gentle femdom

“Lady Venom Takes A Mistress” by Kat Blackthorne [Femdom Review]

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Lady Venom Takes A Mistress

What in heaven’s name did I just read? This is a gothic lesbian sex farce. In the large part it is amusing, but brute force style, and full of awkward inconsistencies amidst the self indulgence. I would best describe  it as having class clown energy, cracking jokes at any cost to itself. When it is working, the vibes are a contemporary Ruddigore, when it isn’t it hits moments you aren’t sure it was trying to be humorous and may have just unintentionally fallen on its face. 

Thus while it gave me more than a few chuckles on purpose, you also get moments like the scene when the evil villian (Lord Harkness) pats his horse and announces after a few bearings and fuckings and the protagonist (Posey) will be just like his mare. And one is left pondering if this is intended to imply he has had sex with his horse? It’s very hard to tell. Tongue might be very firmly in cheek here, but then the book is chomping about so wildly it still manages to bite it off. 

Which is probably strike 1 of the book, but not a problem that’s entirely unredeeming. Accidental pratfalls can still be funny. Where it does drag the most is major problem 2. For a Lesbian romance, characters are inordinately preoccupied with men. In the titular Lady Venom’s case, murdering them and in Poesy’s case, describing in detail their immense ugliness. If I wanted to complain about awful men there’s perfectly good heterosexuality for that. I think they were trying for the fantasy of being able to reject the idea that only M/f could be happily ever after, instead it ended up delivering political lesbianism.

This is made more so bewildering by a cast of ghostly servants that include several jovial male phantoms who nod along with the endless dialogue about how nice killing men is. And that the 11th hour reveal that the domme character in the romance might be responsible for the misogyny the protagonist grew up with through some sort of series of whimsical misunderstandings. Which happens so fast and randomly that it’s almost incoherent.

Of course there’s certainly ways you can do a splatterpunk rejection of having anything to do with straightness, but the tone here is just so unstable that it gets in the way of the good pastoral cottagecore escape bits. 

Consistency is something the book struggles with in the sex parts, too, going from lots of gentle femdom/pleasure from scenes with nothing more dramatic to fingering to the lead suddenly being consensually fucked with a novelty dildo described as being as thick as her bicep and able to make her bleed enough to coat the dildo. Again tonally unclear if this was severe vaginal tearing as one might expect from a more or less unprepped large insertion, or ham handed cherry popping drama? Probably the latter given the book layers things with the literal presence of that fruit as a symbol for the thing Posey had that Lady Venom wanted, but not skillfully done enough to make that clear. Especially not since everything else in this book was tell, so an interlude trying to lean on show will just be awkward. 

Asides from that, my more essential problem is not a flaw. It’s a feature the author intended, that I am not the target audience. 

This is submissive wish fulfillment, the fantasy that a literal magic dominant will immediately treat you like the most beloved, sexy thing ever and indulgently orally service you to as many orgasms as possible (or guide you through masturbation for their enjoyment) while lavishing you with praise and gifts. All you need to do is tell the dominant you like them and presto! Suddenly you are the most special subbie that ever subbed and the dominant lavishes you with more praise for appreciating them. That’s just not going to be my thing. 

Of course self indulgent sub fantasies are perfectly valid, but in finding fiction for me instead of for a sub, this is a perennial problem. Dominants are, by and large, the fetish *object* when we are featured, not the audience. As a result Lady Venom (aka Alabaster Beaudelaire) is endlessly giving and inexplicably into a protagonist who offers nothing more compelling than wanting to stay in a palace where she is cosseted and every need is catered to. 

If I am to imagine myself in Lady Venom’s shoes, what is in it for me, here?

I mean, sure. The little hide-away palace with delicious food and infinite hobby dress making, training in ninja like combat skills and hot people who care about you in the most reassuring way possible would be nice. And who wouldn’t want magically intelligent animals who protect and serve you and ghosts that make you gourmet food, but also enjoy having you hobby bake in their kitchen? The ghosts even act like wise best friends when you are needing a pick me up but have no personal needs beyond housing! It’s a fantasy story and it’s good to daydream. No criticism if this is your dream.

