erotica

This week in kink: June 21, 2021

June 17, 2021 By Dexx Leave a Comment

BDSM can have healing effects! Check out how financial domination helped heal Mistress Marley’s trauma from MadameNoire!

Mistress Marley Shares How Financial Domination Healed Her Trauma From Corporate America

Into erotica?

Then, don’t miss these awesome erotica sites from yahoo!life!

Read this interesting poll where 1000 women were asked what they would never do in bed from mamamia!

Click below to find out more!

Have some kinky news to share? Tell us about any upcoming BDSM events, new products, dungeon openings / closings, kink in mainstream media, and anything else you think kinky folks might be interested to hear about. Send your tips through to kinkweekly@gmail.com, and it might just end up on next week’s “This Week in Kink.”

This week in kink: May 10, 2021

May 6, 2021 By Dexx 2 Comments

Check out this interesting article on Snow White and consent from CBR.com!

Cirque Du Vulgar is coming to CornWall!

Read more about this erotic experience from CornWall Live!

Don’t miss the erotic, BDSM-filled drama Little Birds!

Find out more from the EW!

Have some kinky news to share? Tell us about any upcoming BDSM events, new products, dungeon openings / closings, kink in mainstream media, and anything else you think kinky folks might be interested to hear about. Send your tips through to kinkweekly@gmail.com, and it might just end up on next week’s “This Week in Kink.”

Interview With Mira O’Hart

February 14, 2021 By slave_bunny 2 Comments

How did you get into writing? What draws you to writing erotica?

I’ve always loved writing and language. It appeals to me that there are so many options in how to express something. I began writing this novel as a teen. It didn’t have its current form then; it was a compilation of short stories in my journal. It was a way of expressing thoughts and feelings that I didn’t have another way to express.

Do you identify as kinky in your personal life?

Currently I identify as a Sadomasochist. I’m drawn to multiple aspects of BDSM and have enjoyed scenes as a top and bottom and had a long term BDSM relationship.

If so, how does this affect your writing?

I think the fact that I have ‘played’ and felt and used the implements that I write about makes my work more authentic than a writer who has never had these experiences. For instance, someone who has never enjoyed a single-tail may assume they cause only pain, whereas I know they can bring immense pleasure in the right hands and when that person is finished with you- you’re thrilled to be a pile of goo at their feet. It’s this sensation I want to put across when aaron first meets his Master.

What do you feel are the things that make great works of erotica?

I think for the reader to find the scene ‘hot’ the writer has to first find it hot. My work tends to have a lot of M/m with BDSM elements but not a lot of explicit sex or graphic depictions. Why? Because the chaining and beating and groveling are what does it for me. There are only two actual ‘sex’ scenes in the book, because, for me, sex is not the focus.

Do you feel that erotica must always come across as ethical? Why or why not?

No. Readers need to exert their own judgement there. Some fantasies can be dark. In consensual BDSM scenes we negotiate them out and keep everyone safe. In a fictional world with fictional characters a writer can be free to take the reader on a more extreme ride. Is this the same as what we would actually want done to us? Perhaps not, but it’s great creative fuel for a fun consensual scene later.

What projects are you currently working on?

I am currently working on book two of the series. When I need a break, I have another less developed piece that I play with. It may become a novel someday.

Besides being a writer, what would you like our readers to know what about you?

I don’t fit well in any box. I’m a wiccan, I’m homoflexible, I am kind and loving and I’m a conservative. It’s terrifying to say that in today’s world, because you instantly get hated. I love animals. I have two cats I adore. I can’t wait for Covid to be over so that I can travel again or take in a museum or Broadway show. I’m fortunate to have a great family and friends, and I am still hoping to find a long- term lifestyle relationship (fingers crossed).

Where can our readers find you online?

I’m on Fetlife frequently; I use Mira O’Hart as my profile name.

What would you say is your overall mission regarding your work?

To give life and expression to my characters. It was so fulfilling to publish book one. It’s an amazing feeling that people around the world are reading my words. This was my dream for decades as my characters took their first breaths in the pages of my diary.

Any closing words?

I’d like to try to explain the world/setting a bit. In my fictional world: The United States are still operating under the Articles of Confederation – ie. The States never unified, slavery remained legal in some States and not in others, but it’s not a North/South thing. With today’s racial tensions, I had some fears that people might misconstrue it as a racially motivated work. It is not. In book two I might get to play around more with how differently some States developed. Technology is quite different (think 1940’s or so). Not everyone has cars, or phones. No computers, no cell phones. TV’s are very new and expensive. Also, slave names are intentionally lower case, like we do in the scene. The exception is Sugar, because she doesn’t even listen to me.

Mira O’Hart credits her life long love of words, books and language to her Mom, who read to her every day. “Bookie” was one of her first words and publishing her own novel became a goal by age 10. Mira studied Journalism and Psychology at Penn State and later returned for a Master’s Degree in Education. Her varied career has included journalism, community mental health and school counseling.

Her passions include reading, writing, animals and travel. Italy and Greece are two of her favorite places visited so far. Her love of the written word has inspired her to study ancient languages including Latin, Egyptian Hieroglyphs and Summarian. She lives in North Eastern Pa with her cats, Tilly and Chloe.

Erotica: The Marionette

November 14, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

sexy submissive hair pulling toilet slut — via stock.adobe.com

I need you to leave me.

No, that’s not quite true. I need you to leave me…broken.

I need you to strip me of my building doubt and fear and bring me back to reality.

It has been a long few months Sir. I’ve waited patiently from the shelf I’ve been placed on. A lifeless doll, stationed on the living room bookcase, just watching the world through wooden lids.

