Devils in Skirts, Dominant Women

A highly entertaining looking collection of female domination photographs.

Originally posted 2013-01-05 06:22:26.

Devils in Skirts, Dominant Women
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

(Face slapping fantasy left as a comment.)

This happened when i was in my tenth standard and going to a tuition centre for writing model exams. I was both excited and apprehensive. 9.45 I was supposed to be in at 9.15. Geeta madam would be really angry. I rubbed my cheeks in anticipation of what was to come. The signal changed and i crossed the road and entered the premises. 9.47 i ran past the grounds and reached the building. 9.49 second floor reached the classroom drenched in sweat.

I looked inside and saw Anjana, Swathi and Banmeet were writing the test. All 3 looked at me, smiled and slightly giggled coz they knew what was going to happen. I took my scale, pencil and pen and went to the class doorstep. “Excuse me maam” I said. Geeta mam turned slowly to my side, but she didn’t say anything and just turned her face away. I tried again “Excuse me maam, ….” She gave me a look that could have cowed a lion.

She walked slowly near me, came close, raised her right hand and slapped my left cheek hard. The first slap is always a surprise, how prepared one can be. She raised her hand again and my cheek stung. She raised both her hands and slapped both my cheeks simultaneously. My cheeks were having a burning sensation and i wanted to touch them but didn’t do it before her.

All the girls were trying hard to suppress their giggles.

Geeta madam again gave me a double slap. She was in a light blue saree with matching sleeveless low cut blouse. She had long hair and it was freely flowing below her hips. I wanted to bury my face in it. Her perfume was delicious and intoxicating. She was very feminine and i could gladly have kissed her feet.

The arrogant and commanding look in her face was awesome. But she had just started her slapping and was getting into the groove. She gave me ten slaps on my left cheek and fifteen on my right.

It was good that she always slapped forehand or else her rings could have pierced my cheek skin. My cheeks had become heavy and were really burning. I was sure that they were flaming red and her fingermarks would be very much visible.

I thought it was over but only then she started to speak. “Idiot late again. How many times have i warned you. Today you are going to learn a lesson” I said meekly “Sorry maam. The bus was late and …” I couldn’t finish for she had raised her right hand and slapped me six times on my left cheek.

“Anjana, Swathi and Banmeet come her and slap this idiot’s face ten times everyone” she commanded. I was stunned. To be slapped my lovely Geeta madam was one thing and okay for me but to be slapped by fellow class girls would be really humilating. All the girls looked very tempted but hesitated a bit.

Madam seemed to know what they were thinking. She caught my ear, twisted it hard and said “Idiot no gimmicks. Any news that you trouble the girls because of this then you would be really sorry. Understand ?”. ‘Yes mam” I meekly replied. So saying madam left my ear and stepped back to enjoy the spectacle.

Banmeet was the first to come. Luckily she wore no rings and did not seem to have much experience in slapping guys. Her hands were soft and her slaps light. Her ten slaps were nothing compared to madam’s super-shots. Madam seemed a bit disappointed that Banmeet had left me lightly.

Anjana was the next and now i was afraid. I and Anjana dont get along well and i had played many pranks on her. I knew that she was waiting to punish me and now i had to suffer for all my previous pranks. Anjana seemed prepared to tear my cheeks off. She removed her watch and bangles but left her ring intact. On purpose. She stepped forward and slapped me hard with her right hand. My face swung to the other side but she slapped me again with the back of her same hand and my face swung back to the original position. Ouch this was really hard. I had seen movies where the slapped guy’s face get swung side to side but this was the first time i was at the receiving end of it. She raised the same hand and slapped continuously left and right. My face swung from side to side and even my neck started to pain. My ears were ringing. She surely must have slapped me more than ten times but didn’t seem to be stopping and went on slapping me.

Finally her arm seemed to tire and she stopped for an instant but only then i realised that she was switching hand and now was going to repeat the same treatment with her other hand !! Without thinking i said “Ten slaps are over” She giggled knowing that her slaps had made an impact, But madam intervened “Slap him with your other hand too, dear. He will take it silently”

Oh my God !! Anjana had a triumphant look on her face. She raised her other hand and slapped me left and right about twenty times. Though the pain had become too much this time i wasn’t prepared to show her victory over me and stood silently. Anjana who was expecting me to howl in pain was a bit disappointed. She vented that on my left cheek again but slapped it accurately six more times. Finally satisfied she stepped back.

I heaved a sigh of relief too soon because there was Swathi left. But she was my friend and i could count her to be lenient on me. Swathi came forward, patted my cheeks softly and swiftly gave six slaps to my right and six to my left in one go. It wasn’t too hard but enough to make my ears ring. She had just slapped me twice more. Nothing compared to that bitch Anjana.

Madam told all the girls to go back to their places and gestured me to come near her. She caught my ear and viewed my cheeks and said “Very good. Should be really red for atleast a day or two. Show this to your mother and hope she adds some”.

Then she added “Hey idiot if you get less than 90% in today’s test then expect double punishment !!!

Originally posted 2011-03-01 09:36:13.

Girls Slapped Me
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

I have had the most exciting year! I have had a fantasy revolving
around female domination, but my wife was never willing to indulge in the
fantasy with me. Then my birthday came. At the end of the day, Emma had
still not given me a present. When I went to get into bed, I found a
brightly wrapped box sitting on my pillow. I opened it to find a photo
album. Inside was a picture of Emma in a lacy white dress. The lighting
was such that her silhouette was visible through her dress.

