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

 

The Pet Gentleman Published

Femdom story by Miss PearlThe Pet Gentleman is live!

I’m really proud of  myself. Its really been a teaching experience, getting familiar with ebook publishing, hiring an artist (YuMine Guo you rock) and getting it up on Amazon. It’s Book 1 of Catamite and so on.

For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, it’s a 20 K work of femdom erotica, a non-con captivity romance. Lady Harringtion takes the poet and political prisoner, Phillip and breaks him down, turning him into her Pet Gentleman and slave. Getting it in ebook was really a way of reaching out to new audiences, as well as a way of getting an edited copy out there and no longer split up between a bunch of floating blog posts.

Should you read it? Well, do you like your femdom really mean in practice, but coming from a place of intense, enveloping possessiveness, where the humiliation is in the act of being owned and not a fundamental degradation of the person’s character or appearance?

In the coming months its going to be my goal to get it available for other ebook formats. I went with DRM free on principle – but for now its available via kindle here: MY FEMDOM BOOK.

Alternatively if you are sad and poor and want to take a peek its available in broken up parts through my femdom stories section, though I caution that’s incomplete. I’ll be releasing the squeal in a few months, according to demand – and when I negotiate with the artist over the next cover.

Friday Femdom Fiction: Pleasing Her Cunt

Her cunt was a pink slash in a tuft of soft brown. He’d watched as she’d revealed it, first lifting her skirt to reveal mesh panties and rubbing herself through the fabric, then hooking her fingers to pull the black knit to the side, revealing swollen lips, plump and petaled. Her fingers made an inverted V, spreading them.

“You want it, don’t you?”

Before this, she’d made him strip stark naked and sit on the couch, hands submissively placed on his lap with his palms up. It had been a full week since he’d come, but every evening she’d made sure to tease him until he thought he would crack. Every day, grinding, rubbing and edging without release. Even as she’d first ordered him into the collar for tonight’s game of pleasure he knew he was getting erect.

“Yes.” He didn’t deny his desire.

He’d never made her come. She’d come with him, of course, frigging her clit with rapid finger strokes while he petted and stroked her breasts and belly and neck, or plunged his cock into her. But he always knew that it was something she decided, and a journey she made for herself. “I’m not going to make it hard for you, i’ll let you know when you’re doing it right, but whether or not you please me is entirely up to you.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.” He swallowed.

“Oh, I’m not going to punish you if you can’t. Just the only way you get to come is when I make you , and the only way I’m going to to it is if you make me come first.”

“But…”

“I’m denying myself too, you know. I find you most attractive when you’re desperate and submissive, but I’m helping and leaving myself unsatisfied until you figure it out.” Her skirt was down now, her hands on her hips in a command pose.

“Could… could you come here, Ma’am?”

“Why?”

“I want to give you pleasure.”

“Think you’re up to it?”

He ran his hand under her skirt, up the creamy expanse where her stocking ended, starting above the slight dip in the softness of her thigh and stopping where the hem of her panties began. He saw the effect in a widening smile and the way she twisted towards him. “Yeah.”

“Brat.”

“Yes Ma’am” He took her hips with both hands, steering her gently so she knew he wanted her to sit on the couch. “Please Ma’am, let me please your cunt.”

Gathering her skirt up around her waist, he used the pads of her his fingers to press, feeling the raspy texture of the nylon weave, the heat and the way the cotton gusset was becoming saturated with moisture. Her breathing told him he’d found his mark.

