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 [...]]]> 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.

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 [...]]]> 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 know you’ve been letting your imaginations run wild, wondering what it was that happened between me and Dominic that weekend. What could happen that would eliminate a recurring dream that both terrified and aroused him?

Well, first you need to understand that Dominic considers himself a cocksman.  He’s great in [...]]]> Running down memory lane part 1

I know you’ve been letting your imaginations run wild, wondering what it was that happened between me and Dominic that weekend. What could happen that would eliminate a recurring dream that both terrified and aroused him?

Well, first you need to understand that Dominic considers himself a cocksman.  He’s great in bed and he knows it. He’s used to being on top and getting what he wants. Our relationship was often sexually combative. I wasn’t interested in an exclusive relationship and neither was he, but the fact that I didn’t want him all to myself like all the other girls he’d dated bothered him, that and the fact that I had other men in my life.  Guys usually don’t like feeling like they are competing with another cock in the bedroom / being cuckolds, and often when we had sex it seemed like he had something to prove. He tried so hard to dominate me and I’m basically indomitable–so overall, it was hard on his 20-year old ego.

When I agreed to meet him at the cabin in Vermont, it was after much begging on his part. I’d decided I didn’t want to start seeing him again once the Fall Semester started back up–he was too high-maintenance and too drama-prone. But it was the desperation in his voice that finally convinced me to see him. He said his dream had changed and I was the woman who feminized him and turned him into a she-male cum-slut and it was driving him nuts. So I went shopping. And then I drove up to the cabin.

I set the tone immediately.  I was cold with him, and domineering. I ordered him to carry my things inside, and expressed serious disappointment that there was not a fire running.  During the evening, I ignored any attempts he made to turn the conversation to anything  sexual, or to the reason for my visit.  I made him turn down my bed, help me undress and then put on my nightie, and then, as he stood there with an aroused glow in his face and an erection in his pants, told him to strip for me. Which he did, with alacrity.

And then I handed him a bag from Victoria’s Secret. In it was a 36C bra, a set of falsies, a pair of pink silky panties, and  a babydoll nightie. His jaw dropped, of course, and he tried to argue with me, but I didn’t allow it. I helped him into the lingerie, then made him parade around in front of me. He was mortified. I’d expected him to show some excitement at being dressed up in girl’s clothes, but he was completely flaccid.

I handed him the cup at my bedside table and told him I wanted him to jerk off into it. While he looked dumbly at me, I put on my strap-on, sat on a chair, and started playing with myself. He begged to be able to touch me, or for me to touch him, but I refused. I told him I wasn’t going near him until he’d cum into the cup.

Eventually, he accomplished what I asked of him.  I stood up and walked to the bed. I ruffled his hair and told him what a good little slut he was, took the cup from his shaky hand and put it on the bedside table.

And then I slapped him.  He jerked and gasped and started to reach for me but I yelled “Don’t you dare!” and he stopped. I slapped him again. I told him he was a fucking sissy, a little pussy just like my girls at college and I was going to use him like the slut he was. I rolled him over onto his back, pulled his panties up his thighs, and pressed the head of my strap-on against his ass.

Of course it hurt him.  He winced and cried out, but he didn’t fight me.  His face changed as something in him dissolved into the pain and his eyes became these dark pools that absorbed the light.  I held his wrists as tighly as I could, pressing them against the bed near his hips as I pummeled him more and more savagely. I said many things to him as I used him harshly and one of them was that I was going to leave a load of cum in his ass before the weekend was through. He ate that up. He softened even more, and he went limp, and his cock swelled. I adjusted the angle of penetration so I was rubbing the head of the strap-on against his prostate, and I pumped his cock with my hand, and when he was ready to cum, I captured most of it in that cup. And I made him lick my hand clean of the remaining cum and pre-cum.