I was confused though since this was the only picture in the album
although there were several empty pages. Just then Emma came into the
bedroom wearing a very sexy teddy. She wished me “Happy Birthday” and
then kissed me deeply. The kiss led to a leisurely session of foreplay.
Some time later Emma climbed astride me and began to slowly ride my cock.
She asked me if I had enjoyed my present. I told her that I had, but
that I was wondering about the empty pages. Emma then informed me that
there was a second part of the gift. She advised me that she was now
willing to indulge in my female domination fantasy for one year. This
news excited me and the rate of my thrusts increased making my wife’s ride
a bit bumpier. Emma told me that for the next year, I was to act as her
sexual slave. She would decide when, where and how we had sex. She would
determine when I could come. I was never to turn down any sexual demand
of hers – no matter how outrageous. And finally, one night a month, I was
to pick-up and take care of the kids while she went out on the town. I
was not to ask her any questions about her evenings out and on those
nights I would find a package containing additional photos for my album.

Emma then said that if I broke any of her rules at any time, that the
fantasy would immediately end and she would never indulge my fantasy
again. She then asked if I was willing to accept the rest of my present.
I yelled “Yes!” just as I exploded deep in her pussy. “Great” she said,
“Now you can start being my slave and clean up your mess.” With that she
lifted herself from my cock and straddled my face. She had shaved her
pussy a few days before and her slick cunt was wet and sticky from our
combined juices. She rode my tongue and made me lap up my come until she
had had two powerful orgasms.

I spent the next month learning my role as a sex slave. I learned how to
eat pussy for hours on end and I became an expert at massage. Then one
Friday afternoon I received a call from Emma. She told me that I was to
take care of the kids and that she would be home later. She also told me
that I would find an envelope of pictures under my pillow. My cock
swelled in anticipation.

I got the kids fed, bathed and asleep in record time. I crawled into bed
and opened the envelope. Inside was a picture of Emma in the same white
dress that she had on in the first picture. However, in this one she was
kissing a tall black man. His back was to the camera, but I could clearly
see that his hand was inside the top of the dress and cupping her left
breast. The picture was so exciting that despite my mistress’ strict
warning, I began to masturbate and quickly came all over the sheet.

At about 2 a.m. I heard Emma’s car pull into the garage. She came into
the bedroom and when I told her I was awake she turned on the light so I
could watch her undress. She took off her high heels. With her back to
me, she slipped out of her dress to reveal that she was only wearing a
garter belt and stockings! She came over to the side of the bed and
placed a foot on the rail of the waterbed and slowly rolled off her
stockings. First one leg and then the other. This put her pussy only
inches away from me. She had begun to let her pubic hair grow back and it
was now a nice downy patch around her pussy lips. Her pubic hair was wet
and matted and the musky smell of sex permeated the air. There was no
doubt that she had been freshly fucked.

As she undressed she asked how I had enjoyed the picture. I told her
that it was great and then asked who the man was. She whirled around and
slapped me hard across the face. “No questions are allowed” she snarled.
Then she smiled, “I guess you can have one mistake, but don’t make it
again.” She then climbed into bed and immediately straddled my face. I
began to lick her slit and sample the salty taste of another man’s sperm
in her warm pussy. “His name is Dave” she whispered. When she had had
an orgasm my wife rolled off my face and pointed to the wet spot on the
sheet. She asked if I had masturbated and when I sheepishly admitted that
I had, she said “Well, I hope it was good because you won’t have another
orgasm for a month!”

True to her word, one month later I still had not enjoyed an orgasm.
She, however, had a very active month with nightly bouts with one of her
vibrators or my nimble tongue. Again, I received a call at work with my
wife advising me that she was again going out on the town. Once the kids
were in bed I found my promised envelope and quickly opened it. Inside
was a another picture of Emma and Dave. This time she was facing the
camera with Dave standing behind her. Her dress was gone and she was
wearing a matching white bra, garter belt and panties with white
stockings. Her bra was half off and Dave was cupping her breasts,
rolling her nipples between his fingers and nuzzling her neck. From the
expression on her face she was clearly enjoying his attention.

I awoke when Emma kissed me at 3 a.m. She had already stripped and
crawled into bed. The moment I saw her, my cock sprang to attention. She
reached under the covers and felt my rigid cock. She smiled and said, “I
see you were able to control yourself, so I guess you may have a reward
tonight.” She then arranged herself on top of me into a sixty-nine
position. Her pussy was wet and salty and I knew that I was licking
another man’s come from her cunt. Emma said that she would suck me, but
I was not to come in her mouth and was to give her plenty of warning
before I came. Given my month of forced celibacy, I was ready to shoot in
no time. I yelled that I was near and she rolled off me and pushed my
legs up over my head. She then grabbed my cock and began pumping it. I
shot what seemed like gallons of come all over my face. Laughing, Emma
crawled to her side of the bed and went to sleep.

Originally posted 2008-04-21 11:00:47.

Femdom 1
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

Female-Led Public Education

The Graduate Mistress, Luxor Press

A modern story of a young, beautiful schoolmistress and her intense desire to dominate the youth in her charge!

How would you like it if a Mistress with a whip ran your school?

Naturally: my thanks to Bibliophile.

Originally posted 2012-09-26 06:46:35.

The Graduate Mistress
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

Intense, voluptuous Amazonian dominatrix with a thick, heavy black whip with which to whip you.

I don’t know her name. But you can probably learn that and see more pictures of her at Actiongirls.

Big Breasted Dominatrix’s Heavy Black Whip
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

To this muscle goddess all men are inferior. Useful for labor. A few make good toys. At lease until she breaks them. That is of no matter, the men are mere objects and easily replaced.

Having enjoyed herself with this male slave toy she’s returning him to storage. He’ll languish in isolation until the next playtime.

Muscle Goddess’ Male Slave Toy in Bondage
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

Actress Clara Bow takes a whip to a man.

Originally posted 2012-03-03 05:14:02.

Mistress Clara Bow
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

She’d had me tied to a chair for what seemed like a very long time indeed.

She’d been at her most subtly cruel.

Slowly she had caressed my cheek only to slap it.

