Friday Femdom Fiction: No Marks (Tickle)

The cuffs made the satisfying tearing noise of silk being shredded when she unwound the velcro from its coiled up shape. He was still smiling, the black silk of the blindfold across his eyes like a censor bar.

“Huh,” she set the first cuff around his wrist and considered precisely what she was about to do. The nylon weave straps ran under the mattress, beneath them, an X shape with each end terminating with a cuff. “There we go.”

A naked spread eagle gave her a chance to enjoy the view. He was slim, with the build he’d built up with daily 6:00 AM swim practices. She swung a leg over his body, straddling him.

“Mistress?”

Her fingers sought his chest, stroking in a glide over his smooth skin. He kept himself hairless, as if that could somehow help him glide through water better. She couldn’t leave marks, which was just her luck. Boyfriend with a perfect body, a high pain threshold and a hobby that meant wearing a speedo on a regular basis. But she would show him.

“What are you planning tonight, Mistress? You’re not going to spank me, you tied me face up.” His tone had a challenge. With everything they did and played with, he was always quick to hid behind his limits. She liked that edge of rebellion that never went away, even as she sought to grasp it and rip it out by the roots.

Her fingers curled as the stroke reached his shoulders, letting them brush along where the muscle connected chest to arm. She liked the way he fit together,and the way that when he lay on his back she could still see the way his back muscle extended like a wing, “Hush.”

“Mmm?” He clammed up, but there was a certain sort of seeking in the way he tested against the cuffs on his wrists, pulling on the straps.

“You talk too much Waterboy.” She leaned in close. “If you want to come, I don’t want to hear you make a sound.”

And then her fingers skittered over his ribs. He gave a gasp, getting the measure of her game instantly.

She found all the delicate, soft places, where the nerves could be teased. Armpits. Back to ribs, and along his collar bone. He shook. The more she brushed her fingers against him, the more sensitized she saw he got. She took care to change the spot, never letting him adjust.

The blindfold, being nothing harsh, had loosened itself with the way her was frantically moving his head from side to side, grimacing and giving little whistling exhalations and snorts. he looked at her accusingly.

“Don’t laugh,” she warned, in that syrup and cyanide voice. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

Then, to raise his helplessness, she ordered, “Stop smiling!”

The way a nervous mouth and a happy mouth both pull themselves shared enough similarities, that between her constant stimulation and verbal prods, that it was almost impossible for him not to grin. “….hhhhh!”

“Was that a noise?”

He shook his head briskly, with a look of panic.

“Let’s see what you’re made of, then, shall we?” She slid down his body, making sure he felt her soft nakedness against his, until she settled herself at his feet.

When she began to tickle the soles of his feet, she was thankful she’d strapped his powerful legs down. He was kicking frantically.

“Just a little bit more,” she crooned. He was at her mercy now. She knew if she pushed a little more, he’d break, and one of his chuckles would slip out. She laughed then, considering. Did he come tonight, or would he have to wait?

