O Fiction

This is my fiction, which is generally erotica I’ve written, etc…

Friday Femdom Fiction: Hands On Candle Wax

by

The room was lit only by the bright flare of the candle in her hand, and the fat little flickering telights floating in a glass bowl on the night stand. His body was stretched out beneath her, slim and angular, contrasts emphasized by the shadows and made softly shiny from the oil she had kneaded and pressed into his skin.

Before she had lit the candle in her hand, she’s dabbed her finger with sweet almond oil and starting at his bare shoulders, worked along the valleys and edges of muscle and bone. His skin was warm, thick and made soft by her ministrations and whisper fine hair.

When he’d come home she’d made him strip off all his clothing, shedding the office friendly polo and slacks, socks and all the contents of his pockets, admiring him in the curtain filtered light through the door, blue cast over shades of the lightest brown. She liked the smallness and darkness of his nipples, and the maleness of his chest, scattered with dark hair and broad, compared with his waist and his slim hips. In the candle light she could still see the muscular shape of his ass, and remembered the way her fingers dug in, teasing out the stresses of the day until, soothed by the oil, his body realeased itself to her and her touch.

The oil had soaked into her fingers as well, making them soft and leaving an almost imperceptible scent. She’d tried various kinds on his flesh, coconut butter in white lumps turning to a clear slickness, golden olive oil and liked them all, enjoying the glide of her hands over his skin and the press of her breast to his back when she lay atop him.

But now, warmed and ready, she extended her arm, catching the first few drops of wax on the back of her hand to test the temperature. Finding it sharp but safe, she slithered her fingernails down beside his spine before hovering, letting the shadow tell her where the drops would land before hearing the noise he made at each point of impact.

He groaned and wiggled, but stayed belly down, his arms held in the clasp of leather cuffs, anchored to the heavy headboard. She grinned, raising and lowering the height of the flame in her hand so that the heat was altered, controlling the volume and physical level of his reaction to her exact preference.

It was the wave of a conductor’s baton, not the precise calibration of scientific instruments, but as each spatter cooled in ragged white circles, she saw an increasing pattern in the rise and fall of his ass, humping the bed. She giggled, pressing her palm flat on his butt to grind him into the mattress and then adding a few plops of wax when he pushed back, making him yelp.

“Naughty little slut.” She was careful with her candle when she kissed and whispered in his ear. “You want to come, don’t you?”

“Mhm!” his head nodded, as he pushed himself up to the limits of the anchor rope and she twisted him, rolling him to his back. Her knees pressed into the bed bedside him, onto the towel she’d laid with care beneath him to save the sheets, and her free hand spidered over his stomach before caressing over his half engorged penis and the soft weight of his balls.

She made a purring giggle and brought the candle close to her face, making a small “o” with her lips, before blowing, putting out the flame with one strong puff. She set the candle aside and straddled him, the heels of her palms and bent wrists holding her weight over him, just the distance of her small, pert breasts and her panty clad groin wiggled against his.

“Well, you’ve been a good boy, so maybe I’ll indulge you…” She could feel her clit’s warm, buzzing tingle, teasing herself as she teased him. “Only I’m not in the mood to fuck, but I love seeing you shoot all over your belly. But I want to hear you beg me.”

“Please Miss C___”, please get me off!”

“Little louder…”

“Please!”

“Okay slut. I know those balls of yours have filled up again.” She swung her leg back over, ceasing to straddle him, and smiling at he effect on his cock as her fingers took another tiny bit of oil, before her hand circled him.

She began to stroke and pull at her length, her other hand cradling his balls before working around, fingers finding the sensitive place at the root of his penis, and the secret spots that extended to his ass, until he was bucking and sliding around in her hand, desperately trying to get that last little bit of stimulation to tip him to the point of no return.

“Slow down, you’ll come on my terms or you’ll even the evening with a ruined orgasm.” She warned.

He whimpered, and just when he thought he was past the point of being able to hold back, he heard her permission and felt the clench of her hand, coaxing.

“Ahhhh,” the orgasm caught him hard, heavier than he expected, rocking spasms through his body. She watched his body twitch, fighting the cuffs and his mouth open, chin tucking toward his chest as his cock sent two spurts of creamy white out, the first, airborn and splattering on his stomach and the second landing in a string across her fingers.

