Female Domination Vignettes

May 5, 2024 // By:analsex // No Comment

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The table was set. All that was required was Miss Dani, currently in her bedroom changing. I knelt naked at her chair patiently awaiting her arrival and her permission to begin serving.

Just before letting myself into her home that day, I was feeling a mixture of anxiety, joy, misgiving, trepidation and ecstasy. Although I knew she wouldn’t be inside when I got there, I couldn’t stop my shivering. This was to be our first meeting after weeks of IRC chatting. And now, I was about to relinquish my control and beg her to exert full psychological and physical dominance. Her IRC instructions had been explicit. I knew the precise moment I was to arrive and what food I was to prepare.

Without hesitation, I turned the knob, went through the archway, stopped and began disrobing, stacking my clothing neatly in a corner by the door. There wasn’t much time to make my preparations. She’d be home shortly. Just as I was finishing, she came through the door. I rushed to greet her, knelt before her, and licked her shoes. Miss Dani enjoyed my attentions for only a moment, then gave permission to continue my preparations as she changed.

I heard her before I saw her. The click-clack of her heels announced her arrival and her change from day wear to Domina apparel.

“I’ve been looking forward to this, slave. Prostrate yourself. Kiss and lick my leather.”

“Yes, Miss Dani. Thank you, Miss Dani,” I responded, obediently lying face down on her floor, finding the toe of her high-heeled shoe with my mouth, kissing, licking and worshiping.

“Finally,” she said, “my pet is here… and he’s made supper. You may serve me, slave.”

“Yes, Miss Dani,” I responded, crawling to the kitchen to fetch her supper. I returned, served it to her and watched from her side as she began eating. I hoped she liked it.

“Very good, Pet. Would you like a taste?”

“Please, Miss,” I answered. “Yes, I would.”

“Then go get a bowl from the kitchen and bring it back here, puppy. I’ll give you some of my scraps.”

Miss Dani had me place the bowl directly beside her foot and ordered that I crawl under the dining table. I felt her hand ruffling my hair then saw her drop a chunk of food into the bowl. “Eat, puppy. Don’t use your hands.”

I was excited. Miss Dani stimulated my senses with her poise, her attitude, her appearance and her dominance. All I could do was obey, struggling with my mouth in the bowl to eat what she had so kindly given me. Although I couldn’t see her upper body, I perceived Miss Dani’s reach across the table. A moment later, I saw the lashes from her cat’o’nine tails before my eyes.

“Kiss it, slave,” she said. “Kiss and lick it and know that I will be using this whip on you whenever I feel the urge.”

“Yes, Miss Dani. Thank you, Miss Dani.”

She pulled it back up to the table top, then fed me some more, this time from her hand. I had to gently use my lips to take it from her. All through the meal, Miss Dani spoke in terms of her ownership of me: “Before I collar you and take you as my personal slave, whipping boy, pet and toy, this is your final opportunity to leave. What is your intention? Speak freely and completely.”

“Thank you, Miss. Please, Miss Dani, please take me as your personal slave. Please train me to be exactly the kind of slave you need, the kind of slave that — if the occasion warrants — you will be proud of, proud to display to your friends. Please make me humble, obedient, servile and desirous of you through humiliation, bondage, discipline and, if it pleases you, Miss, degradation. Please train my mouth and my ass and my balls and my cock to respond properly to you, Miss. I wish to serve you. I wish to relinquish control to you. Please, Miss Dani, please.”

I waited as she took time to consider my words, then heard her say: “Pet, your training is about to begin. Kiss and lick this collar and know that the moment it’s affixed, you will belong to me — all of you. You will indeed become my personal property. Your training will be prolonged and rigorous. And it will involve discipline, humiliation, bondage and body worship. I will become your demanding and cruel Mistress. In time, you will become my well-trained, obedient and worshipful dog-slave. Our journey is about to begin. Are you ready?”

* * * * *


We’ve met at a lovely restaurant for a leisurely midday repast. We chose this location because of the banquette seating and the long overhang of the table cloth. It hides everything that may – or may not – go on beneath the table top. We’re both dressed elegantly, you in a décolleté dress and me in an expensive suit. Once we’ve been seated and the table moved in on us, we are free to subtly begin what only we know about.

Casually, you command, “Give it to me.”