Friday Femdom Fiction: Topping From the Bottom

This one is almost meta femdom, and may not appeal if you’re looking for straight forward femdom fiction.

~~~

“That’s your biggest fantasy?”

“It is right now,” she bit her lip. “But it’s important that you want it.”

“Babe, you know I want whatever you want.”

“It’s more than that. But, I’m pretty confident that your tastes in porn hint… um…”

“It’s a hot scenario.” He held the bundle she’d given him to his chest. “And a cool hat.”

“See you in ten minutes,” she smiled and then mouthed a kiss. “Make it real. You know I can take it.”

She went into the room and closed the door, peeling off her robe and wadding it into a ball which she stuffed into the bottom of the closet. Once upon a time, before admissions and confessions, this had been his room. Now it served whatever purpose they needed for work or play. She fixed the blanket so it covered the exercise bike better, and put one of the two chairs in the middle of the room. Rummaging in the closet, she removed two things, shiny metal handcuffs with their keys, and a black cloth bag. The handcuffs, she opened up, thinking about last minute details and flicking the light off so the room dimmed to what little light came through the curtain.

Sitting in the chair, she smoothed the silky fabric of her night dress, feeling the garters underneath and checked her stockings. Runs were fine. Runs would make it more real, but she didn’t like it when the clips loosed themselves. The bag went over her head and she squirmed bit, using the back of the chair to lock the other cuff so her wrists were behind her back, helpless. She let her head hang, thinking about the role.

They came for her in the intimacy of her dressing room, taking her out like so many vanished people to one of their many jails.  She knew, sooner or later, her number was going to be up. She wondered what the charge would be. Subversive, or maybe indecency. Maybe they even knew what she was doing. No matter what, she had to protect them, keep their names from them.

She waited, heard boots outside, a voice. Male. The door opened and shut. The lamp flicked on and she felt his presence, pulling the bag by the corner until it tugged free of her head, leaving her hair in disarray about her face.

“Anastasia Asinova.”

He was tall, dressed impeccably, every button on the grey uniform shining. The peaked cap sat on his head precisely and he had a clip board in his other hand. He continued speaking, “Age 28, never married. Profession, singer. Parents, deceased.”

She saw that he was looking her over, and revelled in it, “Well, that’s me. What’d you haul me down here for?”

He lat a little impatience show, “You seem to be treating this with more levity than it deserves, Miss Asinova. You should have more respect for the state. Although that a degenerate like you doesn’t care, does not surprise me in the least.”

She shifted a bit in the chair, feeling the vulnerability of the cuffs and their tightness digging into her wrists. His height took on particular menace, but she knew her arms behind her back thrusts her breasts forward and knew that the guarded carefulness in her eyes was arousing him.

“Miss Asinova?”

Her head came up, proudly, with a little shake that settled the softness of her hair out of her vision, “What are the charges?”

“Indecency.” He sneered. “Degradation of the moral character of the populace and corruption, Miss Asinova. You sell yourself for perfume and stockings. To soldiers, to men with weak moral character, who can grant you favours, as bribes to officials. We know your methods; a friend of the state has informed us about everything.”

“I offer myself to whomever I like,” the way her arms were held by the cuffs pinched her wrists, and sent a certain tingle along her arms, from shoulder to scalp. “But I’m no whore.”

His hand caught her across the cheek, a stinging slap. She gasped. He was starting already.

“I think the evidence suggests otherwise. You know what happens to whores, Miss Asinova.”

She took a steadying breath. “So brutal.”

But she caught the slightly hesitation, where he was noticing her. The satin fabric of her slip poured over her skin, light lace and sleek, in a way she knew followed and hinted at the softness of her body. She knew that the lamp was enough to reveal its half transparency and the elastic tightness of her garter. She laughed. “You’re looking too aren’t you?”

His hand reached out and grabbed her chin, holding her head in place and stooping to meet her eyes. “Listen to me, Miss Asinova. There is one way you can survive and that is to make a full confession and be ready to make an atonement.”

She made a soft whimper, instinctual, pushing his buttons. “Oh, you’re hurting me!”

But then as his grip loosened a little, her smile came back and the tip of her tongue flicked against the webbing that joined his thumb to his palm, wet and ticklish. He retaliated by taking a fistful of her hair, hard enough she grimaced.

“Slut!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“You listen to me, Miss Asinova. Normally I would simply see you charged and tried. When they found you guilty you would be sent to be re-educated. There, they would take away your pretty clothes in exchange for a prison uniform. They would shave off your long hair for the lice. A diet of barley broth and cabbage and hard, honest work would take the curves right off you.”

She panted, dragged half out of the chair. The only way to spare the pain of his fingers tangled in her hair was to press towards him. “Then what are you going to do with me?”

“We are going to give you a second chance, Miss Asinova.” He released her, letting her sit again. “But we will expect you to do something in return.”

She let him see that she was frightened, curling herself away from him. And yet, she felt exhilarated and breathless, aroused and shivery. “W-what?”

“We know that you mix with less than honest people. If you have no compunctions about dirtying yourself, you might as well make yourself useful.”

She stole a glance at him. She knew that pose, a certain tension that told her that her every move was teasing him. She made a soft mewling noise and let her teeth capture her lip. “Alright, just tell me what I have to do.”

“You will inform on the men who buy your services. You may be called upon to show your patriotism.” She understood his meaning. She was going to become a trap.

“I am loyal!” She insisted. Under her filmy slip her thighs squeezed together. She was already thinking to how she could turn this to her advantage. He would think she would comply and she would ferret out the rat that had sold her out.

He reached for her again, this time her shoulder, leading her out of the chair with her wrists still linked behind her back. “Not many people get second chances, especially those as undeserving as you, Miss Asinova.”

She dipped her head, even as he gave her body another raking glance. “I’m very grateful.”

“Come here,” he said gruffly.

She watched him give into temptation and saw his fingers reach for the button of his pants, even as she knelt. They both knew what he wanted,  before her mouth was around him.

She nuzzled him, felt the hardness against her lips and sucked. Soap and a maleness that defied comparison. Dragging it out, she teased with her tongue, rubbed wet and firm against the head of his cock, like a good little degenerate.

The groan he made brought a muffled echo out of her own throat, but she persisted to tease until his hands found her head and urged her, faster and faster until she felt the pinprick of tears and started to gag. There was no gentleness there, something almost violent, as if he was conflicted about what he was doing. Perfect.

She let herself relax into being used, until she tasted his cum, hot thick and bitter. He held her a moment longer, on the final forward stroke, until he finished, and she immediately turned her face away as if to shame them and his desire.

There was a moment’s hesitation on his part and she looked at him again, in full defiance. “Now what?”

“Now we brief you in how you’re going to perform.” He helped hoist her up to her feet, steadying her balance, much more gently, and she felt the way he lingered close to her.

They broke their roles then, as he helped uncuff her, the little key flicking in the locks. Freed, she gave her arms a shake, flexing her wrists.

“Those aren’t too sore, are they?”

“Oh, no!”

“God, you’re sexy.” His arms wrapped around her. “The way you were wriggling about. I didn’t know if I wanted to beat you and rape you or beg you.”

“Good.” She made a happy noise, reached up and took off his hat to put it on her head. “You were fantastic yourself.”

