Friday Femdom Fiction: Personal Sex Doll

A yup, sponsored story posts help pay for the cost of hosting. This time it’s SexDolls.com helping pay for all the porn you folks love and enjoy.

I want a coin operated boy.“Don’t move except when I move you, don’t speak.” She held a finger to his lips, looked into his eyes.

They were sitting on the edge of her bed, double sized, blankets tucked and made, just enough room for two. She smiled, a little unsure at first of her idea, but with anticipation of getting what she wanted.

He didn’t nod, just immediately complied, putting away words and letting himself take a blank affect when she started to strip him. She admired his unresistant weight in her hands, twisting and pulling, shirt off, pants off with a bit of rolling and pulling, socks, boxers. He neither helped nor hindered, letting her decide where this was going.

When they were done, and she was clothed and he was naked, she fussed about a bit, deciding to tie a thick blue ribbon about his neck, reminiscenct of kittens and puppies, gentler than a collar and pleasant against the cream of his skin and the blond shine of his hair. Things to play with and cuddle, but helpless things, to be trained.

When she kissed him, he almost kissed back, but caught his own twitch of the lips. Instead her tongue darted out in a lick against his and her fingers stroked along his leg, keeping him seated while she explored along his jaw and nipped his ear. Still, he held fast.

She remembered her awakenings, slow, stories, the Steadfast Tin Soldier, dedicated to death to his Ballerina, the Ken dolls that found their way into the old budgie cage she was let to play with when she visited her grandmother. She imagined puppets and marionettes and porcelain mask faces.

And then she took both shoulders and pushed him onto his back, swinging her leg over. Her fingers dug in and her confidence in control grew, a lightness and a sense of connection deeper than she ever found in conversation. Hers. Hers. All hers.

The very subtle reaction to her weight straddling him, and the effort to keep his face composed, at her order. Nonetheless there were all the hall marks of arousal in the warming of his skin and the slight tautness in the line of his throat, surely and out of his control as a clockwork wind up. She grinned with full teeth and ground against him.

She knew that maneuver often drew protest from the pushing, but this time he was stoic and inscrutable, as she ground her crotch to him, ending up pressed to his thigh as her cunt told her that it had taken a hint from the images in her mind and the intimacy of the moment.

She put her hand on his cock, pulling and tugging what was half hard into the shape she wanted to use, getting her tights and panties off, but not bothering to get the rest of the way undressed. Her other hand cupped her own breast, thinking more of her pleasure than his. If he was finding something erotic from the view, she didn’t particularly care, finding her fantasy in seeing him purely as her fuck doll.

She nudged and eased him inside her, enjoying that he still obeyed, not moving, although she knew taking at her pace was maddening to him and all to often, in their coupling, he set the rhythms to satisfy the hunger of his cock. Now, engulfing him to the root, she tilted her hips just so and rode him like a dildo.

“Ah. Fuck!” the utterance wasn’t for his benefit, the sex much quieter when is was an act of personal gratification. As she did with her toys, she pressed at her clit until the orgasm she wanted was on the cusp of happening and then let the unconsciousness release happen, groan from her throat and gush.

She drenched him, and he didn’t move a muscle. instead she waited a few moments to let the wild pounding in her chest recede and roll-dismounted to the bed next to him. A heavy sigh escaped her chest on impact. “Ohhhfff.”

He was still unmoving. She smiled, not cuddling him in the heat of afterglow, but letting the back of her hand stroke over his chest. “Good boy.”

Friday Femdom Fiction: Toys For Good Boys

sex toys for boys are the best“It’s too hot to fuck.” She was clad only in panties, sprawled so they just touched, arm to arm and her ankle layered over his. In her perception is body was radiating heat, and she’d broken off their kissing to escape it.

His boxers were covering about 3/4 of an erection, enough to keep her interested, predatory and playful, while the cuffs wrapped around his wrists and ankles held him, immobilized and spread, on display.  She had planned it out differently, tease herself and him until he was full-hard, then ride him, but three minutes of making out had put an end to that. Summer was getting in her way.

He looked disappointed, but not like he disagreed with her logic.  “Ok, Miss…”

“Hmmm.” Although the fun of denial had its merits, it wasn’t what she wanted this time. She screwed up her face, setting herself to a new course of action. “Do exactly what I say, and don’t move.”

She stooped over him, pulling the velcro loose from his right wrist, safety first. “Stay.”

She left the room knowing he was safe, getting herself a tall glass of ice water, adding a straw with a sense of whimsy. As her demand, when she returned, he was still lying in place, band of the cuff still neat under his wrist. She smirked, refastening him. “Good boy.”

A moment later an the toy box was dragged from beneath the bed. “I was thinking I was going to make you into my fuck toy, but instead I think I’ll fuck you with some toys instead.”

There was what she needed, and more she didn’t inside. The cuffs and straps always lived on the bed for when she wanted him bound, but the rest was a buffet she lingered over, picking just the right accessories: the lube in its plain packaging, the plug, tapering from blunt point to fat flare and then its skinny neck and second wide ring, all silicone, and the canister with its supple sleeve lining the barrel. There really wasn’t a good name for it. Pocket pussy, onnacup, fliphole. Flesh Light. This one was an offbrand, bought at a sex shop, plain white plastic outside, pale beige inside.

When she’d picked it out, she’d tested it with her finger, penetrating it, and imagining what it might feel like. It was so soft, yet the pliant sleeve inside had a strength she looked forward to testing.

He got a glance at what she’d picked, and lifted his shoulders a little off the bed, stretching to try to see more.

“Hey!”

He let his shoulders fall, looked guilty.

“I should punish you, I never said you could move.” She took a sip over her water. “Be good.”