After yanking my chest hair she bent and kissed where she’d hurt me.

And she alternated between rubbing my leg gently to slapping me with a riding crop.

I was very aroused.

When she took my penis into her hand I hoped she was going to offer the mercy of an orgasm.

Then the metal slid along my shaft, a leather strap around my balls and I heard a tiny lock click into place.

Duct tape was all that kept me from asking what he was doing to me. No need, she smiled and started to tell me.

“My pet I’ve just put your penis in a little prison.”

“I’ve come to feel that you don’t appreciate me and could be more attentive.”

“A week or two of chastity may be just what you need to help you learn to be more focused in pleasing me.”

“Or do you think it might take a month?”

“Three months?”

“We’ll see won’t we my pet?”

Originally posted 2012-10-10 13:53:46.

Chastity
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

Sissyboy Humiliation

Maybe I’d take you out on the town, dressed normally for the most part–maybe a bra and panties underneath–and we’d walk around and stuff. And your ‘job’ would be to check out any and all of the men passing by..and tell me which ones you found the most attractive…which ones you thought had the biggest cocks.

Maybe I’d even set it up that a certain male friend of mine would be around in passing–one you didn’t know–and after you trying to be really subtle and whispering and stuff, me pointing directly at him and saying in a normal tones voice “What about him? think he’s cute too?”

Of course my friend would hear…but pretend not to know me…but look up and say something like “Excuse me, were you talking to me?” and I’d nudge for you to answer.”

( At this point I just groaned and said ‘I..I wouldn’t be able to answer…or, would just stumble out something like a ‘no’ in answer to avoid the embarrasment..’)

Mistress just grinned slowly, an amused and preditory look crossing Her face.

I’d nudge you again and whisper “If you dont answer him, I will…and you arent going to like it.”And I’d grin milldly (cuz I’d know it was a set up, but you wouldnt) and I’d say something like “oh sorry, didnt mean to intrude, my boyfriend is shy, but he’s um…open minded…and I was trying to get an idea of what kind of guys he finds are cute.”

And since my friend had been forewarned, he wouldnt be shocked–even if he acted a lil that way–and he’d say something like “oh really? well, DO you find me attractive?” looking at you.

(I just winced, my cheeks blushing red, caught up in Her scenario…knowing that She was *more* than capable of actually doing this. I answered Her, my voice soft and nervous, “I…I would probably answer ‘no, sorry’ to get out of it if I knew I could…’yes’ if I knew I had no choice in the matter and it was what you wanted…”)

Mistress just smiled, serene and all-too-knowing of Her power over me.

Well even if you said no, I’d poke you and lie, and say something like “Yeah RIGHT…you said you thought he was cute from when we were way over there!” Because I would KNOW chances were slim you’d be silly enough to call me a liar…

Then of course the guy would kinda ‘get offended’ at whichever way you answered…lose/lose situation.

He’d be pissed you were checking him out, as another guy–or else he’d be offended you didnt find him cute. And I’d ‘calm’ him down a lil, saying something like “Well, I know -I- find you kinda cute…so be flattered..”

And then maybe he’d check YOU out…and me too, but you’d feel his eyes on you. And just to shock you I’d say “He’s never really been with a guy before…but he’s really good with his tongue..like, REALLY good!”

And of course my friend would look interested in that and say “Oh yeah? well maybe I should try it out sometime.”

I’d have a good grip on your wrist–so you’d know you werent going anywhere. Maybe I’d even see you looking around to try and hide, and delibrately misinterpret it. “Yeah, good idea..look for a more secluded spot.. Afterall, you wouldnt want to get arrested for giving some guy head right in broad daylight.” I’d look back at my friend and say “Well, maybe if we find a quiet spot you can try it out right now…what do you say?”

I bet at that point you’d do it even in broad daylight if I commanded it..scared to death or not. But since I care about you…and well me, getting caught, I’d wait for my friend to reply. He’d say “Well, there are some bushes and trees over there–lets go check them out.” And we’d all walk across the park together…well, I’d prolly be dragging you some.

So we’d walk over, and my friend would step kinda into the bushes, looking around to make sure its quiet, and say to both of us, but prolly mostly to me. “So, you sure you wanna do this? I’ve never had a guy suck me off before..but I’ve been curious to what it would be like.”

(I was practically trembling before Her by now, hung on every word, unable to do anything but surrender to the daydream, caught up in Her tale and knowing that it might actually happen. “I’d know I’d look at you for direction, and pleading to you with my eyes for a way out of this…”)

You’d get no help from me. I’d respond something casually like ‘oh no, Jim and I have talked about this for a while…he’s really curious too, arent you Jim? but I want to watch…so I hope thats okay.”

I’d smile and push you forward a bit, towards him.”Make sure you two get far enough back not to be spotted, I’ll keep an eye out for people.”

You’d obey my lead…and his…after all, what choice do you have?

Just imagine him quickly undoing his jeans and unzipping them, and pulling out his cock, half-hard already. I’d prolly say something like “Ooh, you are bigger than Jimmy!” even if he wasnt–just to let him know I liked what I saw.

Feeling put in your place yet, slut? Good girl…

And that would be about when you’d drop to your knees like a good girlslut..in front of him..and you’d have to look at it…touch it..

And if you kept hesitating I’d say something like “C’mon Jim, show him how good you are with your tongue..you know you want to.”, and to my friend “He likes it when you hold his head with a grip in his hair by the way.”

(I groaned softly, laying my head at Her feet in utter submission, whispering “I’d..obey.”)

Yes, you would..you’d open your mouth wide like an eager slut, and slide that cock right in, tasting it for the first time, and put that tongue of yours to work as you began sucking. My friend would get right to work with the intention of getting an intense orgasm as soon as possible, as he’d be a lil nervous of being outside too..and he’d hold your head somewhat, and arch his hips back and forth. But he’d be aware enough to make the occassional comment like “Oh yeah, he knows how to use his tongue alright..”

