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Friday Femdom Fiction: Sweat & Service

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

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

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

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

“Mistress!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Touch me.”

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

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

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

Friday Femdom Fiction: Roadside Distraction

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Play with yourself.”

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

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

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

“Mmm…”

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

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

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

“Please…”

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

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

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

“Miss. Please. I’m going to come!”

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

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

“Ahh…”

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

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

“Please, please, please…”

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you do that, Miss, I don’t…”

“You want to be my good toy?”

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

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

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

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

“Miss!”

—

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

Catamite Pt. 23

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

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

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

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

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Real Life Femdom Party: Wildcard’s Birthday Spanking

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Balloons!Last Saturday I helped hold a celebration for my Gentleman Nemesis’s birthday. It was a simple, casual six person dinner-and-company-affair, with two other femdom couples. That’s right guys, a real life femdom party- but maybe not completely like the kinds you see in porn. Also, we had tacos. :9

The founding kernel for this event was organizing a proper, mean birthday spanking for Wildcard. The first misconception to throw out, if you’re trying to imagine this, is something ultra high protocol in a classy mansion or high end loft. Although Wildcard’s residence is plenty homey and tasteful, the reality of secret BDSM is how well we blend in. The subs did not arrive on leashes, and the only fetish-y thing was that I decided to wear my corset, which is a steel bone and satin number in severe black, but this was as much because I don’t have many occasions to have my waist cranked down by 3.5 inches. Everyone else, on the other hand, came in comfortable, casual clothing, the sort of stuff where you won’t feel silly or awkward. None of the female doms or male subs have a thing for cross dressing, so there were no submissive sissy maids simpering over tea. Sorry, I know, trés disappointing for a certain hopeful number of you.

The guest list was some familiar faces: LadyCobra, Vosko, Ballbuster and Mr. Sub, which meant two other couples with solid dynamics. Once again, I really have to say they emphasizes how you can all be technically on the same page but have radically different ways to do things. It’s also possibly one of the best parts of playing with other people because you get such a wide range of dynamics and outcomes.

Powerhouse couple Ballbuster and Mr. Sub have had years to build their dynamic together. They’re real proof that some of the meanest, hardest play is built on a strong foundation of love and mutual support. Their style is also something that developed together, with definite switch tendencies in Mr. Sub that mean that when he’s not otherwise occupied in the sub role he’s eager to give input. With two minds put to the task, a lot of predicaments and pure wanton sadism pops up, and he’s as eager to share it with any and everyone else as his dom. On the flip side, with that sort of regular play partner, in scene Ballbuster runs things hard and fast, with intense cruelty and no warm ups- then again Mr. Sub takes a lot to get him down, and his idea of after care if bouncing around all pumped up, while the dom flops, exhausted in a corner. If you need to imagine them: Think huge toys, heavy pain and hard humiliation. With a sub like Mr. Sub it’s quite clear where Ballbuster learned her confidence- she doesn’t seem to worry about pulling out all the stops and the effect is spectacular. Also she went as a pink pixie fairy last halloween- take that how you will.

Meanwhile, LadyCobra and Vosko’s dynamic is a lot more characterized by LadyCobra’s attentive preciseness to detail. Vosko is a lot more vulnerable in play, and while he’s got a great sense of humour and strong public persona- in kink he’s got a softness there (and incidentally is the baby of our little group of libertines), which is not to say he is a wimp, but rather that there’s much more of an impression of fragility there while he’s being given fierce looking bruises. Paradoxically, by appearance, he’s also the sort of massive Scotsman that gave the ancient Romans second thoughts, and would not be out of place among a line up of metal fans. He’s well matched by LadyCobra who is, as I described before, incredibly technically precise and proper, with impeccable scene control. If anyone’s going to make “traditional” kink look good it’s her. She’s also very, very good at bringing just the right level of pain or strictness the moment needs, and making her approach to a submissive or bottom fit with just what the sub can take, all without making her subtle adjustments obvious.

Organizing an event is mostly complicated by the shyness that’s inherent in trying to get other people up in your sexuality without creeping them out or getting creeped out. Everyone’s needs and desires are intensely personal, so I’m always careful about presuming too much. Suffice to say, these things never happen with any sort of script or expectations beyond good taste and common sense. We agreed to a round robin, each of the guys in the sub role would get beat, birthday style, with each dom, and the implement of her choice, one whack for each year.