Can you see the varnish on my eyes; glossed over and shining with need? Can you hear the creak of my hinges as I try to reach out to you? Can you feel the cracks in my body when you hug me? Can you taste the dust covering my soul when you kiss me?

Probably not.

I am a very good marionette. I move when you need me to. I move in and out of your vision when I feel it is necessary to ease your stress levels.

I make a lot of decisions. My mind moves a mile a minute, but my mouth is stitched shut. I tug and I tug but the threads are so tight.

I should be panicking.

But, I’m not.

Because good girls wait for when they are needed.

Isn’t that right Sir?

I am a slow learner, but I know that patience is a cornerstone of self-control. And self-control is your number one requirement.

So, I wanted to share a story with you. I want you to close your eyes and dream of breaking me in the most deliciously depraved ways.

Here is what I see:

My eyes are closed. They have been for ages now. You put me in the back of your van, told me to keep them shut, and not say a word. I do not know how long we have been driving. For all I know, you have been driving in circles just to disorient me.

Halfway through, you told me to strip. I am not wearing much. I never do when you tell me to get ready. I am so used to being naked for you, clothing seems almost a sin. There should never be anything that prevents you from seeing or touching any part of me at any time.

Its cold, even inside your van. I am curled in a ball, my knees at my chest, with my back against the seat. I am staying out of view. It would be no fun if the police were to pull us over.

It is taking everything I have Sir not to open my eyes. My stomach is rolling with motion sickness and my body is disoriented from all the movement. Yet, I know that’s why you did not blindfold me. You prefer that I obey through will power and without assistance. That’s why I know that whatever happens, I am going to have to make sure I stay in the moment.

Thankfully, the van finally stops. I have not moved. I am waiting for your instruction.

Mistake number one.

I hear the door open and suddenly my ankle is pulled harshly. My head drops to the floor and my back burns from the rug.

“Up and Present”

I scramble to follow your voice. I am hesitant because I cannot see where you are and where I should be. As I get up on my knees, you have decided I am not moving fast enough. Your fingers wrap around the chainmaille of my day collar and yank me forward. You are the only thing holding me up.

“Have you forgotten everything? Is this what I am stuck with?”

Your words sting. I keep my face stoic. You have not given me leave to speak. But, I right myself and get my balance back. My hands lock behind my back. My knees are biting into the grooves in the floor of the van. The connector bars for the seats are not kind to my shins either.

You lightly smack my cheek. “Head up.” You command. Then, without warning, my collar drops from my neck. My eyes are wide behind the lids. Now, I am panicking a little bit. You’ve never removed it without warning before. Have I upset you Sir? Are you abandoning me here? Am I being released? My chest is heavy and constricted. What have I done? Why won’t you talk to me? Please Sir. Please, tell me I can speak. Please.

Thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds and I have worked myself into a panic.

Thirty seconds and then I feel it. I feel the smoothness of my leather collar. I can hear the rings and feel the heaviness against my throat. I take a deep breath. I know what is coming next.

Your hands tighten it to its furthest point. I can see white spots behind my eyelids. My lips fall open in an ‘O’ and I gasp. This is about control. You will release when you are ready, not when I am.

And you do. As the blood pounds through my head and my head is dizzy in need, you let go. You buckle it comfortably.

I’m naked, terrified, and in my TPE collar.

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to break me.

Your palm is resting on the top of my head. I am trying to prepare myself for what I have gotten myself into.

Ten Seconds.

Twenty seconds.

Thirty seconds.

The silence is long tonight. It is never a good sign when you are quiet Sir. It means you are losing yourself in the moment. That means the dragon you keep leashed inside will be in charge tonight. I may not survive this.

And so, it begins.

Your hand curls into my hair and I am yanked from the van and thrown to the ground below. It is soft and cold. In a split second, your hand is back in my hair and you are half dragging me. I am trying to crawl fast enough, but I keep stumbling. Left and right, back and forth, there is no rhyme or reason to where you are taking me. I feel filthy. My hands and knees are sinking into the Earth.

Please Sir, let me open my eyes.

I am thrown back to the ground with a disgusted sigh. I can hear your frustration with me. I don’t remember the last time I couldn’t keep up with you, step for step. I’m frustrated with myself and we have only just begun.

I turned my face sideways to lessen the pain on contact. I figured it out now.

You have me in the mud. You have me naked, outdoors, in the fucking mud. I did the first thing that came to mind. I growled.

I forget how quick you can move Sir. You had me flipped over and you knelt across my ass, your knee landing on my lower back. Your hand wrapped in my hair and yanked my head back painfully. You leaned close to my ear and spoke ever so softly.

“Did you have something to say piggie?”

I growled again.

You pushed my face into the mud and then pulled me back.

“Good little piggies oink.”

Silence.

I refuse to give you what you are asking.

Try Me. Push Me. Make Me.

As soon as you let go of my hair, I made a decision. I bucked my ass up to jostle you and I took off. Even with my eyes closed, I was determined to put distance between us. I have no idea if you lost your balance or not. As quick as I felt your boot to my side, kicking me over, I knew I had not bucked hard enough.

I landed on my back and before I could breathe, your boot was on my neck. It pressed firmly and I felt myself sinking into the mud. My hands pushed against your boot without relief. I knew I had pissed you off.

“Open your eyes.” My eyes popped open instantly. Even in the darkness, it was too bright. I blinked rapidly and struggled to breathe.

You are ready to watch me suffer.

