try to cry out for them to stop, but all I do is coat the inside of the gag with saliva.

Valeria has a look of concern and curiosity on her face. Cassandra scurries around adjusting dials and examining readouts.

The cylinder begins to massage my dick. I focus on the pleasant sensations of arousal to distract myself from everything else. It doesn’t take long for me to reach the point of climax. I brace myself for release, but the expected orgasm doesn’t happen. Instead, my arousal continues to build under the assault of constant, wonderful stimulation. At first, it’s amazing, but with release constantly denied, it curdles from pleasure to frustration. The frustration doesn’t stop, it keeps climbing. I had no idea my dick was capable of feeling so aroused and so desperate.

“How long is this going to take?” asks Valeria.

“Three days at least.”

I want to scream. It’s been less than half an hour and I already want to die.

“Lets grab a bite,” says Valeria. “You in the mood for sushi?”

Cassandra nods. “I’ll prep the scramjet.” She disappears in a flash of white light, like an old-fashioned television turning off.

Valeria gives me a kiss on the cheek and flies away, leaving me trapped in hell.

Part Two

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