Wildcard was perfectly happy to share his day, because he’s one of the least selfish people I know. (Well, perhaps he’s nursing secret grumbles, but I don’t think he’d ever dream of vocalizing them if he did.) He also provided the homemade pork tacos, which sounds dirty, but actually was more that he’s an amazing cook- food which the guest inhaled, and I made a white cake with chocolate ganache and a caramel middle. I mention this because having fun is key, and if you want to organize your own party, keep in mind that you will have more fun if want to spend time with the people you play with outside of being kinky with, and at them. But, back to the beating and the humiliation!

I had Wildcard strip in front of us, piece by piece, folding as he went. He blushed really cutely as I made him remove every single item, except for his socks. Wildcard is ultra-slim in a trim bodied sort of way, and by affect, naturally very reserved and non-demonstrative about his feelings. He generally puts a lot of effort into his appearance- you won’t see him with his hair unseen to, or his beard untrimmed and even his casual clothing is well fitted and flattering. There’s a certain sort of pleasure I get just from mussing that perfect control in how he can present himself.

And it seems like my “take it off and fold it!” approach encouraged the others, because they soon followed suit, and Vosko was all vulnerable and stripped under much the same script, and then in his turn, Mr. Sub shucked clothes with the casualness that belays his long experience. There are not, to be frank, many chances to objectify men properly. I enjoyed it.

The best parts, for me, are always the reactions. Watching the way they take the hits, in this case posed just so, kneeling in an arm chair, with ass raised. My friends had brought their toys: paddles, bamboo canes a rubber baton and other entertaining means to smack flesh into submission. Wildcard had, for the second half of the evening, lost the right to speak unless spoken to or unless given permission. The effort was a practical one- with so many interesting people it was hard for him not to get distracted and interject into what people were saying. Charming conversationalist or not, he has an extremely hard time getting into anything approaching a submissive head state and his play collar was undergoing repairs.

I’m going to be honest and say that getting him in role or close to in role calls upon pretty much every shred of latent telepathic talent I might have in regards to reading subs (or in his case switches)- if his current job fails the guy should take up poker as a career. It’s also somewhat compounded by the sexual etiquette. I knew that he was incredibly excited to get a birthday spanking from multiple people because he told me as much, but the flirting that tends to be involved in BDSM encourages br’er rabbiting, ie other words pretending to be emphatically not into the act that you’re very much craving so the dom can feel like a meany with power over you, which means cultivating an air of reluctance. Since there’s an extra onus on dudes to be reserved in their sexual approach to avoid coming across as pushy, this can lead to kinksters behaving as shyly as a bunch of debutants.

Letting other women beat Wildcard is interesting for me, because it lets me watch how he responds. I gave him a warm up first, a bare skin, bare handed spanking to help him get ready for what was going to happen and passed him off, to go first in the chair. His fate involved his own belt laid hard against his skin, swung by Ballbuster’s hand. Then each man had his own turn following him.

The fact that Vosko was the youngest (and least spanked) did not, in any way, mean people went easy on him. Although he took less hits, it’s Wildcard who has the gentlest limits. Mr Sub, of course, needed a vicious thrashing to even make him do more than go “that’s niiiice” and go to sleep. All three men ended up with deep purple bruises, eagerly photographed and watched over as they faded over the past week.

I liked the fact that Wildcard was gently shaking a little bit, after his first third of his use. I liked that he melted into quiet vulnerability, rolling into a curled up naked ball, and that he would occasionally whisper to me. I liked that LadyCobra caught the vibe I was trying to build and worked well with it, and that Ballbuster, while she didn’t seem as into it, was patient enough to play along.

In any case, the guests seemed happy enough I can be sure there will be a repeat. Hurrah!

Friday Femdom Fiction: That’s a Wrap

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First, there was a penis. Although it was neither erect nor otherwise distinguished by anything to draw attention to it, such as decorative ribbons or fancy sparkles, it stood out among the cross-wound layers of brightly coloured vet wrap that held his legs together and his arms to his side. Where the wrap was in bright primary shades, it was the one organic thing, flesh tinted, natural and exposed. Adding to the lurid effect, she’d left a folded throw blanket beneath him in bright blue and yellow fleece, extra padding and protection for the rug.