That night he slept at the foot of the bed, wrapped up in a blanket. In the morning I kicked him awake and told him to go make me some breakfast. While he was cooking, I changed into a bustier and stockings. I searched through the bags I’d brought until I found the turkey baster I was looking for, and then I poured some water into the cup full of his cum, swirled it around good, and poured it into the turkey-baster.  Then I put on my strap-on, grabbed the baster and some lube, and headed down the stairs.

I tucked the lube and baster into the seat of a kitchen chair and then went to check on Dominic. He was cooking an omlette and bacon strips, and as he tried to cook I harassed him, teasing his ass through the panties and whispering things into his ear.  He looked adorable in the babydoll nightie, and his hair was a mess, and he looked so scared and vulnerable–especially when I slapped my strap-on against his ass.

I told him that I was hoping that I would like the breakfast, because I really wanted his ass for dessert.  He whimpered and clenched his cheeks together, but didn’t say anything.  I think he knew I’d be rougher with him if he did.

I ate the delicious breakfast with him standing at my side. I complimented his cooking and told him he would make someone a wonderful wife. And once I finished my breakfast I allowed him to eat. As he devourered his breakfast I made a show of stroking lube on to my strap-on, stretching my thighs out and bowing my body like I’d seen him do before. I told him to hurry up and finish his breakfast because my cock was hungry for dessert.

At my suggestion he cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen. He dropped things a few times, including a spatula, which I took from his hand and put on the table.  I put on my best icily angry persona and waited for him at the table, commenting often on his lack of grace. When he finished, I snapped my fingers and he came to me. I grabbed a fist full of his hair and gave him a fierce kiss, and with my free hand, I groped his ass.  He whimpered a little.

“Please Pamela, not rough like last night,” he said pleadingly.

“Is your ass tender?” I asked?

He nodded.

“Good. I suppose I’ll be nice and use lube. Now bend over.  You deserve a spanking for being so clumsy in the kitchen.”

He was shockingly compliant. He bent over the table and rested his torso against it. He suffered silently through the first few slaps of the spatula against his ass, but within a handful more he was crying in earnest.  When his ass was as bright a pink as his face, I stopped. I told him to close his eyes and hold on to the edge of the table. And then I grabbed the turkey baster and lube.

I applied a liberal amount of lube to the little puckered spot and used the head of my strap-on to spread it around. And then I pushed. I was gentle, but relentless, and I didn’t stop until the very last inch of the strap-on was buried inside him.  And then I talked to him the way he would talk to me, using the same language he used when he had someone under him.  I pinched the welts on his ass and stroked slowly in and out of him. I teased his balls and his cock and told him how hot he looked in the babydoll nightie, how I thought he would make a great she-male, etc.

Eventually, he came, and as his body shook and he cried out, I pulled the strap-on out and replaced it with the turkey baster full of his cum. I shoved it in really deep and he cried out and I told him I was going to dump a load of cum in his ass and then I gave the bulb a good hard squeeze, emptying his own up into his ass. I pulled it out and grabbed a paper napkin and shoved it partway up his ass, telling him the cum was going to stay there until I told him otherwise.

An hour later, the cramps hit.  He got a taste of what the prostaglandins in sperm can do to a person’s bowels, and why I always insisted on condoms during anal sex. I think that is what cured him of the cum-slut fantasy.  The reality of it. The pain, the humiliation – he ate those up — but the clean-up side of things, the reality of what being a cum dumpster meant to his body… that was too much for him.

After that weekend we occasionally hooked up for some D/s sessions, but rarely interacted socially. Dominic would inevitably start trembling, much to his embrassment. Poor dear.

Being an online FemDom is like being a superstar. The number of people hungering for attention from a Domme jumps from [...]]]> Being a FemDom is like being a rockstar. For most of my adult life I’ve had groupies following me around, willing to do whatever I wanted in exchange for some of my time and attention.

Being an online FemDom is like being a superstar. The number of people hungering for attention from a Domme jumps from dozens in real life to hundreds online.

