7 Ways To Fuck Up Adding Chastity To Your Relationship

adding chastity to your relationship
Don’t destroy your own dreams

I’m writing this as a quick hot take assuming a hetero audience, and likely a lot of nodding along from the femdom side. I know that there’s no shortage of complain lists in kink, so with each point, when it comes to adding chastity to your relationship, I tried to add some alternative DOs as well. Negativity might drive clicks, but ultimately BDSM is supposed to be fun.

Nag

Nobody likes a nag, and coercion through persistence is going to deliver the least fun experience for all of you. Unless she’s specifically into grudging acquisition, nagging to be locked, or after you get locked, nagging for release, are both going to give her a headache.

Instead, take the time to understand her turn ons. She’s more likely to want you out again if she’s horny, than if you pester. Additionally, approach the topic of adding chastity to your relationship with honesty about how much of a deal breaker or not chastity is for you. This will be super hard, but wearing her down to a yes won’t be any better than getting a no up front. Do try to make a difference between understanding her reservations about the activity and pushing past her consent.

Promise her it will make you a better partner

This one is the keyholder bribe-to-play standard. Forums, porn and how to sites are full of people talking about how you will be a better partner in bed or emotionally when you are caged. I cannot stress how much this is a bad idea. Everyone wants to be a better partner, so I can understand how it can make you feel warm and fuzzy to think about being extra motivated. Nonetheless, all she is going to hear is that she needs to bribe you to get her needs met.

Instead, think about your pitch in terms of how it makes you feel. Communicate your arousal or sense of being loved. This has the additional dividend that your partner is more likely to develop the feelings along with it, than if they think this is how you will do the dishes reliably or whatever.

Dive in too fast/heavy

So she said yes! Awesome, as much as we write about this as a fantasy men provide to women, maybe she’s super into it. Maybe it’s even her idea! The mistake you can make here is huge commitments, like long term locking when you have never done it before. Chastity is an acclimation that favours you both building endurance and familiarity.

(So yes, maybe don’t so the full, hard denial Locktober if you have never done this before.)

Ignore custom fit

Not just fitting the device to you, avoid off the shelf fantasies. Don’t assume everything in chastity porn is a fait accompli. Adding chastity to your relationship isn’t a rigid, one true way activity, so assuming you are absolutely obligated to do everything in the porn is doing yourselves both a disservice.

You already know you are supposed to ease into it. While you are doing so, focus particularly on the parts that work for both of you. Porn tends to both cram every fetish it can together to maximize audience size, while depicting the fetishes as rigidly as possible

Unlike a chastity story or porn clip, your relationship only needs to appeal to the people in it. Discard or add anything that works for you.

Assume she hates your penis (or sex)

One of the biggest fuckups would be locked subs make is uncritically buying into the idea that no normal woman wants a guy’s dick. Yes, we probably grew up with the stereotype of the horny man and the frigid woman who needed wooing. This also is a perfectly valid fetish, in its own right. But, and here’s the big caveat, you don’t have to do it if you don’t need that part. By leaning only on humiliation/rejection framing, you reject a whole avenue of being possessed.

I call this stereotype out more than anything else. Along with the chastity for better relationship treatment bribe, chastity because the person finds sex with you appalling is probably the biggest sales pitch barrier.

Sometimes getting her on board is more about getting across that it’s a game of cock on demand and on her terms, not deprivation for her.

You don’t let her develop her own relationship with chastity

I mentioned the problems of assuming she doesn’t like sex, or bribing her by being a good partner. I also talked about avoiding approaching it with the assumption she finds your penis repugnant. With the practical dominance of male voices in communities dedicated to the subject, even though adding chastity to your relationship might be something you are trying to make all about her, beware of accidentally giving her an equally cramped emotional and psychological cage.

Try to be patient if she goes off script from your fantasies, but still seems into it. Be extremely mindful of resources that assume her feelings and make space for her to experiment and tell you what she feels about it. Your keyholder may very well surprise you with plans and fantasies of her own.

Fucking up your framing/introduction

Explain cock cages to the average woman and she might laugh uncomfortably and say no. This isn’t because the idea is inherently worthy of contempt, but because the information is seldom presented in pop culture or porn in a way that makes it approachable.

Your partner is a unique person with her own hopes, dreams, and so forth. You almost certainly know her better than any how to article could. But, what you can bring in common is that first opener.

Telling her that you like a physical reminder of her, and your desire for her via a cage won’t work for everyone, but it’s a definite step up over going straight to talking about your own degradation, if that wasn’t part of your dynamic already. Pitching being submissive to her is similarly more positively done by talking not about what she lacks “could you be more dominant?” but via those traditional I statements “I feel I can trust you and share my fantasy. I like that I can be vulnerable with you.”

In conclusion…

This is not the last word on the subject, and I definitely encourage you to look at other resources. If you get one take away from all this, the paradox of selling chastity is simultaneously to give her room to have her own feelings and desires about it, but also to examine your own desires intimately enough to translate them into the terms that work for her.