For his part, he was completely helpless, mummified on the floor, with her bare feet resting on his stomach and thigh. From time  to time she would move them, using her toes and the soles of her feet to tease him, gently rubbing against his cock or lifting it, so the shaft was cupped by the sides of her feet.

From her perspective, there was a certain sort of silliness to the whole affair, him, dehumanized and muffled so he was reduced down to nothing but his cock, the wrap capped with a hood that kept him quiet and only able to hear her properly when she raised her voice or spoke close to his head. It was a pity it was hard to do sensory deprivation without him looking utterly ridiculous, but his reactions made it worth it. She watched him wriggle about, testing against the tightness of the wrap by trying to flex his shoulders enough to move his arms, or curl a leg, and finding he couldn’t. This wasn’t bondage that he surrendered to, but something that made him yield, whether he felt like it or not.

Because it was warm in the cocoon, she kept the room chilled, and only her naked legs were poking out of the big fluffy comforter when had wrapped herself in. The effect was not lost on her, a woman all bundled up into a cloud of fluffy pale grey, tormenting a rainbow. Her feet grasped at his cock again, gently pressing it between sole and instep and rolling her foot so the stroking would gradually work him erect.

She liked the feel of his cock, the skin so soft and warm. The only parts of his body that was that smooth were his eyelids and lips. The vet wrap itself was a very fine mesh with a slightly tacky feeling, something that breathed and stuck only to itself. She’d wound him is several different rolls, from his slender neck, to the wide shelf of his shoulders, emphasizing the taper as she immobilized his arms and then worked her way down his legs and she knew he wasn’t getting free until she peeled if off.

As her feet continued to tease, she heard his groans through his hood and saw that he was wriggling some more.  A trickle of precum told her that he was quite helpless to resist her gentle tugs and firm control of his cock. She smiled.

“Do you want to come?”

“Mmmmmfffsss!” Said her mummified victim. “Mmmm!”

She withdrew her feet, and the wriggle he made towards the air made his disappointment clear even if she couldn’t see his face. She giggled and temporaily shrugged the blanket off, feeling the cool air on her naked torso. Leaning, she pulled off the hood, exposing his head. He looked up at her, frustrated, a little curve of the knit-cotton of her wadded up panties peeking out of his mouth. She reached down and retrieved them by hooking a finger into the exposed edge.

Because he was playful, when she’d half dragged them out, he clenched down suddenly with his teeth. The damp elastic stretched.

“Ah-ah-ah…” She tugged. “Give!”

He narrowed his eyes a bit and turned his head to the side, feigning a growl.

“No. Bad. Do you want me to put the hood back and leave you like this?”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, and seeing she was serious, he dutifully opened his mouth so she could retrieve them and drop them next to his head. “Ahhh…Plah!”

“So, I’ve decided you can cum, but only if you do the work.” She announced, as if she had reached some grand conclusion. “Do you still want to?”

To punctuate the choice her feet found his cock and started to play with it again until he was nodding eagerly. So, she slithered off the couch onto the floor with him, wearing the comforter like a cape and kneeling beside him. She could see he was looking at the bits of her that stuck out, and smirked as she carefully rolled him over onto his front. Flipped, he began to grind himself against the floor, arching his head back to keep his face out of the carpet. A fleece blanket wasn’t the most satisfying thing to hump against, but he was desperate.

Feeling merciful, she shoved a cushion under her chest, before settling herself back into the couch. Watching him writhe and buck desperately was starting to have an effect on her, particularly his frustrated determination and the way his tight, square ass is moving up and down. The sadist in her briefly used her feet to pin him, before she gives into temptation and her own hand snakes between her legs.

