Spank and fingers
When she bends over your knee and you spank her, do not forget to slide a finger first, then two inside of her. Keep them there for a few seconds.
Lean in and whisper in her ear that she is yours as you gently twist them putting slight pressure on her clit and slowly slide them out of her. Push them back and slid them out. And spank her again. Repeat as desired and needed.
Do not forget to remind her that she will not cum without asking first.
i want to wake up in the middle of the night with you hand between my legs teasing me gently. i want you to hold me and whisper sweet things in my ear when you realise im awake to keep me half asleep and pliant. i want you to turn me into a needy mess while im drifting on the edge of consciousness
I actually find it quite amusing how many people don’t take my sexual desire to dominate others serious, simply because I’m not that tall or because my face looks to cute or because I’m a little shy sometimes.
I find it amusing because I noticed a little something: a lot of submissives like these kinds of opposites. Why would I care about being tall when I can easily force you to go down to your knees for me, with one simple command? Why would I care about my “too adorable to be a top” face when I can still grin like I’m about to eat you right up and tear you apart on the spot, making you needy with just that simply gesture; when I can still wear bright red lipstick and kiss your lips bruised until you’re totally breathless? Why would I care about being shy from time to time when I absolutely will push you up against a wall and press my leg between your thighs confidently?
Not taking me serious as a domme is no one’s loss but yourself’s, trust me.
i know she likes to play a certain way when she dresses like this, when she flitters around the kitchen in her fancy dresses and her stockings, her hair curled over her shoulders.
and i like it too, like to watch the material fall over her hips and the playful sway of that perfect ass. and i feel big and butch, a little mean, but only like this – it’s still tender, and i catch her smile before i catch her around the hips.
“hmm, you’re my good little housewife aren’t you?” i ask, and feel under her skirt. no underwear, of course, prepared like i am. except where she has nothing under her clothes, i packed an extra something.
she’s wet already. either from warming herself up before i got home, or just from dressing up and feeling warm under my stare.
either way, it gets me hot. she scarcely murmurs her affirmative reply before i bend her over the table.
“that’s it, be a lady,” i tease, pushing her legs apart and unbuckling my belt. she tenses but makes a happy noise at the clinking sound, and that sound turns to a pleased hum when i run my fingers into her hair. i gather a few soft curls, fist sharply at the scalp, and hold her hips steady. i wet my hand and run it over my cock, then nudge the head against the lips of her pussy.
“is this what you wanted?” i ask, and slide right in, because i know the answer. she gasps and huffs and i know she clenches around me by the sound she makes and how she arches her back. “such a good little housewife, taking care of me, and taking my cock when i need her to, hm?”
she does take me, every inch, and she grips the table edge and makes a slew of pretty noises while i fuck her. it’s not enough to get me off, not at this vantage, and i know she needs to rub her clit to finish. but it’s fun anyway, and i know it makes her feel so achingly good, to hit those sweet places she can’t reach on her own.
i jerk up her hips so her toes barely touch the ground. she’s in my complete control, that soft pussy stuffed so full of unrelenting and forever hard butch cock. i could stay inside her all night, happily fucking away until she was come-drunk and achey and clawing at the table.
but i want to come. i’m so close, my cock driving hard against me with every deep push inside her. a few more strokes and i slip out, much to her whimpering protestation.
“shhhh, none of that,” i whisper sweetly, and lift her up, kissing along her neck. “on your knees, love. you just look so pretty. i want to see your face and come in that pretty mouth. no, you don’t need to talk, just nod okay.”
she does nod, and sinks easily to her knees, still a bit wobbly from fucking. i sit back on the discarded kitchen chair and part my knees so she can fit between. my cock is slick with her wetness, and the sight of it bobbing near her mouth almost makes me come, just like that.
but i want to hold out, make it fun for her too, play our game. so i grab my phone and tell her i have some e-mails to check, some bills to look over, some statements to read. to be a good girl and suck my cock while i work.
i keep a hand on my thigh and scroll my phone with the other. that free hand soon jumps into her hair, because she always takes me just right. i look down at her, her perfect pink lips stretched around my wet cock. she moans just a little and looks up at me with those gorgeous eyes, her gaze heady and hot. i’m sure i return the expression, cursing and squeezing my phone tight.
“that’s it,” i say, knowing i’m close, “keep sucking, baby. that’s my pretty little housewife.”
she moans again and i echo the sound, bucking my hips instinctively when i come for her. my cock bobs further past her lips but she takes it, her eyes glittery and lips a beautiful ravaged red when i finally slip out.
