Under

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A quiet evening in. The summer sun fading in that golden period of twilight that presages the dusk.

I have been reading quietly.

You are kneeling, naked of course and hands clasped behind your head, as I idly drape my feet across your back. A perfect footstool. I can see that your cock is hard and your balls are nice and high and full, the skin taut across those delicate eggs.

I read aloud, my voice soft and calm. Today we are learning about the early Roman Emperors. I am particularly intrigued by Augustus’ wife Livia Drusilla. A powerful woman indeed in an age of men. I pause to explore these thoughts with you. You say nothing of course. This is my time.

I mark my place and put down the book beside me. I can sense you thinking. What next? I am wearing a long loose dress and high heels and my bare skin rubs a little with a whisper as I lean forward, removing my feet from your back and placing them apart, at shoulder width and sitting up.

“Under you go” I purr.

My pussy is wet, freshly waxed and the lips plump with arousal. You adjust your position and come under my skirt as I stand, your head enveloped in the loose layers of cotton. I can sense you inhaling the scent of my arousal.

I take up the riding crop and tap your bottom with it. Your best efforts are required and you know the price of failure. I cropped you just the other day. A fairly minor infraction but it’s important to keep you on your toes. Men can tend to laziness if allowed to.

You kiss and nibble along my thighs, rising slowly towards my pussy, taking time to find the prize. I sigh and clasp the back of your head through the cloth as your mouth makes contact with my cunt. I put back my head and close my eyes as you begin to lick along the slit from front to back, each long stroke of your flattened tongue activating me just a little more. You flick the point of your tongue along each lip and then between them, teasing out my hardening clitoris and swirling around it. Your lips form suction along my mound and I gasp a little and bite on a finger to prevent a cry of pleasure.

After a while my legs are too unsteady to bear me and I sit back on the edge of the chaise longue, easing you down with me and planting my feet wide as I press you in again and gasp at the sensations your mouth makes, the crinkling of my nipples forces me to draw my breasts out from the top of the dress and pinch them as you work below. You are well trained and know when to begin in earnest, licking, lapping, sucking and nibbling. Before too long I am forcing your face to my flaming pussy and grinding out my climax.

I keep you there for a while until I have regained my composure.

“Out” my voice feels dry and croaky, even to me.

You emerge, face flushed and sheened with my juices, your cock harder than ever. I give you a smile as reward and pick up the book again.

You assume the position as footstool once more.

“Now….where were we?”

 

 

Milking time.

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Late spring, and as I step from the car finches whirl and dive and dart across the lawn like fairies, seeming to trail colour and magic in the very air. Flowers are in full bloom and my tread feels light and deft as I approach the house, seeking my keys from my bag and opening the door to a pleasant coolness and calm. Tiny motes dance in the golden light and I pause to experience that stillness. The main road is busy but far away and the noise of the cars is dreamlike and vague as I close the door behind me. I am aware of a movement up above in the bedroom and smile to myself as I consider it’s provenance.

I walk to the kitchen and open the fridge, extracting a cool bottle of sparkling spring water, moving to the counter, collecting a glass en route and filling it, I drink long and deeply of the cold water, feeling it’s freshness spreading inside me and enlivening me. Refilling the glass I head upstairs, my heels clicking on the wooden steps and onto the long landing. Ahead I sense a stirring but I turn left into the second bedroom at the top of the stairs and put the glass on the night table by the bed. I close the curtains, putting the room into semi darkness, and begin to undress slowly peeling away the layers of my outside persona. Off comes the pretty white cardigan and the yellow, heeled pumps, followed by the light summery dress with it’s tiny embroidered blue flowers and I am left with only my knickers and bra to take off. I enjoy a moment of the cool air on my skin before I open the wardrobe and search through the garments hanging there. I select a leather dress and matching ankle boots with high heels and sit back on the bed to put them on.

The leather rustles as I pull it up my legs and ease it over my hips and bottom, reaching around with both hands to pull up the zipper from the small of my back to my neck, shivering a little as it moulds to my contours. Between my legs I feel hot and as I part my thighs I can feel how wet I have become. I can feel myself becoming harder, tougher, a veil of cruelty and maliciousness descending and tinting, darkening my previously light thoughts.

I slide the boots onto my feet, zipping them up and standing, vaguely aware of my own menacing image in my peripheral vision reflected in the mirrored door of the wardrobe.

I pick up the glass, unhurried and aware of my own growing wetness, I drain it and place it on the dresser.

