She wants to be worshipped, he submits willingly.
This female domination story contains graphic details of physical and mental sadism and masochism, including orgasm denial, female worship and humiliation. It is entirely fictional and completely my own work.
Please DO NOT read any further if you do not enjoy fictional stories in which males submit to dominant females, either willingly, forcible, or by coercion.
Please DO read further if you want to know how a petite blond takes complete ownership of her ideal man.
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They met like so many other couples had; the cogs of their friendship circles turned and turned until one day, without design, their own lugs on their own cogs met and entwined. The attraction was absolute; she the petite blonde with sparkly blue eyes that he had always dreamed of, and he the tall, well built, charming copy of her father. They talked and laughed, joked and danced for the evening while their friends drifted around them, and by the end of the night they found themselves alone, abandoned by their friends who could see that there was a single arrow piercing both of their hearts.
In the sticky heat of a packed nightclub they danced tightly, their bodies pressed together, their arms wrapped in a possessive embrace. She moved her lips toward his ear and he swivelled and bowed his head so that he could hear her over the thumping bass.
"Would you be worried I told you I was a little kinky?" she asked, her voice husky from heat and exhaustion.
In unison, they each swivelled their heads so that now his lips were close to her ear. "Vanilla is overrated" he said.
They turned their heads again, face-to-face now, inches apart, she looked up at him with her big blue eyes. He could be the one. He could be the Yin to her Yang, she'd never know if she wasn't brave....
She put her mouth to his ear again, brushing her lips across his cheek, the touch seemed more intimate than that of their pressed bodies. "I want to dominate you" she said as her heart pounded.
He did not answer. Instead, he lowered his hands to her bottom and pulled her onto him so that she could feel his erection.
Her city centre apartment was a short walk from the club. They steadied each other as they swerved their way along the stone-slabbed pavements, stopping to kiss here and there. The five-minute walk took twenty, but at last they reached her block where she fumbled with her key until the night concierge buzzed them in. She subconsciously smoothed her short dress down and led him to the lifts.
When the tall, heavy door of her apartment closed, the world beyond it ceases to exist. Her apartment was unknown to him, so his entire world now lay within the six square meters of her entrance hall with its neat row of shoes below an uncluttered dressing bench. They kissed again, intensely, passionately, lustfully, her wet tongue probing his mouth. His hands pressed her flesh as he groped her buttocks, her hips and her back, then he slid them toward her breasts. "No!" She chided as though she were training a new puppy. He moved his hands away and softened his touch while she put a finger on his nose. "You don't get what you haven't earned" she told him, then she took her finger from his nose and placed her hand flat on his chest, pushing him back against the oversized door. He didn't resist - the finger on his nose and the pressure on his chest excited him immensely.
With one hand still on his chest she placed the other unashamedly on his erection, stroking him firmly through his jeans. Then, without a word, she lifted up his t-shirt, unbuckled his belt, and tugged at his fly to pop the buttons. His jeans fell to the floor with a heavy thud and his cock strained against the thin cotton of his white boxers.
"Take your clothes off" she commanded, stepping back to give him space.
He complied quickly, yanking off his laced trainers and throwing off his t-shirt. He felt suddenly awkward when his hands reached the waistband of his boxers, but he slipped them down immediately to avoid any outward sign of his nervousness. When he was finished, he stood awkwardly before her in his nakedness.
"Tidily!" she commanded in her puppy-training voice. He looked at his strewn clothes in the context of her tidy hallway and immediately gathered them folded them, and placed them in a neat pile on her little bench.
"God boy," she said softly, "now come with me"
She led him from the entrance hall down a short, dim corridor, through open double doors and into her living area. It was twice the size of his entire apartment, he thought, and, until the lights rose to softly illuminate the room, he could see that through her huge glazed walls she had an impressive view of the orange street lamps and left-on office lights of Manchester. He took a sharp intake of breath.
"Daddy pays for it," she said, "I couldn't rent the bathroom on my salary"
"Go and kneel before that chair" she said, pointing to a leather armchair in a corner of the room. He did as he was told, obediently crossing the soft, white, thick-piled rug of her tidy living room and kneeling in front of the chair, his heart pounding. He heard the clinking of glasses and the sloshing of liquid, then she joined him in the corner, settling comfortably into the chair before him, handing him a glass of whisky, and setting a half-full crystal decanter on a small table beside her.
"Drink up" she said.
He began to sip the harsh liquid but she was impatient with him. "Quickly!" she ordered, and he downed the rest with one gulp. It burned his throat and caught his breath but he held his composure and thanked her with a raspy "Thank you".
She took the empty glass form him and set it down on the table, then she leant on one of the chair's broad arms and sipped her whisky, studying his muscular body and semi-erect cock.
"You're not quite so hard now," she stated, "are you not enjoying yourself?"
"I am!, I am... it's just that..." his eyes subconsciously flitted to the bare windows.
She looked there too, at the strings of orange lights outside that punctured the reflection of her room, and of their bodies on the threshold of mental sadomasochism.
"We're not overlooked," she said, "but I do sometimes imagine that there could be some middle-aged man with a telescope in that apartment block way over there. Perhaps he watches me getting dressed in the mornings and imagines humping me like a randy dog on a bitch? What would he think if he was watching me now, sitting in this chair with my naked toy at my feet?"