This story is a 40,000 word novella which runs to 16 chapters. It starts as a slow burn but goes on to explore the journey of a novice as he discovers the joys of loving Femdom. I wrote it as a gift for my real life sub, David, and we hope you enjoy it.
If Femdom is not for you, then please do not continue reading. However, if you like the idea of a powerful woman controlling every aspect of a helpless sub's pleasure, then please read on.
The experience brought with it a new level of closeness, and both were strongly affected by the intensity of their feelings. Even for Kate, who had enjoyed thoroughly pegging her subs any number of times in the past, this was something deeper, more meaningful. Those previous times, the act had been exciting, yes, but purely physical. Kate had always got off and at times she had even allowed her sub to join her in release, but never before did it feel like this. Today she had felt something soul-deep, like a missing puzzle piece being clicked into place, and she knew that she was not going to be able to just let David walk away after the few scant days he had left.
For his part, David was still reeling from the freedom he had felt when he finally relinquished that last, wilful thread of control. Honestly, he hadn't realised he had been holding back on any level. He thought he was doing all the right things, being a dutiful sub. But, across the week Kate had released his grip, one white-knuckled finger at a time. She had broken through his resolve, and he had given himself freely, accepting her dominance, her right to everything that was his, knowing that she would treasure his trust as a precious gift and return him unbroken. Better than unbroken; finally whole.
Following the intensity of the morning, the rest of the day was spent at a gentler pace. After David helped her undress, unlacing her severe corset and carefully rolling down her stockings, he gently washed her in the shower, soothing the deep, red marks that the boning had left on her pale skin. While he put on his clothes from yesterday, Kate donned a soft sweater dress and knee length boots and they left the apartment, taking a leisurely stroll along the river.
They were so comfortable in each other's presence that time felt infinite. There was no rush, no agenda, just two people enjoying each other's company. David was still in awe of his Mistress, but now they were out of the apartment, both fully dressed, he felt more protective of her too, and when they encountered a gaggle of Japanese tourists taking photos as they crossed Tower Bridge, he instinctively put his arm around her and tugged her to his side. Once they had passed, he glanced down at her face, trying to gauge if he had overstepped, but she smiled up at him benevolently and did not pull away.
They paused from time to time, exploring the hustle and bustle of Borough Market, eating amazing fresh street food from the multitude of vendors as they browsed. Later, they passed the soaring slash of glass and metal that was the Shard before reaching the Tate Modern. At some point in the journey, her hand had found his, and David fought the urge to grip it tighter, to not let her get away. Instead, he held it gently, as one might a small bird, as something precious but somehow fragile.
Kate had always loved visiting this art gallery and now she wanted to share that love with David. She knew he liked history, and they'd discussed the Imperial War Museum that he'd visited before they'd met, but he had never mentioned art. She was intrigued to see how he reacted to the Georgia O'Keeffe exhibition that was being held there. This artist was best known for her paintings of magnified flowers, whose blossoming petals and fecund buds seemed to embody the eroticism of feminine sensuality. A fact which led this series of paintings to be known the world over as the 'Vagina flowers'.
Leading him by the hand, Kate guided him through the dramatic open space of the Turbine Hall and through the labyrinthine galleries to the temporary exhibition, bypassing the line by flashing her membership card. Once inside she watched David's face, smiling the moment she saw the look of shocked interest as he took in the collection. Pressing herself against his side, she smirked and whispered in his ear, 'Look familiar?'
David was taken aback. He didn't consider himself much of an art aficionado, preferring to focus more on science and history. He appreciated art as a detached spectator, happy to look but nothing really making much of an impact on his psyche, however, if Kate wanted to come here he wasn't about to argue. He'd walk through a minefield for her, so spending an hour or so looking at a bit of wall decoration was no hardship.
He'd heard of Georgia O'Keeffe and had a vague recollection she painted flowers and on first look, it seemed that his observation was correct. However, on closer inspection, he realised this was no decorative floral display; this was botanical porn! He could almost taste the spicy essence on his tongue and breathe in the humid scent of feminine arousal. Laid out before him, viewed by schoolchildren and little old ladies, was an up close and personal parade of pussies!
Breathing in his ear once again, Kate allowed him to feel the tight buds of her nipples brush his chest as her hand casually stroked his rapidly-hardening length, 'Well, pet, I see that you are a lover of the arts after all. How very gratifying. There is something incredibly sexy about an enquiring mind, isn't there? Now this is a view that you have become rather intimately acquainted with in the last few days, and I have a task for you.'
Kate angled her body in such a way as to hide the tenting in his jeans as she discreetly continued to stroke his straining shaft. 'I would like to buy a print for my bedroom, and I want you to choose it for me. Which one,' she gestured to the room of flagrant flora, 'do you think is the closest match?'
David felt honoured to be given this task, but at the same time, he didn't underestimate what a minefield it was. So much potential for unintended offense. Maybe she had already picked one and was testing him to see if he would choose correctly. Did he go for one of the more obvious representations or something less literal? He decided to study each one and see what feeling it evoked.
Slowly walking the length of the gallery from painting to painting, David was beginning to give up hope. They all had qualities that he could attribute to his beautiful Mistress, but none stood out above the others. Until, that is, he came across the vibrant red, orange, and yellow of
Red Canna, 1924
. A little plaque beside it held a quote from an American journalist stating,
'...there is no stroke of her brush...that is not curiously, arrestingly female in quality. The essence of very womanhood permeates her pictures.'
Yes, he thought. It was as though Kate was the artist creating him with her skilful strokes of pain and pleasure. She was the very essence of womanhood. When he was worshipping on bended knee, he risked being immolated, and yet he willingly faced the fire and paid homage, uncaring whether he would burn, for what a way it would be to go!