“Sorry Mi…”

Casually she dripped her fingers into her water and flicked them at his torso, startling him with the sudden motion. He flinched. She grinned.

“Ha.”  She fished an ice cube from her drink and looked over her target. His skin was pale, blotched pink at the least pressure, his chest and stomach marked but not hidden by hair.  The line of his collarbone made an excellent target, playful, leaving a melt trail as she pressed it to his flesh and slid the ice along.

He gave a little sigh as she circled the ice around his chest, around and then the lightest nudge against his nipples.

“That’s better you’re staying put now.”

He was biting his lip, curious to see where she went next. The ice went quick, melted down into almost nothing and she flicked her tongue across the melt-trail, tasting salt and feeling the contrast of hot and cool skin. He whimpered.

“More?” Her other hand cupped his groin through the fabric over them, then tugged at the elastic, sliding them off his hips, only to realize her mistake.

She made a tsking noise at herself, stopped from further undressing him by his bound legs. “Ha. Didn’t plan everything.”

A quick rip noise and she freed his leg long enough to get him completely naked. “You’re in for a treat, slut. I want you full.”

Even in the summer heat the slick, clear lube was cool on her fingers, glossy and viscous. She squeezed the bottle to ease out a little more, then set it aside.

Her fingers hooked in a come-hither motion, the longest one pressing and coaxing him to relax, spreading the lube and pushing it inside him, then caressing the plug, rolling it in her hand to coat it. She didn’t force, instead using an insistent pressure to push it, until he yielded, swallowing it up, first the tip and then the widest point.

As the swell of it slipped inside him he gave a grunt of accommodation, and that yielding gave her a little thrill that traveled from her cunt up her core. “Do you know what happens next, slut?”

She’d played with him, with the toy before, but it was still a novelty for both of them as she popped the cap off the cup, feeling the petal softness of the inner sleeve before filling it with a generous helping of lube. With the same casual ownership she handled the toys she grabbed around the root of his cock, pumping her lube slick hand up and down, once, twice, three times, before guiding the head of his cock into the narrow constriction of the sleeve.

His reaction was instant, a sort of tension that jerked his hips up at the first hilting slide and squared his shoulders. At first she took her time, hearing the wet, sucking sounds as the sleeve-and-cup did its work, nubs and ribs hidden from view but teasing the length of his cock. “Just right, hm? Tight but not too tight so you can’t feel it?”

As he always did during sex he had gone almost non-verbal, but he managed a quick nod, albeit a little shakey.

“Well look at that,” she purred, enjoying the perspective that let her watch as she engulfed him again and again. “You get that extra kick of hard when I use this, don’t you? But the best part is that it stays.”

He had his eyes closed, but his hips were making little thrusts from below. To punish him, she lifted her arm up a little, pulling the strokes back out of his control, while her palm rested on his stomach. “Nope, you will come when I want you to.”

He made another moan, but she took her time, building and reducing, until she could smell the mix of sweat and lust in the humid air. “Ready?”

A slight twist, skillful and a speed up were all it took to finish building. With a certain degree of satisfaction in her craft, she saw his breath catch and his balls tighten, getting him just about to the point of no return before her verbal consent sent him over.

“UNGH.”

She gave a chuckle. The sheets were soaked and his hair was glued to his forehead. Even the exertion of working the toy had left her fanning herself in the aftermath. He panted, open mouth, at the last little spasm.

“Shower time. Then my turn.”


 

Once again, a friendly fan offered to support a post to make sure that you guys get some extra smut. I’m usually overly busy on stuff that pays the bills,  but they meet all the criteria for a good relationship. In this case they are purveyors of blowjob machines, and I think I’ve been pretty upfront about how much I support men getting to enjoy sex toys.

Me, I took the time to write something as realistic as it was erotic. There’s not enough examples of normal people sex, with those pauses, unplanned oops and extra details like lubing it up or rolling on a condom.

Friday Femdom Fiction: Jerk Off Instructions

“Take off your clothes.” She spoke,  abruptly, after breaking off the kissing.  She could still feel the stoftness of his lips against hers, the right amount of wet, and the taste-that-was-not-a-taste when she had licked them.

They’d been making out for maybe five minutes, although she tended not to keep track of the time, with a buzzing sort of urge starting to clamour at her to grab control. It always came like this, with the arousal, that as the curl of sensation built up her spine, her mind turned mean.

Her words got his attention, and a little bit of a challenge in the tilt of his head, as yet unlifted from the pillow.

“Yes. Do it.” Sitting up, she got a good look at the whole of him, skinny, very male, matched to her in casual but not shelpy clothes as he took a certain pride in his appearance: a fitted t-shirt in a dark grey, and slacks in khaki that emphasized his squareness.

He had the start of the haze of lust in his pale eyes, body warm and stretched out in her bed in the mounded up cradling of the heavy duvet. A lazy late spring breeze carried fair sounds from outside and the shaded window cast them in the filtered light of the weekend afternoon. There remained a louche, laziness about his movements, reminding her of a cat.

Gesturing, she tugged at the hem of his shirt, up over his flat stomach. He saw it and saw the lack of horizontal splits where his abs could be counted, she saw only the achingly erotic furrow of the vertical muscles and their trail of soft hair to his groin. At her urging, the shirt came off and he stretched with it, pleasing her. His nipples were small pink points on his chest, hair there almost more sandy blonde than rusty red.

“You’re so fucking hot.” She said his name after, tone heavy with how much she meant it. “Show me everything.”