~~~~

I was sick all of last week, so this is late. It’s also three times the length that I try for with these pieces.

Friday Femdom Fiction: A Girl And Her Tease

The dress cinched in as he drew the zipper up. It made almost a purr.  She smiled at the mirror, and at the reflection of him, behind her. She was done up to the nines, face painted ivory, lips shiny, eyes dark. Her hair was swept up into an artful disarray. If she was stocking foot, her heels were simply waiting for her to step into them at the door. Underneath, he’d watched her layer, delicate, slippery soft nylon stockings, clipped garters, panties and a bra that hoisted her breasts up in a way that made one think of cupping hands.

“Very nice, Miss Bunny.”

“You know, just teasing’s no fun any more.” She smirked. Her sensed she was in one of her mood, where there was a hard edge to her desire. “I mean I dress up every time I go out.”

“Miss Bunny?”

“It’s not that I don’t like catch you staring. I mean, god, I stare at me sometimes, I’m that nice to look at. I like seeing the way you tent in your pants. And I like giving them a reason to drool.” She just about strutted, preening a bit.

“Maybe, just maybe, tonight, I’m going to fuck someone. Maybe when Rory gives me a drive home we’ll take a detour. Maybe Jay and I will duck out early. Maybe Natasha and I will stop flirting and I’ll get to have a taste. Maybe her boyfriend will do more than watch.”

He smiled, “Why not all at once, Miss Bunny?”

“Hmm, you’d like thinking about that, wouldn’t you, you naughty little bitch? Thinking about my face buried in Natasha’s cunt, finding out if the alphabet trick really works while her boyfriend fills my cunt? I bet she’d squeal really nicely with a few bites on the inside of those soft thighs. Do you think Troy would like it if after, she rode his cock while I let him have a turn eating me out?”

“Miss Bunny!” He was squirming on the spot now.

“Or maybe I’ll see how many boys would like to cum on my tits. Get them all in a nice circle so I can jerk and suck how I see fit and they are all begging for me to focus on them. Can you imagine that? One in each hand, squeezing, while another slides down my throat and I can feel more rubbing and pressing up against my face and hear them begging.”

He couldn’t help it, his hand began stroking himself through his pants.

“Hey!” She grabbed his hand up and smacked him on the knuckles. “Just for that you’re not going to get to come until I get back.”

“Miss Bunny! Please! I won’t get any work done!”

“Well, you need to control yourself better. Make sure to edge yourself at least once an hour.”

“How long are you going to be gone, Miss Bunny?” These events were usually only four or five hours.