You finally lift from my neck and I am gasping for breath. Your boot meets my cheek and shoves half my face back into the ground and I hear you talking finally.

“Your hands will stay off my leather if you wish to keep them out of play. Do I make myself clear?”

“yes.”

You push down harder. “Yes, Sir.”

“Up.”

My breathing is laboured and I am seriously contemplating refusing you. But, deep down, I cannot bring myself to do so.

I need this.

I lift myself from the mud. It is already drying on me. I can feel it cracking. I’m on my knees, staring up at you.

You tap my lips and I open obediently, tongue out. You clip a clothespin to next to my piercing. You smile so mockingly. “This will help wash you off.” I glared. Drool is not a way to wash myself.

“Tonight, we are going to work on your discipline, lil piggie. Kneel up, off your heels. Back straight, eyes forward, neck straight. Lace your fingers behind your head and keep your arms up. I do not want to hear a sound.”

You walked around me. I don’t like losing sight of you Sir, especially in such a foreign environment. I feel your boot nudge my ass. I rocked ever so slightly, but no sound.

Then, it happened. I felt a sharp sting. It hurt. I was unprepared for this Sir.

Then again.

And again. There was no warm-up. You are hitting me as though we have been doing impact for a half hour now. My body is cold and sensitive.

It hurts. My knees are shaking. Holding myself in this position makes it hard to zone out the pain of the hits.

I bet that was your intention.

Six. I think so anyway.

Seven. A sob is caught in my throat.

Eight. I am unsure what it even striking me at this point. It hurts. You keep changing the contact point.

Nine. The tears are leaking. I am trying so hard to keep quiet. I need to please you.

Ten. That was a particularly vicious hit to my thighs. I broke.

I fell forward. My body is hunched over, my back bare. My hands are in the mud and I am shaking, trying to keep the sobs in.

Silence.

I can hear you breathing. Even now, it cuts through the sobs. I am aware of you.

I bring myself back up into position. Just as you expect.

Its not the falling that disappoints you. It is the unwillingness to pick myself back up.

I look up at you. You are blurry through the tears.

Without a word, you take your boot and place it on my chest. You push. My body starts bending backwards. You are saying all you need to without a single word. If I am going to bend, it will be at your will and your will alone.

I keep balance for as long as I can until I am once again on my back. Your boot moves and the heel grinds into my nipple piercing. It feels as though you will rip it from my body. It hurts to intensely.

My body is twisting, trying to escape you. Your weight holds me in place.

Please Sir. It hurts so bad.

You move to my other piercing. It burns.

Please Sir.

Please.

You’ve barely touched me and I feel as though I’ve run a marathon.

I just want your comfort now.

Please Sir.

You move to grind your boot against my sex. My pelvic bone feels as though it is cracking beneath you.

I’m sobbing again.

But I know how to end this.

I must give myself over to your control again.

You are waiting for me to willingly do so.

I have known what I need to do for a while now. But my head was set on rebellion.

After a particularly strong grind, you remove your weight. Sobbing, covered in mud, and aching fiercely, I curl into a ball.

Brokenly, I end it.

“OINK.”

My name is Joji. I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42. I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling. I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay. I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning. I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan. I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education). It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement. We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.

This week in kink: October 12, 2020

October 10, 2020 By Dexx 2 Comments

Is there a correlation between increased BDSM business and the Trump administration?

Is the social and political climate impacting people’s sexual desires?

Has the pandemic been a catalyst for an increase in kink?

Mistress Iris answers all of these thought-provoking questions in this riveting article brought to us by the Daily Beast!

Click below to read more!

https://www.thedailybeast.com/a-dominatrix-on-why-bdsm-business-is-booming-during-trump-and-covid?ref=scroll

Australia’s best nudist resort hits the market after 20 years!

The owner wants to move to Thailand.

They offer a wide variety of classes, sexy accomodations, tantric massages, and so much more!

Click below to learn more!

Australia’s best nudist retreat is hitting the market for the first time in 20 years

Love erotic photography?

If so, check out the amazing work of Mark McKnight!

His images touch on the positivity and vibrance that comes with expressing one’s sexuality to another individual. His work is quite moving, and has a sensual/sweet and naughty flare all at the same time.

Click below to find out more!

Have some kinky news to share? Tell us about any upcoming BDSM events, new products, dungeon openings / closings, kink in mainstream media, and anything else you think kinky folks might be interested to hear about. Send your tips through to kinkweekly@gmail.com, and it might just end up on next week’s “This Week in Kink.”

Erotica: A Touch of Trepidation

August 3, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

woman tied to chair splashed with water — via stock.adobe.com

Tonight I want to fear you. That’s not entirely true. I could never fear you Sir. What I really want, is to taste fear. I want to feel the hole in my stomach, the prickling on my skin, and my heart racing. I want the blood to pound in my head and my chest to rise and fall rapidly. I want to be disoriented and scared, and pushed to my limit.

I trust you Sir.

I’ve given You the liberties to my body, my mind, and my soul

I’ve let you love me in the most depraved ways.

Because that’s how we are.

Tonight, I want you to love me with fear. I want to shake and sob because I don’t know what’s going to happen. I want the lines between our decisions and our limits to be blurred.

I’m cold, Sir. My body is shaking ever so slightly. My muscles are tensing trying to hold position. I’ve been here around ten minutes I’d guess.
But, you know what happens when I’m cold.
It starts small. I feel the ache in my hands and feet as the skin starts to stretch and swell. Then I feel the irritation in my knees. The cold causes them to itch and welt. Then the goosebumps start. They run the length of my arms and up my spine. They cause my muscles to contract painfully. Then, the longer I hold it, the more violent my trembling. The harder it is to breathe.