“fuck,” i curse again, and slip my foot under her. i nudge her bare pussy with my boot and she makes another pretty sound. “get yourself off, baby, let me see you come.” i know she already has my boot soaked, and she glides over the leather easily, holding my leg and looking up at me. her cheeks are flushed and her hair is messy, and god i want to kiss her.
i play our game for now, and reach down to tear open her dress. there are more pretty sounds from somewhere low in her throat as she grinds down on me, her hips moving back and forth. her eyes close as i lower the torn dress and her bra straps, letting her tits spill out for me to play with. i tug and pinch and caress, just this side of mean, and i run my thumb over a few pretty love marks from last time.
“hmm, these tits are all mine, aren’t they, baby?” i ask, swirling over her nipples, pinching a love bite.
she nods, bucking her hips quicker.
“and that sweet pussy too, hmm? pretty thing.” i reach for my phone again. “rub my cock for me sweetheart, and smile up here. i want something to watch when i go away for work.” whether i actually record or not is irrelevant, just the thought that i’m capturing every moment gets her wetter, gets her closer. i can hear it from the hitch in her breath and the way she moves her hips. and she looks up in the camera, biting her bottom lip, a hand jerking unevenly over my cock, because it never goes soft. hmm, no, that stays right there till we’re done playing.
“you gonna come for me, sweetheart?” i ask, and she nods, nods again. it turns a little frantic and her eyes close, and her lips part, and i know she’s so close. “that’s it, baby, you look so pretty on my camera, come for me. i want something to show my friends when they try to tell me their pretty little wives are better.”
she comes at that, though she knows i’d never do any such thing. but she comes and comes, grabbing my leg with both hands and shuddering while her pussy pulses against my boot. she gasps and whimpers, then rests her head on my knee when it starts to slow.
i tuck my strap away and zip back up, then put my phone down. i take a few moments to just run my fingers through her hair while she coos and sighs against my thigh.
“wanna come up here?” i ask after giving her that moment, and she looks up at me and smiles.
she nods and i hold out my arms, help her up, then hold her in my lap. she snuggles in as our game comes to a slow end, and i finally kiss her the way we both want.
the fem she is
she opens her door to see me, perfectly on time, and i smile and offer her the book i’ve been nervously fingering.
“the persistent desire? a femme-butch…—oh! this is about people like you, right?”
people like me, and maybe people like her, because she doesn’t kiss me like straight women kiss me. and then as we walk down her building’s stairs:
“forgive me for being a little forward, but…unless you royally slip up, honey, i intend on letting you come home with me tonight,” she says, squeezing my arm. i laugh and tell her i like my women a little forward and i say thank you, ma’am, i’d be honored, and she laughs at what she calls my lover worship, and i start to think she may be fem after all.
“well see, honey, the reason i tell you this is because…well, i don’t know what a woman like you needs to bring if you’re going to sleep with someone,” she says not patronizingly, but with a sweet tenderness.
still, i hesitate, then: “that depends, um, if you want it like you’re with a man, i’ll need to swing by my apartment first.” i, like almost always, am packing, but my packer is blue and green… there’s a comfortable silence, i think, while she chooses her words carefully, and she stops us on the landing to wrap her arms around my shoulders and look at my crotch, my chest, my lips, my eyes.
“and what if i want it like i’m with you?”
she turns the key in the lock and i hesitate at the threshold and she laughs and kisses me, in the doorway for anyone to see—i know in a half lit hallway i probably pass, but still, my adrenaline spikes—and she invites me in: “and when do you think you royally slipped up, hm?”
i don’t know what straight men do when she first brings them home with the promise of sex, but from what she tells me, apparently it’s not asking where to she’d like me to put my shoes—she wants them on the mat—and i can’t help but wonder if the men she normally ends up with have no respect if they come into an indian woman’s home and leave their shoes on.
she snuggles up under my arm, head on my chest, and reads out loud “When She Wears A Tie For Me” from her present, her new book, all the while absentmindedly—or perhaps very intentionally—twisting my tie between her fingers while i hold the book open. she reads with such reverence, like she’s praying for the first time in a lover’s church, reading aloud my holy texts with a soft weight, and she runs her hand down the length of my tie into my lap, gently running her fingers over my jeans and i’m rock hard. she finds my packer and squeezes it and i don’t know if she’s forgotten i can’t feel it or if she’s curious or—and this is my belief—she knows that in my own butch way i can feel it.
