Female Domination

This entry is a continuation of previous posts.  If you haven’t read them yet, it is probvably best to start here.

I grabbed him by the hair and leaned forward, pressing his face into the wood of the desk while I forced a finger into his ass.  I told him he was mine to do with as I pleased, and seeing as he had been such a bad boy recently, cheating on his wife and nailing every pieces of ass in sight, I was going to rape his ass. Give him what he deserved. He moaned, diving deeper into sub-space with every word I spoke. He was completely naked, with me standing over him in my bustier and stockings, and he ate it up.

I told him how much I was going to make it hurt, and how he was going to take every inch of my strap-on, and that he was going to take it with his mouth closed, no screaming, and that the only thing I would permit him to do was to grip the edges of the desk to brace himself. If he did anything else, if he screamed too loudly, if he moved to resist me at all, I’d leave. I’d take my strap-on and my bag of tricks and I’d walk out on him, leaving his ass hungry for what it really wanted.

Then with a final rub of his face into the wood of the desk, I released his head. I moved around behind him, deliberately dragging the strap-on down the length of his body.  I scratched at his welts with my fingernails, which made him whimper and  dance his ass around. And then I stood behind him, with the head of my big black strap-on pressed up against the puckered rosebud of his anus and I said, “Tell me how much you want me to fuck your ass.”

And he did. He begged, he pleaded, he told me in lurid detail how he wanted me to ream him out, how he’d cleaned himself for me, how he was such a bad boy and deserved what was coming, every last inch of it.  And in the middle of one of his sentances, I leaned hard into him and forced the head of my strap-on into his ass. He gasped and sucked in air and then his teeth clicked together and he moaned mightily, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white. The cocoa butter creme gave his ass and my dildo an awesome slipperiness that allowed me to push smoothly into him, even as his body tensed, even as he resisted my efforts to penetrate him. And penetrate him I did, diving inexorably into his ass until every one of the 10 inches was inside him and my harness was abrading his welts.

And oh how me moaned! How he wriggled his ass! He cried, his tears pooling on the desktop, but I didn’t stop.  He wanted to be violated, wanted to be taken hard and fast, and so that is what I did. I set my feet in those 4″ heels, grabbed his hips, and fucked his ass with unrestrained violence. I unleashed a tempest of passion on him, and as I invaded him, I subjugated him with my voice, with my words, telling him he was a pathetic excuse for a man, and that he’d never fuck me again, not with his small little penis that was incapable of satisfying me like Simon could with his big thick cock. And I described Simon’s wondrous cock, the cock that produced the copious amounts of cum that Pilot had recently cleaned out of me.

I leaned forward onto Pilot, my palms balanced on his low back so the angle of penetration made it possible for me to hit his prostate, and as I jabbed my hips into him, I told him to cum, demanded that he empty himself without a single stroke of his cock, and he did.  He came hard, with open-mouthed cries, his whole body rigid, as I sawed the head of my strap-on against his prostate.

Such a good little anal whore.

This blog entry is a continuation of this post.

My pilot friend met me in the lobby. We hugged hello, and when his arms wrapped around me he said, “I’ve been dreaming about worshipping your ass all week.” I purred, flush with memories. A closet submissive with a guilty conscience, the man had a serious thing for asses and freshly-worn panties.

We had drinks and some appetizers in the hotel bar and talked about all sorts of things.  We talked about his work, and how being an airline pilot still qualified him as a pussy magnet.  I learned a lot about the sexual habits of airline personnel, who were apparently uninhibited by marriage in their activities. Apparently pilots and flight attendants are constitutionally unable to be monogamous. Every overnight was like staying in Vegas. Apparently, what happens on an overnight never happened.

Within two hours we were upstairs in his hotel room, my black leather dufflebag sitting prominently on the bed. He kept glancing at my little bag of tricks, growing progressively more excited. I grabbed the bag and walked toward the bathroom, telling him that when I came out, I expected him to be ready for me.

In the bathroom, I disrobed, carefully hanging my litle black dress on a hook. I pulled my harness out of the bag, located the dildo, and gave it a quick soap-and-water rinse.  I noticed the Fleet’s enema packaging in the garbage, so I knew it wasn’t necessary to hang up my old-fashioned enema bag — my pilot had already prepared himself for the evening’s adventures. I adjusted my black satin bikini-bottom panties, making sure they fit snugly into the crack of my ass, plumped my breasts in the bustier, and headed back into the room with the dildo and hardness in one hand and my bag of tricks in the other.

