Femdom Life: Fingering, Negotiations & Ruined Orgasms

Friday night, we have sex.

He reached for me, nestling the length of his body into the roundness of mine. Even when he’s no longer the skinny boy I started dating, and has filled out into muscle and robust health, he’s still made of stiff lines and delicate details, like an origami figure someone folded out of starched silk. Now there’s a solid weight to his arms and legs that I find pleasing. I liked it when he was so light that I was the heavy one, but I like this new sign of remission in his health problems.

Thursday night I was unbridled honest with him, even more so than I ever am with you, dear reader (of course you get a curated window into my life, but you know that). I asked for things put aside between our move and his many hobbies. You cannot mandate desire but you can make people aware of your own wants. So now, Friday night, he seeks for me.

He feels for my cunt, touching either side of the furred lips, not tor hard, not too soft. Fingering, remembering that my genitals and my pleasure are not some sort of buried secret that takes a cave diving expedition of plunging and rooting about inside. There’s a whole zone of sensitivity, inner thighs, vulva, buttocks, brushing, pressing just with the pads of his fingers. I feel arousal as the motion of tiny muscles and an awakening in nerves that I’m usually only subconsciously aware of.

Earlier we’d played all silly, miming tying me up so I could pretend my outrage, promising dire things even as I held my arms still to maintain the illusion of the invisible ropes. When he was done, his fingers flipped a switchblade made of nothingness and slit the bonds. Make believe demands support. Playfulness is a key thing I need in a partner.

I don’t let him control things, even if I can play at it. I don’t want to lie back and be pleasured, I want to rip off his armor and expose his vulnerabilities for me to play with. I lean up from my nest of blankets and roll over, pinning him down. I tell him precisely what I’m going to do to him, how I’m going to tease him as restrain him and toss him about like a rag doll.

He asked for that, to not rely entirely on my whims, but know what to expect when I take control. It is a challenge. Dominance for my is embracing the capacious moment of my fickle fancy, but I will not let that get in the way of enthusiastic consent. If he needs more scene pre-planning, than it can only expand the submission he can do with me.

Pinning him down I find his cock, already mostly stiff, and with a right palm slathered with sweet almond oil, lathe the root to the tip with curl fingered, dragging strokes, all the while shoving my hand over his mouth and sometimes pinching his nose. He knows he’s not going to come, knows exactly how far I’m going to go, and can rely on that certainty.

Tuesday night, similar to this, I threw him straight out of his comfort zone by staring intently at him. I’m past feeling self consciously silly about my so called dominant aura. It might be cliche, but when I wish I can pull up that cloak of control. And yet… indomitable Miss Pearl terrifies him, leaving him paralyzed and rattled. I’ve never had to deal with it before. I’ll never claim to be some master Mistress who can make a man into a puddle with a look, but in my near decade in a half of fucking around with kink, I’ve never dealt with someone trying so hard to run towards me while desperately trying to run away.

This time though, no hitches. Just saliva and oil making a slickness, alternating spidering my fingers up the ribs and the side of his stomach. I see him slip into a better place, until I’ve tugged and teased him straight into one of those ruined orgasms that are intense enough I worry I mucked up and made him cum.

When he gets his bearings back, he keeps trying to roll towards me and I keep inching away. Groin to chest is a splatter of semen that I hardly want squashed into my body in the middle of the night. I’m amused as he plays out the part of mobile wet spot, earnestly trying to please me by going back to touching me.

I do not want an orgasm. 

I have had way too many orgasms, because I was supposed to, because it was expected of me, because my partner’s ego demanded it or even for the entertainment value. I don’t want to relive those choices. I am not ready to come yet, not relaxed enough. The threads of arousal are there, but the weight of duty to reassure him with one snaps them, and I gently puts his hand on his chest where it isn’t gloopy with sex leftovers.

Neither of us come. It’s funny, I feel more in control without one, while he feels more out of control when he loses the option. Again, among his limits, no long term orgasm denial. It’s unusual, usually men are wild to be denied or get no pleasure from it, nothing of this in between wanting and not wanting.

So, always negotiations, always touching and dancing around the meta narrative of our sex games, where we are still two incredibly contained people. Some people fuse into one in a relationship- we’ve both learned to recoil from that. Instead everything is two little boats bobbing about in a big ocean, nudging our hulls, neither sure enough to abandon our craft and jump ship.

