Female Domination - brought to you by LDW Group » Erotica

Careful what you wish for

Empress Pamela — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 01:12:20 +0000

He said he wanted me. He said he’d do anything for a chance at me. When I asked him to be more specific about what he wanted, he blushed a bit, then said he wanted to be naked in bed with me.

“And you said you’d do anything?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said in a rushed explosion of air from his lungs. “Anything.”

I smiled at him. A soft smile that hinted at intimacy to come. If he’d been looking into my eyes he would have seen the pity there. And he would have known that he was in trouble. Would have run the other way, even. Silly man, wine had made him brave enough to forget his reservations. And his gloves. When you play with fire, you really ought to wear gloves.

So I took him to my room. My cousin’s home, rather ostentatiously called a “chateau” for the benefit of the winery, had many rooms, and mine was at the end of a rather long hallway, as secluded from the vanilla guests as he could comfortably put me without incurring insult or temptation. There is a history between my cousin and me…

I let the beaming man into my room. He looked like a child, radiant with joy, and eager, oh so eager, to please. Part of me pitied him, but part of me looked pitilessly upon him. He had some lessons to learn, this man-boy. Three, in fact. One, be careful what you wish for, it might come true. Two, beware offering anything for something. And three, what drew him so strongly to me was my dominance–so it was time to learn about submission.

I stood before him, hands on hips and told him that his wish “to be naked in bed with me” was granted. I made him strip naked. Utterly naked, save for the ribbons I placed around his little cock and balls and tied into pretty bows. And I was in bed with him alright, crop in hand. After a few cuts of my crop he begged for me to let him go, and yet he was unbound. He was free to leave, I told him. He could pick up his clothes and step outside to dress whenever he wished. But he stayed, as I knew he would. His little cock was hard, all tied up in its frilly bondage, and he ridiculously held out hope that he’d get to be with me. Be inside me. Ewww.! Like I’d grant a pathetic small-dicked loser like him access to my body in that way! My body is a temple and he was fit only to worship at it. And so that is what I taught him. How to worship my body, how to be my throne, how to serve me. He said he’d do anything to be naked in bed with me, and, well, he nearly did everything.

There are some things I didn’t do. Like let him cum. He was intoxicated, afterall.

Grape Expectations.

Empress Pamela — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 06:05:38 +0000

Summer’s end. Time for the grape, both sipping and harvesting. I’ve got this huge extended family here in California–we were here prior to the Gold Rush –and along with orange and avocado groves, there are miles of vines. Everyone gathers for the press and for futures tasting, and during one of the gatherings some friends of my cousins caught me in an odd moment. I’d just gotten off the phone with my lover, who was on his way out of the country and was pouty (though he denied it) over the fact that I was not accompanying him this time.

Jim and Bev were on the deck sipping chardonnay when I stepped outside. I was tucking my phone away between my breasts when he looked directly at me and said “That gives whole new meaning to ‘you’re talking to my breasts’,” and then laughed at his own joke. I smiled politely at him, remembering that he and his wife owned a local B&B that my cousins had cross-promotion arrangements with. Be nice, I told myself.

Bev held out her hand. “You’re Pamela aren’t you? I’m–”

“Bev,” I interrupted her. She seemed pleased that I remembered her name.

“You really are lovely,” she said. “You look just like your grandmother… wasn’t she French?” Which lead to a discussion of where I get my looks–Yes, my paternal grandmother was French and Arab–she had an Algerian grandmother herself, and the coloring that distinguished me from all my blond cousins did indeed come from her side of the family.

I did my best to re-direct the conversation toward them, asking after their children. Most people love talking about themselves, but for some reason, Jim and Bev were fascinated with me and would not be deterred.

“So what is it that you do?” Jim asked me. Like most people, especially men, Jim operated under the the assumption that you are what you do.

I laughed behind the rim of my wine glass. “Oh wouldn’t you like to know!”

“Of course,” said Bev, giving me her full attention.