But when I am going to self indulge, I want to be the fussed over one. My silliest, most selfish fantasies where everyone either loves me or falls in a hole and I am so comfy and secure and rewarded do not require my submission as the price of admission. And so many books about BDSM do focus on that theme: Surrender yourself and then get everything handed to you by the dominant. 

Which is counter to the core of this project’s purpose, finding writing that constructively gives dominants what they want. Whether guide books for practical exploration in the real world or romance for comfort, titillation or inspiration it’s a difficult needle to thread that needs more than just that a dominant happens to be female in this particular context or story. Lady Venom Takes A Mistress isn’t pretending to be anything but a goofy, campy frolic, but in recommendations the only endorsement I could give would it might be a good birthday gift for the sapphic sub in your life.

Where to Buy (for a deserving sub :P)

Author Website

Liked this review? Check out more titles in my 2026 Femdom Book Review Project!

“The Only One” by Daisy Jane [Femdom Book Review]

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The Only On by Daisy Jane. A shirltless man in a backwards had kneels and embraces the waist of a brunette woman in a mechanics coverall. A key dangles from her hand.

As is somewhat the habit of femdom romances, this one pops up in the tail of a “Wrench Kings” series, a collection of erotic romances about banging small town mechanics. Unlike most of the stories you find in this part of the genre, the subtitle and branding make it very clear it’s going to focus on gentle femdom.  Thus two silly innocents decide that because Delane, the female protagonist, has listened to a lot of femdom erotica on audiobook she’s going to teach the virginal male lead, Miller, some more confidence with women. Gentle femdom shall follow, but what Delane thinks is a casual short term deal obviously becomes something much more. 

Much of the rest of the book being readable depends on delivering on that premise in a way that accepts this is a stupid plan. As you might imagine, Delane is also a virgin and she’s flying by the seat of her pants. Whether or not you enjoy it will have to depend on how ok you are with the main characters both lacking not just a clue, but probably the entire current in print line of Hasbro board games. At least this defect essentially drives the major conflict of the story, since Delane not knowing any better is a plausible justification for having the courage to try randomly dominating a cute coworker. The persistent real world belief that femdom in the apex expression of feminine wiles and savoir faire makes the mess the characters get themselves in feel perfectly plausible.

Flawed protagonists notwithstanding, the rest of the plot is pretty standard: sex lessons with building chemistry; a horrible ex boyfriend stalking and harassing in the background; and a background cast of heart-of-gold blue collar people not particularly concerned about minor physical violence, but also heavily invested in each other’s love lives. Big dreams that stay in the immediate orbit of their community; and maybe a bit too much Not Like Other Girlsing around imagined competition that the female lead is at least able to recognize might be a bit unfair to the strangers she projects it on. These tropes aren’t remarkable to find in their niche (small town contemporary), but it’s a good reminder that it’s perfectly possible to stick to an ultra traditional format and showcase a non-traditional dynamic. 

Where it’s weak is that the sex framing is sometimes awkward. Within the first forty pages the text from Delane’s perspective has had her mention her nipples feeling hard in two separate incidents. Likewise, it’s not enough that she enjoys her porn, but we get text samples of what she is listening to , while she lingers credulously on her imagining things must work exactly on page. It is, to be frank, the sort of porn I wouldn’t review for this project, though it makes for an interesting contrast because Jane is clearly trying to make these vignettes of audiobook samples feel over the top. However, once it gets rolling the flow of libidinous references gets less shoehorned feeling.

While I think I personally lean a lot rougher in tastes, there’s a sort of dorkish realism to the spice between the actual characters that never loses sight of how this looks when real people do it. It does make things go perhaps a bit too easily for both parties, but since the underlying theme of the book is about the characters getting over the idea they are unworthy due to their psychological hang ups and lack of confidence, it makes thematic sense. 

