femdom

 

Femdom stories

  

 

 

  

Femdom stories: Male bondage, spanking and chastity femdom story

  

 

 

 

             MIRANDA

 

 

                                Except for its inconspicuous lock, the door at the end of the

              short hallway of Miranda's middle-class home looked perfectly

              ordinary.

                      But the windowless room beyond the locked door was a sexual

              Never-NeverLand, a fantastic reflection in a kinky Looking Glass.

              While Miranda watched, amused, the key dangling from her finger, I

              took one step inside, then another -- and stopped, staring. My

              heart was racing, my eyes wide. I had never seen anything like it

              before.

                      Two walls were mirrored, from the tiled floor to the black-

              painted ceiling. An incredible array of whips, restraints, gags,

              and harnesses hung from the peg strips which circled the room at

              waist height. Pushed into the near corner was a heavy padded

              sawhorse; the center of the room was dominated by a wooden X-frame

              solid as an oak and seven feet tall. Both the horse and the frame

              were dotted with steel eyebolts, some of which sported dangling

              chains or cuffs. All of it looked well used. None of it, as far as

              I could tell, was for show.

                      And in the opposite corner, facing it all like a queen's

              throne, was a fan-backed rattan chair with thick ruby-red

              cushions. A black riding crop rested across the seat.

                      It was a real dungeon, a dominant/submissive playground,

              tucked into a back room in a perfectly ordinary home. And this

              surprising wonderland belonged to my friend Miranda -- a woman

              whose dress and appearance wouldn't raise an eyebrow at a PTL

              meeting.

                      Whose usual dress and appearance, anyway. I turned back toward

              Miranda, my mouth suddenly dry. "This is incredible," I said. What

              my eyes were saying, I didn't know. But I was looking at her very

              differently. My mind flashed on a picture of Miranda in black

              corset on the fan-back chair, contemplating me bound naked on the

              X-frame. My cock began to swell at the thought.

                      "You approve, then?" she asked archly, her eyes sparkling.

                      There was a tension between us at that moment of a kind that

              had never surfaced before. She was at ease, self-amusedly waiting

              to see what I would do. I was uncomfortable, and tempted to hide

              behind a wisecrack. But for some reason I just swallowed, nodded,

              and said quietly, "Yeah."

                      Her next question cut to the heart of the tension. "Do you

              want to try it?"

                      I couldn't look away from her. "Yes. I -- I do."

                      She looked at me questioningly, as though I had said something

              wrong.

                      "Yes, Mistress," I amended, suddenly realizing why she was

              waiting.

                      She smiled then, a pleased smile. "Then go back to the living

              room, slave Alan, and take off all your clothes. Kneel in the

              middle of the floor, and wait there until I come for you. I have a

              few things to get ready."

                              #

 

                      I undressed, heart pounding, still not quite believing what

              was happening.

             

                      What was I getting into? How much could I trust her? Though

              I'd known Miranda for more than two years, we lived in cities five

              hundred miles apart. We had met at an education conference in

              Raleigh -- she was a testing specialist at a private college, I

              was a placement counselor at a large university. We ended up

              spending several hours together that weekend, in lecture sessions

              and on a mass expedition for Chinese food. She smoothly and firmly

              squelched my attempts to flirt with her, but even so, I had a

              wonderful time in her company.

                      When we ran into each other at another conference later that

              year, it was like finding a friend in a mob of strangers. We had

              dinner together again (only five at the table this time) and sat

              up late in the hotel bar on the last night, telling stories and

              laughing. I wrote her a few letters over the next year, and she

              called me a few times. But the tone was always friends-keeping-in-

              touch. There was no hint or thought of romance. Miranda seemed to

              be on a different wavelength, as though she didn't play that game

              at all. I confess I couldn't quite figure her out, even though I

              enjoyed her a great deal.

                      Then came the week-long counseling workshop in her home city,

              my wonder-if-we-could-get-together call, her invitation to a

              casual dinner at her house, and the free-ranging conversation that

              kept coming back to sex.

                      Somehow I had found myself telling her more about my past and

              my preferences than most of my lovers ever knew, and much more

              than Miranda was telling me. Eventually I got to my interest in

              what I knowingly called "D&S," and how it was a shame that so few

              women seemed to understand about the exchange of power and how

              much fun it could be. I was pretending a familiarity I didn't

              have, and Miranda must have known it, but she let me blather on

              for a time before calling my bluff by taking me down the hall.

                      And now here I was, kneeling naked in her living room with a

              throbbing hard-on, staring my fantasy in the face. I knew what

              most of the toys hanging in the dungeon were for. But my knowledge

              was almost entirely academic, drawn from books like Exit to Eden

              and a sampling of fem-dom porn. The games I'd played with lovers

              past had been strictly amateur. Miranda was the real article, and

              that scared me as much as it excited me.

                      Maybe it scared me because it excited me. Or excited me

              because it scared me. I didn't know how to tell the difference.

 

 

                              #

                      Minutes dragged past, and my knees and ankles began to

              complain about the position I had assumed. Then I heard a door

              open, and the click of heels in the hallway. I turned to look, and

              found my hostess transformed into a stunning Mistress.