She continued to watch as his hands went to the band of his pants, fingers undoing the button, parting and pulling off his slim hips. For that he was forced to go half upright. That left loose knit cotton boxers and socks. The consortium of female taste had at some point decided men looked stupid in just socks, but she found this belief incomprehensible. It was part of the cozy, naturalness of real sex and she often made it clear they could and should stay on, a little exertion of her will on his.

There was always the tiniest flash of shyness when he revealed his cock, in this case just starting to stir. Earlier, her body had been on his, her weight pressing his groin and her hand running over the obvious texture of his sensitive nipples under the thin fabric of his t-shirt.  This teasing was an appetizer to him, but she was quite content at the result.

Cut, balanced in size, nested in hair that was the reddest bright on his body, small curls that added to the sense of radiating warmth. She put a hand on his thigh and the other to cup his balls, “I’m going to want you to finish getting that hard for me.”

She liked to watch men. He had a simple technique, out of the ones she’s seen, always a little different, this one being less curl and tickle and more a motion of the hand and fingers,  a circle pulled from mid-length over the ridge of his cock head.

Her cunt gave an anticipatory twitch, hungry.  As she watched she let her palm slide slowly from her collar bone over the swell of her breast, land loose to follow the curve of her shape, “Keep going.”

His muscles began to hold tension, a pull in his belly, a squaring in his shoulders and his face taking on a slight expression of exertion.

“I want you to keep stroking and pulling your cock until you get hard for me. I want to see the first couple of drops of your precum. I’m not going to touch it, this time, but you’re going to come for me, when I say, because I want it.”

He said nothing, but his eyes met hers, cock now full erect in his hand. It was pale and pink, even shaded, alive and warm. She grinned.

“Pull back a bit on the sensations, but don’t let yourself get soft. I want you to draw it out for me.”

He gave a huff of breath by way of answer as he complied. Sex muzzled him as surely as tape over the mouth.  She grinned, nuzzling against the bottom of his ribs with her face and kissing. From there she pressed against him until her mouth was close to his nipple, tongue darting out to flick, and then a second swirl. She knew it was more teasing for him if he could look down and see the dark wetness of her tongue touch.

“This isn’t about you, this is about putting on a show for me. So make those strokes longer, from cock root to tip. I kinda like the idea of you a little frustrated and wanting more sensation.”

Obediently he complied, and she admired just how long his cock got. “You know you’re so fucking big, and every bit of that belongs to me. That’s my cock, mine to fuck and suck and tease when I feel like it. Right?”

He didn’t have any words, so she repeated it again, prompting with a purr in her voice. “Whose cock is that?”

“Yours… It’s yours, Miss”

“Ok, good boy,” she purred, “You can go back to touching yourself how you like. Go on and get yourself close, I want to hear it in your breathing.”

He wasn’t a big groaner or panter, just an ever increasing strain, like the arousal was a weight that increased, pound by pound with every quarter minute. She spied a little bit of wet, precum, and suppressed the urge to lick it away.

As he got closer to the moment, his face took on a different caste, eyes widening even as the small muscles tensed. There was a desperation, but it wasn’t time yet. She wanted him to feel like they was no choice but to come for her. “Almost, ease off again for me, I like watching your take your time with your cock.”

While she talked, she had a hand on her own groin, pressing through the layers of her drapey cotton skirt and the barrier of her panties.  “Fuck yourself for me. Yeah, ok, break’s done, get yourself close again for me. Do you want to come?”

“unhunhh…”

“You do want to come for me, don’t you? You want to let go?” She licked her thumb and then swirled it over his nipple in a spiral.

“uhhhh…”

She could tell he didn’t have any words left, just the sensation.  “Come for me, baby. Your balls are all tight, I know you can’t help it, you’re gonna pop, and then I’m going to lick up every creamy white string from your belly.”

“unnhhnrrrrrrrr…!” It became a growl. Her smile was full teeth, even as she pressed harder and ground her own clit.

“Let go and come for me.”

The growls continued, instinctual, as she watched the first pulse of white fountain, spurt after spurt.

“Good boy.”


If you liked this, there’s a full archive of my free femdom stories here. As usual read and leave comments as applicable! Or share it with people who also like porn.

#EuphOff2018: The Semi-Moist Treat Stick Edition

In which I enter a bad sex competition. Wish me luck as I try to pack the most cringes into a sub 500 word story, in my chosen genre.

Worst Intentional Femdom Story of 2018!


She was not like other dommes. Of course she charged hundreds of dollars to provide intimate and erotic control, accepting the gift of cash as a part of the sacred gift of submission. But she was a nice normal girl who was only doing it to pay her way through college. Not like that competitive jerk who was her age but much more unhinged and also working at the dungeon.

Mama Mistress had mentored and trained her, and matched her with the hunky Mediterranean millionaire she was now training. He was a captain of industry who needed to let go, that’s why he paid thousands of dollars an hour to have a stunningly (conventionally) attractive woman play out his exact and detailed fantasy.

“Oh, Mistress,” he moaned. “Only you know how to get inside my head and know how fragile submissives are.”

“That’s right, mon cherie,” she injected, her french accent thick on her tongue and as natural as that yellow scurf that adults who don’t drink enough water get. “Give yourself to me wholy. Open your heart and soul as you have opened the cleft of your tushy”

Of course because she was not like other dominas she wore white leather, her angel hair a halo around her head like her crimson lipstick on her lips, mimicking the lurid red of the buttholes she stuffed to only pay the bills, and not because she liked it. She had a little brother she was supporting. Her mother had died while she was in college. It was the only way.

She would show up that competitive jerk in a whip off on stage tonight, which would prove who was the best dominatrix, but first she must drive Shlmo Abdel Nour deep into subspace. Only the strongest, European house trained d0minants could unlock a submissive’s true potential.