What I find very peculiar is the number of people online who say “Can I be your slave?” within moments of beginning a conversation. This is so odd to me because those in The Lifestyle don’t take being slaves lightly.  It is a committment of self far beyond simple submission, and Doms are very selective about who they collar.

I understand that for most of you, Dominant and submissive / Mistress and slave are fantasies you live out vicariously with internet and phone FemDoms like myself. But I’m not just a phone FemDom. D/s is a genuine part of my life and while I do play with and train subs, I do not take slaves. Quite simply, they are too much work. Slaves want someone to take over their lives, to tell them what to do, when to do it, and when to stop doing it.  They want someone to do their thinking for them.  And they want attention. They will do anything for attention, even negative attention. Submissives can make my life fun, interesting, easier. Slaves, however — I find slaves a chore, even when they are doing my chores.

So don’t ask to be my slave.  At best you will irritate me, and at worst, I’ll ignore you — which we both know is the worst possible punishment for attention-sluts like you.

See you tomorrow!

Empress Pamela * (800) 601-6975 * Empress.Pamela@yahoo.com

I’ve really been enjoying my client calls this week.  One that really stands out was a call from a sweet man who said he wanted me to visit him in his hotel room, tie him up and do [...]]]> I’ll be working shorter hours today due to vacation-related preparations.  Look for me from 4pm to 9pm EST.

I’ve really been enjoying my client calls this week.  One that really stands out was a call from a sweet man who said he wanted me to visit him in his hotel room, tie him up and do whatever I wanted to him.  I told him I have a duffle bag full of ropes and all sorts of toys including a strap-on, and asked him if that was ok. He said he was fine with whatever I wanted to do.

And so we started the scenario with me at the door in my little black dress, stilettos, and my dufflebag. He invited me inside, and taking my bag, asked where I wanted it. I told him to put it next to the bed.

Then I inspected him, walking around him, dragging my fingernails over his torso.  One full turn and I told him that he was overdressed and asked, “You don’t mind if I undress you, do you?”

His response was to stammer a “Whatever you wish, Mistress.”

I undid a few buttons on his shirt and kissed the skin exposed there, then undid the rest of the row of buttons. My fingernails left bright red histamine marks on his skin as I dragged them down his chest, then slid my palms up to his shoulders and pushed his shirt down his arms. The cuffs on the sleeves prevented the shirt from coming off entirely, and I used the sleeves to pull his arms back behind him.  I teased him a bit, playing with his sensitive nipples, and then withdrew from my duffle two lengths of rope. I pulled the shirt free of his hands and manacled each of his wrists with three loops of rope and knotted them off, then took the long leading ends and wove them around and between his forearms, pulling them together and drawing his shoulders back. I drew nipple clamps from my bag and fastened them to his hard little nipples, making him shiver and groan.

I dropped my hands to the waistband of his pants and unfastened them, teasing his waistline and his cock through the fabric of his shorts. Then I unzipped his pants and let them drop around his ankles. I walked around him again, running my hands over him, telling him how good he looked with his arms tied behind him and his cock sticking out before him. A few moments later I had his sorts down, too, and his feet pulled out of all of his clothes, including his socks.

He was completely naked before me, vulnerable, and yet trusting.

“Whose cock is this?” I asked, as I slid my palm over the head of his cock.

“Yours. Its your cock Mistress Pamela!” he gasped.

“And you?”

“Yours, Mistress Pamela.”

“Its sweet of you to say… but I won’t feel like you’re mine until I’ve taken you, boy. Shall I take you? Make you mine?”

“Oh yes, Mistress. Please.”