“Oh, I don’t do much of anything,” I said airily, prevaricating. For some reason the small amount of wine I’d taken in interfered with my ability to pull whatever seemed suitable out of my bag of talents and skills. Since I’d moved back home to California I usually said I was a perpetual student, or taking a sabbatical, or confessed with mock shame to living off oil lease income. All true, in their own way, but not the whole truth. While I am known as the sexually deviant black sheep of the family, I have been careful to be discreet so as not to be a source of discomfort for the more prominent members of the family.

“Now that I find difficult to believe,” boomed Jim. “You’ve got too much energy to be the laze-about type.”

Bev touched my arm. “There’s no need to be shy with us.”

The ridiculousness of anyone considering me shy made me laugh again. I imagined them both kneeling naked at my feet, presenting the implements they’d chosen to be punished with. I banished the image from my mind as inappropriate and focused my attention on Jim and Bev, reminding myself that they were business associates of my cousin.

“Are you the one who is a scientist?” Jim asked.

Without thinking, I answered, “I was,” and then kicked myself. I could have bored them with talk of genome mapping and PCR and they wouldn’t have been any the wiser.

“And now?” Bev asked. She leaned into me, brushing her hip against mine. I knew that move and what it signified.

I gave her a big grin. “You might want to get that idea out of your head,” I said to her.

“What idea?” she asked, her eyebrows raised high over wide eyes.

“The one where you and your husband take me home and have your way with me,” I laughed. “I’d top you both in a heartbeat.”

When the look on their faces registered, I rewound what I’d said in my mind and then gave myself another kick. The heated discussion with my lover had me a bit more flustered than I’d realized, if I was slipping up so badly.

The change in their energy was like the difference between a light bulb and a solar flare.

“You’re in the lifestyle?” Jim asked, with incredulous hope.

Ah well, no sense trying to close the barn door now. I chose the simplest, most straightforward word I knew.

“FemDom.”

It hung there between us.

“Come home with us….” Bev suggested softly, her longing perfuming the night air. I could smell her arousal.

I thought about my lover, who was boarding his international flight right about then. I hadn’t seen him in a week and my sexual frustration was acute. It would be another 10 days before I saw him, and it was unthinkable what might happen when we did end up in bed if I didn’t get some of my frustration worked out beforehand.

I made up my mind. “Ok. Lets go.” I said, setting my glass down on the railing.

I glanced from one to the other, looking forward to some serious queening. One of them was going to learn to breathe pussy juice toight, and I was leaning rather heavily toward Bev. No one sucks cock like a man, and no one eats pussy like a woman.

“Well?” I asked them, my eyebrows arched imperiously.

“I’ll get the car,” was Jim’s answer.

Bev and I linked our arms and followed behind at a leisurely pace.

-*-

By dawn we fell asleep in a heap. They’d both been paddled and thoroughly sucked and fucked. And me, well, I rode face for much of the night just like I’d wanted, when I wasn’t using my strap-on… What in the Dickens — talk about Grape Expectations

The Secret Life of John and Sara, 15

Empress Pamela — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 06:49:47 +0000

This is Part Fifteen of The Secret Life of John and Sara, started here.

The Secret Life of John and Sara is based on a true story. I’ve fictionalized it to protect the identities of my friends John and Sara, whose ‘secret life’ is secret for a very good reason. John is a Silicon Valley CEO, a sissy and a cuckold, and Sara is a 40-something nymphomaniac Nurse Administrator. I was going to end with episode 14, but I heard from people asking me to continue, so here is the rest of their story:

Watching John blow his load in Sara’s mouth was intense. Underneath the lingerie and make-up was a man who bellowed when he climaxed. He pulled his cock out of her mouth and squirted on her face, and as he did so he verbally humiliated her, finally venting the months of frustration and agony he’d felt over being cuckolded. He needed that release, and I think that, ultimately, Sara needed to know that her husband was still a man. After marking her as his territory, it seemed to me she wouldn’t have any more doubts, even if her husband did like to wear dresses on occasion.

As she obediently kneeled for her facial, I slipped my hand between her legs. The space between her thighs radiated heat, and when my fingers touched the crotch of her pants, they found a slippery wetness. Sara was so aroused she’d soaked through her panties and her pants.