“It depends on if I get lucky now, doesn’t it?” She winked. “Maybe I’ll have to organize myself my own little after party and you won’t see me until tomorrow.”

~~~

On schedule! Maybe real life me has been being a happy tease lately. 😉

Friday Femdom Fiction: Consensual Non-Consent

Three weeks ago:

“I’m going to use your cock and there’s nothing you can do about it,” she tried, smiling through the threat. Her hands were planted on either side of his head, denting into the mattress, her nose inches from his.

He tried to look frightened, held himself still and stiffened up. She saw the faux fear, and bumped her groin against his. “I really mean it!”

“I like that, when I feel like you’re going to force me and I have no say about it,”

“Oh really? Kinda hard for me, given that you’ve got fifty pounds on me and most of that’s muscle, babe.”

“Just make me do it.” His grin had gone goofy-horny, contemplating a perfect moment, some time in the future. “I have faith, maybe you could tie me up…?”

“If you don’t want it. you’re not gonna be hard. And you always want it when you are hard. Kinda hard to rape the willing, you know?”

Thursday

Horny. She woke up with a slick of moisture between her legs, and her skin sensitized to the touch of the blanket. He was lying next to her, uncoiled from the curl he always fell asleep in, to the sprawl he spread into during the night. He liked the morning doze best, and she liked the softness in repose that took the stress out of his face. He would sleep until the last minute and dash off to work, tea in a travel mug and a bagel held in his mouth, just about buttoning his shirt as he went. And yet, working from home, invariably she was up a full hour before he transformed into the morning panic-flurry. She liked to watch him flail.

The shower washed away the smear of arousal, but not the sensations, water beating her body like caressing fingers, towel scraping rough and sensitizing. She took her birth control pill, swallowing the little dot of sugar, and flipped the kettle’s toggle to on, checking the glow to make sure the water was boiling. Still horny, and naked in the kitchen, her hand brushed over her nipples as she contemplated dealing with the pent up feelings. The clock showed seven thirty and her wet hair dripped down her back. She made a decision and walked back to the bedroom.

She picked up his phone and saw the alarm was going to go off in another thirty minutes, took it into the other room, and thumbed it to reset it to a minute and a half from now.

He didn’t wake up as she peeled the covers down. Naked, dark hair on pale skin, male lines, nipples wide and flat brown thumb prints, a slight softness of the belly that she always found desirable. Just about purring, she straddled him without letting herself touch him, hands hovering.

“Hmmm…” She made it feather light, nuzzling, waking him slowly, teasing his cock. Giving him a full erection first thing in the morning was easy, and with careful licks, she coaxed him from half swollen to rampant.

By the time he opened his eyes, he was already inside her, nestled up in the wet channel of her cunt and feeling the muscles grip.

“Oh.” She watched the reality of the situation home in to him as his brain began to properly perceive where he was. She rode him, letting the aroused tension grow.

And then his alarm went off, the phone frantically vibrating and chirping away.

“Oh shit. Karen…”

“Ma’am!” She insisted.

“Ma’am, I’m going to be…” She could tell the conflict to stay nestled up inside her was fighting the urgency he thought he needed to spring out of bed with.

“You stay here!” She just about growled at him, emphasizing with a hard down stroke that hilted him.

“Ma’am! Please, I’m going to be late!” He bucked underneath her, winding up to a full on morning-flail. The erection, however, stayed turgid and engulfed.

“You know all you have to do is say ‘Spaghetti’ to make it stop,” she gently mentioned the safeword.

“Nnnnn…” The temptation was there, but he shut his mouth. She saw the mixture of satisfaction and terror in his eyes.

“Then the only way you’re getting to work today is after I’ve had my satisfaction. So, slut, are you going to just lie there? I guess it would be nice to have lunch at home with you, for once.”

The sex that followed was frantic, as all the energy that propelled him out the door on time every day was thrown into fucking, begging and pleading. The more he whimpered, the more turned on she got, and the meaner she got, teasing him about missing the bus, and then the train and how everyone would look at him as he came in.

She came twice before she let him finish, and sweat beaded on his forehead, he panted let himself relax.

“Shit, Ma’am… can I call work and say I’m going to be late now?”

She smirked and handed him his phone, lighting up the screen first so the time blazed in front of his face.

“Oh. Ma’am. You…” He sputtered, realizing that even with the fucking and merciless teasing, he was still ten minutes early.

“If you hurry you can get a shower in too…” She slid off him, feeling pleasantly sore. “I’ll go bring you your clothes and get your tea on.”

~~

Yeah, con-non-con creates a challenge. Friday Femdom Fiction is all about the loving couple who consents side of kink (for the brutal stuff you want Catamite or other writing projects) and I wanted a scenario where a woman could “rape” a man but have it not actually be rape.

Friday Femdom Fiction: Humiliate me?

She couldn’t help it, her face cracked into a big happy grin, mouth twitching until the smile opened her eyes wide and girlish giggles escaped her mouth.