“Mmm, god, it feels good..thats it, slide it right down your throat..”

And after you sucked him off in the bushes..I’d tell him how much that had turned me on…and could I have his phone number so that maybe I could invite him over another time!

Mistress grinned evilly.

I’d tease you after about what a slut you were..sucking some guy off before you even knew his name…

And then I’d drag you back home so you could get between my legs like a good pet, and give me 2 or 3 orgasms….cuz I’d be dripping.

Mistress laughed softly.

Your pleasure, of course…well, thats *another* story..

Care for a walk in the park then?

I just groaned and knew that I’d never quite feel safe on our Sunday walks *ever* again.

Originally posted 2010-07-19 14:17:31.

Forced Cocksucking
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

The Mistresses of Holland

Originally posted 2012-10-24 06:31:45.

Dutch Dominatrices
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

Once upon a time there was a naughty young man from Germany named Klaus. Lured by the prospect of a little online fun, he made the mistake of stumbling into my spider’s web. Naturally the poor thing didn’t fully realize what he was getting himself into. Still, technically, he agreed to my terms. So what if he was a tad naive? That’s not my problem. One has to grow up sooner or later. It’s a big bad world out there.

Perhaps I should explain. My name is Elizabeth. I make my living as a management consultant, but that is not what I live for. No, what I live for is far more complex and creative than that.

My passion in life is tickling. Specifically, I like to tickle men. Strange? Perhaps. Kinky? Indeed. But harmless, you say to yourself. As kinks go, you chuckle, it could be much worse; she could be into something frightening, like whipping. If she had to have a kink, you say, at least it’s something relatively benign.

I love that you think that. It makes my job so much easier.

You see, you no doubt grew up in a happy family in which tickling was a commonplace occurrence: a casual show of affection, or friendly teasing. Nothing the slightest bit threatening about that, is there? Of course not.

Happily for me, tickling is considered a mainstream activity. People simply do not call the police or file lawsuits over tickling incidents. That’s because the rest of the world has yet to realize the true potential of this exquisite art form.

Yes, my friend, tickling is an art, and when done correctly it is also the perfect torture. Perfect because it leaves no marks, save for any the victim may happen to inflict on himself as he struggles. It is unbearable, and yet it does not kill or maim the victim. It provides endless hours of entertainment to the tickler while leaving little or no incriminating evidence. It usurps control of the victim’s own body as he writhes in agony; and all the while–the final indignity–the victim is forced to laugh as if he’s having the time of his life.

I ask you, what could be more perfect than that?

But I digress. Back to Klaus: A pretty young lad of about twenty, with light brown hair and hazel eyes. Lips slightly swollen, as if waiting to be kissed. Best of all, he had soft, white skin, which lent him an air of vulnerability. There was something about his skin that made me want to bite into it. If I were a vampire, his lovely throat would be the first to receive my fangs. Oh, tender, succulent Klaus! Of all his virtues, it is his complexion that I will always think of first when I remember him. Can there be any worthier pursuit, any headier thrill, than to evoke an intense reaction from the smooth, sensitive skin of a foolish youth?

My first taste of Klaus was on an Internet forum. In his innocence, the little darling posted a message with the subject “Seeking a woman to tickle me until I beg for mercy!” Ah, such a silly boy, I thought. Doesn’t he realize any tickler worth her salt wouldn’t want to tickle him “until” he begs? A truly sadistic tickler would insist on tickling him far beyond that point. Mere begging should pose no obstacle. If anything, it only fuels my fire, ensuring that the tickling will continue for a good while longer. The sound of a young man begging for mercy is what I live for. Why on earth would I want to cut off my pleasure prematurely?

His post was innocent, so I responded in kind. I sent him an email saying I was “intrigued by this whole F/M tickling thing.” Implying, of course, that I was new at this. Golly gosh! A sweet, ingenuous tickling neophyte, that’s me! I sent him a photo of myself looking fresh-faced and wholesome, a photo taken by my mother at our last family reunion. He rose like a fish to my shiny, spinning lure. I had only to reel him in. It was almost too easy.

Soon we progressed from email to real-time chat. I “cyber-tickled” him several times with great success. Predictably, he expressed a desire to take the next logical step: from virtual reality to physical reality.

With painstaking patience I tightened the proverbial noose around his neck. I told him I was tempted to meet him face to face, but that I felt it was far too soon. I told him I had grown very fond of him, and that I was deeply grateful to him for helping me recognize my “newfound” fascination with tickling, but that I didn’t think it was a good basis for an actual relationship. I hinted at the possibility of another man in the picture. Then I backed off.

For over two weeks I crouched in waiting. Klaus’s emails continued to trickle in: casual at first, then questioning, then pitiful. By the end of the fortnight, he was hopelessly in love with me…the moron! It amazes me how easily manipulated men are. A little aloofness goes such a long way. What is it about the attainable woman that is so undesirable? A perfectly adequate woman, interested and eager and available, is shuffled aside time after time. Yet, take the exact same woman and assemble a little obstacle course in front of her, and suddenly the swains are falling at her feet in droves. It’s the challenge, not the woman herself, that the silly sods find irresistible.

Thus it was no surprise when Klaus’s desperate protestations of love began filling my In Box. I played it cool, ignoring him one day, cyber-tickling him the next, forever keeping him guessing. Works every time. Within a month sweet little Klaus was half crazed with one single-minded ambition: to come to America and be my tickle-toy. Feigning reluctance, I agreed.