And people really do act like this. Places like r/femdomcommunity gets a regular amount of people whose only Sex Ed is porn. We tell people to get their butts to a munch, but this is easier said then done if you live in a town with less than 100k people, and even then most femdom is couples awkwardly working it own on their own. The text doesn’t actually show when Delane switches from purely porn driven advice to what is clearly other online research, but you could imagine the phases of their relationship as a series of her frantically searching for advice or ideas to do with her new partner.

Everything else is unapologetically (and unselfconsciously) sappy. The male lead is every part a perfect gentleman, an escapee from the very Christian commune of his birth who cooks well, volunteers with the needy and steps into ideal son in law mode long before the couple makes it official. And, while Delane does fuck up by leaning into Miller’s own assumptions about her experience level, ultimately they are written as being able to salvage their dynamic on the other side of the necessary confessions and realignment of their perceptions of each other. It can drag a bit at the end where the story extends well past the HEA being established, but only via giving you about three more chapters worth of the main characters getting what they want and loving eachother.

Otherwise what I liked was that you will find both chastity cages and pegging here long before these people try out PiV. BDSM is never treated as the hard mode you can’t start with. The female lead has a bit of a chip on her shoulder about people she perceives as being traditionally femme, at least in the pink Pilates princess sense, but the narrative is otherwise both relentlessly sex and also porn positive. While the characters do lack for any real formal discussion about consent, likewise the pacing and framing is set up so you at least don’t worry anyone is being coerced. Overall I think femdom could use a lot more optimism about how much writers lean into it in romance. Thus, even if this is overall outside my favourite tropes and kinks to read for fun, I also feel it skillfully accomplished taking things that usually go very regressive and delivering a very progressive approach to kink and who can do what to whom, regardless of gender.

Where to Buy: The Only One: A Soft Femdom Romance (Wrench Kings Book 3) by Daisy Jane

Friday Femdom Fiction: Cucked by the Zeitgeist

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“Oh, I was going to fuck you, but then #forcedbirth legislation swept the US. Now I am going to cuck you with this big, thick silicone cock. But, because I am being fair and I love you, you can watch and masturbate. However, no draining those naughty unsnipped breeder balls until I say you can!”

The length of silicone balanced on its flanged base, standing erect in anticipation of the service it would be put to. His own equipment made a similar performance with less lucky expectations, but while the fake cock was marble swirls and muted shine, his was the warm mottled matte tones of skin.

He could smell the back of the nose lift of her arousal, hindbrain triggering, impossible to pretend. She grinned. “Of course you turn me on. That’s why I want this. It was so hard to find just the fit that matched your shape. But you understand, right?”

“C-can’t we just use condoms?” he asked weakly. The cock cage was lying next to them, key still in the lock, a tight squeeze to cram himself into with the sexts she’d been sending him all week. Now, here in here presence, she said she wanted a good, safe fuck, and nothing else.

He gave her a pleading look, hoping for a reprieve. Being inside her was wonderfully intimate. Her eyes would lock with his and she would straddle his lap, riding while he stayed in careful control, helping her come without letting himself ruin her pleasure by coming. Not this time.

“Oh no baby,” she was practically purring, a decided arch in her back that thrust her breasts out, clearly turned on by his suffering. Her fingers stroked down her own thigh. “If I am going to ride a piece of rubber, we are going to do it right, and we both know accidents happen. A condom could fail.”

He watched her spread herself, fingers seeking, pushing. He pressed his own mouth closed to push back a whimper. “Please? I want to be inside you.”

“I know, it must be driving you crazy. I am so very wet, and it feels so warm and tight. Don’t think I am going to let you get a vasectomy either. You are much too pretty not to make babies with you… when I am ready.”