“No…” he put his forehead against the edge of the bed, resting it there in exasperation, as his arms were bound behind his back.

“Alright, alright, let me try again.” She took a deep breath an composed herself, opened her mouth and the merriment bubbled up. “Shit!”

He huffed a sigh. “Ma’am, you seem to have a problem saying it.”

“It’s just…” She looked down at his muscular body. “It’s silly.”

“You didn’t have any problem with this in chat, this morning.”

“Alright, you say it,” she folded her arms and he caught the tiny, seeking edge in her voice. These moods never meant anything other than a torrent of lust fueled abuse, raising his dashed hopes of where the evening was going.

“I’m a little bitch.” He felt a small sting of embarrassment, coming out in a small voice.

“See, not so easy, is it?” Her smile was a smirk now. “Tell me again and look me in the eye.”

“I’m a little bitch.” The embarrassment was warming, and stirred his cock.

“That wasn’t all. Tell me more, slut.”

“I’m a sissy, pathetic bitch who deserves to be spat on and… degraded and…”

“Louder!”

“I’m a little bitch! I deserve to be spat on and degraded and fucked!”

“And?”

“I’m a little bitch and I want you to show me just how much that’s true. I want you to… to use me, and hurt me and piss on me.” His cock was now pointing a steady right angle from his body, and he saw she was doing the hungry-writhe dance of horniness. It was like a puzzle piece clicking into place, when they fell, together, into a connection that motivated her to crouch down and grab his throat.

“Pathetic little bitch,” she hissed, inches from his face. “You should be lucky if I reward you with that. Get over the bed!”

As he belly flopped over the edge of the double bed, grinding himself against the stacked mattress and box spring, she turned and stooped. There was a jingle and swoosh as she found his discarded pants and took the belt out of the loops.

“Unh!” He debated what she’d do if he tried to roll out of the way, but the belt cracked down across his bare thighs, finishing his horny noises with a high pitched yelp.

She gave him a few more welting stripes before she paused again. “Tell me what you are!”

“I’m a pathetic little bitch and…auugh!” The belt cracked down extra hard.

“Say it like you mean it. Make be believe you’re the nothing that you say you are.”

“I’m a pathetic little bitch. I want to be used and treated just how I deserve. I want to be shown that I’m a nasty, piss drinking…” The admission came out of him. “A nasty, piss drinking, disgusting little bitch.”

She grabbed him then and flipped him over, so they were nose to nose. She looked at him with loving malice for one long moment before rearing back and a wad of spittle landed on his cheek. “Drink my piss, hm? That’s a new one.”

“That’s right, ma’am. I want to drink down your piss.” He whimpered when she didn’t say anything else.

Her face unreadable, she crossed her arms and looked at the shiny place where her spit had landed. His eyes were large and vulnerable, hopeful yet fearing his mouth had carried him too far. Humiliated.

Then the smile returned. “That’s right, you little bitch,” she said the words that had, before, been too silly for her to get out. “You’re a thing. You’re nothing but a hole to fuck, a body to torture and a disgusting, submissive pervert who begs for more no matter what you do.”

“Ma’am?”

“And you’re going to be nothing but my piss lapping little slut too.”

It’s late, but live! Enjoy!

Friday Femdom Fiction: Strapped On

There were three loops for the harness, on for each leg, and one strap that settled in tight over her butt, hugging just over the real roundness of her ass. She admired the rig, although it was more functional than pretty, black, plastic buckles and nylon straps like a backpack. But the large red dildo slotted into the ring nicely, jutting out from her crotch.

Of course he was on his knees, cushion as a conceit on the hardwood plank. His own penis was doing an indecisive climb, awake enough to indicate its interest but also a little coy, like it was unsure if this was the right moment to do more than stretch itself a little.

“This is going inside you in a few minutes, and how much lube I think you deserve is entirely dependent on how much of a little slut your prepared to admit to be,” she lied as convincingly as she could. “So you better suck it good, bitch…”

He was eager, moving forward, mouth reaching, to take the head into his mouth. Un-lubed and uncontaminated, the slightly bulbed tip brushed against his lips before passing through them. She liked his mouth, very male with the faint darkness in the skin above his lips, but full and livid pink, fuckable. When they kissed she almost always wanted to hurt him, letting her teeth close on the swollen tenderness of his lower lip or mashing her mouth into his. She’s read about that in old romance novels of “bruising kisses” and never understood until the first time he’d smiled at her and she wanted to turn that soft mouth into a vulnerable curl of pain.

He was straight but he’d seen enough cocks sucked to improvise. Her strap on was in many ways worse than a real penis, too hard to slip down the throat easily, with none of the give and yield, but she liked it that way, liked that when she took the back of his head and pushed she could make him gag. He whimpered and drooled, and, after a while she grudging relented.

“Go get the towels, you little whore.” Another conceit, but it saved stripping the bed. She took the time to roll a condom onto the now glistening dildo, a kindness as well as a practicality, and he let himself be pushed over onto the bed.