Scene With Silver Go Whoopsie

Sunday, we played casual over webcam, myself in a clingy leather look mini dress but also wrapped in a loose black cardigan, and him no collar or other symbols except the hidden presence of a moderately sized butt plug.

I did not plan, let my mood decide where things went. As I am prone to I let a riff about my future desire to lay out belated birthday spankings with a hard backed hair brush pull us into that intimate state of focus on eachother, and the theme of the day became discipline.

Discipline is not a common activity for us. I don’t like the sensation of not receiving compliance and correcting it, most of the time, and have a hard time eroticizing not getting what I asked for. But it serves a purpose, and I ventured there: had he been bad?

He, squirming and enjoying the penitent vulnerability, confessed to missing three days of daily edging. Technically within compliance- as with most of my orders it was and if/then. If he is not sufficiently stressed by life, then edge and tell me about it. 

But I had given him the option that if he acquired guilt he could purge it in scouring. I am attracted to anxious people, and understand a fair amount about their psychology, one part being the painful state of feeling insecure about disappointing long after the disappointed party has gotten over it. And I know any anxious person go into a guilt spiral when they contemplate the comfort of being told something they feel they caused is still pricking them.

Punishment here is an act of reassurance. I mean, ultimately it’s makeup sex for kinky people, something we mutually enjoy to turn off the scumbag brain going NoNoNoBad 

I can’t, with distance and Covid19, obviously do pain play the usual ways, but while I am not a fan of the self spanking (I think I could get into literal self flagelation with a knotted rope scourge, but we don’t have one), we have the pavloc and the relative safety of stress positions.

Although pushing a button to make a zap, wince and erection throb will never get old, I like stress positions in particular, for Silver, because he is in meticulous physical shape (my cute little gym bunny!) and is the sort of person to whom if you said “fuck yourself until you are tired” he would do so not until his arm was sore, but until he was a weakly twitching heap on the carpet.

Summoning my disciplinarian voice, which for the record, is still in the territory of “croon”, but conveys a slight edge to ratchet tension, I ordered him to strip. This, he did so, shucking off clothes with wild abandon.

So I made him stop, remember to fold everything neatly.  I enjoyed the enthusiasm he peeled off with, don’t get me wrong. There’s an erotic thrill in the strip and toss, but the Aesthetic is a dominant’s most useful weapon in maintaining a unified mood.

Chastened by my observation of his flattering but accidentally disobedient display of eagerness, everything else was removed and duly folded, then piled in a tidy stack and held, fancy waiter style, on a flat palm with arm extended.

He edged for me and I corrected him accordingly, reminding him I would never discourage him from being excited, but he still needed to remember for the sake of remembering, and finding satisfaction, we moved on.

I made him hold the stress position called “motorcycle” which is basically a wall sit sans wall and with your arms up, and edge the three times he said he missed. During that he had to repeat several times, the first because he forgot to count out loud (to be fair I didn’t tell him to) and the next few times because his legs had enough.

Anguished, exhausted, vulnerable. I stressed that not doing wasn’t the failure as much as not telling me. And that I didn’t mind him collapsing and trying over and over again.

As much as he endured for me, I also layered on cooing, encouragement, reassurance. I am a sadist with a soft heart. I love his suffering and making him so makes me gooey inside. My physical arousal at each desperate groan when is strength gave out was matched with a certain sympathy.

Good boy. In the aftermath of his punishment the topic turned to the erotic, asking him when he did have free permission to cum (basically before me). What moment in fantasy was his release?

We all have our triggers. Mine is usually when the text hits a climax demonstration of some symbolic extreme loss of agency. Not shockingly I tend to read a lot of modification, brainwashing and captivity stories. And, as I mentioned these are often vile, physically impossible nonsense, and most definitely the sort of stuff we firmly call “cnc” to separate the barrier between really wanting to keep someone in your basement and imaging elaborate scenarios where this might be possible but no real persons are harmed.

His trip, more often than not, is the moment when the victim-protagonist succumbs to the control, hypnotic or otherwise, usually a symptom there of being their own orgasm.

So thus, I pushed, no orgasm until I take something from him permanently, only endless edging. He could either wait until I take his virginity in October (mine now!), or come up with something else.

Right hand continuously stroking a rather immensely thick erection, he thought for a moment and daringly suggested his twitter user name.

“You have a twitter account?”

Yes, lurking to follow points of interest, including a quiet follow when I first propositioned him back in November 2019 (American Thanksgiving), after I gave him my various and sundry online details so he could get to know my sexuality. Unlike Ferns, I treat my body of work so important to my core self that I do not want sexual or romantic contact with someone who has no interest in it.