             

 

                      Her mane of wavy auburn hair was set off now by a studded

              black choker. Her ample breasts seemed barely confined in a

              leather halter laced only to the lower curves of her cleavage. She

              wore fingerless elbow-length gloves and gleaming studded

              wristlets. In her right hand was the crop, in the left a collar.

              Her hips were sheathed in a tight leather wrap-skirt which bared

              her beautiful thighs. Her stockings were black and sheer, her

              shoes spike-heeled with ankle straps.

                      She was, in a word, gorgeous. My erection, which had flagged a

              bit as I waited, stirred to new life. She noted, and smiled

              wickedly. "Nice," she said, looking directly at my cock. "I can

              have fun with that."

                      I found my voice. "You look fantastic, Mistress Miranda.

              Incredibly sexy."

                      "Did I give you permission to look at me, slave?"

                      My breath caught. "No, Mistress," I said, and lowered my eyes.

                      Miranda laughed. "I want you to look at me. I want you to want

              me. You can't have me, of course. But wanting is good."

                      She ordered me to crawl to her. Then, standing over me, she

              said in a low voice that chilled me, "I'm going to take you to

              that place you've been wanting to go. I'm going to teach you what

              your body can feel. I'm going to play with you, and punish you,

              and use you for my pleasure. I want more than your obedience. I

              want your surrender. Do you understand?"

                      I said I did, hoping I did. She made me kiss her shoes and her

              crop, and then placed the plain, heavy collar on my neck and

              locked it in place. Pulling me up by the collar, she whispered a

              "safe word" in my ear -- which I silently vowed not to use. Then

              she pushed me back down to hands and knees and led me to her

              dungeon.       

             

 

 

                              #

                      Miranda was in no hurry. She kept me kneeling before her

              chair, my legs spread wide and my wrists cuffed and locked

              together behind my back, while she asked me pointed questions

              about my experience and my fantasies.

             

                      All the while, she kept touching me, teasingly. She toed my

              balls with the point of her shoe, tapped my cock with the tip of

              her crop, scraped and plucked my nipples with her nails. Once she

              let me suck her middle finger, which I did eagerly. I wanted to

              make her feel good, and that was the first chance she'd given me.

                      When she'd learned everything she wanted, she rose and led me

              to the X-frame. My cuffed wrists were unhooked from each other,

              then fastened high on the wooden crosspieces. Miranda selected a

              second, larger pair of cuffs from the wall, and soon my legs were

              spread wide, my ankles locked to the foot of the frame.

                      I had never felt so sexually vulnerable. I was facing out and

              leaning back, completely helpless, completely exposed, my cock

              hard as an eighteen-year-old's and already dripping from the tip.

        

           

             "I can see I'm going to have to do something about this,"

              Miranda said, seizing my cock by the root. "You've obviously been

              thinking about fucking me. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

                      I told the truth. "Yes, Mistress."

                      She slapped the head of my cock smartly with her free hand,

              making me gasp. "Forget it. You'll be lucky if I fuck you." Letting go of my  

                      cock, she walked to her collection of sexual

              toys, and returned with a small harness with several straps. "This

              should keep this greedy little cock under control."

                      A few moments later, my proud shaft was encased in a tight

              leather sheath that exposed only the head. One strap went around

              the root where she had grabbed me. Another went around my scrotum,

              while a third separated the balls. It felt as though my entire

              manhood was being squeezed in a fist. My cock throbbed, reddened.

 

            

              Already, I desperately wanted to come.

                      But Miranda had other plans. Her next choice was a length of

              rope with dozens of spring clothespins clamped to it. She gave me

              one end of the rope to hold between my teeth, and then began to

              decorate my body with the wooden clamps. She started with one on

              either side of each nipple, pinching the skin with her fingers to

              give the clip a good bite. Then she placed a clothespin directly

              on my left nipple, and I moaned -- and dropped the rope I was

              holding for her.

             

 

                      "I'm going to add to your whipping for that," she said as she

              gave me back the end of the rope and resumed her project. The

              other nipple was next, then the underside of my arms, the inside

              of my thighs, and, finally, my cock. First, she tugged out enough

              skin to attach one of the little biting monsters to each side of

              my already harnessed scrotum. I almost bit through the rope. Then

              she started on the engorged head of my cock, placing one, two,

              four, seven clothespins in a semi-circle on the narrow, sensitive

              ridge.

              

                      Taking the rope from me, she stepped back to admire her

              handiwork. "Look at yourself, in the mirror," she said.

                      I saw a naked man in complete submission, his limbs spread-

              eagled and restrained, his throbbing cock tormented. I felt like I

              was tripping. The tension in my body was incredible. My blood was

              on fire. It was as though she was touching me in a hundred places

              at once, and every one of them was making me crazy with desire. My

              eyes closed, and I slipped down into the sea of sensation, leaving

              thought behind.

                      Suddenly I jumped, writhing, as an electric jolt coursed

              through me. My right nipple was suddenly burning. What was

              happening? I opened my eyes to find that Miranda had folded the

              length of rope twice over and was using it to strike the

              clothespins from my body. Her aim was true, and every time she

              knocked one free, thousands of nerve endings which had been

              temporarily overloaded suddenly came back to life shouting

              protests.

