I tend to think of myself as…well…a gentle domme. I’ve always been turned off by the stereotypical femdom porn that depicts dommes as being either bored by their subs or hateful of them, and I’ve never thought that kind of porn was very representative of femdom as whole, even in relationships where people liked to play that way at times.
And I think that into that bucket of “things I would never find hot,” I threw cuckolding, small penis humiliation, forced bi and forced feminization because they seemed to focus on humiliating men for perceived flaws. They seemed like they could be REALLY emotionally hurtful.
While I think nothing of calling my partner my eager little slut, that’s because I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being either eager or a slut! And I enjoy calling a pretty boy pretty, if he is indeed so! I like pretty men. I see nothing wrong that. Yay for pretty men…especially in panties!
But the idea of calling a man pretty to make him feel BAD…well, that doesn’t make me feel good.
But, yet, I also understand that kink toys with taboo, and that’s quite a lot of the fun of it.
For example, I know that many men into SPH, small penis humiliation, do not have small penises, and they probably know they don’t have small penises. They like feeling humiliated and degraded and they use SPH as a way to get to those feelings.
But I guess in my mind, I always wonder…well…what if they don’t really know that? And what if I’m feeding into an unhealthy worry or perpetuating bad stereotypes that hurt both men and women? So, I’m not sure I’ve ever really allowed myself to consider if I would find that kind of play exciting or not, because I think it might be too emotionally dangerous.
Although why do I draw the line at SPH and not calling someone a slut? Why do I see one as a more fraught perception than the other? I assume because I have been taught that men are much more afraid of having small penises than of being slutty!
But beyond that, I admit that the idea of humiliating someone I theoretically care about by telling then how pathetic they are in bed compared to someone better, stronger, more well-endowed…well, I just worry that that is really edge play.
It’s not that their reactions, assuming they liked it, wouldn’t be fun. Oh! They would be fun. It would probably really turn them on, which would turn me on. But there would also be this part of me that knew I would never want to ACTUALLY make someone I loved feel that way.
And yet, I have had group sex. I have had sex numerous times in front of partners. I have watched partners have sex in front of me. Sometimes I participated. Sometimes I didn’t. There was never any humiliation intentionally involved in it, but I also cannot say that a little bit of jealousy doesn’t spice things up.
There is a fine line between hotwifeing and being a voyeur and being a cuckold or cuckquean. How you play out the fantasy depends on the people involved and the intentions behind it.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a little more about cuckolding—as a fantasy. It isn’t something I would like to incorporate in my real life. But some of the cuckolding erotica I’ve been reading and listening to and even recording is pretty sexy! (I’m talking about cuckolding WITHOUT the racial aspect.)
I think it could be done gently and sweetly with that hint of humiliation that I love. I think it could toy with those feelings of jealousy and possession and not being “good enough” in a way that might arouse those emotions but also smooth them over. I think it could straddle that fine line in a way I didn’t think it could before.
The idea of telling my lover all about how great it was to fuck someone else, how I got something from this other person that I couldn’t get from him, is very erotic, even if in reality I don’t really want to do that.
Hmm. What does one do to a sub with some celery, spam and 8 chestnuts? I also like that this is labeled “Bored trendy woman with celery sitting at a table in a kitchen.” Photo by Inna Lykasevuch from Pexels
Hello, my darling deviants!
I have had a very relaxing weekend filled with cozy fireplaces, books, movies, chicken soup and ruined orgasms. Such is the glamorous life of a gentle femdom smut writer!
And I am getting so addicted to seeing my stats rise on my Google analytics. Is that a fetish?
Into: Google Analytics (Receiving)
So, as much as I am honestly not feeling suuuupppper sexy at the moment…Monday morning, blahs….I must feed the Google monster!
Therefore, I shall be saving the smut for later in the week. There will be more! Don’t you worry.
As for now, I want to write about a question I see over and over and over again on femdom forums. It generally looks something like this.
Hello Dear Femdoms of the Internets! I have a problem. My boyfriend/husband/nesting partner/alien I’m having an affair with who lives in the studio over my garage has just told me he’s into femdom! HALP! I think this actually sounds kind of interesting, but I don’t know what to do! He says he wants me to take control, but I don’t know what that means or how to do it. Can you give me a list of thirty things to do to him, but only the ones he likes?
Now, I am not an expert on femdom. I merely play one on the internet. So, take everything I say with a grain of salt. I have experience from the experiences I have had and conversations I have had with other women and men and books I have read (and I have read quite a few) and classes I have taken with more experienced dommes.
But here is what I see as the essential problem with this question.
It is great that your partner has felt safe enough to come out to about his desires. And it is also great that you too were intrigued and thought—hey, this could be kind of fun!
But there are many different ways to interpret this kind of request, and the person making it may not have even thought the request through himself.
Some possibilities…
I watched some femdom porn, and I thought, wouldn’t it be hot if my girlfriend got all sexed up for me in a corset and boots and spanked my ass a little and then threw me down on the bed and had her way with me!
I have a very specific fetish that involves feet, but I felt kind of weird about telling my girlfriend that so I led with this very general statement but what I really want is her feet in my mouth. Give me all the feet!
I have a notion that femdom would be fun, but I don’t really know what means and I don’t want to do any work, so maybe she will. That’s what femdom is. Right? She does all the work?
I want to worship this woman entirely and I don’t want her to do anything, and I just want to give her endless massages and make her dinner every night and always take out the trash. (Where is this man and why doesn’t he live in my house?)
I want my girlfriend to have total power over me and make me do things, especially things I don’t want to do, but only because she likes making me do those things. But I don’t want to do the stuff I like. Just the stuff she likes. Unless she likes that I don’t like it.
I think I’m intentionally being a little mean here. I’m just pulling out all the stereotypes for fun.
Essentially, though, when a question like this comes along, my first thought is, “Why aren’t you communicating?”
And actually, I think I KNOW why.
Because the illusion is that since you are a femdom, you are supposed to just do what you want to do. It’s supposed to be all about you and what you want and nothing about what the guy wants.
But that is a fantasy.
I’m not saying it’s always a fantasy. But if you are in any relationship with anyone you care about and you are not a psychopath, you care about their needs and likes and wants and desires.
If, for example, I am really into pegging. It just does it for me. But my partner gets nothing out of it, maybe even dislikes it or it hurts him, I don’t want to do that with him. It doesn’t matter to me if I like it. Knowing that he doesn’t, makes it very un-fun for me.
There are people who would disagree with this. A masochist who gets off on doing things he doesn’t like to please a sadist who likes hurting people could get into a dynamic like that. But I do think they are in the minority. AND I still think any ethical sadist would be very careful about not creating long term harm to her partner.
There are also lots of women who might say, “Great. If we’re just going to do what I want to do, I want to have vanilla sex and watch some tv and cuddle and go to sleep.” But that isn’t what the submissive guy wants, because he was probably getting that anyway. He probably doesn’t JUST want his girlfriend to have control, he wants to KNOW she does and he wants her to KNOW she does and like it and for it be a kind of sexy thing between them.
If you are a woman who has never really thought about controlling a man before, or even one who has had some fantasies about it but hasn’t done it, it’s very intimidating. Because as much as you want to please yourself, you also want to please your partner, which gets really weird when the whole idea is supposed to be about pleasing yourself.
Most women aren’t brought up to think about making their needs more important than the needs of their loved ones. And I would also argue that most people are taught that doing that would make you a selfish—and therefore bad—lover.
And past that, good sex and/or good kink is dependent on chemistry and mutual enjoyment. To tell someone, “I want you to have control over me,” but give them no framework for that control makes it difficult for anyone to end up happy.
I think some people (I have been one of them) think that telling the person what you want them to do spoils it or makes you seem rude (see topping from the bottom). But it is alternatively rude and crazy making to tell someone you want them to have power over you but have no clear cut discussions about what that means and what both of you think could be enjoyable about that.
In short-the answer to the question is:
Talk about it.
Talk about what you think sounds exciting and what he thinks sounds exciting.
Share fantasies.
Use porn.
Use the internet to show each other things that you think you would want to try or things that you definitely would not want to try.
In the BDSM/Kink community, collars function as both accessories and statements of intent. If you’ve ever watched any BDSM porn, you’ve likely seen “slaves” in collars. And if you go to any kink events or hang out with kinky people, you will definitely see some people in collars.
But why they are wearing collars depends on the individual people and their relationships.