With the hood off, he can hear her panting, and the abrupt changing in her vocalizations when she comes.  That’s about all it takes for him to baptize the blanket beneath him, adding his noises to hers.

~~~

The writing prompt here was to start with a penis. Which I did. 😀

Back to the archives of more femdom stories.

33 Things Every Submissive Man Should Know

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1) We are people too, and all the vanilla courtesies still apply. For you as well as me.

2) Don’t fawn all over us; you will sound like a tool. Don’t call us “Mistress“, “Goddess” or “Lady” unless we tell you to. Don’t try to act like our sub without our consent- anymore than you’d act like a woman’s boyfriend without her say so. We shouldn’t try to pull rank on you either, just ‘cuz. Don’t put up with that shit.

3) That hand kissing thing doesn’t make you a subservient old school gentleman, it makes you a show boater.

4) Your fetishes, needs and desires matter. They are not, however, my problem until I choose to make them my problem by getting into a relationship with you or choosing to address them when we play, and probably anything we do will be a mutually complimentary fusion of both our desires- don’t stand for a relationship where your needs aren’t being met- it doesn’t make you a True Submissive, it makes you a martyr.

5) Getting flogged, spanked, dressed in lingerie, or pretty much all your fetishes are intimate acts, even if they don’t involve your penis. They are therefore as intimate and personal as asking for sex. Govern yourself accordingly.

6) For the love of all that is holy, stop offering me acts of service unless they are your fetish, or I specifically say I want them, and even more so, stop trying to trade acts of service for acts of kink. A house cleaner makes way less per hour than a pro-dom.

7) Not all female dominants are professionals. Not all women are comfortable with you buying them stuff. In fact, if you want to buy them stuff, you still shouldn’t lead with your wallet because we will think you think your money has power over us.

8) Your submissive desires do not define you. They are part of who you are, but not the entirety of who you are, and a dom’s long term interest in you will probably have a lot more to do with the whole person than you being a sub. Also the type of submissive you are is informed by the rest of your personality.

9) Women who demand tribute to talk to you or to prove your seriousness are scammers or naive. Professionals who stay in the business will be trading a real service for money, and will be as explicit and up front about what they do to the extent that the local laws governing solicitation let them. Women who ask for money to dom you are professionals, regardless of skill or sanity.

10) You are no more or less valuable or worthy as a person because you are a male submissive. You are not doomed to only getting your kinks met if you hire a professional. You are not unattractive to all women, even the doms.

11) We probably like looking good and being fantastic as much as the next person, but we can’t sustain a conversation based on how awesome we are. It’s either trying to force a worship dynamic on us, we will perceive it as you discussing your turn ons, or typical human modesty will cause us to blush and deny. Use compliments like pepper with new people- sparingly applied where suited.

12) On the flip side, working on being more hot can’t really hurt your chances, particularly if you want a ‘hot’ dominant woman. Make sure your hair is groomed and flattering, your clothes fit and you otherwise take advantage of the best tools available to your regardless of your subculture memberships. Humans are shallow.

 13) Do not underestimate the ability of supposedly vanilla women to surprise you- not all doms hide out in BDSM environments. But, likewise don’t mash a square peg into a round hole. Your ability to convince a woman is related to your ability to make it seem sexy and inviting, and not like a chore she’s doing for you.

14) When you do hook up, don’t deliberately disobey and do a shitty job of things because you think that’s the only way to get beaten/punished. Make a clear distinction with your dom regarding your needs- if she really cared about what she told you to do she will not want to reward you with your fetish when you fail to do it.

15) You may not meet your true love at a munch, but you probably will meet other kinky people on the same page as you. I can’t promise that you will make friends because you might be shy and socially incompetent, but I can promise if you want a relationship you will have to talk to people somewhere. At least all the people attending should be soem sort of kinky.

16) Not all doms are sadomasochists. Not all doms don’t know not all subs are not sadomasochists. Try to talk about stuff- you don’t have to be pushy to say that you don’t know if you will enjoy being spanked or not.

17) If you tell us that you need 300 levels of secrecy because of your Very Public Job, and you’re not a minor celebrity or living in a small conservative town of gossips, we are going to think you are married. Likewise, ‘discreet‘ is code word for ‘cheater‘.