You’ve kept it cold on purpose.

I know this. Because, when I’m struggling to hold myself still, I cannot sink into oblivion. I cannot regulate the pain of play by breathing and counting and disassociating. I cannot simply close my eyes and bite down and bear it.

I’m too distracted.

I’ve spread my legs wider than I’m supposed to at this point. My forehead is resting on the bed, an allowable position if my arms weren’t hanging loosely at my side and my ass wasn’t sitting on my heels.

Every time I breathe in, it’s like breathing menthol. There’s a spot, right between my brows, that feels like ice with each inhale. As I exhale, I can hear the tremble of my breath. I’ve given up fidgeting. I’ve lost track of time. I’ve given in to my body before we’ve even started.

Just as you planned.

Because the greatest way to start the fear, is to put me in a position where my only outcome will lead to disappointment.

We both know that my body has more limits in the cold. We both know, leaving me naked and waiting is going to wear me down. But I haven’t spoken. And you haven’t even started yet.

I missed the sound of the door opening. You always walk so silently but I’m usually much more in tune with your movements.

I feel sluggish. Like everything is in slow motion.

I feel the point of your knife against my spine. I inhale sharply as you drag it up my sensitive skin. It burns Sir. It burns like it’s been heated. You trail it up and down with purpose, but you haven’t spoken yet. Other than the slow torture, you don’t seem to acknowledge i’m even here.

You yank my hair and pull my head back hard. It tightens my airway and I feel the point of your knife right below my chin. You drag it so slowly. I’m trying not to move and in desperately trying to meet your eyes but you won’t look at me. Your eyes are focused on my chest.

What are you looking for? Why won’t you meet my eyes? Is it to make me panic? Is it to stop me from finding my center?

I’m beginning to wonder if I am ready for what I’ve asked for.

You kicked my legs farther apart. My thighs are straining with the effort. You slid the knife between my knees, laying it on the floor a hairsbreadth away from my crotch. I know better than to rest against it. Not only is it bad form, but then I would be dirtying your shine. I don’t need that punishment right now.

You’ve moved behind me now. My eyes slide closed as the blindfold goes on. I’m surprised when a knotted rope slips between my teeth, pulling tight against my cheeks. Then, the hood.

How I hate that hood with a passion. You know how much I panic when I feel alone and vulnerable.

The fabric pulls against my nostrils and mouth as my breathing increases. I’m straining to hear you. I’m tempted to move but you’ve fixed that issue.
The rope is threaded through my D-ring and wrapped from elbow to wrist. It pulls at my shoulders and brings my back straight.

I know with certainty why you bound me. It’s not something you normally do. You did it solely to make me vulnerable. You know I would fight the urge to reach for you. You love seeing the beads of sweat down my brow as I’m trying to hold myself together for you.

Today, you are testing me. You have taken my number one fear, silence, and amplified it.

You’ve left me cold, my nerves on fire, and my senses taken.

You’ve left me in a state of shock.

You’ve left me…

I’m convinced you’ve left me down here alone Sir.

It’s so cold and so dark.

When I asked you to make me afraid, I had a very different vision than this. I imagined being thrown around like a rag doll. I imagined harsh words and an audience to humiliate me. I even imagined you might let someone else touch me.

But, I never imagined it would all be in my head.

My eyes are burning. I’m afraid you’ve left me alone down here and the silence is deafening.

I finally dropped. My head fell forward, my chin to my chest, and I’m shifting on my knees. I’m restless and scared and desperate to find you.

*Thwack*

I screamed in both shock and pain at the intensity of the hit. If I was in a state to guess, I’m betting I was kissed by your snake whip.

*Thwack**Thwack*

I’m trying to curl back. You’ve hit each breast and my stomach. Every time you strike me, I move. Every time I move, you strike me.

Over and over again, you kiss my skin. It hurts and I’m crying. I’m hiccupping around the gag.

I can’t breathe. That’s exactly what your aim is, I’m sure of it. Pain is much harder to enjoy when I can’t sink into it.

I don’t remember the strikes stopping. But I remember the hood being yanked from my head and your fist in my hair.

I remember your hand slapping me and you letting me fall sideways to the floor.

I can still feel the rubber of your boot against my reddened cheek. I remember the pressure and the pain in my ass as you smacked it, over and over again. I’m not even sure what you used.

I’m begging for mercy in my head. But I’m not ready to give in. When you move back, I’m trying desperately to bring my knees back under me. I’m trying to be good and give you access to my body.

My legs are wobbling so bad. I’m trying to hear you through the rushing in my ears. I know you are talking. I’m convinced it’s about how much I’m failing.

Rule number one: if you have not been told to move, you stay in position.
You’ve told me often enough that you get such Sadistic pleasure watching me fall out of position and having to out myself back into place. That’s why you rarely bind me. Because good girls know how to stay put.

I’m afraid I’ll never be good enough. I’m afraid I’ll never be enough.I’m afraid I’ll always be too…

Broken.

I don’t remember much Sir. I’m having trouble remembering what happened after I struggled to kneel up.

The next thing I remember is being laid out across the floor, free of restraints, with my head in your lap and your palm against the back of my neck.

As the sounds of water cleared from my ears, I can hear you talking. My eyes are closed, they feel so heavy. I’m shivering but sweating profusely.
“I’m so proud of you”. That’s the first thing I hear.

And I sob.