Pilot was on his knees  by the desk, utterly naked and fully erect.  When he saw me, he moaned. I set the bag and toys on the bed and sauntered over to him. When I reached him I grabbed him by the hair and forced his face up against my panty-covered pussy. He rubbed his face against the satin, breathed deeply, and sighed. His hands caressed my legs on their way up to my ass, which he cupped worshipfully in his palms as if each cheek was made of Ming china. I told him that I’d had sex with Simon a few hours ago, and that he’d cum in my pussy and my ass, so I had some cuckold clean-up work for him. Which he proceeded to do with enthusiasm. Simon sucked the crotch of my panties and then cleaned my pussy and ass with his tongue like the good little submissive ass-worshipper he was.

I rewarded him by bending him over the desk and thoroughly thrashing his ass with my crop. When he was nice and pink with lots of good welts, I massaged cocoa butter creme into his skin. He sighed so voluptuously that I couldn’t help but pinch his welts once in a while, seasoning his pleasure with jolts of pain that made him hiss and moan. Then I put on my harness, slid a polyurethane condom down the length of my big 10 inch strap-on, and rubbed more cocoa butter creme along its length.  I was making it very very slippery, so it would slide in easily, no matter how ready Pilot was. He liked the pain, the feeling of violation, and I was just the woman to give him what he craved. Oh yes, I certainly was.

Read the continuation of this story here.

I’m not the type to “settle down” with one person.  I wasn’t raised to think that marriage equated to monogamy, nor was I raised to consider monogamy “normal.”  So, when I moved in with one of the men I’ve been dating for the past three years, the first thing my father the retired marine corps officer said was “He knows he can’t own you, right?” Right. Of course.

Me being me, and him being who he is, my lover, whom I will call Simon, and I arrived at an agreement.  He would be my primary partner and I would not have any other lovers that I saw regularly, nor would I take any new lovers in the forseeable future. However, I was free to see and play with prior partners / exes if I so desired.  This weekend, we put that agreement to the test.

I’ve a friend about 10 years older than myself, someone who is an airline pilot who used to fly for the navy. He’s also been an occasional lover since I was 18. He had a layover at the airport nearby and we spent Friday night and most of Saturday together. Simon and I talked. Emotionally, me seeing other people  was a different situation for him than previously, before I’d moved in. We talked about how the Dom in him wanted to hike his leg and piss on me and then rip my pilot-friend’s throat out. The cuckold scenario didn’t do anything for him. Something in him looks at me and thinks “MINE!” But I told him that regardless of what happened with my old lover, I was coming back to him, and that was what mattered. We fell into bed and had ferocious sex that involved sensual domination, the two of us switching who was Top, vying for dominance like wrestlers in a tournament.

Then I showered and cleaned myself up. I dressed carefully in a little black dress and high heels. Under it I wore a bustier and stockings. And armed with a handful of condoms and a dufflebag full of toys, I left with Simon’s blessing.

Read the continuation of this story here.

I like big balls. I cannot lie.  I like to watch strokers on webcam, playing with their cocks, and teasing their balls.  I like to tell them what to do, tell them where to touch themselves and when.

I also enjoy the sheer diversity of strokers. There are the straight-forward ones, the ones who want me to talk dirty to them so they can cum. They can be a lot of fun, a sheer delight, really, to get down and dirty with and then force them to edge, force them to take their hands away from their pulsing purple cocks and tease their balls instead.

And then there are the ones who wrap their cocks in tissue, or baggies, or women’s panties, and want me to comment on how dirty or bad they are, or how little their cocks are, or feign outrage over the stolen panties. There are also the sissies, dressed up in their stockings and garters, stroking themselves through their pretty panties. It is rather a lot of fun, actually, especially the ones who are into pain or discipline, the ones who will run a brush along their balls, or put elastic bands on their cocks at regular intervals, and use flyswatters and back scratchers to flog themselves.

There are a lot of reasons to enjoy being a phone sex Mistress and I think that strokers are the best reason I’ve found so far. They remind me of my teenage years when I was such a little cock teasing princess that I rarely let the boys touch me no matter how hot and bothered we were — but instead would offer to watch them stroke.  In retrospect, its rather interesting that I got so many boys to masturbate in front of me — boys tend to be notoriously shy about such things. But then I do have a rather compelling personality

If you want to talk to a cocktease who relishes teasing you, denying you, and guiding you to explosive, toe-cramping orgasms, you really should call me. Together we will re-define what ‘phone sex‘ means to you.

I’ve updated my Schedule Page to reflect a change to later hours.

I will usually be available Monday through Friday from 6pm to 11pm Eastern.

On occasional Wednesdays, including this one, I will be available from 10pm to 2am, instead.

As of yesterday I am taking applications for cocksuckers. Auditions will be held using my strap-on. Instruction will be provided, if necessary. Call me at 1-800-601-6975 or email me to arrange an appointment: empress.pamela@yahoo.com

One of the things I find very interesting is that there are two schools of thought on what a “real woman” is. Some people think a real woman is quiet, respectful, yielding, and nurturing. Others think a real woman is self-expressed, challenging, strong, and protective. But regardless of whether one thinks the feminine ideal is a submissive doormat or a strap-on goddess, just about everyone agrees on what a “real man” is. Intelligent, strong-willed, charismatic, attractive, fit — and most importantly — hung like a bull moose. In other words, an alpha male.