Also of course, predating me, Silver quietly follows other content makers and dommes, either past service providers or persons of interest- this being the actual revelation. I actually am not sure what to do with that information since while I am a big believer in healthy relationships when practical with exes and in trust that it’s fine to think your friends, or other people are hot, I am not sure I want to pry into what feels like their intimacies.

For example, I enjoyed him sharing a few past scene photos providers had snapped of him, but in these cases the “she” wasn’t in the photo and I could admire her work more abstractly.

Providers aren’t exes, but they add the desire in me to treat them with the same respect and accommodation. Although I find the “true love waits” purity of a one partner only rhetoric alarming, I see the concept that intimacy and romance change a person, paid or otherwise, as a feature not a bug.

But, obviously providers don’t want some civie patiently slotting them into the same category I do of former members of my kid brother’s polycule, which is to say a distant sense of positive obligation that they have remotely plausible chance to turn up and be given a cup of tea.

So I get ridiculously British concerned about manners over it, a sort of fumbling divide by zero where I am feeling awkward because I am imagining a dominatrix bothering to reach out to a former, fairly casual client to catch up because she is in town or whatever. I project that role onto a hypothetical *them* and then immediately feel wildly embarrassed about daring to presume. Because obviously that isn’t plausible.

You can add a third meta hypothetical of said poor dominatrix standing in my kitchen patiently looking perplexed while my overly fussy brain steams out the ears harder than the kettle I am making her tea with.

Back to the moment (and erection) at hand

It’s not the first time Silver’s told me something relationship related mid-edge. Last time I ordered him to confess I learned, while pumping his cock, that he had politely sent his former dominatrix a letter cancelling her (er, his?) services and told his parents I existed. 

I think it’s kind of endearing that unless he’s come recently, my presence tends to cause the urge to furiously masturbate. 

I teased him about being “sneaky”, and I admit to a little spur of sharpness, even though contextually it was something that made the most practical sense, mostly because I assumed he did not have one after he mentioned not wanting to participate in the hurly burly of the barely moderated social sphere.

But, I also reassured, enjoying the bit of fight and the vulnerability of having a secret pocket he compulsively had withheld.

I leaned into this, pushing for more, asking what else, and he offered out handing over previously stashed erotica and porn (not to deny by my preference, rather as intimate data).  

Yes, but I knew he had those. What else?

He had a pause here, a mental barrel scrape, and I observed something very true but very difficult.

With every relationship, within 1 to 6 months, that person’s core structure become self evident, non-negotiables that I accept. Silver is an intensely private person. He will omit to mention things you would think were normal- not just a sort of grey rock, but affecting a river tumbled smoothness.

He would never give you his opinion on politics or share the latest documentary he is listening to. He wouldn’t mention an event he attended and spare any show of temper, blanketed under the most careful bland patience, withdrawing from the hint of social drama.

I had previously accepted pieces of him will surface in their own time. We might be ancient and well wizened decades from now, only for me to discover that every day he takes ten minutes to do an act of anonymous charity, or that he is a huge fan of 90s EuroPop sensation Aqua.

But, without thinking it would be hurtful, I teased about his tendency to lie by omission.  I had meant to underline the known contrast that Silver is deeply submissive and immensely independent and individualistic. It did not carry that.

This isn’t the first time I have played with the real. The other week I did a mind fuck, narrating that his (normal) anxieties about the relationship were actually his real self asserting over my seductive hypnosis, producing extremely aroused shivers of fear from him.

This time he visibly shrank back a bit and his eyes took on a hurt cast, small an vulnerable. I could not and would not eroticize that. His penis, previously rock hard, gently curled towards the left. 

Oops.

Silver did not cry off, but after a moment of reading his expression I did, breaking tone. There’s a difference in the way I use my voice, and had I been there in person it would be my arms that held him.

I do have to be careful, for me what is a reasonable right to privacy, is not necessarily a part of the self everyone is proud of. I told him that I loved the whole him, that I didn’t need all truths just for the sake of collecting them and preferred him to keep his space and secrets. 

Even these blog posts are run through him first, catching anything, in description of his life or our shared intimacy, that is too much and too raw to feed to the world.

Me keeping a blog is non-negotiable, me treating his own story with care is reasonable.

He told me that it was a hard moment where he thought he might safeword but he also thought I was really upset. And obviously, in his mind, he couldn’t safeword out of my raw feelings?

I told him he very well could. It is ok to take a break on a heated or difficult discussion, to make some things off limits, even to someone who loves you. 

Obviously there are practicals, but ultimately short of trying to shut down “aaaugh you are literally on fire” a safeword is BDSM’s best contribution to interpersonal relationships. 

We talked a bit until the raw feelings dissipated, in in the way that we do my words began to arouse him again, drawing his cock back up skyward and him restored. And I took back that purr of presence, by gesture and word telling him I was forcing him to come for me. 

Swift, hard, and with a complex sort of regret. Tease and denial versus making a man come is a bit of wanting to have my cake and eat it too. I want that rapt attention and desperation, but also I want him to have that mind blanking sensation of release. 

