Witches, Snuff Play, Halloween Sex

smashedpumpkinsIt’s November now, which for a Canadian is a month of nothing (our Thanksgiving was last month) and a lot of nostalgia for October. This year, Halloween night meant a private party hosted at chez moi, with select guests of a very particular nature. Kinky and fun – everything you could want. Also I made banana bread AND german apple cakes.

Of course I have a strange feeling you’re not reading this to learn about my culinary offerings, so let’s talk about the party and how it came to involve quite the spooky, sexy success…

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Femdom Review: Lance Hart

19Ridiculously conventionally attractive guy decides to take on the abysmal nature of current femdom porn and make his own videos? Yes please! His stage name is Lance Hart, and if you haven’t heard about him, you probably should.

As well as femdom, he also is trying to do something better about the quality of FM/m cuckold porn. A surprising odd facet of the industry- its actually apparently very hard to get a lot of actors who will do gay and straight male roles. his other specialties- M/m (for you women who love to see two dudes at the same time), ball busting and spandex. And you’d think the last part would be weird but he’d been pretty creative with a bunch of superhero spoof videos.

lancefacepicAs a producer and actor, Lance is working his butt off on his own personal corner of the fetish world. Although he’s simply phenomenal looking (I mean jesus, dat bone structure), he’s also putting his money where his mouth is and rather than complaining about porn with male subs depicted as unworthy and unwanted, everything I’ve seen him in completely acknowledges you could actually prefer male submission.

I had the good fortune to get some review copies of his videos, and then like a giant flake, dropped off the map.  So here’s my chance to try to make it up to everyone and give a sincere review of the stuff he’s producing for one of his projects: Sweet Femdom.

Here’s the scoop on his self produced malesub/femdom work:

What he gets right- Videos depict sub guys as inherently desirable and the focus of sexual attention. Amusing ideas that put female dominants in a role with more agency than just being irate. I find it easy to project myself into the actresses in his vision. and how often do I get to say that?

What didn’t work for me- Try as I might, many of the scenarios lacked a little bit of chemistry or tended to veer into too absurd. For example I liked the idea in one of his sample videos of a woman who hires a stripper to take advantage of- turning what was supposed to be a sexy dance into wicked abuse. One the other hand the mood ended up being good natured confusion “Oh, you want to kick me in the balls repeatedly instead? Oooookay!” thus losing the forced elemen. While Lance Hart’s body is made for still photography, he’s still testing the waters for the right mood in motion- looks super vulnerable in stills, tends to look mildly flabbergasted when acting in his own stuff.

Nonetheless, I’d be interested to see what he is producing in another couple of years- there’s some raw talent these I hope gets nurtured. He definitely deserves a break and I’d totally put him on the list of people to follow with enthusiasm. Also kink.com does a very good job making use of his talents- so check out their work with him- guy’s got a very expressive face- when he’s on a roll with the acting he’s fun as well as hot.

So without further ado:

Twitter: @lancehartfetish
Instagram: Candid shots and stills.
His Work With Kink.Com: Their direction with him is fabulous.
Gofundme (He’s working on improving his videos): fetish film fund

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“Don’t Make Me Come!” AKA Forced Orgasms

slavestatueSo Wildcard and I continue our happy domestic little nest of kinky libertines together.

Recently Wildcard had a mild fuck up while we were playing that left me slightly pouty. This being conduct unbecoming of a Gentleman Nemesis, a forfeit was in order. And I picked a favourite of mine. Endless edging, for a week. Every night, until he literally is begging and pleading for me to stop and he worries for the structural integrity of his cock he gets teased. And used. And teased some more. And I don’t “let” him come, I force him to, in big shudder-y orgasms that leave him convulsing and weak.

It’s so bad he’s coined the term ‘orange balls’ for the opposite of sexual frustration. But there’s a dirty little trick I have hidden up my sleeve.

You see, Wildcard loves non-con. He’s not the sort of guy you degrade and reject. I’ve made no secret he’s a decorative- my sex slave not my domestic help (or my wimpy source of income like a weird porn cliche). So as long as he has no choice I can make him get horny. He has no control- I can use him how I see fit.

Of course you know limits and safewords and yadda, yadda. We take care of all that mutual loving respect stuff just dandy. And then… he’s a toy I get to torment on my terms. And I adore seeing him come as much as I like edging him. So he begs. And he pleads “Please don’t make me come! Stop! Stop!” and sometimes I just don’t listen.

Sometimes I use him with my cunt, forcing him rock hard- he’s always a bit to big for me- even when I’m wet onto my thighs it’s a tight squeeze. But I like it that way and I like how he simply can’t control himself inside me. Sometimes I use my mouth, letting my tongue and nerve rich lips enjoy him while he has to keep his arms out of the way and all he can do is plead.

But much of the time my hand ends up around his cock. Sometimes still slippery from my mouth, sometimes slicked with a palm full of sweet almond oil, so I can make it last.