Then, I step out into the hallway. I emphasise the noise of my heels clicking slowly and ominously on the wooden floor as I approach the ajar door to the master bedroom. The door opens with a long and ominous creak and I stand in the doorway as my eyes adjust to the semi darkness. The curtains are closed and ahead of me, in the window bay, is my husband.

He makes a small, fearful, interrogative noise.

He’s naked and very heavily bound to the sturdy wooden chair. He’s been like this since half past nine this morning when I went out shopping and then for a leisurely lunch. If you have read my blog before that this is one of my kinks – leaving a man heavily bound and gagged for extended periods. We’re lucky. He loves it as much as I do. And if he didn’t? Well, I would do it anyway, because it turns me on so much. When I was out I kept thinking of him there all bound and helpless, waiting for me. I don’t really understand why, but it drives me a little crazy.

A little confession…when I tied him this morning I snapped a few pictures of him with my phone and when I was in the restaurant I took it to the toilets and brought up those images whilst I masturbated in the cubicle.

This, is his reward for getting me so hot.

I approach him and let my eye linger of his trussed form, taking in the heavy leather straps on his wrists, forearms, upper arms, chest, stomach, thighs, knees and ankles. They have cut into his flesh and will leave red marks for the rest of today and maybe tomorrow as well. The gag is tight over his lower face, a thick swathe of silver tape, wrapped several times around his head. It shines a little in the low light.

His eyes, blue but rimmed with red after his prolonged bondage, regard me uneasily. Even after our years together he still struggles to read my mood when I am as impassive as this.

His skin is sheened with sweat and I can smell his musk in the air. I inhale that manly scent deep into my nostrils and feel my cunt clench with excitement. His cock is standing straight out from his shaved groin, thick and hard and begging for my touch.

I wonder if he can smell me. The leather, my dripping pussy.

I say nothing but cross to the dresser and slip on a pair of nitrile surgical gloves from the box their and pump a generous amount of lube from the bottle onto my palms, rubbing my gloved hands together to spread the slick gel.

Then I step between his thighs and begin to slowly stroke that hard, straining shaft.

“Did you miss me, darling?” I whisper.

Cautiously he nods his head, making a soft, affirmative noise.

“I missed you too” I tell him as I milk that cock slowly, the other hand cupping and lubing those big, heavy balls.

He moans long and hard, trying to thrust his cock back and forth in my grip.

I tut and sigh, stepping back.

“We stop and I will go out for a while if you try that again” I inform him, my voice cold and hard. He grunts a sound of acquiescence and hangs his head in humiliation as I begin again, slowly to wank him. His cock feels hot to the touch but his balls are cold. I can sense his stomach muscles tightening with the effort of not fucking my hand as I tease him, gliding my fingers lightly up and down his cock form root to head, swirling them around the bulging, blunt, head with each stroke.

He moans mournfully but he’s normally well behaved and knows the consequences of disobedience, so he waits as patiently as he can for his reward.

There is no guarantee that he will get it of course, my capriciousness is a cause for enduring frustration with the poor little lamb. Hope springs eternal, they say…

This afternoon I feel generous though and after bringing him to the edge four times and stopping and reducing him to a sobbing, whining wreck, I allow his come to boil out his cock and spray along my hand and forearm. He grunts into his gag and his whole body tenses in the straps before the laval explosion of thick clotted semen. His stomach muscles tighten as I milk every last drop from him.

Effecting a slightly disgusted manner I wipe his emissions onto his naked chest and stomach before grabbing a thick, cloth bag and pulling it down over his head and face, knotting the drawstrings lightly at his throat.

I stalk from the room.

He will be milked twice more this afternoon.

What to do at “that time”…?

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It’s that time of the month, so what’s a girl to do for fun? Personally, I find that my levels of irritation and general pained annoyance at the world come very much to the fore in my relationship with my sub. I love sex and the worst thing for me about my period is that I can’t have sex (well, I can but it’s mucky and unpleasant and I don’t really feel all that sexy), so how to amuse myself? He is a good little sub and agrees with his mistress that coming is really out of the question for him too this week. Why should he come when I don’t? So, this week we play tease and denial games.

