Making My Submissive Fuck A Fleshlight For Me

Caption: making my submissive fuck a fleshlight for fun.

The Fleshlight is mounted to the glass surface of the desk, in an improvised hold with tape, and I am watching the pink length of my sub’s cock slide into the clear barrel of it. Making my submissive fuck a fleshlight is a mutual fantasy realized from one of my Friday Femdom Fiction stories.

He’s standing to angle a bit up as the height of his desk is ergonomic for typing, not sex. This only adds an extra frisson of sexy for me as to fuck the fleshlight means a struggle.

I am doing this to make him practice fucking for me. Some of this is to make do in the pandemic enforced distance, but I would also do it with him aa well. Today was no frills #SundayWorship, our weekly webcam date, anticipated all week around jobs and volunteering and other adult concerns. The only prop on my side was an old timey pocket watch necklace that sways in my hand while I repeat commands for him to follow. 

That gets him in an already autonomous drone head state, although he was smiling ear to ear when I called him.

As a toy, Fleshlight really goes out of it’s way to market itself with women holding the product. Maybe to make it less lonely or fight the current stigma, a real difference between the vibrators and dildoes for women which make no pretense of being for private masturbation first. It really feels like femdom porn is the only place I have found where I see fleshlights deployed as a couple thing, which is a crying shame.

Because of this stigma, there is an aspect of possible humiliation in what I am doing to him, but it doesn’t feel like I am degrading him. I think it’s fucking hot, all the voyeuristic glee of watching the line of his body undulate to thrust. He’s learning to fuck for me.

It’s so much harder for himthan edging with his hand because the sensations are all new, different, less in his control and he is focusing on a rhythm and also on me and my voice and reactions. Which is a good metaphor for sex: overwhelming and intimate.

That’s the purpose of this operation, other than pure gratification: training him to fuck before we do it for real, so he learns other sensations than the buzz of a vibrators or the excessive firmness of his hand. It isn’t because I think our first time will be crap. I actually want that awkward moment of him learning the intimacy of being inside me and having little idea of what the hell he is doing.

But I also want him to have a degree of readiness, because my objectification isn’t humiliation, it’s programming a prized possession.

The tape creaks and the desk bumps, the lube making a wet sucking sound. I see him get the hang of judging depth quickly, only one mis-thrust that throws him off, and he’s back at it. A good boy. I tell him that, calling him my fucking machine.

After I get him to pump away for a while from standing, I decide to make him change positions and hold the fleshlight so he is first half, than ¾ in and then keep it steady, thrusting up while I watch on camera.

Every time I instruct him to go deeper for me and hilt for me he gives a yelping kind of whimper and we have to take a break, a fact that owes at least a little to his up and down seated thrusts pushing a buttplug I had him fit himself with in and out as he presses back against the chair. I think the other part is the mental connection of being commanded to please me that way is just all too much.

Whike this happens, I am pressing and rubbing my clit in its hood, slick enough my panties are soaked through, black cotton with lace edges. I always dress up for these webcam dates, all stockings with bows and garters, seeing myself as well as him.

Each whimper and abrupt stop after a few strokes is like a mini, pop off orgasm in my chest, something between romantic butterflies and lust.

I look amazing, with my loose dark wavy hair, pale as milk skin and dark eyes. I did my eyes with light wings, and my lips on an almost black purple I know he finds visually compelling. It’s nice to feel powerful from something so simple and natural to my personal style.

He’s naked, but for a collar. He started on pyjamas, which had such a sweet weekend vibe I left him dressed for longer than I usually do. I crave that mix of kinky, raw filth and mundane normal.

Fleshlight had to send the wrong sleeve to make it on time for my birthday last month, but they did manage the clear model I wanted, so this too is letting me see the engulfed outline when he pushes his cock into the toy all the way. I like to imagine what it feels like, with the slick of lube and the soft tightness.

Unlike my cunt, the suction really kicks on the more he fucks it for me. It’s not a perfect pussy replacement, it’s a pussy compliment, a facsimile that puts me to mind of making a stud breed for you.

Some day in the absurdity of double income, no kids, I want a dream dungeon set up so I can auto milk him that way, but for now this is endless edging, over and over, struggling to please.

In all, a good purchase in our collection, and a favourite to use on him. Maybe I will upgrade later to the featureless, no fake orifice sleeve later, but for now, he will fuck this one to please me.

A Long Essay On The Lost Lifestyle Femdoms

The belief that the ratio between submissive men and dominant women wildly skews to have more of the latter is an incorrect hypothesis. Circumstances exist to hide the lifestyle femdoms, often in plain sight.