The head of his cock gets so tender, even touching it makes him gasp. And night after night for the last week I play, sometimes taking my hand away at just the right moment while he struggles to compose himself and his cock pulses- often he’s tough and fights for control, the first few times just getting to the edge. But I don’t just use my mouth to suck and lick. All those dirty thoughts and fantasies you guys enjoy reading come out, coaxing him into squirting all over his thighs with my words alone.

And sometimes, when he’s finally too sensitive to take much more, I bear down and I squeeze with my hand, forcing a real orgasm out of him, even as he pleads for it to stop.

He thinks one of these nights I’m going to milk him so much he comes dust.

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Friday Femdom Fiction: She Tells Him The Terms of Surrender

You want to belong to me, don’t you?

You want that sensation of connectedness- you know I’m lovely, beautiful- I light up the room when I enter it. You’ve seen me naked, moon pale, lips and cunt slashes of petal pink. You’ve seen me in tight black, perched atop spike heels, wide hips swaying.

You’ve seen me look over my shoulder at you, belly down on the bed, your borrowed t-shirt not quite reaching to the full swell of my ass, draping loose around my little body. You’ve touched me. Tasted me, been inside me. Nobody knows my body better than you now, other than me.

Now you get to see me come through the door every day, get to press your face into my lap whenever you need a pick me up with my warmth and female scent.  You’re hooked.

But you know you could never, never own me. You’re afraid of that, afraid of watching my perfect ass for the last time as I leave for work. Afraid of how I make you feel, all weak inside, because you crave me in a way that borders on a real addiction.

We both know if you wanted you could wall yourself up. Go all tough guy and cold, cut of your nose and spite your face and walk away yourself. But you don’t want to. You want to make me stay. I make you force yourself to tell me all your dirty little secrets and tender places.

You want to wake up to feeling my hand on your cock, to fall asleep next to my warm body wriggling in under your arm, the little yelp and pout as you tweak one erect nipple though my tank top. You want to feel my tongue on your balls, lips around, nibbling, nuzzling.

You want to feel my hand on your throat, the cuffs on your wrists, spreading out splayed on the bed. You want to feel my cunt eat every inch of you as I straddle your lap. You want me to force you to meet my eyes, even as you try to look away.

It’s something I know you crave. You want to be vulnerable to me, kneel for me, take pain for me. You know nobody else is capriciously loving and cruel, can make you hurt with a smile and then kiss you like she means it.

We’ve been playing these little games for a long time, haven’t we? Every time the stakes get a little higher. Remember the first game I made you play where you traded one hard spank to get to kiss my breasts?

Or remember the day I told you I loved you? You were sitting tender for a week, but you got lured in when I told you I had a secret and then you just had to beg to know.

But this game is bigger than that, and it’s got a forfeit. What are you going to give to have me for keeps?

You know the answer- there’s a price to pay for your pleasure. You have to submit to me. Completely.

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Three BDSM Collars for Two Men

BDSM collars with leash custom made collarI’ve given two people collars in my life, both times not at a real symbol of forever, but as a symbol of something transient.

One was blue, and made of a pretty braided loop, the other one was a deep brown leather and studded all over. The last one isn’t really a BDSM collar in the sense most people would think of, even if it goes around the neck.

There were other games of course, with that black dollarstore dog collar that it seems like every teenage goth had in the early 2000s as a fashion accessory. But that was a toy with nothing attached other than fun.

For An Experienced Submissive

I gave the first one to a man who was a submissive mentor or sorts- while we were not compatible for a long term thing, he opened a lot of possibilities for me and was very patient with a naive new femdom. That was a parting gift, ordered at a leather and kink shop in Montreal and snuck into his hotel room with a plate of homemade cakes. I picked the colour and design because he was Swedish, and bound to return home across the Atlantic, and because he wasn’t a hard, harsh person.

I don’t know, in the end, if he kept it. We mostly lost touch and it’s not important, because the relationship is going to symbolize different things for him. He left behind a scarf and a few letters that are well hidden away, just about forgotten for me- I think more about the positive impact that it had on my confidence, more than anything else. That collar was almost like an attempt to lock all the good memories of the time we had together into the narrow confines of its loop.

For Hope And a New Submissive

The second one was a Christmas gift for Wildcard. We were still so new that it was not even official, and I knew that these things might not last, and that it was too early for any smart person to answer anything other than “maybe”. And I didn’t want anything more than that, then, but I wanted to give him something that was about possibilities.

A leather working friend made me that collar- and I gave it to him with a big pile of little mundane vanilla gifts, shyly telling him it was a play collar. It actually took two incarnations to get it right- the first, of vegan leather, was a little too stiff, but the second is still around. I picked  brown because it was a colour he wore a lot, and asked for it to be masculine but not butch, set with a heavy duty fastener in the front to weigh it so the buckle sat in the back and I could still attach a leash.