He read her enjoyment in the way her pose shifted, spine developing an definite curve, hip sitting to get just the spot she wanted rubbed in reach. Presently, as her deeper breathing included muffled utterances, he stooped and eased her panties down to her knees and off onto the floor, bringing his face in so close that he could smell the musk of femaleness, and kiss and nibble.
She didn’t like the tickle of a tongue, and he knew directly touching her clit, no matter how obvious the location, was more likely to induce her to give him an involuntary kick in the head. Instead he nibbled and nipped and nuzzled until her thighs locked together, trapping his head.
“Ma’am!” He pulled back with some difficulty, taking it as a blatant command for more. With the pads of his fingers, he stroked along the slick furrow, that marked the separation of her labia until his digits were wet with her.
One finger inside, was not enough, neither was two. With three, he was impressed how hard she wanted him to fuck her. He’d worried about hurting her, but this was what his Ma’am ordered, greedy, engulfing, making him put the strength of his arm into it.
“More, pet! More!”
He realized that he would probably tire before she did. Her cunt was tight like a sucking mouth, and her body making involuntary convulsions. He guessed, took a risk to please her, and took his free hand from where he was using it to brace himself and brought it to her cunt as well.
Left handed, he feared for his clumsiness, but she was merciful and placed it just so, so it moved the hood that covered the hard knot of her clitoris without scraping the pearl-pink flesh.
Her breath came in three ragged, deep inhalations, and then she swore, marking the point of no return.
Her cunt and its satisfaction was his main point of focus, but from between her legs he could see that her head was thrown back, her mouth in a circle. She tended to hold her breath when she came, grabbing onto the tension to extend it as long as possible.
“Yes! Okay, stop… you can stop pet…” Her hands now prised him from her cunt and brought him to her, flushed face smiling. “You’ve earned your release.”
“Ma’am?”
“Yes pet?”
“Can I have another reward?”
“What, pet?”
“Can I pleasure your cunt again, instead?”

—-

Escorts and Babes, an Australian directory site, wanted you to enjoy a Friday femdom story. Because femdom fiction is awesome!

Friday Femdom Fiction: She Ties Him Up And Uses His Cock

The rope threads in and out, criss-crossed clean cotton clothesline, harnessing him in cruciform against the headboard.

She’s biting her lip in concentration, pulling him a little bit back and forth as the cord laces him into increasing immobility. This doesn’t stop her from admiring the lanky lines of his arms and the way she can see the muscles of his wide shoulders move under his skin as he flexes. His struggles become more serious the more he’s restrained.

He’s naked and his cock is half filled by her wriggling against him and the promise of what’s about to happen. She’s still in pyjama pants, but her breasts are uncovered, blush pink nipples pointed, softness of her chest brushing as she leans in.

“There now!” She takes a step back and considers her handiwork, and he responds by giving one hard wrench, a lurch forward that confirms he’s stuck. The whole binding his held by a simple knot in the centre of his chest, slightly to the left. “Now I get to play.”

Her fingers are, at first, just light brushed and then the rake of her nails on his skin, her hand capturing his chin to force him to take a kiss. “Mine.”

She takes her right hand between his legs, nudging them apart with a hip check so he’s completely exposed to her. She starts her grip at the base of his cock, pulling him erect, alternating fingers curling tight and sliding, find the sensitive spot at the head of his cock until she’s drawn him fully upright

His eyes become wide and seeking, his mouth softened. She continues with brisk strokes, base t just below the head, now grabbing his neck. He freezes and she makes him meet her gaze, holding the moment until at last she see the flinch of submission is making him pull away.

For that she redoubles the tugging, bends and slides the head of his cock into her mouth. Her tongue curls, teasing hand holding it firmly on target as her lips make a wet seal. She likes the warmth and the texture in her mouth, and the imperceptible taste, something of him she cannot fully articulate when she tries to concentrate on it.

He’s getting desperate now, all slick with her saliva and her body squirms, hips shifting in a rocking motion. She brings him almost to the edge and breaks off the stimulation, letting him feel the frustration even as she aggressively kicks her way out of her pants. He should know what’ll happen next when he sees the dark of her cunt. She strokes two fingers between the livid curl of her inner labia, sliding the moisture from the whorl of her vagina to the projecting pout of her clit in its hood. Opening herself with those two fingers, she caps his cock and then pushes, her hand resting on his shoulder now.

He has his legs together obediently, and she’s straddling his lap with him engulfed all pleasant and pinned by the rings of muscle in her cunt, but he warns her, as she begins to lift herself up and down, that he doesn’t know how much endurance he has.

She laughs and promises him, whispered in his ear – “No love, you’ll come when I want you to.”

Friday Femdom Fiction: She Tells Him The Terms of Surrender

You want to belong to me, don’t you?