Every evening we go to bed early and I tie his wrists to the bedhead, tape his mouth and blindfold him. Then I play with his cock. I read to him (this month it’s the companion guide to the National Gallery in London). Who said that sex couldn’t be educational and informative? Actually, I doubt he’s learned that much about Da Vinci’s “Lady of the rocks” or Seurat’s “Bathers at Asniers”. He’s been too busy squirming and pleading into his gag for me to let him spill his load. But, he’s a good boy and he knows that at length I will tire from reading and untie his hands and take off the gag. He will sleep blindfolded and have erotic dreams all night and when he wakes I will tie his hands and gag him again. His cock will be huge and standing tall already and I will slowly wank him until he’s really, really close before I stop and send him off to his shower to get ready for work. It’s only midweek but his balls are so hard and tight at night, his cock so big and hard.

I trust him. I know he won’t come without me. If he did I would know. He’s just so loving and attentive at this time. Each day I come home to a clean house, fresh flowers and dinner planned and started. This weekend he will empty those bulging, straining, balls. Will it be worth the wait? I certainly hope so, but in truth I don’t care. Do you hear me whining about not having a sexual release? We share the pain at this time of the month, just as it should be.

My cock

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It really turns me on.

Gripping it. Feeling it’s hardness there between my legs. It’s weight. It makes me shiver anticipating how I am going to use it on you.

Sometimes I wear it around the house under my clothes. I have even worn it under my jeans in the supermarket and in town shopping. My coat was long enough to cover it but one day I sat in the park with my coat open and my legs parted and enjoyed the looks I got. One man in particular was almost drooling as he did a double take. Mostly, I went unnoticed but there were several men who seemed to really zero in on that phallic lump at the apex of my thighs. The quick look to my face to check if I was really female before that longer sidelong glance to my crotch again. One man was so close to coming over but his fear got the better of him. Luckily for him.

I will be using it tonight. So be ready.

I’m off out for the evening…

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“I’m off out for the evening. You’ll be alright, won’t you?” the question is purely rhetorical. You can’t answer because you’re gagged. After I tied you naked on the floor of the bedroom, I tucked my dirty panties into your dry mouth and taped them there. Why were my panties dirty? Because I had been thinking of what I will be doing this evening all day. I met him at the gym last week and I have been to his place a couple of times already. He’s big and dumb and I couldn’t tolerate being in any kind of long term relationship with him but he has a big, thick cock and lots of hard muscles. It turns you on to think of us fucking, doesn’t it? Me too, darling. Truth be told, the thing that turns me on the most is the idea of peeling off that tape later, much later…and easing that wet bundle from your cramped jaws and watching the subdued and humiliated expression on your face as I sit astride you and you lick me clean….

 

On show…

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A favourite fantasy of mine is that of having a male paraded by me before a clutch of other women. He is naked and we are clothed. He is bound and gagged, reluctant. He was not keen at all but I know how to get my man to do what I want and so eventually, blushing and humiliated he finds himself being led out into the spotlight. We have been drinking wine and have abandoned what few inhibitions we have. We are close friends and have done this before. Last month it was Linda’s husband, the month prior to that Alison’s. I chide him for his coyness and push him forward. They laugh and point at him, making fun of him, ridiculing his manhood. They taunt him with their bodies, delighting as he can’t control his erection. There comes a line crossed by one or another when it becomes crueller and he is beaten for his presumed insolence and lack of worth. That moment sparks an increasing frenzy as first one then another then all of us use him. His gag is torn away and a plump, wet pussy smothers him as Alison straddles him and impales herself on his straining cock. The warning to not dare come is as nasty as it is unattainable and he tries to think desperately of anything to stop himself but he cannot help himself, poor weak man and so he finds himself beaten and whipped and trussed and stuffed behind the couch as we pour more drinks and play with each other and plot his next task.

Rain does not stop play

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The room seems quiet but as I lean there against the wall, I become aware of hundreds of tiny little noises. His breathing, shallow and worried. The rain against the skylight, a driving, oblique, lash. The cars down three stories below, muffled and distant, a drone almost below the range of hearing. The radiator on the landing ticking as it cooled. The patter of the cats feet as she chases her tail in the lounge. The rustle of nylon as I move my thighs together, feeling the weight of the rubber cock as it moves, bobbing in a silent mimicry of his. Can I hear my own heart beating faster as I watch his taut muscled buttocks and imagine what is to come?

He is naked on his knees, a stretchy lycra hood over his head cutting off his sight. The tight material showing the features beneath, even the outline of the ball stuffed into his mouth and the tight straps holding it in. His hands are behind him, as instructed. He waits nervously but he knows far better than to try and push things with me. I can see the anxiety in his pale, white skin. Tiny tremors of it.

“Head down” my voice is calm, cool but it seems so loud in that quiet space.

