One of the aspects I dislike most about the FemDomme (mostly ProDomme) cliché is that strap-on sex is depicted as an act of humiliation, degradation and emasculation for the man while the woman gets her kick out of the power and possible pain she’s causing.
As if by being anally penetrated, a man loses any claim of still being a man. As if it turns him gay or “a girl”. As if submissive men needed any more reason to doubt themselves.
I dislike the fact that strap-on sex is presented as means of punishment, debasement. That increasingly bigger, bizarre and grotesquely disproportionate dildos are used to reinforce the woman’s superiority over the sub whose only option, it would seem, is to “learn to cum like a girl” (spoiler: I know infinitely more men than girls who cum from anal).
Just look at that picture above. How beautiful, how intimate, how respectful despite the role reversal. How she makes love to him. How he rides her cock for his pleasure and hers.
The “bottom” line is: yes, I’ll make you suck “my cock”. I’ll make you worship it. I’ll make you beg for it. I’ll make you gag on it. I’ll make you spread your cheeks for it. I’ll make you ride it. I’ll make you take it. I’ll make you cum from it. I’ll make you call yourself my fuck slut and my cock whore. But I’ll never once make you feel less than.
I love all the hard-core D/s images that pass through my time-line: whippings and caning, nipple torture, strap-ons (particularly strap-ons) and on and on. But at the end of the night, this is what’s important, this is what counts. The intimacy and love between two people who have revealed their deepest sexual desires and reveled in them. Two people who are closer from sharing an intimate journey. Two people who love one another.
When you have laid your soul bare, when you have exposed your true and most vulnerable self , that’s when you are truly naked.
When you have been accepted and desired for it, that’s when you are truly loved.
A little push is all it takes these days. Like a nudge or a wink. A little ping, inside my jacket pocket, a vibration that takes me there
To approved stains in inappropriate places, and the frantic blur of curses, spilling from my shiny salty lips. Exactly where she wants me.
A far-off part of me sighs at how predictable I am. I drown it out, rush headlong to the precipice, hold on and beg until she says, ‘Let go’
Only she wouldn’t. Because she has him exactly where she wants him. Where he needs to be, for her pleasure. At the tip of her finger.
So lost in her and the spell she has cast on him. Lost in a place where her wish alone decides his fate. In a place where he can be kept indefinitely. In a place where her whispered word commands a reaction that does not require a touch. In a place like magic.
“Oh, baby” I whisper as my hand caresses your face and wipes a bead of sweat off your brow.
I have had you edge for me for a full two hours and you are reduced to a whimpering, chest heaving, panting, moaning and dripping mess. I have lost count of your edges, of how many times you got so close you begged me to allow you to stop, of how often I pushed you just a bit further still until you very nearly spilled. It has been a feast for my eyes.
“Oh baby”, I repeat, “you did so well! I am so proud of you, my good boy! And so aroused. You have no idea how much I desire you right now!”
At those words, you moan that sound of longing frustration I know so well by now.
“I want to feel you tonight” I continue. I want to feel all of that pent up desire of yours. That burning lust. That throbbing, dripping hardness! I want to feel it slide over my smooth skin. I want to feel you push your hips against me. I want to feel you fuck!”
One look at you and I can tell my words have almost the same effect as your stroking earlier.
“Do you want to see it, boy? Do you want to see where I want you to make love to me?”
“Please, Madame! Please, I beg you. Please show me, please let me see!”
My hands close your eyes shut as I change my position.
“Now open your eyes, my boy, and see where I want to feel you now!”
Him, hooded, collared, tied, gagged - only the holes under the nostrils making the difference between being vulnerable and suffocating. He can hear his own heartbeat, the blood rushing through his veins, his scarce bodily hair standing on top, his skin, damp from sweat, registering every movement of air.
He is exposed, so exposed, so vulnerable.