That’s a bold statement on my part, but I feel the perception of the ratio is largely a flaw in how we measure and look for sexual desire. Sure, studies of women describing their sexual fantasies show a paucity of dominant women. Studies also had a terrible time locating a bisexual man in a laboratory setting. The majority of the clitoris was only found in this century. We know both to be real.

Further, I think we are going about the pro versus lifestyle femdom question all wrong. The approach tends to be on if the “connection” of a professional and client is the same as a lifestyle couple. This is a problem in the limits of how we conceive of power and how it has been historically available by gender.

My argument is twofold: what a professional and client experience is no less “real” than what I do, and the frustrations with the system are the problem of one’s own relationship with power due to sexism. There is no real ratio imbalance on the basis of gender, just a really complicated mismatch between experiencing power for emotional and sexual gratification, and how women have access to power as a general thing.

Being dominant and enjoying having & using power are gender neutral activities.

Thus also is sadism, sexual teasing and exhibitionism, etc… I strongly suspect that paraphilia we more traditionally associate with men are also more evenly distributed. For example a man with 300 pairs of high heels is seen as a pervert, but the same collection owned and worn by a woman because it makes her feel sexy goes without notice.

I posit, all these kinks show up naturally in anyone, regardless of gender. In dominance, there is no reason to assume women are not suited to it. After all, women have demonstrated capacity and desire for real, non fetish leadership, both effective and despotic. Likewise, even within gender stereotypes, we cannot argue the potential for sexual cruelty is absent. Even if women were inherently kinder, the vast majority of people who experience sadism as a sexual kink can tell you that high levels of empathy are complimentary, rather than a barrier to it.

But, how we talk about women who lead, and women who lead conceive of themselves, occupies a different vocabulary set. The female dominants are here, they just don’t use the words we expect them to. And they probably avoid the leather bustier- although kink comes and goes in mainstream fashion, there is a paucity of cat suits in female heads of state, business owners, department heads, etc…

I think how we conceive of the roles naturally drives women away from identifying as dominant.

Discussing the protosexual (presexual?) evolution of desire, it is notable that, across the gender spectrum the fixation on who does what to whom doesn’t seem to show reliable correlation to where the person ends up. An overview of what we consume, as pornography, shows example such as cis-women enjoying m/m (including such targeting men), while the norm of kink development includes a plethora of anecdotes of random power set ups that stuck with us in age appropriate fiction or childhood games, playing captive, princess, etc…

Nonetheless, it is disingenuous to pretend that the current presentation of femdom in pop-culture is anything other than a male centred fantasy, but that doesn’t mean that women are only helpless puppets playing out crypto-slave roles, and are not part of the conversation as well.

It means gender and power are fucking broken, and this is naturally going to flow into every pocket of the world where both exist.

We did BDSM as a subculture a disservice when we obsessed over old-guard-leather and ignored the large contribution that femdom-through-sex-work provided in sustaining a “scene” of sorts. This wasn’t just pro-dominatrices, but all those nameless women who were the models for the fetish art, etc…

When de Sade penned his edgelord fantasy wankery, he was doing so in a world where S&M was already known to be a commercially available, a common part of sex work. He gets to name Sadism. Sacher Masoch, likewise, didn’t independently arrive on what he stuffed Venus in Furs with.

Sure, sex work in generally determined in service availability by he who pays the piper, but so also were the lives of wives. And nonetheless, women have, despite it all, actively and enthusiastically fucked. If women could manage vanilla sex of their own volition through periods when their ability to orgasm was itself in debate, why not dominance?

They say “Anonymous was a woman” to mean that a significant amount of things women say or do, when they get preserved, tend to lose their name in the copying process, like cropping the artist’s signature off the meme.

But we know women have always been there.

The problem is that over the last millennia, women have not been permitted to talk about sex openly, in a way that is celebrated and preserved, but we’ve definitely been having sex, talking dirty, inventing stuff, etc… And, as much as men have been recording sex from the narrations of their hand’s gratification on themselves, women have also been active partners, organizers, and so on.

Who really remembers “Anna” of the early 90s, organizer of the Boston Burger Munch? Or, in the Bay Area, just before that Vicki, Marcie? Laura Lee? STella? It’s recent history, but the Usenet BDSM communities that anchor our modern conversations of kink and make blogs like this possible. I digress because even today, there just isn’t the same emphasis on admitting that BDSM, as a community, functions under the labour and management of hundreds of women.

