Femdom-Blog

The gravel crunched under the tires as
the black and white chartered bus, its tinted windows
hiding the occupants inside, made its way up the wind-
ing drive. Passing a green fenced-in pasture and a
wooded area it slowed to a stop in front of the imposing
red and white building. It was a long, low and window-
less structure with several sliding doors along one side;
the sign in the front, Smythe Stables, was the only clue
as to what might be inside. With a hiss, the doors of the
bus folded open.

A tall austere woman rose from her seat at the front
of the bus and turned to face her young charges. Her
height was enhanced by the gleaming black stilettos,
and the long, sheer nylon covered legs that extended
from her black leather pencil skirt. She walked down
the aisle of the bus, moving effortlessly on the wicked
heels. Looking back at her were row after row of young
women, this year’s graduating class from Lady
Caroline’s Academy for Young Ladies. “Today is the
practical exercise in the milking of the submissive
male. We’ve covered the theory and physiology in the
classroom. Here you will put the theory into practice.
Your future husbands will need to be regularly milked.
Whether or not you do this, or assign it to someone else,
it is important to have full knowledge of what is in-
volved in the practice. It is my recommendation that
either you or your Alpha Male lover perform this ser-
vice on your husband. Such personal ‘attention’ is more
humiliating to the male and drives them further into
submission. Ms Constance Pennington Smythe has
made her milking stable available to us, very generous
of her. She will host an afternoon tea for us at her
mansion, and then we will return to the stables for the
strap-on exercises before we depart. Are there any
questions?”

A beautiful girl with flowing blonde hair raised her
hand. She was dressed in the same uniform as her
classmates: a crisp white blouse, sheer stockings,
bracelet-length kid leather gloves, a tartan mini skirt
and high-heeled court shoes. “Where do all the males
inside come from?”

Lady Caroline slipped on her black leather suit
coat. “Disciplinary problems, males who couldn’t be
trained or perform to standards. A few languish here
simply because their owners tired of them and at least
here they can serve some function.” She turned to look
at a pretty brunette. “Susan, I believe your father is
inside.” More »

The monotonous crushing sound of earth and rock under hooves had been his constant companion throughout his journey, and now it was swiftly becoming his lullaby. Only thoughts of tables full of food delivered by scantily clad women, drove him on. He found himself getting lost in the mental masturbation of which would come first, leg of lamb or gorging himself on the more elusive fruit found between two legs. He was a little surprised to find his hand slowly massaging his stiffening prick and realized it had been quite a few days since he had last fucked.

The rocky steep hill the horse climbed, caused a severe tilt in the way he rode. The saddle added a delicious amount of pressure on that sweet spot between ass and cock. This prostate massage combined with the pace of the climb, had the prince found himself racing to reach orgasm before the horse reached the top. Furiously fucking his fist he cried out in frustration when the mare paused at the top of the hill, awaiting direction from her grunting guide.

His frustrated outburst caused the horse to get a tad skittish, forcing the horny prince to remove his hand from his pulsing cock to calm the mare. ‘Shhhhh, there, there ole girl. Less than a day’s ride and you will have some fresh hay and sweet oats. And I an all day feast and carnal parade.’Using the reins he turned his horse slightly and began his descent.

In the brief moment of a head turn, something glimmering in the distance distracted the prince. Something the complacent prince can’t quite seem to disregard. His head turns without him to look again at the sparkling item at the edge of the forest as the tired mare whinnied. ‘Do you see it too ole girl?’he asked. Leaning to pet the mare’s mane, he is surprised to find his hand had already returned to rubbing his engorged and leaky cock. More »

Mr. Bradford, businessman and rubber fetishist, thinks he’s in for a negotiated weekend of fetish fun with the beautiful Rulesska. The Russian beauty has other plans for Mr. Bradford… He will never be the same again once firmly within Rulesska’s rubber-gloved grip! This is an extract from a newly published story by Lustomic.com.See below for more details of the complete story “Perhaps you require something a little more forceful in order to learn how to take your new responsibilities a little more seriously, my pet. Were you this indolent in your last acquisition of the Hastings Company? I think not.” The small mention of his former existence must certainly play cruelly with his mind. He can dwell on that between strokes of the long thin whip. I do so enjoy the sound hard braided leather makes when it strikes the thin latex covering his smooth flesh. It’s almost cliche these days, but a good old-fashioned single tail whipping remains one of the best teaching methods there is, as well as being excellent exercise for me. I do believe in good health and staying fit, of course. He will hear the quick swish of air followed by the red-hot sting of leather meeting skin. Soon he’ll learn to fear that swishing sound and involuntarily tense every muscle in his body to absorb the inevitable. That, however, only makes it worse. I am quite adept at targeting my strokes just where I want them. It’s typically much more effective if I concentrate on a single specific area for a while, say ten strokes, or at least until I’ve shredded the thin rubber and the first few layers of skin. With his legs spread far apart I can easily aim the very tip of the whip between them so it curves around and focuses its energy on his sensitive organ. At first, he will try to scream, but the ball-gag will work nicely to prevent that annoyance. Next, he’ll try to twist and turn to avoid the whip, but quickly find that that there is no place to escape. Finally, he’ll resign himself to the fact that the punishment is not going to end until I am quite satisfied; typically meaning my free hand brings me to orgasm while he squirms and screams. He will break down with a complete loss of hope and begin to cry, more from the psychological realization that he has lost complete control than the physical pain of the whip, which by now, although still sharply painful, has numbed his senses. It is during this period of break down that the lesson I have to teach is firmly planted in his mind. Sometimes I’ll whisper with my hypnotically soft voice into his most receptive ears. He’ll focus on nothing else, but the commands I am issuing. I can then be reasonably assured that the next time he is fortunate enough to polish my boots he’ll be a little more focused on the task at hand rather than concerning himself with the pain in his knees, which is trivial when compared to the next lesson should he make any additional errors.