18) Your wife might not understand you, but we know even if you are awesome, at best you’re going to break our heart  when you try to shield us from some other thing you think we can’t handle, just like her.

19) Safewords are so you can say “no!” and have her ignore it. Ignoring a safeword, on the other hand, is bad news. Discuss in advance what it means to you and do not assume. Hell, never, ever assume.

20) If you act like every female dominant you meet is the last lifeboat off the Titanic or your only chance at a relationship, we are going to run away, because it will make you behave like a nut job. And you will get taken advantage of because you are desperate.

21) If you expect every female dominant to come fully equip with gear, whip skill and a private dungeon, you will be sad. If you expect them to look better than the normal range of attractiveness you will also be sad. If you try to buy us all the accoutrements to turn us into your idealized dom, you will probably also be sad and we will be grumpy because you think we are some sort of fetish paper doll and now our spare bedroom is full of your shit.

22) Courtship overtures that start with a positive comparison of us compared with all other doms, such as that we are prettier, saner, smarter, etc… do not go as well as you think they will. Keep in mind that it is all too easy to project your ideals onto strangers and it’s going to be very awkward if you praise her for something that is not the case.

23) We can’t despise you if we want you to be our sub. We can pretend. We can say all sorts of mean things. But only an emotional masochist will get into a relationship with someone who really makes their skin crawl or really is unsatisfying company.

24) Your penis size is less important than you seem to think. Don’t get me wrong, some of us care- and a lot of us will wanna see, but later and well photographed.

25) This isn’t grindr, so you can’t seduce women with a lousy picture of your anus. Similarly an online persona laced with overtly sexual pictures and stolen porn will make you look only down to fuck.

26) Don’t tell us how our gender or ethnicity makes us naturally dominant. Also, vanilla tip, praising our looks based on ethnicity is going to get frowns. Especially if you get it wrong.

27) Don’t tell us certain sex acts aren’t ‘dominant’ or worry about how subs aren’t supposed to want certain things. You don’t have to be into penetration, but that’s not because you are a sub, but because that’s your preference. Also, accept that satisfying your partner as a sub may mean doing what she wants, not what you wish she wanted. If she wants her tits slapped during sex, she wants her tits slapped. Likewise if you still like blowjobs, you still like blowjobs.

28) On the flip side, pegging, cross dressing, etc… are not inherently submissive. ‘Serve’ is not synonymous with ‘kinky sex act’. Not all doms will do or want to do your fetish. Unfortunately porn files things in clusters, but those clusters don’t always reflect real life. If you just want it up the butt, you don’t need to call a woman ‘Mistress’.

29) You are allowed to have limits. It is not your dom’s job to ‘push’ or ‘expand’ your limits unless you both think that idea of that is sexy. Porn sites like kink.com use that as a cheap trick to make their sex seem more intense and scary.

30) Switches are not inferior dominants or lousy subs. Not all switches are on/off style either- so their desires may be more of a dimmer than a radio button.

31) Don’t trash talk other subs or try to pull rank based on how you are “alpha” or “a true submissive”. Doms don’t like it when you tell us what we want, and you don’t know what we want until you get to know us. Your ranking system is merely self labelling.

32) Target sanely. All your service sub studying in giving manicures and tending to high heels will baffle a gender queer dom women who just wants a nice service sub to help her/them with carpentry projects. Prep is not bad, but there’s no magic bullet and what you did to prepare for us will inform us of who you think we are.

33) Dominant women can be insecure, sad, clueless, make mistakes, need snuggles, love you, have terrible taste in media, get horribly infected ingrown toenails, have body image issues, question their sexuality and self esteem and at the end of the day are just as lost, clueless and fumbling around as you.

(There you go, 33 heteronormative things for F/m minded submissive hopefuls to improve their chance of happiness. – Oh goodness, this list has gotten popular!)

Friday Femdom Fiction: Caught, Shamed and Spanked

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The smell of simmering chicken broth permeated the air like a soothing hug. She’d left him tucked up, with an enormous box of kleenex and the lamp pleasantly dim, after several return trips to fluff up his pillows just so and see him cozy. He’d gone to sleep with some terrible television show streaming, and she’d left him in peace to nap for an hour. But now, she heard stirring and flicked the electric kettle on, before she went to check up on her patient.

The blanket was pulled up to his bare chest, the laptop balanced just so in front of him, and his left arm hidden below the covers. His collar was a thick band, worn loose on his throat so he could rest comfortably.  She raised her eyebrows. “Feeling better?”

