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•Clothes don’t simply make the man, they make the man beg. The right outfit can transform a woman into a fierce domme as quickly as you can slip on those thigh-high vinyl boots.
•Don’t leave home (or enter the bedroom) without a safeword.
FICTION: FEMME DOMME
NO SHAME
DANTE DAVIDSON
There’s no shame in asking for what you want.”
She said the words as she walked around me. I stood naked in front of her. My wrists were cuffed and attached to a beam over my head. I could feel her breath when she came close, when she ran the tip of her fingernail down my spine.
“There’s no shame in giving in. No shame in begging.”
My eyes were closed, but that didn’t matter. She had put a blindfold on me as soon as I’d entered the room. I hoped like hell she could not tell from my expression that I didn’t agree with her. I ought to have known better.
“You think I’m wrong, don’t you?”
No, Mistress. Yes, Mistress. What was the right answer? What answer would win me what I desired?
“Don’t you?”
It wasn’t her fingernail tracing down my back now. That mean device was the tip of a crop. I knew that from experience. I sucked in my breath and waited for the first stroke. None came.
“Say the words with me,” she instructed in a singsong tone that made me immediately fearful. She was being playful. That did not bode well for me. “There’s no shame.”
“There’s no shame,” I parroted back to her, lying. No shame? Who was she kidding? Didn’t she know by now that the whole game, the whole fucking situation, was based on shame? This scene wouldn’t be the same without that filament of emotion, burning a bright incandescent blue within me.
“No shame in begging,” she continued.
“No shame in begging,” I whispered.
“So beg me.”
I bit my lip.
“Beg me.”
I turned my head away from her voice. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. She could tie me up. She could whip me. She could make tears streak my face. But I would not ask her to do those things to me. I would not…
The crop struck once, and I felt as if I had won. Until she said again: “Beg me.”
My cock was a throbbing beast between my legs. The sound of her voice alone was enough to make me hard. Adding the pain of the punishment could make me come. But she didn’t keep going. She was pushing hard on my boundaries today. Truculently, I pushed back with my willful disobedience.
“You’re not paying attention,” she said, and she sounded sad. I could picture exactly what she looked like. I’d seen her fully for a second when I entered the room—glossy black latex catsuit. High-heeled boots. Dark hair up in a neat twist. Smoldering charcoal eye shadow. Plenty of mascara. Then she’d told me to strip and put a blindfold on me.
“You know what happens when you don’t pay attention.”
I flinched. I could guess. I heard the clink of ice in her glass, smelled the whiskey when she brought the tumbler close to my nose. Then I felt cold fingers behind me, and I knew what she was doing. The ice cube against my asshole made me grind my teeth. My cock got harder, if that was possible. I set my feet wider apart. She probed me with the ice, and I felt drops of precome leak from my cock.
“I hurt you and then I fuck you when you don’t pay attention,” she said.
I understood what she meant. She was going to whip me with her crop and then fuck me with her strap-on. My arms ached from the bindings, but I didn’t care.
“But only if you tell me what you want,” she told me. “Only if you beg.”
One of her hands caressed my cock now, cold fingers working up and down. Her other hand continued to run the ice cube around my asshole until the heat of my body melted the cube completely. I wanted what she’d promised. I needed what she said.