And then cozy discussion after, the usual routine, cupped palm to avoid anointing the carpet with thwarted biological imperative, rinse, towel around his middle. Chatting about the week ahead, we pretend covid and the US political situation wasn’t ominously intervening on the earnestness of our longings.

Parting ways a tiny bit of sad quirked, and he picked up on it and asked if something was wrong. I explained that I was just labile after, and it wasn’t his place to need to reassure me for something that was a bit of echo sad for finding a boundary. I told him, honestly, it would dissipate on it’s own.

By the next day it’s mostly gone, and fits into my knowledge that my ability to deserve trust as a dominant is not born of telepathy but testing, and proof that I won’t mangle things when tenderness is needed.

I discussed this with Silver a bit more than his usual read through because it deals so much with his vulnerability. I do ask you treat the privilege of his consent to share with the same respect I do.

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.

Read more

Writing Commission: Bound By Contract

Reader “Ethan” has not only picked up the tab for web hosting for you guys for the next six months, he’s also been nice enough to share the story he commissioned. Darker than one of my Friday Femdom Fiction stories, this is a tale of a man’s anticipation as he signs and irreversible deal. Ethan wanted a story about being bound by contract and honestly this one just flew onto the page as soon as i got the prompt, I was so excited by the idea.

—-

Bound by contract that can't be brokenThe office was in the 23rd floor of one of the towers downtown, a tasteful but sombre building that took its design and decor from the art deco period. Ethan Doulas signed in with the security guard at the bottom floor fifteen minutes early, and reached suite 2304 with exactly eight minutes to spare.

He wore a suit, still eager to make a good impression. After all he had known Amelia Gilder for only two weeks and obtaining her signature was just as much important as providing his own. He was excited and fidgety, fussing with his jacket to make it hang right and checking his hair in the black mirrored surface of the decorative columns. He looked about as good as he could make himself.

The receptionist was an ice blonde with a wave of hair over one side of her face in perfect crimped waves, and a dress whose tailoring was so sharp he could shave with it. Despite this, she had a pleasant demeanor, offering him water, tea or coffee. He declined all three than changed his mind, asking for the water. The furniture was heavy and solid, all antiques from the mid-century, a tangible piece of evidence that this was a successful firm. Crosby, Cere and Li was no mass acquisition firm, but a boutique contract management company, specializing in the best sorts of property. This was very reassuring.

Five minutes after the appointed time, Ms. Gilder and her lawyer were standing waiting for him to come join them in a more private room. She made the introductions, and hands were shook. He discovered the lawyer, Diana Prava, was also a notary public.

While the lawyer wore a pants suit, and an aura of reserved professionalism, Ms. Gilder was relaxed in a knee length silk-satin dress that looked as soft as her skin and as glossy as her dark chocolate hair. Although shorter than Ethan, she gave the impression of height, enhanced by stiletto pumps.

“You have, of course reviewed the entirety of the contract, so this will be mostly a formality,” the lawyer was talking, but he was looking at Ms. Gilder. “Because you have chosen to waive your own right to legal representation in this negotiation, I will go over the terms to certify you understand them. Please initial each line in the provided space after I have gone over the terms contained therein, to signify you understand.”

The contract was six sheets of paper held together with a single staple. What it contained, of course, was the legal agreement that transitioned him entirely into the care of another person or business entity. In this case, he would become indentured to her indefinitely, discharging all debts and obligations in the process.

It was a risky maneuver- predatory debt buyers were endemic, scooping up low skilled labour neglected by the modern economy and shipping it off to work in farms and factories, but for those who were talented or even good looking and charming, it could open doors that were otherwise closed, including into the hearts and beds of some of the most powerful people in the world.

“You understand, of course, that Ms. Gilder will be entirely responsible for your care and upkeep, but after signing the standards you will be kept will be entirely her decision, for food, clothing and lodging.” She paused to look him in the eyes, making sure he understood. “I am legally obligated to tell you that a contract is irrevocable when signed without duress.”

Ethan swallowed, but reassured himself as he took the pen and made his first mark on the paper. People signed permanent things all the time. Besides, Ms. Gilder, as well as being stunningly good looking, was very wealthy and could afford to keep her property in a great deal of comfort. It would almost certainly be a better life than sharing a four bedroom apartment with six people.

“She may put you to any task she feels fits your skills, provide you with any additional training she feels your require and make medical decisions on your behalf…” Here, the lawyer hesitated. “According to Law 407, I am required to remind you that this included cosmetic procedures.”

Again, he put down the first letters of his first, middle and family name. Every time they went over a sheet, the lawyer also acted in his role as a notary public signing off on each page and in a separate dated book.

“Ms. Gilder will be responsible for the payment of any financial obligations you may have outstanding. As we have reviewed your finances, a lump sum payment of seventy thousand dollars is currently held in escrow for your creditors, with a further thirty thousand to be paid to a beneficiary of your choice. I am to understand this is your parents?”