On the day of his arrival I made sure I had an important business meeting that prevented my picking him up at O’Hare. I made him take a cab to my house fifty miles from the airport and cool his heels on my back porch for several hours. It was a chilly, drizzly evening and, on my advice, he had dressed lightly as for a summer afternoon. All the time he was waiting, Cinammon, my Rottweiler, bared her teeth and snarled at him through the sliding glass door, keeping him on edge. After his transatlantic flight he undoubtedly would have liked nothing better than a good long nap, but Cinammon deprived him of even that small comfort.

Just a word about Cinammon. She can be cunning and coy, but once she sets her sights on something, she clamps down on it and doesn’t let go. She is first and foremost true to her instincts–what D. H. Lawrence called the religion of the blood. What she loves, she marks as her own, and what she attacks, she kills. When she sees raw meat, she wolfs it down, and heaven help the fool who tries to wrestle it away from her. Needless to say, I feel a certain affinity with my Rottweiler bitch.

When I arrived home, I entered by the front door and shouted at Cinammon to quiet down. I acted almost surprised to see Klaus sitting on my porch as I had directed him to do only two days before; as if I’d forgotten he was coming. I let him in, shooing Cinammon away from his bare calves, on which her ferocious gaze was firmly locked. I looked him up and down. “You look different from your picture,” I said coolly. It was true: in fact he looked far better than his picture, but my inflection suggested the opposite.

I fed him a hastily prepared dinner, behaving like a stressed-out executive with little time for social amenities. I neglected to show him around the house, so he had to ask me where the bathroom was. I made a point of correcting his halting English and making him repeat himself. We ate in front of the television, with Cinammon eyeing him hungrily the whole time. By the end of the evening my houseguest looked frazzled and forlorn.

“Elizabeth,” he asked solemnly, “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Of course,” I said, with a certain breezy detachment. He looked unconvinced.

“Don’t you even want to give me a hug?”

I smiled. “Is that what you came all this way for? A hug?” He shook his head uncomprehendingly. I took his hand and led him downstairs to the basement. It was a finished, carpeted basement, tastefully decorated but drafty. With a firm hand around the back of his neck, I propelled him into a large room, shutting the door behind us so that poor Cinammon was left out. She voiced her displeasure from the other side of the thin door with a long, low growl.

“How do you like my playroom?” I asked. Of course, “playroom” was a euphemism. “Dungeon” would have been more accurate, except that it was well-lit and the walls and ceiling were painted light pink. I’d once read that in scientific studies, it was found that a man placed in a pink room became less secure, less assertive, than a man placed in a blue or red room. Somehow, the color pink psychologically unmanned him.

Klaus’s hazel eyes widened in awe. “So much equipment!” I knew he was wondering how someone who had so recently been surprised to discover her latent sadistic tendencies had acquired such a vast array of props.

The walls of the room were windowless, and lined with various implements hanging from brass hooks: whips, straps, cuffs, ropes, harnesses, paddles, blindfolds, gags–a veritable treasure trove. Arranged neatly on the floor were large wooden stocks and a long, low hammock made of rope. In one corner, a sturdy wooden X-shaped cross was bolted to the floor and ceiling. Klaus looked around apprehensively. He glanced over his shoulder at the door I’d slammed shut behind him, and heard Cinammon scratching at it.

Carefully I disguised my growing excitement with affected nonchalance. He wasn’t bound yet, so I still had to play nice. “You like it? I did all this for you, Klaus,” I lied easily. “Of course, I don’t even know how to use half this stuff.” Inwardly I was roaring with laughter at my outrageous dishonesty. He still looked nervous, so I gave him a warm smile and quickly tickled his sides through his T-shirt to loosen him up. He hunched over with a surprised “Oooffff!” and grinned at me.

“Want me to tickle you now?” I asked, gently attacking his stomach and sides. The boy blushed as he chuckled. He’d probably expected we’d spend some time getting to know each other first. Like I’d waste any more time on that boring drivel. I whispered in his ear, tickling his neck and causing his shoulders to scrunch up. “C’mon, Klaus, you know you want it.” Wordlessly, he nodded.

I flashed him my best, virginal “nice-Utah-girl-who-bakes-a-great-apple-pie” smile and led him to the hammock. “Here, let’s try this out. Lie back and get comfy.” As I spoke, I lulled him into a false sense of security with soft, gentle caresses. I could tell Klaus was one of those nice young mama’s boys who hadn’t had much experience with women. That type is easy enough to identify: just speak softly in his ear, put your hand on his upper arm, and watch what happens. If he immediately turns to Jell-O and promises you the moon, he’s one of them. If not, he’s either gay, or been around the block a few times. The former group I don’t bother with; for the latter, I have a whole different modus operandi.

“Why don’t you take these off?” I suggested. Again he blushed deeply. The little weiner schnitzel! How adorable he was in all his green gullibility. As he sat up and undressed, I exclaimed, “Oh! I almost forgot!” and grabbed a small sheaf of papers and a pen from a corner table. “This is probably silly, but the lady at the store where I bought all this stuff suggested we do this. I…I…” I stammered as if embarrassed. “Look, I know you’re not going to sue me or anything, but she really seemed to think it was important. So if you could just sign this…” He had stripped down to his boxers and looked absolutely delectable: self-conscious and a little chilly, yet obviously eager to get started. I handed him the contract and pen. He reviewed the legal verbiage with a glazed expression. Meanwhile, I hooked my well-manicured fingers around the waistband of his boxers and slowly inched them down over his hips. “Well, well,” I smiled impishly, letting my eyes roam over his average-sized genitals, “What have we here? I see someone’s been eating his Wheaties.” I pulled the boxers down to his knees. “What a big boy you are!” I doubt a single word of that contract managed to register in his befuddled brain before he hurriedly signed it and handed it back to me with shaking hands.

“Well, I guess the next thing I should do is tie you up, right?” I asked, all innocence.

