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 [...]]]> 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.

Working later hours last night went pretty well, and given that my lover was playing poker with the [...]]]> 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.

I’ve been aware of my power over males since I was 12 years old, and I’ve been teasing them ever since. And oh, the things I’ve gotten men to do for me! [...]]]> So I’ve mentioned my love of strap-on play, and feminization, but I’ve not really mentioned one of my favorite things: plain old-fashioned cock-teasing.

I’ve been aware of my power over males since I was 12 years old, and I’ve been teasing them ever since. And oh, the things I’ve gotten men to do for me! I like turning guys on, getting them worked up, and then denying them access to my body for satisfaction. When I was a teenager, I got boys to masturbate while I watched, and there began my love of Strokers.

I do so enjoy telling a man how to stroke–fast or slow, tightly or lightly; how to touch himself–balls, nipples, etc; and even how to breathe. I like to be an inspiration and guide for male masturbation. Since a young age, I’ve had males offer me control of their cocks. I’ve had guys on their knees begging to please me, begging me to use them, begging for release–begging  just because it feels right to have a Goddess to worship and appeal to for sexual favors.

I’ve had men beg to kiss my feet, stroke my legs, lick my ass. I’ve had men stare longingly at my breasts, daring not to touch or even to ask, and sometimes I’ll absentmindedly stroke my cleavage, or shimmy, or give my nipples a tweak.  Men with body worship fixations are so easy to tease, and I love  using their fixations to torment them without mercy.

Knowing a man is stroking off to me really turns me on. My juices start flowing and I’ll often reward an obedient stroker’s enthusiasm by slipping my fingers into my panties and touching myself, too. It is one of the best things about being a phone sex FemDom–all those men stroking and sighing for me.

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.