In kink, a collar functions as a symbol of ownership. Almost always, it is a submissive who wears a collar—not a dominant. (There’s probably an exception there somewhere, but I can’t think of one? If you can, let me know!)
It can function similarly to a ring. Some people even have “collaring ceremonies,” to make their power dynamic and their relationship a committed one. If someone wears his or her collar every day, the general public might not even notice since there are collars specifically designed to be discreet and not obviously look like something connected to BDSM.
Some people feel they need to be in a relationship with someone for enough time for them to “earn” their collar, so this can be a kind of positive reinforcement for submissives. If you meet someone and they say they are “collared by Mistress X,” you can probably assume they are in a D/s relationship in which Mistress X is in charge. Some people might even use “training collars,” and transition to a different collar as a dynamic progresses.
But lots of people in kink take collars less seriously. You will find people who collar themselves and say that they own themselves, which is an empowering statement!
I’m not sure how much of that is a deeply held belief or someone who just wants to wear a collar.:) Because some people can fetishize a collar itself, even if it doesn’t “belong” to another person. They might just like the way it feels around their neck, or it might put them in the mood to feel submissive, or they might just like the look. There are some very pretty collars!
And then you will usually see most people in kink using collars in that in between space. The submissive doesn’t wear the collar all the time because maybe it’s too obvious or maybe the people in the dynamic don’t have a 24/7 kind of relationship. A lot of couples will save collars for playtime and use them as a form of protocol for getting ready for a scene. It helps get both the dominant and the submissive in the right headspace to play, and they can also just be quite sexy!
All collars are not created equal. There are some that are very functional and can be used for hard play. There are some that lock and only the dominant has the key. Some are meant to be uncomfortable or restrictive. Others are soft and only use buckles, so the submissive can take the collar on or off himself. And some are almost purely decorative, much like a choker.
And, of course, a collar doesn’t have be a collar! And by that I mean that there are other things people can wear on their bodies that denote ownership or physically embody the connection between people. My partner has two bracelets and a locket with our pictures in that he periodically wears, especially at kink events.
I don’t own any collars FOR myself, although I have played in one or two before. I have gifted my submissive several collars. My favorite, and I think his, is soft pink and black leather and matches my cuff set. I also have a soft pink and black leather leash for it.
Another collar was purely for fun and had my name on it. He wore it to a kink event so everyone knew he was mine. And then I think a third had the word BRAT written on it—because I thought it was funny.
For me, collars are a fun accessory for playtime. I do actually like the idea of what they convey, but I prefer a subtle accessory that can more easily pass for vanilla—especially on a man.
Probably the thing I like most about a collar is that I can attach it to a short leash. 😉
Lately, I’ve been deeply enmeshed in the “porn” side of femdom, writing erotica, creating some hot audio improvs and recording some audios of other writers’ enjoyable smut. And I’ve been enjoying myself. I tend to get on a creative roll, which feels good. Fantasy is fun. So is the attention.
I’ve also been interacting with a lot of guys who have submissive fantasies because of this. And they have mostly been nice and respectful. Really. Like 99%! The chastity guys are the best. Being locked up is really doing something for their manners. We should try it in congress.
But, man. There have been a few men…just a few….
The response that really got me, which wasn’t even directed at me, personally, was about femdom porn and male submissives in general. Basically, it made all kinds of claims about how male subs really hated themselves and 99.9% of all male sub are secretly bisexual and just using being submissive as an excuse to work out sexual orientation through “forced bisexuality.”
And that sub men were seen as weak and most were being abused and emasculated.
And it was WRITTEN by a guy who claimed to be a male submissive.
But, you know. Like a DIFFERENT kind of male submissive.
Not like those other guys.
He was DIFFERENT.
Sure…sure…he still wanted women to be in charge of him and sexualize him and presumably tease and “torture” him…but…you know…only in a totally “heterosexual” way.
And not in a way that made him feel “worthless,” even though he wasn’t talking about fantasy at all—but all those actual, real life men involved in real life relationships where their kinky female partners were making them feel like shit about themselves all the time, but I guess they just stayed in those relationships because they were emotional masochists and totally not like IDK regular miserable vanilla people in crappy relationships.
And even though he said he couldn’t find porn he liked that he could identify with, as this totally macho totally straight submissive man, he also couldn’t be bothered to, you know, provide any examples of what he meant or go through the bother of making any himself. Much better to just shit all over what other people have made.
It’s much more productive that way.
At first I argued with him. But then I realized I was wasting my breath. I wasn’t going to change this guy’s mind any more than I was going to convince the people over at the evangelical church that Biden is their guy.
The one sort of interesting point he made was that feminization of some kind (even using cute names) tends to more prevalent in femdom than masculinization is in maledom. He used the example that you don’t see maledoms dressing up their female subs like lumberjacks.
That was amusing and true.
But there are also LOTS and LOTS of femdoms who like very masculine looking submissives.
Dare I say the majority?
I know that for me, a preference for some gender bending in men has nothing to do with emasculating them. I just think men’s clothes are very limiting, and some men look really hot a little more…peacocked?
I feel like the fact that more femdoms than maledoms are into a little cross dressing has a lot less to do with wanting to humiliate anyone as just liking things that are—pretty.
I don’t know. I can admit that was an interesting point. It is true that far fewer women in kink want to be dressed up or treated like the opposite sex, but I also think that men, for all their privileges, are still in very constrained societal boxes in terms of what is “acceptable” regarding their appearance, the way they express emotions and their expressions of sexuality. This is one area of life in which women in many countries have more freedom than men.
And as for using pet names? Calling men “good boys?” Well, that is hardly limited to femdom! Both sexes enjoy that kind of play.
And women, on the whole, have to rely on something other than brute strength to be seen as powerful. I have never met a man, any man, who I think couldn’t physically overpower me, if he wanted to.
And yes…that is because I am pathetically weak.
But it is also because I’m a woman, and I have no upper body strength. Even men who I was SURE I could take down—no. I was wrong.
So, where do I get my power from? I am given power, and a lot of it is sexual power. And the way I display my power is often through the use of language.
I really don’t like to play armchair psychologist with kink. While I’m sure there are some deep seated psychological reasons that I like to express my sexuality the way I like to express it, a lot of it boils down to—it’s just hot. I find it hot. And lots of people do. Lots and lots. I have no doubt that 36% of Americans are fucked up. I place the number much higher than that. But I don’t think 36% of Americans are fucked up BECAUSE they like kink. Or that it’s the kink that’s made them fucked up.
So, who is really the self-hating one? The guy who accepts his sexuality and doesn’t feel the need to shit all over things other people are into? Or the one who can’t stand that other men are into things he isn’t because he’s so insecure he doesn’t want to be lumped into a category with them?
Gee. And which one do I find more appealing as a woman—especially as a woman who is willing, eager to toy with conscripted gender roles? Someone who is accepting of himself and others? Or someone who has narrow definitions of what they find acceptable regarding sexuality and gender and a grudge against what is already a self-selecting group that is hurting no one and forcing no one to join?
Gone Wild Audio really seemed to like this one. So many naughty boys there. They really need a little discipline. 🙂 These audios are so much fun, and creating blurbs for them feels like I get to pretend I’m writing terrible romance novels.
Does anyone actually care about the plot? I think not.
“When my son’s college friend walks in on me getting out of the shower, I discover that not only does he want me, he’s also a virgin, who’s in dire need of some sensual education.”
Adam slept fitfully that night. He woke up several times, his cock aching to be released, and he kept imagining Joyce quite literally above him in the upstairs part of the house, sleeping with his key around her neck.
He wanted to be lying next to her, smelling her hair, her warm, lush body next to his. He could almost feel what it would be like if he tried hard enough to imagine, her soft skin, the impression of her body next to him, but then the image would fade, and he would just be alone.
And yet, he did feel her.
He felt that silent string between the two of them, the string she only needed to pull at, tug at, and he would feel it in his cock.
He was hers. He just wanted to be able to show her how much.
He thought about how jealous he’d been thinking she was with another man upstairs while he stood naked and waiting for her, and how angry he had been, but also how she had somehow known that it would excite him. He hadn’t expected that, and he strangely had to admit to himself that there was a part of him that liked it—although he was also very glad she had just been toying with him.
She had done it for him.
It made him feel—special.
The next morning he had class, and then he taught, part of his graduate student duties and for which he received his stipend. It was hard to concentrate all day, although he managed. He willed himself to place Joyce and his aching cock in a sealed box in his mind, so he could keep up with his school work and his own students.
