The Domme Club

This story is a blend of fact and fiction. Please only read if you are interested in female domination. Respectful feedback is appreciated. Please vote!

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I was in no position to complain. After all, she had given me what I had asked for; actually I had begged her to dominate me. She had been reluctant at first, and tentative in her beginning efforts, but once she saw the power of loving female authority, the genie had been freed from the magic lamp.

We got married young. I was working part-time as a law clerk and finishing my final year of law school, then studying for the Bar exam. She had partnered with one of her college roommates to start a marketing consulting firm. Although we were young and in love some days we were just too exhausted to make love, and I had fallen into a pattern of pleasuring myself when she was away or asleep.

I never used any porn to jerk off. My mind was ripe with fantasies. I would just close my eyes, begin a slow stroking, and it was as though porn films would flicker behind my eyelids; vivid, stark, and exciting. I guess it would be called free association as I just let my mind wonder. But it was as though all roads led to the same powerful images just before I would ejaculate in a shuddering orgasm.

It embarrassed me to have such thoughts, and I imagined that I could never share such kinky thoughts with Monica. And I really hadn't intended to do so, until the day she caught me in the most compromising act.

Early on I had offered to take care of all of the laundry. I wanted to do my share and I did believe that men should share in domestic chores. But, deep down, I did have an ulterior motive. I had a very strong fetish for women's undergarments of all kinds, and I knew that if it was up to me to launder Monica's clothes, that I would have full access to all of her unmentionables.

She was a beautiful woman and a classy dresser. Even in those early days when we didn't have much money, she would spend the few extra dollars to buy sexy panties and bras. Although she wouldn't often wear stockings, when she did they were the old-fashioned stockings that she would attach either to one of her many garter belts or to an open-bottomed girdle. She always said pantyhose were too hot, but I knew that she also enjoyed the open access that a garter belt provided to her pussy.

Since she would not let me fuck her before we married, I had spent considerable time between her legs satisfying her orally during our dating days. Sometimes I would go back to my apartment in a state of sexual frustration and masturbate with the taste of her still in my mouth. Other times I would ask her to give me release.

She had always refused to blow me, but she seemed to find handjobs quite amusing. She would sit on my stomach, facing my erection, and play with my cock; or she would put her head on my thighs and play with it until I could no longer contain myself and I would erupt as she watched me. Even then I think she liked the power she had over my cock and our sex life. She decided if, when, and how I came in her presence. When we were together she came to expect my dutiful oral service.

So our wedding night was the first that I had ever entered her. Months of frustration and masturbatory fantasy all came to a quick conclusion as I entered her and convulsed in a powerful orgasm within seconds of having my cock encased in her wet, warm, slippery pussy. She was pretty good about it. She just giggled and pushed my head between her legs where I remained until she had been satiated with multiple orgasms.

So, the beginnings of our Domme/sub relationship could be traced to our dating days and early in our marriage, but we then didn't call it that. At least she didn't. What I had not told her was that, late at night when I lost myself in masturbatory fantasy, that I would imagine powerful women dominating me, controlling me, even disciplining me. And most nights I would cum into one of the pairs of panties that I had taken from the hamper.

I eventually told her all of this. I no longer have any secrets from her. She knows all there is to know about me, and it has drawn us closer. I am totally devoted to her and her to me, although our devotion takes an entirely different form. I told her all of my fantasies, all about my "panty thing" as she called it, and all about my masturbation habits. I suppose that, when she caught me that day, that I could have lied; but something told me that she would have known I was lying, and I had a deep hope that she would understand and accept my sexuality, kinky as it was.

I had been in the basement of the house we were renting. I had gone down carrying the dirty clothes hamper with the intent of doing the laundry. As I began the pre-wash sorting process, I started to get aroused by the feel of the nylon and lace panties she had in the hamper, and as had become my ritual, I lifted each pair to my nose and inhaled deeply as I plucked them from the pile. I had taken to washing all of her intimates by hand, something she saw as unnecessary, but I had convinced her it was better for the fabric—especially as she bought more expensive lingerie.