He stirs under my gentle touches, under my fingertips brushing up and down his thighs, sometimes “accidentally” touching his cum filled balls. That’s when his cock, my cock, twitches manic in its cage.
I will claim him as my bitch, my slut, my whore, fuck his tight arse with my strap on. He knows this, because we both crave the same thing - my conquering of his body as much as his mind. My fucking and stretching of his boy pussy, with my fingers, my hand, my girl cock. But not yet. Later. When he thinks I’m done with him, when he believes I have forgotten about it. Later.
First, his nipples. His beautiful pink joy buds. I circle them with my fingers for a while, pinching lightly before adding little bites. I can tell from his muffled moans and his leaking cock how much he likes this. But it’s not enough, today I want to overload his senses. It’s time for the clamps, and to be honest with you, I almost feel physical pain myself when their little teeth bite into his sensitive skin. He will take the pain. For me. And maybe because he’s a little pain slut. It does not matter, because I decide when, where and how. My rules.
As the clamps dig into his flesh and he realises what’s happening to him, his body convulses. I give him a few seconds to adjust, slowly caressing his face over the hood while blowing cool breath on his nips.
“Are you ok my love?” I ask, my lips almost touching the leather of his hood. He can hear me and nods. “Talk to me my boy” … “Yff, yff m k” - I have learnt to understand what he says into his gag. I caress his hood again, kissing it on the forehead, both cheeks, over the gag. We love this intimacy.
My lips close around his nose and immediately his body tenses. So vulnerable. Then he realises I’m breathing for both of us and starts inhaling my breath. He is now literally clinging onto me for sheer life. So much responsibility. So much trust. So much intimacy. I got you, babe, don’t worry.
As he calms and eases into my rhythm, my hands find the clamps and start toying with them - more distraction, more sensual overload for him. He sucks the air out of me, breathing heavily as I slowly start pulling the nipple chain.
More cage twitching, more leaking. I smile, happy and proud, and release my lips from around his nose. I grant him a few seconds of fresh air supply.
“You are a good boy, aren’t you?” He nods “yff, yrs” (“yes, yours” - sweet, huh?) “And do you like being at my mercy like that?” Vigorous nod “yff, yff I d..” More caressing of his face through the leather hood, more slight pulling of the nipple chain. Instant reaction in the cage, rivers of delicious cock tears oozing out of the metal bars restraining his erection. “I will show you what truly being at my mercy feels like …”
And with that I place the palm of my hand under his chin, pushing his lower jaw upwards, harder into the gag inside the hood, while my fingers close around the nostrils and block all of his oxygen supply off.
I can see his internal fight to remain calm. He has literally no way out of this if I don’t let him.
At my mercy - he now understands the full impact of these three words.
“Ssshhh, calm” I reassure him. “You’re mine and you’re safe!”
I just realised this writing of mine has been REBLOGGEDONE THOUSAND TIMES (and liked twice as much).
As a dominant woman on tumblr, there seems to be a never ending flow of messages and asks around “how I break a sub” and variations thereof.
My answers remain the same: I DO NOT “BREAK” MY SUB !
I want to explain my point of view on this.
If you don’t share it, let’s just agree to disagree.
It would appear many submissive men fantasise about “being broken”. Being forced onto their knees by means of pain and humiliation / blackmail / you name it. Being conquered by a woman establishing her dominance over them. So that they can finally let go of the societal expectations of being strong, a leader, a doer, and simply follow orders.
Submission is, at its core, a brain fuck for the (male) ego. The normative male traits like strength, leadership, independence and pride are “at risk”.
And so I believe the desire for being forced, being broken is a “trap” and an “excuse”! It’s a loophole that I am not willing to entertain.
A loophole? How so?
Hear me out on this one.
What happens when people are forced? They become victims! And so a “forced sub” can claim that he wanted none of what happened, that he was a victim, that there was nothing he could do. Palm off responsibility and ownership.
That way, he can keep telling his own ego that he is still the same strong manly not submissive person.
