Friday Femdom Fiction: She Strips Her Toy and Plays With Him

She made him stand in the middle of the living room, looking him up and down. He was slightly taller than her, lanky of frame, with his neck bent to watch what she was doing, until she took his chin and fixed his gaze straight ahead at the muted brown drapes on the other side of the room.

“You’re nothing but a toy. Be a toy,” her voice was stern, but with the slightest hint of mischievous lust, something husky and playful under the strict edge.

Her hand brushed his shoulder, feeling the comfortable knit of his light blue t-shirt, thin fabric over warm. spare flesh. Outside, the midday weekend sun poured through the gap in the curtain. Her other hand held a warm mug of milky tea, bitter and soothing as her fingers spidered down his back until she grabbed a handful of shirt hem, tugging it up,  so she exposed his stomach. She saw the slight ripple as his abs contracted and then relaxed, reacting to the proximity of her hand.

His belly had a light covering of hair that she caressed and then down, over the bronze buckle of his belt and the front fastening of his jeans. He shifted just enough to hint he noticed what she was doing, but kept his gaze fixed where she’d put him, while the seam and tuck of his jeans encouraged her to stroke her hand over his crotch, and then, spurred by her own desire, to continue to rub and touch. She knew how the fabric felt against his cock, defusing but transmitting the pressure. His reaction was the start of a swelling, and an almost imperceptible rock forwards, seeking more teasing. Sadistically, that made her stop, keeping control as she set her tea aside.

Reaching up, the tips of her fingers touched his lips. He had a full mouth, sensual and often pulled into a vulnerable pout. Now, the tips of two of her fingers slid inside, where his breath was warm and the skin was wet, past his teeth. His eyes blinked slowly, forcing himself to keep containing his reaction as she penetrated him.

“That’s a good toy. You do only what you’re posed to do. You’re just here for me to enjoy.”

And so he stayed, standing with his legs slightly apart and his arms relaxed. She began to strip him further, properly now, peeling off his t-shirt and then prying at the belt. Half limp, he let her haul his arms up with the passage of the shirt until she finished removing it, and his arms fell back into position. His chest was like his belly, male furred, but not a dark thicket, nipples a temporary distraction for her fingers before she returned to undoing his pants.

The cotton knit of his underpants was black, fitted  but cut longer in the leg. The fabric had stretched where his half erect cock was outlined, poking up and towards the right. She let his pants slide down to his ankles and then tucked her fingers into the wide elastic band that held his boxer-briefs up, making the reveal slow, first the root of his cock, and then, inch by inch, everything else until they were on the floor in a pool of fabric with his pants. He had slender, straight legs, long boned, balanced with a swell of lean muscle at the thigh and calf, narrow hipped and waisted.

His bare flesh asked for her nails, fingers hooking and dragging, leaving red streaks pulled in sets like plow marks. She reached for him pulling him so she held a handful of his hair and kissed his lips, a slight twitch as he instinctively sought to return the contact and checked himself.

“No, you’re a toy. Nothing but a fuck doll for me to play with.” She pinched him, just because she could, to remind him he was helpless, and went back to exploring his body. One hand wrapped the shaft of his cock, jerking, the other reaching around to cup his butt. Square and firm, small. Her fingers found the split, digging in, seeking and making him wonder if he’d have to submit to another kind of penetration, but then her attention moved elsewhere and she pushed him, to pose him over the coffee table.

A hairbrush was the first thing her gaze lighted on. He was propped on the wood, stiff like a ken doll, but aware of what was coming, when first her palm smacked into his ass and then the flat back of the wooden brush.

He made a noise and her hand circled his cock again. “Shhhhh…”

She didn’t make it a prolonged spanking, but she coloured him, pink, blushing almost red, angling for a reaction. He made a few noises and she saw him twitch, but never fully flinch. She smiled, wide, although he could not see, and began to massage her handiwork, before setting him upright again.