At the time, I down played it, shy he’d take it as crazy talk, like some sort of overly attached girlfriend. I must have down played it too much, because Wildcard, a switch and a brat, reacted to the gift by declaring that hey, he could try it on me!

I gave a strong reaction, flustered, insisting that NO! It was for him! And it’s come out to play several times since then, but mostly it lives in a bag under the bed with all the other toys. He doesn’t think about it or its implications, which is not something that bothered me- it makes me smile and it was a good stepping stone for working out what we wanted.

The Collar That Is Not Quite Your Usual BDSM Collar

And then there is the third collar I make myself. Pulled out of the sewing box, bright, thick satiny ribbon to go about his neck, we use that regularly, and I tie it in place, telling him that this means he’s a pet, and pets don’t get to feel guilty. I like to look after my submissives more so than to receive service by default. When we play, and connect, it’s about bridging that barrier we keep up, between ourselves and the world.

Kink is about opening up, as much as it is about playfulness. This will never be serious business for me- BDSM collars can be sentimental, but valuable in the way I stole and wear one of Wildcard’s sweaters. But there’s a vulnerability even in the silliness and the banality of real life because it’s basically letting yourself be a sort of real you don’t share with most people.

I don’t know if a ribbon will always be the collar we default to. Maybe someday I’ll order him a replacement from a craft working friend again. Maybe I’ll take up awl and leather and make him one myself, or beads, or maybe never. But each collar has in turn served its purpose.

While there’s a lot of snark about velcro relationships- slave today, free tomorrow, I think that a BDSM collar doesn’t have to be forever to serve its purpose. They just have to work in the moment.

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General Life Updates – What’s coming?

So I’m planning out my projects in some sort of orderly fashion. Here’s what’s coming down the pipe. I have a bunch of fiction to bang out, as well as some vanilla things, and best of all, this Halloween a kinky party. Woo, private decadent fun!

Writing queue:

First, for contest winners, 3 different 500 word stories…

Mikey: The epilogue to super porn.

JT: A night out is a slow burn tease.

G Loss: Pick something! Come on!

Then:

The last 20K words of Catamite, concluding the story.

Followed by a few ideas- what do you guys think would make a good ebook next?

1) A dominant woman has a first date with a substandard sub and gives the waiter her number instead, hijinks ensue.

2) She goes to discuss her grade with her TA- only she’s graduated and she wants him for her sub.

3) He’s completely naked at a party at her say so, and is utterly humiliated while watching her.

4) Two shy lovers both into BDSM confess their kinks to their partner, thinking the other to be pure vanilla.

5) He gives himself to her for the holidays, as her Christmas Slave [This one is about 1/4 written].

6) In the spacefaring future, a captured human researcher is forced to teach an alien planet’s primitive tribal queen about his culture’s secrets, while providing a sexual awakening for her.

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In Which Domestic Servitude Didn’t Happen

spring-53-servantsRecently I experimented with interviewing a service sub.

Wildcard, bless him, responds to the constant trickle of male attention I get by being amused through to delighted. For the most part the attempts to scale Fortress Pearl tend to be alarmingly unfortunate- bad spelling and bigger egos demanding dynamics with me NOW before first names are even exchanged, much less confirmed.

Wildcard, who is as I describe to others, purely decorative, likes to read my fetlife messages, chortling at every unsolicited Goddess or presumptuous Mistress plz.  Recently, following a conversation focused on upgrading our cheap apartment, I attracted a service oriented sub. And he at least was a cut above the usual nonsense.

I like domestically fussy things. I have multiple pinterest boards devoted to that sort of foof, and Wildcard woo’ed me on my birthday with the gift of an Imperial Red Kitchenaid. But honestly, I’m very disorganized. You would think, given this fact and my orientation, I’d be awash in nice men scrubbing and polishing, but I’ve always shied away from domestic servitude.

I have never been able to put my finger on precisely why- maybe it’s being. Or maybe it’s because every hint of the experience has ended like so:

Enter “Servile” via a fetlife message. Other than a surprising devotion to misuse of ellipsis, he seems sincere enough. I make myself honest in my response- my profiles are not set to looking and this is not a fetish I’ve had any experience with outside of that one guy who did my dishes and tried to give me a Clocky.

And, I stressed the importance Wildcard had in my life, how he mattered to me and so on. This was all very well and good by Servile. He just wanted to serve, and according to him, served married women in the past. He was the cliche, high powered business dude who just wanted to let it all go on his hands and knees.

After a couple of weeks of banal back and forth in which I was bombarded with enthusiasm and he attempted to indicate if I ever wanted my feet seen to it would be pedicure city. Not my thing- I prefer to leave the pedicures to the professionals, but whatever…

A few things bugged me- first of all I didn’t like that he jumped straight into dynamic city, nor that he didn’t stop dropping his phone number, even though I had no intention of giving a stranger mine. He conveniently did not address my observation that such an experienced sub should have references.