I undo my zipper, reach into my fly’s opening, and withdraw the ends of the thong tying and separating my balls.

“Not good enough, slave,” you say. “Pull everything out. I want to look down and see your cock and balls.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

With my privates Betturkey exposed only to you, you take the thongs in your hand and give a gentle tug. My eyes tell you I’ve felt your attentions. Throughout lunch, enjoyable by any standard for both the food and the conversation, you regularly remind me who has control of my balls. When the waiter has cleared our plates from the main course, we order coffee. As he heads off to fulfill our request, you reach into your purse, withdraw a small, empty prescription container. Handing it to me, your hand drops to my cock, squeezes it and you say, “You’ve got three minutes. Go to the washroom, jerk off into this vial, then bring it back to me. Go now.”

I zip up quickly, well aware of my time limit, and hurry to the men’s room. Inside a stall, I unzip again, take my cock in hand, and rush my hand up and down, up and down, until I explode into the vial. I just make it back to you within the 3-minute time limit. You take the vial, inspecting my cum through its clear plastic. I have unzipped once again and have placed the thongs within easy reach for you. The coffee is served. You wait for the waiter’s departure, then open the vial and pour my cum into my coffee.

“This will be your cream for the first cup, slave.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

* * * * *

The Shed

“Hot enough for you?”

I turned from my chair in the shade and saw you. The first thing I noticed was your bright yellow sun dress and the matching yellow, strappy, high-heeled sandals. I stood and waited for you to come closer before responding, “Yes, Mistress. I’m sweating just thinking about that grass that needs cutting.”

I knelt and kissed your feet. You left me there for about 30-seconds, then said, “Okay, let’s relax, slave . . . just sit, have a drink and talk.”

I knew you’d planned on coming over so there was a pitcher and two glasses on the patio table. It was just too hot to do anything but be as still as possible.

“I like this house of yours, slave. Even out here we’ve got all the privacy in the world.”

“That’s one of the reasons I bought it, Mistress. For all those other aspects of who I am. Privacy reins supreme.”

“Yes, I’ve learned that about you, among other things. Tell me, are you still planning on putting an implements shed back here?”

“Yes, Mistress, I am. The garage is just too full of tools, shovels, lawn mowers and other stuff. I can hardly get my car in anymore.”

“What will you do, buy a prefab at the building supplies store or design it yourself?”

“I’d like it to fit in and complement the house so I’m planning on designing and building it on my own, Mistress.”

“I’m glad to hear that, slave, because I want you to make it just a little bigger. I want an additional room – insulated and with the proper ventilation – and I want it as a special place where I can put you.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Mmmm. Maybe a little door on it, too, so you can crawl out of your kennel. Yes, slave. That’s what I want. A door for me and an animal door for you. You will never go in that room, except when you’re building it, except by crawling.”

“I understand, Mistress.”

“Don’t get too elaborate with it because it won’t become a dungeon, just a place where I can put you from time to time. But I do want a cage and I do want O-rings built into the walls so I can tie you.”

I remained silent.

She awaited my acknowledgment.

Quickly, I stammered, “Yes, Mistress. I’ll build it that way.”

“Don’t keep me waiting for your responses, slave.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress. I was only thinking about it.”

“Go in the house and bring me your collar and leash, also the small whip. I want to inspect where you’ve chosen to build it.”

Naked and on hands and knees, Mistress led me to the far corner of my property. I indicated the spot, crawling the dimensions I’d planned to give her an idea of the square footage.

“Leave some room at the back by the fence for your doggy door, slave,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“That’s better. But you need to be reminded not to keep me waiting for your answers. Lips to my foot, ass up, slave. Use your tongue gently while I touch you up.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

You whipped me right there. In the sun. And my sweating increased the more you disciplined, the more I worshiped your feet.

“That’s all for now, slave. Thank me before we go back to our refreshment.”

“Thank you, Mistress, for correcting my bad habit of not responding to you quickly enough. I’ll be better in future.”

“I know you will, slave, because if you aren’t I’ll simply whip you again. And you know that if I have to whip you for a second offense on something you’ve already been corrected for, the punishment is far more severe.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

You held my leash tautly. “Let’s go back to the patio. Crawl.”

