(Originally posted on FetLife, April 19, 2016)
17 April 2016
Last night, the last customer of the evening pisses me off.
Actually, no. That is a gross understatement. He insulted me to the point that I bypassed the “offended” stage and went right into that desperate need of breaking something – potentially many things – to alleviate my anger.
I get in my car and screamed loudly. Traffic. Just great. More screaming, my blood past boiling point.
I get home in a huff. My beloved house husband meets me with his usual puppy-like enthusiasm, craving my attention, but I would have none of that. I do not want him getting injured because of my anger. I undress and parade my naked body before him as I look around for my gym clothes. I need to work out some frustration. Hubby pouts – he cannot join me at the gym. I tell him to clean himself up and be ready for when I get home.
I run off some steam and work up a good sweat for about an hour at the local gym. I do not check my texts or even bother giving my boy-toy news of when I am planning to return. I use the massage bed at the gym for a few minutes… I calm down just barely enough to ensure that there would be no real damage caused to my husband.
Post-workout, I call him up. “I’ll be home in fifteen minutes. Run me a hot bath and wait for me by the door. Greet me on your knees.” And I set off on my short drive home.
He knows it’s me as soon as I set foot into our building. According to my house-husband, I have a particular sound to my step that is unmistakeable. I take my time up to the second floor landing and up to my door. He opens it from inside, kneeling naked, all too willing and eager. Good.
I step into the apartment. “The bath is run, Miss,” he tells me. I extend my arms in response. “Undress me.”
He obeys my request clumsily, trying to take off my shirt first. I click my tongue impatiently. “Is that the first thing we take off when we come in?”
He looks flustered and blushes. It takes him a moment to realise I mean my shoes. He sheepishly unlaces my runners and pulls them off my feet, followed by my socks. Next, he returns to the shirt, knocking my glasses askew as he pulls it off. “Careful,” I warn him. This will be deserving of a thorough spanking later. He moves on to untie my yoga pants and pulls them off, finding himself faced with the darkish hairs of my sweaty cunt. I smile. He had not expected me to be going commando.
Once I am standing skyclad in my hallway, I regally hold out my hand and wait. Wordlessly and well trained, he gently takes that hand and escorts me to the tub. What follows for me is a delightful treat where he washes my hair, my back, my breasts as I command. I clean my nethers myself. Not yet.
He dries me off with a fresh fuzzy towel and I send him to lie on his back on the bed. He waits for me, begrudging but patient, while I make a phonecall to a close friend and dry off my hair. I can see a glint of playful brattiness in his eyes. The corners of his mouth keep twitching into that semi-frustrated half-smile as I strut myself in front of him, dangling myself before him like the proverbial apple before the carthorse. I know he wants me and I intend to make his longing much worse: the night is young and I like to be desired. The look on his face makes me wet between my thighs.
I finish brushing my long honeyed hair and turn to him. “Comfortable?” He nods yes. I go to our favourite drawer and pull out two lengths of white rope. I give him an expectant look and he obediently holds out a wrist for me to bind. I tie him spread eagled to the bedposts, making sure he still has enough slack to squirm to my satisfaction. My knots are not overly sophisticated, but they’ll do.
I hover over him for a moment, grinning like a vixen. His brattiness from before turns into lustful apprehension. “I have something new in store for you,” I purr, dangling my mouth just out of reach of his – kisses are a reward he has not yet earned.
I grab a bottle of lube and drizzle some over his cock. It twitches as he gives a moan of pleasure. He is not fully erect yet, but he is a spectacular grower – a solid uncut eight incher with some girth when he is fully hard.
I rub some of the lubricant between my hands and fingers, and I get to work on his dick. I press down on either side of his balls, close my now slippery hands together and squeeze lightly. Then I pull my hands up the length of his shaft. I repeat the motion. I keep one hand stroking the length of it sometimes gentle, sometimes hard. I use the sleek palm of my other hand and rub it on the head in circular motions. He cries out in ecstasy at that. “Oh my God!” the good religious boy calls out as he throws his head backwards and his eyes roll back into his head.
This result pleases me greatly. “I thought you said that I was not gifted at handjobs.”
“I was wrong!” he gasps. “I’m so sorry, Miss!”