You want that sensation of connectedness- you know I’m lovely, beautiful- I light up the room when I enter it. You’ve seen me naked, moon pale, lips and cunt slashes of petal pink. You’ve seen me in tight black, perched atop spike heels, wide hips swaying.

You’ve seen me look over my shoulder at you, belly down on the bed, your borrowed t-shirt not quite reaching to the full swell of my ass, draping loose around my little body. You’ve touched me. Tasted me, been inside me. Nobody knows my body better than you now, other than me.

Now you get to see me come through the door every day, get to press your face into my lap whenever you need a pick me up with my warmth and female scent.  You’re hooked.

But you know you could never, never own me. You’re afraid of that, afraid of watching my perfect ass for the last time as I leave for work. Afraid of how I make you feel, all weak inside, because you crave me in a way that borders on a real addiction.

We both know if you wanted you could wall yourself up. Go all tough guy and cold, cut of your nose and spite your face and walk away yourself. But you don’t want to. You want to make me stay. I make you force yourself to tell me all your dirty little secrets and tender places.

You want to wake up to feeling my hand on your cock, to fall asleep next to my warm body wriggling in under your arm, the little yelp and pout as you tweak one erect nipple though my tank top. You want to feel my tongue on your balls, lips around, nibbling, nuzzling.

You want to feel my hand on your throat, the cuffs on your wrists, spreading out splayed on the bed. You want to feel my cunt eat every inch of you as I straddle your lap. You want me to force you to meet my eyes, even as you try to look away.

It’s something I know you crave. You want to be vulnerable to me, kneel for me, take pain for me. You know nobody else is capriciously loving and cruel, can make you hurt with a smile and then kiss you like she means it.

We’ve been playing these little games for a long time, haven’t we? Every time the stakes get a little higher. Remember the first game I made you play where you traded one hard spank to get to kiss my breasts?

Or remember the day I told you I loved you? You were sitting tender for a week, but you got lured in when I told you I had a secret and then you just had to beg to know.

But this game is bigger than that, and it’s got a forfeit. What are you going to give to have me for keeps?

You know the answer- there’s a price to pay for your pleasure. You have to submit to me. Completely.

Femdom Fiction: Supermale VS Amazing Amazon

One Month Ago

“It’s really better if you didn’t visit, Mark.” Her hand reached up, lingering on his cheek and he saw the hesitancy in her face, but then her familiar expression of determination locked in place, banishing that hint of wistfulness. “I’m transferring to The Gothton Times because I need a change.  I need my own space.”

“But what if you got into trouble? I’ll still be watching.” He looked around the small apartment, already half packed into neat cardboard boxes,  unsure if he believed the permanence of what was happening, even as Lola Lean pulled journalism award plaques off the top of her crowded bureau and haphazardly into a box marked ‘Bedroom #3’ in a nearly unreadable scrawl. “Here, that’s too heavy for you, let me take that.”

“Don’t. And don’t worry about me. Your place is here, in Megacity. I need to leave precisely because I can’t live the rest of my life in the shadow of the Man of Steel. It’s great that I can always know you’ll catch me if I fall, but I need more than a super powered safety net if I’m going to grow.”

“But you’re a wonderful journalist, Lola Lean. Much better than me.” He reached for her arm, only to watch her pull away, hugging the box to her chest, shaking her head at him. “I remember how you used to fight to cover the stories that everyone else was too scared to touch.”

“I know, but that’s just it.  I used to write about predatory payday lenders and crooked lobbyists. Since Supermale came to the city I haven’t written about anything else other than the next big monster tearing up the streets.” She pointed out the apartment window, in the direction of the noisy construction going on outside, the latest rebuilding. “Sure, they run my stories on the front page, week in and week out, but I’m not a serious journalist anymore, I’m your PR girl.”