But by the time classes were over, he was more than eager to return to his apartment. On the way home, he stopped at the grocery store to pick up some food for the week, and he picked out some flowers for Joyce.
At first he thought of red roses, but then he realized those were too common. He chose purple irises instead. They seemed more exotic, like Joyce, and purple was the color of royalty. He was starting to think of her a little like a queen, his queen.
He parked and grabbed his groceries, including Joyce’s flowers, preparing to bring them inside. But as he walked up the short path to the front door, he saw her, sitting on her front steps. She was in a long, flowy skirt today and fitted blue v neck shirt, and barefoot. She had a glass next to her filled with ice and a drink and a book in her hand.
“Adam!” She put down the book as he approached. “I was waiting for you.” She seemed genuinely excited.
He looked at the book.
“The Color Purple,” he said. “That’s a great book.” And he set down his bags and pulled out his purple flowers, feeling very pleased with himself.
“For me?” Joyce accepted them with a bright smile. “How did you know purple was my favorite color?”
“Just a guess.”
Adam couldn’t help feeling bashful around her. He knew he was blushing already. He looked down at the ground and couldn’t help but notice her pretty bare feet, her toenails painted pink.
He couldn’t get excited again—not yet. But there it was. His erection was trying to escape, but the metal prevented it. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.
“That was very sweet,” she said. “They’re going to look lovely at the dinner table.”
“I’m sure they will,” he said.
“But not quite as lovely as you,” she said, smiling somewhat wolfishly, it seemed.
“As lovely as me?” He laughed.
“Yes. I thought maybe you’d join me for dinner tonight? After you put your groceries away? I thought we could get to know each other a little better.”
“Oh! Yes!” He couldn’t even pretend that he wasn’t excited. “I’ll just go down right now and put this stuff in the fridge.”
“Sounds good,” said Joyce. “I’ll see you a little bit.”
Adam ran downstairs, shoving his groceries in the fridge and freezer, hoping he didn’t mix up which went where in his excitement. Then he practically bounded back upstairs.
She laughed she opened the door. “That was quick! So enthusiastic!”
“I was. I am,” he admitted. “I would love to spend some time with you and get to know you better, ma’am.”
“You really are adorable,” she said, ushering him inside. “Come. Let’s eat.”
Adam finally got a chance to see her house, which felt like he thought her house would look like. It wasn’t ostentatious, but it was comfortable and elegant. She had a lot of books.
A lot of bookcases, actually. All full of books.
“I was a history teacher,” she said, catching him eyeing the colorful book jacket spines. “But I’m retired now.” She was in the kitchen. There was the delicious smell of home cooking emanating from the stove.
“You’re young to be retired,” he said.
Honestly, he wasn’t sure how old Joyce was, but he thought probably somewhere in her late thirties or early forties. He knew it wasn’t polite to ask, and what did it matter anyway. She was perfect.
“I’m 42,” she said, stirring something in a pot.
“Yes. I am young to retire. Honestly, I have family money, and between renting the apartment and a few other properties I own, I don’t need to work. I volunteer now to keep my mind active.”
She flashed her teeth. “Well, I do some other things too, like invite smart, young men to apprentice with me.”
“Is that what I am?” He approached her at the stove, feeling bold for a moment, and slipped one arm around her waist. “Your apprentice?”
“Oh, in a way,” she said. “It’s kind of a partnership. Don’t you think?” She pulled the necklace with his key out from her shirt and dangled it in front of his face.
He moved to kiss her, but she dodged him with a giggle, and instead pulled out a wooden spoon from the pot cooking on the stove. “What do you think of this?”
She held it up in front of his mouth and waited for him to taste it.
“Mmmm.” It was creamy tomato soup. “Delicious,” he said. “But not as delicious as you.”
She laughed, and before he’d realized what happened, she’d flipped him around so he was pinned up against the counter and her hand was slipped around his waist, pulling him toward her. The spoon clattered on the counter, and she kissed him hard.
“I was thinking about you all last night,” she said.
“I was too!” It felt good to say it out loud.
“We’re going to play,” she said. She cupped his cage gently, and he moaned. “I promise. We really are. I’m going to be nice to you tonight, Adam. But first we’re going to eat a little and we’re going to talk a little and we’re going to drink a little.”
I’m not going anywhere.” She tugged on his cage lightly. “And neither are you.”
The dinner passed in a blur. Tomato soup and fresh baguette and salad and wine, and Joyce telling him about her years teaching, her marriage, over but amicably, her family, parents both dead, her friends, hobbies, etc…and Adam explaining how he decided on engineering, moving from a small town. He talked about feeling different from his peers, wanting to be somewhere else, somewhere there was “more,” but he didn’t go into too much detail.
That part of his life was a little painful. It seemed like both of them had a little pain in their pasts.
What neither of them talked about at all was what was currently between his legs. It was like they both knew they were saving that. It was there, a current running underneath everything, but it could linger, simmer. It would be there no matter what.
And then dinner was finally over, and Adam helped Joyce load the dishes in the dishwasher and clean up. And they sat on either side of her kitchen table, glasses of wine in hands and looked at each other.
“So,” she said, reaching out and taking one of his hands in hers. “Are you ready?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.” He didn’t know what she was proposing, but the answer was yes. How could the answer be no?
“Let’s go upstairs then. To my bedroom.”
They were quiet. She led, and he followed, and up the stairs he found himself in her room, which was white and serene and comforting.
“Sit down with me,” she said, patting her bed, covered with a soft white duvet.
Adam sat, wanting to sink into it, and she sat down beside him. She smelled good. That perfume. Or her natural scent. Or both. Adam wanted to nuzzle at her, but he could tell she wanted him to wait. He didn’t want to pester her. He wanted to be good.
“Last night was fun,” she said.
“It was!” Had he said that too loudly. Why couldn’t be at all cool around this woman? “It was,” he repeated, more softly this time.
“It was,” she said. “But maybe I rushed into that too fast. I should have checked with you first. I thought I was being clever, but I could have hurt you.”
Adam didn’t know what to say. It was true he had been shocked. Also angry and jealous for a time. But also…he had been excited. He hadn’t expected to have all the feelings that he had—so mixed up and jumbled together. But the combination had been…intoxicating.
“I think tonight, let’s get to know each other a little more,” she said. “Just the two of us. No games.”
“None?”
“Ha! Don’t act so disappointed. I just meant no surprises. Like yesterday. Let’s get everything out in the open.” To emphasize her point, she put her hand on his crotch, just very lightly.
Everything? What did she mean by everything? He could feel himself starting to melt.
“How often do you usually take off your cage,” she asked, petting him slowly.
“Every few days. To clean myself. Make sure it’s still working.” He laughed.
“And how long do you usually wait between orgasms?”
He felt shy. “It depends. The longest I’ve gone was about three weeks, and I was pretty desperate then, ma’am. Usually, more like two is all I can stand. But I’ve never had a keyholder before. So, I had to rely on myself, and sometimes….I just didn’t have enough discipline to continue.”
“Okay,” she said, taking her time. “Well, here’s what we’re going to do tonight.” She rubbed his back as she spoke, and felt that calm slipping over his again. It was an effect she had on him. He felt slightly dazed in a pleased, lust drunk way.
“First, we’re going to get you nice and clean. Which means,” she said, pulling her necklace out from between her breasts, that I’m going to take your cage off.”
His cock immediately felt harder the minute she said that, which, he realized, was going to make the process even more difficult.
But god, how he wanted out of the cage—and then he didn’t—but he did. He really did. He needed it. And he did want to be clean for Joyce!
“Take your clothes off for me. And meet me in the bathroom.”
The bathroom was just off her bedroom. Adam slowly undressed, tying to give himself a little time so his cock could calm down, but it was so challenging knowing that she was waiting for him in there.
And once he got into the bathroom, it wasn’t any easier.
Joyce had changed out of her day time outfit into a loose terry bathrobe, her dark hair clipped up in a bun out of her face and her neck exposed. He could see a hint of one of her gorgeous breasts peeping out one side of the robe.
She had the bath running, a soft looking white washcloth on the side of the tub and a bar of soap.
She had his key in her hand.
She sat down on the side of the tub and directed him to stand in front of her, so she was eye level with his cock. It was exciting…and embarrassing. She took her time, just looking at him, and she even lightly petted his ass, slipping one finger gently between his cheeks, probing very lightly.