* * * * *


The door opened but I saw no one. Instead, I hear Mistress’s voice Betturkey Giriş invite me in. Upon her closing it, I could see why she didn’t want to reveal herself in the usual manner. If any passersby had seen her they likely would have cum in their pants. She was carrying a whip and wearing a black leather skirt, seamed stockings, high-heeled boots and a light blouse which allowed her black corset and plumped breasts to show through.

Once inside, door closed, I knelt and paid homage by kissing the toe of each boot. Smiling, she told me to rise and preceded me into the living room. Mistress poured us refreshment then made herself comfortable in an end chair, bidding me to kneel on the floor before her. From that vantage point, I could see the tops of her stockings, garters attached to them, and the flesh of her white thighs. She is beautiful.

“The last time we talked on the phone, you told me you’d taken my photo and my letter to you into the bathroom and jerked off to them. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Put your drink down for a moment and lick my boots. Thank me for providing you that opportunity for an unauthorized cum.”

I bent, extended my tongue and laved her boots, front to back including the heels, and said: “Thank you, Mistress, for sending such provocative material. And forgive me for jerking off to it. I couldn’t help it. Your letter and photo were exciting and stimulating.”

“Very well, slave. You may relax for a moment or two.”

We talked, Mistress wanting to know what business I had in her city and when my first appointment was.

“Not until tomorrow afternoon, Mistress.”

“Good,” she said. “Then we have lots of time to get reacquainted. Stand up, walk over to that closet, take off everything, hang it neatly and crawl back here.”

I removed my suit, shirt and tie and did as instructed. My socks, shoes and underwear hit the floor. After closing the closet door, I got down on all fours and made my way back to my Mistress.

She awaited me with a pair of handcuffs held open. Kneeling before her, I stretched my arms up. Clicking the cuffs shut around my wrists, she brought to mind some of the things she’d told me in her letter.

“Remember what I said about lots of hidden hooks, collars and other things around here. Well, here’s a sample.”

Mistress connected an overhead lead to the chain separating my wrists. Before comprehending what was happening, I was being lifted to a standing position; hands pulled to the stretch-point above my head. It was then I saw the winch on the ceiling and the remote button by her elbow. Naked, I stood suspended as Mistress nonchalantly sipped her drink. “That’s more like it, slave. That’s the way I want you all the time. Helpless and totally dependent on me.”

She put me through inspection, touching, stroking, pinching and caressing as she walked around my hanging carcass. Sensuously, she snuggled into my back, reaching around to stroke my nipples. I felt her heat; her breasts through the blouse and the leather of her skirt pressed against me. I was ecstatic, but frightened at the same time. Mistress was taunting me with her sexuality while playing with my mind. I knew her then to be an able disciplinarian.

Standing in front of me, the whip in her hand, she appeared to be in a thoughtful frame of mind as she let me know that my masturbating to her photo was not something I was going to get away with.

“I’ve forgiven you for getting your jollies with my pic, but you still need to be punished for it. Let’s go for 20. Count them, thank me and beg for another as we go.”

She moved behind, slashing the air with her whip. A moment later, I felt the first blow. I thanked her and begged for another.

It was a study in erogenous disciplinary perfection. Her blows were hard enough to provoke submission, gentle enough to inspire adoration. She was exotically mind-bending. My desire, lust and need to be her slave merged to form a pure, obsequious state. It showed as she continued flogging me. My erection stood proud, not the least humble.

Mistress interrupted my beating from time to time to rub my ass and caress my back, saying such things as: “You’re mine now, slave; you’re mine to do with what I want . . . and I want to do a lot”; and “This is just the appetizer. We’ve got lots of time for more.”

Resuming her seat and pushing the button to lower the winch, Mistress commanded I keep my arms aloft as the chain dropped me back to my knees. She ran the heel of a boot along the length of my shaft.

“This thing is giving you away, slave. It’s telling me you haven’t had nearly enough yet.”

She teased, stroked and manipulated my cock to the point where I was beginning to release pre-seminal fluid. Dabbing, she got some on the toe of her boot, raised her leg so her foot was at my mouth and ordered, “Clean it, slave. Use your tongue to suck and lick your juice from my leather.”

Mistress smiled as I humbled myself, tonguing her boot. By then, there was no turning back. Betturkey Güncel Giriş I was her slave. She held a dog collar to my lips, had me kiss it, then buckled it around my neck. Adding a leash, she sat back in the chair.