My primary partner is a real man who is hung like the aforementioned bull-moose. And therein lies the problem. My mouth just isn’t big enough. In fact, he has yet to meet a woman whose mouth is big enough to fit him comfortably enough to give him a real blow job.  Its rather sad, actually. Before we became lovers he once told me that  he never really cared much for oral sex. I thought it was because he’d never come across a woman who was an adequate fellatrix. After six months of living together, he says he actually enjoys my efforts, but I’m not satisfied.  I can just get the head of his cock into my mouth and that is a real stretch. The man deserves a real cocksucking, and I’m determined that he will get one. And since every woman he’s known has wanted to get her mouth on him but never been able to take his big fatty all the way to the root, I’m thinking we need to start looking for submissive cock-worshipping males to do the job.

How many of you boys and sissies out there have experience sucking a cock that is 7.5″ in circumference? I’m wondering how many of you submissive men out there I could force into sucking cock.  A real cock, you know, the kind you dream of having. The kind of cock you closet cuckolds dream of watching in action plundering pussies, asses, and mouths.

Any volunteers for the role of cocksucker can call me, Empress Pamela, at 1-800-601-6975. I’ll make you audition on my strap-on, first.

I love geeks.  I have a real thing for them. By “geeks” I mean intelligent, usually socially awkward, techno-fetishists.

I like smart people. People who can talk about something other than their kids or TV shows.  People who actually have informed opinions on things because they think. There is something about a man or woman whose brain lights up like a Christmas Village in winter that really turns me on. And I like the social awkwardness because it means I’m not constantly putting the macho-types who can’t keep their eyes-hands-mouths to themselves in their places.  Sure, like most men they roll over and show me their bellies, but they never assume I’m going to check out their packages and be impressed. And often, they are kinky as hell.

There is the geek who loves to fuck with hentai anime up on the three TVs on the walls of his bedroom and Rachmaninov playing loud enough to tickle your skin. And another geek with a greek god’s cock who brings me a paddle and panties and begs for over-the-knee spankings. And of course there is the one who has OCD and is such a cleanliness freak he can only have sex in a bathroom, with water running over him and his partner. There is one mathematician I dated who had a thing for women’s backs. I once made him write mathematical equations down both sides of my spine and read them aloud while stroking himself off between the cheeks of my ass. He’s been mine ever since. And then there is the multi-millionaire geek with the cuckold fetish who brought me home to his wife. He sat at his computer stroking a massive erection and watched me I fuck her with a strap-on while we both verbally humiliated him for his inability leave his computer long enough to satisfy her sexually.

Mostly, though, I love geeks because they are good company.  Geeks are sweet, genuine, and earnest.  They know who they are, they accept themselves, and they accept others as they are.  And from there, anything is possible.

I have a regular client that I really enjoy talking to.  He’s smart, funny, and unabashedly kinky.  He books an hour and we talk, our minds touching on our kink-triggers, forced bi, strap-ons, cuckolding, etc, until we hit on something that works for us both and then we roll with it.  We were on a roll and had a great scenario going when, forty minutes in, his phone system crashed. He call back, it crashed again.  He sent an apology email, and I emailed him back the remainder of the fantasy, from where we’d left off:

I can see us in that room, surrounded by people watching. Watching the girls on the sybians, watching the person thrashing on the bed under the sensual onslaught of the violet wand.  Watching us. I can hear the flogger, feel the weight of it in my hand, and the thud of the straps against your ass.  It is a loud thwap-y flogger with foot long, 1/4″ strips. It doesn’t sting much, it doesn’t hurt much, but its heavy enough to make you sway forward with every impact. Your mouth is open, your eyes moist. You are bent over at the waist and a chain hangs from your nipples. I can see my beautiful friend Darien with his athletic body and his woman’s mouth kissing you, pumping his arousal into you as he strokes his cock with one hand and tweaks the chain in the other. Your ass is pink, even the crack of your ass, which I’ve teased with the flogger. I drop it and rub oil into your ass, massaging the tender skin, rewarding its resilience. I stroke my strap-on, too, lubing it up, and then I gesture for people to come over, telling them to hold you. Hands touch you everywhere, stabilizing your legs, holding your torso. Hard cocks and smooth pussies and warm hands everywhere, cradling you. And then I push into you, carefully and yet ungently. The thrust is hard enough to push through and your body tenses but the hands hold you. You can do nothing but moan into Darien’s mouth as I take what I want from you. My hands grip your hips and I’m pushing into you, pushing slowly and relentlessly forward, and your legs start to tremble, don’t they?  Your knees want to buckle but there are hands holding you, holding your knees locked, holding your cock, milking your cock as I stroke in and out of you. Can you feel the rub of the dildo against your prostate?  Can you feel the fluid leaking from your cock, like a tap turned on to a slow running drip? Darien stands and puts your hands arond his hips and his cock is there before your face. His beautiful cock, glowing, pulsing. Suck it baby.  Suck it for me.  Suck it as I fuck you, drain it as the hands drain you, the hands fighting to tease your cock, your poor cock, so hard, so ready to explode. Let go, my sweet little pleasure slut. Let go, sink into those hands, sink onto that cock, drink his cum my little slut, as you fly apart into a hundred bits of sensation.  Cum as I stroke your ass, love,  stroking hard and fast, pounding it, pounding you, my fingers pinching those pretty pink welts, sending jolts of pain through you.  Cum for me baby.  Cum for us all.  Cum!