But exeriences are meant to be had, so I suggested that we meet for tea at a local tea room far enough from my house to be safe, where upon a guy who looked nothing like his profile picture (a headless set of defined abs turned into a sort of brick shaped guy in a Ralph Lauren shirt) shyly attempted to kiss my hand. This resulted in a sour retraction of said limb- I do NOT do hand smootches from people trying to indicate they want to have a valet fantasy with me. The valet does NOT kiss the mistress.

Servile’s story included being the publisher of a fetish magazine with 3000 visits a day. Curious, I asked the name of such a popular publication- never heard of it, but I was willing to look it up. I admit a certain degree of pleasure in being able to waltz in like I owned the place.

We talked for a bit, mostly about him- conversation varying from him being a Very Important Business Man and the usual ‘ZOMG so pretty and imperious!’ I’m not going to lie, when nature gives you skin that makes A4 printer paper look sallow and tanned, inky hair, and a face with a nose that should have a carved naked wooden lady on it, I ain’t ever going to pull off girl next door. So it’s nice my body fits who I am.

Then the subject of references came up, something he seemed flabber ghasted by. He eventually dropped a few names I recognized, before producing the zinger that he was such a catch that obviously doms wouldn’t want to give him a reference. Because you know true doms won’t, right? For example [prodom] wouldn’t say nice thing about him because she wants his service. I happen to know [prodom], I’m relatively well connected, so this did not bode well.

Turns out the magazine is a facebook page with 3000 likes TOTAL. I contacted [prodom], who more than anything else, was confused as hell. So, nope. No valet for me. sorry Servile, your story has too many holes.

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30 Days of Kink: Happy and Curious!

30 days of kink is almost finished up, especially with me cramming multiple days in a go. Thankfully, after several days asking me to whine, these few days are all about good things and stuff I like again.

Day 19: Any unexpected ways kink has improved your life?  If so, what are they?

Uh, unexpected? I guess the BDSM scene gives me a chance to practice being in an organizational role, based on the whole munch thing, so there’s that…

I don’t think kink adds anything to my life that wasn’t already there- if I had vanilla sexuality I’d probably be just as invested volunteering related to that. I guess I will have to admit if I wasn’t so darn reliant on text RP for titillation as a teenager, I’d never have developed my writing ability? But I’m not a person who takes BDSM very seriously as a self identity and this informs how much it’ll effect other parts of my life.

Day 20:  Talk about something within kink/bdsm that you’re curious about/don’t understand.

I’m curious why femdom and maledom end up looking so radically different a lot of the time in porn, when in practice the gender of the dominant is way less crucial to the packaging than the fetish selection might imply. I mean other than “the Patriarchy”, which seems disappointing.

Day 21: Favorite BDSM related book (fiction or non-fiction)

Gosh, that’s a tough one. I’ve already demonstrated a certain degree of cynicism regarding the mainstream stuff aimed at femdom- eg my review of The Mistress Manual. I like some fiction, but BDSM as a setting can only go so far, especially when I’m firmly into being an evil fetishist but I like character depth and not snuff. For example the Little Submissions guy gets it right, but all his stuff are vignettes.

Tanith Lee is my secret teenage femdom mentor- her fiction is what YA budding dominant women should read for self indulgent but delightful purple prose and characters that reflect a lot of different ways to be dominant while still being painfully young and human.

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Femdom Fiction: Supermale VS Amazing Amazon

One Month Ago

“It’s really better if you didn’t visit, Mark.” Her hand reached up, lingering on his cheek and he saw the hesitancy in her face, but then her familiar expression of determination locked in place, banishing that hint of wistfulness. “I’m transferring to The Gothton Times because I need a change.  I need my own space.”

“But what if you got into trouble? I’ll still be watching.” He looked around the small apartment, already half packed into neat cardboard boxes,  unsure if he believed the permanence of what was happening, even as Lola Lean pulled journalism award plaques off the top of her crowded bureau and haphazardly into a box marked ‘Bedroom #3′ in a nearly unreadable scrawl. “Here, that’s too heavy for you, let me take that.”

“Don’t. And don’t worry about me. Your place is here, in Megacity. I need to leave precisely because I can’t live the rest of my life in the shadow of the Man of Steel. It’s great that I can always know you’ll catch me if I fall, but I need more than a super powered safety net if I’m going to grow.”

“But you’re a wonderful journalist, Lola Lean. Much better than me.” He reached for her arm, only to watch her pull away, hugging the box to her chest, shaking her head at him. “I remember how you used to fight to cover the stories that everyone else was too scared to touch.”