And the trick is a lot of these folks ID as subs, and there’s the loop back- there’s no connection with sexual dominance and social utility as a leader or mentor. Performing as a submissive woman, is the path of least resistance if you are a switch.

I can say, personally, that for all that people often imagine a dominatrix when they picture BDSM, the market, as a woman, caters to me as a submissive and is considerably more concerned with my gaze and common aesthetics there. Further, navigating the kink community, as a dominant you are fairly policed and limited by what you can do, and the most verbotten acts are typically the most typically associated with women.

Want my brains fucked out? Want to dress like a pretty pink pastel princess? Want to wander about in a cozy onsie or bunny slippers? Cry? Giggle? Love? Wait for the squinting in your general direction- all while some guy is still dictating what you can wear and do in your inbox.

Theatre preserved plays performed by Greek men, but not the active and lively mystery cults of women that ran in the same time. Likewise, we know about London spanking Madams of the Victorian period, but not the private bedrooms of the more ordinary married woman. And in our modern oral tradition, we remember gay male bikers in the late 40s, but have little love for newsgroup saavy women in the 90s.

That doesn’t make a good place to assert your sexuality, as a woman. Perhaps better than some, but if you have to play ball in a game you didn’t design, not only is it rendering you actively invisible by narrative, but it is punishing you for going out of bounds.

Economic Oppression Built This

A common conversation around the “fakeness” of pros is that they are just doing this “for the money”. The snap back of the past, on the allegedly shameful nature of taking money for sex work, is that the house wife does the same thing. That’s not an argument that ages well- the obligation for sex in marriage as a “duty” you assume for support is largely out of fashion, for all some world laws trail in archaic misery.

But the necessity of extracting money from the world to live means that women are still working on a system with underpinnings that assumed that you are an economic subsidiary of a male controlled household.

Bucking that system was a quick way to end up broke and even more powerless. The few women who clawed out independence still, more often than not, had to navigate the whims of a majority.

In the same manner that we don’t use leeches and antimony pills in medicine anymore, likewise, our ability to conceive of and grapple with consent has altered. Nonetheless, the whole financial and social system didn’t roll into a new format overnight. Regardless of if it isn’t actually a given now that women have a different financial situation than men, wages, etc… things just have not balanced across the board.

(Note: Get into a pay gap in a myth argument here and I will delete you.)

Therefore you have a paradox that your power is framed as a perception of your ability to extract money from men by performing traditionally female tasks AND that these tasks don’t need direct compensation and much recognition. You can hold a lot of soft power/social capital, but the hard power of being the origin part of the cash is generally just not given to women as much.

And our foundational archetypes often harken back to old role- in kink for women, rustling out the governess, nanny, mommy, goddess, nurse and so forth, of which frankly, I think a dominatrix, herself, is just part of that spectrum of power through roles.

As I said earlier, it’s not a closed loop of men- we women consume the same porn and inform our own identities based on what is available. The trick is that whatever fetish stuff that makes BDSM in us asks women to take on not just being dominant, but a dominatrix, by default.

A Dominatrix is to female power, what Drag is to being a woman.

It’s a caricature, one with an aesthetic that can, itself be fascinating, liberating or empowering, but a Drag Queen is not the same thing as being female (bio-queen or not). True, villains always have the best lines, and in practice the real professional dominatrix exists somewhere between highly useful sex therapist and immersive theatre, but nobody asks men to take on a whole vocation to get kinky.

Right, you might ask – you have argued why kink is hostile to women expressing overt sexual power at length, but how does this translate to the claim that femdoms are loose in the wild vanilla?

Maybe they don’t imprint onto BDSM that way due to lack of role models?

Look at what women do, not what they lable. Look at our attraction to men in distress in fiction, and our fixation on things like princesses in girlhood. Look at the perfectly evenly distributed desires in vanilla women to be sexually compelling and get what they want.

Consider how easily they accept the gender neutral parts of dominance, and how easily traditional masculinity can be framed as service. Make a partner feel incredibly horny and decide on who gets gratified, how? Get your way without a ridiculous fight?

Once you stop slamming women into leather bustiers and thrusting a client book into their hands, or coming at them like the french philosopher Rousseau did, so crazed to publicly expose himself to strange women in the hopes of getting a smack.

I think, as we get more social power, it may get better. I have already noticed the youngest cohort of female dominants embark on it with considerably more agency, carving themselves more feminine friendly, but gender not constricting identities.

