F/m

Female on male dominance.

My Kind of Femdom Romance

by

Tuesday: I walk home in the light drizzle of the late evening, stress of the day like a pack of rocks on my shoulders. I think bad, self pitying thoughts, feeling bereft, ignored and insignificant. My phone is an insistent white glare in my hand, as I truly to sort out someone’s problem for them. Up the front steps and into the entrance hall, the smell that envelopes me is warm and savoury. In the kitchen I hear a small thump, turn and see that he’s kneeling.

He’s naked on the tile, tawny and lean and male. I feel a little clutch of guilt, because I seem to enjoy poisoning my own happiness. I tell him I’m not that hungry- I ate earlier. I warn him I’m stressed, he might not get beaten. He takes it, accepting, pets me. I peel off down to my panties, white with rutching at the hips and tight little black bows, find something at fault with my body in the mirror and push aside my current obsession with the girth of my hips to put my attention back on him.

A flop heavy into the rumpled blankets into the bed. He makes me smile with his patience, makes up a plate of his own dinner and coaxes me to try some sweet potato from his fingers. Delicious. He talks self consciously about the sugar content, talking about his cooking knowledge. I steal another piece from his fork as he brings it to his mouth, walk to the kitchen and try little bites of the leftovers.

He finishes his meal and I push him back into the pillows, hands to his wrists. I ask him how he’s feeling.

He confesses his fantasies, describing how he’d thought about being left in a stand up cage, blindfolded, for any woman to enjoy. My voice becomes a lure and a lead, taking this thread and winding it about him. Very soon his eyes are covered and my hangs are roaming, pinching and exploring as I make the fantasy as real as possible.

My hand smacks almond shaped hand prints into the cheeks of his ass, and his cock is massive, head beaded with precum. I leave him blindfolded and tell him about how one of the women would tug him to the bars and pull his hard cock through the gap, as I take him into my mouth.

He wants to come. I make him edge for me instead, until I’m sure he can’t get any harder, until he’s panting with desperation. When he was blindfolded I already saw him writhing about, now his hang is gripping my soft thigh, hard.

Just before he comes I tell him “if you do I get to do whatever I want to you”. I like that extra little jolt of fear- he’s not sure if he’s heard me, but its past the point of no return.

His come ends up in my mouth, down my throat, and he’s already screaming before the spurting starts. He’s past coherence, past profanity, even sounding pained. Post orgasm, he’s a stunned mess.

The gusset of my panties is wet, soaked through. After he recovers he wants me to come, and uses his hands and his voice to help me. We have sex this way a lot- its very intimate, lots of touching and lots of control for me. When I come we end up tangled into a perfect cuddle.

I’m at peace, all the stress of the day washed away, wanting nothing more than to hold and be held by what’s mine.

Friday Femdom Fiction: Pleasing Her Cunt

by

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?”

—-

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

Catamite Pt. 6

by

It was a better meal than he’d had on a long time, though eating too fast gave him indigestion. After the second course he’d tucked away a large bunch of grapes, three strawberries and an apple, the latter of which Annette neatly segmented for him with a little knife. Finally there was the breakfast liquor, a thick and pungent beverage quaffed from tiny glasses, fermented with the after taste of metals. Most women drank it for their health, more men abstained, but under Annette’s watchful eye he took it down with one swallow.

“Adam…”

Phillip shifted in his chair, belly distended with all the food he’d gobbled. The maid was clearing up the dishes from the table. All this time the ever present body guards had lingered in the background, one of them holding the threatening alarm-orange picana.

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Catamite Pt. 5

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There was a steaming bath tub, almost large enough to swim in, flanked by decorative marble swans and an enormous urn holding an overflowing bunch of lilies. He slowly eased into the water, his first bath in a month, nervous even to be hesitating at one of Annette’s orders, though she seemed unruffled. She was rolling up the sleeves of her navy blouse, up to her forearms, smiling her small smile. He saw that as she periodically did her hair colour had changed, though this time only a few tendrils of green and chocolate brown escaped the neat confines of a charcoal grey and black scarf.

Hot water soaking in, he didn’t resist as she took his head in her hands, gently sloshing water over his scalp. He felt her palm laden with something cool and viscous, a shampoo that she worked into the short regrowth of his hair. She soaped and rinsed him, using a rough white wash cloth to scrub his shoulders and down his back and belly, massaging and rubbing.