She brought her hand to her mouth, licking, smiling as he lay there, utterly helpless under her hands. “Good boy.”

~~~

A quickie with hot wax and an exploration of sensual female domination to add to the collection of femdom stories. Liked what you read? Leave a comment!

Friday Femdom Fiction: Out of Her Hand(cuffs)

by

“I’ve decided you have too much independence most of the time and that’s interfering with your ability to submit. So I’m going to take that away.”  She gently moved him into the position she wanted him to be in, admiring the lines of his bare back as she stood behind him.

The ratchet made a click every time they tightened. On his wrists, slim as they were, that meant cinching them in close, squeezing the metal, satisfyingly, until his hands were captured behind his back in two loops of shiny steel.

He had held his arms for her, obediently for once, while she locked them into place.  Of course as soon as they were on and she let go he was testing against them, feeling the metal. She’d made him strip to the waist, and she could see the muscles shift under his skin as he figured out how much liberty he had.

“You’re going to spend the next four and a half hours with your arms like that,” she reminded. “From now until bedtime.”

5:22 PM

He looked up at her from the floor, where she’d shoved him down to kneel, expectantly.

“No, this isn’t about me playing with you for kinky fun time.” She frowned, shaking her head.”This is about reminding you that you’re helpless.”

He looked confused, but she shrugged and moved the pillow to the small of her back, making herself comfortable on the couch, going back to looking at the television. Her legs crossed at the ankle, tight, soft black knit rubbing against black knit. “You can stay here with me if you want, or go do something else on your own. Up to you.”

He knee walked over, putting his head into her lap. Her fingers combed through his thick, soft hair, but her eyes stayed on the screen at the other side of the living room. He focused on the feeling of her nails on his scalp, on the warmth of her thigh and the velvet nap of the couch upholstery.

6:13 PM

“Can we please take these off?”

“Are you safewording?” She looked at his face to gauge his level of discomfort, checking to see if he was genuinely in distress or simply irritated. “Think about this. Do you really need me let you go or are you just sulking because you want this to be about you?”

He seemed to consider it, weighing his tolerance to the consequences. “N…no.”

“Then tough it out.” There. That was the hard part, that little bit of guilt that not letting him have fun would have repercussions for her, the other half of the lesson she was teaching herself with at the same time she reminded him of his place. In the spirit of that, she pushed those thoughts aside, and the trailing resentment that went with them, focusing on the moment. “Submit.”

He looked ashamed and she smoothed out her skirt, reaching for her laptop and thumbing the lid open. He watched her click the keys, halfway between touch typing and two fingered button pushing.

6:58 PM

“What shall we have for dinner? Hm, is it takeout night or am I going to cook something?”

“Uh…” He looked uncomfortable about being asked. He never liked to directly pick what they ate, always preferring that she made a suggestion. “Whatever you want is fine.”

“A big plate of spaghetti for you to bury your face in? So you get covered with sauce?” Her finger lightly caressed his cheek. “Smeary red?”

He hesitated again, thinking about the texture mashed into his skin and how it would smell.  She watched his expression, still admiring his bare chest and the way he flexed his shoulders, still uncomfortable in the grip of the handcuffs. She smirked.

“How about pork fajitas? The pork needs to be used up.”

“Okay, but I want you to help me, you’re the one who knows how to make it better.”

“You could just uncuff me and I could make dinner…”

“No, I don’t think so. You can kneel on the kitchen floor and I’ll ask you if I have any questions.”

7:36 PM

She kept him there while she put together dinner, crisped pork shreds wrapped in cornflour shells,  garnished inside with confetti-fine shreds of lettuce and spicy, sweet salsa and green and garlic sharp guacamole. He’d felt fidgety and frustrated, watching the outline of her ass and the way the slight stretch in the fabric of her pencil skirt cradled it.

He thought about other things to go do, picking up his phone and poking at the screen or curling up with his computer, but both weren’t options.

“There, two for me, three for you, with a squirt of lime.” She turned, crouched and smiled. “Come on, we’ll eat on the rug.”

She sat mermaid style, and he knelt, trying to figure out how to eat the food she’d put in front of him. He leaned forward, trying to take a bite and succeeded in making the tortilla unroll, spreading the blended contents on his plate and getting guacamole on his nose.