I close this with the suggestion that if we are currently largely “lost” what we must do to be found remains a place for ourselves, and our own desires. And I continue to write under the stubborn awareness that just as art and writing that treated me as normal and worth catering to gave words to my own desires, so also will others find their way.

New Years Eve, A Sub & A (First) Kiss

Finding another kind of fireworks with a submissive's first time

Silver sits, stiffly, in a chair in a circle of the first comers to the party, and stands between the protection of a tall fan, and the edge of the television, his back to the wall. He is immersing himself in the gathering like a too hot bath, with the lure of my presence to bait him out and across the long drive over the border.

I promised him his first ever, real kiss, for New Years Eve. I wasn’t planning on moving that fast, still covered in Brick dust, still reeling from by what at turns was ripping off a bandaid and putting a kitten down, but when you find out that you have a perplexing puzzle box of a guy who is at once about the same level of perversity as you, has pursued it, and… has made it four decades without a kiss on the mouth, the Aesthetic demands sacrifice.

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Leash Fantasies for Him

My arousal is a suffusion from the nape of my neck to my knees, a warmth and skin hunger that buzzes away in my breasts and the softness of the inside of my thighs. I think about a thing he doesn’t want to do and it is erotic.

At the party, I took his necktie, parading him about with the enjoyment of my casual ability to inspire obedience.

Blame a friend joking, oh no now that we’re dating “[Brick] wrangling is your job” and that I got the leash now. I sent back that nobody told me there was a leash in full enthusiasm, kink hiding in the plain sight place we use humor to fig leaf.  Hahaha, you want your boyfriend in a symbolic costume of  servitude, a base state where you can pull a band and make him comply.

I think, naked. It’s my fantasy, though there’s a pile of edge play that in real life would be negotiated and blocked out safely, here I can have my audience to his helplessness.  Here I tell him to put the collar on and clip the leash in place and there’s no self conscious echo in my own head… but only if you want to, right?

Hey, it’s a fantasy, it doesn’t have to be real. I can put all sorts of scenarios. Porn likes losing bets to create this sort of thing, but I could have mind control powers I’m using to break him down if I want, make him helplessly watch as he does the thing he doesn’t want to do and fastens collar about his own neck. Kneel. Surrender.

Brick doesn’t like it. Doesn’t come easy to him, doesn’t know how a lot of the time, good natured about it, but not necessarily comprehending the depths of the metaphoric rabbit hole.

So he finds it distasteful? Tough. My fantasy, he has to.  Has to be naked on command because seeing even a shirtless picture makes me catch my breath a bit. Mine. Strip, slut.

I like the idea of leaving him with an in his head defiance, an awareness he is being forced into it. I like puppet play, where the victim knows what you are doing is wrong but can’t help it. I want it. Actually that real resistance becomes another toy in the toy box.

Trawl through my fiction from a young age and surprise, lots of tall, skinny redheads.  But the real? Fantasy screams to break him, tie him, chain him, find out what takes to make him beg.

Lust is a heady, heavy body grabbing sensation, a hunger I can self slake temporarily, but that wants to devour someone else.  I want to treat Brick like a sex object,  and while he’s used to being found an object of desire, I don’t think full on sex slave is part of the repertoire he’s tackled before.

No, no gimp suits, none of this boys are icky never gonna come while the bull fucks me. No, Brick’s the man other people see as their Bull. And you know what? I’m the girl who sees that and thinks about how to put a metaphoric ring through his nose.

I’ll lead you to market.


The image in this post was borrowed from here, where you can buy a leather english bulldog leash and collar.

Puzzles and Problems

It’s there, but goodness only knows where it is. No amount of standard levers will shift this particular boulder, slap him, push him, sit on him and none of these things push him there.

It’s day 3 of his visit and he’s finishing off the crunchy bakery bread toasts and fluffed up scrambled eggs I made for him. We’ve been having sex in a cycle of squirming, fucking and recovery for the last two days and I am giving my cunt a break after a combination of size and first time tension has left it a little beat up. He’s giving his cock a break, every so often checking it for bruises with the care of a man tending to horse after a hard ride.

Sex Ed does not prepare you for being slick wet with arousal and then the muscles of your cunt not wanting to yield. It doesn’t cover fucking so hard you have to take into account his equipment damage. It also doesn’t cover god damned former LEO using completely non-damaging restraint holds on you so you are forced to return to the mental drawing board.

I think he was a bit concerned that my sadism was going under but I managed to communicate it’s not about pain, it is about control. And a very specific reaction. The sexual chemistry is off the charts, nuzzling, skin and scent hungry. He watches how the lightest brush flushes my face and notes he can smell the shift in me as I crave more of him. I can feel a few little wriggles to get cozier and his cock has started to stiffen.

