I was feeling very wicked this morning and decided to share. I’ve just recorded and uploaded a new erotic audio mp3 for all my submissive cuckolds, beta husbands and wimpy boyfriends.
NEW! – The long-awaited recording mentioned in my dominant girlfriend love letter. I left you a voicemail, letting you know I won’t be home tonight… and explaining our new arrangement. 5 minutes of sweet erotic humiliation. (high quality.MP3 file)
Oh – and in case you missed the original “love” letter:
– A love letter, dominant girlfriend style. I sweetly explain why you’re a wimp, a failure as a man, can’t fuck me properly… and what I’m going to do about it. (There’s a surprise inside the mail, if you look closely.)
I was feeling particularly inspired (or wicked) one morning and decided to make an off-the-cuff humiliation and comparison video (see end of post). Yes, that is my tree in the background and yes it is decorated with blue balls…
When I first got into domination it was on a strictly personal level with a long-term submissive. I didn’t understand small penis humiliation and felt that men with small penises should be encouraged to consider their other strong points in bed, such as giving good oral. I firmly believed men’s obsession with penis size was ridiculous and in no way based on reality.
Three things happened to change this:
1. One of my submissives had a very small penis. I worked around this, I was patient, I was supportive, I was licked from dawn til sunset. But if I ever tried to ride I couldn’t move or it would fall out. Condoms slid off. They were baggy. And he was a premature ejaculator. After a while I just had to find other ways to amuse myself with it. Mmm… Did I mention he was a masochist?
2. I finally started to understand erotic humiliation, and how it could be erotic, for both the giver and the receiver. I could never experience it as erotic to give until I understood what it was like to enjoy it from the other end.* I had to experience it myself a few times – and find it intriguing.
* I say never but there were times when my sadism took hold and I played rough. That said there was always hesitation and remorse until I understood it from both ends.
3. I finally gave it, gave it and enjoyed every minute of it. Over and over. Until the fading shame of cutting another person’s ego down was replaced with the secret thrill of exposing his weaknesses and leaving him raw and vulnerable… of loving to make him squirm. The penis is the center of a man’s ego, after all. I saw it as an intersection of verbal sadism, male exhibitionism, submissive shame, and the kink of being inspected and judged. I’m into CFNM (oh, who wouldn’t be? Who wouldn’t want a harem of sexy naked men on display for their amusement?) and after understanding small penis honesty from that angle it all started to click.
And the good people at sent me this satin smooth , and it’s got a ruler on the side, in both inches and millimeters (some of you really need every bit you can coax out of a ruler, it seems). And I took one look at it and knew it would be the perfect tool to break these men. A femdom vibrator – I never thought I’d see that dream come true. Imagine the CFNM party applications… Actually I’m going to write that story now.
After all the hassle of dealing with an actual micropenis (see #1) I’ve moved on to bigger and better things. My man has something even the Inch Perfect lacks – skill, stamina, flexibility and a breathtakingly perfect G-spot hitting curve. (Actually he’s thicker too but I don’t want to swell his ego too much here. He does read this sometimes.)
NEW! – Ready to hear the truth about your undersized equipment? See how your little q-tip dick measures up against my 8″ vibrator. 14 minutes of crystal clear visual and verbal humiliation. (.WMV format, will convert on request)
I think it would be fun to pick a guy up, toy with him, tie him up, and leave him wanting. It’s a little crazy, a little risky, but it would be so decadently wicked…
I’d pick him up someplace where he’d be expecting a quick and easy lay; a bar or a club maybe, maybe a pool hall. Sure it’s a cliche, but that’s the whole point. He’s got to want it, he’s got to be looking for it and he’s got to know he’s going to get it.
I’ll let him buy me a drink – or maybe I’ll buy him one. Maybe more than one. We’ll be taking a cab to my place. If he tries anything funny, there’s a witness. After that we’re on my turf.
