Femdom: The One

She wants to be worshipped, he submits willingly.

This female domination story contains graphic details of physical and mental sadism and masochism, including orgasm denial, female worship and humiliation. It is entirely fictional and completely my own work.

Please DO NOT read any further if you do not enjoy fictional stories in which males submit to dominant females, either willingly, forcible, or by coercion.

Please DO read further if you want to know how a petite blond takes complete ownership of her ideal man.

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They met like so many other couples had; the cogs of their friendship circles turned and turned until one day, without design, their own lugs on their own cogs met and entwined. The attraction was absolute; she the petite blonde with sparkly blue eyes that he had always dreamed of, and he the tall, well built, charming copy of her father. They talked and laughed, joked and danced for the evening while their friends drifted around them, and by the end of the night they found themselves alone, abandoned by their friends who could see that there was a single arrow piercing both of their hearts.

In the sticky heat of a packed nightclub they danced tightly, their bodies pressed together, their arms wrapped in a possessive embrace. She moved her lips toward his ear and he swivelled and bowed his head so that he could hear her over the thumping bass.

"Would you be worried I told you I was a little kinky?" she asked, her voice husky from heat and exhaustion.

In unison, they each swivelled their heads so that now his lips were close to her ear. "Vanilla is overrated" he said.

They turned their heads again, face-to-face now, inches apart, she looked up at him with her big blue eyes. He could be the one. He could be the Yin to her Yang, she'd never know if she wasn't brave....

She put her mouth to his ear again, brushing her lips across his cheek, the touch seemed more intimate than that of their pressed bodies. "I want to dominate you" she said as her heart pounded.

He did not answer. Instead, he lowered his hands to her bottom and pulled her onto him so that she could feel his erection.

Her city centre apartment was a short walk from the club. They steadied each other as they swerved their way along the stone-slabbed pavements, stopping to kiss here and there. The five-minute walk took twenty, but at last they reached her block where she fumbled with her key until the night concierge buzzed them in. She subconsciously smoothed her short dress down and led him to the lifts.

When the tall, heavy door of her apartment closed, the world beyond it ceases to exist. Her apartment was unknown to him, so his entire world now lay within the six square meters of her entrance hall with its neat row of shoes below an uncluttered dressing bench. They kissed again, intensely, passionately, lustfully, her wet tongue probing his mouth. His hands pressed her flesh as he groped her buttocks, her hips and her back, then he slid them toward her breasts. "No!" She chided as though she were training a new puppy. He moved his hands away and softened his touch while she put a finger on his nose. "You don't get what you haven't earned" she told him, then she took her finger from his nose and placed her hand flat on his chest, pushing him back against the oversized door. He didn't resist - the finger on his nose and the pressure on his chest excited him immensely.

With one hand still on his chest she placed the other unashamedly on his erection, stroking him firmly through his jeans. Then, without a word, she lifted up his t-shirt, unbuckled his belt, and tugged at his fly to pop the buttons. His jeans fell to the floor with a heavy thud and his cock strained against the thin cotton of his white boxers.

"Take your clothes off" she commanded, stepping back to give him space.

He complied quickly, yanking off his laced trainers and throwing off his t-shirt. He felt suddenly awkward when his hands reached the waistband of his boxers, but he slipped them down immediately to avoid any outward sign of his nervousness. When he was finished, he stood awkwardly before her in his nakedness.

"Tidily!" she commanded in her puppy-training voice. He looked at his strewn clothes in the context of her tidy hallway and immediately gathered them folded them, and placed them in a neat pile on her little bench.

"God boy," she said softly, "now come with me"

She led him from the entrance hall down a short, dim corridor, through open double doors and into her living area. It was twice the size of his entire apartment, he thought, and, until the lights rose to softly illuminate the room, he could see that through her huge glazed walls she had an impressive view of the orange street lamps and left-on office lights of Manchester. He took a sharp intake of breath.