Your hand rubs up and down my back and I can hear you encourage me to let go. That you’re here for me and you love me and it’s going to be ok.
I don’t know how long you held me before I opened my eyes. I looked up at yours, still feeling dazed. You meet them and give me three kisses to my forehead.

“You did so good, my little piggie. Such a good pain slut”. Even after all of that, you know just how to make me smile.

I asked you to make me afraid.

You did that. Even if I don’t remember all of it.

But, as you stood up, and I moved to kiss your boots, all I felt was peace.
Even in the darkest moments of play and the depths of a panicking mind, I will never fear you Sir.

That’s a promise.

Erotic fiction on Kink Weekly is for entertainment purposes only. It is not intended as a guide for how to do BDSM yourself. Always obtain explicit, enthusiastic consent from your partner before incorporating any element in your BDSM sessions, and maintain the ability for them to withdraw consent at any time during the scene, using a safeword or similar.

Erotica: Hanar’s New Life

July 26, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. 2 Comments

Erotica: The Hunted

July 19, 2020 By eve 2 Comments

dominant man and beautiful submissive in car — via stock.adobe.com

I had plans with the girls, my girls. Dinner and some dancing. I know you wanted me to stay and play, but these plans were made ages ago. Begrudgingly, you accepted that I wouldn’t drink at the club and you can pick me up. Myself and my four work friends always have a fantastic time. They are my freedom. We talk and support each other about the important stuff and dance our problems away a couple of times a year. I’m just one of the girls.

You once said I was a lot of woman. I’m pretty much an Amazonian. In the day to day, I’m a fixer, I coordinate and manage my corner of the universe. My work makes a difference. I’m five-foot-nine, red hair and hazel eyes and I like shoes. Moreover, I love high heel shoes. I feel sexy and powerful in them. It is the only public intersection of my kink and the vanilla world.

It’s just after 11 when I notice you at the bar. You’re kinda’ hard to miss, your six- four muscle defined frame with swarthy features is rather imposing. Your position at the end of the bar gives you a view of the entire dance floor. Like a puppy seeing her owner I make my way over and come to you. My hair is pulled into a ponytail, my sheer black blouse is fantastic for dancing, I don’t get too warm. It helps that my boobs look amazing and if I am dancing, boobs are bouncing. You do not look impressed. I suck in my bottom lip instinctually as I read your expression. I’m trying to suppress my smile and giggle of satisfaction. I like you this way. It makes our play more intense.

“Thanks for coming to get me. I want to stay a little longer, ok?” Your right hand is at my waist. I reach up and kiss your cheek. Dramatically, I bat my eyelashes and pout a little. I know it annoys you, but I’m feeling brave.

“Really?” you reply flatly.

I am effervescent and bubbly. You’re less than amused. My response brings out the brat in me, I kiss you on the cheek and return to the dance floor. The girls are where I left them, we have a yelling conversation about your arrival, I point you out and they all wave. You are stoic and tip your head towards us. When will I have pushed your patience to the limit? You are used to weekends being all yours. I hug the girls farewell and join you. I’m still giddy, playful, and fearless. You put your hand in the small of my back and maneuver through the crowd. This softens me; there is a shift in the dynamic between us. As we get to the car, I start to take my hair down. I know you like to down and free flowing.

“No! leave it, I like it.” Your growl is low but undeniable.

This gives me pause. This is new.

As I get in the car, my thin leather collar is waiting on the seat. I retrieve it and slip it on as I sit. The side and back windows are tinted, so very little can be seen by the world around us. As I turn to put on my seat belt you take my ponytail and wrap in around your hand. The yank catches me off guard and breaks my composure.

“Ahgh, What the fuck?” I have no choice but to go where you pull.

You pull me to you and growl as you squeeze my breast, it hurts, I grit my teeth and flinch, refusing to give you the squeal you want. The buttons of my blouse strain against my breasts as you cup and squeeze my breast, holding my eyes, watching and waiting for a sign of surrender. The thought of never getting the wrinkles out flicks through my mind. I am not as present as you would like. I taste blood. I am biting under my bottom lip to deprive you of what you want. You slowly pinch my nipple, tears fill my eyes, the pain is excruciatingly sweet. I can’t fight it. I know there will be a set of bruises tomorrow as you release me. You start the car, I put on my seat belt, you drive me back to the cabin where we will continue, you the hunter, me the prey.

Chapter Two of “Dominatrix Boss: A BDSM Femdom Tale”

October 15, 2018 By Asher Lake 7 Comments

Illustration by Dirk Hooper

Ava’s Office

My mind was racing as I went back to my office. I had a little over an hour to worry about why Ava had asked me to come to her office. After getting caught staring at her, I didn’t imagine it was good news.

I had been with the company nearly as long as she had. She hired me and I’ve worked in her division ever since. When I wasn’t distracted by her I did my job well and we had developed a cordial work friendship. Obviously, I wanted much more, but there was no chance of that. I had to be content with looking at her when I got the chance, and feverish masturbation every evening.

I ate a cold ham sandwich and surfed the Internet on my lunch break. I tried to get that meeting out of my mind and worried endlessly about what Ava was going to say to me. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she had a project for me or something. I was sure that was all.

Ava was beautiful, and I always thought she was, but she had gone through an ugly divorce and it clearly hurt her for a while. She let her appearance go, gained some weight and wore clothes like armor. It was during this time I reached out to her and we even went to lunch together a few times. I almost had the nerve to ask her out, but I figured that it was a bad idea because she was my boss. There was just too much to lose if it went wrong, and why would she want to date an overweight underling anyway?

She shared a lot with me over that time. I’m a good listener. Soon, she was complaining to me about her ex-husband.