and this thought makes me start to cry, silently, so i try to casually prop my chin on my hand to wipe the tears away, but she notices and sits up and she asks the dreaded question: “what’s wrong?” and i look away, so she climbs into my lap and snuggles against me and just lets me cry, starting to kiss my collarbones through my shirts.
i tell her that nothing’s wrong, she’s just being too kind, and she says she always knew the hardest women were the most tender, and i have to fight back another wave of emotion at this woman, in my lap, calling me tender, a notion i’ve only read about, but before i can start to cry again she lets her hand drift back to my packer and i’m immediately hard again. i slide my hands down her back to her ass and pull her closer to me as she loosens my tie with her other hand, then gives me one last squeeze before unbuttoning my shirt, slowly at first and then faster as i kiss her neck and she yanks my button down out of my jeans, flips the tie out of the collar so it stays on my neck and pulls the button down off my shoulders, i pull my arms out and she tosses it on the floor and i wince because it’s a nice shirt but then she kisses me and i don’t care about the wrinkles, i shuffle to get out from underneath her and i decide she may well be a fem as she grabs my tie and says “bedroom” into my mouth.
and she leads me to her bed and i marvel at her as she lays back and i climb on top of her in my white undershirt, jeans, belt, socks, and tie—normally I’d feel a fool with my tie like that but christine’s words are fresh in my mind as we kiss and she unbuckles my belt, button, and fly, reaches into my jeans as i shift her skirt up. a surge of panic goes through me—she’s never seen a packer before she won’t know to bend it i bet she’s not expecting…blue…—so i quickly reach into my pants and awkwardly bend it erect, nuzzle into her neck to hide my mortified flush, and she seems to sense something’s wrong because she moves her arms up to hold my waist and holds us both still and i fight back tears again, she doesn’t say anything, just holds me while i collect myself and when i kiss her neck she takes the signal that she can move again and i am eternally grateful that she doesn’t ask.
instead i ask her what she wants, and she laughs, says she wants to have sex, and i tell her i know, that’s what i’m asking, and she pauses and looks confused, so i sit up on her hips so we can see each other’s faces. she sees my packer and doesn’t make a face at the color or the shape or the way it’s clearly not my flesh and blood, she blushes. my god, she blushes, and when she props herself up on her elbows and makes eye contact with me, biting her lip not with a simple want to be fucked but an honest love, i feel more seen and more desired than i ever have before.
i tell her i just needed to know what kind of touching she liked first, if any, if she wanted me to go down on her or finger her or finger fuck her, and as i keep talking i realize i’m not making anything clearer, so i ask how she typically has sex, and she says “the normal way, or the normal straight way, i suppose,” and as she explains i find myself more and more disappointed in men. she tells me that she’s never been fingered, save by herself, and never been eaten out, and she wants me to use my best judgement. i’m a fairly good judge at how a woman wants to be touched, and i tell her to keep me updated—another concept she’s not familiar with, constant input and consent—and i lean over her again, sliding my hand softly under her panties and start to gently rub her clit, giving pecking kisses all over her neck and chest.
she’d later tell me that before she slept with me, the most she’d ever come during sex was twice. we multiplied her record by four.
my three fingers in soft circles above her clit, pressing the skin down so that i’m not touching her yet. this is how she says she masturbates and i want to get her comfortable and safe as she comes for me the first time.
slipping my fingers down between her lips, mine slick with lube and hers slick with desire, teaching her what i wish for her pleasure she had already known, easing her back down and then up again.
going inside, one and then two, slowly and gently so she can easily get used to me. she asks why i go so slow, and i tell her that she’ll see. we break her record.
her legs around my waist, squeezing hard as i rub my fingers across her g spot and thumb against her clit quick and firm. she comes so hard that she forces my two fingers out.
she pants like an angel trying to catch her breath and i help her out of her dress and bra and kiss her chest with that lover worship, that hard tenderness she adores. this is for me more than her, i’m gathering strength—borrowing strength. i’m sure her clit appreciates the break that her sweet brown nipples don’t get.
i ask if she still wants to try my—and i falter, not knowing to say dick cock strap packer shilo—and she fills in the blank with a soft yes, so i sit up and give it a few hard strokes to spread the lube and warm me up, and ask her to help me get it in a good angle for her—another unfamiliar kindness—and when we settle she says in a panicked rush that i have to be careful, she’s not on the pill, before she remembers, and apologizes. i tell her don’t worry, i’m on the pill, so we’re good. she laughs, and we dance gentle and sweet as she slowly tightens around me i imagine as she did my fingers, digging hers into my shoulders and back as her eyes flutter shut and she comes in moans like she’s never come before.