People sold themselves for all sorts of reasons. Ethan was lucky- his debts were minimal and the money for his parents would give them some more padding for retirement. At their age, selling themselves like he was doing was not a good option- buyers expected to get their money’s worth and seniors were more likely to end up doing fourteen hour days in some massive complex and living in dormitories until they died, if they couldn’t support themselves.

Ethan nodded and was further gratified by a smile from Ms. Gilder. She seemed to approve.

Before she had considered signing on, she had made him go through a detailed interview. Some of the questions were very personal and embarrassing, not the sort of thing a free man was used to being asked. But at the time, and now, he reminded himself the more seriously she took getting to know him, the better the likely outcome.

There had also been a medical examination, through a doctor in her employ, and that was incredibly invasive in its own right. But he knew he was healthy. And if she cared enough to check for that, it meant she wanted him to stay that way.

“Alright, Mr. Doulas, now it is imperative that you understand this next part. Detailed on the following pages is your expectations for conduct.” The lawyer pointed for emphasis, “Once signed, you are completely and utterly bound by Ms. Gilder’s will. You must obey to her satisfaction and she may use any means to ensure your correction and compliance. You are now waiving the rights to personal liberty and freedom of movement. If you attempt to escape, punishments can and will be levied against you.”

This was the scary part, but Ethan also found it bizarrely exciting. Here he was, with the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, stripping him of all rights, a kind of nakedness he’d never experienced before.

“Really, securing this firm to manage contract enforcement is more expensive than your indenture price.” Ms. Gilder interjected. “All my property is insured against theft, loss and non-compliance. This includes lifetime corrective confinement and managing resale.”

Resale. Every indenture’s worst nightmare. For the people who belonged to companies, an almost certain eventual outcomes, for those who belonged to private individuals, still a chilling outcome. When he signed, that was the last time he got to decide who he got to obey. If Ms. Gilder wanted, she could trade him to someone else for a penny.

With a lot more caution, he put down his final set of initials.

“Okay, that’s the terms out of the way. One last step. Mr. Ethan Doulas, are you ready to sign?”

He nodded. With a ceremonial flourish, the lawyer provided him with Ms. Gilder a second pen, a fancy, heavy kind like the sort parents used to give their kids as graduation gifts, so she could sign her part of the transfer, and then passed it to him. This final time he was legally able to sign anything binding on his own behalf would probably be marked by giving him the pen- the only property an indentured person usually got to keep.

With careful finality, Ethan made his last signature, first name, last name, and the date. The two others in the room smiled.

“Ah, there we go. I believe this calls for celebration. Champagne?”

“Oh… yes please.”

“No, not you, Ethan.” Ms, Gilder smirked as the door to the room opened. Two men in coveralls, carrying restraints entered.  The lawyer, for her part, opened a cabinet to reveal a small fridge and produced two glasses.

Ms. Gilder watched as her new property struggled. They always did, when the stripping started, taking off those cheap suits they always tried to wear to impress her. In her mind she considered what names she might call him, the only hint of her arousal at his fate was the delicate re-crossing of her ankles.

After they peeled off his clothes and put them aside to main to her property’s parents, the lawyer opened anther drawer in her desk, taking out the slim black object. An electric branding iron- Diana really was a gem. Then again after five years working together, she knew her methods.

She let her property see the tip of the branding iron heat red hot, before the bag was pulled over their heads and the cuffs went on. He acted so shocked, screaming blue murder as she etched an ownership mark into his chest, making one final signature he’d carry for the rest of his life. It was remarkable- for them a hundred thousand dollars seemed like a lot of money. For her, she’d spent as much on a dress she’d worn once.

Ethan, or whatever she changed his name to, would be enjoyed for longer, at her leisure. After all, he was property now. Whether he ended up digging ditches or on his back in a harem, for her it was all about the control. And hers was now unbreakable. After all, a contract was a contract.

—-

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

Friday Femdom Fiction: 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?”

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

“Don’t Make Me Come!” AKA Forced Orgasms

slavestatueSo Wildcard and I continue our happy domestic little nest of kinky libertines together.

Recently Wildcard had a mild fuck up while we were playing that left me slightly pouty. This being conduct unbecoming of a Gentleman Nemesis, a forfeit was in order. And I picked a favourite of mine. Endless edging, for a week. Every night, until he literally is begging and pleading for me to stop and he worries for the structural integrity of his cock he gets teased. And used. And teased some more. And I don’t “let” him come, I force him to, in big shudder-y orgasms that leave him convulsing and weak.

It’s so bad he’s coined the term ‘orange balls’ for the opposite of sexual frustration. But there’s a dirty little trick I have hidden up my sleeve.

You see, Wildcard loves non-con. He’s not the sort of guy you degrade and reject. I’ve made no secret he’s a decorative- my sex slave not my domestic help (or my wimpy source of income like a weird porn cliche). So as long as he has no choice I can make him get horny. He has no control- I can use him how I see fit.

