Introduction

 

I don't take too well to labels. Sure, it's perfectly fine to find yogurt in the aisle marked "Dairy," but setting labels to people or absolutely defining the things they might do via preconceived notions, assumptions, or a well-worn trope doesn't allow for the complexity of who we are and what we might want. I'm even more suspect when it comes to sexual labeling, kink definitions, when one person instantly assumes something just by what one person says, or does, or wears. 

I find the word "Femdom" tricky like this. 

First of all, is the fem in question a biologically born lady, a binary female or a man playing the role of woman? Is she older than thirty, younger, or a widowed granny getting in her last round of kicks? And what constitutes Dom? Is it the obligatory 'kitten with a whip' made popular by mid-50's fantasy depictions captured by guys like Irving Klaw or a leather-jump-suited Emma Peel (ok, I know I'm showing my age) or maybe even the lady who taught Mr. Gray all his moves? The field is wide open I feel for an objective definition of both terms.

In the ten short stories that follow, I have attempted to take on the idea of Femdom from a bunch of different angles. I present a varied type of lady (all my ladies here are biological ladies), as much as a multitude of ways they are prompted to, encourage, get turned-on by, use their wits, hand, and yes even some instruments (although, as my title says, you won't find any whips here) to dominate. And not just dominate men as you will see from one story here. In some instances, the 'sub' prompts and requests, the domination, while in others, the lady comes to realize what she has stumbled into or suddenly desires. And the 'domination' runs the gambit from the physical to the mental, from teasing action to the more hardcore.

I am just trying to defy labels. 

As I always do with anything I write and publish, I hope the reader (you, in this case) is entertained by scribblings. If you come away from any of these little salvos-across-the-bow of Femdom thinking that time has been well spent, then that's really all I can ask.

Thanks for reading me,

Ralph Greco, Jr. from the wilds of suburban N.J. 2020

 

Packing

Dee, Tina & Me

What Cindy Might See

Not What First Was Revealed

Every Step Of The Way

After The Coffee

John's Very Last Hurtle

The Conditioning Of Jeremy

An Explanation For Denise

Doubt

 

Packing

 

As Sandra, Louisa, Jane, and I descended on the annual Tri-Towns Nord Ball I proudly considered how my friends and I looked the part of every other lady in the room in our heels and haute couture dresses, even though we all had cocks strapped to our bodies.

Sandra was a size queen, as much in the cock she wore-an 8-and-half-inch black model-as those she sought to fuck. Although large dildos and yes, even taller men, were proportionate to her five-foot-nine voluptuousness, she usually came away disappointed; really, how many men were walking around sporting cocks that big (even tall guys) or would agree to having one that size plow their ass? Ever since I met her, Jane had been working through the on again/off again consistent drama with a rather pretty Filipino guy named Carl (who I had heard sported a penis Sandra would have just loved) but was presently 'off' with him again; like me, she opted for a solid 6-inch flesh-colored cock she was more fond of getting up nice and close with instead of using as a battering ram. Louisa changed the size of the dick she strapped on as fit her mood; I hadn't had time to check or ask what she had on for this night. 

Despite our varied cock sizes (and colors), the girls and I did share a goal: which one of us would peg a man first.

As the last one to join this merry little band of friends, and having only moved into our St. Louis burb six months before I met them, I demurred best I could even with my usual brash and bawdy nature (and regarding both sexes as potential fuck buds and dates). After first meeting Louisa and Jane, the pair quickly introduced me to Sandra; she actually bore the upper-crust credentials to sneak us into this particular party. I came to like all the girls better the more I got to know them, tickled with each lady's specific joie de vivre. Then one blustery October afternoon three months ago, as I helped Jane decide between one of two dresses she was considering for a wedding she was attending with Carl that weekend (I work for an online dress manufacturer and am regarded, good or bad, as the fashion expert) she 'happened' to pluck her strap-on, with a six-inch skinny dildo dangling from it, out of her top dresser drawer. In no time, she explained the game she, Jane, and Sandra engaged in when they went out on their 'packing,' nights.

To say I was intrigued would be an understatement. 

Ironic, interesting, or weird (maybe all three?) as the only bisexual lady of our group, I had never actually gone in for fucking a lover's ass or pussy. And ironic, interesting, or weird (maybe all three?) as the dominant in every single one of my hook-ups, be it with man or woman, one would have thought I would have pegged a time or two. But the women I had been with, mostly bi also, had agreed with me that had we a desire for a cock filling us, we could all too easily find a real one. And frankly, I was too busy all but consuming the younger girls I usually dated, ravenously eating their pussies, suckling their tits, to ever care much for fucking them with a fake dick (and none had never asked for me to do so). For the men I had been with, my dominance usually manifested itself in me getting-off teasing them for hours as they begged to come or taking one of the pussy willow branches I kept in a large vase at my front door, and if a man was amiable (and had the ass for it) letting loose a few ardent swipes to get him yelping...and usually, hard as rock. I certainly knew about dildo play, had heard the word 'pegging,' plenty and had probably seen a Clips4Sale movie a time or two where some woman took her female lover or even a guy in this manner.