He filled his palm with a squirt of clear, sleek lube, but a reach to the root of his cock got a hand tap. “No! Not until I have hilted, darling!”

Hesitating like a dog balancing a treat on its nose, he watched her nudge the rubber up against her pussy, one hand playing with a nipple. She had perfect breasts, halfway between heavy and full, responsive and soft. She wasn’t even letting him touch her.

The toy slid slowly into her. For a moment the affectionate but sadistic patter she teased him with stopped and her saw the unmistakable look of pleasure wash through her. Her lips made a pout, eyes going out of focus. Sliding down the toy, his rival, she let herself enjoy every inch.

He eagerly slicked up his own cock from the root to tip, beginning to stroke.

“Slower baby, in time with my pleasure. This is about me, and what your cock can’t do.”

Obedience made it better, and he matched his pace to her drag of her hips, up and down, squats pushing herself to the base of the toy and mid way up. “Don’t you wish that was your cock inside me?”

“Yes!”

“It feels so good. You are so perfect.” She was smiling, though it was crooked with the exertion and the distraction of what she was doing. “Isn’t it great you can still serve me this way?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She gave a huff, jiggle in her breasts and thigh with each fresh stroke. In his groin her sped pace was posing a danger. Building. Slick, tight.

“You don’t get to be inside me. You don’t get to come. You’re going to get locked back up after I do, and…”

“Nnnh…” He had to stop pumping his hand.

“Almost?” Her grin was wider, seeing his desperation. “You don’t need to cum. Not until I decide to breed you. You’re property. And I sumply cannot afford an accident, so this big, thick toy is going to take your place.”

“Mistress!”

“Hand off your cock.”

He gasped a thank you.

“Oh really? You know your place as a denied breeding slut?” She shifted to sitting, legs sprawled open, working the dildo out at the speed she liked before she came. “Say thank you to my rubber cock too. Thank it for doing what you can’t.”

“…Thank you to Mistress’s rubber cock.” Leaning forward, he made himself commit to the clumsiness of his phrasing. “Mistress deserves pleasure. Mistress deserves to come. I don’t matter. I’m only for breeding. I don’t get to come. I…”

The yell was a sharp exhalation, built tension pushing air from her lungs with quick burst of coming. Her eyes snapped shut, one last thrust jamming into just the spot that tipped her over. “Yes!”

Friday Femdom Fiction: Gagged, Arched and Edged

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“I like it when you suffer for me.”

The gag cinched into the corners of his mouth, doing more to render him muffled than to completely silence the sounds of the whimpers he was making. A slick of lube on her palm, viscous and clinging, made each stroke of her hand glide easy on his cock.

“That’s right, baby. You love being this helpless, don’t you?”

He was completely naked, back bent so he could hold onto his own ankles, a display arch that was marred by shivers and gasps. She could read the desperation in his body: in the way his hips tried to rise to meet her grip; in the way his belly flexed and contracted; his shoulders shifted; and the tightening of the way he struggled to keep himself in the pose.

She knew he wanted to be on display for her, wanted to keep his muscles as flexed and hard as his cock. That was a little vanity of service, an awareness that she found him attractive. She gave the root of his cock a harder squeeze, letting the upwards glide pull her fingers over the flare of the head.

She saw the shine of the wetness at the corner of his mouth where the gagged robbed him of the ability to hold in his drool, and just where his chest met his belly, a thumb print sized drip. Meanwhile, the slit at the tip of his cock offered up a line of pre-cum like the strand of a cobweb.

“You are always such a clean, tidy boy, but, only edged three times and look at you! Losing all control. Filthy!”

She let her thumb brush over that ooze of precum, enjoying the texture and noting the contrast. Her own panties were stained with her desire, seeping through the cotton. There was a temptation to mount him, hilting his desperately hard cock inside her, but she kept her restraint, making him endure.

A few more fast pumps of her hand around his cock and he started looking panicked, building and building. She reminded him not to cum, even as she teased him closer and closer. As his balls began to pull into his body to loose a spurt of cum she smirked, pulling her hand away with a flourish.