“Y-yes, that sounds good to me,” he said shyly. His diffidence sent a lightning bolt of desire shooting through me. My bashful boy! Excitement is so much more attractive in a man when candy-coated with a little modesty. I retrieved several lengths of thin rope and pretended to fumble with them.

“Gee, I hope I can do this right,” I said worriedly. “I’ve never been much good at knot-tying.” I wound a length around one wrist, fastening it securely to the hammock above his head in a tight bowline. That’s the knot I prefer for binding body parts, as it doesn’t slip and tighten when the victim struggles. No sense cutting off the poor blighter’s circulation and risking loss of a limb. Much more fun to prolong his tickling agony as long as possible without leaving behind any telltale marks, ensuring that any complaints he may have afterwards may be safely ignored. I fastened his other wrist and each of his ankles to the hammock in the same way. Then I tied more loops around his thighs, waist, and upper arms. Klaus bounced slightly in the hammock, testing his bonds with a nervous grin.

He was perfectly helpless: naked from head to toe, and tightly bound to a hammock made of ropes, allowing me unrestricted access to virtually every inch of his body. He could twitch in place and make the hammock swing gently from side to side, but that was all. I looked down at him and began to chuckle. It started out soft and ladylike, but from somewhere deep inside me a maniacal laugh erupted. The credulous fool! There was no escaping me now. I threw my head back and just laughed and laughed. Klaus’s sheepish smile faded slightly. I knew what he was thinking: was this the same Elizabeth he had fallen in love with? The timid, kind woman with the curious questions and the demure smile? I stood triumphantly over him, still dressed in my severe business attire, and caressed his face with my red lacquered talons.

“Okay, Klaus, you little apple streudel, you!” I grinned evilly. “I’m going to make your fantasy come true! I’ll tickle you as long as you like. When you’ve had enough, just say the safeword.”

“Wh-what safeword?” Klaus asked tremulously.

“Why, you silly boy, the one I specified in our little contract. Didn’t you read it before you signed it?”

“I–I didn’t see that part,” he confessed. “What’s the safeword?”

I ignored the question. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you never to sign anything without reading it first? Shame on you, Klaus. That was very naughty!” I began to tickle his softly furred underarms.

“Wait, wait!” he cried. “I’m not ready! What’s the safeword?”

“You shouldn’t be so trusting, Klaus,” I purred. “You should always read the fine print. Otherwise, you never know what you’re getting yourself into.” As I worked my fingers in and around his armpits he tried to jerk his body away. The hammock rocked slightly.

“O-k-kay, Elizabeth! I get your point!” he gasped. “Now please, this isn’t funny any more! You must tell me, what is this safeword?”

“The safeword,” I said sweetly, pretending to misunderstand, “is a special word that both parties agree on beforehand, and as soon as you say it, I’ll stop tickling you and set you free.”

Klaus swallowed hard. “But what is the word?” he cried in exasperation.

“The nice thing about having a safeword,” I continued calmly, as if I hadn’t heard him, “is that I can enjoy your pleas for mercy without having to worry that they’re serious. As long as you’re just yelling, ‘Stop, please stop!’ I can simply ignore you and keep tickling away until you say the special word that we agreed upon, which is explicitly specified in our contract, which you signed.”

The look in Klaus’s eyes told me he had seen the light, the light that shone so horribly and oppressively from his point of view, and so delightfully from mine. At first his expression conveyed nothing but terror. He was a healthy, vigorous male, however, and gradually terror began to give way to anger. He cursed me, and bucked violently in the hammock trying to free himself. I chuckled at his futile efforts. He spat a string of expletives at me. I waited until he used a particularly vulgar word that refers to a part of the female anatomy, and then I began tickling his feet.

“Tsk, tsk, such a naughty little boy!” I scolded him. “Such bad language! What’s the matter, Klaus? I thought you liked me. I thought you liked being tickled. Didn’t you come all the way here from Germany just so I could tickle you?”

“Hahaha…I changed my mind! Let me go-ho-hoooOOOAAAAUGH!” He wiggled his feet helplessly.

“Silly boy. Not until you say the safeword!”

“Please Elizabeth…hehehe…you are not being fair! Ahaha…aaaiiiieeeeEEEEEE-hehehehe!”

I shook my head. “You’re the one who’s not being fair, my little spaetzle! Teasing me with your big wide eyes and telling me how badly you need to be tickled, and then trying to back out! Oh, my, that’s very naughty indeed! I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”

I tickled Klaus relentlessly until daybreak; each part of his body seemed more impossibly ticklish than the last. At first I used only my blood-red nails. As the evening wore on, I progressed to other implements: a toothbrush between the toes; a soft-bristled hairbrush to “groom” his armpits. Hours passed. Every so often I would give him a five-minute break and a small drink of water, which he promptly released through his pores. Enthusiasm made me tireless.

While I was consumed with one thought only–tickling Klaus–poor Klaus ran the full gamut of emotions. One minute he would be squirming and pleading desperately, the next he would be furious and stoical. After several hours of torment, he seemed to reach a plateau. Exhausted, he simply trembled in silence, laughing and weeping concurrently.

It is difficult to explain why torturing Klaus in this way was such ecstasy for me. The more he begged and struggled, the more my motivation increased. I suppose the only word to describe it is instinct. He was strong, I knew, but his naked white body, tied to my hammock, looked tender and vulnerable as a bean sprout. As frantically as he begged for mercy, his smooth skin begged to be tickled more frantically still. His foreign accent made his pleas even more appealing to my ears. It was a multi-sensual feast: the sight of him twisting and heaving, the feel of his sensitive flesh shivering under my fingers, the smell of his sweat, the taste of his salty tears as I kissed them away, but above all it was the sound of his cries that thrilled me. They were so forlorn, so heart-wrenching, as if torn from his gut. They moved me deeply, arousing my pity, yet it was a sensual pity that I wanted to savor endlessly.