“But what if something happened? What if… When you’re away from me someone attacked Gothton city and…” He found himself reaching for these scenarios almost hopefully. “Besides, that city is full of maniacs! ”

“And there are plenty of competent heroes in Gothton. You know it’s Man Who Dresses like a Bat’s territory and anyway, Gothton needs investigative reporting much more than shiny, happy perpetually demolished Megacity and it’s endless Obviouslyevilcorp press releases. The Gothton Times might be another Wain Industries puppet, but they promised to let me write whatever I wanted, which is much more exciting than Parry chasing me to get another exclusive interview with you. God, I’m sick of asking you the same stupid non-questions and I could write those starry-eyed post calamity gratitude columns in my sleep by now…” She stopped abruptly, seeing his stricken face. “I’m not being fair, you’re right, Megacity has every reason to be happy you are here to protect them. But Megacity needs you, I don’t.”

“Lola!”

“I think we need to take some time apart, otherwise even with me moving away it’ll be too easy to just have you swoop in and have the whole story be about you.”

Two Weeks Ago

A giant metal hulk crashed through the side wall of a bank.  A streak of blue and red landed on its chest, and there was a brief twisting motion before the piece of metal tore away, and then the colourful blur lunged, dragging a struggling body out of the exposed cockpit and tossing.

The body starfished out as it flew through the air, limbs splaying just in time to impact a big shop window across the street. The view then abruptly pulled back to the now collapsing robot, as the blue and red streak launched itself back into the air, and then cut to another scene, in front of the Megacity police main headquarters. This time security cameras caught a collision perspective as the red and blue blur exploded through the doors, tossing three unconscious and battered men onto the tile. Anxious police rushed from their desks to the scene, only to see Supermale gesticulating angrily and pointing.

A third clip showed explosions at the dock, and a flying figure dropping heavy barrels and crates onto a boat approaching the harbour.

“Clarence Ripper will probably walk again, but he’s going to need heavy rehabilitation and he’s lucky that rescue workers were already on hand to save his life. Meanwhile Supermale forcibly detained Mr. Manheim and two of his associates repeatedly until the Megacity police were willing to take him into protective custody, since they have yet to actually prove Manheim’s connection to Intergang strongly enough to justify issuing an arrest warrant. Obviouslyevilcorp is now suing the port of Megacity for damages to their holdings, alleging that although they had no knowledge that ship contained illegal cargo from El Sebra, leaking that information to Supermale, not the police, was a breach in ethics that led to millions of dollars of property damage.”

Two people watched the screen, a man with vivid green skin and a woman with lush dark curls and strong shoulders.

It was the man with vivid green skin who spoke first. “It seems like in the last few weeks, our fellow Law Union member has taken it on himself to completely overturn the city that is his beloved home.”

Dianthe listened, letting her compatriot finish speaking. A slight furrow in her fine Adriatic brow marked her concern as she considered the situation, letting her wisdom check her immediate reaction, but admitting, “That is not the Supermale that I remember. That is no principled warrior.”

“He has grown erratic.”

“And arrogant. Despite his increase in activity he gave us no notification. The Flash reports refugees ”

“It is perhaps understandable for an outsider to become detached from his adopted culture.”

“I do remember your own struggle H’onn, and we all lose our path sometimes. But you decided to take some time away from our work. Supermale… he is on a dangerous journey.”

“Perhaps his friends should step in. I am sure the Man Who Dresses like a Bat already has a plan in place.”

“No, I think this is something that I should take care of.”

“Perhaps, but do you feel the rest of the team should be involved?”

“You empathize with his position as an outsider, but Supermale is also a warrior. Whatever scheme the Man Who Dresses like a Bat has concocted would be more focused on neutralizing him, than helping him, and I do not think Supermale will take a direct appeal to reason in his current state. And, none of you have the aptitude to match him in a field of battle alone, but as a team he would see our collective actions as further justification for his alienation.”

“Very well.” There was a rustle of a blue package, as green fingers retrieved a chocolate and white cookie from the plastic sleeve. “Let us all hope you succeed, for his sake.”

Now

The alarms were subsonic, but the thief knew he was already in trouble. pelting out of the First Megacity Bank at high speed, he hoped against hope that the bag of cash he was holding under his arm was free of dye bombs.

Dianthe took a post on a third floor balcony. The alarm was an irritating whine to her heightened senses, and she knew it was going to work as well as a dog whistle on her quarry. Sure enough, she saw the red of his cape as he swooped down towards the fleeing felon.