He flushed and gasped.
“Is that new,” she asked, sweetly.
“Yes. Oh…yes.” No one had ever touched him like that before. But he felt embarrassed asking for more. He wasn’t sure what to ask for more of.
But she just said, “Interesting,” and moved on, keeping him wanting.
“I’m going to unlock you now, Adam. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” It came out as more of a moan. He had started shaking, tried to will himself to stop, but he couldn’t. He wanted to feel her hand on his cock so badly.
“You’ll let me know if I hurt you?”
“Yes.” Oh, god. Just touch me, please, he thought.
And then her hand was on his thigh and then his cock, over the metal, and she was turning the lock, removing it, placing it on the bathroom counter, and easing, gently, easing the metal cage off.
Luckily, he had been leaking already, so the cage slid off relatively easily, although as soon as it nudged off the tip, he could feel his cock starting to grow. And he still needed to get the metal ring off from behind his balls, which could be tricky.
“Ssshhhh.” She petted his thigh. “Such a good boy. You’re doing great, Adam. Halfway done.”
He had no idea how she did it, but she managed to ease one swollen ball through the metal ring at a time.
He gasped with every touch, convinced she was going to have to pry it off him with bolt cutters, he felt so swollen and achy, but she was gentle and patient, and each touch of her fingers on his balls felt silken and calming, and then he felt a sense of relief as he realized he was free.
“That’s a beautiful cock you have under there, Adam, she said, stroking it very lightly with just the tip of one finger. “I’d say it’s still working quite well.”
He shuddered from the touch. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
Her robe had slipped open a little more, and now he could see the nipple of one of her breasts, the top of one thigh.
She had him get into the bath, easing himself into the steamy water, and she sat beside the tub, looking at him with that patient stare she had.
“Let’s get you nice and clean,” she said, taking the washcloth and rubbing a little soap on it. “And give you a little bit of time to get readjusted.” Then she took the washcloth and gently started soaping him—first his arms, then his chest, then his legs. She even had him part his legs, so she could run the washcloth between his cheeks. He thought he saw a smirk on her face when he gasped again, but it was gone too soon to be sure.
And then finally, she washed his cock—gently—so gently—his erection was hard. It felt thick. Engorged. Even he was impressed with how hard he was. It twitched every time she touched it, and even when she didn’t. It was like his cock had a mind of its own, and now that it had been freed, it only wanted one thing.
And then…bath time was over.
She pulled the plug, helped him out of the tub and handed him a big, fluffy towel to use to dry off.
“Now that you’re nice and clean for me,” she said to him, back in her bedroom, easing him onto her bed, on his back right in the middle, a soft pillow supporting his head, “I’m going to use you.”
The minute she said the word “use” his cock leaped to attention again. It was ready. He was ready.
“Would you like that, Adam? Would you like me to use that lovely, delicious cock to give myself an orgasm? Would you like to see me come hard all over that lovely, delicious cock? I’ve been thinking about it all night.”
“Oh, ma’am.” He could barely speak. “Yes. Please.”
“Whose cock is it, Adam? Tell me.” She slipped off the robe, letting it fall to the floor, and he took in her gorgeous soft body standing right there so close, naked in front of him.
“It’s your cock, ma’am. It’s all yours.”
“That’s right. Good boy. It’s my cock.”
She climbed onto the bed. She had a condom in her hand that she deftly opened.
“And what do you need to do with my cock while I use it, Adam?”
“Ma’am? I don’t know,” he said. “Tell me, please!”
She unrolled the condom down over him, and he could see and feel himself twitching again.
“Nothing,” she said, climbing on top of him, her pussy poised right over him. “You don’t have to anything. I’m going to do ALL the work. The only thing you have to do,” she said, with a smile as she eased herself onto him, “…is not come.”
Ohhhhh. She felt so good. She felt amazing. She worked her pussy down on him with exquisite slowness, clenching and unclenching her muscles, as she slowly eased his cock deeply inside her, until she bottomed out as their pelvic bones met.
“Ma’am!” He warned her. Oh, god. He was so close, and she hadn’t even gotten started yet.
“Sssshh.” She whispered into his ear, her breasts in his face, and turned his face to the side, so it was facing the wall, his cheek on the pillow.
“Be good,” she said, like it was a secret. “Be good. All you have to do is just lie here and let me fuck you. Just relax and take it and let your cock stay nice and hard for me. It won’t take long, if you’re very good, and then you’ll my good boy and we can put your cage back on and get you locked back up nice and tight.”
“Oh, god.” At the mention of his cage, frustration and desire surged through him…remembering how confined he felt in the cage, but also how safe and distanced. He wanted both. He wanted the cage and he wanted this. He wanted to come and he never wanted to come.
“Sssshhh,” she said, again, working her pussy on him with that painful deliberation. She was barely moving, but her muscles were milking his cock incrementally, her breathing speeding up. “Take it,” she whispered. “Just take it. Don’t fight it.”
He tried to complain again—worried that he wasn’t going to be able to last, but she silenced him with a firm hand over his mouth.
“You can do it, baby,” she said. “Keep my cock nice and hard for me. I’m almost there. It won’t be long. Do you like the way my pussy feels milking you? Can you feel all that come in your swollen aching balls wanting so much to come out for me?”
Could he? Could he? He tried to keep his mind empty like Joyce told him, imagined himself as her toy, so lucky being used this way, concentrating on the sweet pressure of her pussy, the sound of her ragged breath, the feeling of her hot hand on his mouth. But his body fought him. It wanted release so badly.
“I know it’s hard,” she said. “I know how much you want to come…need to come…but I need you to stay desperate for me, baby.”
She shuddered, grinding herself against him, forcing him ever more deep and tight inside her.
“I’m going to come now, baby. I’m going to come on that beautiful, hard cock of mine, and I need you to stay nice and still and calm and let it happen. Okay? It’s going to happen now, Adam, and you’re going to be very good and calm and still for me. Aren’t you?”
He groaned. “Yes,” he managed to mumble from beneath her hand, feebly, feeling her muscles tighten even more, watching one of her hands clutch the bedsheet beside his cheek as the other tightened over his lips.
“Good boy. Good boy,” she repeated over and over, as she used him, working out her orgasm on his body. “Good boy,” as her hand came off his mouth and into his hair, first grabbing and then petting, as her breathing slowed and she fell forward onto his chest, kissing it, and then his neck and finally his mouth.
“You did such a good job, Adam,” she said, climbing off him, unrolling the condom off his still extremely hard and desperate cock.
“Please, ma’am. May I hold you?” He felt tender, fragile.
“Of course, baby,” she said, allowing him to nestle in her arms. She petted his hair. “That was difficult. Wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “It was so difficult. I’m still so…”
“Horny,” she finished for him. “Frustrated.”
“Yes. Very, ma’am.”
“I know,” she said.
And he felt like she did.
“I’ll give you a choice,” she said, as he inhaled the scent of her, his face between her breasts.
“I can let you come now, before we put your cage back on. Or you can stay hard and desperate and wanting for me, and we can do this again tomorrow. I think I know which choice you’re going to make, but I’m going to let it be your choice, Adam.”
His cock had never felt quite so locked before, he realized an hour and an ice pack later, as Joyce turned the key.
I do get pedicures every few weeks. I like my feet to look pretty.
I recently recorded a few foot fetish audios in my new minor addiction to creating audio erotica, and I realized I had totally forgotten to talk about foot worship and gentle femdom on here! How did I get so many articles in without discussing feet?
So, to start, I will be honest. There is nothing that I find inherently sexy about feet.
I don’t dislike feet. But I also don’t really sexualize them. And I don’t think that’s very strange because I am pretty sure the vast majority of foot enthusiasts are men. You can look to a Belgian study that surveyed 1027 members of the general Belgian population in 2017 and found 76 men (17%) and 23 women (4%) who answered “Agree” or “Strongly agree” to a fetish interest in feet. But you can also just look on most foot fetish boards and notice that there are VERY few pictures of men’s feet and very few women there looking at other women’s feet.
This makes sense, considering that women take care of and decorate their feet in a variety of ways that men usually do not, such as getting pedicures and using scrubs to keep our feet soft, wearing heels and pretty sandals and boots, and sometimes even wearing jewelry like toe rings and ankle bracelets. I wonder if it were more socially acceptable for men to pamper and decorate their feet, if women would develop foot fetishes? (Not so deep thoughts…from me.)