She lifted his legs and threw them akimbo, but she reward him with a dollop of clear, cool lube, stroked slippery against the tight ring of his anus and then massaged the phallus she was wearing with the same hands, leaving both slippery and ready. Grinning, she thrust herself between his legs and guided the head of the fake cock until it’s thick width was pressing insistently into him. Her hand briefly scrubbed over the rough nap of the towel, cleaning it, before she drove forwards, her hips swiveling to home into him and open him up.

“That’s better, slut, isn’t it? You’re so much happier with something inside you, aren’t you?”

Her hand pulled strokes from root to tip, easing him through the roughness, while her mouth crooned obscenities. She liked the noises he made when she was the one penetrating him, so much like her own. Her hips drove with her thighs and her stomach, looking to see just how hard she could jam into him, making him feel at her mercy.

Of course the contraption wasn’t a situation set up for endurance, and she let him enjoy it as well as suffer through it, panting and teasing him until between the insistence of the eight and a half inches of silicone and the hand on his prick he was spurting out all over his belly, milky semen into the grassland of dark strands on white.

Giggling, she him rest on his back, extracting herself. The condom peeled off the dildo neatly, turning tidily inside out, and he made a weak noise, half overwhelmed and half content. Later, they would shower together, the dildo in the bathroom sink waiting to be scrubbed clean to wait its boiling, but for the time being she enjoyed the moment.

And that, boys and girls, is what real strapon fucking action can look like. Fun, silly and sexy. 🙂

 

 

Friday Femdom Fiction: That Extra Shove

“I don’t know, Boss, I don’t think it can fit.” His eyes had widened when she pulled the plastic package out of the plain red shopping bag. The company that made the toy was know for its reliable quality and ethical manufacturing- but like everything of that nature bore the warning that it was “for novelty purposes only”, at least if you bought it in those states that gave you a criminal record for doing the naughty with an object explicitly designed for that reason.

This was Canada, so she’d bought the big black butt plug with complete impunity, and talked with the clerk for a good fifteen minutes about anal sex first. Broaching the edge of the plastic bubble pack with a pair of scissors, she sawed and crunched.

“I would work better if you used the can opener,  Boss.”

“Shut up, Sweetpea,” she said affectionately, prying the plastic apart like a stubborn clamshell. The hard edges bit at her fingers, but she persisted until she wriggled out the entire, solid and heavy black silicone plug and thumped it dramatically, flared bad down, on the table.

He looked at the heft of it, and tried to imagine it inside him. “I still think it’s a bad idea, Boss.”

“It was on sale!”

“Yeah, for how much?” It’s not that she couldn’t afford it, but she was always trying to downplay the effort when she got him a gift. He thought it was cute.

“Fifty bucks. Down from sixty,” she looked pleased and a bit defensive. “I consider it a goal for you. Besides, it’s only a smidgen bigger than my fist.”

He made a hand waving gesture over his shoulders, “You’re the Boss…”

“Don’t you forget it, Sweetpea.”

She did try the toy, over the weekend, but found that he got hung up on the widest point. Not one to be perturbed by a challenge, she gave him a break, until presently he forgot about it, the toy living in its own ziplock bag. They played with other things, over the weeks, fucking and fisting and strapon sex, and other normal couple things until one Saturday night, cozied up together, she decided it was time…

The swishy, latex dipped, double bamboo cane was another acquisition from the same sex shop, bought several months ago at a post Valentine’s clearance event. She loved how easy it was, and he loved to hate it- it hurt like a bitch, and was just on the cusp of too much in one go, but of course a part of him craved the excessiveness. This feeling of horrible-wonderful was of course only helped along by the fact that his nuts were now connected, via well wrapped rope, to a little metal hook in one of the big heavy ceiling beams, something she had attached, through the loop, to his big toe, so he was standing like a particularly uncomfortable flamingo. On a piece of plastic waffle mesh that was ever so slowly imprinting his other foot with grooves.

To make things more interesting, from time to time the cane would zip down against calf, or thigh, or worse, his upturned sole. She was looking for the misery point, herding him there.

“I can’t Boss, I c-can’t…”

“Would you like to sit down?”

“Yes,” he said, small voiced.

“Okay, you need to wait for another minute.” She loved that quiet admission that she had broken him, but she wanted done with him. “I’ll count it off for you.”

He whimpered and nodded, and she made sure he could hear her run from sixty, letting him see she wouldn’t cheat. When she unhitched him, he sagged like a puppet with cut strings, limping on his tenderized feet.

“Com’ere Sweetpea, time to sit down and get the weight off.”

And then he saw the chair set up, with the plug sat in the middle of it.

“Oh, fuck no, Boss…” he said, weakly.

She had the pharmacy brand KY in her hand now, “How much of this I let you use is entirely determined by how much shit you give me, Sweetpea.”

“Yes, Boss.” He caught the lube clumsily, made sure to use as much of it as he thought he could get away with. Usually he was lucky if she let him have a pea sized dollop, which meant she was serious. Still a little pain drunk, he sat down.