Her sharp eyes calculated the trajectory, and saw the outcome before it happened. Carelessly, Supermale had done nothing to check his momentum. Mere property theft stood a good chance of costing the thief his life. Reacting with quick reflexes, she dove, trusting in the gift of Hermes to carry her aloft in the right path. She caught the thief in a mid section tackle, rolling him out of the way of his danger.

Where Supermale hit the ground, the asphalt cracked. Briefly startled, this gave her time to scoop up the thief and run, with the ski mask wearing robber in a fireman’s carry.

She cut a path to a battle ground she had already scouted out, a section of collapsed building, still bearing the imprint of the super powered conflict that had demolished the block months before, properly uninhabited.

“Amazing Amazon!” Supermale’s voice was impatient. “If this is League business, you should tell me who this man is.”

“This man is nobody more important than any other person.” Slung over her shoulder, the thief whimpered, ignored. “It’s you I wish to talk to you.”

“Very well, hand him to me and I’ll deliver him to Justice and then we’ll speak.”

“No. You will probably hurt him.” Bait or not, he was still a person and she wasn’t going to let him get killed in trying to reach her fellow league member. “I’ll turn him in.”

“He is a thief and this is my city. Don’t tell me how to keep the streets safe!”

She let her captive squirm down behind her, but the felon was too terrified to run and stayed put, cowering at her back. She squared her shoulders, issuing the challenge she had intended all along. “Supermale, I will offer you a deal.  Spar with me, and you may take this man. If not, I will bring him in.”

“Spar? You’d lose.” He looked her up and down with his uniquely piercing gaze. She knew while her heightened senses gave her perception far beyond a normal mortal, for him, he could see through her. Physically, at least. Mentally, she knew his mind was clouded by some secret pain.

“Don’t be so sure, Farmboy. I’m a warrior trained in the Amazon way,” she sensed a little hesitation and added, “Or is the ‘world’s strongest hero’ afraid his reputation is a lie?”

There was still hesitancy on his part when they circled each other. The felon, fearing and not understanding, escaped only as far as a piece of fallen brick wall, where he cowered in its cover.

A long time ago, when they first met, she had already sized him up as a possible opponent, and her first impression wasn’t altered now. He had an imposing, perfect physique, shoulder spread optimized to his height and weight so that no part of his anatomy unbalanced another. His handsomeness came from that same optimized ratio, with a square jaw, unblemished skin from a lifetime free from disease and accidents, and a distinctive dip in the front of his hair curling. And yet, despite his physical confidence, she saw a country boy bashfulness. She could guess what he was thinking and planned her attack accordingly.

He saw a woman with wild dark curls, held from her brow by a diadem that owed more to the design of a helm than a fantasy crown. Bold scarlet for her bodice, and gold at her bust and belt, an eagle’s wings spread across her breasts. Blue for her hips, with silver stars, the same metal for the bracers around her wrists. Boots that rose to her knees, red and fitted to the elegant taper from muscular calf to feminine ankle. [1]

She noted his eyes finding the tanned swell of her powerful thighs and hid a smirk. Femininity meant strength to her, but outside the island of her upbringing, she knew men saw womanly as fragile. The first attack was up to her, because something in his upbringing had taught him not to expect it. His reaction was clumsy, but blocked her, to her expectation, and the fight was properly engaged.

She was lithe for a woman of her stature, and squirmy. Whenever he thought he had her held in place she would shift a little, using his weight and momentum against him. The truth was that, fine male specimen or not, Supermale’s invulnerability had left him sloppy.

“Did your mother never teach you how to box?”

The fight took to the air, caroming off each other and  only to end up twined together. This was pankration, no holds barred unarmed combat. And while her opponent’s childhood featured cornfields and idyllic games of baseball, hers was spent in dirt ring arenas with her sisters in arms, sweating and fighting for every little advantage among the most gifted women in the world.

Gradually, ever so gradually, as Supermale would pull himself out of a pin, or wrench out of the grip of the same legs he had been admiring, she wore him down. It took eleven long, dirty hours until she was confident enough to reach for her lasso.

