#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.

—-

Like what you read? Want to support the site and keep getting more of my stories? Don’t forget you can get your own story (Like “Bound By Contract” or based on your own fantasy) here.

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.

Understanding A Cruel Lady – Cover Preview and Launch Day

Guess what’s coming!previewsnip

The art is in, and it’s as lovely as I expected. Now all that’s left before launch of book 2 in The Pet Gentleman series is final edits and cover text layout. For those of you who gave your feedback on the cover art samples you can see I took your opinion into consideration.

With winter in the setting, I feel like a launch date of the 1st of November, 2015 gives you a chance to grab it when it’s more seasonal feeling.

Wondering what’s in the pages of the new book? With Phillip broken to a life as a pet and sex slave, Annette feels confident taking him out into the world at large Nobody suspects that her well trained valet is satisfying her behind the scenes. For him, this is not the life he expected, but it’s given him front row seats to the coming and going of one of the most powerful women in his society. Meanwhile the rebellion that was stirring in the first book continues to build, intruding onto their perfect world.

The cover art, is, as usual, provided by the talented Yumine, who will also be the artist for the third and final book in the trilogy.

The Pet Gentleman 2: Cover & Title

Just got back from a relaxing Alaskan cruise and into Montreal’s sticky summer weather. While I was gone Yumine delivered and provided four sketch ideas for book 2 of Catamite (AKA “The Pet Gentleman”). Before I make a selection I thought I’d share this for feedback from you guys. Drop me a comment, email or however you want to share what you think!

catamite2sketch

YuMine is an incrediably talented artist, and if I had my way I’d choose them all. Of course the demand of economy mean I have to pick just one. Maybe when I finally get a print edition it will have “illustrated plates”. 😀

The title of the next book with be “Understanding a Cruel Lady” as it looks more into how Annette fits into her society and what her life is like beyond breaking and taming her pet.

I’m currently looking at a tentative fall release, possibly in early October 2015, for the edited, polished and updated second book of the Catamite series. This not quite femdom romance (and definitely BDSM erotica!) has been many years in preparation and I’m extremely proud of how it is all coming together.

 

I’ve been asked if the art is mine- no, Yumine Guo is responsible for cover art. If you liked these, she has more stuff on her tumblr. If you are looking to hire an artist, she’s a joy to work with and provides knockout quality professional grade work with extremely reasonable pricing.

So, which one is your favourite? I’m leaning towards #1 or #4, although #2 is pretty spectacular, though possibly not in theme with the simplicity of the first cover.

(No idea what’s going on? Check out book 1 of The Pet Gentleman on Amazon to get caught up. Its been selling like hot cakes.)

And as always, a big thank you to the many readers and fans who have funded and encouraged me this far. I never could have done this without your enthusiasm, and your purchases help keep this site going and allow me to afford top quality cover art like this.

 

Friday Femdom Fiction: Meeting Her Slave

She hit the cafe a full half hour early, despite walking from two bus stops away in heels after she’d gotten distracted and over shot where she was supposed to get off. She realized, as she slipped inside and scanned the room, that she was giddy.  Among the patrons: some students with a pile of notes on their table, and older man with a book and a young woman pecking something out on a white macbook, nobody met the description she expected or matched the picture she looked at on her phone.

[I want to be your slave. Oh, I know, I want to get to know better your first, and obviously that’s a big thing to ask of you, but, I wanted to make my intentions clear. And, if you’re not interested I respect that.

I just haven’t met someone quiet like you before. You’re clever, and funny and mean.]

He was smiling, the picture, a kind of goofy, self conscious grin, but a real smile that half closed his almond eyes. His black hair stood up a little stiffly- he’d taken the photo this morning and was holding a sign with a picture of a hand drawn penguin on it and one word: “SOON”

She knew he worked somewhere near by, admitted it when she picked the venue. The cafe was nice enough, nothing particularly

She ordered a mint tea, trying to pick were to sit. Near the window? She suppressed the urge to bounce on the spot like an impatient child. The cafe chairs were dark varnished and vinyl seats- choosing one so her back was to the wall, she self consciously fiddled with her skirt hem and the clip of her garter on her stocking through her fabric. Was it dishonest to dress this way? It turned her on to know under her dark blue cotton summer dress, everything was soft lace and secret elastic. She told herself the extra confidence couldn’t hurt.

It had happened in a whirlwind month. An offhand positive remark on his part, a polite thank you, a conversation that had spun from teasing into cybersex. They’d crawled off the fetish website, where their pictures were both anonymous headless torsos, his bare with nipples like brown thumb prints, hers corseted in severe black silk, and onto instant messaging, where suddenly seeing a cartoon penguin avatar with a green circle next to it made her heart skip a beat.

If he was truthful, on her online orders, he’d come three times that month, once of his own volition after their first session- her pushing as far as she could as a ‘wicked priestess’, him the explorer who’d stumbled into her secret temple.

*i feel the hard stone slab beneath my back, wonder how many men have perished, tied to the altar this way. i pull hard against the roeps*

(ropes)

*The Priestess holds the dagger high for another moment, teasing your with your helplessness before she brings it down to strink, but stops short of your heart. Instead the razor sharp obsedian point is moved to hook under your collar and slit you shirt open, then moving lower to slash away at your clothes until you are completely naked.* “The Goddess Demands a Different Kind of Sacrifice.”

(arrrgh!, strike, obsidian) 

She never worried before that much about her typos. And yet for all her fretting she was not found wanting. She had been the one to shyly ask him if he wanted to take this offline. And his enthusiastic affirmation at once tied her stomach into knots and made her skip about her apartment like a maniac, singing and drumming on the counter tops until her normally tolerant roommate was rolling her eyes.

Now her phone bleeped with a friendly alert. She thumbed the picture away, checked the text- her roommate and say call: [Any sign of lover boy?]

[Too early!!!!! :P] She thumbed back.

Her tea was too hot to drink and taking forever to steep. She tried to distract herself in a book. Every five minutes she checked her phone. A message

[on my way! might by a minute or two late] It was still five minutes early. She took a nervous sip of her tea. Every time someone came through the door she would perk up and then feel a little stab of disappointment when it wasn’t him.

Oh. There he was. Her tongue took that moment to faint in her mouth as he stepped through the door.

He was wearing a loose green polo and slacks, office clothes, as she’d been told to expect. A cross body strap from his bag put a diagonal bisection against his torso. There was a small stuffed penguin under his arm.

She giggled, remembering a webcam session that had started erotic, and then by afterglow had taken a turn for the adorable. “Is that from your bed?”

He lit up with a wide smile when he saw her.

“Mr. Pepperton wouldn’t let me leave him behind this morning.”

She found her words. All the sensible thoughts she’d had about sitting down and talking practical things went out the window when she spoke in the *voice*.

“Well then, let’s take a look at you.” She let her head roam from his cowlick to the laced brown leather shoes on his feet. He’d stopped abruptly, with a tension that showed even his breath had slowwed. She could tell he was nervous, guessed what he was thinking. “Oh, no, we’re in public. I wouldn’t.”

“Sorry… ”

“Go get yourself something.” She pointed at the counter.

“Okay. Would you like…”

“N-Yes. Another mint tea.” She slid her mug forward. Yes, yes this was going to work very well.

~~~

This is what it looks like in real life, folks. Giddy, silly and happy- and more than a little be awkward