Of course you know limits and safewords and yadda, yadda. We take care of all that mutual loving respect stuff just dandy. And then… he’s a toy I get to torment on my terms. And I adore seeing him come as much as I like edging him. So he begs. And he pleads “Please don’t make me come! Stop! Stop!” and sometimes I just don’t listen.

Sometimes I use him with my cunt, forcing him rock hard- he’s always a bit to big for me- even when I’m wet onto my thighs it’s a tight squeeze. But I like it that way and I like how he simply can’t control himself inside me. Sometimes I use my mouth, letting my tongue and nerve rich lips enjoy him while he has to keep his arms out of the way and all he can do is plead.

But much of the time my hand ends up around his cock. Sometimes still slippery from my mouth, sometimes slicked with a palm full of sweet almond oil, so I can make it last.

The head of his cock gets so tender, even touching it makes him gasp. And night after night for the last week I play, sometimes taking my hand away at just the right moment while he struggles to compose himself and his cock pulses- often he’s tough and fights for control, the first few times just getting to the edge. But I don’t just use my mouth to suck and lick. All those dirty thoughts and fantasies you guys enjoy reading come out, coaxing him into squirting all over his thighs with my words alone.

And sometimes, when he’s finally too sensitive to take much more, I bear down and I squeeze with my hand, forcing a real orgasm out of him, even as he pleads for it to stop.

He thinks one of these nights I’m going to milk him so much he comes dust.

15 Things I Wish I’d Known as a New Femdom

alicescanWhile I’ve always had an inclination in the direction of kinky, even before my sexuality was much of a coherent thing, for much of my life I didn’t really know how to describe what I wanted and I certainly didn’t always know how to get what I wanted. Finding out the word was “dominant” was a total light bulb moment, but after all the exploration I’ve done, there’s still a few things I wish came in the welcome package for every new femdom.

1) You are only 50% of the end product in any D/s dynamic. What you are building together, with your partner, is a feeling. This is about as tricky as say, building a sense of love or deep trust, and it’s not going to work with any random sub or switch anymore than any heterosexual man or women are automatically perfect for each other just because they’re both straight. The corollary of this is that just because he first sub identifying people you meet are not attractive to you does not mean you aren’t a dom.

2) Chuck all your assumptions on how you should act and how the other person should act out the window and actually talk about how you want things to look like together. Assumptions are like not reading the map when you embark on unknown territory. Otherwise if you’re a sadist and they’re not it could get ouchy (sorry, sorry!), or they can spend all their time sulking because they thought all doms do their particular favourite fetishes and it hasn’t occurred to you to try it.

3) Put both your fetishes into a big pot and stir them together. Dominants are not fetish fulfilment agents, but subs are not robots. Your D/s identity is only the opening line in a discussion that leads to you both getting what you want and fetishes are the extras that help you achieve that. The dynamic that works is the one that takes into account that you both have needs.

4) You may need to push a bit against people being annoying or unhelpful to get started. (Sorry, it’s probably the patriarchy.) One of the biggest things that discourages female dominants is the first time we try to assert ourselves, a partner decides to say no or make it extra difficult (particularly if said dominant is a switch), or they approached you with their desire like it was a big awful, complicated favour that has to follow the sub’s script. It is okay to say “I need you to work with me” or require things to be made simple for you. You don’t have the right to dom someone against their wishes, and everyone deserves limits, but anyone who really wants to support you should be open minded and at least ready to humour you.

5) It is not who you are, it’s what you want. You can be the most whip skilled, knot wizard girl scout with the most assertive demeanor ever, or you can be a shy and doe eyed creature who hurts yourself when spanking someone else. You can be a professional hostage negotiator, or cry when you have to ask for a raise. You can look like a fetish pinup or a soccer mom. Whatever your personality is like, what makes you dominant is the desire to dominate, and that’s also whether it is limited to your significant other once a month after church, or done all the time with a forty person harem carrying you about on a sedan chair.

6) You have to be selfish about not compromising on your core desires. This one is a toughy because nobody sets out to be intentionally selfish- but because everyone is fussy and has their own things, it’s easy to be accommodating. This ranges from putting up with partners who arbitrarily get bored with D/s, to changing up everything so you do only the things the sub finds hot on their schedule, through to dating vanilla because being alone sucks. If you do this, something will always feel a little askew and temptation to what you really want may make you resentful.

7) There is no such thing as a non-dominant sex act. You can do oral. You can be penetrated. You can cross dress, you can be tied up, beaten and made to cry in public. See #1, for the root of this and also #5- but more to the point there may also be power for you by playing with your own vulnerability and it is not a feeling of control to let custom or the judgments of other dictate what you may do. You will feel better having the sex you like rather than the sex you think you should like.