“Not yet! You don’t have permission.”

His eyed met hers, pleasing with his eyes, making wet squeaks.

“Not yet. Catch your breath and we start again.”

Femdom Book Review: At His Lady’s Command by Nicola Davidson

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This is a cream puff. It’s a sugary, gooey confection you bite into and there is flakey bits all over your blouse and custard oozing out, but you aren’t sorry you did it. Our protagonists, Lady Portia and her faithful bodyguard Denham start out as unrequited, and within a chapter, rush from lust to bed at speed- we aren’t making any pretence this isn’t porn.

With that in mind, if you are looking for exact historical accuracy, this might not be for you. Rich heiress runs a sexual dream society attended by pairings and a triad from other books, and does good works. The past-ish background serves largely as a fig leaf to add propriety to rebel against and peril to intrude. As such, the premises of the plot can fall apart if you stare too long at them.

This is gentle femdom. Don’t expect bondage or sadomaschism more intense than scratches, but do enjoy that our 38 year old heroine and 44 year old hero are plausibly into each other and her control, while also keeping them as firmly defined equals outside the context of their kinks.

Honestly my biggest criticism is the speed the story was rushed interfered with the possability of larger tension and made the peril of the story a bit less fleshed in favour of Denham or Portia yearning for each other. But!

Holy hell is it a breath of fresh air to get a protagonist that is not a professional. Not that being a pro is bad, but the vast majority of femdom romances targeted for the female gaze approach the subject as a story of an idealized dominatrix, usually a service top. The characters like eachother and compliment eachother. They have plausible chemistry.

Davidson looks like she knows what she is talking about, when it comes to femdom, and although her larger suite of offerings covers pretty much the gamut of relationships (looks like M/f, a mmf triad, lesbian and gay make up the other books in her Surrey Sexual Freedom Society series, for example) this is not a tick box sampler or someone writing outside their depth.

This may be pure romance-land in the larger framing, but expect a good fusion of modern tastes and historical vulgarity- nobody does a cockstand or has a mossy grot, but there are no throbbing members. I would have a hard time placing the exactness of period, but they do manage birth control that is both plausible and historically accurate.

In all, I wish Davidson had the time to let this develop properly with more length, but having tasted her wears, even if I might have a stray crumb or two to brush away, I will be back to this particular bakery again.

Want a copy? At His Lady’s Command is a kindle exclusive. I bought it myself on a whim and have received no sponsorship to review.

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

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kiss me for the first time with my hand on your throat in cursive script above a pattern of fireworks

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

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

Read more

Friday Femdom Fiction: Jerk Off Instructions

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jerk off instructions friday femdom fiction header banner

“Take off your clothes.” She spoke,  abruptly, after breaking off the kissing.  She could still feel the stoftness of his lips against hers, the right amount of wet, and the taste-that-was-not-a-taste when she had licked them.

They’d been making out for maybe five minutes, although she tended not to keep track of the time, with a buzzing sort of urge starting to clamour at her to grab control. It always came like this, with the arousal, that as the curl of sensation built up her spine, her mind turned mean.

Her words got his attention, and a little bit of a challenge in the tilt of his head, as yet unlifted from the pillow.

“Yes. Do it.” Sitting up, she got a good look at the whole of him, skinny, very male, matched to her in casual but not shelpy clothes as he took a certain pride in his appearance: a fitted t-shirt in a dark grey, and slacks in khaki that emphasized his squareness.

He had the start of the haze of lust in his pale eyes, body warm and stretched out in her bed in the mounded up cradling of the heavy duvet. A lazy late spring breeze carried fair sounds from outside and the shaded window cast them in the filtered light of the weekend afternoon. There remained a louche, laziness about his movements, reminding her of a cat.