                      The last to go were the seven pins on the head of my cock. By

              the time the last dropped to the floor, I was quivering and

              hanging limply in my cuffs. Miranda stepped close and ran her

              fingertips grazingly over my skin, the touch making me jump. Then

              her hand closed around my sheathed cock, and her thumb rubbed the

              wetness oozing from the tip all over the head.

                      "You took that well," she said softly. "Maybe you'll get lucky

              after all. But first, I owe you a whipping."

 

                      Miranda released me only long enough to turn me around, toward

              the frame, so my back and bottom were exposed. I watched in the

              mirror as she selected a short, many-stranded whip, then moved

              behind me. She started with light strokes that barely warmed the

              skin, leather kisses on my thighs and ass. The strokes came faster

              and harder, until it felt like my skin was glowing. I stopped

              watching. I stopped thinking.

                      Then Miranda traded the short whip for a long, stiff leather

              paddle. The first blow from it lifted me off my heels and made me

              cry out in surprise. She gave me little time to recover, applying

              the paddle vigorously across both cheeks and the backs of my

              thighs. The weight of the paddle and the strength of her arm

              carried the shock of each explosion through my whole body. I

              moaned, grunted, and fought against my chains.

                      But the incredible thing was that it didn't hurt. I was past

              that. It was a wake-up call to my senses, a charge of pure sexual

              energy. All I was was what I was feeling, and all I was feeling

              was wave after wave of delicious intensity. I was flying.

                      After a time I couldn't measure, Miranda stepped up close

              behind me, caressed my hot ass and said in a half-whisper, "Now,

              the punishment I promised you."

                      There was a long moment to wonder. Then I heard the whistle as

              it cut the air, and I knew -- it was the crop. And when it landed,

              it felt like I was being sliced open, a line of fire burning into

              my ass cheeks. My body went rigid, and when the crop fell a second

              time I couldn't hold it all in any more, and screamed. Twice more

              the crop came down, and then Miranda drew close again, her body

              brushing against me as she traced the scarlet, swollen marks the

              crop had left.

                      She moved away again, leaving me to hang there on the wooden

              frame, breathless, shoulders aching, all resistance gone, glowing

              inside and out. Time dilated, stopped. The next touch was a hand

              spreading my ass cheeks, and another hand smearing my opening with

              a slippery gel, pushing a lubricated finger inside me.

                   

             "Now the reward you've been hoping for," she said softly.

                      I raised my head and looked sideways at the mirror, and saw

              that Miranda had shed her leather skirt. She was wearing a harness

              that was like a leather G-string, and jutting out from it was a

              long black dildo. I watched as she moved in behind me, guided the

              head to my asshole, and pushed it up inside me.

             

                      It was blissful, humiliating, erotic. I was impaled,

              stretched, violated. Miranda was fucking my ass, claiming

              possession of me, and all I wanted to do was open to her and give

              her whatever she wanted to take. And then she reached around my

              waist and loosed the straps on my harness, freeing my cock from

              its leather prison. She began to masturbate me, stroking my cock

              in rhythm with her reaming of my ass.

                      With everything that had gone before, I was on the edge, and

              had been for some time. Before long, my gasps and moans betrayed

              my approaching orgasm. Miranda took that cue to bury the dildo

              deep inside me, tighten her grip, and stroke my cock furiously.

              After a long few seconds, I went over the edge, crying out and

              writhing as my cock spurted long jets of come into the air.

                

 

 

                     #

                      Miranda took a Polaroid photo of me before she freed me, and

              then allowed me to shoot one of her before she changed. I took

              that photo, my memories, and the four crisscrossing red stripes

              from the riding crop home with me on the plane. I don't know when

              I'll next see my friend, or if she'll ever favor me that way

              again. But one thing is certain -- I'll never again think I know

              someone if I haven't seen what they keep, and who they are, behind

              locked doors

              

 

             

 

__________________________________________________________________________

go to main Femdom movies site                                go to main Cuckold stories site

                          go to Chastity belt stories                                         go to Femdom stories

__________________________________________________________________________

 

 

 

 

REAL FEMDOM  HOME

  

 

Femdom movies

  

Femdom movies 2

  

Femdom movies 3

  

Femdom movies 4

 

  

 

©  Cuckold Stories  Navigation:

  

Cuckold husbands   |  Cuckold Movies  |  Cuckold husband stories  |  Slut Wife Stories  |  Cuckold creampie  |  Creampie cuckold  |  Forced BI  |  Hot wife  |  Dominant wives  |  Mistress wife  |  Submissive male  |  Cuckoldress  |  Forced chastity  |  Chastity slave  |  Tease and denial  |  Cock teasing  |  Sissified - Sissy  |  Humiliated cuckold husband  |  Cuckold stories  |  Slut wife 2  |  Cuckold Marriage  |  Stories by authors  |  Cuckold pictures |  Real cuckold  |  Femdom

 

FEMDOM STORIES

FEMDOM STORIES  HOME

back to main site:  REAL FEMDOM