The golden cord let her bind him hand and foot in the girdle of Aphrodite. Hog tied, she hoisted and despite his continued struggles, lifted him up. She spoke softly so as not to be caught by the media cameras and microphones of the Megacity news crews trying to make sense, tender now, and careful of her captive’s vulnerabilities. His secrets were still precious and not to be shared with anyone, just because she bested him.

“Why are you being so rough? So arrogant with the trust that has been placed in you to preserve life, peace and safety?”

He struggled, and she saw many conflicted feelings pass through him, but the rope pulled the truth out, surprising even him, “I feel alone. I am the best this city has to defend it, but it brings nobody close to me. I yearn for someone whose strength of will can match my strength of body.”

Even as the words left his mouth, she saw a peace come over him.

“You long to submit?”

“To a woman who respects me but does not fear me. There was once a woman that… that I loved and could press her will against mine, but she is gone. I feel like everyone will go and that nothing I do will be good enough.”

“You have friends. Isn’t that enough?” But a half smile hinted she knew what he was going to say next. “The League will always be there for you. and even if we disbanded tomorrow, I’d still look out for you.”

“I want to be loved. To belong.”

“To be owned?”

“…Yes.” His blue eyes were wide.

“We will go where we may be alone and we will talk about what it means to belong to an Amazon.”

They lifted off together, still facing each other, blue and red into the evening sky. Her hand took his, leading the way.

Two Hours Later

The room was flanked by columns, white marble, curtained, a part of a pocket sized villa edged into a mountain top. She’d told him about how the developer had been inspired by the architecture of Themiscyra as they’d landed on a balcony. She said the breezes blowing off the Pacific reminded her of home, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, before leaving him in what turned out to be a comfortable but sparely decorated bedroom.

He was a different sort of helpless, utterly confused by what he was supposed to do next. She told him that she was going to refresh herself and for him to wait. Perhaps a half hour later she returned, with her dark hair made inky with traces of moisture and her armoured costume traded for the loose folds of a traditional peplos, the whisper soft saffron and royal purple fabric caressing rather than clinging to her body.

“Your submission is a surrender, and you must give it to me.” He wondered, though he was the taller of the pair, how she managed to impose. “Take off your cloak, your boots, and all other things that hide you nakedness from me.”

He swallowed reflexively, and presently, peeled from his body, his costume was puddled on the floor between them. Casually, one sandal clad foot kicked the pile of fabric away and she took her time visually inspecting his body.

“Among the girls at Themiscyra, it was not unusual for our games to play with power.” Her smile was impish. “I soon learned where I wanted to be in those games, but also that I wanted more than the company of my own sex.”

Her fingers touched his shoulder, and he blushed, as if this was his first time he’d been with a woman. Lola Lean had been uncomplicatedly enthusiastic, as demanding as she was simple in her tastes, but the best abstinence only sex education offered by the public school system in the state of Kansas and Ma Kent’s bedside copy of “Outlander” left him with little internal script of what was expected of him.

“There’s no shame in wanting to claim someone, but that means no shame in wanting to be claimed.” He could feel her fingernails now, testing. “Male bodies are fascinating. So like and yet not like the bodies of women.”

He saw her hold a thin piece of metal band. “You will show me you are worthy to carry my mark of ownership. It will be taken willingly, but I must know by how you act that you are committed to serving me.”

Her touch on his body got more forceful, slapping, pinching, exploring. “There will be no secret places, no hidden resistance. You will be like a perfect slave to me. You want that, don’t you? And you will satisfy me. That means fuck me how I want it.”

Farmboy innocence left him stammering, feeling at once very male as his penis crept up, and unmanned by the complete lack of control. A bit of guilt nagged, telling him that he should somehow be able to take the lead and know what she was talking about.

“You’re covering yourself.” She made a snorting laugh and her hand met his face, with no cushioning to the slap. She didn’t need to hold her strength, and he felt the full force. His hands lifted, leaving the prim clasp over his bare groin, but he checked his defensive parry, only to hear her next command.

“Kneel.”

His knees thunked into the stone floor, as solidly as if she’s sweep kicked the back of his legs.