He complies, his acquiescence touching because he knows exactly what is going to happen and he has known all day. I texted him to tell him this morning.

My hand tightens around the belt and I bring it down hard across his buttocks, making him stumble forward a little and gasp into the gag, his breath exhaled suddenly through his nose. The muscles in his upper arms tense but he does not release. He kneels up again and lowers his head for the next blow. The memory of the crack of leather against flesh burns into me, heating my groin still further. I squeeze my thighs together and  lash him again. A frenzy is barely contained within me as I see the welts rise red on his skin. I struggle to control it, the urge to whip him harder and harder all over is almost uncontrollable but keeping a leash on it makes me wetter and wetter as I deliver the beating. I don’t recall how many. Twenty? Maybe. We don’t do that thing where I get him to count. There is not a number in my mind, just a feeling that I will recognise when I have given him enough. Twenty sounds about right though.

He’s broken and sobbing into the gag, the hood stained dark with his tears.

So beautiful.

So vulnerable and so so beautiful.

I use a gloved hand to lube up the dildo in the harness as it juts out aggressively from my groin. I pull him into position and part those red and beaten cheeks, feeling him wince as I seek that rosebud and push a finger then two inside, warm and tight and greedy for my cock.

I push into him a little at a time. Hurting him is one thing. I do not want to damage him. I push deeper, hearing him sob and choke as I fill him, small grunts escape the gag.

When I’m in and able to I fuck him harder, one hand reaching round to seize his stone hard cock as I fuck him like the little bitch I have told him is. He breaks position as I fuck him harder, his hands coming out to stop us falling. I grasp his hips and pound him harder and harder until I can feel my own orgasm coming.

I pull out and push him up against the wall, hooded face to the exposed brick and My thick rubber cock pressed hard against his beaten arse as my fingers seek my clit and bring myself off as I hiss threats and insults into his ear.

When I regain my sense of equilibrium I find the rope and tie him tight, trussing him like a prize animal, pulling the rope so tight it will leave bruises but not caring, needing to know that tomorrow when I free him they will be there to display my ownership of him.

I leave him there, naked, hooded, gagged, beaten and fucked and go for a nice long bath to relax…

Loving Sardax

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Sardax was one of the first femdom focussed artists I encountered and he has remained my absolute favourite. Every picture is beautifully executed. There is a wonderful dreamlike quality and of course the subjects are just desperately sexy to me. I find his work so inspirational. He seems to read my fantasies and draw them there for me to examine every detail…

Fetish

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When we think of “this kind of thing” we often associate it with leather, rubber and other fetish materials or clothing. I have heard several dominant women say that they disdain this side of it, as though it panders to the submissive man who does not deserve it.

I agree to a certain extent and I can see their argument but I do love fetish wear. I have several catsuits in rubber and PVC and I wear them often, along with high heeled boots for sex. I think they enhance things. First and foremost I like the way I look and feel in them and that in itself is good enough for me. Secondly I like the way he reacts to them. Seeing me in them turns him on even more and why would I deny myself that even if ultimately I may well be planning to deny him?

I love the colder days because they allow me to wear my boots and my leather gloves very openly. I love the way they feel and occasionally I see *that* look in someone’s eyes. The look that says seeing me wear them has ignited something in them.

I don’t always dress up. Sometimes I just can’t be bothered. Sometimes I enjoy the surrealism of wearing the everyday and mundane to dominate him.

The main thing to me is that I get to decide when and where and what I am wearing.

 

 

 

Thursday is my favourite day.

He is working late. No, that’s not why it’s my favourite day. It’s my favourite day because i get to spend all day imagining the look on his face when he comes home all tired and drained and sees the coil of rope hanging on the end of the stair rail. It’s my favourite day because that look is worth the wait. That second where his tired mind thinks “oh, no. I really just want to watch TV…” but his spirit forces that thought down and he looks at me with that so, so sweet look of acceptance as I step from the lounge doorway and he can see that under my silky robe I have the strap on buckled around my hips.

I’ll take him upstairs and have him undress and shower and when he comes into the bedroom, I will be propped up with pillows against the bedstead, idly running my fingertips along the slick, ominous length of the rubber cock, legs crossed at the ankle, eyes hard and he will know that it won’t be easy for him. He will see the crumpled pair of knickers and the roll of silver duct tape on the bedside table and he will swallow hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he realises that we will need them to keep him quiet tonight. tumblr_oire1irjba1vq5q3co4_400