To Obey Her: Femdom Erotica Stories

happening.

Authority

Kristi J. Beary

It’s been twenty years since I watched the woman on the worn tape. Arms tied behind her back, the rope snaking up her arms, criss-crossing to make an intricate web between them. A yellow bandanna parted her burgundy lips and tied behind her head. A bear of a man with a large gold medallion held her by her hair and barked something at her. The tape scrambled for a moment, obscuring his order. The screen cleared again in time to see him push her, belly down, over an overstuffed, violently orange ottoman. The man pulled a long, narrow wood paddle from underneath it, wound up, and landed his paddle directly on the centre of her arse. Her dark masses of loose curls whipped around as she tossed her head back and forth. The man behind her thumped the paddle on her skin, over and over, while her muffled cries struggled to escape the gag.

Something about the scene was wrong. It should be him bent over, proud cock jutting out from between the legs instead of a clit barely peaking between soft folds. I wanted to see the woman’s slender fingers curled tightly around the paddle, striking the man’s skin, coming dangerously close to his most sensitive parts. I wanted to see her stroke his back and whisper words of comfort to him, to guide him into letting go and experience the freedom that comes under the bonds. And then I wanted to be the one on the ottoman, struggling with equal parts obedience and rebellion, craving relief from the woman above me. I ached to be under a woman I could so completely submit to. In my youth I tried to find it, but the women I dated either laughed at the idea or were horrified by it. After I met my wife, Sarah, I let the idea go until years into our marriage. The need re-emerged suddenly, unbidden, and fiercer than ever before. I couldn’t handle the repression any longer.

I brought up the idea over breakfast one Sunday, as she lazily sipped her tea and scrolled through the news on her phone. I eyed her through my gold-rimmed glasses, speckled as always from constant wear, and ran my fingers through my chestnut bed head. What if she hated me for keeping this part of me a secret all this time? Or what if she couldn’t picture playing with kink because I didn’t look like a romance novel cover model?

She took another sip of tea. I watched her nipples harden in the chilly morning air through her white T-shirt. They surged up and down a little faster with her breath when she came upon something that caught her interest, and then died away again. Her blond hair hung straight to her shoulders, as it always had, as it probably always would, and her blue eyes finally flicked up to meet mine.

Something on your mind, Peter? she asked.

My voice caught. No, I choked.

She raised an eyebrow. You’re nearly forty now. We’ve always been able to talk about anything, haven’t we? Remember when we first talked about swinging, and when that didn’t suit us, we then talked about polyamory?

I hadn’t forgotten. Three days of endless talking about the pros and cons of opening up our relationship, followed by rules, contracts, what-ifs and what-if-nots, countless pots of coffee, making and remaking ideas over and over until we finally came to decide yes, we would open. It led to us falling in love and in bed with other people, and coming home to each other. She was currently dating two other people, Jason and Michelle, whom she playfully referred to as ‘the twins’ because their personalities were remarkably similar for being unrelated. They had been dating for almost a year. I, meanwhile, had been dating Trisha for eight months.

Of course I remember, I said.

Remember how hard that was? How much harder could what you have to say be?

How do you feel about BDSM? I blurted.

She slammed her cup down on her saucer. Oh, yes! I would love that!

My heart raced as she hurried to my side of the table and slid into my lap.

What do you have in mind? Do you want to spank me? Tie me down? Force me to orgasm? Her smile widened with every hurried word.

Well, yes, that all sounds good, but, I was thinking it would be the other way around.

Her smile faltered. I don’t follow.

All of what you said sounds good, but maybe, you could do that to me.

I focused on the table cloth and traced the flowers and leaves with my fingers, heart pounding, brow sweating. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. Maybe it was too much.

Yes... I... I suppose we could try that, she said. She stood from my lap and took my hand.

Where are we going? I asked.

No time like the present! she giggled.

She dragged me to the bedroom and tossed me face down on the bed. Her fingers found the elastic of my pyjama bottoms and yanked them halfway down. Her soft hands lightly smacked my arse.

You’re a naughty boy! she said. Naughty, naughty!

I turned to look at her. She collapsed into laughter.

I’m sorry, Peter. I’m sorry. I just can’t take this seriously.

Please try, I begged.

Sarah straightened her face and rolled me onto my back. She stripped naked, but left me with my wrinkled pyjama shirt covering my chest and my bottoms scrunched half way down my thighs.

Don’t move, she said. She lifted my shirt and kissed down my body, starting at my shoulders and meandering around my cock, careful not to make contact with it. My shaft jumped in response, even without directly being touched. Her tongue flicked out to my balls, teasing, toying. I stroked my hand through her hair. She shot up, grabbed my hands, and pinned them above my head.

I didn’t say you could move, she shouted into my face. She sat down on my chest, just below my neck, her knees crunching into the soft flesh of my upper arms. She grabbed my chin and forced me to look at her. You are going to lick my cunt until I come.