It actually seems very natural to me for a man who’s into femdom to be attracted to the idea of women’s feet, because they are often quite feminized AND there is a longstanding association since biblical times with kneeling, kissing someone’s fee or washing them as a submissive act and/or one meant to honor the person.
I like the feet of men whom I like, and I’ve done some toe sucking and foot adoration, but I wouldn’t say I have any kind of foot fetish.
My boyfriend likes feet. Not all the time. He’s not a hardcore foot fetishist. I don’t catch him ogling women’s feet in their summer sandals. But early in our relationship, we did quite a lot of foot play. In fact, the first date we went on, I let him give me a foot massage. Yeah…let’s use the word “let” and not I totally welcomed the idea of getting a foot massage from someone who was really into me and my feet.
I talked to him last night about this when I mentioned I was going to be writing about foot worship, and here were some of the takeaways from our discussion.
He feels like foot worship is “light abasement.” I liked that term. It is slightly debasing because he has to be below me to worship my feet. He is literally—at my feet.
It feels like he’s being given only a small part of me and being told to do his best with it. He gets to prove that he can do a good job with my feet, perhaps if he wants access to any other part of me.
Toe sucking reminds him of sucking other things. 😉 It can be phallic or an imitation of licking me. He says, “It’s just kinky.” And it is. It’s also a little tickly!
He likes the show of adoration. He says he enjoys making a big show of adoring me, and kissing my feet like a grand sort of gesture of that. That was pretty cute!
As for what I like about foot worship, well, I love foot rubs! Who doesn’t? And he gives VERY good foot rubs, because he likes it. I will often just present my feet to him for a foot rub while we watch TV or relax on the couch.
I love pretty shoes and boots, so while I don’t have a foot fetish, I’m very into adorning my feet and having them be admired. (Although, honestly, I think I have pretty average feet.)
I also like being adored, and I like big gestures, so I think it’s very cute and funny when he drops to the group and kisses my feet and legs.
As for the more sexual aspects of foot fetishes, I have to admit that I’m not great at giving foot jobs. I don’t mind giving them, and I think they can be fun. But, honestly, I don’t have great coordination with my feet! It is much more tiring than giving a hand job. It’s an enjoyable fantasy for me to write and talk about, but I’m not sure I’ve ever been able to give a foot job to completion. I’m totally open for some tips if anyone has them. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.
It is hot to wrap my legs around someone from behind while giving a hand job. 😉
I have never trampled anyone with my feet, although I’ve seen a friend do it. She was approached by a stranger at a club who asked her to step on him, and she obliged—carefully. She was wearing boots.
I’ve also heard about a man who brings his own pillows with him to play parties so he can “safely” ask women to step on him. And I know of another man who is locally famous for his foot fetish pedicures. I have heard he’s quite good, but I must admit that I would rather just pay someone to give me a pedicure. It seems less complicated.
And I’ve never been with anyone who was into sniffing stinky feet, although I kind of love the idea? I mean, I don’t think I’d feel embarrassed about letting anyone sniff my stinky feet if they wanted to. It would probably make me laugh.
I do love the idea of someone drizzling honey on my feet and licking it off. 🙂 #GOALS.
In terms of foot fetish information and experience, I know I’m not an expert. I’m curious. If you’re into women’s feet, what is it about them and how do you like to express your desires?
https://www.pexels.com/@gratisography Well, this isn’t creepy at all. Such a wistful furry with a cute little saggy fluffy bunny tail. I would like to hang this in my guest bathroom for people to ponder about while they are on the toilet.
Now, in all honesty, I am not a stranger to GWA. I love words. I sometimes watch porn, but it’s not easy to find porn I really like. I went through a period of time a few years ago when I listened to GWA pretty regularly, although I never posted anything there myself. I’m not sure why. I think I was just afraid. And I didn’t realize how fun it could be to make recordings.
(I am actually annoyed that I had to create a new Reddit accountjust for my blog because my existing account had a little clout behind it…if Reddit accounts have clout. Which is questionable.)
But, of course, I have seen women doing it. So, when an improvisation I was trying out to help with short story writing wouldn’t convert to text correctly, I thought…why not post it?
And it was fun!
So, I did more. And MORE! And MORE! This could easily become an addiction. Now, I’m also working on converting my blog posts to audio too.
The funny thing I realized is that I’ve always liked reading out loud. I guess because I like reading and have always been told I have an expressive voice. So, I kind of love the idea that I can just read all these sexy stories out loud and some people might want to listen to them.
Or that I can talk off the top of my head about one smutty thing or another that’s floating through my mind. The up votes are enjoyable. I am an attention whore.
And yet…I am still trying to figure out something to do with this blog and all of my writing! I am torn between keeping everything free and just trying to build up an audience so I can bug them with my blog ads 😉 or trying to make a go of selling things. But what things I’m not really sure. I feel like I’m trying out a lot of ideas. I don’t want to be scammy or predatory (to people who don’t want me to be predatory toward them). But I also did start this blog to try and do more than give my writing away totally for free, which was what I always did before.
I also published two more stories. I had just planned to write the first one, but the guys into chastity were so convincing! LOL. That is actually the hardest part of chastity for me—not giving in. It’s so hard not to give in, but then you regret the end of the tease once you do!
I will probably do some more audio recordings this week, and I realized that so far, I have neglected to talk about foot worship here! So, I plan to write a post about that. It’s not really a kink of mine, but it’s one I’m happy to indulge—especially if I get to enjoy foot rubs in the process!
Have a good Sunday, my delicious deviants. Get outside! Do something active! I know I must or my brain is going to turn to mush behind this computer screen.
Adam’s heart leaped a little at the note, as did his cock, which he had managed to keep under control for most of the morning. And he rushed down the stairs with the key and Joyce’s note and let himself in to his new place.
The next day, Adam collected his things from the dorm studio where he’d been living during his first year of graduate school. He hadn’t planned to move quite so quickly, but he wasn’t taking Joyce’s invitation lightly, and between yesterday’s excitement and the aching, delicious pressure of his cage, frankly, he couldn’t get there fast enough.
He didn’t have many belongings, just a bed, two side tables, a few lamps and his clothes, books and personal items. So, it turned out to be a good thing Joyce had the couch, now infamous forever in his mind. It was easy enough to rent a small U-haul, get a friend to help him load it, and he was at the apartment by mid-day.
He definitely did not forget his key.
Joyce’s key-he reminded himself, a wave of desire passing through him, as he stood outside her house.
He had a keyholder now.
It was entirely up to her how long he stayed caged, or not, how often he would have orgasms…if he would have orgasms at all.
He shuddered with uncertainty and want at the thought.
Standing there, he realized he didn’t actually have a key to his new place. Or a lease. Or anything that said he had a right to live there. And he wondered if maybe it had all been a dream or a cruel joke, and now he had nowhere to live.
What was more believable? That he’d accidentally stumbled upon not only a great apartment but an unbelievably hot woman who wanted to fulfill his deepest fantasies or that he’d been hit by a car crossing the street and was currently in the hospital with a concussion?
He considered this possibility for a moment, but then noticed a pink ribbon dangling from the top of the staircase to the basement apartment. He approached it, and saw that attached to the ribbon was a key, and an envelope with a note. Inside it said:
Adam,
I had to run out. I’ll be very busy today, but you can be sure you’ll hear from me this evening. Your lease is in the apartment. Looking forward to our arrangement.
-Joyce
Adam’s heart leaped a little at the note, as did his cock, which he had managed to keep under control for most of the morning. And he rushed down the stairs with the key and Joyce’s note and let himself in to his new place.
There was the couch, just as he’d left it yesterday. And Joyce’s red panties were still on the floor. It hadn’t been a dream. Or if was, he was still dreaming, and he didn’t want to wake up. He looked around guiltily, and then knowing he was alone and without being able to help himself, he picked them up and sniffed them.
Mmmmm. His cock strained, and he stuck his hand down his pants and touched it over the metal cage. He could feel a little wetness seeping out of the hole, and he knew he was leaking remembering what Joyce’s pussy had tasted like all over his face, the way she had taken control of him and used him and how much he wanted her.
But his cock was hers now, he reminded himself. It wasn’t even up to him anymore. And just the thought made him excited and calm in equal measures.
He had to be calm. For her.
Because she hadn’t said he could take the cage off. She hadn’t said he could come. She hadn’t even said he could touch himself, he realized, and he pulled his hand out of his pants quickly.