She giggled and took a bite, savoring the crispness, and the mixed flavours. “Having trouble?”

He frowned and she reached out with a finger, scooping the green off his nose before popping it in her mouth and sucking. “Mmm…”

“I can’t eat like this.”

“Well, that does sound like a problem. You’re going to be hungry if you don’t think of a solution.”

“Can… can you help me eat this?”

There was a satisfied smirk, as if she was waiting to hear that, and she picked up the fajita, retucking it together and holding it in his reach. He took a big bite.

 

Friday Femdom Fiction: Sweat & Service

by

She took the stairs slowly, feeling the burn in her thighs and up into her hips. Her chest felt the press of the sprints she’d just completed, and shook her head, letting her loose, long hair sway, trying to cool herself, holding the elastic she’d pulled from her sleep and sweat tangled hair and the coiled up cord of her headphones.

First the front steps, up a story, the door, with it’s glass panels, and the inside steps, all the way up again, to the inner door. She was tired.

He was waiting there, at the top of the steps, his legs folded under him in a prayer pose, head bowwed and palms flat on the floor, long arms a little forward, as if in supplication.

The slight askewness in the way he was kneeling that said he had heard her coming at the first rattle of the door and got into position. She guessed rushing from the bedroom, or maybe he’d lumbered from his bed as far as the kitchen.

“Mistress!”

She smiled, stopped and rested her hand on the wall, plucking her phone from the taut pocket made by the tight grip of her sports bra and dropping it, keys, cord and elastic onto the hall stand.

His fingers went for the laces of her shoes, sensible trainers with white, honeycomb mesh and big white soft plastic, like rubber and panels of bright colours in purple and neon and reflective grey. She always put a double knot in the bow and laced her feet in tight, like it was a corset.

He kissed her then, on the crossed lace strip of her right instep, peeling her shoes off to reveal the padded grey ankle socks she was wearing underneath. Her feet were damp, clean sweat, fresh, and she smiled as he hooked a finger into the band of her socks and peeled them off, feeling him lifter her foot to kiss at her soles and then her calf and thigh.

He tasted salt, tongue darting our, delicately, seeking up the creamy inside of her leg until her hand pushed him away. “Fetch me a glass of water. No ice”

When he got up, she followed him into the kitchen, where he took a glass from the shelf and ran the tap for a moment to be sure the temperature was cool. She finished it in big gulps, plunking the spent vessel on the counter and lazily making her order an announcement- “Undress me.”

He knelt again, to pull down her brief shorts, black knit, drawstring drawn all ruffled to sit on her narrow waist but stretch fabric filled by the swell of her wide hips. She stretched, pointing her toes as she stepped free of the discarded garment, and he saw the jut of her hip bones beneath the thin fabric of her cotton panties, and the dark shadow of her groin.

He kissed and licked her pale belly, tongue making a trace to her rib flare, where his lips nipped at the bone, before moving behind her. The sports bra was a tight stretch of black elastic, pressing her small breasts, tight as he pulled it up, and she indulgently let her arms move up, making it easy. He got a rich waft of her smell from her smell, intoxicating, pheromone laden.

“Touch me.”

She didn’t need to explain what she meant, caressing her body, around to cup her bared breasts, kissing the back of her neck, and reaching around, palm sliding down her stomach and finger finding the furred fold of her labia, playing, getting a wriggle and then a pleased noise. Her hand crept behind her, making explorations of her own. “Serve me.’

His mouth traced from neck to shoulder, even as his fingers returned to her back, finding all the placed he knew she liked to feel him press, then cleaving to her sinking lower, back down to kneeling as he nuzzled the fullness of her ass. Hand and mouth, and then she let a giggle escape as his impish nature tempted him too much to nip at one perfect rounded cheek.

“Bad boy, serve your Mistress and go set up a shower.”

Femdom Story Update

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Enjoying my BDSM & femdom stories and thinking about getting yourself something as a treat or getting a gift for someone else?

I get tons on requests from fans of my fiction to cover specific tops or explore ideas- maybe you want to see a particular fetish given some real justice, or maybe nobody’s writing quite what you are looking for so far. To go with my high quality writing, I’m updating our pricing, to give you the opportunity to enjoy longer pieces of bespoke fiction and better reflect the types of projects people want to order. That means a price drop on stories over 2K words in length!

