Femdom-Blog

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

Peter And The Gallstone
More »

“Where were you?” asked Don across the table as they ate.
“When?” said Peter.
“In the last lecture, of course,” Don replied as though Peter was being particularly stupid. “You came in with the rest of us and then you weren’t there. Did you sneak out when we started the practice? I don’t blame you. It was damned painful.”
“No I didn’t sneak out,” retorted Peter. “I was on the last bed at the side of the room, right at the back. I was with Merry.”
“I didn’t notice you there,” said Herniame. “I’m sure I would have noticed.”
“I don’t suppose anyone noticed much with all the biting going on,” Peter told her.
Don grunted. “She would have done,” he grumbled. “She didn’t get bitten at all, and I bet she was the only one who didn’t. My jaws are really hurting. You have no idea how much it hurts when you just start to close them and they are forced open like that. And I banged my head when I was thrown backwards. How did you get on, Peter?”
“He wasn’t there,” insisted Herniame.
“I got on just fine,” lied Peter, ignoring her. “It wasn’t a problem.”
“You’re as bad as she is,” complained Don. “How could anyone get on fine doing something like that? You’re impossible, both of you. You’re not normal.”
He stood up and stalked out without a backward glance. Herniame watched him go, an odd expression on her face.

More »

Early one winter evening a young man hurries down a winding, cobbled alley in Mayfair, London. His raincoat beats about him and one hand fastens his hat to his head. What few lights there are seem far away until there is almost no light left at all. It does not matter. He will soon reach his destination but he knows that his mad dash across town has alerted too many people to his existence and the cab driver was clearly reluctant to take him. A bitter sneer greets the wet leaf which slaps his face.

He reaches a spot where the way turns aside. There is a puddle of light from an iron lamp on the crumbling wall of an old churchyard. He pauses in this light and watches the grotesque outline of a swaying tree rake shadows across the vacant facade of an ancient building. He approaches this quaint shop front with its tiny panes of bottle-glass like those Christmas card scenes of Beau Brummell’s day. He leans forward to look within but sees only his ghostly reflection lunge towards him-in the dusty glass. Mercifully, the returning shadows wipe away the scene.
More »

Sharon was fuming as she picked up the phone. She was in her `office ‘, a beautifully appointed hairdressing salon. Unlike most salon ’s, there was luxurious carpet on the floor, and velvet curtains blended with other elegant furnishings. Sharon ran the salon for an exclusive clientele of top models, and most of the general public were not even aware of its existence.
She punched in the numbers on the phone. While waiting for the answer, she gazed at herself in one of the many mirrors in the room. She was tall, slender, with a nicely developed figure – firm perky breasts, narrow waist and long legs, tonight enhanced by tight fitting black boots with 6 ” heels. Her glossy blonde hair fell in a long ponytail down her back. Even though it was a high ponytail, she noticed with satisfaction that it still reached the small of her back. Her self-appraisal was interrupted by an answer on the phone.
” Dale – its Sharon. Guess what I’ve just seen. Alan – with another girl. I’m going to kill him, I really am ”.
Dale was Sharon ’s close friend and co-worker in the salon.
“What a great idea”, Dale replied, “can I help?”
She had met Alan, but had never liked him. She had always considered him rather effeminate with his slim build, long eyelashes and girlish hands. And since he had started wearing his hair long as well, she didn’t know what Sharon saw in him.
“After all that I’ve done for him “, fumed Sharon, “him and his secrets”–
“What secrets?” picked up Dale. Sharon laughed bitterly.
“I swore never to tell, but the bastards asked for it – Dale, he’s a hair fetishist!”
“A what?” Dale exclaimed.
“A hair fetishist – he gets sexually aroused by women’s hair. That’s the reason he would never come in here. If he sees a girl with beautiful hair he gets an instant erection, and if he sees a girl combing her hair he just about blows his nuts. He lives in constant fear that someone will find out
I’am the only one who knows – well, was until now. On our first date -”
“That’s it ” cried Dale. “Sharon, I’ve got an idea – I’m coming over.

More »

I love this image, it scanned from the NY Times by Maitressezz submissive. Subtle is no fetish wear and they both seem pretty damn happy this is what its all about! I own one tie that I haven not worn in over a year I need to wear ties more often – Eileen and May over at Male Submission Art continue to amaze me with what they’re finding. Nice subtle. As I think it is far more powerful than the stereotypical things as for ties. Whenever I see a sexual man wearing one, my mind always wanders to what would hapen were I to lead him away.. take that tie off! and bind him with it.. Soo many possibilities.

Thank you All!

From – http://unspeakableaxe.com