Before we leave the club I’m going to grind and dance him into submission. Twist my fingers in his hair, push my ass against his cock and look back over my shoulder to see his face: sweat and lowered eyelids and openmouthed lust under blue strobe lighting. Perfect. I’ll drop down low, slide down his tense body like it’s a pole. He’ll feel the back of my head brush his prick – I’ll make him think about what would happen if I turned around.
And then I will… hot pink lipstick outlining my lips as they make an O right in front of his cockhead. My tongue will flick out, wet my bottom lip, and I’ll slink up his body and do that thing where you quietly shout in his ear, “Let’s get another drink…”
Sure I look Irish, but he’s going to be looking at my height, and the unsteady way I’m walking in these knee-high black vinyl high heel boots, and think I started before I arrived. He’s going to think I’m a little bitty two-drink drunk. And when I play up the buzz, he’s going to believe it.
I’m going to take him home and have my way with him.
My way is vinyl locking cuffs and my lace thong panties for a gag. My way is letting him taste me in the only way I’ll allow him. Teasing him with my hands and legs and lips. My way is yanking out the gag, pushing his head down to my crotch and making him lick my pussy til I’ve had enough, then forcing the whiskey down his throat to kill the aftertaste. My way is fucking him up the ass when he’s drunk, making him suck my clit purple, and calling the cab to pick him up again… No, no head for you, darling; sorry, what did you think this was?
I just wanted to pick you up, get you drunk, and fuck your pretty little mouth.
Sorry.
He’s going to slump into the back of that cab with a hickey to explain, a stiff dick, and nothing to show for it – and he’s going to sit very carefully on Monday. What’s he going to do, say I slipped him a Mickey?
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned… and I’m just getting warmed up.
My got broken in last night by a charmingly horny Englishman who’d just arrived at work. He had three of my favorite kinks: a love of stockings, a fascination with tease and denial, and a desire to be ordered to masturbate. He wasn’t into directed stroking as much as the idea of being forced to masturbate and told where and when to come, having to beg for it…
Sound familiar?
Right.
We chatted for a few minutes about when we’d each gotten interested in stockings and in T&D… His was a lifelong obsession, and in turn I told him about my experimental teenage goth years and how fishnets and lacy black panties led to corsets and silky sheer hold-ups. (My thing about slit skirts dates back to the Black Eyeliner Days when I’d show flashes of fishnets or black pantyhose underneath an ankle-length skirt slit to mid-thigh.)
So he found me in the office, in a crisp white blouse and a knee-length black pencil skirt with a back slit (you might have seen it around here), with nude stockings held up by black garters underneath. My stockinged feet were tucked into black leather pumps. He was sitting in front of my desk and I knew he wanted me.
I ordered him not to touch his cock yet. First rule of phone domination: The one thing they need the most, the thing they crave to be forced to do, first deny them, then make them beg for it.
I just love hearing guys beg.
Instead, I told him to stroke the inside of his thigh, stopping right before he reached his balls. He was to keep stroking while I teased him with glimpses of my stocking tops stretched by my black satiny garter straps. I stroked the nylon, telling him how smooth it felt against my fingers. I ran my hands over the stockings stretched out over my soft bare legs… snapped my garter strap… asked him if he wanted to touch his cock yet.
“No, you don’t get to touch your cock yet. Keep stroking.” Yeah… keep stopping short.
I made him tell me how much he wished it was my stockinged thigh he was stroking. I could hear the need in his voice. (I fucking love that.) I lifted the hem of my skirt to tease him more. Oh, and then I made him beg. He begged to touch my garter strap. Not me – not my bare skin – not my nylon-encased leg. My garter strap, smooth and shiny, black satin stretched flat against my thigh.
I let him. He was practically trembling.
I kicked off my black leather high heeled shoes and wiggled my toes inside my stockings. He could just make out the color of my pedicure through the nylon. (Red, of course. Matches my hair.)