Then over the course of one year, she began to make some changes. It started with eye surgery to get rid of her glasses. She grew her hair out again. Ava hired a personal trainer. It wasn’t long before she was running in marathons. As she lost weight she updated her wardrobe. Her skirts got shorter and she bought those expensive stiletto heels. In a year she had refined her look in every way. She wasn’t just beautiful to me, she was beautiful to everyone.

We talked less and less as her lunches were filled with visits to the gym and interest from other men. I missed my opportunity to make more out of our visits. Now that she was hot, my infatuation with her was from a distance.

As my lunch break concluded I was convinced that she just needed my help with some work problem. I went to the public bathroom on our floor and brushed my teeth before I headed to her office. If she got close, I didn’t want her to smell my lunch.

Ava had a corner office that was large and private. When I walked in Ava was typing on her computer. She looked up and said, “Tim, close the door behind you.”

After shutting the door, I turned around to walk across her office. It was large with warm recessed lighting, a lounge area with leather furniture and an impressive cherry wood bookcase for a wall. Her desk was also cherry wood and took up half the width of the room. It was impressive too, but the word that came to mind right now was “intimidating.”

“Sit down Tim,” she said with a chill in her voice. I slowly found a seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. It was soft and should have been more comfortable, but now I was worried again.

Ava moved her computer monitor to the side and leaned forward on her desk. Her cleavage was right there but I was in no position to be looking. She took a long pause before she spoke, “Tim, you’re a good employee and your evaluations are always positive, but there’s a problem we need to address.”

I nodded my head as my throat went dry.

“During the meeting today you were staring at my chest.”

My heart sank. I opened my mouth to speak…

She raised her hand, “There’s no use denying it Tim. Not only did I see it, but so did the everyone in the meeting. I’m insulted, and you’ve put me in a bad position here.”

“I-I’m so sorry,” I said. I couldn’t look up at her. This was bad.

“That’s not all Tim. There’s something else,” she emphasized as she rose from her chair. Ava grabbed a small stack of papers off her desk and walked them around the desk to place in my hands. I looked in horror as I saw all the websites I had visited at work over the past month. While most were innocuous, some of them were fetish sites, and of those, most were about female domination. She stood over me and let me stew for a moment as I flipped through the pages. When I looked up from the page it was slow and cautious.

She was looking down at me. I felt so small and embarrassed.

“Staring at me is one thing. It would be well within protocol to write you up for that alone. However, these websites are a violation of company Internet policy and subject to immediate termination… at my discretion.”

My mouth dropped open and I struggled to say something. I needed this job.

Ava grabbed the papers from my hands and leaned on the edge of her desk. She crossed her ankles and started thumbing through the log of websites. “What is ‘femdom’ Tim?”

“Oh… Ava, are you sure you want me to…”

“Let’s hear it, Tim. I want to know what’s so important that you would risk your job.”

“Well… it means female domination.”

“And that is…”

“Ava…”

“No, I want to know.”

“It’s when someone is submissive to a dominant woman. It’s a type of relationship where the woman is completely in charge.”

“Keep going…”

“It often involves humiliation, corporal punishment, chastity, or service,” just talking about this was both excruciatingly embarrassing and, unfortunately, exciting to me. “Really, whatever the woman wants.”

She clicked her tongue, “What you do on your own time is your business Tim, but surely you don’t think it’s appropriate to look at sites like that at work?”

“No… no, no, no… I shouldn’t have ever done that. I’m so embarrassed. If you’ll forgive me I promise to never do that again,” I looked up at her, but she was still looking at the pages.

Ava sat the pages down on her desk and leaned forward, she was inches from my face. I could smell her perfume this close, she told me long ago it was Elizabeth Arden Provocative Woman, and it was intoxicating. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

She emphasized every word of this next sentence, “I want to hear you beg for your job.”

I took in a sharp breath of air. I felt my cock swell in my pants. Was she fucking with me? Was she serious? I really needed this job. “P-please don’t fire me, Ava. I won’t ever do it again. I need this job. Please!”

An almost imperceptible smile curled at the edge of her lips as I debased myself in front of her, “That’s not bad Tim, but I’m still not really convinced. I need more from you.”

I still couldn’t tell if this was serious or not, but I knew for sure that if she wanted to fire me that it was well within her power and she had every right to do it. I also knew that this job would be very difficult to replace. It didn’t really matter if this was for real. And, I knew one more thing–Ava having this level of power over me was making me scared, and aroused, at the same time.

“What do you need from me, Ava?”

Ava deliberately sat up on her desk, crossed her legs and dangled one of her stiletto-heeled shoes in front of me, “I want you to push that chair away, kneel down and give me a foot rub. If you do well enough, you can keep your job.”

Without hesitation, I got up, scooted the heavy chair to the side and knelt in front of her. I had imagined doing this many times and nothing ever prepared me for the feeling of really, actually, doing it.

Her foot was about chest-high. I gently took her expensive shoe off and laid it on the floor. I wanted to look up at her, but I knew that was wrong, even if she didn’t know what was proper in a BDSM relationship. I concentrated on the task at hand.

I cupped her heel in my left hand and began to run the base of my right hand slowly up her arch. I could feel the warmth of her foot through the soft nylons she was wearing. I pushed deeper into her arch with the meat of my hand, working from her heel to the ball of her foot. An audible sigh came from her as she began to relax.

Using my thumbs I worked her arch vigorously and then spread out to the ball of her foot and her heel. As I rubbed, the smell of her foot became more pronounced. The intimacy of smelling her feet in this way was absolutely thrilling. As she relaxed more, I could feel my cock grow in my pants. It was unavoidable. It felt like destiny.

