Subjugate U: A Femdom Erotic Short Story

Author’s Note: I wrote this after months of perving the haunting and elusive photos that grace the page on Mistress Subjugate U’s Fetlife profile.  She has generously allowed me to use her likeness in this post and if you are curious about the pictures that gave rise to this brief, fictitious impression, you may view her profile: SubjugateU

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There is something contained about her body: small, slight, muscled. Her shoulders are narrow and her breasts are small enough to point up and out. Defiant of gravity. Her waist is almost dainty with a toned, relaxed belly that curves softly down to her pelvic bowl. A-line dark hair straight and spiky at the tips always hangs over her face to cloud her identity. The photos of her, many of them black & white, bespeak an ineffable calm. When you imagine her scenes, they move slowly with low sustained moans, almost like everything is underwater, rhythmically swaying.

Unlike the thousands of photos of Dommes you’ve raked your eyes over, she is not adorned with a ton of shiny black latex and leather. She doesn’t wield elaborate toys or intimidating implements of pain. You can guess, though you haven’t seen her face, that she wears little makeup. She is usually clad in a suggestive top, a simple pair of panties, a strap on or she is completely nude.

Though every photo has a lurid, candid quality, one image, in particular, marks your mind. A young man, with a similar physique to you, face down on a bed, collared, legs spread wide enough that his thighs are almost in a single line, the smooth spheres of his ass offered up to her. She is poised over him in the photo, a simple, thin harness buckled around her hips and thighs. She is about to enter him with her phallus and the fingertips of one hand touch the young man’s asscheek. It’s her hand you notice: delicate, strong.

In another photo, also black & white, she walks a young woman on hands and knees outside in what looks like a meadow. In yet another, she is mounting one man’s face while another man tongues her nipples.

Your experience as a sub hasn’t gone well. Transactional, cold, even contrived. The one time you paid, it felt silly, like two grown up people in costumes, with the Domme badly playing her part. And then there was the one time you were abused, humiliated even though you had stated it wasn’t your thing. That almost turned you away from the prospect altogether. The weeks of depression following, resigned to the idea that vanilla sex was your only option – that was a dark place.

Looking at this woman makes you think again.

It is clear from her profile that she is married. But she accepts submissives.

You read her writing carefully. Because if you are going to do this, if you are going to try and serve her, it will sting if she rejects you. You really want to think you are worthy of her dominance.

Several days go by. Life seems to drift. You go through the motions of work and make calls and clean the house. At night, you touch yourself like you imagine she would touch you: taking you with that same dreamy quality. Her arousal, her pleasure, your end game.

She has an application form on her profile. From what she said, her husband would likely be reading it. You fill it out and stall, let more time go by. Then after an exhausting weekend where you dealt with work, family, and a draining call from your ex, you send it.

A week passes before you get a reply requesting more photos, background and possible times to meet. At the agreed upon time, you appear at a café, still in your work clothes, nervous but excited.

A young man approaches you and says your name. You realize this is her husband, her primary submissive and he is vetting you. He sits and you get a good look at his face for the first time. He’s got warm eyes, a mellow but cheerful voice. He talks to you about her and tells you her preferences, her current interests, how she likes a scene to go. You realize that by sending him, she is testing your humility.

You tell him what you noticed, about her words and photos, why you felt compelled. He nods and smiles with his gaze fixed on yours. He tells you he’s profoundly grateful for the paradoxical sexual freedom he experiences every day from being owned by her. This brings mist to your eyes and makes the nerves in your groin twinge. It’s not jealously, exactly, but longing.

A few days later, you receive an invitation to meet her. When you accept, you receive more instructions, including hygiene, protocol, directions to the location. You are made to understand that aside from your stated limits, you are handing her absolute control.

You arrive early and wait in your car. Despite the crisp winter air, you are perspiring a tad. You leave your phone in the vehicle and walk into the hotel. You reach the room and take a collecting breath. Then you knock.

