Feet & Other Things You’re Not Supposed To Be Into in BDSM

by

I like feet and I’m a dominant woman. This has occasionally surprised people. It’s actually relatively easy to slide under the radar as a female foot fetishist, embarrassingly so because getting quasi-orgasmic over women’s foot gear, while seen as a perversity in a man, is almost mandatory for full on gender conformity as a woman. But I’ve never been able to wax lyrical about SHOES, anymore than I ever enjoyed cheesecake (the ewwww food, not the pin ups).  I like male feet more than female feet. True I also have stocking/sock fetish, but the only people I have for company are the foot fetish guys.

When did the fetish crop up? I remember, as a kid, being at a parade and watching soldiers march and having a real interest for the shiny black boots. It was before I had much in the way of sexuality, so it was more of a symbolism/texture thing than anything erotic. At the same time I got really obsessed with learning to give foot rubs. I’m not unique, but like most women if I want to indulge this desire I’m forced to head for gay porn. Unfortunately, when it comes to ostensibly straight porn- the female gaze, when you get pandered to, is assumed to be from a kneeling position as the default.

It’s easy to develop a chip on your shoulder. Especially if you talk about how you want some good fem-dom erotica and the stuff that gets tossed your way is Sardax… which is fine if you’re a submissive male into those particular fetishes. It’s not just that the market assumes that as a female consumer you’re not into porn. The ‘romance’ section panders to female sexuality rather doggedly. But for a genre that happily hits all the fem sub bases, from 50 Shades to all the Pirate and Scottish Laird and hunky FBI agents abducting you for your own good… if you’re lucky she will get the drop on the hero once, as a plot device. And then he will be all stiff and prissy and not really take the situation very seriously. And usually escape and often turn the tables.

People pipe up that there’s lots of ebooks if I want to plunge into the sordid world of erotic romance niche porn. And there is. Probably, because I’m not that special of a snowflake. But… there’s absolutely no way to tell if it’s eyeball bleedingly bad or not.

Then there’s my masochism. I like pain. No sensual rose petal hippy sex for me. It can be a little awkward, not from a self image perspective, but getting across that I don’t want to submit, I just enjoy it if the sexual beatings between people I trust and I go both ways. Plenty of people are all liberal and tolerant and preach happily that you can call yourself a dom while caressing your own bruises, but again unless you’re in some sort of hierarchy household with alpha subs or the “head training mistress who serves the house master” trope… you’re going to be an outlier.

Anyway the point I wandered in here with is that I don’t feel like it’s straight forward when you’re unusual in the fetish clusters. You know the sort of thing I mean: sub dudes + strapons +face sitting + nasty talk or dominants + elaborate rope bondage + taking yourself too damn seriously + photographing a tatty bedspread full of knives and sex toys. Dominant woman + feet + masochism or even hell, dominant woman sometimes, if you’re not half asphyxiated in a corset and stiletto thigh boots and only interested in cunnilingus, can be a lonely little kingdom.

And somewhere out there is a stompy leatherdaddy master type into small penis humiliation  So it could be worse.

Catamite Pt. 18

by

True to her word, Annette let him sleep in her wide, comfortable bed, and he stayed there until one of the chamber maids appeared to change the linens. The maid departed without completing her task, giving him time to dress and reorient himself to the mid-afternoon sun and confusion of his routines and regulations.

She had, in the time he slept, dressed in day clothing, reapplied makeup and changed her hair, though asides from a few loose tendrils, the blonde coils were covered by a simple house cap. Timmans had evidently recovered and was back at work dressing her mistress.

“I don’t like your face, it’s too prickly,” her fingers lightly brushed his cheek. “It’s uncomfortable when I slap you.”

