FEMDOM FIRSTS: How Dominant Women And Their Submissives Got Into The BDSM Lifestyle - Volume 1 of the WellHeeledDominatrix.com Collection Read Online Free Page A
the bathroom.
Defeated, he replied, "Yes, ma'am." After a moment, he called, "Can I get in the shower with you right now?"
I was too sharp for that ploy.
"No," I firmly replied. "You're going to stay right there, tied up, naked, exposed, and HARD until morning."
The Proposal
by Joshua
Looking back, I misread all the signs when Hannah and I were dating. Three months into our relationship when, at the end of an exhilarating duel of tongues, she shut down my hopes to go further. I assumed it was my fault for going too quickly.
Months later, when she would cease a blow job early, or end our coital entanglements as abruptly as they had begun, I assumed it was some fickleness on her part. I would have left a woman with a less captivating charm and I think she knew it. Instead, I found her as intoxicating as she was perplexing and, before I realized it, I was professing my perpetual love over a fancy dinner that ended with me unveiling a tiny sliver of metal and stone to her.
Looking past the ring into my eyes in her sweet yet assertive way, she told me to kneel before her chair with it. Assuming it was a matter of tradition, I indulged her, and knelt at her feet, while presenting the ring with a showy flourish. But, instead of the simple, unequivocal yes that I had expected, she cleared her throat. "I want to be in control," she stated with no other explanation, plucking the ring from my hands, and putting it on her own finger.
No sooner had we gotten in the car than I brought up that I had always considered her an equal in our relationship. When she rebuffed my concern, I asked if it was simply too soon, and if I had not adequately considered her feelings by proposing. She turned to me, and firmly said, "I will be controlling you more now."
Startled, I asked her to explain. As she offered details of what she meant, I began to see a pattern. It was in the bedroom that she craved dominion over me and everything she did was orchestrated to that end. Everything. Her decision to spend more time sculpting her bush than it would have taken to shave or wax wasn't aesthetic, but a way of reminding me that she was a woman, not a girl. Midway through sex, when she called it off, it wasn't tiredness or discomfort. She wanted me to go to bed wanting her. And, when she had given me a blindfold and restraints for my last birthday, they weren't intended to be used on her. As it dawned on me that she wanted to pursue BDSM in our relationship, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. After thinking it over, I resolved to indulge her at least this once, before deciding the fate of our future.
"Will it hurt?" I asked nervously as she fastened the thick restraints around my wrists, and tossed my clothes aside.
"Not much," she replied, without any sense of mirth. "It's more about power. As long as you're a good boy, you should be fine, though I do recall telling you that you weren't allowed to speak." She paused thoughtfully, "I think you need to be reminded that you belong to Lady Hannah." With that, she withdrew to my closet, leaving me to wonder what punishment she had in mind.
When she returned, she was wearing my favorite shirt, a tenderly worn t-shirt commemorating a concert I had attended years ago. It hung loosely over her body as she crossed the room to stand beside the bed. Peeling the shirt off in a single motion, she revealed a tight, black bustier and a matching pair of crotchless panties underneath. Leaning in, she whispered huskily into my ear. "We're just animals," she hissed. "We have to mark what's ours."
With a slight tinge of fear, I locked eyes with her and she smiled cruelly as she casually tossed the t-shirt to her feet. Never breaking her self-sure grin, she squatted until her eyes were level with mine, and released a thin stream of urine onto the crumpled shirt. Staring helplessly, fear washed over me as I wondered what my captor intended to do with the soiled fabric. Breaking eye contact, I glanced
Defeated, he replied, "Yes, ma'am." After a moment, he called, "Can I get in the shower with you right now?"
I was too sharp for that ploy.
"No," I firmly replied. "You're going to stay right there, tied up, naked, exposed, and HARD until morning."
The Proposal
by Joshua
Looking back, I misread all the signs when Hannah and I were dating. Three months into our relationship when, at the end of an exhilarating duel of tongues, she shut down my hopes to go further. I assumed it was my fault for going too quickly.
Months later, when she would cease a blow job early, or end our coital entanglements as abruptly as they had begun, I assumed it was some fickleness on her part. I would have left a woman with a less captivating charm and I think she knew it. Instead, I found her as intoxicating as she was perplexing and, before I realized it, I was professing my perpetual love over a fancy dinner that ended with me unveiling a tiny sliver of metal and stone to her.
Looking past the ring into my eyes in her sweet yet assertive way, she told me to kneel before her chair with it. Assuming it was a matter of tradition, I indulged her, and knelt at her feet, while presenting the ring with a showy flourish. But, instead of the simple, unequivocal yes that I had expected, she cleared her throat. "I want to be in control," she stated with no other explanation, plucking the ring from my hands, and putting it on her own finger.
No sooner had we gotten in the car than I brought up that I had always considered her an equal in our relationship. When she rebuffed my concern, I asked if it was simply too soon, and if I had not adequately considered her feelings by proposing. She turned to me, and firmly said, "I will be controlling you more now."
Startled, I asked her to explain. As she offered details of what she meant, I began to see a pattern. It was in the bedroom that she craved dominion over me and everything she did was orchestrated to that end. Everything. Her decision to spend more time sculpting her bush than it would have taken to shave or wax wasn't aesthetic, but a way of reminding me that she was a woman, not a girl. Midway through sex, when she called it off, it wasn't tiredness or discomfort. She wanted me to go to bed wanting her. And, when she had given me a blindfold and restraints for my last birthday, they weren't intended to be used on her. As it dawned on me that she wanted to pursue BDSM in our relationship, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. After thinking it over, I resolved to indulge her at least this once, before deciding the fate of our future.
"Will it hurt?" I asked nervously as she fastened the thick restraints around my wrists, and tossed my clothes aside.
"Not much," she replied, without any sense of mirth. "It's more about power. As long as you're a good boy, you should be fine, though I do recall telling you that you weren't allowed to speak." She paused thoughtfully, "I think you need to be reminded that you belong to Lady Hannah." With that, she withdrew to my closet, leaving me to wonder what punishment she had in mind.
When she returned, she was wearing my favorite shirt, a tenderly worn t-shirt commemorating a concert I had attended years ago. It hung loosely over her body as she crossed the room to stand beside the bed. Peeling the shirt off in a single motion, she revealed a tight, black bustier and a matching pair of crotchless panties underneath. Leaning in, she whispered huskily into my ear. "We're just animals," she hissed. "We have to mark what's ours."
With a slight tinge of fear, I locked eyes with her and she smiled cruelly as she casually tossed the t-shirt to her feet. Never breaking her self-sure grin, she squatted until her eyes were level with mine, and released a thin stream of urine onto the crumpled shirt. Staring helplessly, fear washed over me as I wondered what my captor intended to do with the soiled fabric. Breaking eye contact, I glanced
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