But strapping-on and fucking somebody this way was just never much on my mind.

Not until Jane wagged her cock in my face that afternoon, and told me how she and the girls stepped out maybe once every month or so to play their game, and ply willing men.

They didn't always all score, and in fact, there had been many nights none of them did (or the guy they revealed their cock to later on opted for something more 'traditional'). But there had been three instances Jane told me about-parties like the one we were presently at-where lots of people were gathered for a specific reason, where all three girls had taken home or had been taken home by some guy, each having revealed what they were wearing under their dresses, and all three managing to peg the man in question. At these moments they'd announce from a scout's honor calculation who had done what first, each lady always aware of a clock in the room or, at the very least, keeping their cell phone close enough to be able to check the time when they had plowed up, in and true.

What I found more amazing than the fact that my friends had managed these concerted concerts of pegging (and really, the 'winner' only received the honor of bragging rights for the night) was that so many heterosexual or at least men who claimed they were hetero, had allowed, some even all but begging for, an ass-fucking. If what the girls told me about St. Louis' male population was true, I wondered really how much of my usual dominant stance I'd even have to manage anymore. 

Were the men living around me already pretty much destined to be sub? 

Unlike visiting a typical city bar, of which we had been to only one time when we were packing, here we had a wide variety of aged men. Add to the fact that the four of us were in our thirties (I had just turned thirty-five a month before) the procurement possibilities laid out before us were even more interesting. There were the mid-20 guys who had been cajoled into coming to the hall this night by their high-society parents; for them, we could run a slight MILF interplay. None of us save Louisa had kids, though. For men in their thirties, forties, and even some in their fifties, we were often seen as sexy contemporaries. For men older, we could (and did) play the ripe and randy filly who might make a nice trophy on their arm. All these considerations made me as wet as feeling the strap-on harness cut into the fleshy bottom-most portion of my ass cheeks.

As with most things, it was the hunt more than the capture that got to me. Although, if I finally managed to land a victim/recipient/man-who'd-allow-a-plowing this night, could expose my cock, flip the bottle of lube from my clutch and assure the man I faced that what he was wide-eyed about was inevitable, I knew, I'd certainly come deep and hard.

Somewhere along the night, we were bound to splitter off, but Jane was the first to leave us with an "Um, see ya," after catching a lanky, bald black man waving at her from a high temporary round bar table to our right. That fourteen-thousand-watt wide smile she flashed on any regular occasion was at full wattage as she flipped her chestnut curls at us and sauntered over to plop her petite frame into the seat across from the handsome older man.

Would he be getting 'it' tonight, I wondered?

"Dammit," Louisa said under her breath but swallowed back her chuckle as two men approached the three of us. 

"Thomas," the taller of the two said, placing his hand to his chest. He had deep little brown eyes, and quite possibly the highest cheekbones I had ever seen. I tried not to stare too long at his broad chest or what seemed to be some heavily muscled arms under his gray jacket. 

"This is Dylan," Thomas continued, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. 

It took Dylan another ten seconds to raise his chin and fully take us in, but when he did, I felt a deep flush come across me. I knew the guy. We hadn't ever been introduced, but he frequented the same laundry mat as I did, and we had smiled at one another often. He had a close-shaved red beard, same color cross-cropped hair, and a long hawk nose. He recognized who I was as I did him, and we both giggled.

"Monday and Thursday nights," he said.

"Fold, dry, get the hell outta there," I replied.

Louisa, Thomas, and Sandra realized our connection quick enough, and we all fell into a nice conversation, taking up another of the bar tables as the band swung into a swing tune. One of us was the odd girl out, but as Dylan and I seemed to be staring at each other more than talking to anyone else, I knew Louisa and Sandra would have to fend for themselves where Thomas was concerned if they cared to fend his way at all. 

As these kinds of things go, I was surprised it took the guy as long as it did to spin me away from the conversation. I had been leaning my big breasts against his sinewy arm as much as I could and smiling as much as whispering.

"Take a walk?" he finally asked as we got through the preliminary chit chat and angled ourselves even further from our friends.

"Lead the way."

As we sauntered through the over-crowded room, my hand in the crock of the elbow he gave me, I as much tried to keep up in the passing conversation and blaring band as I tried to get a good gander down at Dylan's high ass. He was about six foot and while slightly thinner than I usually went for (or remembered him being) he smelled nice, wore his casual suit with confidence and I could sense a taut body under his suit. He also had huge hands, so big that I had to watch where he was leading me as I tried not to fantasize him pawing my big tits. 

Dylan seemed to know the hall well, and maybe me even better. Pushing us out a side door even before I realized we had come to the ballroom's wavering wall partition he turned to face me and landed a quick yet hot lip-lock I barely had time to return. Catching my breath from this unexpected salvo across my bow, he then whisked me away again, down a quiet hallway carpeted in the same peach-colored rug of the big room we had just left. I hadn't expected how absolutely flushed I'd be over him rushing us here and there and was all about swooning as he pushed me back through an unlocked door that landed us in a tiny office. Closing the door behind him while kissing me again, we stepped into the room, and I knew if I had had the chance to think about it, I could have all too easily just knelt right then and there, unzipped Dylan's fly and coaxed his cock out and into my mouth. 