Read more

Catamite Pt. 17

by

He watched as Annette dressed, filament fine stockings drawn on with protective gloves as the roughness of bare fingers would ladder the knit instantly, clipped to the garters of the girdle, beige tinted elastic panels containing and lifting her, smoothing the child worn belly, hoisting her breasts and pushing her ribs down. Like a woman of his class letting herself be seen with a bare face, as an unmarried man it was another mystery Annette had initiated him into, the hooks and straps that held the daughters, mothers and wives of great men ridged backed and tight around the abdomen, each point of restraint giving just enough that the body could move, but collaborating together to hold the woman up so no muscle could let itself rest untightened or sigh and shrug could excuse a slouch.

Read more

Profanity from Pain

by

I’ve got a fetish, and it’s not for men who are super polite in the bedroom. I like it when they swear. There’s something particularly thrilling about a foul mouth when it hurts.

Don’t get me wrong, the whole suppressed grunts and whimpering and carrying on has a special place in my heart too… but give me a man who curses like a sailor when the cruelty starts and you’ll have me following him around glassy eyed, in a lemming like fashion.

It’s even hot when you’re not even doing anything that nasty. It feels like you’ve impressed him. Shocked him out of coherence.

“Oh fuck, Miss!” feels so good the instant it escapes his mouth.

Check this out by Ferns:

I move down your chest to your left nipple. I lick it, suck it into my mouth, nibbling at it, then lapping gently with the flat of my tongue. I close my teeth around your flesh and pull at it, applying some pressure. It’s hard. I grab the peg and pull the skin of your nipple forward, closing the peg on it.

I watch your face register the pain, my stomach flipping over as you bite your lip. You are trying to be stoic. I wait for you to swear.

“…Fucking fuck fuck…”

I grab your head and pull your mouth to mine, wanting to swallow your words, I kiss you aggressively and your angry mouth returns the kiss hard, taking my breath. So fucking hot, I’m making soft inarticulate noises into your mouth.

Pure bloody joy (and the rest of her writing is pretty hot too!).

There’s also a certain delight in bedroom trash talk. The protests of a man defeated: “Oh, you evil bitch.” “You’re fucking cruel, Miss!”

I eat it up like candy and it’s a hundred times better than “Goddess!” or any permutation of the worshiping script. Don’t you dare wax lyrical about my sacred cunt. I’m the bitch, the scourge, and your damnation. I hurt, and scratch and bite. I slap and I strike. I know I’m at my happiest when my sadism is bearing down on you. I want it to be awful and evil and I want your curses because they feel real.

Catamite Pt. 16

by

On the other side of the new year, when the short, sharp winter ran frost traces in the gaps of the brick sidewalks of the capital, and everyone who could afford it wore their furs pulled tight against the cold, Phillip found himself deferentially following after Annette through the fashionable shopping district. He wore the uniform coat of a member of the Harrington household, and found himself as over looked and ignored by people who knew Annette, just as they ignored her bodyguards and other attendants.

Change had come a piece at a time, starting with a bookcase that had appeared in his little room the day after the house party, and followed by access to paper and pencils, and then a regular supply of necessities and amusements. The gift of an under bed trunk meant had choice in his clothes, instead of garments appearing in the arms of a servant according to Annette’s immediate whim, and his unoccupied time had a small measure of freedom to choose his own pursuits. There was even limited freedom to leave his room and walk in selected parts of the house.

Read more

Catamite Pt. 15

by

Annette came back early, more tired than the shortness of her ride justified. After the tedious business of side saddle mounting, a horse with a lame foot and some worry about the possibility of rain, the women had only been able to follow the trail to the point that it crossed the road, and there they’d been met by a soldiers’ checkpoint. They had no issues with the matter of identification or the acceptance of their papers, but the soldiers had turned them away anyway, citing danger to life and limb.

The ongoing insurrection had been particularly loud that week, derailing a train, blowing up police stations, and recently, leaving an informer crucified in the middle of the little village about eight miles away. A little gathering of respectable ladies, no matter how well chaperoned by their guards, were far too tempting a target for the soldiers to be willing to risk and the armed and armoured men made grovelling apologies, especially in light of who Annette’s father had been. She could have pressed the point, if she’d wished, but she saw the wisdom in the soldier’s caution and agreed with their decision. And so the pre-dinner entertainment was a write off and each woman retired to her own pursuits: Agatha into a fashion video downloaded straight from the runways of the capital, and Patricia went for a walk around the grounds with Pitor as an escort.