“I know, but that’s just it.  I used to write about predatory payday lenders and crooked lobbyists. Since Supermale came to the city I haven’t written about anything else other than the next big monster tearing up the streets.” She pointed out the apartment window, in the direction of the noisy construction going on outside, the latest rebuilding. “Sure, they run my stories on the front page, week in and week out, but I’m not a serious journalist anymore, I’m your PR girl.”

“But what if something happened? What if… When you’re away from me someone attacked Gothton city and…” He found himself reaching for these scenarios almost hopefully. “Besides, that city is full of maniacs! ”

“And there are plenty of competent heroes in Gothton. You know it’s Man Who Dresses like a Bat’s territory and anyway, Gothton needs investigative reporting much more than shiny, happy perpetually demolished Megacity and it’s endless Obviouslyevilcorp press releases. The Gothton Times might be another Wain Industries puppet, but they promised to let me write whatever I wanted, which is much more exciting than Parry chasing me to get another exclusive interview with you. God, I’m sick of asking you the same stupid non-questions and I could write those starry-eyed post calamity gratitude columns in my sleep by now…” She stopped abruptly, seeing his stricken face. “I’m not being fair, you’re right, Megacity has every reason to be happy you are here to protect them. But Megacity needs you, I don’t.”

“Lola!”

“I think we need to take some time apart, otherwise even with me moving away it’ll be too easy to just have you swoop in and have the whole story be about you.”

Two Weeks Ago

A giant metal hulk crashed through the side wall of a bank.  A streak of blue and red landed on its chest, and there was a brief twisting motion before the piece of metal tore away, and then the colourful blur lunged, dragging a struggling body out of the exposed cockpit and tossing.

The body starfished out as it flew through the air, limbs splaying just in time to impact a big shop window across the street. The view then abruptly pulled back to the now collapsing robot, as the blue and red streak launched itself back into the air, and then cut to another scene, in front of the Megacity police main headquarters. This time security cameras caught a collision perspective as the red and blue blur exploded through the doors, tossing three unconscious and battered men onto the tile. Anxious police rushed from their desks to the scene, only to see Supermale gesticulating angrily and pointing.

A third clip showed explosions at the dock, and a flying figure dropping heavy barrels and crates onto a boat approaching the harbour.

“Clarence Ripper will probably walk again, but he’s going to need heavy rehabilitation and he’s lucky that rescue workers were already on hand to save his life. Meanwhile Supermale forcibly detained Mr. Manheim and two of his associates repeatedly until the Megacity police were willing to take him into protective custody, since they have yet to actually prove Manheim’s connection to Intergang strongly enough to justify issuing an arrest warrant. Obviouslyevilcorp is now suing the port of Megacity for damages to their holdings, alleging that although they had no knowledge that ship contained illegal cargo from El Sebra, leaking that information to Supermale, not the police, was a breach in ethics that led to millions of dollars of property damage.”

Two people watched the screen, a man with vivid green skin and a woman with lush dark curls and strong shoulders.

It was the man with vivid green skin who spoke first. “It seems like in the last few weeks, our fellow Law Union member has taken it on himself to completely overturn the city that is his beloved home.”

Dianthe listened, letting her compatriot finish speaking. A slight furrow in her fine Adriatic brow marked her concern as she considered the situation, letting her wisdom check her immediate reaction, but admitting, “That is not the Supermale that I remember. That is no principled warrior.”

“He has grown erratic.”

“And arrogant. Despite his increase in activity he gave us no notification. The Flash reports refugees ”

“It is perhaps understandable for an outsider to become detached from his adopted culture.”

“I do remember your own struggle H’onn, and we all lose our path sometimes. But you decided to take some time away from our work. Supermale… he is on a dangerous journey.”

“Perhaps his friends should step in. I am sure the Man Who Dresses like a Bat already has a plan in place.”

“No, I think this is something that I should take care of.”

“Perhaps, but do you feel the rest of the team should be involved?”

“You empathize with his position as an outsider, but Supermale is also a warrior. Whatever scheme the Man Who Dresses like a Bat has concocted would be more focused on neutralizing him, than helping him, and I do not think Supermale will take a direct appeal to reason in his current state. And, none of you have the aptitude to match him in a field of battle alone, but as a team he would see our collective actions as further justification for his alienation.”

“Very well.” There was a rustle of a blue package, as green fingers retrieved a chocolate and white cookie from the plastic sleeve. “Let us all hope you succeed, for his sake.”

Now

The alarms were subsonic, but the thief knew he was already in trouble. pelting out of the First Megacity Bank at high speed, he hoped against hope that the bag of cash he was holding under his arm was free of dye bombs.

Dianthe took a post on a third floor balcony. The alarm was an irritating whine to her heightened senses, and she knew it was going to work as well as a dog whistle on her quarry. Sure enough, she saw the red of his cape as he swooped down towards the fleeing felon.