“A bit better…” His voice had that careful hint of gratitude of a person unsure but pleased to find themselves looked after. And something else.

“Whatcha doing?” She loomed in, fluffing up the pillow behind him and glancing at the screen. White background Reddit and a couple of other tabs. Suspicious. “Gone Wild?”

That would have meant a series of coltish, fae girls, making doe eyes hopeful looks into the camera or sprawling just so, splay legged and prone. She smirked as his reticence confirmed what she thought and kept looking at the computer, checking and finding other hints. “Hmmm, and ‘Majorie’s Birthday Spanking’. You were really hoping I wouldn’t notice, weren’t you?”

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Femdom Stories: Birthday Commission

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Someone ordered their very own custom story for a birthday gift for a very lucky sub, and kindly gave me permission to re-post the contents here for everyone to enjoy.

She got home with the rustle of plastic shopping bags: groceries for dinner, a white box from the bakery tied with twine, and a bag from the pharmacy that she’d held tight, thinking about what she would do with what’s inside. Her face was kissed to blushing from the cold, frost pinches and winter carried in from the January day, warming while she shucked the layers of her coat and set her boots where they wouldn’t leave the floor speckled with salt drips.

“Mistress?”

He’d heard her coming in, and came rushing to greet her the way she liked, kept her company while she put the food in the kitchen, the box in the fridge. He read the anticipation on her face, but for him it was too early to do more than guess. He saw how she kept careful track of where the bag from the pharmacy was, glancing at it on the counter, then, when the food was sorted, picking it up again.

“Boy, come here.” Her finger caught his chin, holding him for a moment as a smile twitched the corners of her mouth, catching the curiosity in his eyes. “You need to go prepare your ass. I’ve decided it’s past time I finally… opened you up.”

“Ma’am?” He bit his lip nervously as she took the plain looking box of latex gloves out of the bag.

“Go on, don’t keep standing there.” She pointed at the bathroom for emphasis, “Don’t keep me waiting, there’s a good slut. I want you clean, naked and dry in fifteen minutes. Oh, and bring the towel after.”

To be precise in the timekeeping, it took sixteen and a half minutes, and there was still a bit of trace moisture at the backs of his knees and arms, but he was naked and presenting properly in front of her, kneeling with his legs spread and his arms behind his back in the way she liked. She’d taken a comfortable seat in front of him, the box of gloves open now, and a pair laid out next to the lube. Her hand reached out to cup and squeeze his balls, cradling the entire package with the casualness that belayed her confidence. “There’s a good little bitch. That’s better.”

All the time he had been apart from her in the bathroom, he’d been feeling the building fear. She saw it in the way he pulled his belly in, the tension in his jaw and the bright alertness in his eyes.

“Come on, spit it out Boy, what’s the matter?”

“What are you going to do to me, Mistress?” He couldn’t help himself, calves flexing, standing on tiptoe as her squeezing hand teased and lifted.

“I’m going to fist you, slut. I’m going to open you up wide, stretch you until my entire hand fits in.”

He couldn’t help it, breaking his proper pose and squirming, “But Ma’am…!”

“Boy!” His name became a warning, her tone firm. “You’re going to be a good boy, you’re not going to make me punish you…”

“Mistress,” he whispered, not knowing quite how to bring his thoughts into words. “I…”

“Get on all fours, boy. On the towel. I l know you’re ready.”

He could feel the lingering dampness from the shower in the plush fibres under his knees as he shifted position. A whimper escaped his mouth.

Rather than loom over him, she crouched down, taking hold of his jaw and looking at him sternly. “You will do as you are told.”

Her fingers sought, wrapping around over his mouth, pinching his nose to temporarily cut off his air, holding the breath from him in a way that brought him away from his fear, to a place of calm. After the spent exhalation started to force itself out in whistles, never succeeding in truly breaking the seal of her grip, he felt the brush of her nose tip as she kissed him through her hand, keeping him a moment longer until he thought he couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Again, Mistress? Please!”

She nuzzled up against him, replacing her hands over his mouth and nose again. As she cut off his breath, the world narrowed until there was only two people in it, him and her. The second time she released him, he gasped in big lungfuls of air that didn’t clear away the connection she’d bridged between them. He saw it in her face as well, the concentration on him and the happiness.

She was still smiling as she caressed her hands down his body, moving around him to fondle between his legs and run her palm over his side. Exploring, stroking and teasing, she got him standing from half rampant to fully erect, and then maddeningly let her hands wander away again.