More than anything, I wanted her to enjoy what I was doing. I have never put so much effort into a simple foot rub. I wanted to show her that I took this very seriously. My job was important, but nothing was as important to me as making Ava happy right now.

I manipulated her toes and gently rolled them individually with the tips of my fingers, then rubbed her foot all over, between my hands to finish. I looked up at her for approval. She said, “Now the other,” and re-crossed her legs so her left foot was in front of me.

Everything I had done before was repeated. I was careful to not rush anything. Touching her, and hopefully pleasing her, was everything to me. Kneeling before her was a dream come true. Near the end, my heart was beating so fast that I could feel it in my chest.

When I was finished, I carefully put both shoes back on her feet and sat quietly waiting for what came next.

Ava took in a long deep breath and let it out, “That wasn’t so bad, Tim. I suppose you can keep your job. For now.” She stood up and walked back behind her desk.

“Get up and put that chair in the right place,” she said with increased conviction.

Standing up, I moved the chair back to its original position. Ava laughed.

“I guess you enjoyed yourself,” she said while staring at my crotch. My cock was tenting against my pants.

“Y-yes, Ava.”

“What I want you to do is return to your office with your erection and get to work. No more surfing websites. No more staring at me. I want you to work harder than ever before, Tim. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Ava.”

“Then get back to work. Now.”

I turned around and sprinted to the door. That walk from her office to my office was going to be embarrassing as hell with my swollen penis. I prayed that no one would see me on my way back.

…

“Dominatrix Boss: A BDSM Tale” by Asher Lake is available now through Amazon.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07GYM1TPW/

…

About Asher Lake

Two decades of real-life experience, as both dominant and submissive, fuel Lake’s narratives with real scenarios, real training methods, and authentic emotions.

It is the author’s greatest desire that Lake’s work will excite those who are in the community and inspire those who are interested to explore further. Asher Lake is a professional writer, who has been published as a poet, a comic writer, and has written articles for many major publications.

“Dominatrix Boss: A Femdom Tale” is Lake’s debut novel and is working on a follow-up right now.

A Special Treat for Donna: Part 3

July 30, 2018 By Donna Queen 6 Comments

Click here for Part 1

Click here for Part 2

As we sat back and languidly sipped our drinks, a series of attractive young men summoned the courage to approach and ask to join us. Madame had the ones she approved sit close to me so I could go to work on them. This was my night to be a bad girl without fear of provoking Madame. I had full permission to flirt and tease to my lascivious heart’s content. I whispered dirty thoughts, nibbled earlobes, softly stroked inner forearms with my nails, unbuttoned shirts, and lay my hand on crotches. I loved exercising the almost magical power to raise erections at will. I found it thrilling and wildly stimulating. Madame fully intended for me to respond as such, of course. She wanted me white hot with lust when it finally came time to beckon Nick into our lair.

I found myself particularly taken with a pint-size cutie pie sporting thick, shiny, black waves, dazzling white teeth, luscious lips, and huge, soulful brown eyes with mile-long lashes. Although I generally preferred big men (being quite a big girl myself), I occasionally found myself fancying a certain muscular, banty rooster type, and he surely fit the bill. He had the body of a flyweight wrestler or maybe a gymnast, and displayed a razor-sharp wit and intellect. He said he was a Harvard junior, and I had no reason to disbelieve him. Not to traffic in stereotypes, but I felt pretty sure he was Jewish. He could have been Greek, I suppose. It hardly mattered.

I started to make out with him (those lips!), but pulled back after Madame cautioned me not to ruin my expensive makeover. We whispered lewdly and openly groped, oblivious to the surrounding mass of people. He slid a hand up my dress and attempted to take hold of my stirring cock. I quickly yanked his hand away, gave it a slap, and said, “Thank you, honey, but we’re done now.”

He regrouped and attempted one more approach, but Madame stepped between us, took tight hold of his upper arm, pulled him up to a standing position, and with her patented, dagger-eyes she said between clenched teeth,“You are dismissed.” The cute boy shook himself loose and vanished into the shadows. Madame and I erupted in peals of raucous, terribly unladylike laughter. We can be such awful bitches!

Shortly before midnight, Madame announced that it was time to go. She phoned Nick, and by the time we retrieved our coats and exited the club, the limo was there waiting. We rode home behind the privacy glass, holding hands, kissing, and giggling just as we had at the beginning of the evening.

Upon arriving home, each of us took an arm and escorted Nick up to our dual-purpose Play/Discipline Room. The Play/Discipline Room was large, opulently furnished, and amply equipped for all sorts of erotic fun, as well as for the administration of the most serious of disciplinary action. Madame had Nick remove his uniform, put on a warm silk robe, and sit down on the comfiest chair in the room. I brought him a cold beer in a frozen mug.

While Nick waited and sipped his beer, Madame took me to an adjacent dressing room where she freshened my makeup, strategically perfumed me, and dressed me in my laciest, frilliest corset, with thong, fully fashioned silk stockings, and strappy sandals with 5” heels, all in a matching deep purple. Madame also took a few minutes to completely lube and stretch my ass in anticipation of the fucking to come.

Madame brought me out and had me model my outfit for Nick. She then instructed me to stretch out seductively on one of the beds. Nick removed his robe and joined me, his cock already fully erect. He gazed at me with his gorgeous brown eyes and began to kiss me passionately. I ran my hands all up and down his smooth, powerfully muscled, young body until I settled on his beautiful straining erection. I took his shaft into my mouth and started sucking. His cock was smooth, sleek, and delicious. As I sucked, Madame gave my ass an occasional hard slap. These slaps were friendly and sensual, not punitive, and gave me a much different sensation. My cock hardened as my pleasure grew.