Wondering about the possibilities? Some stories people have ordered include a special couple time story as a birthday gift; a steamy encounter between a female police officer and the poor boy she decides to prey on;  the secrets of a female society plotting to subjugate all men for their pleasure; and my favourite, when Wonder Woman showed Superman who’s boss in the way we know darn well suits both the characters.

Check out the new rates to get yourself the erotica you’ve always dreamed about here.

Friday Femdom Fiction: Body Writing Brat

by

The cuffs were soft leather, wrapped around each slender wrist and holding his arms over his head, bound to the headboard, while a crimson scarf was twice wrapped across his eyes, blinding in soft layers of silk fabric.

She looked over him, naked, remembering the rough stripping she’s done, with the way the snaps of his shirt had popped and his pants and briefs had come down together in one quick yank. One leg half curled up, and she pushed down on his knee, making him flat to the mattress.

There was a scattering of hair over his chest and a thicker stroke of dark over his belly. and cradling his groin in an intimate way that always made her want to press her face there and let her teasing tongue find its own path.

Instead, she kept her removed posture and considered for a moment, before she began, opening the flap of the orange box and pulling out one of the thick pens by the brightly coloured cap.

“Let’s use your favourite shade then? It’ll show up nice and clear on your skin when our friends get here for the party.”

The wet tip of the marker brushed over his skin. He smelled of clean laundry and maleness, his skin reminding her of butter and summer sun bleached grass. The marker was blue, tapered nub dabbing sky tinted ink in curves and straight lines.

“That tickles!”

“Shhhh… You hated wearing the sign even more.”

“Miiiiiiss!” He whined, drawing it out. “Heeeeey!”

“Be good.” Her hand took his thigh, giving it a warning squeeze. “You’re a bad boy and everyone’s going to know it after I’m done.”

“What are you writing?”

“What you are and all the things you did wrong.”

“I can’t see!”

“You know what you did. You can guess what it says.”

“Seducer of women?” Even with his eyes covered, she could see the coy challenge.

“Slut!” The marker was drawn away from his skin as she flipped his leg over, twisting his hip up to land a solid spank on target.

He yelped,  and when she released his thigh he lay flat, letting her straddle him and add another line of writing.”

“Came without permission, without even taking a picture for me to look at. And such a smart mouth. Always answers back. Never does what he’s told… Oh and you bit Miss Jenny!”

“Miss Jenny said I didn’t dare do it. And she liked it!”

There was another smack and a yelp. “And you’re not holding still! You have one job and that’s to lie on your back and let me write. We shall underline ‘disobedient’ shall we?”

“There, much better. Time to take some souvenirs.” She knew he could hear the recorded click noise of her cell phone’s camera.

“Let me see!”

“I don’t think so. Not for a bad boy.” She leaned over him now and gave a kiss, just as the phone in her hand buzzed. “Oh, that’s them, they’re downstairs!”

Just a little flustered, she reached for the buckles freeing him. “I’d better go answer the door. Mind you get tea together when you come out, and bring it to us on a tray. There won’t be any illusions what you are to me when they read this.”

When she left the room he could hear her feet down the hall and then on the steps, and the sound of voices. He took off the blindfold without untying it, curiosity drawing him to the mirror.

Property of Miss ___

Disobedient

Slut

Answers Back

Caution: Bites

He made a tsking noise and found the discarded box of markers. In orange scrawl, lopsided above everything he added one more word. Beloved.

Friday Femdom Fiction: Breath Control

by

The ribs of he corset pulled in on her ribs, steel bending soft bone and pushing creamy breast up, pillowy at the satin edged top of the construction. Her body pushed back, straight lined bones forced to be an hour glass that bllowed sharply beneath into the roundness of her hips. Uncontained , but for the black cross strap of the garters and the little scrap of lace panties. She’d put her stocking clad feet into heels, but those had been kicked off when she’d pushed him back into the bed and climbed on top.

He could feel her weight, warm and soothing, her palms pushing on his chest. She giggled and whispered, “The safeword is to tap. If I see you thumping me, yourself or the bed, I know you’ve had enough.”

Her hand had teased his cock, petting whole hand strokes like she was stroking a cat, then running her hand up his belly and chest, feeling the light brush of hair, before skipping to his face. Her fingers pinched off his nose and her other hand cupped over his lips, sealing off his air.

She watched his face, helpless, eyes getting wider until he began to pat at her thigh and she released, letting him exhale and draw a breath.