It’s not the story that sells, dear reader, not where I know that people are here for the ruined orgasms, not the psychological intimacy puzzles. But it’s the truth, so there you are.

Secret , Shameful GenderQueer Confessions

gendercuteI am a cisgendered woman. This is to say that I am convinced that I am female, and the body I am in best conforms to the medical definition of female by sex. I also navigate a world that is particularly aware of the importance of trans* and non-binary gender, being the younger half of the kink scene.

Trans, on a binary, is pretty automatic, at least if you are not a twit or a bigot. I was fortunate enough that at the age that other children were being taught please and thank you, I had the process of a gender transition explained to me (why does mummy’s friend seem both male and female? He is actually a she- they are living for a year as a woman as part of the process of deciding if a surgical transition is right for them). Okay, cool, this was as much a part of the background as having a copy of “Heather Has Two Mommies” in my picture book collection, although that in itself was confusing because I had two female caretakers who were sisters, both of whom were heterosexual, and one of whom I was using a male nickname for father for but who presented as very femme.

Where I start sucking at things is where we get into the “they” pronoun situation and people who are trying to do gender fuck, or gender fluid. I realize, only with some consideration on the matter, one of the reasons why I’m finding the process so alienating instead of just another quirk to incorporate into the wide and wacky world of social etiquette is probably due to my mother’s queerness combined with their poor boundaries in relation to my own gender expression.

My mother is a product of an era when masculine woman was ‘butch’, but for her the presence of the feminine and feminine sexuality is squicking and triggering and aesthetically non-pleasing. The fictional sexuality that I got dramatically over exposed to from her is gay male snuff porn, as much as in real life she behaved like a straight person. Perhaps, born in my generation, she’d just call herself queer. Unfortunately as her daughter, my body and development were subject to the overflow of her experimentation and discomfort.

And this is how I ended up in toddler sized Renaissance cross dressing garb with a stuffed codpiece, and why people who see my baby photos assume I was a boy.

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16 Most Popular Posts of 2015

thenewyearslistHappy New Year!

Jumping on the bandwagon, whether most shared or most loved, here’s the top 2015 posts on omisspearl, listed in ascending order based on number of views. It looks like this year’s been heavy on informational content but light on BDSM stories- makes sense as everyone loves a sexy, tingling tale of lust and the stats are crammed full of well read favourites from years past. In light of that, How does “write more porn” sound as a blogging resolution?

That’s definitely going to be my goal for 2016, given that my fiction remains above and beyond the most well read and enjoyed content. And writing more porn means planning to have lots of inspiration. Mmm, I’m going to have fun!

Looking over my old writing, I can tell last year’s been heavily focused on building a life with Wildcard and coming to terms with people treating me like I know what I’m talking about. However, not mentioned in this list is the thing I’m most proud of this year, launching my first published erotic novel, and the first part of the Catamite trilogy, The Pet Gentleman, or honestly, a lot of personal vanilla growth. Sometimes this has severely impacted my ability to focus on my online life and work as a writer (I feel so bad that there’s so much promised content I’ve yet to deliver!), but I still have to admit that I’m in a way better place, today, than I was 365 days ago.  Curious to see what else gathered the most eyeballs last year? Take a look!

16 – A Little Bit of Simple, Easy Femdom Sex

15 – Wildcard’s Submission: A History

14 – Lifestyle VS Pro and The Male Sub Loot Grab

13 – #Service4Pearl: In Which I Post An Ad For A Service Sub

12 – On Femdom In Popular Culture

11 – Answering: “Am I A Femdom?”

10Spank, Ruin His Orgasm, Make Him Scream

9 – Femdom Problems: Being a Dominatrix VS Getting What You Want

8 – Friday Femdom Fiction: Meeting Her Slave

7 – Femdom Nouvelle and Beyond BDSM

6 – Femdom Spanking Practice

5 – Reader Letter:New Femdom Tips

4 – Not All Femdoms Are Sex Workers

3 – Friday Femdom Fiction: A Bitch at the Beach

2 – Femdom Stuff to Make Him Do While You Figure Things Out

1 – 19 Replies To Every Online Femdom Discussion Ever