After several minutes of intense foreplay, Nick was ready and so was I. I rolled a condom over his dick and lay back to take him between my widespread thighs. Before Nick could get himself into position, however, Madame ordered him to stop. She had been sitting in a chair alongside the bed, watching intently and masturbating.

“Nick, before I permit you to have Donna, I want you to fuck me for a few minutes.” I looked at her in startled puzzlement. She explained, “Donna, I have allowed you to fuck me and cum inside me on many occasions. That is the ultimate intimacy and it is an indispensable part of our lovemaking. Now I wish to reciprocate. By penetrating my pussy before he fucks you, Nick will serve as a living vessel to place my juices inside you, as you have placed yours inside me. This will complete our circle of intimacy and seal our love as never before.”

“But Madame,” I queried. “Couldn’t you accomplish the same yourself using a dildo?”

“My precious one,” she replied. “A dildo is nothing but cold, inanimate plastic. Nick is a warm, living, breathing human being. I need you to feel the heat and pulsating vitality of living flesh deep inside you as my most, intimate essence is transmitted to your most intimate recesses.” As Madame spoke these words my heart swelled with ever-growing adoration. This special ritual was to remain a constant feature of all our future stud service sessions.

Nick mounted Madame in the missionary posture, thrust his swollen dick into Madame’s dripping cunt, and fucked her vigorously for several minutes, as I watched and enjoyed Madame’s forceful pelvic counterthrusts, rhythmic breathing, and delicate, girlish moans. She ordered Nick to pull out and he turned his full attention to me.

I lay back as I had before and opened my legs to welcome Nick into my warm, moist cave. Nick eagerly accepted my invitation and proceeded to fuck me with the same intensity as he had fucked Madame. Unlike Madame, I am exceptionally noisy during sex, and soon I was letting fly all manner of full-throated vocalizations, including some odd spoken phrases I had never uttered before and will likely never utter again. I can’t recall exactly what I said, but Madame was amused, as always.

Nick took me doggy-style for a time, and then we moved to the spooning position. As Nick continued to drive into me, Madame kissed and licked me, pinched my nipples, and stroked my cock. Within a few minutes I burst forth all over Madame’s belly, which she had strategically positioned for me to cum on. Shortly thereafter, Nick approached a shuddering climax. Following Madame’s instructions, Nick withdraw his cock from me and he, too, rained his thick cum across the full, golden expanse of Madame’s smooth, tanned belly. When it was done, I hungrily licked Madame clean of our blended ejaculate.

Madame and I were too exhausted to escort Nick to the door, so we both kissed him tenderly, and sent him on his way with another cold beer for him to enjoy when he got home. After Nick left, she took me by the hand and silently led me up the stairs and into our bedroom. She picked up a wooden hairbrush from her vanity and sat down in an armless accent chair which she kept in our room for one purpose. I knew what was in store. I had been indulged quite enough tonight, and it was time for me to be forcibly reminded of my place as Madame’s obedient bitch. I knelt and kissed Madame’s feet, then stood and draped my torso over Madame’s warm, ample thighs, where I awaited that which I both feared and craved.

“You are a cheap, dirty little whore, do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What are you, bitch?”

“I’m a cheap, dirty little whore, ma’am.”

“That’s right, you filthy cunt. But you’re my cheap, dirty little whore, you shameless cocksucker, you wanton anal slut, and don’t you ever forget it! I may have allowed you to behave badly tonight, but bad behavior never goes unpunished in my house. There will always be a price to pay, and you are about to pay it. In full”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for all that you do for me.”

Madame began with just a few light slaps with her open hand, and then steadily increased the force of her blows. I yelped and softly moaned as she spanked my well-fucked ass harder and harder, faster and faster. She paused for a moment, gently stroked my flaming cheeks and inspected her handiwork. She pried open my ass cheeks, roughly jammed two fingers inside me, and pulled at and stretched my sore sphincter to remind me of what a nasty anal slut I was. Madame then picked up the hairbrush and resumed paddling me with the flat wooden back of the implement. Each smack hurt more than the last, but left me aching for more. Receiving Madame’s harshest discipline was my greatest joy.

When Madame finally finished, she had me stand up and display my stinging bottom to her. She rubbed some cooling lotion into my inflamed skin. I examined my ass in the mirror and admired the beautiful pink color she had lovingly brought forth, along with just a touch of purple bruising on each cheek. I was proud to bear my Mistress’s marks and wished I could show them to the world so all would know I belonged to Madame and no one else.

Now thoroughly spent, we barely managed to grope our way to our bed before we collapsed into a tangled, snoring heap. Another perfect night together.

About the Author

In the early to mid-2000s, Donna Queen enjoyed a brief, unexpected, but memorable career as an amateur transgender porn star, with a devoted worldwide following. She is now fully transitioned and happily married to a wonderful woman, and is no longer active in the porn scene, although her pictures and videos remain widely distributed and she often receives fan requests for new material. While she no longer makes visual porn, Donna is a gifted writer of fiction in multiple genres, including BDSM erotica. While Donna writes primarily from her own perspective as a lifelong submissive, she also demonstrates a sure grasp of the dominant’s point of view. Although her work is first and foremost powerfully erotic, Donna strives to create fully realized and authentically human characters, and her stories always reflect her loving, generous spirit and delightfully wicked sense of humor.