“I’ve been looking forward to this, slave. The stories you’ve posted on the Internet have stirred my imagination. We’re going to try everything I’ve seen in your fiction, from the chain attaching your slave collar to my ankle, to your sucking my dildo, to more whipping, to your eating your cum for me. I’m going to keep you in bondage and on your knees worshiping my feet and my body. But, don’t be too enthusiastic. I may take you farther than you’ve ever been. In fact, I intend doing so.”

* * * * *


Armed with the shopping list and the usual tedious Saturday chore begun, first stop was the fruit and vegetable section. Into the cart went bananas, potatoes, green onions, a garlic clove and … Whoa, what’s this? Tall, blonde, black miniskirt, low cut sweater and handling the peaches not six feet away. My chin dropped, my eyes lit up (read that the woman was drop-dead gorgeous!). My eyes scanned to her feet, always a consideration when an imposing female stops me cold like this.

Eureka! I’d won the equivalent of the gawkers’ lotto. Three-inch heels, at least, on a pair of simple, yet elegant, black leather pumps.

She moved. I followed, ever discreet, over to the grapefruits.

She picked up one and that started a bit of an avalanche. Six of the yellow orbs went tumbling to the floor at her feet. Gentleman-like, I bent to help her pick them up.

But, there was no help.

There I was, scrambling mere inches away from that incredibly ravishing woman, staring at her feet and trying to use my peripheral vision to pick up the six.

She simply stood tall and watched.

I put them all back where they belonged, looked at her, and heard the words, “I see you have a fine potential for obedience. Perhaps I shall allow you to explore it one day.”

* * * * *

The Book Shop

The books I buy range through a gamut of themes, from fiction to texts on damn-near-anything to, of course, the erotic. I patronize a local used book shop where I’ve found that if the owner doesn’t have it, she can quickly get it. She’s particularly adept at setting aside things she thinks I’ll like. Often, I don’t even browse, I just go into the back and she takes it from there.

“Is the coffee on?” I asked.

“It’s always on for my favorite customer,” she flirted, an accomplishment for her, a woman in her mid 70s. One of our rituals is to sit and chat for a moment and for us to smoke two of her cigarettes, the brown-papered, extra long More menthols. There’s no getting around it. She insists.

“I’ve got some books I don’t usually deal in that I’ve saved for you,” she said, reaching under her desk. She handed them to me. I was shocked. The five paperbacks, all with graphic artwork and brazenly titled, were entirely concerned with Female Domination. She watched my face flush and used her hand to pat my knee in a calming gesture.

“Don’t get upset. Why shouldn’t I know this about you? After all, I am your book consultant and people’s reading choices tell me a lot about who they are and where their interests lie. Why should you be any different?”

I began sputtering defensively, wanting to keep that part of who I am to myself. But she stopped me cold by saying she’d known for “ages” and that I was still her favorite customer.

“I’ve got two reasons for letting you know I know about your submissive side. The first is to give you these books. The second, maybe more important from your point of view, is who sold them to me.”

The hook went in. Now I was curious.

“Who did bring them in? I asked.

“Do you remember that woman who was here the last time you were in, the one who joined us for coffee?”

“How could I forget. I thought she was really nice, absolutely charming.”

“Funny you should mention it, she felt the same way about you.”

“So, what’s the story? Where did she get them and why did she have them?

“You can be thick sometimes, can’t you, boy?” she said.

“You’re kidding. Her? She believes in Female Domination?”

“Give the man a kewpie doll,” she laughingly responded.

I paused for a moment, then asked, “Why are you being so candid? Does she know you’re telling me about her?”

“I wouldn’t have raised it if she hadn’t given me the okay. She’d love to have a drink with you sometime. But she asks that before you give her a call – yes, I’ve got her number – that you read all five of these books first. She said, and I quote, ‘He must accept everything I’ve underlined – everywhere!’ So, as we say in the book racket, the ball’s in your court.”

I flipped through one of the books, saw some underlining, and read: “I wanted him but I wanted him on my terms. He had to be my slave, be completely subservient to my whims. I intended bondage, discipline, humiliation and obedience training.”

“Have you read the things she underlined?” I asked.

“Yes, I have.”

“What do you think?”

“My friend, do you really believe Female Dominance is something your generation discovered? My prime wasn’t all that long ago, you know.”

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