Excuses, because e.g. “my girlfriend forced me to lick her feet otherwise she’d throw out my console” or “my ex once tied me up while I was asleep and fucked me with a strap-on” sound and feel much different than “I begged her on my knees to fuck me like the filthy slut I am” or “I get off on foot worship”.
If a sub fantasises of (and masturbates to) “being broken and forced” to do things, it is, in my eyes, very similar to CNC (consensual non consent). It’s not forced if you crave it, it’s a concept, a game. Because actual force, actual non consent would be assault.
BUT:Being forced disenfranchises the submissive to actively submit.
And “active submission” is what I want from him.
As a dominant, my desire is to be his safe place, where he can expose his most vulnerable self. Where his submission is not judged negatively, where he can be pure filth and be cherished, not ridiculed, for it. Where I can be his mirror so he sees just how beautiful his “shameful” desires are to me. Where there is no need to hide behind excuses.
For when he truly and actively submits to me, I will let him own who he is. I will make him put a voice to all the secret wishes, I will make him beg for them. No loophole. Tell me all those filthy fantasies before I ever allow him to act on them.
So that the next time he looks at himself in the mirror, there is no loophole. He has to glance back at his own reflection as he realises he is the man who exposed his inner self to me. Who tore down the protective walls for me. And who, by doing so, submitted to me, fell into subspace - where I wait to catch him.
Because I don’t want him broken. I want him more complete than he was before.
Throughout the two hour performance her hand rested on his thigh. Gently caressing… stroking… squeezing… drifting seductively toward its perceived target at an agonizingly slow pace… only to stop… retreat… then begin all over again.
Although never once did he feel her touch where he ached to feel it most, the tantalizing nearness was more than enough for her to accomplish her objective. By the evening’s end her date’s leg was trembling adorably, his face was flushed and feverish, and his needy cock that longed for her touch strained uncomfortably and obviously within his pants.
When the house lights came back up she smirked at the oh so noticeable outline of his confined, swollen erection… the damp spots on the fabric revealing the need she had built up within him over the course of the evening.
Tracing her fingertips softly along the warmth of his flushed cheek she murmured, “You feel warm, sweetie…. everything ok?”
He nodded his head, swallowing hard then in an unsteady voice assuring her he was fine.
“Did you enjoy the show?,” she asked innocently.
“Very much,” he replied, though to be honest he’d been so distracted it was unlikely he had much recollection of it at all.
With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she made eye contact with him, then cast her gaze downward to his lap, making it clear to him that she was not only well aware of his plight, but also amused by it. She laughed softly as his face blushed even more, a soft, barely audible sound of distress coming from him.
Leaning closer she touched her lips to his ear, whispering to him huskily. “If I can do that to you without so much as a touch…. imagine the condition I’ll have you in once I take you home and have my way with you.”
His face reddened even more and his swollen cock pulsed in his pants as he softly moaned, “Oh god….”
Smiling wickedly, she took his hand in hers and purred, “C'mon baby, let’s go. You’re coming with me….. it’s time for the second act of the evening to begin.”
“Not a bad start to a first date” she thought as she unlocked the front door and entered the hall. The door fell shut behind him and she could tell from the look on his face he felt out of his depth.
He knew of her preference for submissive men, he identified as such, but where did they go from here? A bead of sweat tricked down his forehead while he contemplated his next move.
She placed her hand lightly on his chest, feeling his heart beating fast, and whispered “It is time you greeted the Lady of the house properly”.
He swallowed hard as he sunk to his knees on the hard cold tiles and bent forward to kiss her stiletto heel, unable to believe his luck. Would he be allowed to take her shoes off for her? Would she let him lick her soles, suck her toes, admire her pretty feet? Those feet he had been secretly ogling all evening in her open toed high heels. The thought drove him wild.
By the time they had had a glass of wine and she had “casually” placed her feet in his lap, he was putty in her hands