She thrust forward, covering my mouth between her entrance and clit. I started with broad strokes of my tongue up and down her clitoris, pausing only to dip into her wet pussy, tasting her, wanting her, then back up to her nub. She grew wetter with each moment. I tried to reach for her, to feel her hips and heat in my hands, but her legs still trapped me in willing torture. She was taking what she wanted from me, and if she just reached back, if she just slightly stroked my cock, I knew I would explode. As if she heard my thoughts, her fingers trailed down my side and reached behind her, but just as before, she avoided my cock and trailed her finger down the junction of my leg and groin and under my balls. Her hand left for just a moment, then came down, hard, on my balls. I bucked at the sudden pain. It was too much, but I didn’t want to stop.

Sarah slid forward another inch and rocked her hips as she neared her climax. She ground into me as she came, cutting off my air. I tried to push her off, but she still held me tightly to the bed. Finally, she sat back on my chest.

Can’t... breathe! I gasped.

Oh! She jumped off and sat down next to me. So other than that last bit - and sorry about cutting off your air - how was it?

I rolled onto my elbow. It was a good start, I said. I liked the ball slapping, but it may have been a bit too rough to start with. I loved you taking total control, but next time... Why are you looking at me like that?

She frowned. Peter, I love you, but this didn’t feel right to me. It was really hard to take it seriously, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to give you what you want. I’m sorry. Even this took a lot for me to do. I’m just not the dominant type. If this was only a good start, I can’t take it any further. Maybe Trisha would want to?

I thought about Trisha. Short, spunky Trisha with her cropped black hair and green, mischievous eyes and quick, pixie-like movements. We had never discussed our kinks, but maybe it was time to. If I worked up the courage to tell Sarah, maybe I could get the courage to tell Trisha.

Sarah reached onto the nightstand and grabbed my phone. Call her.

I will.

She pushed the phone at me. "No, call her now. Before you lose your nerve to ask. If this is something that makes you happy, you deserve to have it, even if not with me. Look, you know I like old horror movies, and you don’t, right? So the twins watch them with me, and that makes me happy. You deserve to be happy, too. Call her."

I touched the icon with her picture and waited. Sarah stretched out on the bed and flashed her Cheshire cat grin at me. I’m sure the look I returned was something closer to terror.

Hello, Trisha? Look, I know it’s early, but something is on my mind. We’ve been dating a few months now, and I would love to be able to be more open about different, um, sexual experiences. I was wondering, how do you feel about BDSM?

Sarah mouthed ‘go on’ at me, and I pushed ahead.

Specifically, femdom BDSM?

Trisha laughed so hard I held the phone away from my ear until she composed herself.

Yes, Peter, she said at last. We can do that. Remember the wooden chest you saw in my house a few weeks ago and asked what it was, and I said I’d tell you later when we knew each other better?

Yes?

It’s later. Be at my house tonight, 9pm. Oh, and Peter? Don’t you dare be late. That is a direct instruction. I suggest you not start off our first power play session by being disobedient. My phone beeped as she hung up.

So, what did she say? Sarah asked.

I think she said yes. And she was very forceful about it.

She furrowed her eyebrows. Is that bad?

No, I muttered. Actually, I think it was kind of hot.

I arrived at Trisha’s country house at 8:43. Its manicured garden and sparkling white façade were a far cry from my tiny flat in the city. She inherited it from her parents, and although she could sell it for a fair sum, she said the house was perfect for her. Enough space to comfortably wander around inside, small enough to clean easily and far enough away from neighbours that she could have whatever kind of sex she wanted without risking someone contacting the police.

She met me at the door, dressed in her usual jeans and sweater, with heeled boots to make her taller. Even so, she was still half a head shorter than me. In bare feet, the top of her head barely reached my shoulder. Her obstinate short, black hair was secured at the sides with rhinestone pins. She hugged me and brushed her pink-tinged lips across mine.

You’re early, she said. But no matter. I’m ready, anyway. Come in.

She brought me into her spacious living room. The couch, coffee table, and end tables now stood against the walls. They were replaced by a padded bench with restraints along the legs, a high-backed bar stool, and the large, wooden chest I had asked her about. The lights were dimmed, and several candles burned on the mantle and on the tables against the wall, filling the room with a faint vanilla scent that reminded me of cookies and snow.

I hope I wasn’t too harsh on you on the phone, Trisha said.

I was surprised, but I didn’t really know what to expect.

She frowned. So you’ve never played this way before?

No. Well, once, with Sarah. This morning, actually.

And how did it go?

I’m not really sure. I mean, she tried, but it’s not really her.

She flashed her teeth. Then I suppose we have some things to talk about first. I’m going to give you a bit of a crash course. For starters, this is all about consent. If at any point you want to stop, we stop. To make it simple, we’ll use a colour code. Green means ‘everything is fine’, yellow is ‘slow down or back off a little’, and red means ‘stop everything and temporarily, or permanently, end play’.

I glanced at the padded bench. I saw myself tied down on it, unable to move, Trisha towering over me in a way she couldn’t do even in her heels. Unable to move. The words rang in my head. Unable to move, unable to move. I shuddered. It felt real, more real than it had with Sarah. What if I didn’t like it? What if I panicked? What if?

Are you listening?

Huh? Oh, yes.

"You’ve gone a little pale. Look, we don’t have to play this way. You are the one that suggested it. If you