The polishing, cleaning, and caring of my wardrobe is perhaps the single most important task I can assign my new appliance. With more than five hundred pairs of shoes and boots, and several wardrobes full of latex costumes the process can take days. Particularly when he must accomplish the polishing only using the attachments I wedge in his jaw; hands are never free for his use. They are a luxury to be controlled by me, not a right. Just prior to my bedtime I’ll leave out enough clothing and shoes to keep him occupied through the night. His desire to sleep will grow greater with each passing moment, but he must realize that the need for my latex to shine is far greater than his need to rest. He sacrifices all indeference to the power of shimmering rubber. Seeing my figure encased in this material will become it’s own reward and what he lives for. The inspection of his labor comes the next morning. He involuntarily tightens every muscle in his body upon seeing the long whip in my hand, still not quite recovered from the previous day’s punishment. It seems he failed to take the necessary care of my garments. There is no excuse for leaving a spot of dull rubber on one of my favorite long latex gowns.
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It all began when I received a package from an admirer in the U.S, in which was a pair of fabulous red 4 inch high-heeled sandals. They were very stylish and fitted perfectly . Such excellent taste to choose these shoes and send them all the way across the Atlantic to me. Admiring them in the mirror I decided to put them on straight away and take a short walk in the park to enjoy the lovely summer sun. After an hour though, I’d had enough and unstrapped them so as to continue barefoot through the castle park, all the time enjoying the light breeze. Finally I sat down on an old bench and began to enjoy some of the delicious juicy plums that I’d bought beforehand.

I must have been there about half an hour when an old gentleman of about 60 years old came and rested his weary limbs beside me.We smiled politely to each other but, but inwardly I was grinning wickedly and I got ready to have a little fun with him.And as we all know it’s not long before before a man wriggles helplessly, caught in the net which some girl has cleverly prepared for him .Anyway I played with my feet on the sandy ground ,drew patterns with my toes and crushed lumps of sand under my soles. Out of the corner of my eye I could see how my charming elderly companion was leering furtively at my legs and feet. As the first beads of sweat ran down his forehead I started twiddling my toes watching the deep-red painted toenails glisten in the sunlight. By this time my feet were quite dirty from the gritty sand and i thought about what would be the most pleasant way to have them cleaned them.
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The Marquise surveyed the room with satisfaction. She had been away for the week, staying with Lady Isobel in her Chateau in Fontainebleau, while a team of her male slaves had been hard at work decorating her graceful Bloomsbury apartment to her exacting specifications. She sojourned away every year, just before Spring, finding it invigorating to return to a change of scene in her London home.
Impeccable as her choices had proved, it was the treasured furniture that attracted her attention. Two rather unusual items of furniture. At one end of the room stood a unique standing lamp and, just to one side, there was a curious form of coffee table.  More »

Beth, Helen and Sara were sitting around in the duty station, drinking and working themselves up over the new objects the mail had brought in that day. Helen had just received a big package from a supplier to the prison where all three worked as wardens .She dipped in, and with a little smile held up a slim black dildo, vacuum packed in a transparent bag. She carefully slipped it from its polythene bag and passed it over to Sara. She looked it up and down appraising its form.
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He walked into the cinema with rather more of a spring in his step than usual. These late night screenings were always interesting for the cross-section of people they attracted. People watching was a big part of the event for many. On this occasion though, he was looking out for one particular person.

He had seen her for the first time the previous week, arriving at the cinema just before him and strolling into the stalls as if she owned the place. For all he knew she did. She was in her late twenties, tall slim and blonde and dressed to kill, every inch the young dominatrix in her long leather gloves and thigh boots. He had been unable to think of much else all week, counting off the hours before the next Saturday night show, hoping against hope that she would grace the event with her presence again.

As he pushed through the doors into the auditorium, he remembered his plan. He loitered while his eyes started to become accustomed to the comparative darkness, before moving a few rows down and to the left to find a seat. He was early so there was plenty of choice. The object of his desire was nowhere to be seen but he didn’t expect her to arrive this early anyway. He positioned himself a few seats back and across from where she had sat the week before, and settled down to wait.

Adverts and trailers played out on the screen but for at least one member of audience they simply didn’t exist. Craning his neck to see back to the entrance, the fly waited impatiently for the arrival of the spider.
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I remove my shirt. Barefoot, wearing a conventional pair of dark blue jeans and my torso exposed, I am lead over to a wide square pillar to the side of the room. She puts my arms round the pillar, and with my hands unable to quite reach each other, she begins tying my wrists together with the thick rope. I feel the sharp edges of the pillar on the wrist and let out an instinctual groan of discomfort.
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