“My, my,” I drawled into her ear. “You’ve enjoyed being treated like a slut, haven’t you, Sara?”

Her only response was a shudder as my fingers pressed hard along the seam of her pants.

I grabbed her by the hair and forced her to her feet, marching her into the nearby bathroom. I shoved her toward the large oval mirror, so she could see the globs of her husband’s cum on her face.

“You’re done, Sara. No more boy-toys. No more cock-locks.”

I gestured for John to come into the room and stand beside Sara before the mirror.

“See him?”

She closed her eyes in rejection of the sight of her husband. I tightened my hand in her hair and shook her.

“See him? He’s a man who likes to wear lingerie. So what? He’s got a cock that works and hands that know how to hold you. What’s your bitch, slut?”

(To be continued…)

The Secret Life of John and Sara, 14

Empress Pamela — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 07:19:17 +0000

This is Part Fourteen of The Secret Life of John and Sara, started here.

The Secret Life of John and Sara is based on a true story. I’ve fictionalized it to protect the identities of my friends John and Sara, whose ‘secret life’ is secret for a very good reason. John is a Silicon Valley CEO, a sissy and a cuckold, and Sara is a 40-something nymphomaniac Nurse Administrator. Here is their story:

“I said SUCK IT!” My tone was forceful and demanding and brooked no argument.

Sara opened her lips, took John’s twitching sex into her mouth and started sucking. He groaned beautifully as his poor tortured cock–finally freed of its chastity device–grew in her mouth, a sound of mingled pain and pleasure. He grabbed for his wife’s head and I released her into his hands, watching as his long fingers bunched in her hair and buried her face against him. She gagged a bit and tried to pull back but I pressed my hand against the back of her head.

“Take it you little bitch. Suck that cock!” I pushed her head even farther down onto him, holding her there until she started to heave and press her hands frantically against his thighs.

We let her get some air, and then John shoved his cock back into her mouth, fucking her face in earnest. I was really enjoying the sight of a man dressed up in women’s lingerie fucking a woman’s face. There was something almost poetic about both the scene and the payback.

I got down on my knees beside her so I could whisper into her ear, and I untied my little leather paddle from my belt. I gathered her wrists up behind her with one hand and with the other, I held my paddle.

“You are such a good little cock-sucker, Sara. I always imagined you would be,” I said into her ear and signaled to her John. He pulled his cock out of her mouth and then I let my paddle fall against her ass. She jumped and cried out.

“Owww!”

I paddled her a few times in short succession. She struggled a bit, sawing her wrists, but seeing as she could have easily broken my hold, it was obviously a token resistence. She was softening up very nicely.

I pointed at Sara, then mimed slapping my own face. I looked up at John. He gave me a questioning look. I frowned at him.

He slapped her. Then, in a moment of inspiration, he said, “Bitch, get back to sucking my cock!”

Sara gasped. “What did you call me?”

“Bitch. I’m your husband. Now. Suck. My. Cock.” And with that little serving of humiliation, he grabbed the back of her head and shoved it toward him, toward his stockinged thighs and panty-lined balls.

As he pulled his wife onto his cock, I grinned at John. The man was learning fast that he could be every inch the man even wearing panties. A cross-dresser he might be, but a sissy he was not. And I had a feeling that it was going to be a long time before Sara thought about cuckolding him again. We’d both make sure of that….

THE END (Or rather, the intermission. If I get enough interest, I might continue on to the good parts, you know, strap-ons and bondage and all that I DO SO LOVE COUPLES DOMINATION)

The Secret Life of John and Sara, 13

Empress Pamela — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 09:26:30 +0000

This is Part Thirteen of The Secret Life of John and Sara, started here.

The Secret Life of John and Sara is based on a true story. I’ve fictionalized it to protect the identities of my friends John and Sara, whose ‘secret life’ is secret for a very good reason. John is a Silicon Valley CEO, a sissy and a cuckold, and Sara is a 40-something nymphomaniac Nurse Administrator. Here is their story:

I held my hand out toward John with an imperious gesture.

“The key.” I demanded.

He dropped it into my palm.

“Stand in front of your wife.”