Shlmo looked over his shoulder at her, ass open to receive the full girth of her turgid buckle falsie, needing only the slightest touch of spit from his mouth to fit. So deep was he in submission already that this sacred rite had made him have a ruined orgasm. His body was smooth with a special cream that not only perfectly depilated him, but made the hair never return and also made him more sensitive and lusty, like a goat that had been raised in Plato’s dark shadow cave, only to be finally released to an Elysian field of real live nanny goats.

She lingered for a moment behind him, semi-moist treat stick held steady in her hand before she began to slowly plunder his crevice-swirl.

“Ah! Ma pet! Ma Cher!”

The squelching of his eager yielding sucked all eighteen inches deep inside him. She could feel the thrusting deep inside her clit as she drove him to a crescendo of ecstasy. But something was different. Their connection transported them to a world of pure submission based simultaneous orgasms.

With a noise not unlike the Tardis sound effects being played in reverse, she collapsed on top of him, utterly spent.


Writing intentionally badly is an art form in and of itself. OtherLivvy has carried on the annual tradition of the #EuphOff and you have until March 30th, 2018 to get your contribution in. 

Friday Femdom Fiction: Neighbour Playdate

BaAdults wanted everyone to enjoy a free Friday Femdom Fiction story, so they provided the support to encourage me to knock something out for your enjoyment- as part of my policy to make sure any sort of pay for stuffs gives you something you would want to read. Wow it’s been a while since I properly wrote one of these, isn’t it? They had a story to share too called “Meeting with a Sexy Femdom“, and as far as link work goes I was perfectly happy to oblige.

Definitely interesting to see how my style has evolved, particularly with freelance femdom writing in my docket. I am somewhat amused by the nature of the online economy, but frankly patronage is a great excuse to bang something out even if lately I have been way too slow about everything.

Her body had a softness in the filtered light from the curtain that defied the firmness of her grip on his throat. Naked, she looked down at him with her face quirked in comfortable speculation. He was kneeling on the tile in the kitchen, the wrench he’d brought next to him.

“We have thirty more minutes until they drop Joshua off from swim practice,” she warned. “Then you have to clear out.”

He didn’t have to think, and just nodded as best her grip allowed. “I want to make you happy.”

“Do your best.” Her face was quirked in a certain speculative contentment, as if standing nude in front of a helpful neighbour who came by to help her dismantle the sink drain was the most natural thing in the world. Her hand went from his neck to her hips.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Looking up at her, he enjoyed the way her smile broke through when he spoke. She was beautiful because she wore her skin well, no shyness at the pillowy swell of her thighs, the mother’s-marks on her belly or the sun speckle freckles on her arms and shoulders.

Her cunt was a dark thatch, a place that he longed to press his face. Instead, despite the time constraint, he took his time, kissing her feet where they joined her ankle and working his way up her calf. At her knee, he stole a glance up to see her expression.

She still had her hands on her hips, but she was smiling. Emboldened, he moved higher.

She took in a full breath as he let his tongue dart out, just the tip tracing along the sensitive inside. Her skin was surprisingly cool for the summer weather, but no less inviting. Teeth followed tongue, scraping, not biting.

All summer long, starting from hello when she’d just moved in, they’d escalated. First it was friendly cross fence talk, then helping her carry in shopping, and from there an invitation in for coffee. She was an old fashioned kind of woman, introducing herself to the neighbourhood with a stack of homemade muffins to share. When she’d gotten his phone number what had started as watching for a package delivery turned into texting back and forth, cute but a hard edge he was shocked and delighted to encourage.

He still wasn’t sure how it had escalated and flirting had turned into photos and commands. At her instruction, he hadn’t come in three weeks and even the buzz-alert of an incoming text on his phone had become a siren song. Not being able to touch himself made him all the more focused on her.

Where his mouth had first explored, his hands followed, caressing, palms gliding up until they rested on her butt. Her fingers went to his hair, nails to his scalp, still looking down upon him.

“Do a good job.” She’d ended up backed to the counter, leaning on it, hips tilted slightly forwards, offering. “I won’t give you another chance for a week.”

His tongue tasted tang and the trace of soap as he licked light, vertical strokes. she’d already told him how, detailed, exactly how she wanted it. First the lightest of contact, then as she parted her legs further, more, but never more than feathery flicks.

At her instruction, he slid first one, then a second finger inside of her. That seemed to take the strength out of her legs, and they ended up sprawled on the kitchen floor, with her fingers pulling his hair more intensely. Nonetheless, he knew his work and kept with the slow build until at last he found just the right J shaped flick to carry her up and beyond.

He yelped as she all but took a handful of hair our with her tightened grip, but persisted. To his immense gratification her voice came out as increasingly incoherent cries, no words, just a raise in pitch and a tightening in her throat as her whole body convulsed.

Eventually she spoke, looking to where he had returned to a kneel. “Hmm, no time to take care of you. I need to get dressed before Joshua arrives, you can show yourself out.”

“Same time next week, Ma’am? There’s a leaky facet in your bathroom that needs a new washer.”

“Be here earlier. Thirty minutes, I think.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”


If you liked this, there’s a full archive of my free femdom stories here. Most are gentle femdom and loving couples, with a few harder stories.

 

Friday Femdom Fiction: Her Hooded Fuck Toy

Fuck me.

There was an intense urgency to her command that carried through his hood. He could not see her body, couldn’t smell or taste her, and all sound was filtered through the leather.  He was laced in and then the D rings at the back of his head had been locked together with little padlocks. There was no way he was getting out unless someone else undid things for him or he somehow found a knife and slit it off.