"Daddy pays for it," she said, "I couldn't rent the bathroom on my salary"

"Go and kneel before that chair" she said, pointing to a leather armchair in a corner of the room. He did as he was told, obediently crossing the soft, white, thick-piled rug of her tidy living room and kneeling in front of the chair, his heart pounding. He heard the clinking of glasses and the sloshing of liquid, then she joined him in the corner, settling comfortably into the chair before him, handing him a glass of whisky, and setting a half-full crystal decanter on a small table beside her.

"Drink up" she said.

He began to sip the harsh liquid but she was impatient with him. "Quickly!" she ordered, and he downed the rest with one gulp. It burned his throat and caught his breath but he held his composure and thanked her with a raspy "Thank you".

She took the empty glass form him and set it down on the table, then she leant on one of the chair's broad arms and sipped her whisky, studying his muscular body and semi-erect cock.

"You're not quite so hard now," she stated, "are you not enjoying yourself?"

"I am!, I am... it's just that..." his eyes subconsciously flitted to the bare windows.

She looked there too, at the strings of orange lights outside that punctured the reflection of her room, and of their bodies on the threshold of mental sadomasochism.

"We're not overlooked," she said, "but I do sometimes imagine that there could be some middle-aged man with a telescope in that apartment block way over there. Perhaps he watches me getting dressed in the mornings and imagines humping me like a randy dog on a bitch? What would he think if he was watching me now, sitting in this chair with my naked toy at my feet?"

She crossed her legs, knee-on-knee, so that the bridge of her nylon-clad right foot tucked up between his legs, gently pressing up on his dangling scrotum. His cock stiffened immediately.

"That's better" she cooed as her touch made him inhale audibly.

"Do you like my chair?" she asked, taking another sip of whisky while she awaited his response. Her broad, boxy seat was completely clad in soft, worn, brown leather that lolloped over the wide, solid, rear and arms, and was formed into diamond patterns by buttons in deep depressions. At the front, two vertical panels were framed by neat rows of brass tacks.

He liked it a lot, but it seemed oddly out of place amongst the sleek modern furnishings of her apartment.

"Yes" He said, "its..."

She stopped him suddenly by lifting her foot and squashing his balls into his groin. "Address me as 'Miss'" she said.

All the female teachers at her school had been addressed as 'Miss'. When she spied one of her favourite young tutors brutally pulling a fellow teacher's cock up his back in the woods behind the school gymnasium, she knew that her slaves would have to address her in the same way.

"Yes Miss," he started, "I like the contrast between you and it".

She beamed in delight.

"This is a Chesterfield Tub from the 1880's" she told him, "it was bought for a gentlemen's club in Victorian London where old, grey, rich men would go and have hoity-toity conversations, most likely about the suppression of their wives". She slouched back against the cool, soft leather. "I bet they never thought that one day there'd be a young lady sitting in the same chair with a naked male at her feet."

"I pity them" he said.

She gave a little laugh. "You say all the right things".

She sipped her whisky and admired his body again, then she moved her foot back and forth a little and delighted in the way that it made his solid cock bob up and down. "Oh you must be very happy to be wagging your tail like that!" she mocked.

"Yes Miss!" he responded.

"Would my randy dog like to fuck his bitch over this chair?" she asked. "

"Yes Miss!"

She sat upright, leaned forward, and for the first time, took his heavy erection in her hand. It was fat and hot and she thrilled at the thought of owning such a beautiful thing. Then she leaned closer still, brought her lips to his ear, squeezed his cock with all the strength and said, sharply; "I'm the dog.... and you're the bitch. Is that clear?"

"Yes Miss" Yes Miss!", he blurted out, thrusting his hips forward to somehow avoid her grip.

She held him firm for some time, then slowly released him.

"Show me what a little bitch you are, and worship my feet"

With his cock stiffer than ever after her domineering words, he set to his task immediately, taking the foot that had teased his balls with both hands, and bowing to kiss the very place that had bullied him. She sipped her whisky for a while, then slipped her hands up her skirt, held the top of her stocking, and peeled it down her leg. He stopped his duty for a moment, took the loose stocking from her, and pulled it free from her leg, then he pressed his lips to her naked foot and began his duty again. The warm flesh of her foot was soft and sleek in contrast to the raspy grip of her nylon, and it was salty from the sweat of dancing. He savoured the taste and the texture of her skin and sought to lick every inch of it, top and bottom, heel to toes. He took time to suck her toes softly and individually, drawing them each fully into his mouth and feeling the scrape of each painted nail on his palate.

When she had enjoyed enough attention on her right foot she pulled it from his grasp, replaced it with her stockinged left foot and allowed him to repeated his devoted worship. She poured herself another whisky and sipped it while he honoured her.

"Slave," she said eventually, "I want you to worship me properly now"

He stopped his ministrations and sat upright while she slid herself to the edge of the soft cushion, lifted her bottom and hitched her dress up so that it gathered high around her waist. Her panties were not at all what he'd expected; they had a simple cut and were plain white other than a collection of pink and yellow lollipops over the crotch. "I wasn't expecting to get lucky" she laughed.

He edged closer to the chair, put his hands on her feet, and slid them slowly up her calves and thighs. She watched him do it, enjoying the sight of this strong, handsome man making his advances towards the thing that he wanted most. When his hands finally traversed her hips and reached the sides of her panties just below her crumpled dress, ready to pull them down and have her finally exposed to him, she stopped him.

"No," she said, "You don't get what you haven't earned"

"But I..."

"But you what?, assumed that I'm easy? assumed that spreading a little bit of saliva on my feet would earn you the right to see my pussy?"

His face was a picture of disappointment and worry, and the realisation that she had such power to tease and deny him thrilled her thoroughly. She wanted so much to have him lick her naked pussy and puckered ass, to have him pay the same meticulous attention to her desperate sex as he had to her feet, but the thrill of his denial was almost enough to make her clamp her thighs around her hand and grind herself to a wild and shameless orgasm before his eyes. She knew that he had diligently performed the foreplay she had demanded, and that now his balls were full and his cock thick and long, painfully hard and ready for the next natural step of blissful copulation. She knew that he was desperate now for some reward, some sight and taste of her most precious feminine treasure, and she felt that she might cum just from the thrill of denying him.

"You don't expect to get my pussy on a silver platter do you, little bitch?" she asked, cattily.

"No Miss" he said, his desire to worship at the altar of his goddess trumped only by his longing to have her dominate him in the cruellest ways possible.

"No, indeed, little bitch. What do you have to do?"

"I.... I have to earn it Miss"

"Good girl" she said, her words debasing his masculinity.

"So, I'm going to let you lick my cunt BUT...." she said, pointing a finger at his face, "If you even think about interfering with my panties I will handcuff your balls to that radiator over there and you will sleep in here tonight. Is that clear?"

"Yes Miss!" he chirped, "Thank you Miss, thank you Miss, thank you Miss..."

She smiled proudly, turned her extended finger towards her pussy and he immediately crawled forward until his face was between her thighs. He could feel the heat of her forbidden sex, smell fresh and stale sweat, feminine skin and her womanly nectar. He could also smell perfume and for some reason it excited him to know that she had purposefully laid a trace of perfume somewhere close to her sex, even though she was not expecting to have a lover's head between her legs.

He performed his next duty to perfection, just as she knew he would. He could feel the form of her pussy with his tongue, the puffiness of her labia majora, the size and shape of her vulva. His tongue could trace her labia, held captive by the cruel prison of her panties, and with a little pressure he could feel the luring hollow of her vaginal passage, the nub of her urethral opening and the engorged prominence of her clitoris with its heavy hood. He studied every undulation, and in his mind, he could picture her beautiful pussy naked in all of its majestic beauty, sodden and hungry. Through the sheen of satin he could taste her clearly; the estrogen-loaded musk and delicate metallic hint of her juices and her ripe young flesh, but he could not eat. He longed to lap her honey into his mouth so that it could intoxicate him and enslave his mind, but the satin prevented him from stealing more than a taste, even though it was soaked with her excitement. He used his tongue to probe her sex, to trace the line where the flesh of her inner thigh met the gusset of her panties, taking care not to disturb it, then down with his sharp tongue, forcing the satin into the cleft of her ass so that he could seek out and probe her anus.

She began to gyrate on the protuberance of his tongue, grinding herself against his attentive little tool. With her whisky still held lazily in her left hand, she placed her right hand on the back of his head and started to direct him, guiding him forward or backward to chase her mounting passion between her anus, vagina and clitoris. Her breathing became heavy and she felt unbearably hot with her dress still adorning most of her body. She panted as her excitement grew.

"You want to fuck me" she gasped. It was not a question or an invitation, but a mean and gloatful taunt. He continued his service.

"You're desperate to feel your cock in my pussy, but I won't let you". He licked harder and faster, knowing that the urgency was rising in her.

"You still want to be the randy dog, don't you?. The thought of having his goddess on her knees and humping her sodden pussy was too much for him to bear, and before he knew what he was doing he spoke the word "yes" against her soaked knickers.

"Imagine it!" she said, laughing and panting and groaning, "imagine it! fantasise about it! experience it in your head!.... in the real world you're still my bitch!

She tensed, her whole body solid and motionless, her groin thrust into his face and fingers tugging at his hair. "I'm coming!, I'm coming!, I'm coming!" she cried out as her orgasm tried to tear through her. She held it back, her body coiling tighter and tighter, wave after wave of tension compressing within her groin. Her desperation to both resist and release seized absolute control of her brain and she thought of nothing else but mounting the peak of her climax.

With a guttural cry she crested the summit, ground her wet, panty-clad pussy into his face and shook violently as her orgasm consumed her. She convulsed time and time again as waves of pent-up tension were released, and she rode the rollercoaster, soaring over the peaks and crashing through the troughs until slowly, cruelly, the rampaging of her body subsided.

She let go of his hair and slumped back in her chair, holding her glass in her whisky drenched hand. He sat on his heels and watched her rest, more beautiful than ever. He realised that 'ever' with her had only been 6 hours, but she was certainly more beautiful now than she had been when they first met yesterday evening; when her hair was smooth, her makeup clean, her smart black dress crisp and neat, when her skin was clean and her perfume fresh. She was more beautiful now that her abandon had stripped the veneer and revealed her secrets, and he wanted her more than ever.

She could have fallen asleep there. She could have insisted that he stayed on his heels, patient and obedient, until she fell asleep, then he should carry her to her bed and lay her down, but she wanted one more demonstration of his devotion. She picked herself up and took him by the hand.

"Follow me," she said. Her dress slipped back into a proxy its former shape, hiding her buttocks from his gaze. She led him back through the double doors and dim corridor, into her bedroom and then, stopping before him and without turning around said; "unzip me"

"Yes Miss". He did as he was told, locating the tiny tear-shaped pull tab below her delicate neck, and sliding it slowly down her spine to the small of her back, revealing a plain black bra strap and a thin wedge of pale skin, dotted with scarce freckles. She looked over her shoulder at him alluringly, and he fantasised again about bending her over and finally sinking his aching cock into her willing pussy. "bra too" she said. He fumbled with the slim clasp and at last it sprung apart.

"Good boy, now lie there" she said, pointing to a soft, cream mat beside the bed. He did as he was told, lying flat on his back and looking up at her. She shimmied her open dress down, over her hips, letting it drop to the floor beside him, then she pulled her arms free of the bra and let that fall to the floor too before standing over him for a moment so that he could see the half-globes of her breasts and small dark nipples. Then she stepped over him and climbed on to the bed.

"It's gone 2am, we need to sleep," she said.

"Miss? Do I have to sleep on the floor?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Of course you do little pet!" She said, pulling the duvet over herself, "but oh, what sort of a host am I having you to sleep over and not giving you a cover!? You can use my dress if you like".

She watched him curl onto his side, straighten-out the little slip of material and place it over his side, then she reached for the light switch beside the bed.

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In the morning she woke him with a coffee and a smile, seated on the floor beside him and wearing an oversized pyjama set that hung off her shoulder and was baggy around her.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"5am. I normally go for a run around this time."

He suddenly thought that he was interrupting her routine and should leave, but as soon as he stirred she shushed him down, her palm flat as though patting a dog. "It's ok," she said with a smile, "I'll make an exception this morning".