A girl can truly be swept along on a wave during a God awful sexy, stolen moment.

Surely, the girls and I could pick up and be picked up by men we didn't have to try and peg, scoring a phone number or two, giving ours out, enjoying some dancing (though not so easy to do sporting a cock pushed into your panties) and anything else we might want. Wearing a cock doesn't necessarily mean you have to use it, and I was quite happy standing there making-out with the Dylan, both of us huffing and puffing and writhing. 

Not more than a minute of us smushed into that tiny room, he got a good handful of my big right tit in his hand and made sure to let me know how much he appreciated its heft by rubbing up into me the hardest he had yet. I got another rush up my spine, as much feeling his bulge as knowing this man would all too soon find my own. Sure, it would have been much more comfortable (not to mention easier), revealing myself to Dylan either at his place or mine. But there was something truly naughty about what we were doing right then, undulating and pressing in that tight little space mere feet from so many people. 

Coming in for yet another press of his crotch to mine, I felt the man's body register what he suddenly, and I would think, surprisingly, finally felt. 

"Mrmmm," he as much as gulped as said, halting his groping and sliding a smidgen to the side of me but keeping his lips close.

"I'm all girl baby," I said, backing up a step, bending to reach down to my hem and pulling my dress up my thick bare thighs. With my other hand, I reached into my tight blue cotton panty front and flumped the fake cock up and over its waistband.

"Mrrrm," my stolen-moment-man repeated looking down at me standing there, dressed hiked up, a pink dildo wagging between us.

"Some girls wear jewelry, some..." I began knowing that the moment was upon us where this man would either spin out of the room, ask me for an explanation, or maybe-hopefully- chuckle slightly and lean back to kiss me more. 

What I didn't expect, by a long shot, was Dylan shooting to his knees, wiggling up close to me, and gobbling my dick between his generous lips! 

You know how these moments are? I as much watched him suck me over my shelf of heaving breasts as I viewed the scene from on high, up over 'those' two people, dead center from the tin ceiling over us, as the man proceeded to blow me. And although I wasn't directly connected to the sensations, the entire picture and Dylan's slobbering sounds did coax the first orgasm of the night from me.

Believe me, I am not a girl easily surprised.

"Ready to use that for real?" he said, popping my dildo from his mouth and standing with a shot.

The guy was as quick on his feet as he was getting to his knees.

"Whatever do you mean, young man?" I said over-emphasizing batting my eyelashes at him as Dylan gave me another quick, saliva filled kiss, then stepped to the low metal desk.

"We're lucky, the catering manager never uses her office. Especially at a function she's always on the floor."

Again, I realized he knew a lot more about where we were than I did, but I didn't care to question the guy, especially seeing as he was flipping off his jacket and unbuckling his pants. Not exactly giving me the time to give him a good once over, Dylan spin as he peeled his pants and boxers down to his ankles, and spread his thin legs wide to accommodate the desk to his height. 

"Why do I get the impression this is not your first time at this particular rodeo," I snickered as the man lay down fully on the desktop. The blush of light red hair across his tight ass, and Dylan looking over his shoulder while popping his butt up at me, brought another roil of impending orgasm to just about the spot where the front of the harness cut slightly into my belly.

My clutch was up on a shelf to my right, thrown where I assumed it had landed when we came in, not that I recalled jettisoning the thing. I reached for it, slid it down the shelf to get it closer, then wiggled out of my dress. Dylan's eyes widened as he got a good look at my big tits in my lacy underwire bra, and I reached for my clutch again, and this time plucked my small bottle of lube from it.

It was as important to me that this guy be aroused and a little bit nervous as he knew that I wasn't looking to rend him asunder. I squirted a heavy handful of lube into my hands as I took a step to the bent ass in front of me, worked the dildo through my fists, then reached for the bottle again, to manage another healthy squirt.

It took me another step to get my hands on Dylan's hips. 

He faced forward then, brought his hands back to his cheeks, and spread them for me. Man, could this guy get any more wonderful, I thought as I brought the gloppy cool forefinger and middle finger of my right hand up, in and true. He gulped at the tip of my middle finger's insertion, but as I plied and played him, Dylan rolled his crotch against the low desk, and I quickly got my two fingers up him. He wasn't as much saying anything as growling ever so slightly, certainly circling his pelvis against the hard metal desktop, his right knee quivering ever so slightly. I massaged him for a good minute, circling round and round, then popped my fingers free, as he arched his back, and I took another step.

"You sure about this?" I said, squirting yet another dollop of lube into my hands and working my now dripping cock between my fists.

"'Fold, dry, get the hell outta there,'" he giggled (he actually giggled), and I pushed forward, up and in. 

Most likely I won this night, I realized. When we had left the ballroom, I had spied Jane still there tittering over drinks with the guy who had called her over. But then again, did I care, as Dylan began pounding his crotch against the side of the desk, and I came again.