He would be good! He would follow directions!
There were some papers on the kitchen counter. The lease, of course. And a pen, for signing. Adam grabbed them. He didn’t have much experience with apartment contracts, but it all seemed standard and ordinary. Typed. Legalese. So, he initialed and signed, and then he flipped to the last page.
This one was different. Unlike the other pages, it wasn’t typed. It was handwritten.
Adam leaned in, and he swore he could even smell a hint of Joyce on it, some kind of perfume she’d had on yesterday he’d noticed as she leaned over him in this very kitchen, her breasts practically in his face.
Dear Adam,
I think you will find the rest of this lease to be in order. It’s the one I have used for years for other tenants.
However, this last page codifies a different sort of lease between you and me.
In short, it is the lease for your cock.
By signing, you agree to give me control over it and over your cage. Unlike the lease to the apartment, which is a standard 12-month lease and cannot be broken without 60 days-notice and two-months rent, this lease can be terminated at either time by either party.
Therefore, by signing this lease, you are agreeing to give me complete control over your cock, your cage, and your orgasms for as long as you see fit.
And I agree to take control over your cock, your cage, your orgasms, for as long as they and as long as you, please me.
Consider carefully before signing. Remember exactly what you are giving up and think intently upon what you will be receiving.
–Joyce
Adam was beside himself.
He stood at the counter, against the very drawer that had attacked him the day before and realized he was rubbing himself up against it without thinking. He wanted nothing more than to unlock himself and stroke himself furiously to an orgasm. It would take twenty, thirty seconds at most. Joyce wouldn’t even have to know.
But he would know.
He looked at her words again. “Remember exactly what you are giving up and think intently upon what you will be receiving.”
He breathed deeply. He composed himself. He signed.
And he left the key to his cage on top of the agreement.
++++++++
He spent the rest of the afternoon unloading his things into the apartment and trying to keep Joyce off his mind, although she kept wandering in and out of his thoughts. Then he returned the U-haul, ate some quick fast food for dinner in his car, and headed back to the apartment. It had been a long day.
It was dark by this time, and he noticed that a light was on in the upstairs part of the house. Joyce must be home.
He wanted to bound up the stairs to see her, but he realized he didn’t know what to say to her. What were the rules? He wasn’t sure. But she had said he would hear from her later, so he decided to take her at her word, and he went back into his new place, still feeling a little unmoored.
Everything was as he’d left it before he’d returned the moving van, except the lease papers were gone from the kitchen counter.
And so was the key to his chastity cage.
Instead, there was just a sticky note in their place. It said:
Take off all your clothes.
Stand in the middle of the room.
Wait.
Adam shivered, trying to tell himself it was because it was a little cold in the apartment. But he knew the truth.
He followed Joyce’s directions. He shucked off his clothes and stood naked in the middle of his new living room, his bare feet cold on the tile floor. The room was still relatively empty. The couch was behind him. He had boxes on the floor, an end table by the front door.
He was still incredibly excited, but the cold at least helped with his erection, keeping it from straining too much. Although, he was still very conscious of the fact that he was encased. Perhaps more conscious than he had ever been before when he had held his own key.
True. It had been in an ice cube, so it couldn’t be retrieved immediately. But he could retrieve it if he needed it.
Now, Joyce had it. He didn’t know where. And he had agreed to her rules. His cock was hers. The knowledge was exhilarating—and a little terrifying.
How long was he standing there? It felt like hours, but he knew it wasn’t. Maybe fifteen minutes. It just felt endless.
And then he heard it.
Joyce’s voice.
But from where?
He heard her easy laughter. The sound of clicking heels on a hard wood floor. Some clanking. Like glasses?
He looked all around, but she obviously wasn’t in his apartment.
She was upstairs. So how did he hear her?
Then he noticed the small box on the wall. It had been there all day. He’d been aware of it, but wasn’t sure what it was. The building was older. Now he realized exactly what it was. His cousin had one in his house, built in the early 60s.
It was an intercom. And the light on it was blinking. It was on.
He could hear Joyce because she was recording herself above him.
He thought of the note she had left earlier, and despite his frustration, he had to laugh. “You’ll hear from me this evening.” That’s what she had said.
He practically groaned out loud, but only stopped himself because he didn’t know if she could hear him too.
Because her clicking heels weren’t the only footsteps he heard.
He heard heavier footsteps too—footsteps like from someone’s flat footed, solid shoes.
A man’s shoes.
Joyce was upstairs with a man, having drinks, wearing heels, laughing. And here he was—downstairs—in the basement—naked, wearing his cage…and leaking onto the floor.
He couldn’t hear everything. The sound was muffled. They weren’t right next to the intercom. They were moving about the house, probably around the kitchen.
There was the scraping of chairs on the floor, more laughter, some of Joyce’s and some deeper chuckles, and then more of Joyce’s again. Flirty. Sexy laughter.
Adam found himself getting jealous. Why wasn’t he the one up there laughing with Joyce? Having dinner or drinks? Who was this guy?
But then mixed in with the jealousy was something else. Curiosity. Desire.
What was she looking like? What was she wearing? What was she laughing at?
What did he look like? Was he handsome? Were they touching?
He listened intently for every little sound. Running water. Was it in the kitchen or the bathroom? Silence. For how long? What did the silence mean? Then more muffled talking. Was that a moan? Or a grunt? Or just a sigh. Or something from outside.
He couldn’t tell, and it was making him crazy.
He imagined Joyce upstairs with this man, some good looking older man, someone Joyce’s age and then remembered what she had looked like yesterday, sitting astride his lap, kissing him, so in control. And what she had tasted like, the view of the inside of her creamy thighs as she rode his face.
Silence. There was just silence now.
What were they doing?
Was he fucking her?
Somehow, he imagined that this man would take control. He would grab Joyce and push her up against the wall, lift up her skirt and plunge into her pussy with his cock. Joyce wouldn’t be the one in control. He would. She wouldn’t grab his hair and push his face into her wet pussy. Instead, she would eagerly take his cock into his mouth, on her knees, looking up at him with hooded eyes…Adam’s key hanging from a gold chain around her neck, swinging lightly every time his cock hit the back of her beautiful, pale, smooth throat.
“Ungh.” He let out a strangled cry, somehow on the verge of orgasming, despite his cage, despite not even touching himself. But he knew he couldn’t come. He knew if he did, he would regret it.
And then….a moment later there was a knock at his door. And then the turning of a key in the lock, and there was Joyce, a half empty bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. She was wearing a figure hugging black dress and red pumps. She looked, as she had yesterday, amazing. He was pretty sure his mouth had starting watering, like she was Pavlov and he was her dog.
“I think I heard you,” she said, like she was surprised. “Was that you I heard just a second ago? It sounded like you were upset!”
She smiled brightly at him, as she stepped into the place, her heels clicking now on his floor.
“I….” Adam didn’t know what to say. He was still incredibly turned on and jealous, strangely confused and very naked.
“I heard you,” he stuttered out. “I could hear you up there with that man.”
“You could?”
She placed the bottle and glasses on Adam’s end table and walked over to the intercom.
“Oh! You could! Silly me. I must have accidently flipped on the intercom when I came to collect your lease agreement this afternoon.” Her eyes were playful. “This old thing,” she said. “Were you spying on me, Adam?”
“No!” Adam tried to stand up straighter, even though he was incredibly conscious of just how naked he was and just how clothed Joyce was. He wanted to hide himself. He slipped one hand on top of his cage, in his outrage, just to give himself a little more protection.
Joyce quickly stepped up next to him, so close he could feel the swish of the fabric of the dress she was wearing against his thigh, so close he could feel her breath on his cheek, as she gently took his hand and removed it from his cock.
“No, Adam,” she said, simply. And she didn’t have to say more. He understood. He must not cover himself from her.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
And then, “But I wasn’t spying, ma’am. You told me to take off my clothes and stand here naked and wait, and I did. And then I could hear you up there.”
“You could?” As she spoke, she hitched up her dress, and then took the hand he had used to cover his cock.
“What could you hear?” Then she spread her legs a little and guided his hand up her thighs, until it reached the warm, wetness of her pussy.
He moaned. “I heard you laughing. I heard your heels.”
She spread her legs a little more and urged his hand up, until one, then two fingers were inside of her, and his palm was nestled against her clit. She pressed herself into it.
“And…” she said.