He goes to cutesy kiss is fingers and then put the kiss onto my lips and finds the wetness as I suck his finger into my mouth. I don’t think he realizes how sexual I am.

Lying next to him, twined up, he sees the mental calculations. He’s enjoying the novelty of a girlfriend after seven years a bachelor. Picky prince, he’s still feeling out the realness, same as me. So much you can’t say over the phone or in text. Can’t show him I can cook. Can’t show him the way his breath on my neck causes me to go into lordosis.

Can’t quantify a feeling of needing power. Brick’s been about a bit, enjoying plenty of creative nerd sex with plenty of willing women, but I don’t think he’s really dealt with my desire to have him.

Also he has no idea how to give up control. He acknowledges my dominance and finds it inherently arousing, and enjoys my cheerful willingness to expand to the limits of what strives to contain me until I stretch it into a skin in the mould of my self.

But outside that minute immediately around his orgasm he has literally no idea how to let go. I don’t think he knows how.

 

Goingto be interesting watching him figure this out.

 

Spank, Ruin His Orgasm, Make Him Scream

The hickey made a trail up my neck, a line of purple-red dots showing where an evening of pure pleasure for my body had left a very obvious and unprofessional mark on his Miss. Wildcard was in trouble. Big trouble.

We’d had a lazy, sexy Sunday evening, and I only discovered the result the next day in the office bathroom. At the time I warned him to be careful, so spotting the marks, my urge was to take down his pants and paddle him pink as soon as I got home. Nonetheless, I decided to save it up for his official punishment day, to give him a chance to anticipate. And of course, give Wildcard time to contemplate his own fate and you can cue the smart mouth. I think it’s instinctual, since this is the guy who can end up in the hospital with internal bleeding and crack jokes with the nurses. Nevermind, more things to ‘punish’ him over! >:)

He likes it best when it feels like he deserves the spanking. I’d never actually hit him if I was genuinely upset, but we play with funishment, mock scoldings and unavoidable consequences. “It can’t be helped, rules are rules!” is his kind of dirty talk.

But when Tuesday happened, despite an ever increasing aroused warmth in my genitalia, his backtalk was gone and he was a little small feeling asking for pettings first, that’s not a bad light ramp into a nice dominant buzz. I’m opportunistic- I don’t need to beat the crap out of someone to feel in charge. A little snuggling and some positive affirmations and the sass was back. He actually swatted my butt! That was the last straw. I shoved him face down on the bed and began to wallop him, pulling down his black boxer briefs.

I intended to make this a long session, so I started light, escalating until even my palm was starting to burn, switching off hands for maximum coverage. You can go two ways with a spanking, vicious and hard for something quick, or a gradually building heat. I wanted to really get his attention and leave a lasting impression, so I aimed for the latter.

With a good warm up, his bottom needs a little extra encouragement. After he’d got a rosy glow going, I switched to the concentrated snap of a crop. That pink in his cheeks became a decided red, and his customary insolence was, for once, silenced.

After the wicked punishment on his ass was done, I made him stand in the corner with his underpants around his ankles while I snapped pictures of him on my cell for some extra humiliation and some later nostaligic enjoyment. While catching some close ups, I noticed he seemed a little inflamed, and because I’m a nice femdom it was time to do a little care and restoration.

I made him get on all fours and put his pert ass in the air on display, to rub a palmful of cool baby oil oil onto his griddle hot, reddened ass. Of course his dangling cock and balls became too difficult to resist and very quickly I had him spread legged and milked erect until he was moaning. Every time I noticed his breathing getting heavier I taunted him that he could lose control, but I would only ruin his orgasm for him.

What’s a ruined orgasm, femdom fans? That’s when the cum spurts but the stimulation is cut off, leaving the victim still horny, often with a long wait until they are desensitized enough to come again (or at all). I made Wildcard lie on his back with his legs hanging off the bed, to give me better access to his vulnerable body. I have a technique I developed: just as he tenses up, I take my hand away and then spider them up his stomach and ribs.

Alternating tickling fingers and brisk but slippery stroking I managed to not only get him so rampantly erect he’d put a porn star to shame, but milk his thick (sorry guys, no sph here!) cock into spurts of cum all over his belly- ruined orgasms without the wait between. By the time I finally gave him his release he was screaming, drenched in his own semen and completely and utterly drained dry.

And that was a perfect #PunishTuesday. Yum.