He played along with lurching steps when she pushed him towards the couch, but was unable to contain a groan as her teasing resumed, gentle fast friction just taking him to the edge, with the harsh admission, “Don’t you dare come.”

She giggled at his disappointment, rubbing her clothed body against the warm smoothness of his nudity. He felt the rasp of her sweater and the softness underneath, wishing that he could simply slide his hands up under her skirt and make her want to squirm just as much as he was feeling.

But, instead, she straddled his lap, grinding against him. “That’s a good fuck-doll.”

Everything felt better and more sensitized when she craved sex. She knew it showwed on her, just as it was writ onto his face in the way his lips were just slightly parted and his eyes half lidded. She did not undress, except to slide her panties down under her skirt, kicking the black little scrap of lace and elastic somewhere off to the side before she mounted him.

He felt the sheath of her, enveloping him, hot and wet. It was almost too much, but she was experienced enough to know to wait, hilted on him, for those important seconds it took him to scramble for self control.

“You know I come better with something inside me,” the skirt was hiked up, her hands going to her clit. “Just like fucking a dildo only better. But… don’t you dare break until I’ve come.”

When she masturbated, he could feel the reactions in her body, on top of him and engulfing him. She took her time, teasing herself as well by riding him for a few strokes, just until he was edged again and had to break character to beg her to stop.

“Uh-uh, you should control yourself better.” The same mischief that drove most of her sadistic impulses made her curl the muscles inside herself in two pulses.

“If you do that, Miss, I don’t…”

“You want to be my good toy?”

“Yes, Miss,” he whimpered. “But Miss…”

“Shhhhh…” Her fingers went back to her clit, pressing as her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes closed, just as she caught a glance of desperate anticipation from beneath her.

“Nnnngh!” The orgasm was a body jolt, roughly reached, like a vessel finally overfilling or something under pressure finally giving way. She gave three raggedy gasps before she could focus again, and saw his look of desperation.

“Well, I’m done, time to clean up my toy and put him away.” She grinned, face blushed with afterglow. “Right?”


I wanted to try to capture some of the feelings of power of playing with a male body that’s entirely at your mercy, and make sure I kept at the erotica writing. “She Strips her Toy” is very much drawn from life, although it does not touch on a specific session and you can decide what is (auto)biographical and what is embellishment.

Femdom Book Review: Serving the Succubus by Haleigh Cookson Clark

Serving the Succubus

Serving the Succubus by Haleigh Cookson Clark

If you are going to set out to write a character that is voraciously sexual, you can’t go wrong with “Missy”, the Succubus of this short by sweet sexual romp. It’s bossy and carnal without being scary or mean and makes a pretty good interpretation with the oft used trope of the sex demon lady.

Heleigh Cookson Clark is a prolific author, with a large collection of ebooks devoted to all things sensual and erotic. She is to be commended for tackling a fairly challenging problem in all things pornographic- making a female dominant character that feels like one could self insert into, pretty key in any erotic fantasy that’s not simply voyeuristic. In this case, the fantasy is a power fantasy of being sexual desire personified, but nonetheless fun.

Another serious point in favour of the author- the hapless victim is very much wanted by Missy, something you don’t see enough of in femdom media. Succubi in general benefit from the fact that they like sex, and the frazzled grad student hero “Ethan Banks” is likeable and convincing food to appease his top. He’s actually very much like the guys I know in real life to the point that a tiny little bit of me thinks a real Ethan Banks may be running around in the wild -or at least fragments of him are.

And it’s not usual that someone as debauched as me really feels a bit naughty after reading something, even in a femdom book.

What’s my final verdict?
Category: Ebook
Rating: o~o~o~o (4/5)
How I got it: Review copy
TL;DR: Femdom short fiction, essentially one very long sex scene with a dom who has a tail. But she likes the sub, so yaye!