“Already hard for me? Do you know how to edge yourself?”

His hand found his cock again as she gathered the hem of her peplum gathered to her waist, he could see the dark triangle of her pubic hair. “Let’s see what you can do with that mouth on my cunt. Oh, look at that, you want it don’t you?”

He nodded.

“Say it. Say how much you want to taste me.”

He begged.

“Lick me, lick my aidoion.” The wet, tucked and vivid pink folds of her labia were a welcome point of focus. He hoped he knew what he was doing. Lola Lean generally didn’t ask for this unless she was at least a little tipsy, and then she preferred feather light touches. He put those assumptions about women out of his head when he felt her roughly yank his hair, grinding against his face.  “Bite!”

“Mmmph?!” She had him on his back now, head pinned with her thighs, sure he misheard her.

“Show me your strength. It belongs to me now, my big slave, so use it!” She was smothering him, cutting off his air even as she pleasured herself.

Aggressive nips with his teeth only seemed to inflame her. They ended up in another more intimate wrestling match, this time with her goading him on. His face was all wet with her, her taste in their kisses, her nails raking down his ribs, and in turn, his hands getting tangled in the soft fabric of the peplum until it tore and she laughed and slapped his chest hard, unpinning it from her shoulders.

Her cunt slid against him, so slippery against his body, moaning letting the natural motion of their bodies struggling together guide it. Again, she spoke what he was thinking, teasing him about how he was clearly burning up to get inside of her.

“But don’t you dare come!” She chided. “Your seed belongs to me and I decide when you spend it.”

He gave a whimper as he felt himself slip in, and the grip of her cunt engulf, and the guttural groan. He noticed that, as her thighs made her hips slide up and down. more snatches of old, old Greek mixed in with her love taunts. “Ah… fuck.”

“I’m not going to be able to… to”

“No!” She stopped moving, letting him scramble for composure. “You belong to me, I say when.”

With maddening, self focused motivation, she would stop and start, teasing and building her own crescendo. He could feel the intense grip of her strength and she seemed to like angling her hips just so, breathing getting more ragged, using him until her cries turned into an intense gasp and then more strange words in her own language that he took at prayers or profanity.

At her reaction he clenched his jaw, before adding some blasphemy of his own, “Oh my god! Please can I come? Please!”

“No, we just started, my silly slave boy.”

48 hours later

He didn’t want to take the collar off. It was nestled snuggly about his neck, the metal circlet she’d folded into place with her bare hands. It was comforting, as comforting as the strength in her arm that still held him to her, even as she gently tended to him in the aftermath.

“You know, there’s a precedent for this.” She said, voice a little hazy and still cozily swathed in the glow fading from her sixth and final orgasm.

“Really?” All of him was sore, but bits of him most pleasantly, reminders. Pain was such a rarity is was nice to be able to feel it. He remembered her hands, slapping, pinching, and her pinning him repeatedly, never letting him forget that although he was stronger, she was still in charge.

“Heracles and his twelve tasks. When he lost his first wife, Megera, he went a little mad. The Gods, in their wisdom gave him twelve tasks.”

“The Aegean stables and the bit with the lion?” His face nuzzled against her naked belly, memories from J-school electives coming back.

“His twelfth task. Defeating miscellaneous monsters was heroic, but the point was to teach him humility. He was already a half god, only half mortal and the strongest man to walk the islands.”

“What they make him do?” Dianthe had an almost intoxicating natural scent that made him wonder if it was some god-gift like the rest of her talents, or just part of her beauty. It came out best when she exerted herself.

“He was sent to serve Queen Omphale of Lydia for a year.” Her fingernails dragged gently over his skin, soothing where she had just recently slammed him into the floor hard enough to crack the marble. “She made him a slave, to serve her and her handmaidens.”

“What happened after a year?”

“Well the legends vary, but most accounts say after the year was up, she took him for keeps.”

Any similarity to characters belonging to publishing companies is covered under fair use parody laws. 

This story was commissioned by a blog fan who kindly offered to have me share it with everyone. To order your own BDSM & femdom stories, send me a message via my handy contact form or send an email to miss.pearl.chain@gmail.com.