In the morning I left Klaus still tied to the hammock while I napped, breakfasted and ran errands. I stopped at the supermarket, cashed a check at the bank, and took Cinammon out for a leisurely walk. On my return that afternoon, I prepared a late lunch for myself and brought it downstairs to enjoy in front of Klaus, who had fallen into a light sleep. When I woke him with a soft touch, he started as if electrocuted.

“You must be pretty hungry by now,” I remarked casually as I helped myself to a bite of rare steak which I’d charcoal-grilled in the backyard. “Goodness, this is way too much for me. Would you like some?” I stabbed a small piece of meat with my fork and held it a few inches from his mouth. He stared hungrily at it and tried to grab it with his teeth. With a smirk I pulled it away. Then I opened the door and let Cinammon in. “Here you go, girl. Eat up!” Klaus glared accusingly at me as we both watched my dog gulp down the juicy steak. Then I sent Cinammon away again and resumed tickling my comely prisoner.

“Sorry, Klaus. Naughty boys have to go to bed without supper, you know that.”

In all, I kept Klaus tied up in my basement for seventy-two hours. Once a day I allowed him to pee in a bucket, more out of concern for my own aesthetic preferences than his well-being. I fed him lightly, just once: a few bites of a peanutbutter sandwich. It was great fun to keep him hungry and tease him with food. His eyes welled up with tears and he looked so pathetic, it was delicious! When I tired of teasing and tickling him, I slept fitfully, dreaming of Klaus’s wounded cries. In my own ruthless way, I was quite fond of him. I knew that once I released him, I would never see or hear from him again, and that increased my reluctance to let him go. But on the third day it was time for him to get on his plane and return to Germany. I couldn’t hold him forever. I had no choice–he had to be yet another “catch and release”.

A few hours before his flight was scheduled to depart, I let Cinammon in the room. I wanted her there to protect me in case Klaus was contemplating retaliation. Then I untied him. He rose awkwardly, so stiff he could barely move.

“So…was that good for you?” I asked brightly. “I certainly had fun. I hope we can do this again sometime!” Klaus’s eyes widened in horror. I carried his two suitcases to the front hallway. He’d never even had a chance to unpack. Hurriedly, he threw on the clothes he’d been wearing when he first arrived and rushed clumsily out the front door, grabbing his bags as he went.

“Don’t you want a ride to the airport?” I asked innocently. Klaus’s only reply was a faint whimper as he staggered down my front walk toward freedom.

“Don’t you at least want to know what the safeword was?”

He stopped in his tracks and turned around, looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and alarm. “What was it?” he sighed.

I smiled a wicked smile. “Dummkopf!”

Klaus blushed furiously and his face tightened with anger. At last he turned and walked away. I never saw him again, but I remember him often, and…in my own way…fondly.

Originally posted 2012-11-18 07:55:23.

Tickle Torment
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

The dominatrix on the cover of this issue of Whips & Chains has a very, very long whip.

Originally posted 2012-11-02 12:58:34.

She Likes Whips & Chains
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

With serene confidence this dominant black woman dominates the inferior men who serve and worship her. Submissive men cannot help falling at her feet. Her merest glance instills docility and obsequiousness. The pain of her punishments insure instant obedience, serving without question or hesitation.

Woman is a Natural Owner & Ruler of Men
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

As much as a dominant woman make enjoy seeing her naked slave licking her boots he probably relishes the experience even more.

Which suggests that – with certain exceptions – boot worship is best treated as a reward than a punishment or degradation. If the male slave has been overly familiar, self-involved or otherwise unsatisfactory forbidding contact with his Mistress’s boots may prove an effective curb on his inadequate performance.

Disallowing Boot Worship as a Punishment?
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

My First Mistress – Part 1

When I came to her house I was a little surprised by the size. She lived alone but it was large enough for a largish family. Big yard too. Otherwise it was a plain suburban west Durham house.

When I got to the door I tightened my stomach muscles trying to tame the partying butterflies that had moved in there. As instructed I knocked three times. About half a minute later the door opened. For a split second I thought I’d faint.

She was wearing sunglasses. I couldn’t see her eyes and my feelings of intimidation took another jump. Not wanting to look like a gawking fool (probably already too late) I started to introduce yourself.

“I -.”

“I know who you are.” She sounded impatient but out of habit than actually annoyed. “Don’t speak, just nod. You saw my car as you came in.” It was under a carport. I nodded. “Go wash it. If you aren’t going to do a good job you might as well leave now. When you’re done come back and knock at the door.” She shut the door.

She’d told me I’d have to pass a few tests. I’d been expecting something more exciting. It was probably proof of my desperate need that without hesitating I went over to the car.

There was a hose, clothes car wash and wax. I don’t own a car so I was a little lost at first. But my father used to make me wash his car when I was a teen. I hated doing that with a passion. I could almost believe that, Joan – that was her name, had read my memories when she picked this chore.

I scrubbed the car twice, including the hubcaps and tag areas. It was hot and it was tiring. But waxing was even worse. I was so afraid it wouldn’t look right I kept buffing and buffing until my arms ached. Finally it was as good as I could do and I hoped good enough.

Back at the door I waited a couple of minutes until she answered my knock. She wasn’t wearing the shades so I could see her very intelligent intense looking dark eyes. She had a few worry lines etched into her forehead but they only added to her look of smart competence. She was tall probably about five inches less than my 6’3″. She was skinny, almost boney but I don’t know that her body could’ve matter I was so sucked in by her eyes.

But she was only there for a moment. “Come back tomorrow at the same time.” The door shut.

I felt like I should be disappointed but I wasn’t. But I sure hoped tomorrows test would be less strenuous.

My First Mistress – Part 2

She opened the door and put her fingers to her lips to indicate that I wasn’t to speak.

“Follow me.”