15 Things I Wish I’d Known as a New Femdom

alicescanWhile I’ve always had an inclination in the direction of kinky, even before my sexuality was much of a coherent thing, for much of my life I didn’t really know how to describe what I wanted and I certainly didn’t always know how to get what I wanted. Finding out the word was “dominant” was a total light bulb moment, but after all the exploration I’ve done, there’s still a few things I wish came in the welcome package for every new femdom.

1) You are only 50% of the end product in any D/s dynamic. What you are building together, with your partner, is a feeling. This is about as tricky as say, building a sense of love or deep trust, and it’s not going to work with any random sub or switch anymore than any heterosexual man or women are automatically perfect for each other just because they’re both straight. The corollary of this is that just because he first sub identifying people you meet are not attractive to you does not mean you aren’t a dom.

2) Chuck all your assumptions on how you should act and how the other person should act out the window and actually talk about how you want things to look like together. Assumptions are like not reading the map when you embark on unknown territory. Otherwise if you’re a sadist and they’re not it could get ouchy (sorry, sorry!), or they can spend all their time sulking because they thought all doms do their particular favourite fetishes and it hasn’t occurred to you to try it.

3) Put both your fetishes into a big pot and stir them together. Dominants are not fetish fulfilment agents, but subs are not robots. Your D/s identity is only the opening line in a discussion that leads to you both getting what you want and fetishes are the extras that help you achieve that. The dynamic that works is the one that takes into account that you both have needs.

4) You may need to push a bit against people being annoying or unhelpful to get started. (Sorry, it’s probably the patriarchy.) One of the biggest things that discourages female dominants is the first time we try to assert ourselves, a partner decides to say no or make it extra difficult (particularly if said dominant is a switch), or they approached you with their desire like it was a big awful, complicated favour that has to follow the sub’s script. It is okay to say “I need you to work with me” or require things to be made simple for you. You don’t have the right to dom someone against their wishes, and everyone deserves limits, but anyone who really wants to support you should be open minded and at least ready to humour you.

5) It is not who you are, it’s what you want. You can be the most whip skilled, knot wizard girl scout with the most assertive demeanor ever, or you can be a shy and doe eyed creature who hurts yourself when spanking someone else. You can be a professional hostage negotiator, or cry when you have to ask for a raise. You can look like a fetish pinup or a soccer mom. Whatever your personality is like, what makes you dominant is the desire to dominate, and that’s also whether it is limited to your significant other once a month after church, or done all the time with a forty person harem carrying you about on a sedan chair.

6) You have to be selfish about not compromising on your core desires. This one is a toughy because nobody sets out to be intentionally selfish- but because everyone is fussy and has their own things, it’s easy to be accommodating. This ranges from putting up with partners who arbitrarily get bored with D/s, to changing up everything so you do only the things the sub finds hot on their schedule, through to dating vanilla because being alone sucks. If you do this, something will always feel a little askew and temptation to what you really want may make you resentful.

7) There is no such thing as a non-dominant sex act. You can do oral. You can be penetrated. You can cross dress, you can be tied up, beaten and made to cry in public. See #1, for the root of this and also #5- but more to the point there may also be power for you by playing with your own vulnerability and it is not a feeling of control to let custom or the judgments of other dictate what you may do. You will feel better having the sex you like rather than the sex you think you should like.

8) Your sub may come with their own baggage related to their orientation. Particularly male subs, who get very short shrift and have to deal with feeling less than masculine or unsexy. This means a lot of people who think they need to apologize for wanting you. It also means a learning curve if you two try a fetish like cuckolding, where they discover that you really are more into them than the alternatives, regardless of the flavour of your bedroom talk.

9) The porn sucks, forget the porn. The porn will make you angry or sad. Fuck the porn. Porn that works for you will probably be a cobbled together collection of broken or hacked together bits and pieces. However half the people on the sub/switch side are also making do with the best they can get. So if you find someone who really gets what you’re looking for, tell them they’re awesome, because it’s probably a lonely labour of love for them.