she quietly asks me if i can keep going after i slow to a stop and of course i can, i tell her, i am a woman after all, and i tell her to trust me as i pull her knees to my ribs and use my body weight to push deeper into her, firmer, and she begs me not to touch her clit because she wants me to keep doing this forever, and i want that to, but we discover that she can indeed come without clitoral stimulation, so hard that yet again i am pushed out, and i tell her how i like to end sex:
her bare heels pressing into my back and her fingers pulling at my hair as i clean her every crevice with the tip of my tongue, her back arching when i push my tongue inside her, her high pitched whimpers and gasps barely audible through her shaking thighs clamped onto my head when i suck her clit to its eighth, slowest, and longest orgasm of the night, one that starts slowly and grows under my lips until she stops breathing, statue still and statue perfect, frozen in ecstasy until she dissolves into my mouth, and she whimpers as i softly lick it up.
spent and nude and under my arm, she glides her fingers down my stomach to my briefs—my jeans are soaked and on her bathroom floor now with my harness and packer—and runs them to my hip bone, then the soft gap between it and my crotch as she asks me about my sex and i answer her truthfully: that my first time with a woman was not so pleasant, raped by my best friend’s then girlfriend, how after that i never went two weeks without some kind of sexual interaction, that, as i tell everyone, only the lord jesus and buddha know how many different women i’ve slept with—straight gay bi but only one butch—, and then she sits up and tells me that she didn’t remember me coming at all and i tell her i didn’t, hadn’t planned on it, and it takes her a full minute to process the notion that someone spent so long in bed not only not coming but not expecting to come, just to please her. then she asks how i like to come, how butches come, and i tuck her back under my arm and tell her maybe later. not tonight.
she runs her fingers under my briefs, feeling my skin, where my abs meet my pubic bone, running her fingers through hair i suppose she’s not used to on a woman, and the tension that always comes from that touch is somehow easier to bear when the fingers are hers—though the fear is still there—her fingers not seeking to get her—or worse, me—off, but more in a reverent curiosity, telling me that she thinks she loves women after all as her fingertips marvel at my womanhood even with my stiff discomfort. i don’t stop her, and i don’t for a heartbeat want to. i’m not any less stone than i was that morning, or the friday before when we met, or seven years ago when my stoneness was born, but this one woman i will allow this one night.
and then she asks me, hand sweetly down her butch lover’s briefs and head upon her butch lover’s breast, what being fem feels like, and i don’t know how to say that i think she already knows.
“How long has it been since I fucked your pussy?”
“Oh. Oh, two months? I think? A long time.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Oh yes, every day, please.”
“Do you want me to fuck your pussy, really?”
“Oh yes please, please fuck my pussy, it’s been so long!”
“But you know the rules. No cumming unless I’m fucking your ass. Can you be good for me if I let you have my cock in your greedy pussy?”
“Yes, oh please, yes, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything, please fuck my pussy!”
“I won’t make it easy on you, you know that. And you know you’ll forfeit your orgasms for a month if you cum without permission. Are you sure you want to risk it, just for a denied pussyfuck?”
“Yes! Ohgawdyes, please!”
“Very well. Don’t worry, I’ll take my time. You will get to work hard to stay good for me. I’ll be so proud of you if you succeed. And if you fail, a month of no orgasms will make you an even better girl for me.”
Just look at how beautiful her needy pussy looks when it drips, untouched, from fucking her ass onto his cock. Look how swollen it is, how obviously desperate for any stimulation at all.
It’s the natural consequence of only letting her cum during assfucking for a month. He let her cum as much as she wanted during that glorious month, as long as his cock was in her ass when she did.
She is a greedy, greedy girl, and she will pay for it now. She must give him as many orgasms as she had during that month before she is allowed to cum again.
So now her pussy will weep and she will suffer in beautiful agony until she pays him back, orgasm for orgasm.
Too bad for her he’s not multiorgasmic like she is. He can’t cum three, four times a session, the way she did.
This is going to take far longer than a month.
He likes to edge her for a while before he pleasures himself with her overheated, oversensitized body. Her moans and whimpers as she struggles to keep her orgasm at bay every time he slowly slides her onto his cock make his pleasure so much keener.
Everybody wins.
my corner 