And did he want to lick them? I didn’t care; I wanted them licked, dammit. And sucked. Through the nylon.
I’m sure he knew they’d be salty with sweat. My feet had been inside my shoes all day.
He was so, so good.
Good enough to be rewarded.
I ran my foot along his thigh and held it poised right above his cock. He told me it was starting to leak.
I could hear it in his voice.
“Please, please, may I stroke my cock?”
I thought he wanted to be ordered? Hah!
I made him beg. I had to hear it, wanted him to make me believe how much he wanted to feel my stockinged foot on his cock. No footjob for this guy… why should I make an effort? He was perfectly capable of jacking himself. I rested my foot against his shaft and wiggled my nylon-covered toes against the head of his cock. I pressed the arch of my foot against the side of his cock and rubbed just enough for him to feel a hint of nylon-on-skin friction.
I ordered him to jerk his cock for me. It’s always fun to watch a guy wank – especially when he’s doing it not because he wants to, not because it amuses him, but because it amuses me, because he’s giving me a show. And oh, how he begged to be allowed to come all over my pretty stockinged feet.
(Aww… But he’d just cleaned them!)
I almost said no… almost. But the idea of my toes sticky with warm cum starting to soak through worn nylon appealed to me.
I gave the order for his release – for him to come all over my feet, then, then and no other time; right then, or be denied for the night.
When you think about it, teasing is really a very detail-oriented approach to sexuality. From the position of the teasee, you’re a victim of imagery and sensation; you become fixated on a voice, a gesture, a touch, on the way her skirt rides up when she bends like that so you can almost see the gusset of her panties between her thighs.
There’s a sort of decadent helplessness to it – but you’re not helpless, you’re being lured. It’s silky lingerie over domination. It’s a dance, with steps forward and back, in a pattern… You might run, you can back away, but you are always, always drawn back. It’s a dance, definitely a tango. It’s about power and the art of the chase (as performed backwards and in high heels).
Everyone loves a tease.
Not everyone loves the uncertainty of the outcome, but oh, we all love the process, the suggestion and flirtation and even the slow eventual torture. Being drawn (or pushed) so close to the edge and then pulled back, hard – and again, and again, until we shiver and can’t form words – we all love that.
Control over another’s ability to lose control.
It’s intoxicating.
This is why the ends of my pens are frequently wet (as am I). They keep finding their way to my mouth, drawn over my lips, popped inside to wet the end and then rubbed against my parted lower lip in that way that might be vacant and might be very sexual, with a silk-thin strand of saliva that could easily be cum connecting my pen and my lip as I pull it away.
Teasing is about imagination, and being intimately aware of the filthy minds of others. It’s about activating them.
Sucking on the end of a pen is easy to do absentmindedly, and easy for the casual eye see as lewd. Tracing your lips with a pen is hard to do by accident, much more sensual, and much easier to brush off as innocent – unless you’re a dirty-minded pervert.
The way I’m stroking this railing pole? Rubbing it? Innocent. It’s just a touch. There’s nothing in my body language or facial expression to suggest I know how obscene this is, how easily my jacking and rubbing and stroking… and… and squeezing… could translate to the shaft of a cock. And rubbing my palm over the “head” of the railing? Just wiping some rust off my hand.
It’s only when my hand grips the bannister cleanly that I dare to look up at you, and smile, and put a hint of mischief and temptation into my eyes.
I know what you were thinking.
Pervert.
(Oh, and the pool cue? Do I even need to say it?)
___
If you’re into visual teasing and stockings or pantyhose, check out the sexy pic of the day from OnlyTease:
You’ll find their pic of the day thumbnails permanently featured at the bottom of my right sidebar. Every picture tells a story… Consider it inspiration. (I did.)
I’ll let him buy me a drink – or maybe I’ll buy him one. Maybe more than one. We’ll be taking a cab to my place. If he tries anything funny, there’s a witness. After that we’re on my turf.