Read more

5 More Submissive Acts Nobody Masturbates To

by

Transit Pass Renewal – One part service, one part financial domination, send your sub to get the new pass on the first of the month to maximize time wasted in line behind that one person who can’t remember which pocket their credit cards are in. Especially in cities like Toronto, where a pure daily work commute can actually cost less if you don’t buy a pass, let the massive price make the hapless victim feel truly used in ways that even grabbing your rent and starbucks tab doesn’t make them sink to.

Elbow & Knee Pampering – Sure plenty of people will do it, but nobody waxes lyrical about a lady’s limb joints the way you can guarantee someone will stampede if you ask for a manicure or a foot massage. Somehow knobbly and pointy, especially made dry and scaly by the winter lack of humidity, are so far down on the fetish list that nobody offers this, ever.

Sock Darning – Once given to my paternal grandmother as a suggestion of what she should be doing instead of trying to find a job outside the home, make male subs of a certain age feel less than a man while getting more life out of your extra thick winter wool socks.

Horrible Holiday Sweater Wearing – If that’s a sub in a long term relationship, show who is boss in the relationship and deal with the awkward family gift of the novelty sweater by letting them wear it to please the giver at your next family function. For extra humiliation, tell everyone that (s)he loves the sweater so much that they stole it off you, guaranteeing as your family learns to love them, they’ll soon get inundated with sweaters of their own. This can backfire if said relative decides to go for his/hers (or his/his or hers/hers) matching sweaters next year, but then there’s always skants.

Non-Consensual Gender Discrimination – Again for the male sub into humiliation and forced femme, rather than wasting time calling them a sissy and pulling out the lingerie and heels, let them experience true humiliation by engaging in all the subtle ways sexism manifests today. Offer them less pay but fire them for consulting with people over salary. Flatter them by saying they’re naturally good at all the shit jobs, and being protected from the really ‘hard’ ones. Pass them over for promotions with the explanation that they might be unreliable baby makers, and its nothing personal, just sound business. Accuse them of being crazy, emotional or overly aggressive when they assert themselves, and of course if this annoys them, be sure to invalidate their feelings with a sarcastic inquiry into the subject of their menstrual cycle while suggesting they are master emotional manipulators who can escape traffic tickets by being their sad sissy selves.

 

Catamite Pt. 14

by

Vitaly was braced against the heavy wooden table, buttocks separated by the intrusion of Maria’s mercifully slim arm. He was making deep, guttural noises , repetitive grunts that came out “..ut!…ut!…ut!”

Each wrist was clamped into a cuff and fixed to the opposite legs of the table, keeping Vitaly’s chest flat with the plastic covered wood. Maria’s shoulder drove her arm back and forth in a straight line, with the steady rhythm of a rock breaker.

The tawdry underpants were abandoned in a small heap on the floor, but Vitaly makeup had been refreshed, more pink and red with the subtlety and detail of a four year old’s colouring book. Phillip knew, from observation, that Maria’s hand was clenched into a fist and that minimal amounts of lubrication had allowed her to wiggle first two fingers, then her pointed hand up to her knuckles, and finally her clenched grip.

Read more

Catamite Pt. 13

by

The ropes were a dirty dun colour, thin, but wound several times around his body in rippled bands so that the bite of one cord was negated by its sisters. Such comforts gave him the full ability to concentrate on the hanging weights and the cross linked cords that made each of the four men intimately connected and gave them one contact point with the ground.

Read more

Catamite Pt. 12

by

Annette sat just above his groin, her bodice in disarray and her skirt in crumpled folds to that her lace covered legs were fully exposed. She was pinching, all over his skin, where there weren’t freshly sealed cuts from his last misadventure. Her hands would grab a patch of skin and yank hard until he groaned and this would make her twist on top of him, pushing her pelvis hard and scrubbing back and forth.