The blunt tipped wedge of the plug opened him, like a foot in the door or her fingers on the plastic package, pushing and hurting, but also have a certain pleasurable intensity. Gravity and his own efforts forced it in further, and despite the lube slickness, pulled wet tears up in the corners of his eyes.

It was easier, at least, than before, but he still stuck at the widest point. He whimpered.

“Now Sweetpea, I want to see your butt touch the chair,” Her voice was all fake stern, her face lit with a sadist’s empathy.

“Boss!”

“I know you can do it. I’ve seen you take more, you greedy little slut!”

“Bosssss…” He was crying properly now as the widest point slipped in, giving him incredible fullness. She took a step back, watching him.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? It’s nice.”

—-

This particular piece is stitched together from my own and other people’s experience. Let’s just say I have cool friends.

500 Word Friday Femdom Fiction: Pent Up

When they went to the couch, he automatically took a place with his head in her lap, his favourite spot. And her fingers combed through his hair, before setting in a curl that rubbed the sensitive spot at his hairline. In the kitchen, the dishwasher swooshed and squirted, cozy evening noises after dinner.

He was naked, but she was not, and he scrubbed his face happily into the velvety corduroy ribs of her pants. His cock was spending a lot of time erect this week, but the thickness had resolved itself at half mast after dinner’s teasing session.

Under the table, her feet had wandered, bare and squirmy, into his lap and she’d rubbed and teased just enough to get his attention. It was a particular kind of torture because he wasn’t allowed to talk about it. No begging, not even a thank you, not since Monday. It was Sunday now and she’d been keeping him from coming all week long.

It wasn’t the first time they’d done denial games, and even when he was free to touch and rub himself as much as he liked, she loved to find ways to tease him. She knew he loved the look of her in cotton panties, so she was always finding reasons for him to see up her skirt, sliding his hand up there or even, memorably on Thursday night, leaving a pair at the bottom of the lunch she made him for work, neatly ziplocked in their own bag under the snacking cucumber and ham sandwich on rye. And he hadn’t even been allowed to take them into the bathroom and edge himself to almost there. Or even text her the frantic feelings that had popped up as surely as his cock had started shoving against his khakis.

She brought a novel to the couch, but although she opened it to her place from last time, “Hard to believe that it’s been a week, hasn’t it?”

“Mmm?” He pressed his lips together, remembering how firmly she had told him not to comment. She told him she’d liked watching the struggle in his face.

“You may talk about how much you want it.” She laughed, “It’s printed in your eyes. But you know, I almost sort of miss seeing the way you usually grope and touch yourself. So, stand up!”

The instruction was punctuated with a nudge from her thigh, hinting he needed to get off the couch. He was up and in front of her, hands hesitating, his whole posture begging to touch. He hadn’t been allowed to for any reason but hygiene, and since they showered together a lot of the time it meant she’d been taking over even the opportunity for something furtive had turned into another tease from her he had to moan and squirm his way through without saying a word

But now her hands reached out, cupped his balls, balls that had ached to empty, and looped her index finger and thumb around the root of his cock’s shaft. After many months of cohabitation fuelled sex romps, she’d gotten really good, stroking and tugging in ways that could stretch the delicious torture out until his voice was pushed high up out of its normal range in desperation.

“Miiiiiisssss!”

She liked the velvety feel of his cock in her hand, liked the man-musk-smell, clean but deep and heady, and loved the slippery precum that beaded up. There’d been a lot of precum this week. Her smile widened, giving that little wrists twist that she knew he liked, letting the hood of his foreskin slide, slippery against the head of his cock.

“Miss! Miss! Please! Miss!” He was getting increasingly more incoherent, no longer able to keep his knees unbent.

“That’s it, kneel down, slut,” she said with mean-affection wrapping her voice into a purr. To get closer to her work, she was off the couch now, novel somewhere on the floor. “Go on, come for me!”

The hoarse burst of a thank you marked the end of coherence, as her hand tightened just enough to drive him over the edge and past the point of no return.

Hot cum, pent up, milky, half clear and half opaque, in glistening ropes shot up. It struck her chin and startled, she did react more than to turn her head as the second pulse landed half on the corner of her mouth and half above it. She laughed.

“Come kiss me, slut.”

500 Word Friday Femdom Fiction: Slap

He’d spent forty-five miserable minutes sitting on the couch while she paced and slammed cabinet doors harder than she needed to, and got herself under control, and now it was time for the reckoning. The anger was gone, and it its place a certain sort of stern-hurt. In some ways he preferred the anger, but she never, ever punished in those rare moments when her temper surfaced, making him wait.

“I know you’ve though about what you said, and contrite as you are, you don’t really mean to take it back. Not yet. So I’m going to punish you.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I want you to stand for this. And think about what you said to me and why it was wrong.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Now relax your jaw a bit.”