Her sharp eyes calculated the trajectory, and saw the outcome before it happened. Carelessly, Supermale had done nothing to check his momentum. Mere property theft stood a good chance of costing the thief his life. Reacting with quick reflexes, she dove, trusting in the gift of Hermes to carry her aloft in the right path. She caught the thief in a mid section tackle, rolling him out of the way of his danger.

Where Supermale hit the ground, the asphalt cracked. Briefly startled, this gave her time to scoop up the thief and run, with the ski mask wearing robber in a fireman’s carry.

She cut a path to a battle ground she had already scouted out, a section of collapsed building, still bearing the imprint of the super powered conflict that had demolished the block months before, properly uninhabited.

“Amazing Amazon!” Supermale’s voice was impatient. “If this is League business, you should tell me who this man is.”

“This man is nobody more important than any other person.” Slung over her shoulder, the thief whimpered, ignored. “It’s you I wish to talk to you.”

“Very well, hand him to me and I’ll deliver him to Justice and then we’ll speak.”

“No. You will probably hurt him.” Bait or not, he was still a person and she wasn’t going to let him get killed in trying to reach her fellow league member. “I’ll turn him in.”

“He is a thief and this is my city. Don’t tell me how to keep the streets safe!”

She let her captive squirm down behind her, but the felon was too terrified to run and stayed put, cowering at her back. She squared her shoulders, issuing the challenge she had intended all along. “Supermale, I will offer you a deal.  Spar with me, and you may take this man. If not, I will bring him in.”

“Spar? You’d lose.” He looked her up and down with his uniquely piercing gaze. She knew while her heightened senses gave her perception far beyond a normal mortal, for him, he could see through her. Physically, at least. Mentally, she knew his mind was clouded by some secret pain.

“Don’t be so sure, Farmboy. I’m a warrior trained in the Amazon way,” she sensed a little hesitation and added, “Or is the ‘world’s strongest hero’ afraid his reputation is a lie?”

There was still hesitancy on his part when they circled each other. The felon, fearing and not understanding, escaped only as far as a piece of fallen brick wall, where he cowered in its cover.

A long time ago, when they first met, she had already sized him up as a possible opponent, and her first impression wasn’t altered now. He had an imposing, perfect physique, shoulder spread optimized to his height and weight so that no part of his anatomy unbalanced another. His handsomeness came from that same optimized ratio, with a square jaw, unblemished skin from a lifetime free from disease and accidents, and a distinctive dip in the front of his hair curling. And yet, despite his physical confidence, she saw a country boy bashfulness. She could guess what he was thinking and planned her attack accordingly.

He saw a woman with wild dark curls, held from her brow by a diadem that owed more to the design of a helm than a fantasy crown. Bold scarlet for her bodice, and gold at her bust and belt, an eagle’s wings spread across her breasts. Blue for her hips, with silver stars, the same metal for the bracers around her wrists. Boots that rose to her knees, red and fitted to the elegant taper from muscular calf to feminine ankle. [1]

She noted his eyes finding the tanned swell of her powerful thighs and hid a smirk. Femininity meant strength to her, but outside the island of her upbringing, she knew men saw womanly as fragile. The first attack was up to her, because something in his upbringing had taught him not to expect it. His reaction was clumsy, but blocked her, to her expectation, and the fight was properly engaged.

She was lithe for a woman of her stature, and squirmy. Whenever he thought he had her held in place she would shift a little, using his weight and momentum against him. The truth was that, fine male specimen or not, Supermale’s invulnerability had left him sloppy.

“Did your mother never teach you how to box?”

The fight took to the air, caroming off each other and  only to end up twined together. This was pankration, no holds barred unarmed combat. And while her opponent’s childhood featured cornfields and idyllic games of baseball, hers was spent in dirt ring arenas with her sisters in arms, sweating and fighting for every little advantage among the most gifted women in the world.

Gradually, ever so gradually, as Supermale would pull himself out of a pin, or wrench out of the grip of the same legs he had been admiring, she wore him down. It took eleven long, dirty hours until she was confident enough to reach for her lasso.

The golden cord let her bind him hand and foot in the girdle of Aphrodite. Hog tied, she hoisted and despite his continued struggles, lifted him up. She spoke softly so as not to be caught by the media cameras and microphones of the Megacity news crews trying to make sense, tender now, and careful of her captive’s vulnerabilities. His secrets were still precious and not to be shared with anyone, just because she bested him.

“Why are you being so rough? So arrogant with the trust that has been placed in you to preserve life, peace and safety?”

He struggled, and she saw many conflicted feelings pass through him, but the rope pulled the truth out, surprising even him, “I feel alone. I am the best this city has to defend it, but it brings nobody close to me. I yearn for someone whose strength of will can match my strength of body.”

Even as the words left his mouth, she saw a peace come over him.

“You long to submit?”

“To a woman who respects me but does not fear me. There was once a woman that… that I loved and could press her will against mine, but she is gone. I feel like everyone will go and that nothing I do will be good enough.”