But he could feel her. His hands were unbound and he located her legs and the smooth squish of the warm skin, felt the chill of her foot brush against him, before blindman groping his way between her thighs. She was slick enough the coarse curls were soaked, the lips feeling like little folded tongues as lined himself up.

His cock was erect at her command. In the hood he had nothing to do but kneel on the cushion and edge, feeling the plug lodged against his prostate, and keeping himself on a cycle of sensitivity. when she left him like that he lost track of time, lost track even of how many times he’d had to hold off short and get his breathing under control.

The room was very cool, almost uncomfortably so, to make prolonged hooding bearable. Even so it was almost too stifling to be covered like this and do his best to breath through the mesh of pinholes over hid mouth and nose.

She helped him get properly lined up and in- even voraciously aroused her cunt constricted. Dutifully, desperately, he made pumping thrusts. He hoped she didn’t ask for more as between the edging and the plug he wasn’t sure how much he could hold off. Of course this was no barrier to her. Her fingers tug into the muscle of his butt and she repeated herself again.

Fuck me.

She looked up at the almost featureless hood, seeing the sweat bead on his skin. The mask had a slight protrusion over his nose, while the regular pattern of tiny breathing holes gave him a permanent look of blind surprise. Without her ability to see him, he was no longer her boyfriend with the sun spatter of freckles and the dark coiled up hair that always tangled if it got longer than an inch, just the pumping engine for the cock that she’d engulfed.

She grabbed him, inside, with her thighs, fingers scoring his bare back,”Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

His chest pulled up away from her even as his hips ground against hers. She was always so shy about her desires until the hood went on and the locks snapped shut. Earlier, when they were shy new lovers, she had baffled him that someone so outspoken in their faily life needed the lights off, and kept so quiet in bed. But now, in control, the lights were blaring bright, letting her admire the long lined of his body- crevice, muscle, vein, dark, but not as dark as the black leather of the hood.

With a guttural noise, she spurred him harder, with the casual lack of care she’d switch her vibrator to a higher session. Let him worry about holding off orgasm, all she wanted was the spasms of coming around him over and over again.

By the third time she came, and she knew that even through the hood, he heard her screaming, he was fighting her, fighting to stop before the building tension sent him past the point of no return. But it was too late and a spatter of warm and wet burst free just as he struggled out of her cunt, hitting in a messy clump on her lap. She laughed. “Ooops.”


I have more free femdom stories here, link keeps you on the site. Lots of loving couple stories, with a few harder tales of harsher domination!

 

Friday Femdom Fiction: Licking Her Sweat; Loving Her Feet

FRIDAY_Sweatstoryart[Coming home soon. Prep for me.]

The text hit his phone while he was still lazing in the sheets of their bed, pillow wedged into the small of his back, while he played with his cock without any serious plans. She wouldn’t let him come anyway, but she liked it when he teased himself. He’d woken up when she did, an hour ago, early before the summer made the outside untenable. But while she laced on trainers, he settled back down to doze and from there into a little bit of porn and self love.

Now, with her warning, he stretched and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Pausing to flatten the covers into some semblance of tidy, he headed down the hall to the kitchen. He knew what she’d need, and without being told, he took down one of the big water glasses from the cupboard, filling it with water and a handful of ice. After an exploratory flick of his tongue in his mouth and he left the water on the counter for a minute, while his teeth got a quick brush.

Minty mouthed, he rushed back to the hall and took his place in front of the main door, holding the glass of water in both hands as an offering. He heard the stairs, then the pause where he knew, on the other side of the door, while she unclipped her key from the strap of her sports bra. The door opened and he drew in a breath of air in anticipation.

She was dressed in brief shorts that failed to contain her fullness, and the solid squeeze of the spandex gripping and holding her chest. She had both hands full, one with the key, the other clutching her cell phone. Her dark hair was pulling a curl from the humidity and her own heat and dampness, while her cheeks carried the blush of fading exertion.

As she always did, she paused to admire the view. He felt a rush of pleasure at being able to make her happy.

“Hey there, cutie.” She took the glass and gulped greedily, a little exceeding the containment of her lips. With the water drained, she set it on the hall end table next to the mail basket and put her key back on its peg.

“Did you have a good run, Mistress?”

She smiled and pointed, with a nod. “Phew, yeah. Undress me. I need a shower.”

He slid from his knees to all fours and hand walked to her, keeping his head down. She had slim, long legs, white with tapered ankles and creamy thighs. She liked to lace her trainers on tight, pulling each cross of cord snug before tying them in a neat bow. Now he kissed the tops of her feet, before prising at the knots.

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Writing Commission: Bound By Contract

Reader “Ethan” has not only picked up the tab for web hosting for you guys for the next six months, he’s also been nice enough to share the story he commissioned. Darker than one of my Friday Femdom Fiction stories, this is a tale of a man’s anticipation as he signs and irreversible deal. Ethan wanted a story about being bound by contract and honestly this one just flew onto the page as soon as i got the prompt, I was so excited by the idea.

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Bound by contract that can't be brokenThe office was in the 23rd floor of one of the towers downtown, a tasteful but sombre building that took its design and decor from the art deco period. Ethan Doulas signed in with the security guard at the bottom floor fifteen minutes early, and reached suite 2304 with exactly eight minutes to spare.

He wore a suit, still eager to make a good impression. After all he had known Amelia Gilder for only two weeks and obtaining her signature was just as much important as providing his own. He was excited and fidgety, fussing with his jacket to make it hang right and checking his hair in the black mirrored surface of the decorative columns. He looked about as good as he could make himself.