My cock had stiffened at the scent of her, and touching the panties she had worn always stimulated me. This load of laundry also contained several pairs of stockings, two of her sexiest lace bras, and even a matching garter belt. I suppose I shouldn't have done it, but I had done it before, and the head of my cock started making the decisions. And, had she not discovered me in that state I may not have confessed my true desires and she may not have become my Domme.

When Monica walked down the basement stairs that day she was shocked to see me, her husband, in such a frenzied state of sexual arousal that I didn't even hear her heels on the wooden stairs. She later told me that she stood and watched me for several moments, right up until the time that she thought I was about to ejaculate. She then shouted my name, "Tom," quickly followed by, "What the fuck?"

There I was, a pair of her soiled panties over my head, another pair pulled up my thighs as far as the elastic in them would allow, wearing one of her bras, and jerking off into one of the cups of her favorite, and most expensive bra. It was as though a bullet had been shot through my state of arousal, as though a bucket of ice had been poured on my balls. My penis shrank suddenly as I dropped her bra from my hand and pulled her panties from my head.

I was horrified. I hung my head in shame as my mind flashed to the time my mother found a cum-stained pair of her panties under my mattress. Then Monica began to laugh. She laughed like I had never heard her laugh before. She laughed so hard and long that she had difficulty catching her breath. When she did, she said only, "Now I know why you insisted on doing the laundry." Then the most remarkable thing happened. She walked over to me, put one hand on my now-shriveled cock and with the other hand she cupped and gently squeezed my balls, and she said, "It's okay, Tommy, we will figure this out."

Then she turned to walk upstairs, pausing briefly. she said one more thing over her shoulder, "Upstairs in the bedroom in five minutes, and bring me a glass of wine."

So that's how it started. She caught me and she chose to accept what she saw, to learn about, accept, and make the most of who I was. And that event also seemed to open the door to her own exploration of who she was sexually. That evening when I got to the bedroom she had removed her skirt and blouse and she was lying provocatively on the bed in her heels, hose, garter belt and bra. Her panties had been removed and were placed, suggestively, on my pillow.

I handed her the wine as she sat up and told me to strip off the shorts and t-shirt that I had quickly pulled on to cover myself. Then she picked up the panties from my pillow, patted the bed next to her and told me to lie down. She encircled my flaccid cock with her panties as she now sat cross-legged next to me, pussy teasingly exposed under the frame of her garter straps. "I want you to tell me, Tom. I want you to tell me everything."

She continued to gently stroke me as she asked me the most pointed questions, and we had the most open and intimate conversation I had ever had about sex. With her hand on my cock I answered all of the questions she had about my masturbation, and my arousal in touching, washing, and sniffing her feminine finery. I told her about my forays into my mother's panty drawer, stealing panties from my high school girlfriends, even wanting to have panties of my very own.

With her hand on my member, she could tell if and when she was in hot territory as my cock would stiffen or twitch, and sometimes she would pull her hand away so that I wouldn't lose my load. "Oh my, that is a hot button," is all she would say, or, "Hmmm, very interesting."

Finally, she let go of my cock and she said, "Tom, I want you to know that it is fine with me that you have these fetishes and fantasies. Actually, although I think your sexuality is stuck somewhere in development, I think we can have fun with this." Then she positioned herself with one knee on each side of my torso and her wet pussy inches from my face. As she began to lower herself, she said, "I want you to suck me and make me cum. While you are eating my pussy I want you to think of your deepest, darkest, most secret fantasy." Then she lowered herself onto my face and ground her pussy into my lips until she let out a long satisfied moan.

I gave a few last gentle licks as her thighs shuddered against my head, then she pulled away and lay down next to me, again taking my cock in her hand. "Tell me what you thought about while you ate me."

I hesitated. I tried to find the words to say it, but the prohibitions of my socialization as a male seemed to prevent me from saying it out loud. "I, uh, I, uh, thought about what if, I mean just a fantasy, you know, I'm sure you'll think it's dumb. I, uh...oh,Monica, I'm too embarrassed to tell you."