“Breathe. Breathe out.”Her hands went back over his mouth and nose. She held them there, feeling him try and fail to suck more than a few whistles of air around the seal she’d made. When she saw the hints of a struggle, she removed her hands again. “Breathe.”

While he took in air again, her hand crept back to his cock, teasing and pulling where it was already half swollen. He moaned and she made a muffled sound of delight, something between a giggle and a contented murr.

“Breathe. Breathe out.” This time it was her mouth, not her hand that sealed his mouth. He’d kept a little air, which she breathed out for him, through her nose, and then drew in a breath, feeling her corset creak as her chest expanded, feeding him.

He made almost no movement, only cringing back into the bed, but holding himself at her mercy. She was alert and careful, watching everything he did, making sure he weakened but never truly slipped too far. His eyes were wild and wide, fearing even though he could push her off with one arm, and his cock stayed snap-stiff with hardly any attention.

She tugged of the little scrap of stretchy lace, now wet through, tossing her panties off the bed and rubbed her groin to his, letting the wetness and the grooves of her cunt tease and slide him into the right position, before letting him sheath inside her. Perched over, and around him, her hands went back to his mouth again, stealing his air and squeezing inside. “Breathe. Breathe out.”

She alternated then, only wriggling her hips when his air was stolen, so that each gasp was made as she loomed over him, smiling. “You want to come, don’t you?”

He didn’t waste air talking, nodding as he sucked in greedy breaths before she took it away again.

“Come then, come in me.”

The orgasm was violent, twisting him into an arch bend, head rolling back, open mouth breaking the air seal on her hand. She took them away, finally, and let him finish spasming that way, pulling in air even as all his strength was stolen from him.

He was pale, and sweat dappled, while her palms were clammy from his exhalations. She kissed him again, this time feather light, slipping her weight off of his as she shifted to his side. “Breathe. I’m done.”

Friday Femdom Fiction: Roadside Distraction

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Each stretch of road passed much like the last: pressed asphalt, road signs, trees, drainage ditches and painted marks in day glow. She yawned and adjusted the ear pieces of her glasses, looking away from the bright beaming sun ahead of them and over to her left, where he was driving them both at a steady pace that just nudged the speed limit. She liked to watch his hands on the steering wheel, from time to time reaching to shift gears with a short tug.

She swung her foot in a lazy crescent swoop that left her loose plastic shoe dangling from her toes, glanced at the surroundings again before making a decision. “You should find a place to pull over.”

That made him look away from the road completely, nervously checking for what calamity she was about to confess. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She made a crooked smile, clarifying this was about her pleasure not her distress. “You need to pull over and take all your clothing off.”

“What?”

“Now. You have a reasonable legal expectation of privacy in your car. This is Canada.” She made her voice serious, cutting off any argument and pointed to help him focus despite suddenly frayed nerves, suggesting the turn off that had caught her eye. He signaled, switching lanes somewhat jerkily.

The car came to a stop in the shoulder, away from the main road but still within eyesight of it. He hesitated, the car idling until she told him to turn it off, and then got stuck again, unable to take the first motion to undress until she pulled his sunglasses from his face and repeated, “Everything off. Completely.”

The polo went first, his arms thrown up over his head, pulling and revealing his stomach. Stripped of his shirt, his torso was pale, blue vein traces marked along the top of his chest like a river delta. Awkwardly, trying not to lift his hips up past the line of the window, he undid his pants and inched them off his legs with his underwear until they got stuck on his shoes.

She laughed and took possession of everything in a bundle on her right side, wedged against the door against her hip. He kept glancing out the window towards the main road and behind them, hand touching his face, soothing away worry.

“Play with yourself.”

His lips were pulled thin with anxiety, but at her insistence, he began to cup and stroke his cock, eyes going heavy lidded. She could tell even before he began to touch himself he was excited.

“I bet you’re feeling that full body vulnerability, aren’t you? You don’t know what I’m going to do next or how long I’m going to keep you like this.”

His lip moved, but she shook her head, leaning in to say. “Don’t talk, just nod your head.”