He gave me a questioning look, but did as I said. He appeared to have some misgivings about how I was handling his wife. He had no idea that she was softening up rather nicely. Like taffy, she just needed to be pulled in two different directions at once in order to make her maleable.

I pulled sharply downward on Sara’s hair, forcing her head backward. I looked into her eyes for a long moment, enjoying what I saw there, enjoying the flow of power between us.

“You will remove the chastity device,” I said to her, and held the key over her face. She blinked rapidly a few times, then slowly lifted her hand to take the key from me.

I loosened my grip on her hair.

“Good girl,” I said warmly, aprovingly, and she gave a small sigh of relief.

I watched her lean toward her husband. It was an interesting juxtaposition, one that amused me greatly. There John was, standing over his wife in his lingerie, stockings and heels, while she knelt, fully clothed and obviously cowed, before him, her hands fumbling with the clear plastic chastity restraint she’d locked on him last month.

I could tell when it was removed by the huge sigh he gave. His big hand went down to where his cock and balls were hanging outside his panties and he touched himself with obvious relief. He started to move away but I gave my head a firm shake and gave him a stern look. I tightened my hand in Sara’s hair, and pushed her father forward, toward her husband’s satiny groin. She resisted, making me smile.

“I think you owe John a blow job, darling Sara,” I drawled. “I understand its been months since he had one.”

“No! Not while he’s dressed up like that!”

“Like what?” I asked

“He looks like a she-male slut!”

“Mmmmm…” I purred. “Doesn’t he though? That’s what makes it so delicious…” I let my words trail off. Then I gave her head a good shake by the hair again.

“Suck it!”

To be continued tomorrow…

The Secret Life of John and Sara, 12

Empress Pamela — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 05:24:59 +0000

This is Part Twelve of The Secret Life of John and Sara, started here.

The Secret Life of John and Sara is based on a true story. I’ve fictionalized it to protect the identities of my friends John and Sara, whose ‘secret life’ is secret for a very good reason. John is a Silicon Valley CEO, a sissy and a cuckold, and Sara is a 40-something nymphomaniac Nurse Administrator. Here is their story:

There was no doubt in my mind that Sara was innately submissive. Her attempts at turning her husband into a sissy cuckold hadn’t been signs of dominance so much as childish bitchiness. I took one of her nipples in one hand and tightened the other in her hair. I gave her nipple a firm tweak, then gave her head a shake. She moaned languidly and her eyes opened slowly.

“What’s this nonsense about putting John in chastity?” I asked her in a low, vicious voice.

Her eyes opened wider.

I gave her nipple another tweak, this one designed to zing along her nerve-endings with just enough pain to season the pleasure.

“Owww! …ah….” Her protest was cut short by my fingers tightening in her hair.

I dropped my hand from her nipple down to the crotch of her pants, my fingers cupping up into her and the heel pressing hard against her clit. Her body bucked a bit under me and I smiled into her eyes–smiled slowly, sensuously, and with just a hint of cruelty.

“Where is the key, little cat?”

“In–in my closet, hanging–” she swallowed “hanging from my belt rack.”

“Good girl,” I said to her. I looked over my shoulder at John. “Go get the key.”

She looked up at me with her hazel-gold eyes. Her expression seemed resigned.

“He told you,” she said, simply. And those simple words said everything.

“Yes,” I said, giving Sara’s pussy a squeeze. “He told me how naughty you’ve been, you slut.”

She hissed in her breath and moved under me, her inner thighs grinding my hand tighter against her pussy. “I just wanted my husband back,” she said, almost wistfully.

When John came back with the key he was still wearing his lingerie, and his heels clicked on the beeswax of the ancient oak flooring. I stood up and man-handled Sara onto her knees by the hair.

To be continued tomorrow…

The Secret Life of John and Sara, 11

Empress Pamela — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 06:22:53 +0000

This is Part Eleven of The Secret Life of John and Sara, started here.