At her instruction he stood up, and she did the same to his buttocks and legs, turning him so she could reach. Splashes of water stained the front of her dress, turning the indigo darker in splotch patterns over her breasts. She left his crotch alone, but the washcloth found its way into the split between his buttocks before Annette told him to sit down again.

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Little Submissions

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There is someone out there, throwing up his stories onto his blog all for free, writing my sexuality, my approach to things, all exactly how I want them to be.

Little Submissions

I wish someone with a camera and a couple of nice models would take the time to recreate half the  scenes he delivers up. I wish more porn had that loving eye for detail, that level of talent and the right sort of connection. It’s not the usual lump of over ripe male flesh served up on a platter of snarling ineffectual pro-tops, selling the fantasy of them and their corsets and untouchability, while daintily trying to tread around the unfortunate presence of their victim. It’s female doms who fuck, but not out of contractual obligation, it’s pain, but pain expressed so good I get the same sadist empathy shivers just from reading.

I wish I could pick out my favourites, but there’s so many I’d have to list half his catalogue. He just throws them up without a second thought, as if it were nothing special to be tossing off weekly little projects, no cross referencing or tagging either. But just for an example, try this one, Eye Candy. Note the way he makes the act of dressing up seem very real and human, and manages to build up the eroticism from the imperfections and lapses inherent in real life. Or this inventive creation that manages to make filling your bathtub with dirt seem like a good idea. Or this one, still something I think about, which matches scene realism and romanticism with rather a lot of pain, Every Square Inch.

 

 

Catamite Pt.3

by

Groin tingling and oddly insensitive from the pain killers, but still distantly aware of the wrongness, Phillip knelt with his forehead pressed to the cool, rough but clean cement floor wearing nothing but a medical scrotal support. The doctor had long since left, leaving pills and instructions for Annette and not even a backwards glance for his patient.

He would have rather defied his captor, and the weight of Annette’s foot on the back of his neck was light enough he could have shrugged her off, but she was backed up by her ever present bodyguards, and a long prod she held in her right hand. She’d shown him how it worked once, on a lower setting, pain of the shock still leaving a hard cramp in his calf.

Maybe if he could catch her off guard, he thought, he could take the prod from her and hold it to her neck, or maybe find some weapon and force her guards to back down.  So he listened, quietly as she spoke, hating and waiting, listening more for the pauses not the meaning of her words.

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Catamite Pt.2

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They’d given him a prison jumpsuit again, one piece washed out grey, and the bag went back on his head.  Now his hands were cuffed with heavier transport irons, as was his legs. His balls ached.  He guessed, as they moved him, that he went up an elevator out of the jail, with a guard holding each of his arms.

The car they fed him into sat low, with large comfortable leather seats, suggesting the long body and comforts of a limousine. He could hear Annette talking to the guard on either side of him as they handed him into the car. Once inside another male arm clamped onto one of his. He guessed it was a man servant or a bodyguard by the gloves on his hands. The car door slammed shut.

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Quick N’ Dirty Kink Guide for Sub Men

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Introduction

For one reason or another, you think you might be a guy interested in kink and you started with the idea of being a “submissive”. You’re new and a lot of the terminology is unfamiliar- maybe you played about a bit with a partner or maybe the only place you’ve encountered it is pornography or your fantasies. Since you’re reading this, I gather you’re interested in the subject of male submission.

In any case this guide is written to be a no nonsense user friendly introduction to the subject. An earlier version exists on HubPages, but I’d rather host my work myself. so, read on…

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Wax & Water

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A short story with D/s.

She put her thumbnail behind his ear and began to press hard, into the fold where it joined his skin, pinching and pulling as her nail dug in and scratched. It was a hidden spot, one of her favourites, where she could slash and scratch and nobody would be the wiser.

“Come on,” she barked, at his distressed, sleepy face. “Hurry up!”

Leading him off the bed, she yanked in the direction of the closet, with him stumbling after, his long limbs never meant for a journey on all fours. She made him kneel and open his mouth, wrenched the closet open and grabbed the large cardboard box, with the marker scrawl ‘Toys’.

“I don’t want the neighbours to hear.”

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