8) Your sub may come with their own baggage related to their orientation. Particularly male subs, who get very short shrift and have to deal with feeling less than masculine or unsexy. This means a lot of people who think they need to apologize for wanting you. It also means a learning curve if you two try a fetish like cuckolding, where they discover that you really are more into them than the alternatives, regardless of the flavour of your bedroom talk.

9) The porn sucks, forget the porn. The porn will make you angry or sad. Fuck the porn. Porn that works for you will probably be a cobbled together collection of broken or hacked together bits and pieces. However half the people on the sub/switch side are also making do with the best they can get. So if you find someone who really gets what you’re looking for, tell them they’re awesome, because it’s probably a lonely labour of love for them.

10) Not all people of the submissive persuasion know how to make themselves feel the way they want to feel. This one is also a tough-y, in that you will end up meeting people who either found the feeling accidentally in a past relationship, or during solo self exploration, who will then expect you to be able to bring that feeling out of them. It is not a measure of your worth as a person if you can’t make someone feel submissive.

11) Someone being submissive to you in a way that makes you feel powerful is magical, but can feel really scary too.  I’m not the first person to notice that the desire to dominate can feel incredibly vulnerable, but once again, touching on #1, being dominant means needing someone else to do their half of things. When you get used to saying “meh” about people meeting your needs, it can be a feeling of frightening dependence to learn there is more for you out there from a few rare people.

12) You can only be someone’s fantasy for a short while, but you can be someone’s reality indefinitely. Professional doms make money living up to people’s fantasies in short duration, and specialize in making it as close to perfect as possible to maximize their profit. However in an actual relationship, if there is no room for you to be human it is going to eventually crumble under the weight of improbable expectations. A dynamic may take maintenance, but you shouldn’t need to be constantly plugging gaps and bailing the boat to keep someone’s attention and respect.

13) Looking after people can feel powerful, but it’s not a substitute for dominance. As a female identifying person, caretaking is one of the few non-controversial routes you are allowed to gain and exert power- but watch out for letting it turn into you being used. Do not tie yourself to dysfunctional people to feel powerful and strong by comparison- they will either get better and fuck up your little plan, or stay bad and fail to be there for you when you need them.

14) Don’t even think of going semi-pro, and don’t tolerate being treated like the budget option. Either become a full on professional dominant and charge what they are worth, or stick to doing it for love- becoming a grey area pro is not going to help or make you happy and people trying to ‘tribute’ you can’t imagine you enjoying things for their own sake. Sex Worker is a job, and the rates they charge are also to screen out the guys who are not worth their time, as well as to deal with the headache of people with a “me first” attitude. Only play with people who are serious about you as a person, either out of respect and affection. And more to the point, becoming a grey area pro-dom is confusing if you ever plan on an actual relationship- and those “budget” clients will not see a cheaper rate as a warning not to push for more than you feel like giving.

15) The people who help you figure this out will come from all sorts of different places. They will be the sub boyfriend who is better at knots than you because he’s been tying himself up for years. They will be the snarky older woman whose blog finally makes you realize you can have fun with this, or that your secret fantasies have a name and people really live that way. They will be your mom accidentally pointing out that the reason why you’re not happy in your relationship is the lack of power, or even the high school boys who insisted on carrying your books. They will be the Disney villainess you were supposed to be scared of, and the person who is asking your for help that forces you to actually examine how things work. and you’re always going to be learning- there is no being done with that until you’re dead.

Review: Control by Charlotte Stein

The new cover of Control, by Charlotte Stein, is a rare example of a femdom book designed to appeal to a woman and which also does not get hung up on the idea of making her into a pro or head mistress or some such. It’s fun, it’s light and it even has a wee little bit of romance. And a very mundane setting down to the fixtures and baked pasta dish (surprisingly memorable in the way that you remember those little details when you fall in love) and a submissive male lead I could actually see myself wanting to fuck. That, in a world of pornography that goes out of its way to sell male subs as walking creep farms or eunuchs, is a very rewarding achievement in its own right.

The protagonist, an owner/operator of a naughty book store “Wicked Words”, has her choice between Submissive Gabe and Dominant Andy. Meeting both men as potential workers in her shop, she sets about shagging Andy seven ways to Sunday while sexually teasing Gabe non-stop.

Suspend practicalities- Madison, our heroine, lives in a world where this much fucking is normal. It’s porn, so it can be excused with the jerky start when she falls into bed with Andy at first meeting- I imagine if anyone in this universe ordered a pizza it would come with extra sausage.

I will say that Dominant Andy did nothing for me. I generally like my subs with an aggressive, self assured streak, but i he had been the only sales point of the book I would have put it down. As it stands, I got thorough the scenes he was in by skimming or irritably muttering under my breath: “Go away, Andy!” I can’t tell if the writing was not as strong or if it just wasn’t my fetish.