Her husband opens the door and behind him, is a whole suite of rooms. There are women lounging on the furniture, where all the men are stripped and collared, serving or kneeling off to the side. The curtains are drawn back and the soft winter light glows cool. There is a young woman with a camera in her lap. She chats with some other ladies and pauses every now and then to snap a photo.

The Domme sits on the bed talking with another woman when you walk in, and when her husband calls her name, she turns toward you.

Her dark hair frames her angular face and her effulgent eyes seem to latch on and draw you in. Her smile is a pouty crook and her eyebrows flicker as she says your name. You give her a shy smile and when she offers her hand, you take it and plant a light kiss on the fine flesh above her knuckles. You call her ‘Mistress’ before you are inclined to look away.

You are electrified by the sensation of this Domme’s gaze taking you in, made even more intense by her female companion’s. Her husband slips away and she tells you to come with her. She stands and you give her a pleased smile. She is wearing a lacy top and simple skirt, completed by some soft leather boots. She guides you to a room and when you are inside, she shuts the door.

This is the test of whether you are worth her attention, her energy. She tells you to undress as she sits and asks you some questions, but mostly she is quiet. When you have disrobed and stand before her naked, she is silent for several minutes.

Her quiet lights up your nerve endings. In the same way it must feel like to appear before a monarch, the power in the room is concentrated in her, and applied to you, without her even moving or speaking. She tells you to turn around, which you do. Her hands, those hands you had examined in her photos, are coursing over your flesh. She tells you to relax and allow yourself to get examined. You comply and concentrate on her instruction.

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Even in heels, she must cock her head back to look up at you as she circles around you. She tells you that she would like to see how you serve and that you are even more  handsome than your photos suggest.  She says this as she binds your cock tightly.

It’s almost like this simple act of being constrained redirects the currents in your body. She is moving you with very little effort. From behind, she pushes you toward the big picture window and puts your hands against the glass. She adjusts your position so that your face is turned, limbs are wide and the front of you is exposed. The room is several stories up, but not so high that anyone looking up wouldn’t see a naked young man pressed against the glass with his cock tethered.

A cold bolt of fear travels through you as you wonder if she is going to humiliate you. She said she wouldn’t but doesn’t this exposure count? You sense her coming in closer and the pressure of her body eases you forward so that now your chest and bound cock make contact with the cold wall of the window. Her breasts and belly slide along your back so that her warmth is like a counterweight to the cold. She tells you to stay still and then she retreats and the door clicks closed.

You look down and realize that there is only sloping hillside mottled with dirty snow below. No one can see you. Your breath blots the glass as you wait.

You hear the door open and sense that she isn’t alone. Once again, her simmering surfaces light on your back body. Her lips glide over your shoulder blade and the gentle buzz of a camera elicits a new sensation in you: you are now the subject of the frame, and the object of her attention.

She moves you, arranges you and something in your brain goes soft. When she turns you, you look at her and the expression on her face is wanton. The buzz-click of the camera drifts around and a slack smile plays on your face.

You may not get her collar all to yourself, you may never serve her again, but as she stokes you, spreads you, enters you, rides you, you know now that she is the kind of Domme you want. Now you know that is is possible to do this work, to train in order to sharpen your essential self. It doesn’t matter what she does to you in this moment. All that matters is that she is real.

 

 

 

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23 thoughts on “Subjugate U: A Femdom Erotic Short Story

  1. excellent story telling if i might say so – well constructed and exciting – just the sort of thing that might happen in real life – keep writing i look forward to reading more – thank you

    Like

  2. I looked at SubjugateU’s photos as per your suggestion a while back. I thought then that they represented a refreshing new vision of what I’d call “gentle dominance” as opposed to the usual “cruel femdom” experience. I think you’ve captured what might be the opening of a story. Do you have any additional writing on this story in the works? I guess we’re all so busy “making a living” that we often defer doing things that we are really good at!

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    • darling dave – Nothing else on this one at the moment, though it’s interesting to build it out. I am working on a longer form story, though my day job does get in the way. Thank you for your observations and for reblogging my story. You’re such a good boy.

      Like

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