The receptionist was an ice blonde with a wave of hair over one side of her face in perfect crimped waves, and a dress whose tailoring was so sharp he could shave with it. Despite this, she had a pleasant demeanor, offering him water, tea or coffee. He declined all three than changed his mind, asking for the water. The furniture was heavy and solid, all antiques from the mid-century, a tangible piece of evidence that this was a successful firm. Crosby, Cere and Li was no mass acquisition firm, but a boutique contract management company, specializing in the best sorts of property. This was very reassuring.

Five minutes after the appointed time, Ms. Gilder and her lawyer were standing waiting for him to come join them in a more private room. She made the introductions, and hands were shook. He discovered the lawyer, Diana Prava, was also a notary public.

While the lawyer wore a pants suit, and an aura of reserved professionalism, Ms. Gilder was relaxed in a knee length silk-satin dress that looked as soft as her skin and as glossy as her dark chocolate hair. Although shorter than Ethan, she gave the impression of height, enhanced by stiletto pumps.

“You have, of course reviewed the entirety of the contract, so this will be mostly a formality,” the lawyer was talking, but he was looking at Ms. Gilder. “Because you have chosen to waive your own right to legal representation in this negotiation, I will go over the terms to certify you understand them. Please initial each line in the provided space after I have gone over the terms contained therein, to signify you understand.”

The contract was six sheets of paper held together with a single staple. What it contained, of course, was the legal agreement that transitioned him entirely into the care of another person or business entity. In this case, he would become indentured to her indefinitely, discharging all debts and obligations in the process.

It was a risky maneuver- predatory debt buyers were endemic, scooping up low skilled labour neglected by the modern economy and shipping it off to work in farms and factories, but for those who were talented or even good looking and charming, it could open doors that were otherwise closed, including into the hearts and beds of some of the most powerful people in the world.

“You understand, of course, that Ms. Gilder will be entirely responsible for your care and upkeep, but after signing the standards you will be kept will be entirely her decision, for food, clothing and lodging.” She paused to look him in the eyes, making sure he understood. “I am legally obligated to tell you that a contract is irrevocable when signed without duress.”

Ethan swallowed, but reassured himself as he took the pen and made his first mark on the paper. People signed permanent things all the time. Besides, Ms. Gilder, as well as being stunningly good looking, was very wealthy and could afford to keep her property in a great deal of comfort. It would almost certainly be a better life than sharing a four bedroom apartment with six people.

“She may put you to any task she feels fits your skills, provide you with any additional training she feels your require and make medical decisions on your behalf…” Here, the lawyer hesitated. “According to Law 407, I am required to remind you that this included cosmetic procedures.”

Again, he put down the first letters of his first, middle and family name. Every time they went over a sheet, the lawyer also acted in his role as a notary public signing off on each page and in a separate dated book.

“Ms. Gilder will be responsible for the payment of any financial obligations you may have outstanding. As we have reviewed your finances, a lump sum payment of seventy thousand dollars is currently held in escrow for your creditors, with a further thirty thousand to be paid to a beneficiary of your choice. I am to understand this is your parents?”

People sold themselves for all sorts of reasons. Ethan was lucky- his debts were minimal and the money for his parents would give them some more padding for retirement. At their age, selling themselves like he was doing was not a good option- buyers expected to get their money’s worth and seniors were more likely to end up doing fourteen hour days in some massive complex and living in dormitories until they died, if they couldn’t support themselves.

Ethan nodded and was further gratified by a smile from Ms. Gilder. She seemed to approve.

Before she had considered signing on, she had made him go through a detailed interview. Some of the questions were very personal and embarrassing, not the sort of thing a free man was used to being asked. But at the time, and now, he reminded himself the more seriously she took getting to know him, the better the likely outcome.

There had also been a medical examination, through a doctor in her employ, and that was incredibly invasive in its own right. But he knew he was healthy. And if she cared enough to check for that, it meant she wanted him to stay that way.

“Alright, Mr. Doulas, now it is imperative that you understand this next part. Detailed on the following pages is your expectations for conduct.” The lawyer pointed for emphasis, “Once signed, you are completely and utterly bound by Ms. Gilder’s will. You must obey to her satisfaction and she may use any means to ensure your correction and compliance. You are now waiving the rights to personal liberty and freedom of movement. If you attempt to escape, punishments can and will be levied against you.”

This was the scary part, but Ethan also found it bizarrely exciting. Here he was, with the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, stripping him of all rights, a kind of nakedness he’d never experienced before.

“Really, securing this firm to manage contract enforcement is more expensive than your indenture price.” Ms. Gilder interjected. “All my property is insured against theft, loss and non-compliance. This includes lifetime corrective confinement and managing resale.”

Resale. Every indenture’s worst nightmare. For the people who belonged to companies, an almost certain eventual outcomes, for those who belonged to private individuals, still a chilling outcome. When he signed, that was the last time he got to decide who he got to obey. If Ms. Gilder wanted, she could trade him to someone else for a penny.

With a lot more caution, he put down his final set of initials.

“Okay, that’s the terms out of the way. One last step. Mr. Ethan Doulas, are you ready to sign?”

He nodded. With a ceremonial flourish, the lawyer provided him with Ms. Gilder a second pen, a fancy, heavy kind like the sort parents used to give their kids as graduation gifts, so she could sign her part of the transfer, and then passed it to him. This final time he was legally able to sign anything binding on his own behalf would probably be marked by giving him the pen- the only property an indentured person usually got to keep.

With careful finality, Ethan made his last signature, first name, last name, and the date. The two others in the room smiled.

“Ah, there we go. I believe this calls for celebration. Champagne?”

“Oh… yes please.”

“No, not you, Ethan.” Ms, Gilder smirked as the door to the room opened. Two men in coveralls, carrying restraints entered.  The lawyer, for her part, opened a cabinet to reveal a small fridge and produced two glasses.