Gesturing, she tugged at the hem of his shirt, up over his flat stomach. He saw it and saw the lack of horizontal splits where his abs could be counted, she saw only the achingly erotic furrow of the vertical muscles and their trail of soft hair to his groin. At her urging, the shirt came off and he stretched with it, pleasing her. His nipples were small pink points on his chest, hair there almost more sandy blonde than rusty red.

“You’re so fucking hot.” She said his name after, tone heavy with how much she meant it. “Show me everything.”

She continued to watch as his hands went to the band of his pants, fingers undoing the button, parting and pulling off his slim hips. For that he was forced to go half upright. That left loose knit cotton boxers and socks. The consortium of female taste had at some point decided men looked stupid in just socks, but she found this belief incomprehensible. It was part of the cozy, naturalness of real sex and she often made it clear they could and should stay on, a little exertion of her will on his.

There was always the tiniest flash of shyness when he revealed his cock, in this case just starting to stir. Earlier, her body had been on his, her weight pressing his groin and her hand running over the obvious texture of his sensitive nipples under the thin fabric of his t-shirt.  This teasing was an appetizer to him, but she was quite content at the result.

Cut, balanced in size, nested in hair that was the reddest bright on his body, small curls that added to the sense of radiating warmth. She put a hand on his thigh and the other to cup his balls, “I’m going to want you to finish getting that hard for me.”

She liked to watch men. He had a simple technique, out of the ones she’s seen, always a little different, this one being less curl and tickle and more a motion of the hand and fingers,  a circle pulled from mid-length over the ridge of his cock head.

Her cunt gave an anticipatory twitch, hungry.  As she watched she let her palm slide slowly from her collar bone over the swell of her breast, land loose to follow the curve of her shape, “Keep going.”

His muscles began to hold tension, a pull in his belly, a squaring in his shoulders and his face taking on a slight expression of exertion.

“I want you to keep stroking and pulling your cock until you get hard for me. I want to see the first couple of drops of your precum. I’m not going to touch it, this time, but you’re going to come for me, when I say, because I want it.”

He said nothing, but his eyes met hers, cock now full erect in his hand. It was pale and pink, even shaded, alive and warm. She grinned.

“Pull back a bit on the sensations, but don’t let yourself get soft. I want you to draw it out for me.”

He gave a huff of breath by way of answer as he complied. Sex muzzled him as surely as tape over the mouth.  She grinned, nuzzling against the bottom of his ribs with her face and kissing. From there she pressed against him until her mouth was close to his nipple, tongue darting out to flick, and then a second swirl. She knew it was more teasing for him if he could look down and see the dark wetness of her tongue touch.

“This isn’t about you, this is about putting on a show for me. So make those strokes longer, from cock root to tip. I kinda like the idea of you a little frustrated and wanting more sensation.”

Obediently he complied, and she admired just how long his cock got. “You know you’re so fucking big, and every bit of that belongs to me. That’s my cock, mine to fuck and suck and tease when I feel like it. Right?”

He didn’t have any words, so she repeated it again, prompting with a purr in her voice. “Whose cock is that?”

“Yours… It’s yours, Miss”

“Ok, good boy,” she purred, “You can go back to touching yourself how you like. Go on and get yourself close, I want to hear it in your breathing.”

He wasn’t a big groaner or panter, just an ever increasing strain, like the arousal was a weight that increased, pound by pound with every quarter minute. She spied a little bit of wet, precum, and suppressed the urge to lick it away.

As he got closer to the moment, his face took on a different caste, eyes widening even as the small muscles tensed. There was a desperation, but it wasn’t time yet. She wanted him to feel like they was no choice but to come for her. “Almost, ease off again for me, I like watching your take your time with your cock.”

While she talked, she had a hand on her own groin, pressing through the layers of her drapey cotton skirt and the barrier of her panties.  “Fuck yourself for me. Yeah, ok, break’s done, get yourself close again for me. Do you want to come?”

