Down off your white horse, before your queen Silver bells fall silent at the road edge The fairest one watches, in her gown of green Paused procession at the gate in the hedge You're plucked as boldly as I took that rose From summer branches in my Carterhall June then, you challenged that I took what grows And as Mistress there, I made you my thrall Your tribute grew all the hot months inside But your oaths made a stronger chain to her Unless I bore you down at Samhain's ride And pin you fast through change of flame and fur Wild one, Tam Lin I tame you to my own Now freed from her, you'll kneel to me alone
Imagine two people seated on a couch in a small sunny apartment on a Sunday afternoon: Marianne and Charlie are not quite a couple, but they have started to weave an intimacy through Charlie’s ever willingness to submit. Marianne has given them permission to call her Ma’am, and is starting to weigh her feelings between ‘Mistress’ and ‘Domina’.
This occasion is already planned, the terms and activities decided before Charlie arrived. They know they will be hypnotized, and that Marianne will make them worship her feet.
And whether this happens before, during or after, Charlie knows those feet already have them completely captivated.
First Person Vintage Femdom Fiction
Enter the mind of Rebecca, a Bad Girl who knows what she wants. She’s set her sights on a Good Boy and what he thinks of as an old fashioned, innocent date very well may be his claiming. She’ll test him, and if he passes, she’ll take him!
For fans of romance and femdom, who like it when their heroes blush and their heroines are bold but real.
Consider this an experiment in a new format. Short, tangy and just a little sweet, but with enough bite to get your attention. Interested?
Where to buy:
She rolled back, butt towards her heels, arms unbending so her head is low and her hair pooled on the floor. She looked back over her shoulder, at the anonymous effect of the leather mask on his face, and the line of the lead pulling taut from his collar.
He was hard for her, want etched across his body, her posing holding him enthralled, tighter than the lead. She’d stripped him, earlier, teasing him about his eagerness to rut, telling him he was like a dog that had scented a bitch.
“And I am just the Bitch to breed you, aren’t I?”
That was a loaded word. Bitch for her: harsh high and unfeeling. His occasional wearing of the label: lowly, desperate and needy. This time she taunted him at how much he wanted to fuck, told him he was little more than an animal even as she jerked his cock.
Words tugged at him as she squirmed against him and crooned in his ear to admit it and say it out loud, that he was her dog, nothing but an animal, brainless, desperate, and her cunt convulsed as she pressed her thighs together.
She made a show of presenting the mask to him so he could see the black snout and pointed ears, a shape she thought was more doberman than anything else. She liked the fit, the way he looked at her through its eyes, hungry, humiliated and yet wanting more.
She made him pant for her. No barking, she didn’t like the abrupt sounds, but growls instead of groans while she buckled the collar and led him, from the chair, across the room.
He saw her shed her clothes, what little she had been wearing when they started playing and the revelation of high, small pointed breasts, and a heavy roundness to her ass that tapered to the tight pinch of her waist.
Tugs to the leash pulled him closer before she settled into position, dropping to her knees with grace, and then all fours with her elbows bent. When she caught his eye the pose extended…
…And he had a direct view of the split of her body, shameless in her power. She giggled, “Caught my scent, did you?”
Her cunt was a wet dark slash. Brown lips around dark pink, glossy. The leash tug told him what to do next and the mask let him tilt his head to press his real mouth to her. It was more nuzzle than lick, at first, getting himself marked with her.
She smelled of musk and tasted of lemon and salt, but soon this treat was pulled away from him and his leash was yanked.
He knew his part and her intent, hands to her sides, cock pressing, letting her own back writhe and the slick home it to hilt. Hot, just the space for him and not more.
His fingers dug into the softness of her hips and her command encouraged, “Fucking rail me.”
And she used him, devouring that energy as he drove into her.
She didn’t count the thrusts, making cries into the floor, welcoming triumph. “Harder!”
Her taste was still in his mouth and his sweat starting to bead. Her hand hand slid to reach back and tweak her clit.
“I’m going to c..” He tried to warn. Wild pounding thrusts gave him little leeway, her clear enjoyment even less
“Dogs don’t talk!” She grunted. And then her attention was elsewhere as he felt the clench and squeeze of her coming. Something about the spasm of muscle pushed him out and her forwards, but then he came in a single spurt he couldn’t stop, and a second pulse, a white line across her back and another dripped from him and across her sprawled thigh below him.
From the floor, in a c curl, with him collapsed nearby, she took a breath and sighed out, “Good boy.”
I know why Fenris ran the sky after such prey.