“You like this, don’t you, you little slut? Being my toy?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He moaned, twisting his head to try to follow her. Her hand stroked over his ass, reminding him what she was about to do.

“Stay still, Boy.” The spank left a red imprint after the sharp clap of palm against skin and the sharper sting. He yelped and stiffened. “Remember who is in charge.”

“You Mistress!”

“And what are you?”

“I’m your… your toy Mistress. Your slut.”

Her palm cracked down again eliciting another yelp. When she stroked after, it made him want to press his butt into her hand, feeling the soothing touch. She smirked, watching him wriggle.

“My little slut wants it, I can tell.” She let him watch as she drew the gloves on, clean, smooth and white. The top of the lube bottle popped open with a crisp snap, and she felt the sharp plastic against her thumb and the cold, glossy squirt of lube. She let it sit for a moment, before crooking two fingers and using them to caress the lube into the split of his ass, stroking up from dangling vulnerable scrotum and massaging, teasing the tightness. He was tense, his anus at first rejecting her intrusion even as she coaxed it to accept the lubricant. Cleverly, as she pushed with a finger, her other hand went back to stroking and teasing his cock and soon he’d taken two fingers.

Two fingers became three and she saw the start of his melting resistance. “Look at that. My little whore wants more!”

He could feel her inside him, intimate and stretching. It felt like she was increasing the number of fingers, flexing them, driving them against his prostate and all the while coaxing him closer and closer to coming. And yet, she never let him get there, using it as a wedge to open him.

“Tell me what you are!” She only stopped he assault to gift him with another dollop of lube, confident he was ready to take everything.

“Ahh… I’m your whore! You’re toy! your little bitch!” Now he was riding hack onto her hand, helping impale himself. She felt the tightness on her hand as her knuckles caught, her thumb tucked into her palm and then she was in.

“It’s so big, Mistress.”

“Don’t stop, you little whore!”

“Ma’am!” He groaned, wanting more very badly. But he’d never felt so full before, never so stretched as he rode her curled hand.  “I’m your slut. Your nasty little slut. Oh my god, Mistress! Mistress, can I come?!”

“Yes!”

It was her teasing hand on his cock that triggered the point of no return, cum spurting. She felt his ass grip hard, fluttering with convulsions as semen baptized the fingers of her other hand and onto the towel beneath him.

“Come on boy,” Now her other arm was cradling him, letting him come free from her hand, gently. He felt the openess from its parting and craved to replace it with a closeness against her skin.

Seven minutes later, in his second shower, the water sluiced over both of them, his satiated face, her smile. “Was it okay, Mommy?”

“Yes, it was so good. You’re such a good Boy.”

He leaned in close to her, nuzzling her shoulder and then following where the water drops rand down her breasts, until his seeking mouth found her nipple, sucking it. She let her arms wrap around him holding him there for a moment, sighing out, content, reaching to pet his water plastered hair.

She held him that way for several long minutes, before she gently let them out of the water, turning it off to rub a dry towel over his body. He didn’t want to be parted from her, so she kept herself pressed up, her warmth touching his and sharing, as she dried them both.

Gradually, kisses and nuzzling to her breasts became kisses on her ribs and belly until his mouth found her thighs and burrowing, he found the other wetness and another kind of warmth, the lingering a souvenir from her work on and inside his body, and brought her to her own sort of satiation.

Interested in your own femdom stories? Check out your options for custom BDSM & Femdom Erotica!

BDSM Play Party Fun Times & Flogging Practice

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Three dominant women on one bottom, flogging lessons, a really slutty outfit, public sex. How was your weekend?

Whip, whip, whoops!So, last weekend I went to one of Montreal’s classier dungeons for a BDSM play party- that’s coming from a part of the quadrant of the scene that I participate in, although the means by which you get an invite to this particular party make it a semi-private event. The dress code, happily in a sea of fetishwear obligations, is to wear what makes you feel sexy. You’ll see an artist rendition of roughly what I choose, albeit from the back, which shows the cute bow but not the sparkly pasties.

And I brought Wildcard.  Dear reader, that’s the man who is being recently inducted into my wicked life of hedonism. New and yet not new to BDSM, this party was his first spot of public fun.

He also had his first munch that week, which for reasons I won’t get into, had its own hilarity attached. A polite summary is that we are Trying To Do Things Right, including the Going Slow bit, with a sideline in Avoiding Gossip. The result on that front is mixed, given my habits, and overlapping acquaintances, but it’s The Principle Of The Thing.

But, shocking scandals of my lovelife aside, what about the party?

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