Ms. Gilder watched as her new property struggled. They always did, when the stripping started, taking off those cheap suits they always tried to wear to impress her. In her mind she considered what names she might call him, the only hint of her arousal at his fate was the delicate re-crossing of her ankles.

After they peeled off his clothes and put them aside to main to her property’s parents, the lawyer opened anther drawer in her desk, taking out the slim black object. An electric branding iron- Diana really was a gem. Then again after five years working together, she knew her methods.

She let her property see the tip of the branding iron heat red hot, before the bag was pulled over their heads and the cuffs went on. He acted so shocked, screaming blue murder as she etched an ownership mark into his chest, making one final signature he’d carry for the rest of his life. It was remarkable- for them a hundred thousand dollars seemed like a lot of money. For her, she’d spent as much on a dress she’d worn once.

Ethan, or whatever she changed his name to, would be enjoyed for longer, at her leisure. After all, he was property now. Whether he ended up digging ditches or on his back in a harem, for her it was all about the control. And hers was now unbreakable. After all, a contract was a contract.

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Friday Femdom Fiction: A Submissive Husband Consumates

They woke up around 11 AM, muscles aching from dancing, mouths dry from drinking toasts in their honour. He came to a little before her, his new wife nestled up against his side, as she tended to roll in her sleep. Their bedroom was strewn with the by products of the previous night, including a four thousand dollar white dress currently being worn by the rickety little chair he’d had since college. Sliding out of her sleepy grip, he started their daily routine: a cup of coffee for him with extra sugar, green tea made neat for her

As he set their old drip-brew to work, he remembered amusedly there was a brand new coffee machine on the living room table. There were a lot of gifts because they both had large, giving families, but they’d only gotten as far as getting half of them out of the car, before, laughing and as drunk on exhaustion as she caught him under the arms and gave him a little hoist over the threshold, still in her snowball explosion of taffeta. He’d kissed her and they’d peeled out of their finery and she had done her best to melt the mask of paint on her face in the shower, before they fell into the blankets and into unconsciousness.

When he came back to the bed with a tray holding her tea and a slice of cashew butter toast, she was sitting up with all the pillows wedged behind her and a satisfied look on her face, as serene and regal as a queen on a throne. He took a moment to admire the way the curtain filtered light cast over her bare breasts, full, firm and high, nipples the tint of coffee and cream, her skin olive-gold.

“We did it.”

He nodded, knowing what she meant. The gallop up until the wedding, with two enormous families coming together in joyful if chaotic union, all the little bits and pieces managed and assembled into one great blowout a year in the making.

“But we have one more thing.” Her mouth pursed, serious. “We never properly consummated our marriage.”

For as long as they had been seeing each other, even from the first date, she had controlled his orgasms, and their sex life, deciding how things would be carried out and what she wanted. It worked for both of them- to the outside world they were any normal couple, but at home, in the private intimacy of each other’s exclusive company, he was Hers.

She didn’t need to order him what to do next. He knew to set the tray down on the bedside table and stand with his arms behind his back, posed in reach as she began to cup and massage his groin through his boxers. This sort of teasing was normal, just as much as the fact that she’d taken charge of his orgasms from even the first date. Sometimes she locked him into a cage, sometimes she let him free and counted on her power over him to keep his hands away. He’d spent many long hours on his back, spread eagled, her teasing, or bent over with the thick girth of a strap on fully hilted in his ass.

He wondered what she had planned.  She was inventive, imaginative and more than that, completely in control of him and his desire. This time, the first thing she did was make him spread out the covers flat on the bed and blindfold him, leaving him in a vulnerable slave’s pose: kneeling on the bed with his face pressed into the blanket and his ass tilted up, leaving all his most tender and delicate bits where she could reach.

Sometimes that was a precursor to a beating, or a milking session. Instead, she left him like that, waiting with a strong awareness that any minute now he might feel the slap of her hand, or a paddle; or the teasing flutter of her fingers and the cold wet slide of lube as she prepped him to be fucked. He could feel himself relaxing into that submissive place, just being in the moment awaiting her will. Already his cock was starting to stir.

When she came back to him it was a good twenty minutes later, by his reckoning, maybe longer. She took off his blindfold and made him look at her.

To say he was surprised would be an understatement. There she was in the lovely sheer white lace and satin bands of a bridal set, something that hid, and revealed with equal measure. He didn’t know where she’d bought it, but it as perfectly chosen for her, from the white silk stockings clipped with garters at her thighs, delicate bralette that loving held but did not bind her breasts, satin ribbons instead of clasps, and the same at her hips holding the ruffled wisp of her panties together.

It was not the clothes she’d worn under the wedding dress- that confection was made possible by an under armour of steel bones and spandex- but bridal wear like in magazine shoots, where everything looked soft and touchable. This was the first time he’d seen her in white like this. Most of the time she wore black: leather boots, shiny, tight, every bit the Mistress. There was something almost extra perverse about seeing someone he knew as his cruel goddess in such innocent fare.

“Touch me.” Her voice was a whisper, but no less a command. “It’s time for me to claim you completely. So please me, make me ready to take you.”

Reverently, he reached, feeling her soft warmth. No sooner had his hands brushed her curves, but she was on him, aggressive and almost feral, biting, nipping, forcing her into the bed. He fought back, not against her, but to please her, finding all the places he’d learned on her body. She never let him be inside her, instead, he was well trained with mouth and fingers and tongue. Sometimes she let him use a dildo on her, putting his shoulders into pleasing his Mistress while her fingers reached and scratch bloody lines into his shoulder and arms with the force of her orgasm.