“And…” With every thrust of his fingers inside of her, he couldn’t stop himself from slightly bucking his hips into empty air, mimicking what it would be like if it was his cock snugly fit inside her.
“And I heard a man with you. And I heard you talking. And then I couldn’t hear you talking, and I wasn’t sure what you were doing. And I imagined things…”
“What did you imagine, Adam?” Her breathing was faster now. She pulled down the top of her dress so one heavy voluptuous breast was freed, and she took it and put it in his mouth.
“Suck,” she said. Not harshly, but it wasn’t a request either. It was an order.
And Adam did. And he felt his mind floating back to that state of blissful calm as he sucked eagerly on her breast, his fingers still inside her as she used them.
Then she took her breast away, and she asked again, “What did you imagine?”
“I imagined him upstairs fucking you,” he admitted. “I imagined him pushing you against the wall and lifting up your skirt…your dress, and I imagined that you wouldn’t be wearing any panties, like you aren’t wearing any now. And then I imagined him taking out his cock and fucking you. Hard.”
“Go on,” she whispered in his ear, breathy, her voice uneven. “Don’t stop. What else did you imagine, Adam? Tell me.”
He whined. Gulped. He could feel her wet and hot and tight against his fingers, her pussy contracting around them, and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how she would feel wrapped around his cock, letting him slide in and out, milking the come out of his swollen balls.
“I imagined that you got down on your knees and you took his cock into your mouth and you sucked him. And you looked up at him while you were doing it so he could see how much you loved it…how much you wanted to take his big, thick, hard cock in your throat. And…and….”
“Yes. Yes. Finish it,” she said. He could tell she was on the verge of having an orgasm. He tried to turn his head to look at her, but she blocked him.
“No,” she said, nicely but firmly, like she was speaking to an overexcited puppy, which was a bit like how he felt.
“You’re doing such a good job for me, Adam. Keep being a good boy and look at the wall and finish it for me, and I’ll come all over your fingers, and then you can lick them off. Ok?”
“Ok.” He felt meek. But proud. He was doing a good job. He wanted to do a good job for her.
He continued. His voice strained, “…And then he told you to open your mouth wide because he was going to come, and you did. And you sucked out every last drop of his cum. And…and…and….the whole time….my key was hanging around your neck, and you knew…you knew…You knew that I could hear you down here fucking him and sucking his cock and you liked it. You liked it!”
She groaned and bit into his shoulder as she came hard, one hand possessively grabbing his chin, the other in his hair, pulling his head back, as she ground her pussy rhythmically against his hand, riding out the wave of her orgasm.
“Good boy,” she whispered, again and again into his ear.
“Such a good, sweet, denied, locked, desperate boy. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I hope so ma’am.”
“Look,” she said, and she finally let him turn his face toward her pink, heated cheeks.
She pointed at her neck.
Around it, he saw a slim, delicate gold chain, and at the end of it, settled right between her gorgeous breasts, was his key.
She smiled, and then she kissed him on the mouth.
“That was my ex-husband,” she said. “We’re still friends. He comes over every once in a while, and we have a drink for old times’ sake.”
Adam was embarrassed, but he needed to ask. “So, you weren’t fucking him?”
“No,” she said. “Not tonight, anyway.” She smirked.
“But you knew I could hear?”
“Of course.” She laughed. “The whole time I was thinking about you down here naked and caged and probably dripping pre-cum all over my nice clean floors.”
She glanced down at the tile. “It looks like I was right.”
“Uhhhnn.” He bit his lip. He was still so horny. “Ma’am? Maybe…maybe?”
Maybe she would take pity on him. Maybe she would let him come? He’d even take a ruined orgasm. Anything to relieve the pressure.
“Oh! Of course,” she said. She reached and gave his heavy balls a squeeze, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
“These are coming along nicely. You’ll have a such a nice big load saved up for me. Eventually. But you’re not ready yet. Are you. You can take a little more for me, can’t you, Adam.”
It wasn’t a question. He knew. He also knew how much he was going to ache later, toss and turn, maybe have to ice himself down just to get to sleep.
But she was right. He wasn’t ready. He wanted. He needed more.
“Yes, ma’am,” he submitted.
She patted his cheek. “That’s my boy,” she said.
“We’re off to such a good start. I almost forgot your reward for being such a good boy. Open wide and suck my fingers nice and clean. Use lots of tongue. For practice.”
“And Adam,” she said, caressing his key with her left hand as he hungrily nursed on the manicured fingers of her right, “Don’t forget to say thank you when you’re done.”
“Hello, Adam.” She continued, taking out a set of keys, which Adam tried hard not to start at too deeply. They reminded him of HIS key.
The basement apartment was perfect.
Perfect location. Perfect size. Perfect rent, meaning that it was low.
As Adam stood in front of the row house waiting for the landlord to come out and give him a tour, he hoped silently that she hadn’t already made up her mind to go with another tenant.
But when she emerged from the front door a moment later, he forgot the apartment entirely. She was gorgeous. Just his type. Wearing a clinging sweater and a figure hugging knee length skirt. Also, he could tell she was a good bit older than him, by maybe ten years or so. He had a thing for older women—just one of his “things,” and he could feel his cock straining against its snug metal cage underneath of his pants.
That was another one of his “things.”
He regretted wearing the cage now, although he wore it most days, and he had started feeling naked without it. But he hadn’t expected—this. This woman who was efficiently making her way down her front steps with a playful smile and her well-manicured hand outstretched in a greeting. She made him feel extremely conscious of it all of a sudden.
“Hello, there,” she said. “Don’t you look like a fine, upstanding young man. I’m Joyce. Nice to meet you.”
She laughed a little, and Adam couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.
“Thank you,” he stuttered. “Adam.” He could feel himself blushing. “I try to be.” All the while was acutely aware of his cock trying to break out and retreating, and he suddenly felt horrified that she would KNOW.
But she couldn’t know, he reminded himself. There was no way for her to know. His cage fit well. He wore it all the time. No one could see it under the dark fabric of his pants. So, he took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the reason he was here—the apartment.
“Hello, Adam.” She continued, taking out a set of keys, which Adam tried hard not to start at too deeply. They reminded him of HIS key. And seeing her hold them made him wish for a keyholder of his own—a woman, like Joyce, who would have the control over him that he craved.
“I’ve had a few applicants already, but I haven’t made up my mind. I am really looking for someone who can be helpful once in a while. I mean, not ALL the time. But since my divorce, I admit sometimes things get a bit screwy, and it would be nice to have a tenant who could help me out a little. That’s why the rent is low. Is that something you would be open to?”
“Oh!” He realized he said that too loudly.
Joyce looked startled. “I don’t mean I plan to take advantage,” she said, quickly. “Just small things, like when the smoke detector went off and I couldn’t figure out how to get it to stop. Or when there was a brick loose on the front stairs.”
“Oh, no,” he said. The idea of helping Joyce out with her chores made the apartment even that much more valuable. If only she’d known he would have paid extra for the privilege. “I’d be fine with that,” he said. “I’m very handy. I wouldn’t mind at all.”
She smiled. “What a catch! Then let me show you the place. Okay?”
Adam blushed again at the compliment. He followed her down the narrow staircase to the basement and waited as she fumbled with the lock to let him inside.
Inside, the apartment was just as nice as it had looked in the pictures.
“Take your time,” she said. “Take a look around. Let me know if you have any questions.”
The apartment was totally unfurnished except for a sofa in the middle of the living room.
“The last tenant left that,” she said. You can keep it, or I can get rid of it for you.
“Thanks,” he said. “I could use a couch.” And he began his inspection of the place, turning on and off lights, checking out the laundry nook, the bathroom, the small bedroom, the kitchen. Everything looked clean and in shape. He couldn’t believe his luck.
“So, you’re a student?” Joyce asked, conversationally.
“Grad student,” said Adam. “I’m studying engineering.”
“That’s nice,” she said. “That’s a lucrative field to be in.”
“I hope so,” he said. He was in the kitchen now, making sure the fridge worked.
“Any girlfriends? It’s not that I mind. I just want to know who might be around….Or boyfriends?”
He laughed politely, trying to pretend that he didn’t wish Joyce was asking for a reason other than pure safety.
“No girlfriends,” he said. “Or boyfriends.”
He added too quickly, “But I’m more interested in girlfriends.” And then he wondered if that had sounded desperate. But if Joyce had noticed, she didn’t comment on it.
Then he started opening up the kitchen cabinets, seeing how much space was available for his stuff. One drawer was sticky.