“You have friends. Isn’t that enough?” But a half smile hinted she knew what he was going to say next. “The League will always be there for you. and even if we disbanded tomorrow, I’d still look out for you.”

“I want to be loved. To belong.”

“To be owned?”

“…Yes.” His blue eyes were wide.

“We will go where we may be alone and we will talk about what it means to belong to an Amazon.”

They lifted off together, still facing each other, blue and red into the evening sky. Her hand took his, leading the way.

Two Hours Later

The room was flanked by columns, white marble, curtained, a part of a pocket sized villa edged into a mountain top. She’d told him about how the developer had been inspired by the architecture of Themiscyra as they’d landed on a balcony. She said the breezes blowing off the Pacific reminded her of home, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, before leaving him in what turned out to be a comfortable but sparely decorated bedroom.

He was a different sort of helpless, utterly confused by what he was supposed to do next. She told him that she was going to refresh herself and for him to wait. Perhaps a half hour later she returned, with her dark hair made inky with traces of moisture and her armoured costume traded for the loose folds of a traditional peplos, the whisper soft saffron and royal purple fabric caressing rather than clinging to her body.

“Your submission is a surrender, and you must give it to me.” He wondered, though he was the taller of the pair, how she managed to impose. “Take off your cloak, your boots, and all other things that hide you nakedness from me.”

He swallowed reflexively, and presently, peeled from his body, his costume was puddled on the floor between them. Casually, one sandal clad foot kicked the pile of fabric away and she took her time visually inspecting his body.

“Among the girls at Themiscyra, it was not unusual for our games to play with power.” Her smile was impish. “I soon learned where I wanted to be in those games, but also that I wanted more than the company of my own sex.”

Her fingers touched his shoulder, and he blushed, as if this was his first time he’d been with a woman. Lola Lean had been uncomplicatedly enthusiastic, as demanding as she was simple in her tastes, but the best abstinence only sex education offered by the public school system in the state of Kansas and Ma Kent’s bedside copy of “Outlander” left him with little internal script of what was expected of him.

“There’s no shame in wanting to claim someone, but that means no shame in wanting to be claimed.” He could feel her fingernails now, testing. “Male bodies are fascinating. So like and yet not like the bodies of women.”

He saw her hold a thin piece of metal band. “You will show me you are worthy to carry my mark of ownership. It will be taken willingly, but I must know by how you act that you are committed to serving me.”

Her touch on his body got more forceful, slapping, pinching, exploring. “There will be no secret places, no hidden resistance. You will be like a perfect slave to me. You want that, don’t you? And you will satisfy me. That means fuck me how I want it.”

Farmboy innocence left him stammering, feeling at once very male as his penis crept up, and unmanned by the complete lack of control. A bit of guilt nagged, telling him that he should somehow be able to take the lead and know what she was talking about.

“You’re covering yourself.” She made a snorting laugh and her hand met his face, with no cushioning to the slap. She didn’t need to hold her strength, and he felt the full force. His hands lifted, leaving the prim clasp over his bare groin, but he checked his defensive parry, only to hear her next command.

“Kneel.”

His knees thunked into the stone floor, as solidly as if she’s sweep kicked the back of his legs.

“Already hard for me? Do you know how to edge yourself?”

His hand found his cock again as she gathered the hem of her peplum gathered to her waist, he could see the dark triangle of her pubic hair. “Let’s see what you can do with that mouth on my cunt. Oh, look at that, you want it don’t you?”

He nodded.

“Say it. Say how much you want to taste me.”

He begged.

“Lick me, lick my aidoion.” The wet, tucked and vivid pink folds of her labia were a welcome point of focus. He hoped he knew what he was doing. Lola Lean generally didn’t ask for this unless she was at least a little tipsy, and then she preferred feather light touches. He put those assumptions about women out of his head when he felt her roughly yank his hair, grinding against his face.  “Bite!”

“Mmmph?!” She had him on his back now, head pinned with her thighs, sure he misheard her.

“Show me your strength. It belongs to me now, my big slave, so use it!” She was smothering him, cutting off his air even as she pleasured herself.

Aggressive nips with his teeth only seemed to inflame her. They ended up in another more intimate wrestling match, this time with her goading him on. His face was all wet with her, her taste in their kisses, her nails raking down his ribs, and in turn, his hands getting tangled in the soft fabric of the peplum until it tore and she laughed and slapped his chest hard, unpinning it from her shoulders.

Her cunt slid against him, so slippery against his body, moaning letting the natural motion of their bodies struggling together guide it. Again, she spoke what he was thinking, teasing him about how he was clearly burning up to get inside of her.

“But don’t you dare come!” She chided. “Your seed belongs to me and I decide when you spend it.”