“Mmm…”

Her fingers stroked up his bare arm, watching him coax himself fully thick, before she tugged his hand away. A car passed on the road near them and he flinched.

“Shhh..” She took over, touching the velvety soft skin, petting and carassing before pulling her had back to her mouth.

When she returned contact, cupping and gripping his cock, her palm was wet with saliva, warm and chafing fast and light, quick friction on the midsection and sensitive head of his cock. “Don’t come.”

“Please…”

“If you come, I’m making you drive us the rest of the way wearing nothing but a belly covered in semen. You think you’re exposed now? Imagine trying to concentrate on the highway like that.”

He has his shoulders tensed and his arms pulled in close to his body, bent at the midsection, neck muscles tugged so his head projected forward leading with his chin. “Fuck! Please stop.”

“Think about that, me holding your clothes right here on my lap until we pull into the motel parking lot. You having to dress while the concierge is looking to see what new person has pulled in and other people walking around. They’d probably see you…”

“Miss. Please. I’m going to come!”

She eased off, smirking. “No. No you’re not.”

Another car drove past, silver grey and boxy. He gave a deep breath, only to find she’d pulled her skirt up to her thighs and was tugging her panties off. The stretchy cotton discarded with his clothes, she straddled his lap, grinding.

“Ahh…”

She was wet, the head of his cock almost guiding itself into cunt with the slippery wriggle of her hips. “Ooff, crowded!”

She giggled, feeling the steering wheel awkwardly pressing into her back and squeezing him with her thighs, the better to make them both fit in the car seat.

“Please, please, please…”

“Nope.” She dismounted, sliding him out of her as she manoeuvred back into her seat. “Not until the next rest stop. Now I wonder if I should give you your shorts back?”

~

I’ve been playing with this fantasy for a couple of weeks and I’m glad to have another addition for Friday Femdom Fiction.

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

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you do that, Miss, I don’t…”

“You want to be my good toy?”

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

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

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

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

“Miss!”

—

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

Friday Femdom Fiction: Experimental Purple Prose

by

Naked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

Catamite Pt. 23

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The dormitory reminded him of something between his childhood and his days at university. There was the same jocular brotherhood of close quarters that he remembered from his early school years, but although he guessed most of the men he shared the space with to be a few years younger than himself, they were definitely adults.

They were housed comfortably at four men to a room, each with his own bed and trunk at the foot. The other men were friendly, although he felt like perhaps he got a bit more space than they gave each other, marking him an outsider but not unwanted.  When he first arrived at the facility, Annette had been greeted by Chloe, and then left him in the custody of her servants with no indication of what his purpose for being there was.

Chloe was a Foreigner, whose presence only emphasized the educational atmosphere. Like most of his teachers and caretakers at his childhood school, she had skin the colour of molasses and wore her hair in an un-restructured halo, cloud like curls coiled about by a single braid that went around the crown of her head. She was dressed as a lady, trim and tight waisted in a suit of grey charcoal wool, a bit boxier in the shoulder than the current fashion, but giving an affect of gravitas that extended into her obvious leadership of the place that now housed him. He guessed, by her face, she might be in comfortable middle age, but then again it was hard to tell with Foreigners, who lived as they pleased. Unlike the rest of her kind, she affected not specialness from the social protocol, even going as far as wearing the gold band of a marriage on her hand and none of the other symbols they used to indicate the complicated interpersonal relationships of Foreigner culture, although Annette and the Foreign woman’s staff addressed her as Dr. and not Mrs. Dr.

When she had departed, Annette had taken a moment to put her hands up on his shoulders and remind him to mind himself and look to how he was taught. Then, one of Chloe’s servants led him to the dormitory, and there he’d been housed for the last 36 hours. His box of things was delivered, and he discovered, packed in it, someone had put the book of photographs from the colony in with the paper and pencil box that Annette let him have.

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