It can be fun to combine the phone with text or email sessions.  And after a week of trying to work out an appointment, I wanted to make sure he got what he wanted.

For most people, sex and fear are inextricably intertwined. At first glance I think most people miss it. Some would even deny it. But an examination of an individual’s sexuality will almost always uncover a host of fears. And the kinkier the person, the more interesting the fears.

Lets take Pantyboys, for example.

I’ve lost count of the number of times men have whispered to me “I like to wear women’s panties… does that mean I’m gay?”  I usually respond with a question of my own: “Are you sexually attracted exclusively to men?”  If they answer no, which is usually the case, then I tell them they are not gay. But they still don’t want to let go of that fear-linkage that wearing panties equals gay. Why?

Because the fear, even more than the panties, is the spice. Fear spikes the sexual punch. The forbidden (panties) makes it more exciting, but the fear (maybe this means I’m gay, or, what if someone catches me, or, does this mean I am a sissy) is the necessary ingredient for sexual satisfaction. The fear pushes the ejaculate button in most panty-boys. As a FemDom it is fun to figure out not the fetish (panties) but the fear intertwined with the fetish (what if my girlfriend catches me) and use it to push those buttons.

It is fun to play the girlfriend catching them in panties. It is fun to be angry and mocking. And sometimes its fun to threaten to take photos and ruin their lives if they don’t put on a nightie, too (sissification, anyone?).  Sometimes its fun to make them clean house wearing panties only, with the windows and curtains open so the neighbors might see (exhibitionism, humiliation). And sometimes it is most fun to threaten to invite a gay friend over to see the pantyboy and decide for himself if my boyfriend is gay.

For some, humiliation, degradation, and embarassment are the fear-linkages. For others, gay sexuality is the real erotic hot button.  What if the girlfriend finds me in panties and forces me to do things with another man? And that is where I come in.  Because I can “force” pantyboys to explore this fantasy in the safety of their minds at no risk to themselves, and very little cost. In many ways, when it comes to exploring fetishes, fear, and sex, having a FemDom in your life is priceless.

Every once in a while I get a foodie on the phone. Foodies are shy about their fetishes and sometimes it can take 20 minutes for them to get around to talking about what really turns them on. Food.

Working later hours last night went pretty well, and given that my lover was playing poker with the guys, I kept the lines open for an extra hour or two, and took some interesting calls. One of them was from a guy who had never eaten his own cum, and wanted me to ‘help’ him do so. Getting him worked up was not difficult.  All I have to do is open my mouth and most men are instantly hard. I’ve just got one of those voices that tickle men behind their balls. But I knew, as we were talking, as I teased him with different images like getting him off with my feet and making him lick his cum off my toes, or eating another man’s cum from a freshly shaved pussy, that he was holding back on me.  He wasn’t into body worship or cuckolding or humiliation. 

I was about ready to go the pantyboy route with him when he asked me if I’d ever heard of someone cumming on their food and eating it. And that was when I knew I had a foodie. I giggled and asked him if that is what it would take to get him to eat his own cum — did he want a bagel and schmeer? His breath caught and he tried to laugh, but it came out as a huff, the kind of huffing sound a guy makes when he’s been punched in the solar plexus — or when his sexual buttons have been pushed.

“Mmm…” I said, “Instead of a bagel, lets imagine a warm cinnamon roll. Wrap your cock up in that warm, googey goodness and stroke. Can you smell the cinnamon?”

The tension in his voice was beautiful. “Ooooh… If I had a cinnamon roll I’d go get one right now,” he gasped.

I mentioned the cinnamon roll warm and slippery like a pussy, and his cum the icing on the roll. And that was it. Bang! Over the edge he went, huffing and moaning and spewing into the imaginary gooeyness. He was only too happy to lick the cum off his fingers then!

Yes, foodies are fun.