He gave a whimper as he felt himself slip in, and the grip of her cunt engulf, and the guttural groan. He noticed that, as her thighs made her hips slide up and down. more snatches of old, old Greek mixed in with her love taunts. “Ah… fuck.”

“I’m not going to be able to… to”

“No!” She stopped moving, letting him scramble for composure. “You belong to me, I say when.”

With maddening, self focused motivation, she would stop and start, teasing and building her own crescendo. He could feel the intense grip of her strength and she seemed to like angling her hips just so, breathing getting more ragged, using him until her cries turned into an intense gasp and then more strange words in her own language that he took at prayers or profanity.

At her reaction he clenched his jaw, before adding some blasphemy of his own, “Oh my god! Please can I come? Please!”

“No, we just started, my silly slave boy.”

48 hours later

He didn’t want to take the collar off. It was nestled snuggly about his neck, the metal circlet she’d folded into place with her bare hands. It was comforting, as comforting as the strength in her arm that still held him to her, even as she gently tended to him in the aftermath.

“You know, there’s a precedent for this.” She said, voice a little hazy and still cozily swathed in the glow fading from her sixth and final orgasm.

“Really?” All of him was sore, but bits of him most pleasantly, reminders. Pain was such a rarity is was nice to be able to feel it. He remembered her hands, slapping, pinching, and her pinning him repeatedly, never letting him forget that although he was stronger, she was still in charge.

“Heracles and his twelve tasks. When he lost his first wife, Megera, he went a little mad. The Gods, in their wisdom gave him twelve tasks.”

“The Aegean stables and the bit with the lion?” His face nuzzled against her naked belly, memories from J-school electives coming back.

“His twelfth task. Defeating miscellaneous monsters was heroic, but the point was to teach him humility. He was already a half god, only half mortal and the strongest man to walk the islands.”

“What they make him do?” Dianthe had an almost intoxicating natural scent that made him wonder if it was some god-gift like the rest of her talents, or just part of her beauty. It came out best when she exerted herself.

“He was sent to serve Queen Omphale of Lydia for a year.” Her fingernails dragged gently over his skin, soothing where she had just recently slammed him into the floor hard enough to crack the marble. “She made him a slave, to serve her and her handmaidens.”

“What happened after a year?”

“Well the legends vary, but most accounts say after the year was up, she took him for keeps.”

Any similarity to characters belonging to publishing companies is covered under fair use parody laws. 

This story was commissioned by a blog fan who kindly offered to have me share it with everyone. To order your own BDSM & femdom stories, send me a message via my handy contact form or send an email to miss.pearl.chain@gmail.com.

Posted in O Fiction | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Moronic Messages: Backpeddling Butthurt

There’s nothing a dominant woman likes more than being randomly solicited. This conversation took place in my inbox via reddit. I’d posted in a completely kink unrelated thread about the website policy, mentioning I was moderator of /r/femdomcommunity, and clearly this guy took it as a good reason to reach out.

Him: Hey…how’s it going? (kay, not so bad, but you know these kinds of things never end well)

Me: Hello! Well, I suppose… (be nice Pearl, he could be a lost newbie…)

Him: Curious- do you get a lot of random PMs like this?

Me: Once in a blue moon. Can I help you with something? (wait for it, wait for it…)

Him: Wanna be my online domme? I mean I’ve got Skype- want to instruct me as to what to do and stuff? I love taking orders… (BAM! There he goes!)

Me: Absolutely not. Do you think all female dominants provide some sort of online wanking assistance programming or something?
Or did you assume because I mentioned my sexual orientation I wanted to be solicited by randoms?

Him: JC. Only asking… calm down (because the best thing you can do is tell a woman she’s getting emotional)

Me: Fuck off. I was telling you very plainly what your mistake was, you don’t get to hide your bad manners behind curiosity and then accuse me of being unreasonable. You sexually solicited a stranger, you don’t get to control her reaction.

Do you think all female dominants provide some sort of online wanking assistance programming or something?

Or did you assume because I mentioned my sexual orientation I wanted to be solicited by randoms?

Him: You didn’t ‘plainly tell me what my mistake was’. Just sounded like you wanted something to bitch about. Why do you have to be mean? A simple yes/no will suffice. I didn’t force you to do it, just asked a question. (You got an answer buddy. Don’t whine.)

Me: Because you are a presumptive twit who just asked me “wanna cyber” because you saw femdom and assumed it meant I wanted to be solicited, and when I called you on it you acted like a butt hurt little bitch. Now go away.

Him: Stop looking for something to get pissed off at.

Me: Still talking? Waaah, waaaah. Guy with no social skills is mad strange woman didn’t respect him after he solicited her like a cheap whore. So sad!

Him: Ha I’m not the one who’s losing their temper, silly woman. (So submissive. Much respect for women. So very slave!)

Me: Awwww, look, he’s trying to hold frame!

Ladies, I bet he’s still single. ;)

Posted in O Dear | Tagged , | 3 Comments