“unhunhh…”

“You do want to come for me, don’t you? You want to let go?” She licked her thumb and then swirled it over his nipple in a spiral.

“uhhhh…”

She could tell he didn’t have any words left, just the sensation.  “Come for me, baby. Your balls are all tight, I know you can’t help it, you’re gonna pop, and then I’m going to lick up every creamy white string from your belly.”

“unnhhnrrrrrrrr…!” It became a growl. Her smile was full teeth, even as she pressed harder and ground her own clit.

“Let go and come for me.”

The growls continued, instinctual, as she watched the first pulse of white fountain, spurt after spurt.

“Good boy.”

If you liked this, there’s a full archive of my free femdom stories here. As usual read and leave comments as applicable! Or share it with people who also like porn.

Friday Femdom Fiction: A Submissive Husband Consumates

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They woke up around 11 AM, muscles aching from dancing, mouths dry from drinking toasts in their honour. He came to a little before her, his new wife nestled up against his side, as she tended to roll in her sleep. Their bedroom was strewn with the by products of the previous night, including a four thousand dollar white dress currently being worn by the rickety little chair he’d had since college. Sliding out of her sleepy grip, he started their daily routine: a cup of coffee for him with extra sugar, green tea made neat for her

As he set their old drip-brew to work, he remembered amusedly there was a brand new coffee machine on the living room table. There were a lot of gifts because they both had large, giving families, but they’d only gotten as far as getting half of them out of the car, before, laughing and as drunk on exhaustion as she caught him under the arms and gave him a little hoist over the threshold, still in her snowball explosion of taffeta. He’d kissed her and they’d peeled out of their finery and she had done her best to melt the mask of paint on her face in the shower, before they fell into the blankets and into unconsciousness.

When he came back to the bed with a tray holding her tea and a slice of cashew butter toast, she was sitting up with all the pillows wedged behind her and a satisfied look on her face, as serene and regal as a queen on a throne. He took a moment to admire the way the curtain filtered light cast over her bare breasts, full, firm and high, nipples the tint of coffee and cream, her skin olive-gold.

“We did it.”

He nodded, knowing what she meant. The gallop up until the wedding, with two enormous families coming together in joyful if chaotic union, all the little bits and pieces managed and assembled into one great blowout a year in the making.

“But we have one more thing.” Her mouth pursed, serious. “We never properly consummated our marriage.”

For as long as they had been seeing each other, even from the first date, she had controlled his orgasms, and their sex life, deciding how things would be carried out and what she wanted. It worked for both of them- to the outside world they were any normal couple, but at home, in the private intimacy of each other’s exclusive company, he was Hers.

She didn’t need to order him what to do next. He knew to set the tray down on the bedside table and stand with his arms behind his back, posed in reach as she began to cup and massage his groin through his boxers. This sort of teasing was normal, just as much as the fact that she’d taken charge of his orgasms from even the first date. Sometimes she locked him into a cage, sometimes she let him free and counted on her power over him to keep his hands away. He’d spent many long hours on his back, spread eagled, her teasing, or bent over with the thick girth of a strap on fully hilted in his ass.

He wondered what she had planned.  She was inventive, imaginative and more than that, completely in control of him and his desire. This time, the first thing she did was make him spread out the covers flat on the bed and blindfold him, leaving him in a vulnerable slave’s pose: kneeling on the bed with his face pressed into the blanket and his ass tilted up, leaving all his most tender and delicate bits where she could reach.

Sometimes that was a precursor to a beating, or a milking session. Instead, she left him like that, waiting with a strong awareness that any minute now he might feel the slap of her hand, or a paddle; or the teasing flutter of her fingers and the cold wet slide of lube as she prepped him to be fucked. He could feel himself relaxing into that submissive place, just being in the moment awaiting her will. Already his cock was starting to stir.

When she came back to him it was a good twenty minutes later, by his reckoning, maybe longer. She took off his blindfold and made him look at her.