My lover’s lines are gilded in the light
And from the window, the warm rays caress
My hands grip his cream wrists and thighs squeeze tight
As firsts now gathered, my right as Mistress
Fill me twice within four days, and come quick
Your release my claim, your cock my possession
Fit where I ache and wetness makes me slick
Taken to satiate my obsession
You live to suffer & to offer joy
Vulnerable in every drop I drain.
Made for this, alluring man, my eager toy,
Who pleases the eye, & as much my brain
But in this golden hour I seek to share
Let the sun kiss also, where I find fair
In which Circe confesses that not all men are pigs.
There’s a fullness to his lips that lingers
In my mind, ruddy rose against fresh cream
And in his hands, squared shape to his fingers
Yet taper thin wrists, structured in slim theme
I find him fragile, careful, yet not frail
Like a rabbit that freezes in your gaze
He reads as beautiful as he does male
Sets me compelled to capture, take and praise
Ah! Desire, catch his throat in my control
Down! Deeper! Command with teeth on his ear
By obeyed, marvel at the heart I stole
And play and prey upon his pleasured fear
Take and stroke what shivers and mindless thrusts
Tame the hare, and thus satisfy my lusts
“Darling, what has gotten into you?”
She was pivoted to take a picture of the large display of autumnal gourds in the giant bin in front of the grocery store and he, under the guise of a particularly passionate hug, pressed himself closer. There was always a way men changed their posture when they did that, imperceptible if you looked, but with a tilted tension that made you aware of their body line and the pull of their groin. And a scent that had no scent, that, in only a little bit of shared warmth, drew out the tight yet melting sensation of her own arousal.
Only this time there was the hard little nub of plastic poking, nudging up against her too.
“Aww, you are pretty desperate, aren’t you?” She cooed, letting her hand caress the side of her hip, even as a slight shift of her own pose made the contact with his caged cock deliberate. “What day is it?”
“It’s October 9th, Mistress.” He swallowed.
“How many days until the end of the month?”
There was a pause of mental math. “22, not counting today, Mistress.”
Her finger teased the ribbon peeking out of the collar of her sweater. She could feel the key, warmed against her skin, slide a little. “That’s a lot of time. What has you so het up?”
“I want you, Mistress.” There was both a smallness of vulnerability in the confession, but also a matter of hopefulness, as if this longing was a gift in itself. “The cage hurts. I need to edge.”
“Aww… Well, we still have to finish grocery shopping.”
He pulled away, husbanding his willpower. She smirked, aware that he was still reacting to the way she had chosen to dress on the expedition. True, she was draped in a cozy sweater, but below it, the dull shine of leather, skin tight, clinging, skirt hugging her to mid thigh, where it met a band of bare skin before her stocking tops resumed a more autumnal practicality.
She thought for a moment, then began to pull the key over her head, handing it over. “I’ll tell you what. The grocery store has a single stall public unisex washroom by the deli. It’s pretty private. Go there and use your phone to film yourself edging, then cage back up, all on camera. You have until I am done shopping to meet me by the cash.”
He nodded took the key, and giving her one last lingering look, dashed off to complete the task, while she found and wrangled a cart.
The fresh smell of the bakery and the produce hit her nose and she began to shop. A picture hit her phone, him kneeling on tile, having placed down a couple of pieces of paper towel under his knees. She grinned. His eyes were very big, and his face flushed and embarrassed.
She let the aroused heat she felt in response suffuse her for a moment, before giggling and going back to selecting apples.
As she did the sweep of the dairy section, she glanced back at the Deli and smirked again. Not done yet. No time.
She went the rest of her zig-zag serpentine. Crackers; tea; canned goods; nutmeg; backtrack and get chicken stock; flour, nutmeg, pasta, hamburger and a lamb, sale; browsed the greeting cards; impulse bought a bulk pack of batteries; and rounded through frozen foods with peas, perogies and a pint of vanilla ice cream.
The line up wasn’t too bad, but all the queues were pretty much the same. She took one at random and let herself be carried by people momentum. He wasn’t back yet.
She shook her head. The line went at its own pace, items on the belt, scanned, points card, paid. Just before that process she texted him. “I’m leaving without you.”
She did not, in fact, do so, but lingered past the door with the cart, enjoying the string of panicked texts, before he appeared, wild eyed and spattered down with water.
“I couldn’t get it back on!” He made a gesture at his groin, helplessly. “It wouldn’t go down enough to force it.”
She chuckled. “Well, I can think of a lot of ways to punish you when we get home.”
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“I like it when you suffer for me.”