I kicked off my shoes. “Get up here on the bed then,” I said and helped him to stand up on the bed. I pressed him up against the wall on at the head of the bed and ordered him to squat down, leaning his bound arms against the headboard. He did as I instructed, and I guided his thighs apart, then reached down into my duffle and withdrew two more lengths of rope. I bound him into that squat, tying his thighs and calves to each other, and then tied him, spread as wide as possible, to the headboard.  His hips jutted out toward me and his cock throbbed and jerked, reminding me that my work was not yet done.  I jiggled the chain that connected the nipple clamps to each other, and then removed the clamps, freeing his poor nubs from their confinement. I slipped the chain back into my dufflebag and withdrew a long pink ribbon, wide and satiny. I wound the ribbon around the shaft of his cock, then tied the long leading ends around his waist, pressing his cock hard against his belly.

“I like my cocks presented to me like gifts, tied up in ribbons and bows,” I told him.

“Yes, Mistress.”

I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his nipples, teasing, licking, biting. He gasped and writhed there, up against the headboard, but such was his confinement that he had very little room to move. I pulled some lube from my bag and used it to massage him from balls to anus, being very careful to spread lube liberally around the tiny opening.

I wiped my hands off and stepped off the bed and undressed for him, very slowly, letting him watch me remove my little black dress to reveal the lace corset and stockings underneath. I pulled the strap-on from my duffle and belted it on, pulled a bit of black cloth from it as well, and then stepped up into the bed and walked toward him, my long black cock wagging obscenely at him.

“Do you trust me, boy?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Do you consent to what comes next?”

“Yes Mistress. I trust you.”

“Very good, boy. I am going to blindfold you now, so that you cannot see what is coming next, you can only hear it and feel it, lost in the darkness and your bonds.”

“Oh yes Mistress,” he moaned for me.

I blindfolded him, then pulled his head back hard and kissed him. My tongue delved into his mouth, tasting his sweetness. He moaned and huffed and pumped his tongue against mine. I sucked his tongue into my mouth, sucked it and teased it, then released it and sucked his bottom lip, scraping it with my teeth. After I had plundered his mouth thoroughly, I forced his head back and tied the blindfold to the headboard, forcing him to keep that position. Then I stood over him and told him that I was going to take him, that I was going to own his ass, and that my cock needed lubricating.  He moaned, and I pressed the head of my strap-on to his lips and he opened them. I told him to suck it good, to coat it with saliva, and when he didn’t coat it as well as I wanted I leaned into him, forcing the cock against the back of his throat, making him gag, making his eyes tear up and his mouth fill with water. I pulled back and my cock was shiny with his saliva.

“Good boy,” I said, and patted him, then kneeled between his spread thighs.

“You are helpless, boy. Blindfolded, naked, and bound. I am going to take you with this,” I said, sliding the head of my strap-on along his perineum. “Do you consent?”

His gasped, “Yes Mistress,” was music to my ears.

I pulled his ass forward, further tilting his hips, and pressed the head of my cock to the tiny opening there. “When the head pops through, I want you to wiggle your ass. IF you wiggle your ass, it will hurt less,” I instructed him.

And then I pushed. A long, slow, hard push that eased the cock into him. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my hands into the muscles of his ass and I pressed deeply into him, opening him up. He moaned and writhed and wriggled and gasped as I fucked his ass.

“Pretty boy, with your cock tied up in ribbons, I want you to cum for me,” I said, when it was apparent that he was reaching the end of his endurance. I slid my fingers over the head of his cock, teasing it.

“I am going to count from 10 to 1, and when I reach one, you will cum. Is that clear?”

“Yes Mistress,” he gasped, and I plunged my stap-on deep into him, angling my hips so I prodded his prostate.

“10. 9. 8…” With each new number a new thrust, long and deep. I had my doubts that he would make it to 1, but he did, and when he came, he came hard, and loud, and thrashed in his bonds. His cum squirted up between us, splattering both our chests.

I pulled out of him, slowly and gently.

“Now you are mine.”

“Yes Mistress,” he uttered weakly, utterly spent, utterly compliant. There was no resistence in him, only softness and subservience. I’d thoroughly subjugated him, owned his ass, and now he was inquestionably mine.

What fun!