She stroked my erect cock a few times. "Do you like the taste of my pussy in your mouth?"

"Yes," I answered softly.

"And do you like the feeling of my hand on your cock?"

"Yes, you know I do," I answered.

"And do you like putting your cock in my wet pussy?

"Of course...I love that most of all," I told her.

"Then tell me or it will be a long time before you will taste me again, cum by my hand, or feel the silkiness of my pussy on your dick," and then she released me.

The irony was not lost on me either then or now, that what she was doing in that moment, what she had done that evening, was exactly what I craved from her. I had been afraid to tell her that I wanted her to control me, to dominate me, to control my cock, to use my arousal and my fetishes for her own amusement, for her to use the threat of denial to get what she wanted. To this day I cannot explain why it happened this way, but as I began to tell her of my fantasies of being dominated by her, once I revealed all about how I wanted her to dominate me, tears began streaming down my face. She had pulled me to her bosom, pulled up her bra cup to expose an erect nipple, and that night she nursed me like a baby until I fell asleep at her breast.

The next morning nothing was said as we both readied for our day ahead. Just before she was about to leave for her office, I approached her and took her in my arms. I held her tightly and whispered in her ear that I loved her. She hugged me back, then pulled away and looked me in the eye. "It will be okay, Tom. I am so glad that you were honest with me. You know how I am. I will have to do some research about this and think about it. I think, though, that this might work out just fine. There are some things I haven't told you yet, either." Then she kissed me tenderly and headed out the door.

All that was many years ago, but that was without question the event that changed our marriage forever. The day of my most utter humiliation (up to then, anyway) turned out to be a watershed moment once Monica embraced being my Domme. True to her word, she researched all that was available in those days on the subject of female domination as the internet had just come on line. And she continues to research and read about female domination—what she calls loving female authority. She has attended conferences, been on a couple internet forums under the name Mistress Monica, and she even started a local support group for like-minded women.

It's that group, really, that has been pushing the boundaries of my submission to Monica. It was a couple weeks after she had found me with her panties over my head as I jerked off into one of her bras that she came to me and said that she had made a decision. She asked me if I wanted to talk about our sex life. I had enthusiastically agreed and she had told me to, then and there in our living room, to strip naked and kneel at her feet as she stood above me. She had dressed for the part in a tight black leather skirt, a white silk blouse that hugged her large breasts, and a pair of black knee-high leather boots with four inch stiletto heels that I had never seen before that day.

I had stripped and knelt before her and she had towered above me. "Put your hands behind your back. I want to see how your cock reacts to what I am going to say to you."

I did as I was told. My cock started to grow and she began, "Tom, I am willing to dominate you. I believe it actually will make our lives easier in many ways. But, the only way I will do it, Tom, is if you agree to submit without question to my authority in and out of the bedroom."

"Yes, yes, yes, of course, Monica. I will. I want that."

"Then beg me. Beg me to control your cock. Beg me to sexually humiliate you. Beg me to dominate you Tom," So I did. I bowed my head in deference. I kissed her feet. I groveled. And I begged. And as I did my cock twitched and jerked and beads of pre-cum dripped from me like a leaky faucet.

Finally, she had said, "All right then, my little submissive. From now on in the privacy of our home you will address me only as Mistress Monica. I will humiliate you, Tom. I will control you, and I will punish you as I see fit."

"Yes. Yes, yes, Mistress Monica, I want you to control me, I want you to humiliate me, and please punish me if I displease you. Please dominate me, my love, my Mistress, my queen."

She put her hand under my chin and gently titled my head so that I was looking up at her, "Now stand up and go to the bedroom where we will consummate our new marriage."

When we arrived at the bedroom she had produced a couple pairs of bondage cuffs and instructed me to lay faceup on the bed while she secured me spread-eagled. Then she mounted my face and commanded me, "Make your Mistress cum."