We went through mildly snazzy but pretty conventional living room to a side room that I suspected had been a breakfast room. It was completely empty.

She looked me in the eye and I felt a mild shiver pass up my spine.

“Go in the corner,” she pointed, “and get on your knees facing the corner and keep your hands at your sides.”

I complied getting very exciting wonder what she was going to do to me.

“You will stay there until told otherwise. Keep your eyes facing the corner, your arms where they are and your mouth shut. If you decide to stop before told you just leave the house and do not come back.”

I heard her leave the room.

A few minutes passed. Then several. Then I couldn’t guess how long I’d been there. Minutes started to seem awfully long. Sometimes I thought I saw the wall move. My knees were hurting and my ankles were sore.

I started to get mad. This was awfully boring. But I didn’t dare move. I’d hungred to be trained for a long time and she was the first who ever offered to do so.

I might as well have been chained there even if the chains were only in my mind and of my own making.

Finally after an eternity that I later was told was only 90 minutes she was back in the room.

“Get up and face me.” I almost fell and legs were wobbly but I was up in a flash.

Her expression was unreadable. It couldn’t decide if she looked grim, amused or maybe even mildly approving.

“Go but you may come back tomorrow at the same time.”

I left softly shutting her front door.

I’d washed her car. I’d been bored almost to tears. None of it had been even faitly erotic. I could not guess what tomorrow would bring. But looking inside myself I knew that having been forced to conform to another’s arbitrary commands had given me some satisfaction.

But I did wonder how many more tests I’d have to pass.

My First Mistress – Part 3

As I went up the walkway I wondered how she’d test me today. And what the tests proved. And when they’d end. We actually exchanged a fair amount of email before she’d agreed to see me. We shared complimentary appetites: she like to do to men what I wanted done to me (or at least I thought: since I’d never done any of it I didn’t really know).

The door opened for the third time.

“Go to the back yard and wait for me.”

As I did so I wondered if she was going to have me mow or lawn. The fear of something like that dampened my enthusiasm but I couldn’t brind myself to stop now.

She walked out. Dressed in a pullover top, cut-off jeans, and cheap rubber sandals, “flip flops” my mother used to call them. She’d always been dressed casually before but I’d been too hyped up to really notice the actual clothes.

She went over to a pick-nick table made of greenish wood.

“Sit here. Put your right hand’s palm down on the table.”

As I complied I noticed a wooden ruler in her hand.

“You are to keep your hand flat. I’m going to give you ten strokes. If that is too much for you leave and don’t come back.”

I barely had time to steel myself before the first slap hit. But it wasn’t that bad. At first. By the fifth stroke it really stung. My fingers felt like I might not be doing much with them tomorrow but it was almost over. I thought. An eleventh stroke hit me. A twelfth. With the thirteenth she turned the ruler so the edge cut into my fingers.

I yanked my hand away.

When I realized what I’d done I wanted to cry. I’d failed and would have to leave. But when I looked at her she looked pretty pleased.

“Don’t worry, you weren’t supposed to be able to take the last one. Once you got past the first ten you’d passed the test. The others were to teach you that no matter what I say I’m going to do I can still do whatever I want.”

“You have one last test. Come with me.” Shortly we were back in the room whose corner I’d knelt in. This time there was a big wicker plantation style chain in the center. She sat in it.

“Come here, may kneel in front of me. Remember you still aren’t to speak.”

So excited I was trembling I did.

“You have no idea how many men want to be where you are now. But they don’t really want it badly enough. They don’t really want to serve.

“The first day you proved you were willing to work for you place in my service. Yesterday you showed enough determination to withstand boredom which was a much harder test. Today you had your first taste of pain. I like hurting men. If you hadn’t been able to take it you wouldn’t be suitable for me. This is your last test.

“You won’t think it hard when I tell you but it will take all of your willingness work work and to keep on even if you get bored or tired.

“I am very, very slow to orgasm. Your last test is to satisfy me with your tongue. You probably think this is a big treat.” She was right about that.

“But it will take longer than you think. If you manage it we’ll do all the things we wrote to each other about. Otherwise, you won’t have made the grade.”

Standing up she pulled off her top and dropped her shorts. She sat back down. Gesturing at her cunt she said “Get to work, slave.”

She was right. It was long. It was wonderful at first. Then it took all my determination to keep going. At the end it was wonderful again. And then I was hers.

Control of male genitalia is the root of female rulership of the male.

Recalcitrant, errant males requite more than chastity devices and orgasm denial.

The penis and testicles are punishable parts of male anatomy. Penises can be pinches, whipped, scratched. Kicking, slapping, stretching a man’s scrotal sac reducing to a whimpering and whining slave who will do anything for release from punishment.

Genitalia are durable. And for men is the only workable method for instilling obedience and acceptance of inferior status.

Never fear kicking a rebellious slave in the balls.

A Male Slave’s Genital Are For More Than Just Chastity
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

Some of the more bossy submissive men who profess admiration for female led relationships seem to condemn women who enjoy dominatrix garb and fetish costumes.

How a dominant woman dresses is obviously her prerogative. Perhaps she finds leather and latex sexy. Or empowering. If it gives her pleasure accept her wishes.

Whether in jean and and a t-shit, a pretty, frilly dress or in the mode of a fetish diva no woman depends on her clothing for her authority.

Woman Dresses Like a “Dominatrix”
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

Obey Your Mistress, Wife, Dominatrix

Three issues of Obey magazine from the publishers of Janus.

An Obey magazine from a different publisher.

Originally posted 2012-11-18 10:28:51.

Always Obey Women
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

Captions outlining rules for the worship of a young Femdom Goddess.

Rules of Worhip (Femdom Captions)
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs

Several animated Femdom photographs – movie clips as it were – featuring dominant women.

Animated Femdom Photographs
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs