Tag: submissive male

Erotica – Addressing His Needs

SinfulSundayLips150I often mention Sinful Sunday on my blog, either when submitting and image or as part of #SoSS posts when I am able to do them. When perusing the submissions for the first weekend of June, which was prompt week, one particular image inspired a line of thinking that ended up being a full blown story. Cousin Pons posted a picture of his feet titled ‘Underneath the Arches‘, and it got me to pondering what a story where a man feet were the catalyst for action. While that isn’t necessarily the story I ended up with, I am actually very fond of the piece of fiction below that did transpire from that initial idea. Thank you Cousin Pons for triggering some inspiration and very much hope you don’t mind me mentioned you image as my starting point for this piece.


Dinner has been served and devoured. As always his culinary skills are only outdone by his commitment to serving me. He works long days, as well as performing his duties for me, and it is appreciated that he never waivers in what is asked of him. He is instructed to sit and relax for a few moments while I prepare myself for our session.

When I return to him he has fallen asleep. Dozing peacefully in his favourite chair, his feet resting on the large footstool in front of him.

I am in charge. My will becomes his with every command I give. If I wake him now and inform him that we are continue our evening session as planned I know he will obey my wishes, without complaint, no matter how tired he is.

As I look upon him though I decide that a change of plan is in order. Moments later my hand is swirling in bubbly bath water and my massage oils are gathered on the side waiting to be put to use. Once the bath is ready, slightly hotter than necessary so it can cool while we busy ourselves with other things, I head downstairs to continue with our evening.

He is still dozing when I warm the oils between my palms, before slowly smoothing my chosen scent onto his feet! My touch begins to rouse him, and he is soon muttering apologies for falling asleep, for not doing the dishes, for ruining the plans. All of which are appreciated, none of which are needed.

He looks at me with a puzzled expression, clearly wondering what the new plans for this evening are. I simply tell him to relax, as my fingers deftly move around the soles of his feet. Relishing the feel of his flesh beneath my own, reflecting on the beauty of what is mine.

As my hands move up his legs, lingering to massage his calves, I giggle to myself at how backward this scene would seem to some people. The Mistress massaging her slave, the lack of punishment for his audacity to fall asleep. Gentle, loving touches replacing the cruel, ballbusting FemDom image that frequents porn. Many ‘One True Way’ Dominant’s would say the Sadism and control is what being a Dominant is all about but I would disagree,

I can feel his body relaxing beneath my touch, and my eyes are drawn to his cock, straining against his chastity cage. As I reach for the key around my neck and release him, his eyes fly open. The shock of being freed waking him from his docile headspace. His mouth opens to speak, but once again I state that it is my wish for him to relax.

Returning to the massage I spend a long time on his thighs, strong and firm. I remember all the times they’ve been on display, with legs raised, or in doggy style eagerly taking my strapon. The begging, the moaning, the pure unadulterated pleasure that pulses through me as I slide inside him. Now isn’t the time to satisfy that particular desire, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.

Sufficiently relaxed and zoned out he doesn’t register the removal of leggings and knickers. It is only when my thighs straddle his, in his thankfully spacious arm chair, that he becomes aware of my intentions. His voice hesitant he asks if he can touch me, the spirit of this spontaneous change of plans has me saying yes, adding that he has a free reign to touch me anywhere and everywhere during the session.

His hands grip my bottom as I lower myself onto him and it’s me that is moaning in pleasure now. He responds with more touches, alternating between all the spots that he knows will have me aching greedily for more. His mouth finds my nipples and I hold his head to my breast, stifling his breathing while he sucks and nibbles. He may have been given certain freedoms, but he is still mine to do as I wish with.

Certain liberties are taken though, and we are having so much fun, that saying anything but yes is out of the question. He has gradually made his way to the edge of the chair, and with his hands firmly gripping my arse cheeks to support me he stands up and lowers me down onto the chair, pushing the footstool against it so I can wriggle forward and lie back, my feet propped gently on the edge of the footstool. 

Fingers find their way, tentatively dancing between my folds in case I withdraw his permission to play freely. I don’t though, not today. He wastes no time in bringing me right to the edge of orgasm, and when I fall over that edge, wow do I fall. The combination of pleasure he uses is a heady mix. His finger work and his perfectly place thrusts once he has moved to using his cock, as his hands roughly use my breasts to steady himself, all of this alone would be enough to cause me to climax. His body language though is what truly causes my pleasure to soar today.

Kneeling on the floor his pelvis is perfectly aligned with mine as I lie back on the footstool and armchair, his head is bowed, and as cliche as it sounds, he reminds me of a man at prayer. I am both his Goddess and his Temple in these moments; he enters me, to worship me, to get lost in and find clarity in the belief he has in me and it is beyond a pleasure to be those things for him.

To onlookers, the D/s dynamic we have might be lost on them if they were to see the deep, hard fucking he was giving me, and the bruises that are surely forming from his grip on my breasts will not scream ‘caused by a submissive male’, but the words he manages to utter between heavy breathing and moans of satisfaction tell me everything is just as it should be.

‘Please may I come Mistress.’

With that he raises his head for the first time and holds my gaze, it is always my choice as to whether or not he comes. Sometimes the answer is yes, often the answer is no. I want him to feel that release today though, I want the ripples of orgasmic delight to ricochet through him, to render him spent and incapable of further action.

When his orgasm is complete he flops forwards, his head resting softly at my breast. His tiredness returning, now multiplied by his physical activity, his speech is a whisper, but I hear the words ‘Thank you Mistress’ fall from his lips, his breath tickling against my nipple as they do so.

Despite his tiredness, I rouse him and lead him upstairs. I can see mild hint of concern as to whether or not he will be capable of whatever I ask him, his weariness now thoroughly starting to set in again. When he sees the bath he smiles broadly and simply says; ‘For me?’

I nod my head and usher him forward. He sighs deeply as the water soothes him, it’s warmth penetrating him to his core, just as moments ago he had done to me. Sponge and soap at the ready, I start to wash him, my hands taking occasional detours along my favourite parts of him. We do this in silence as he rests, slowly being beckoned towards sleep once more. I know once he his dry he will fall into bed, and sleep will comes in an instant.

Tomorrow when he wakes he will ask me, as he always does, and as many others have before, and will again, why I do this for him? My answer is simple, caring is not an act of submission, I am not betraying my role as Dominant by looking after him when I see fit to do so. He is mine, I own him, he is my property and my most treasured possession at that. Why would I not care for something  so precious to me? Why would I not ensure that he is fit, healthy and well rested? All of which he needs to be to serve me as beautifully as he does.

In many ways I am at my most Dominant in these moments. Taking charge and doing what needs to be done, at times when he may not realise he needs these things himself.


I am submitting this piece for this weeks Masturbation Monday, if you want to see who else is providing delightful words for your masturbatory pleasure then please do follow the link below.

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#MasturbationMonday: All It Takes Is The Right Toy …

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This post was inspired by #MasturbationMonday, to join in or to see more of the posts written for this go to http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/.

I’ve got the sex toys. I’ve got the porn, or the sexy imagination depending on my mood. The mood is set, the lube is out. I’ve got everything, except the orgasm. It’s time to admit defeat. I’m bored and I know the reason why. I’ve got a better toy, a bigger toy, a living, breathing, all mine sex toy of a boy. That is what I need.

There is only one problem with this need. He has been very naughty lately, and that has me questioning how much he deserves to give me the attention I need. I think on this for a while, but it can’t be denied, the more I think about him, the wetter I get, in some way, shape or form, I need him here for this.

I glance and the clock and realise whatever he might be doing won’t be as interesting or as important as serving his Mistress, so I send the slave summons, a bit like the bat signal but for an eager to please slave boy.

Fifteen minutes later and his key turns in my door, I can hear him following standard protocols as he undresses, folding his clothes and leaving them in a neat pile by the door. The thought of him naked and eager makes my cunt twitch. It’s going to be hard not to use him fully, but I must be strict, I can’t have him thinking he will be rewarded for misbehavior.

As soon as my eyes are upon him my resolve is truly tested, he is glorious. His caged cock already looks like the metal surrounding it might be no object to it’s arousal. His eyes are shining with excitement, always anticipating what might await him, even when what awaits him is frustration and denial.

I direct him to the chair beside the bed, and I fix the restraints in place. He might be a slave, but he’s a bratty, horny slave, and has on occasion broken free from minimalistic restraint, or found himself unable to resist temptation if not restrained, and while his attention is always pleasurable, he really does need to learn his place. So now he is always fully immobilised. Though today I leave his head free to move, as I want him to be able to see me at all times.

Once he is firmly tied to the chair, I remove his cock cage. He gasps and moans as I do so, and his cock his hard, his eyes are pleading, and breathlessly he whispers ‘Please, Mistress’ it’s then that I know this is going to be just the release I need.

I run my finger gently along his cock, and he twitches against my touch, I can sense him holding his breath in anticipation of what I might do, of what pleasures I might permit him, and without a second though my hand slaps his shaft and I feel his breath fall from his mouth warm against my breast.

I move my hand into my bra and start to play with my nipples, his mouth hangs open, his eyes are fixed, I can see how badly he wants them. My nipples, hard and erect, to brush against his lips, as his tongue darts out to lick him. For me to force them into his mouth, holding his head firmly to my chest, his breathing restricted, his only choice to keep on licking, to keep on pleasuring, to keep on fucking my boobs with his tongue, because it might be the only action he gets for a while. I deny him this today though. As intend to deny him everything, but the chance to watch.