10) Not all people of the submissive persuasion know how to make themselves feel the way they want to feel. This one is also a tough-y, in that you will end up meeting people who either found the feeling accidentally in a past relationship, or during solo self exploration, who will then expect you to be able to bring that feeling out of them. It is not a measure of your worth as a person if you can’t make someone feel submissive.

11) Someone being submissive to you in a way that makes you feel powerful is magical, but can feel really scary too.  I’m not the first person to notice that the desire to dominate can feel incredibly vulnerable, but once again, touching on #1, being dominant means needing someone else to do their half of things. When you get used to saying “meh” about people meeting your needs, it can be a feeling of frightening dependence to learn there is more for you out there from a few rare people.

12) You can only be someone’s fantasy for a short while, but you can be someone’s reality indefinitely. Professional doms make money living up to people’s fantasies in short duration, and specialize in making it as close to perfect as possible to maximize their profit. However in an actual relationship, if there is no room for you to be human it is going to eventually crumble under the weight of improbable expectations. A dynamic may take maintenance, but you shouldn’t need to be constantly plugging gaps and bailing the boat to keep someone’s attention and respect.

13) Looking after people can feel powerful, but it’s not a substitute for dominance. As a female identifying person, caretaking is one of the few non-controversial routes you are allowed to gain and exert power- but watch out for letting it turn into you being used. Do not tie yourself to dysfunctional people to feel powerful and strong by comparison- they will either get better and fuck up your little plan, or stay bad and fail to be there for you when you need them.

14) Don’t even think of going semi-pro, and don’t tolerate being treated like the budget option. Either become a full on professional dominant and charge what they are worth, or stick to doing it for love- becoming a grey area pro is not going to help or make you happy and people trying to ‘tribute’ you can’t imagine you enjoying things for their own sake. Sex Worker is a job, and the rates they charge are also to screen out the guys who are not worth their time, as well as to deal with the headache of people with a “me first” attitude. Only play with people who are serious about you as a person, either out of respect and affection. And more to the point, becoming a grey area pro-dom is confusing if you ever plan on an actual relationship- and those “budget” clients will not see a cheaper rate as a warning not to push for more than you feel like giving.

15) The people who help you figure this out will come from all sorts of different places. They will be the sub boyfriend who is better at knots than you because he’s been tying himself up for years. They will be the snarky older woman whose blog finally makes you realize you can have fun with this, or that your secret fantasies have a name and people really live that way. They will be your mom accidentally pointing out that the reason why you’re not happy in your relationship is the lack of power, or even the high school boys who insisted on carrying your books. They will be the Disney villainess you were supposed to be scared of, and the person who is asking your for help that forces you to actually examine how things work. and you’re always going to be learning- there is no being done with that until you’re dead.

What I want in a submissive…

hands+tied+rope+I want to see your eyes wide and glassy, vulnerable, your mouth in a pout and myself loom above you. I want to feel that you feel helpless, and that however I twist and pull you, you will follow.

I want to feel your desire, like an anchor chain, a need for me that would make you crawl on your belly for me, beg me, debase yourself and fight for me.  I want to make you do all those things to prove to me what I can already tell by looking at you. I want you to fear me, just a little, as something you can never handle completely. I want there to be masochism, but balanced by both lust and a little rebellion.

I want male flesh. That means I want to feel my hand hold a solid jaw when I make you look me in the eye, and I want to feel muscles that are, by nature, stronger than mine when I push you down and make you yield and when my hands hold yours to the pillow, pushed over your head so I can loom and kiss you. I want you to be beautiful for me, to make your body into something you hope I will take as an offering, and something I will take from you. I want to see you stretched and stripped, taught to flinch when I touch you, yet crave to rest your head on my lap.