The gag cinched into the corners of his mouth, doing more to render him muffled than to completely silence the sounds of the whimpers he was making. A slick of lube on her palm, viscous and clinging, made each stroke of her hand glide easy on his cock.
“That’s right, baby. You love being this helpless, don’t you?”
He was completely naked, back bent so he could hold onto his own ankles, a display arch that was marred by shivers and gasps. She could read the desperation in his body: in the way his hips tried to rise to meet her grip; in the way his belly flexed and contracted; his shoulders shifted; and the tightening of the way he struggled to keep himself in the pose.
She knew he wanted to be on display for her, wanted to keep his muscles as flexed and hard as his cock. That was a little vanity of service, an awareness that she found him attractive. She gave the root of his cock a harder squeeze, letting the upwards glide pull her fingers over the flare of the head.
She saw the shine of the wetness at the corner of his mouth where the gagged robbed him of the ability to hold in his drool, and just where his chest met his belly, a thumb print sized drip. Meanwhile, the slit at the tip of his cock offered up a line of pre-cum like the strand of a cobweb.
“You are always such a clean, tidy boy, but, only edged three times and look at you! Losing all control. Filthy!”
She let her thumb brush over that ooze of precum, enjoying the texture and noting the contrast. Her own panties were stained with her desire, seeping through the cotton. There was a temptation to mount him, hilting his desperately hard cock inside her, but she kept her restraint, making him endure.
A few more fast pumps of her hand around his cock and he started looking panicked, building and building. She reminded him not to cum, even as she teased him closer and closer. As his balls began to pull into his body to loose a spurt of cum she smirked, pulling her hand away with a flourish.
“Not yet! You don’t have permission.”
His eyed met hers, pleasing with his eyes, making wet squeaks.
“Not yet. Catch your breath and we start again.”
“Dominant? No baby, we both know you can’t satisfy me that way. Your cock is just so little and soft, like that.”
“I am not being mean, baby. I am laughing because you think I want a rough, tough alpha man, and all you can provide is a small penis on a blushing little boy.”
“I just can’t take you seriously in charge. Your body doesn’t lie, baby. You can strut and posture and smack my ass, but the only thing that actually makes you stir is my pleasure. Otherwise, it’s all big commanding words with a wee little shy dick.”
“Isn’t it funny the more bossy you try to be the easier I can slip the cage onto your cock? It’s only after to feel that little lock click you start getting big.”
“And then your cock is just straining to be free. You know you weren’t meant to have control. Your body knows. Think about it! Imagine how unsatisfied I would be if you tried to fuck me with that squishy little thing! It’s the size of my thumb and nowhere near as firm.”
“See how even my voice gets you going? See how you can feel the more I tease and rub your face in it the harder you get? You could tie me up, smack me around and do those alpha growls and all you would be is a little boy playing pretend. As sexless and unable to fuck me as a eunuch!”
“Why waste both our time when you can give in. Let your true, submissive self bring you to your knees and feel your pants get tight as you swell. Feel my slap sting your face and get thick. Feel my hands roughly strip you and get all pent up.”
“Drop the act, baby. Call you Master? That’s the funniest thing ever. You weren’t made to be in charge, you were made to struggle to be a good boy with your cock so hard it hurts and the whole length so swollen it’s curving up back towards your belly on its own.”
“You see my pretty tits, you don’t want to tie them up, you want to press your face there and worship and feel me stroke your hair and call you a good boy.”
“And my slick, pink cunt? Haha to think you imagined you could ravage me with your dick so small and soft? Put your collar back on, baby. The only way you can fill me up is with my voice in your ear reminding you that you are property.”
“It’s ok baby, sometimes you get confused and forget your place. But isn’t it better to give in, to beg for me to pump and stroke you, to tease and edge you?”
“I thought so, the minute I said that your hand strayed between your legs. You wanted to touch. It’s okay baby, show me what really gets you hard.”
“Being reminded you are property makes you thick. Being told who you belong to is the only way you get long for me. And look at that, I give you permission to jerk for me and you are already having more fun than if you tried to take what you think you wanted.”
“Say it, baby. Say who you belong to. Who owns your cock. Admit that trying to be in charge makes you soft and tiny and useless.”
“There now, isn’t that better? Your cock is do hard I can see you are already drooling precum. Dripping for me. Now, ask me nicely to fuck me and serve me with your thick submissive cock, and maybe I will consider letting you empty some of that pent up cum.”
“Yeah, give in and it makes you a man for me. Now show me what you can do with your cock, now I have reminded you who owns you.”
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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.”