I open the drawer beside the bed, and I hear him groan, as he realises what I’m likely to be reaching for. I lay out my choice of toys on the bed, including the dildo so similar in length and girth to his own cock, that using it in front of him feels even crueller than a bigger one.

I lie on the bed besides the dildo, vibrators and lube. Scantily clad but still clothed I start running my hands across my body, and already things feel different to my failed attempt at masturbation. My body is starting to ache, the need is building inside me, the power I hold over him is setting me on fire, that is what was missing.

My hands find move over my knickers and I feel how wet I am through the material, and I know he will be able to see it too. I taunt him with it, asking him if he sees how wet it makes me to have called him here, to have restrained him and made him hard. Hard before I’d even touched him, moaning at one, slight, gentle, touch. All he can say is ‘Yes Mistress’, and that alone arouses me further.

I slide my wet knickers down my legs, and I can feel his eyes are fixed on me, watching, waiting, so keen to see what he probably now realises he cannot have. Once my knickers are removed I kneel up on the bed, lean forward and force them into his mouth, they are not efficient enough to be a gag, but they are very efficient at torturing him with my taste, forcing thoughts into his mind of his mouth on my cunt, of those days were good behaviour were rewarded with oral servitude.

Falling back onto the bed, my hands reach for a vibrator and soon enough the familiar buzzing of a favourite toy fills the air. I can hear the chair creaking as he pulls against his restraints, knowing with great satisfaction that his predicament will be bringing him both pleasure and frustration. The vibrator is alternating between my clit, and sliding inside me. My hips are moving ever more eagerly against the sensations this is causing.

I lift my head, and one look at has me rocketing from close to climax to being in the grip of orgasm. His muscles are tense as he pulls against his restraints, his eyes filled with that look verging on fury as he becomes more and more desperate to touch, and lick, and fuck, the tip of cock glistening with precum, and I almost laugh as the orgasm ripples through me knowing that precum is as far as he gets to go.

I see him relax a little, as my body shudders in the after effects of climax. I wonder if he thinks the tease is over, if I’ll play with him, or even better set him free to play with me. Instead I fix my gaze on him and take the dildo that so perfectly resembles his own cock and grip it tightly in my hand, again he groans. I know that groan, I know how badly he wants my hand wrapped around his cock, how desperately he wants me to move up and down his hard, desperate erection, edging him, teasing him, whispering humiliating phrases until I finally let him fall over the edge, covering him in his own cum.

Instead he gets to watch me slide that dildo inside my hot, wet cunt, over and over again. I want it to be him, and I tell him so. I wish it was his cock covered in my wetness, filling me, stretching me, making the pleasure inside me rise. I reposition myself, kneeling on the edge of the bed, so I can alternate between lifting myself on and of the perfectly positioned dildo, and grinding down onto it. In this position I can lean forward and rest my hands on his knees, giving me more leverage and control over fucking the dildo.

I can’t help but stare at his face, his expression is pained, and it makes joy rise inside me. There is a wicked and insatiable pleasure in causing him this kind of frustration, as I get close to another orgasm, this one much stronger than the last, I breathlessly tell him that I wish he could cum too. Oh how I’d love to give in, to let him cum with me, on me, inside me, but no, he had to ruin it, he had to be bad, he had to earn himself his longest ever stretch of punishment. Even this, berating him as I fuck myself with a dildo, is getting him more aroused. I glance down and see his cock, hard, twitching, pulsating and I wonder if he might cum without a physical stimulus.

The curiosity outweighs my desire to deny him, also I feel like if I succeed it would be something of a ruined orgasm, and the idea of that feels just as satisfying as denial. So I continue to verbally berate him, between my own gasp and moans, I tell him how  badly I need him to fuck me, how he needs to be good boy so I can reward him with the chance to lick, finger and fuck my cunt. The more I talk the redder his face gets, filling with anguish and desperation, his desire and submission causing his mind to empty of every except want and need. I point these facts out him, how all he wants is to touch me, how he can’t, how he won’t. Ever.

We both know that’s a lie but in the moment it feels so true, and it takes him further into his desperate desire, and the more I gasp, and moan and lean against him as I whisper obscenities that humiliate, tease and torture him, the more I turn myself on. Until no more words are needed, because I hear him mumbling into his knicker filled mouth and it sounds like ‘No, shit, fuck … sorry Mistress’ and I look down in time to see cum spurting from his cock, and that sight is all it takes for me to follow suit, another orgasm is mine, my body finding the satisfaction that escaped it earlier.

Sometimes all it takes is the right toy, and sometimes the right fuck toy is a slave boy.

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F.Y.I – While this is an entirely fictional masturbation account, after I wrote I did actual masturbation, in my Harry Potter t-shirt, not sure while that’s relevant, but it feels appropriate to mention.