The Secret Life of John and Sara is based on a true story. I’ve fictionalized it to protect the identities of my friends John and Sara, whose ‘secret life’ is secret for a very good reason. John is a Silicon Valley CEO, a sissy and a cuckold, and Sara is a 40-something nymphomaniac Nurse Administrator. Here is their story:

Since Sara seemed to be so stunned she was incapable to doing anything but gaping at us, I gave her something to gape at.

I gave her husband a rough kiss and dropped his head back on the couch. Then I stood up, smoothed my hands over my luscious body, making sure she got a good look at every curve, and walked boldly toward Sara, watching her face every step of the way.

You’re mine, I thought at her. You’re a little bitch in heat and I’m going to show you your place in the world. In Pamela’s world. I fingered my dildo in its holster, lifting it an inch and letting it fall back into place. I so wanted to bend the bitch double and fuck her hard with my strap-on. I pictured it in my mind’s eye and projected it at her.

Her eyes fluttered. She was having trouble holding my gaze. I felt a sense of triumph. I’d gotten a lot of practice at seducing women when I was at college and I knew the signs.

I sat across her lap. She was so much taller than me that in other clothes I might have looked like a child sitting there. But as a Dominatrix I owned every inch of me, and every inch of her, too, though she didn’t know it yet. I slipped a hand under her hair and tangled my fingers at the back of her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed for a long moment.

“Mmmm…. beautiful Sara. I’ve wanted to kiss you for years… but I knew the Major wouldn’t approve.”

Her eyes opened, focussed on my mouth, my mouth covered in her husband’s lipstick. I lowered my face toward hers and she made a protesting noise at the back of her throat. I slipped my other hand up to her throat and splayed my fingers across it, adding the faintest bit of pressure.

“Kiss me,” I commanded her. “Kiss me. I know you want to.”

My dark eyes held hers, mesmerizing her. Kiss me, I thought at her, and pushed on the back of her head. Her eyes closed and she surrendered to my kiss. I brushed her mouth lightly, tenderly, until she released the breath she’d been holding. I kissed her again, kissed her eyelids and her cheeks, nibbled on her chin.

When she started panting, I yanked her head back hard and slid my tongue into her mouth.

She moaned and her hands came up to hold me and in that moment I knew I had her.

Yes, I thought. She’s mine!

The Secret Life of John and Sara, 10

Empress Pamela — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 06:22:19 +0000

This is Part Ten of The Secret Life of John and Sara, started here.

The Secret Life of John and Sara is based on a true story. I’ve fictionalized it to protect the identities of my friends John and Sara, whose ‘secret life’ is secret for a very good reason. John is a Silicon Valley CEO, a sissy and a cuckold, and Sara is a 40-something nymphomaniac Nurse Administrator. Here is their story:

I wasn’t quite sure how things would go forward for the evening, but I wanted to make sure to lay some groundwork. I told John that if they were ever going to have a normal sex life again then he needed to re-establish himself as a sexual object in Sara’s eyes regardless of how he was dressed — and that was where I would come in. I told him that no matter what happened, no matter what Sara said, he was not to follow her orders, but mine. He had to stop being submissive to Sara. If she gave him a command, he was to look very pointedly at me, and follow my directions, no matter what.

Sara called when she was on her way home from work. We chatted for a few minutes and she asked after John. I knew she was probably wondering if he’d exposed himself as a cross-dresser or not, and I decided to let her think he hadn’t. I told her he was being an excellent host and ended the call with the anticipation of having lots to talk about when she arrived.

She walked in on me and John on the couch. He was laying on his back wearing a bra and panties, thigh-high stockings, and heels. I was straddling him in my full Domme-gear, including the holster strapped to my thigh with a dildo stuffed in it. She gasped and we both turned to look at her. His hair was in my fist and his lipstick was smudged and he didn’t have to pretend to be alarmed. Me, I grinned at Sara, told her she had an amazingly sexy husband, and asked if I could have the key to his cock-lock, seeing as she didn’t seem to have use for his cock anymore and I was interested to find out how well it worked after several weeks of forced chastity.

Sara’s jaw dropped. So did her purse and her keys. She staggered over to a chair and sat down, staring. Staring.

John and I sat there in our clinch on the couch, waiting. How was Sara going to react?

