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?”


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…”


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


“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.”


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

It’s late, but live! Enjoy!

500 Word Friday Fucking Femdom Fiction: Summertime With Femdom

She bumped the double fold of her cunt against his crotch, feeling the comfortable tautness in her thighs as she straddled him, kneeling and squirming on top of his supine body. Somehow, in the bump and crash of stripping and making out between the door and the bed, they’d ended up that way, him on the bottom the way she liked.

He was naked, except for the black band of the collar at his throat and one sock, and she was stripped down to her skin, smooth, sticky with summer sweat but clean. They were both touched by the heat, his short hair in spikes, her longer hair haloed by summer curls. The fan turned its face like an indecisive sunflower, fighting the early August weather and failing to cool anything off.

His hands reached for her hips, and were captured by the wrists before he could do more than brush his fingers against them. She slammed them down against the mattress, even though his strength could easily brush her away like a gnat. But she wanted him there, and wanted him to feel at her mercy.

“Fuck me, bitch.” She hissed it, daring him. “I’ve been wet all day, waiting for you. On the bus, thinking about your cock. Craving it. So, fuck me.”

He bucked his hips, feeling the slickness on the head of his cock, the tight curls on her labia. It was a natural trick of anatomy that, rubbed together, things fit. Inexorably, all the wriggling, their struggling and then he fingers seeking the painful places on his body where he could be hurt worked to couple them together.

Inside her, his cock made itself a space, nestled up so the hardness was engulfed. She grunted, feeling its presence, making herself clamp down so the ringed muscle inside drove a tingle through her. She raised herself to a squat the planted her feet on his upper arms, still trying to trap them, and he looked up at her, seeing the stretch and shift in her torso, the way her breasts moved with her and the impacts. Balance made her release his arms so she could make their pelvises kiss better, but he kept his arms still.

“Lazy, fucking, slut.” She panted between thrusts. “Help me.”

The bed slid a bit, badly anchored as he added the bounce of his hips. She kept talking, low, her voice holding a little edge of loving malice, “Give me your fucking cock. Harder. Harder bitch. Harder, you little whore…”

Her slap was clumsy, but she followed it with more clever pain, fingers jabbing armpit, finding the tuck into the collar bone, and skittle coloured painted fingernails leaving white scraped lines and fast puffing rose runnels. “You made me wait all day for this. I wanted you in the morning, but lazybones. You fucking slept in, you little bitch.”

“Ah, ma’am!”

“Shit. The thrusting got clumsier when she found her clit, and he was the sole lifting force in their fucking. “Don’t you dare wimp out until I cum.”

His forehead beaded up with sweat, but he forced himself to please her until she dug her orgasm out, between fingers flicking and the stretching and stuffing and devouring of her cunt, her words getting less and less coherent until they dissolved into lingering curses. “Ah… fuuuck!”

Her cunt homed and hilted on him as she came, hugging around the shaft, but it was just as much the rawness in her thrown back face, the flush and the open mouth that fired his balls. “Ma’am?”

“Fuck. Yes. Cum.” She sort of sagged, the sex tension pulled from her, her loose hair hanging in her face as she gave him permission to finish.


Yes, it’s a bit longer than 500 words, but I haven’t written any erotica lately. And I’m horny.

Wait And Touch (Stockings)

I asked, to a free drawing prompt: “How about a gentleman in the process of pulling off a stocking of the leg of an indulgent woman with his mouth, while his arms are bound?”

He waited with his head dipped, about a foot or two from the widest sweep of the door’s path, so it could swing open (unlocked) without running the edge into his bare feet or bashing the corner into him. He was folded over into something resembling a collapsed Z, knees bent, head down, sort of meditating with his back to the door, feeling the uneven hardwood boards, where they had buckled and warped from a few century of tenants, and not seeing much, courtesy of the blindfold.

It was one of those kink shop deals, with the dark leather look, and a careful shape to stop any light to come pouring in around the edges. He owned a hood, much better for sensory deprivation, but this was a gift from her. For now, he was tucked up small, listening fro the noises of the building. In the about thirty minutes since he had parked himself, naked but for undershorts and with his arms held behind his back as if by invisible ropes, he’s gotten familiar with the little creaks and thumps of a weekend afternoon.

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