Female Domination - brought to you by LDW Group » Feminization/Sissies

He wants me to teach his wife

Empress Pamela — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 01:35:04 +0000

When I was in college I dated a guy who had submissive fantasies. He loved bondage and domination, loved cock and ball torture, teasing and denial. And he loved pegging. The sight of my strap-on made him so aroused he’d get a fine tremor in his hands that slowly spread through his entire body. Once I realized the power these fantasy-fulfillment scenes had over him I limited him to one day a month, the second Saturday of the month, during which he was entirely mine to do with as I pleased, the only caveat he made being that he would be allowed to orgasm by the end of the day. Which seemed more than fair, at the time.

As the day approached, I would tease him, saying things like “second Saturday is Submission Day,” building up his excitement to the point that he was willing to do anything I wanted — including being forced to wear women’s clothing. or wearing nothing but a thong while I was entertaining guests. The whole clothed female naked male thing really drove him wild. And it was this willingness I exploited in the days leading up to The Day, testing the depths of his submissiveness and his capacity for erotic humiliation.

He called me the other day, saying he’d gotten married recently and he wanted to know how to broach the subject with his wife. He even asked me if I would be willing to talk to his wife about it. Now wouldn’t that be an interesting conversation? Apparently its been long enough since he’s had a good old-fashion D/s session that he’s been masturbating compulsively to the memories of the things I’ve done to and with him. Poor dear. I told him I’d think about it.

What do you think? Should I help him break it to his wife that he’s a sub, and teach her how to dominate him?

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What a homecumming!

Empress Pamela — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 01:25:08 +0000

I spent most of the past month in the wine country of the Central Coast of California. Eventually it was time to say goodbye to my family and my kinky friends and head home. I look a very roundabout way, driving Highway 41 all the way across the state into the Sierra Nevadas, where I spent a day or two visiting The Major (Daddy) and then headed home.

When I arrived, my lover greeted me with shrimp scampi and chardonnay and a long flat gift box full of lingerie–my reward for coming home to him. It is a La Perla Black lace vision bustier and garter belt and sheer black thigh-high stockings. It is mostly transparent and filmy and fits me perfectly — meaning the cup size is a bit small and so my breasts almost spill over the top

I am wearing it right now and I must say that I feel incredibly feminine in it. I love the fabrics–the chantilly lace and the silk are so luxurious, and the sheer chiffon barely skims my belly when I move–making me hyper-aware of my skin. The panties are tiny and made of barely-there transparent black fabric. I wonder how many pantyboys would love to try to fit them over their bulging cocks as they stroke and stroke and stroke. I am thinking about how some of my sissies out there would absolutely ache to be able to wear something like this and look as hot as I do.

As soon as my lover saw me in this outfit he scooped me up and carried me off to the bedroom, which is why I’m in such a good mood. I’m sure all the cuckold fetishists out there would have loved to have been present for the action. My lover is hung like a bull moose and even now, hours after our last fuck, I can still feel where his cock rammed so deeply into me–so deeply that his cum is only just now starting to work its way out of me. And you know what that means, don’t you? Some lucky bastard gets clean up duty. It could be you, if you call soon

Why sissies love to preen

Empress Pamela — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 04:21:33 +0000

Why do sissies love to get dressed up and preen? The answer is obvious. To me at least. From birds to fish to mammals, the male of most species has flair. More colour, more flash, more decoration with which to catch the eyes of breeding females, and to intimidate marauding males with. But not humans. No. Our species has lost its feathers, so to speak, but not the urge to preen. So we dress up, males and females alike, and some males, more so than others. And some males, well, they dress up in secret, putting on their pretties, dressing up in outfits that would put most women to shame — if only women saw them. But not so long ago, men wore silks and satins, tight breeches, kilts and pumps. They powdered their faces, wore eye-catching wigs, and yes, even carried fans. Ah my sweet sissies, don’t you see, your urge to dress up is a biological urge, something primal, something from deep inside your racial memory? Perhaps you were born too late, who knows? But there is no need to be ashamed. No need to hide. There are women out there who think boys in dresses are sexy. I love my men in black–dresses that is. So dress up in your pretties and call me… prance for me and preen for me, your loving Mistress Pamela. We will have lots of naughty fun and you will have all the freedom you need to be whoever you want to be with me.

Closet Cocksucker

Empress Pamela — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 08:18:35 +0000

I posted new audios to the Sissy School Forum at www.getgirlie.com and the Cock Control Forum at www.teasemania.com, so go check them out.

The most recent one I call Closet Cocksucker:
I know your fantasies. I know your dreams.
I’m so deep into your head that I can see what goes on in the playground of your mind, the smutty, dank, dungeon of your mind.
I know you fantasize about being bound and forced,
forced to do all those dirty, disgusting faggotty things
you secretly long to do.
I know you, boy.
I know that after you’ve watched your she-male sissy porn and jerked off to it, you can’t keep your eyes off other men’s packages.
You can’t help but wonder what their cocks look like as you spot them walking down the street, dismounting their bikes, sitting at a nearby table, their legs spread wide.
I know you want to crawl under the table. I see it in your mind, see that fleeting fantasy bloom in your mind before you shut it down with a mental “I mustn’t, its wrong.”
But as wrong as it is, your mouth waters when you imagine yourself tied up in some seedy dungeon with a big hairy man standing over you, his muscular thighs furred and his cock, still flaccid, twitching just inches from your nose.
And that is where I come in, me, the FemDom, the angelic demon in your head, saying:
Suck it!
Open your mouth, sissyboy, and take that cock into your mouth or I’ll make you hurt in ways you’ve never imagined you could hurt.
Open your mouth and tongue the head of that cock.
You know you want to.

My little geisha gurl

Empress Pamela — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 06:53:13 +0000

I brought some kimonos back from Japan. There is one of gold silk with a peacock brocade and a sapphire blue obi. Another that is sky-blue silk with a brocade of a geisha and her maiko doing cherry blossom viewing from a boat. The obi for it is a pale pink that picks out the color of the cherry blossoms on the kimono. I also found one in a pale jade color with another geisha scene, this one silk-screened instead of brocaded. And I picked up a handful of yukatas as well, the lighter-weight kimono-type robes, and some of those odd split-toe socks that the Japanese wear with their sandals.

I’ve enjoyed dressing boys and gurls up as maiko (apprentice geisha). Some I have had to be very persuasive with, because they were rather reluctant to let me powder their skin white and put ornaments in their hair and dress them up and take them out. But others, well, there are some sissies out there who just love being dressed up and fussed over and taken for walks at the Japanese gardens. All those photo opportunities! I tell you, I swear some sissies cum in their panties just sitting there while people ask to take their photos.

Some of my clients find the process both very sensuous and pampering — from the long soak in the tubs, to the massages and the being slowly made up and dressed, coached on mannerisms, and then put on display like ikebana, a fragile flower arrangement. But there were some naughty subs that I had to tie up just like Denise Beryl in the Miss High Heels story and then cane them, or spank their hands and feet, or even gag them.

I wonder which of you will be next in line to be my little geisha gurl?

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!