To say he was surprised would be an understatement. There she was in the lovely sheer white lace and satin bands of a bridal set, something that hid, and revealed with equal measure. He didn’t know where she’d bought it, but it as perfectly chosen for her, from the white silk stockings clipped with garters at her thighs, delicate bralette that loving held but did not bind her breasts, satin ribbons instead of clasps, and the same at her hips holding the ruffled wisp of her panties together.

It was not the clothes she’d worn under the wedding dress- that confection was made possible by an under armour of steel bones and spandex- but bridal wear like in magazine shoots, where everything looked soft and touchable. This was the first time he’d seen her in white like this. Most of the time she wore black: leather boots, shiny, tight, every bit the Mistress. There was something almost extra perverse about seeing someone he knew as his cruel goddess in such innocent fare.

“Touch me.” Her voice was a whisper, but no less a command. “It’s time for me to claim you completely. So please me, make me ready to take you.”

Reverently, he reached, feeling her soft warmth. No sooner had his hands brushed her curves, but she was on him, aggressive and almost feral, biting, nipping, forcing her into the bed. He fought back, not against her, but to please her, finding all the places he’d learned on her body. She never let him be inside her, instead, he was well trained with mouth and fingers and tongue. Sometimes she let him use a dildo on her, putting his shoulders into pleasing his Mistress while her fingers reached and scratch bloody lines into his shoulder and arms with the force of her orgasm.

He found her cunt was hot and wet, her scent, the scent of sex soaked into the diaphonously little slip of fabric that covered her crotch. She made him press his face against her, nuzzling, enraptured, and nibble until in a frenzy she just about growled and shoved him away, mounting his body. The bed was always ready, cuffs permanently installed on the foot and headboard, so it was easy for her to restrain him. Then she straddled him, making him watch as her fingers pulled at the ends of the bows at her hips. The panties came loose, but rather than letting them drop, she gathered them up into a wet fistful and crammed them into his mouth. Now gagged, and tasting her, she settled with her legs spread, sitting on him so his almost painfully hard cock was trapped under the swell and ripeness of her ass, and her watched her spread herself, saw how her arousal had turned the slash and curl of her cunt a deeper pink, left it shiney and hungry as first two, then three fingers slid inside her.

“Oh my god,” he moaned, so in tune with the moment and her whim that each plunge inside her up to his knuckles made an overwhelming sypathetic impact on him.

She gave a little noise, half giggle, half growl of desire, and then grasped his cock firmly by the base, smearing her wetness on him. He was alread beading with a start of precum, but her grip warned him that coming was not an option. Calling upon all the months of discipline she’d taught him, he held back the impulse for release and then…

Smooth and sure, she lined him up and he felt the grip of her tightness grab and claim him, taking him inside for the first time. Every bit was in her control, engulfed and held with the same confidence she’d shown when she’d grabbed him moments before. Now she was raising and lowering herself, using him, making herself sigh and catch her breath in her throat, splashes of pink rising in her face until the rhythms of her hips crushing into his and her muscles, inside, swallowing his cock again and again brought her to a satisfying climax. He was entranced, lap drenched with her arousal, body straining against the restraints. It was only his desperate desire to please her that held back exploding, until, resuming her focus after the spasms of her orgasm, she leaned forward and whispered in his ear “And now my cunt is going to take your come.”

On command, that was all it took like a flood gate breaking. It had been a month’s denial, first intentional, then pushing the low priority of his sexual release aside to deal with the demands of the wedding, but now he gave himself to her completely, letting go into simply, being Hers. Her submissive husband, taken, used and drained dry of every drop of cum.

This story was made possible by the generous participation of Perth escorts. They wanted a story like “Pleasing Her Cunt” but wanted to share with everyone. I’ve been playing with the theme of a submissive husband lately (and reading a lot of erotica on the subject) and this is my spin on it.

If you liked this, there’s a full archive of my free femdom stories here. Here cums the Bride! 😉