But Gabe was a fun male submissive lead with zingy chemistry. At times it touched on the idea that he was submissive because he was broken, which is not an idea I encourage, but on the balance it also made him a pleasant mix of fragile and tough, in a way that made my overly maternal dominant heart go pitter-pat. I had no trouble believing this half of the triad was bound for steamy fun.

It’s also a good example of femdom outside of femdom tropes- Madison is nobody’s leather wearing Mistress, nobody cracks a whip and the focus here is on D/s in a relatively normal (for porn land!) setting. If only Andy was given a smaller part, no matter how much he’d been assigned to be a sexual catalyst.

Category: Erotic romance
Rating: o~o~o~o (4/5)
How I got it: Bought it!
TL;DR: Bookseller Madison gets a choice between buttoned up sub Gabe and bad boy bossy type Andy. Logically, she  screws both of them until book’s end.

Why I Make A Big Deal About Not Being A Pro Femdom

Last time I talked at length about how the pro femdoms are an important part of the scene and that they weren’t an inherently bad thing. This time I’m going to talk more about a problem: conflating what professional dominants and non-professional dominants are as if it were identical.

We need to stop acting like there is no difference between sex work femdom and fun femdom. And we need to stop pretending that clients are the same thing as sub boyfriends/girlfriends and husbands/wives.

Prodoms are to lifestyle as porn is to real people sex. Yes, many women who work as pros are just as much a dominant as I am. They are as capable of dominating as I am. I’m not better than them. But right now there is a serious problem between confusing the standards of their work with my dominance and it needs to stop.

Prodoms, if they’re any good, deserve their self title as experts. Many of them are good sex educators. I would turn to them in a heart beat for advice on topping techniques- and they’re a good source of how tos on safe ties and walloping people. I might, tentatively ask them about weird sub behaviour, like aftercare need variances.

But they really can’t represent me accurately any more than I can say I can speak for them as sex workers just because we both spank or fuck. And the conflation is causing problems.

Like, for example, prodoms face industry competition of errm, full service sex workers (generally sneered at as “hookers with whips”) who dilute their brand and encourage customers who want sex and dominance to demand both, or who offer less competent ‘budget’ approaches to dominance and fetish. They tend to have a degree of professional interest in protecting the parameters of what is and isn’t dominance. For example, as sex workers, the Gordian loops of the law in many areas often allow for fetishism, but smack down on people who move into more common sexual practices. And prodoms are very particular about minimal price controls- this is their livelihoods and they feel about their right to a salary the same as any working person. But this conversation is extremely alienating to non-pros. You see I’m kind of everything they talk about despising in a dominant.

I fuck, suck, snuggle and do things at the cost of a man’s love and submission, basically a price they can’t beat. I want dominance to be indistinguishable from fucking, because for me, it is. And I don’t want to be an expert. I don’t want to spend thousands of dollars on tools and equipment and for men to want me because I am teh expert. I don’t want to have subs expect me to know them in an instant and decide my dominance based on that (are you fucking kidding me?).  They are supposed to love me because I am Pearl, not just because I am Miss. But being a professional is about convincing people to pay you by the skill under which you embody being the Mistress. You might put your own spin on it- you could even be a hairy legged, queer femdom and there’s a niche for male pros who generally serve male clients. But at the end of the day, even if the person also does it at a hobby, it’s a job.

And It’s incredibly hurtful and tone deaf to be told that my sexuality exists to give subs fuzzy feelings, and I’m good if I can and am fucking up if I’m anything other than dominance embodied. Not as in “good lover”, but the whole of my sexuality has been hijacked into something that gets men off and measured in terms of how much a (random) man will pay for it and my skill in opening up a random dude’s head. It’s been so tainted with the expectations of being a good pro that it kept me from self IDing as a dominant until my early 20s. Because I can be a fantasy object,  but that’s uh… the sort of shit you’d have to pay me to do, and not really a job I want anymore than I want to be client support at a call centre. Because pro-dom client pleasing has zero to do with my sexuality.

And the typical guys, even the polite ones, trying to send out client requests to me also have zero to do with my sexuality.

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Femdom Role Model

For me, the paucity of female dominants creates another problem. Specifically  as much as I argue against the idea that a mentor is a requirement, scarcity allows for definition of the role by the few, and this is a role with very few people in it indeed, the most vocal of which are paid to dominate.

So from the outside, way back before I got heavily involved in doing it, the whole thing looked, not like a barrel of fun and horniness, but somewhere between goth playboy bunny and indulgent girlfriend.

The pageantry  protocol and fetishware do no help to an outsider- while femsub gets constant reinvention (even if standards referenced by The Story of O still hold pretty fast for something first published in 1954 and translated to English in the mid-sixties). There is also, paradoxically  a lot more agency of actual women in building the fantasy. Gor might have been the wank of a male philosophy prof, but everything from Story of O through to 50 Shades has a female author getting her wank on, and one mustn’t neglect all the stops along the way in the highly fertile genre of romance, heavily seeded with women writing for female consumption.

But what about me, a dom?

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