“Are you now…” She was leaning up against the wall next to the front door, tracing a pattern on the tile floor with her foot. “No girlfriend? A cute young thing like you?”
It almost sounded like she was flirting with him, but he realized that was crazy. His cage was getting to him.
He pulled hard on the drawer, and at the same time, Joyce called, “Oh, wait, Adam! Stop. It’s broken!”
But it was too late. He pulled harder, and the drawer suddenly came unstuck and flew straight into his groin, the corner of it hitting straight onto his cage.
“Oh, my god!” He doubled over, instinctively. The pain was intense, partially because of the way the drawer had knocked into the metal and partially because he was already so swollen. It had been weeks since he’d allowed himself an orgasm. He’d been engrossed in studying, so it had been okay, but now being around Joyce, he was already feeling desperate. The combination of both knocked the wind out him.
Joyce was at his side in a second. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I am so, so sorry. Are you okay?” She leaned over him, and her top dipped lower so her ample busom was straight in his line of view.
He groaned.
“You’re not okay. That damned drawer! I meant to tell you. Are you….she looked down at his crotch…are you injured?”
“No. No. It’s okay,” he managed to croak, but he realized he didn’t sound reassuring. There was no way to explain that the closer Joyce got to him, the closer those breasts were to his face, the closer he could smell whatever delicious perfume she had on, the more it was making his cock swell inside of its cage.
“I really think you’re not okay,” she said. “Look. Let me just check. I’m worried you’re seriously hurt.” And before he could stop her, she reached out and touched his cock over his pants.
“No!” He said.
But it was too late. A curious expression was already on her face.
And as soon as he felt the pressure of her hand, he moaned. He moaned.
He actually moaned out loud.
“Oh, my god,” he said again, but this time he wasn’t sure if it was from pain, desire or mortification.
Joyce’s entire demeanor suddenly changed. She went from worried to smirking in the space of ten seconds.
“Adam, what have you got going on down there?”
And instead of taking her hand away, she gripped a little harder, feeling her way around the outline of the cage.
“Oh, my,” she said. “Is that what I think it is?”
Adam was so flustered he didn’t know what to do. Should he tell her to remove her hand? That was the last thing he wanted. But he was so engorged. He needed relief. And he hadn’t even brought his key with him. He kept it at home frozen in an ice cube so he wouldn’t be tempted to use it…just like he wished his keyholder would to do him, if he had one. And now Joyce was going to be disgusted and he wouldn’t get the apartment. God, he wanted to come! God, he wanted out of his cage.
He started to cry. Silently at first, but Joyce’s hand was still there. Massaging? Was she massaging his caged cock? And a moan slipped out, followed by a sob.
“Are you crying?”
“No.” He didn’t want her to see.
“You are,” said Joyce. “Poor baby.” She took her hand off his cock and took his hand instead.
“Come over here.” She led him over to the couch, and he let her guide him, pull him down next to her. The pain was fading, but the arousal wasn’t, especially now that her body was pressed up against his, her hand on one of his thighs, and the embarrassment was even stronger.
“So, tell me about that,” she said, her eyes darting over his crotch.
“I don’t….I don’t want to,” he said, unsure if he meant it or not. What would he tell her? What could he tell her? “It’s…embarrassing.”
“Do you want the apartment,” she asked, coolly.
“You’re still going to rent me the apartment?” That thought had ceased to be a possibility to him the second the drawer had come unstuck.
“It depends,” she said. “Are you going to tell me about that?” And with that, she put her hand on top of his cage again, letting it rest there lightly.
He felt dazed. “It’s a cage,” he admitted.
“For?”
“For my….”
“For your cock,” she finished. “It’s a cock cage. A chastity cage. Isn’t it?”
He gasped. “How did you know?”
She laughed. “Adam, I’ve been around the block a time or two. It’s not like I don’t know what a chastity cage is. I just never expected a cute young thing like you to show up at my front door wearing one. And to think, I almost had that drawer fixed yesterday.”
Adam was shocked. Joyce looked so proper. His mind raced.
“Let me see it,” she ordered.
“See it?”
“Yes. Pull down your pants. I want to see it.”
See it! She wanted to see it? Adam had dreamed of a moment like this, but now that it was here and not just a fantasy in his head, he was gripped by mortification. His cock looked so small in the cage. Helpless. That was part of what he liked about it. But what if Joyce laughed at it? At him?
“I don’t know if I can do it,” he admitted. “No one but me has ever seen it before.”
“Do you want the apartment?”
“Yes! Oh, yes!”
“Then let me see it.”
Her hands were lightly tracing the outside of the cage under the fabric of his pants. She deftly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. “See. I’ll do half the work for you.”
“You might laugh at me.” He frowned. The tears felt like they might come again.
“I won’t laugh,” she promised, solemnly. “Not at you.”
“Okay.”
He knew his face was flaming red, but he managed to lift himself up enough to pull his pants and underwear down so they rested below his knees. Then he was naked from the waist down on the couch, his chastity cage on full display to Joyce. He had never felt so vulnerable before. Or so horny.
“Well, isn’t that cute,” said Joyce, fingering his caged cock.
The feel of her skin everywhere except his cock itself was maddening. True to her word, she didn’t laugh. But she did grin in a way that made Adam feel desperate and nervous at the same time.
“Aren’t you cute,” she said. “Cute enough to eat up.”
And she climbed on top of him on the couch, her skirt riding up, and kissed him hard on the mouth, biting at his lips. She also started grinding against his cage, the pressure painfully pleasurable.
“Oh, ma’am,” he whispered, not even realizing what he’d said until it had come out from his lips.
“Oh, yes. Ma’am” She took a break from kissing him. “I think we’re going to get along very well, Adam.”
“Ma’am,” he whined. “I’m so swollen. Please. It feels so good, but I’m so swollen.”
“I know, baby. I can tell. Poor boy.” She cupped his full balls and squeezed lightly. “You ARE full. We’ll have to do something about that. But not quite yet.”
“Do I have the apartment,” he asked. “Can I live here?” The apartment and the pain and the pleasure and the desire and Joyce were all mixed together now in a way he couldn’t understand, but just knew he needed.
“Well,” she said, evenly. “There’s just one little test left. Maybe we can call it a background check.”
“Oh. Yes, ma’am. Please. Tell me what it is.”
“I’ll just show you,” she said.
She climbed off his lap and arranged herself on the couch, slipping a pair of red panties from beneath her skirt and onto the floor.
“Let’s see how industrious you are, Adam. Let’s see what kind of help you can provide. I did say I was looking for good help. Didn’t I?”
She hitched up her skirt, so he could see the small triangle of neatly trimmed thatch in the v of her thighs. Then she opened them wide.
The invitation was unmistakable.
She didn’t have to tell him twice. He fell to the floor and buried his face between her legs, coating his mouth and cheeks in her wetness. He wasn’t sure what she liked, how to do a good job. He didn’t have much experiences—just eagerness. But he didn’t need it. She grabbed the back of his head with both hands and pulled his face into her pussy so he could barely breathe, grinding her clit against him.
Meanwhile, he was aching so much, he wanted to explode.
“That’s it,” she coaxed, working herself against him. “Right there. Good boy. Keep still. I’m almost there already. You got me so worked up. It won’t be long.”
He didn’t move. He just let her use him as she liked, and a powerful wave of calm washed over him.
This was everything he had been looking for.
“Good boy.” Her thighs tensed against his skull. “Keep your tongue nice and flat, just like that. You don’t need to do anything else. I’ll do all the work.” She grabbed his hair and held him still. “Almost. Almost.”
It was hard. He needed to breathe, but he knew what was expected of him.
“Shhh,” she coaxed, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, his limits and just how far she could push them. And then she let out a delighted squeal, her hands gripping even harder in his hair, her pussy clamped over his mouth and pulsing against him.
After she was done, she let him slump to the ground and rest his face against her leg. He had never felt so satisfied or so horny in his entire life. His cock strained against the inside of the metal, and he felt tingly and high, and yet content. This was where he was meant to me.
She petted him gently, and he sighed in affection and frustration against her smooth skin.
Finally, she spoke.
“Well done, Adam. I’ll take first month’s deposit in sweat equity,” she said, with an easy laugh, that he knew wasn’t at him but for him.
“You can move in tomorrow. Don’t forget to bring MY key. But, don’t worry. I don’t think we’ll be needing it for a while.