Apology accepted; I suck some precum from his cock, swirling my tongue around his head once. He almost winces from the strong pleasure it gives him. I can feel his whole body tremble under my power. I love this power – I hunger for it. This is the emotion I look for as a femdom.
I keep working my hands around his thick shaft. “Tell me when you’re about to cum.”
He nods breathlessly, panting with every stroke of my hands. I fondle his balls and put some pressure on his perineum. I rub my crotch against his knee, allowing him to feel how much I am dripping with moisture, and keep working his cock.
After a while of slippery fingers working every nook and cranny of his dick, he almost screams: “I am going to cum!” He’s being truthful; one or two strokes later, he explodes. But I have taken my hands away. I am sitting on the edge of the bed, watching his throes of pleasure and ecstasy as he shoots a load of goopy semen all over his chest (quite far too – all the way up to his shoulder!).
I look at him and giggle. “Wow,” I say, unable to keep a straight face. “I seem to have messed up.”
Still panting, he looks at me with a puzzled look. “I am trying something called a ruined orgasm on you,” I explain. “But you came so much, I’m not sure I’ve succeeded.”
He nods breathlessly, but does not say much more. I look down at his cock. It is still engorged and ready for action. Lovely!
I dig my claws into his thighs, around his balls… I scratch his chest into a crazy tartan pattern and pinch his nipples. He cries out like I have never heard before. I suppose that this is what they call post orgasm torture. I must take note of how much it turns me on to do this to him…
Once he had forgotten all about his abandoned cock, I bring my fingers back to it. I dribble some more lube over it and give him another handjob. More rubbing his head with my palm. He cannot even look at me – the throes of ecstasy are too overpowering. I remind him of the rules. “Don’t forget to tell me when you’re close.”
He cannot even bring himself to nod. His hands grasp at his restrains as he flails his arms and pulls at the rope. The moans get longer and deeper.
After a while. “Oh, God, I’m going to cum!”
I give it another stroke and let everything go. Another shot of gooey semen hits him in the chest and slowly drips down his sides… The look on his face is ecstatic and frustrated. A new expression that I adore.
I untie his hands and hand him a towel to clean himself up. He does as he’s told and gives me an expectant look. I know what he’s hoping for. “Sex? Oh no, darling,” I coo. “I am not in the mood to have you inside me tonight.”
Disappointment makes him pout. But I am not done. “Turn around and get on all fours,” I request.
He does what I ask, and the apprehension returns to his face. I take off my wedding ring and give him a loud, resounding smack on his round, gorgeous arse. His ass is actually infamous among our straight and gay friends as being large and sexy. I happily warm him up with my bare hand, bringing his pasty skin to a warm, rosy glow.
Once I have warmed his behind to my satisfaction, I grab my favourite tool – my trusty riding crop. I bring it down on his cheeks once, twice… I love hearing the whistling of the crop as it flies through the air towards its target. The resulting smack and whimper is even more satisfying. I start making him count. However, I have chosen a specific spot to hit on each cheek. Every time I miss, he has to start counting again.
There are sharp intakes of breath at every strike. I am getting very turned on by all this and by the welts I am leaving on his normally flawless arse. When I have had enough, I have him sit on his stinging behind, right at the edge of the bed.
I lie down lavishly, like a cat, and grab my new acquisition – and my favourite toy after my house-husband – my hitachi magic wand. I allow him, as a reward, to watch me bring myself to the edge. He wants to touch me – he asks if he can. I breathlessly refuse. He asks if he can touch himself. I shake my head. As I go into a screaming orgasm, he expresses wonder at just how much I made myself cum.
Breathless, I run a finger along my dripping cunt and allow him to lick said digit. He says he loves the flavour, but I do not care for flattery. It was a treat for him, that’s all.
I get up and get each of us a glass of water. I sit down beside him and give him the kiss he’s been longing for all night.
From the feedback I got from him, my house-husband loved his ruined orgasm experience so much he cannot wait to try again. I am glad my experiment paid off and that I was able to open him up some more to me. Our sex life used to be very silent – little to no communication. This newfound discovery of femdom for me brought forth a new step in our relationship. Now we communicate so much more – about everything – but about sex especially. This has made our intimate moments so much more fulfilling…