Phillip remained inert under her grinding, letting her use his body like dough, pummelling and kneading it. She pulled his ears, put her fingernail into the delicate skin just inside his ear canal and bit his lip when she kissed him. Cruelty begat cruelty, her nails raked his neck and shoulders and she slapped his face.

Slapping carried its own sort of pain, so close to the eyes that it picked tears out of their ducts, despite his acceptance. He’d let his whole body go flaccid, surrendering to whatever she was intending until her barrage of hurt ended, but every time she slapped he had to scrunch up his face and move his jaw.

“Adam, darling?” Annette had her hand around his neck, but she’d stopped hitting him.

“Please, my Lady, is this my punishment for losing tonight?”

“No, I gave you a choice. You are mine and I simply draw satisfaction from seeing you suffer. I am very happy with you.” She gave him a slow, tender kiss.

“Yes, my Lady,” Phillip closed his eyes. His body was tired and he stung all over.

“But Adam, really…” She was wistful.

“I’m sorry, my Lady?”

“Kiss me back. You are my lover and companion. So act like it.”
“I didn’t know I was allowed to, my Lady.”

“This was the whole point. I own you to enjoy.”

Phillip craned his head up, not daring to put his hand on her. Their mouths met.

“Undress me like the lover you are supposed to be.”

It took him a moment to figure out the closures on her dress, undoing the hook capped zipper that peeled down to let the stiffly cut dress fall away from her body. The fabric was the most muted shade of red possible, more brown than scarlet and heavy, but still the loudest thing he’d ever seen her wear. Her slip was white and soft, covering the brassier that kept her breasts in the fashionable level and the fastenings on her lace stockings.

“You wore another colour, today, my Lady” Phillip left the dress laid out beside them, pulling the net and pins out of her long hair.

“I was feeling less confined,” Annette drew him against her breasts. “Blue is for work and quiet, at home. Adam, I will use you some more.”

His arousal was reticent, not from lack of want for her body but from the previous and lingering pain. Annette seemed unperturbed, taking her time to get him ready. She brought his hand to her groin and he felt she was saturated, and showed him how to crook two fingers inside her the way she liked and circle her clitoris around until she was breathing in and out, with the same ferocious lust that rose up when she hurt him. When he mustered a passable erection, she took it, awkwardly finding the right position by first mounting and rocking her hips and then switching to a squat.

This time she did the work, vigorous and rapid. Her hands were back on his throat. “Tell me how it feels?”

“Good, my Lady, good.”

Phillip saw her flushed face, loose hair tangling and falling in the way. She brushed it aside. “Don’t reassure me, tell me when it feels good and when it hurts.”

The hand on his neck was just enough to make him aware that she could cut off his air, but not enough to strangle. She took her time, patient with his timorous libido, coaxing out his lust until he was able to muster an orgasm.
Feeling the sperm wash into her, she let herself stay lodged firmly down on his cock until he finished his spasms. Under her tutoring he had begun to touch her, tentatively stroking what he could reach as they fucked. Still aroused, she levered herself up and off and knee walked the length of his body.

Phillip felt her hover over him, before he felt the release of their mixed coupling land on his neck and chin.

“Prettier on you than on the bed sheets,” Annette said by way of explanation.
She made him take a hot shower with her in the guest bathroom; a smaller room than her lavish bathroom in the Harrington country house, but still large and almost excessively decorated, with green flecked marble surfaces and gold worked into the surface of the pipes and taps. Annette was gentle as she soaped down his body and worked a lather into his hair, but the least little motion of his head was still restricted by her hands.

He could feel the pads of her fingers pressing into her scalp, finger combing and focusing on the sensitive edge of his hairline and behind his ears. Annette stood behind him so the majority of the hot water hit his skin, letting him relax against her body.

“You’re going to sleep beside me, tonight. I can’t have you all sweaty and tacky to touch.”