To be continued tomorrow…

The Secret Life of John and Sara, 9

Empress Pamela — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 06:21:06 +0000

This is Part Nine of The Secret Life of John and Sara, started here.

The Secret Life of John and Sara is based on a true story. I’ve fictionalized it to protect the identities of my friends John and Sara, whose ‘secret life’ is secret for a very good reason. John is a Silicon Valley CEO, a sissy and a cuckold, and Sara is a 40-something nymphomaniac Nurse Administrator. Here is their story:

“I won’t tell The Major if you won’t,” I said to John, mostly for effect.

Daddy already knew how I was.

An uncle figured it out when I was 10 or 11 and I overheard him saying to my father, “She can’t be trained like the others, Simon, she’s not going to just take orders. She’s spirited, like my stud, or my lead mare. She’s going to take careful handling. You’ve got a little dominatrix on your hands, mark my words.”

But John didn’t know that Daddy knew, and in saying that, I’d gained his trust. He thought we both had something we wanted kept from The Major, and that gave us a bond.

“I need to ask you some questions, John, and I want you to answer honestly. I have some ideas, but I need more information.”

John agreed with great relief, and I asked him a plethora of questions while he made us virgin mojitos and we moved out onto the deck that faced north, toward the bay.

The picture that I constructed after my battery of questions and his candid answers was this: He and Sara had dabbled in dominance and submission, had even gone to The Citadel in the City once in a while. Yes, Sara seemed to enjoy being submissive, and no, she’d not shown any inclinations toward dominance until the past year. No, being submissive didn’t arouse him, not the way being feminized did. When I asked him about his cross-dressing, I learned quite a lot. He’d gotten started with an ex-girl friend’s panties–jerking off into them. Then he jerked off wearing the panties. He liked the softness of the fabric. And there was something about the fear of discovery that added extra spice to it. As he’d gotten older and building his business became more stressful, he sometimes sought refuge in dressing like a woman, because when he was dressed like a woman he could find emotional release from the tension by crying, acting frivolous and care-free, or simply allowing himself to feel helpless.

But in the past 6 months Sara had taken him places he never wanted to go, places he wasn’t sure he wanted to visit ever again. Forced feminization had really pushed the line, but with cuckolding and chastity she’d taken things way too far — and now he wasn’t sure how to get his marriage back on track.

When he finished talking, I asked him a question that surprised him. Had Sara ever been with another woman?

His affirmative answer had me going “Yes!” A plan had been forming in my mind, and that final bit of information had me fairly confident of success.
To be continued tomorrow…

The Secret Life of John and Sara, 8

Empress Pamela — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 06:38:36 +0000

This is Part Eight of The Secret Life of John and Sara, started here.

The Secret Life of John and Sara is based on a true story. I’ve fictionalized it to protect the identities of my friends John and Sara, whose ‘secret life’ is secret for a very good reason. John is a Silicon Valley CEO, a sissy and a cuckold, and Sara is a 40-something nymphomaniac Nurse Administrator. Here is their story:

The old hacienda John and Sara owned was a sprawling U shaped building erected around a central courtyard. I had no idea how many bedrooms they had but I knew there were many — enough to hold a couple dozen guests. One of the rooms I’d stayed in during a big gathering had a huge mission-style four-poster bed in it, a bed that I knew I’d have use for, even if it wasn’t for sleeping.

When I found the room I dumped my gear in it and did some setup work, including stringing some ropes from the sturdy canopy that enclosed the bed. I laid out my strap-on harness and a couple of dildos, lubricants (including the warming type), and on the bench at the foot of the bed, I placed a couple of floggers, a paddle, and a crop — all the toys I considered necessary for a sensual domination session. Then I found the closest bedroom and unpacked some of my clothes, looking for the black satin skirt that I knew would go perfectly with my bustier.

I went upstairs and stood in the doorway of the living room, where John had returned to wait for me. I’d put on a thigh-length black vinyl overcoat and knee-boots that gave me a fetishy dominant look, especially combined with my hair pulled back in a cone-shaped leather fastener that added height and severity.

For the second time that day, John jumped when he spotted me.

To be continued tomorrow…