I want you to fight me, so I can break you, than take those shivering bits and pieces and put them back as strong as before. I want a tough toy that takes, claw and teeth and pain- I want a fragile toy that I can bend with a look. I want a victim- I don’t want to cosset and I don’t want to think about a “slave heart” when I strike you, nor wrangle whether you are a “natural submissive” or whether I, indeed, am True. I don’t want to be a Nice Mistress or a Goddess type role who leads you to a higher place; I want you to be outraged at the indignity and the liberty I am taking with your flesh, your mind and your self… and turned on by this. Consent is crucial, but I need you to have the imagination to feel vulnerable when you are perfectly safe with me.

And yet, as much as the resistance matters, I want you to want it so bad you admit it. Oh, I don’t mind if it’s not an easy confession, but one that has to be coaxed out of you under time or duress. But I want you to know you are mine. I want you to feel that you belong with me above all others, because I, myself can worry that I am to be found wanting.

That takes confidence, from you, to think of yourself as the best for me. I know it’s a lot to want in a partner, much less to want in a submissive. But, I also know I want you, warts and all, even when you’re not in the mood and what I need to do right now is be a supportive person more than a dom. Or when it’s incredibly complicated. I want you to be human and real. I want the effort more so than the perfection. I suppose a lot of it is wanting my wants to be validated. And in the end, I guess that’s what everyone wants.

Friday Femdom Fiction: Experimental Purple Prose


She pulled him hard, by a handful of hair at the back of his head, a rough yank to expose his mouth for the kiss, and her lips met his, tongue fencing tip of tongue, the same tongue that talked with sweet and sharp word and found the fountain spigot that set her cunt trickling clear and sticky. Here, now, she found his cock, and her grip cradled, clenched and pulled back and forth that the middle, just below the too sensitive head, but above the balls beneath.

Unbroken by the challenge she made, he took her by the shoulders and shoved, back onto the soft bed. His own hands found her slit, with the pads of his fingers crooked to tease and test the wet state. Fitting them inside her, and then into the mouth that had just stolen a kiss from him. Grazing her lips, then, with a glaze of her own other lips and meeting the gaze of her eyes until her frustrations and the promise of what she might do to him forced him to look away, fearing now, and feeling the rake of her nails on his broad back.

“I want this,” she hissed, finding his prick and replacing her hand, using it as if it were the lever and the bed they rolled upon was the fulcrum; the fixed point by which she could move the world. Or at least seek to make him move to her whims as she made what was erect in her grip plug the wetness that continued between her legs.

Guttural breathing, him on top, her parting herself, kissing. They fucked like snakes, more twined together, bending and wriggling, than slammed mammals. Her curved body soft at the places she swelled, but hard where bone made delicate looking hollows; him sinewy, long and lean, her legs wrapped to keep him in place and him sliding, belly to belly, back and forth. She engulfed, pleasured and trapped him twice, inside and out.

“More, more, more!” She always wanted more, whether she swallowed him into her slick gullet, teeth coyly sheathed; wrapped him in slippery hands until his semen spurt brought him back from demanding a double grip to hiding, shrunken in one hand; or like now, where her cunt muscles devoured. Her hips tilted up, lunging, her hands finding light ways to hurt and leverage to take what she wanted.

The same fingers that had probed her cunt were now tamed into helping bring about a body spasm that started inside her, shrill calling, her cunt becoming more intimately aware of the part of him it had borrowed and was using. She wanted him to stay hilted until the last shudder finished, taking in a suck of air between her teeth as the energy of her excitation defused.

And then his face was turned away from hers again, into the pillow, two exhalations and then a male cry, matched with a final surrender as he stopped pulling back, away and accepted he was helpless to hold off coming. She never felt the splash of semen at the moment, just the aftershocks that shook him gently in her arms as she held him to her, and then the seep as he stayed buried.

I wanted to get back to the spirit of Friday Femdom Fiction, which was supposed to be more spontaneous and less polished. So you’re getting something experimental this time.