He found her cunt was hot and wet, her scent, the scent of sex soaked into the diaphonously little slip of fabric that covered her crotch. She made him press his face against her, nuzzling, enraptured, and nibble until in a frenzy she just about growled and shoved him away, mounting his body. The bed was always ready, cuffs permanently installed on the foot and headboard, so it was easy for her to restrain him. Then she straddled him, making him watch as her fingers pulled at the ends of the bows at her hips. The panties came loose, but rather than letting them drop, she gathered them up into a wet fistful and crammed them into his mouth. Now gagged, and tasting her, she settled with her legs spread, sitting on him so his almost painfully hard cock was trapped under the swell and ripeness of her ass, and her watched her spread herself, saw how her arousal had turned the slash and curl of her cunt a deeper pink, left it shiney and hungry as first two, then three fingers slid inside her.

“Oh my god,” he moaned, so in tune with the moment and her whim that each plunge inside her up to his knuckles made an overwhelming sypathetic impact on him.

She gave a little noise, half giggle, half growl of desire, and then grasped his cock firmly by the base, smearing her wetness on him. He was alread beading with a start of precum, but her grip warned him that coming was not an option. Calling upon all the months of discipline she’d taught him, he held back the impulse for release and then…

Smooth and sure, she lined him up and he felt the grip of her tightness grab and claim him, taking him inside for the first time. Every bit was in her control, engulfed and held with the same confidence she’d shown when she’d grabbed him moments before. Now she was raising and lowering herself, using him, making herself sigh and catch her breath in her throat, splashes of pink rising in her face until the rhythms of her hips crushing into his and her muscles, inside, swallowing his cock again and again brought her to a satisfying climax. He was entranced, lap drenched with her arousal, body straining against the restraints. It was only his desperate desire to please her that held back exploding, until, resuming her focus after the spasms of her orgasm, she leaned forward and whispered in his ear “And now my cunt is going to take your come.”

On command, that was all it took like a flood gate breaking. It had been a month’s denial, first intentional, then pushing the low priority of his sexual release aside to deal with the demands of the wedding, but now he gave himself to her completely, letting go into simply, being Hers. Her submissive husband, taken, used and drained dry of every drop of cum.


This story was made possible by the generous participation of Perth escorts. They wanted a story like “Pleasing Her Cunt” but wanted to share with everyone. I’ve been playing with the theme of a submissive husband lately (and reading a lot of erotica on the subject) and this is my spin on it.

If you liked this, there’s a full archive of my free femdom stories here. Here cums the Bride! 😉

Friday Femdom Fiction: A Bitch at the Beach

Burned. She made an uncomfortable mewling noise, looking at her body in the large hotel bathroom mirror. Everywhere was covered in sore streaky red. Her breasts were still their proper alabaster and rose color, as was her buttocks, but her shoulders were sun seared, ugly pink, as were patches on her torso and legs. She looked, in her judgement, like she was having some sort of allergic reaction. And she knew what would come next, peeling, then tan marks, light brown on milk white.

The door rattled and swung open, and she poked her head out, still patting her singed flesh with a cool, damp wash cloth.

“Okay baby, the concierge found a pharmacy that’s open at this hour…” He clutched a plastic sack, crinkled up in his hand. He, of course was perfectly unblemished. She’d taken extra special scare to slather him with sun screen, after all. “I’m really, really sorry. I got aloe and…”

“Kneel down, right now.”

“…Mistress?” He said from somewhere on the floor. His voice was tiny. He hadn’t stopped looking penitent, since they first discovered the start of her burn and she identified the culprit.

“I’m too angry to punish you right now. Not only is this really sore, how is it going to look at the party this weekend?”

“I don’t know, Mistress…”

“Of all the lazy, inconsiderate things. You had the privilege of touching me and rubbing my skin and…” She took a deep breath. “Nope, too pissed and stingy to talk about this still. No Mistress for you tonight, just hurt-y fiancee. Get the aloe and more ice from the hall, and tomorrow I’ll decide what I’m going to do.”

He made a little whimper. He always liked it better when she punished him than when she was actually upset.

The next morning, as soon as store opened, he was back at the pharmacy. His collar was around his neck, both reassuring that Mistress was okay, but that punishment was now imminent. He scampered first to the seasonal section and picked up a few things: a floppy cheap wide brimmed hat, a can of sunscreen with a high SPF sunscreen, then to the stationary aisle. Scissors, glue, tape, then rushed back to the hotel.

Arts and crafts followed, her carefully trimming, snipping, sticking and then spraying, before the pair took breakfast smoothies at the hotel pool. Other holiday makers noticed, on the little strip of luxurious beach, a couple, laid out with a deck chair and umbrella. The woman wore a loose caftan and stayed mainly in the shade, her eyes masked by dark glasses, but her mouth in a small but content smile, while the man rushed about, doting, rubbing her feet, bringing her drinks and sometimes just kneeling nearby her legs, looking up at her adoringly. From time to time she would beckon him over and whisper something into his ear, then he would lay out in the sunniest part of the beach, tanning.

That night, the hotel noted they used a lot of ice, but if the other guests heard muffled whimpers, grown ups having romantic fun was a matter of normal. It wasn’t until the small, private party that weekend, at their friend’s ocean side condo, that the other guests saw the full effect of her punishment.

WORTHLESS SLUT, emblazoned in white on his back, standing against in stark relief against a caramel tan. On his front, FUCK BITCH 4 MISS.

If the Mistress didn’t pick her usual revealing party attire, no comment was made by the other guests, but her naked fiance was used well, and photographed at every angle. Quite a few people went home with happy vacation souvenirs.