Over the years Mistress Monica has refined her techniques. I took on more and more of the housework and nowadays after returning from my law office at the end of the day I am either kept naked or sissified in one of many outfits she has purchased for me. She delights in teasing me about what my clients or law clerks would think if they could see me at home.

Mistress Monica has an amazing imagination, although I know that she also got ideas from the web forums she participated in, and certainly once she had started the Domme Club she found inspiration there. The club had been meeting for years now, and she also frequently talked to her Dominant friends on the phone or through email. They had started with monthly meetings, but for some time now had been meeting twice a month.

She would come home from a meeting, or get off a call with one of the club members and she would say, "Come here and stand in front of me. Present me with your cock. Then, seated, she would hold onto my member without stroking it. She would tell me in some detail what one of the other Dommes had done to her submissive. She would gauge my reaction by how long it took me to stiffen and the pulsations of my cock.

Early on after the club had started she had summoned me to her in this manner. As I stood beside her easy chair with my jeans and panties (oh, yes, she had thrown out all of my male underwear in the very beginning) she had told me, "One of the ladies loves to humiliate her husband with golden showers. Do you know what a golden shower is?" I had nodded affirmatively and she had continued. "And she finds it quite amusing to pee in a wine glass and have him consume it in front of her as she has a glass of wine."

My cock could not lie and she knew that I wanted the same from her. "Someday I will shower you with my golden nectar as I can see that you would like that," she had told me, "Now pull up your panties and jeans and finish fixing my dinner.

So that's how she would do it. If the idea had aroused me I did not know when she might spring it on me, but I had come to know that she certainly would. The event of my first golden shower I had come home from the office in a surly mood and she had commanded me to strip and wait for her in the bathtub. She had made me jerk off as she thoroughly doused me, telling me that she was "marking her territory."

But the hardest thing for me about the club was that I did not know who the members were, other than my own Mistress, of course. We lived in a moderate-sized city of 25,000, so the likelihood of my running into one of her club members was fairly high. She had told me that the 20 members ranged in age from 25 to 75 and sometimes she would tell me where they worked, like, "You know one of our members does checkout at the grocery store where you shop for us, Tom. Of course, she's seen your pictures, including the one of you in that maid's dress. She know who you are. She thinks you are cute."

Or she might come home from a meeting and tell me something like, "Mistress D. told me that she saw you the other day. She told me what you had been wearing and I told her that on that day you had been wearing a floral print bra and panty set under your suit. She laughed, Tom."

One day she held my cock as she told me, "The ladies in the club are very impressed with how you service me, Tom. I had told them that you are a very talented pussy eater. But they feel badly for me about your small cock." She knew that I was aroused by this humiliation about my small size, and continued, "Most of them have never seen an erect cock that measures short of four inches, Tom. We're trying to think of a way for them to see it without your seeing them. Perhaps a simple blindfold would do." My cock twitched and my knees nearly buckled at the thought of being revealed to her Domme Club in such a manner.

Mistress Monica decided where I would shop, where I would get my hair cut, even which coffee shop I stopped at, and she would comment that she wanted me to use businesses where one of her club members worked. Then she would tell me when one of them saw me, or she would tell me that she had emailed her friend to tell her what I would be wearing. "Oh, you're getting your haircut tomorrow. I emailed our club member who works at the salon and told her that you'd be wearing a garter belt and stockings with your pink panty and bra set."

Since I never knew which women knew and which women didn't I would go through my days imagining that every woman in our town knew that I was a panty-wearer submissive with a small dick. When a woman smiled at me I didn't know if she was just being friendsly of if she was laughing about what she knew about me.

And sometimes Mistress Monica would send me on errands that would accent my status, errands that were simply designed to embarrass me. She would send me to the drugstore for tampons, lipstick, or adult diapers; or to the shopping mall to buy one panty of a particular brand and color, and not in her size, in mine. And on these shopping excursions I was required to return with a receipt reflecting only that item. Of course I would figure that she sent me on that particular day to that particular store because one of her club members would be there.