She waited, watched to see he did as bid and her palm swung out and caught his cheek. “What you said was unacceptable.”

“I’m sorr…”

“Not another fucking word, you little cunt.”

For her there was a sort of dreamlike drift, her hands batting into his face, alternating cheeks: right, pause to see his jaw and neck were alright, left, pause, right, pause, left pause.

She could see he was contrite, but still stubborn, saw the hurt in his eyes and felt the slight sting in her palm. He thought she was being kind and didn’t understand why she was insulted and hurt, “Do you even know why you are being punished?”

“Because… I said a bad thing, Mistress? I won’t do it again if it bother you.”

“If it bothers you?” She echoed. “Bothers? What was it you said? You can never be what I want? You’re a loser, that I’m so together and I know what I’m doing while you will just fuck everything up? What sort of fucking bullshit is that?” She spat the words out like they were bullets.

She saw his head was still disagreeing, that he would lie to please her and reached out. “You are special.” Slap. “And beautiful.” Slap. “And mine.” Slap. A handful of hair on the back of his head made the handle she used to drag him into the bathroom, in front of the mirror. “What do you see?”

“It’s me, Mistress?” His reflection showed back a face strained with pain, his cheeks blushing from the slaps.

“Who does that… person in the mirror belong to?”

“You, Mistress?”

“Good. And do you say shit about anything else I own in my life?”

“No, Mistress, but…”

“Who accepted your submissive self?”

“You did, mistress. I’m really grateful that you…”

Her grip on his hair tightened again and her voice got loud in the small confines of the bathroom. “I’m not running a fucking charity. I don’t own you to martyr myself. I own you because you are special and precious to me. I don’t mind humiliating you. I like it.  But don’t you ever think for one minute you’re some burden I shouldn’t have.”

He was shocked out of further speech.

“Now you listen to me. No matter how bad it gets, I’m here for you.  and if you’re really grateful to be my slave, the least you can do is respect my authority on what I do and do not want. And we’re going to train you until you can honestly say you feel as worthy as I judge you to be.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

~

This is a bit more clumsy, but sometimes in a D/s relationship it’s not just about silly bedroom fun, but about really loving the person and making it part of your communication. Different ways to say I love you for different people.

Friday Fucking Femdom Fiction: Ass Tease

His eyes were on her upturned ass, but, bending and twisting in front of him, she felt the pose in her stomach and the small of her back, in the muscles that stabilized her just slightly spread legs. Her hand swept the fall of her loose curls from where they poured over her face and continued the stroking motion over the small bumps of her breasts, giving a lust shiver.

She couldn’t see his face like this, not with her back to him and him tied to the chair, but she heard the noises he made and could imagine what he saw, knew her body well enough to know that her ass was, in her estimation pretty awesome.

She wondered if he focused on the fullness, because with her hips it was wide and heavy. If he wasn’t restrained, he could take it in his hands, one on either side, and dig his fingers in and fill his hands, fingers sinking in just a little. Or, perhaps he paid more attention to the contrasts, the way her waist bit in and then suddenly belled out below, like an invisible corset had cinched her in around the middle.

Or maybe he liked to see the cleft between the halves of her ass and the way the split led down. Putting he hand on her hip she thrust her ass out higher, pulling slightly to spread herself. She wanted him to look at her, to desire her, and, holding him captive this way, she teased herself as well, imagining he was loose from the cuffs that locked his arms behind his back. He would stroke the feathery hair on the vivid pink slash of her cunt, find the sticky dew that gathered, and pet with two fingers until her cunt welcomed and engulfed them.

She liked it, liked giving him liberty that way, to feel his hand smack into the unblemished white of her ass cheek,  just enough to tingle, and feel herself devouring more fingers. Sometimes he talked, speculatively and teasingly, of the day her cunt would eat his hand up to the wrist.

And sometimes, more carefully, when he had her humming with desire, his fingers would wander to her ass again, and tease their way inside. The intensity of just one or two would always pushed her orgasm to somewhere beyond the usual realm.

But, right this moment, it was her own fingers playing with her cunt, opening herself for him to look but not touch. It was clumsy at this angle, but, his little intake of breath was worth it, as was the creak at he pressed himself back into the chair.  Coyly, she pivoted to look over her shoulder. “I’m going to sit in your lap now.”

She settled herself with more than the necessary amount of wriggling, aware of her bare ass pressing against his cock. The width of her hips filled the span of his lap, nestling her snuggly into the space where his arms were bound to the chair. Resting her own arms on top of them, she sighed contentedly and then began to swivel about on the spot, grinding and rubbing up against him.

“What,” she smiled, “Is it worth to you to be inside me?”