r/Femrotica

This is the introduction to the true story of the girl who introduced me to chastity, taken from my first collection, which is available on Kindle. I will post the next part very soon.

I made a lot of friends during my first term at university, mostly in the local heavy-metal scene, which meant my friendship group was a healthy mix of fellow students and ‘civilians’. I hadn’t much been on the lookout for girls (or guys) and was mostly just focussing on settling in, making friends and getting on with my studies. I was, however, open to the possibility.

I met Hannah at a house party thrown by my friend Tom. All of the regular crowd was there when I arrived, as well as plenty of people I didn’t know. I had been working so was playing catch up on the drinking front in the kitchen, chewing the fat with some friends. I was feeling a little tipsy when I moved into the living room with the rest of the party and plonked myself down in an empty armchair.

Hannah was stood in the corner talking to some other girls and instantly caught my eye, even in a room full of attractive women she was an absolute bombshell. Her long legs were clad in fishnet stockings and a short skirt, she wore a red and black and red corset that extenuated her already knockout body. Her long black hair had a red streak in it and her eyes were piercing highlights to a very pretty face. I had a major thing for rock chicks and she was an absolute ten even for guys who weren’t into that. In a word: beautiful.

I must have caught her eye too because she was looking my way and pretty soon she was crossing the room towards me carrying some jelly shots.
‘I’m Hannah,’ she told me, handing me a shot glass, ‘Who are you?’
I told her my name and drank the jelly shot. She drank one too, smiled and sat herself on my lap.
‘Why haven’t I met you before?’ she asked, a sly grin on her face.
‘I’m new here,’ I told her, feeling a little intimidated by her forward nature, ‘I’m a uni student.’
‘Oh yeah?’ she responded, giving me another jelly shot that had come from somewhere. I was already a little tipsy and also aware that vodka always goes to my head.

‘I think you are cute,’ she told me.
I blushed and replied, ‘I think you are beautiful.’

She smiled, leaned back on my lap and tipped a jelly shot onto her exposed midriff. I eagerly sucked it up off of her perfectly flat, flawless stomach, flicking the last of it out of her bellybutton with my tongue. I caught one of my friends watching out of the corner of my eye, a grin on his face as he nudged another friend so he could see too.

I ate the next shot out of her cleavage and felt like the luckiest guy in the room lingering between them sucking and licking up the jelly. She was knocking back the shots too and we were giggling away together, when she told me she lived nearby and asked me to walk her home. I happily agreed.

It was only a five-minute walk, down the road and through a park, but it took us nearly twenty because we stopped to make out under a tree on the way. When we arrived at hers, we stumbled through her small basement flat into the bedroom. As she collapsed onto her bed, it was clear to me that she was more drunk than I first realised. I decided that I didn’t want to take advantage of her, so I helped her take her shoes off, put a glass of water on the bedside table and left a note with my number, asking her to text me.

None of my friends would believe that we didn’t have sex that night and couldn’t understand my modesty, even though I was never one to kiss and tell. Hannah and I fell into a pattern over the next few weeks, seeing each other on nights out and parties, flirting, dancing and making out furiously but never actually sleeping together. She told me that she was working in a strip club whilst studying and asked if it bothered me – I told her it didn’t and we agreed to a ‘proper date’ one Saturday afternoon.

We started seeing each other and really seemed to enjoy each other’s company. I was absolutely delighted the first time she introduced me to someone as her boyfriend. I had never been with a girl this good looking before and was desperate to please her and make her happy. We watched movies together, made food, went to bars and played games and we had long make-out sessions but after about two months still had not slept together, nor had I seen her naked. It was clear she wasn’t prudish or shy about her body because of her job and I started to wonder if there was an issue she wasn’t telling me about. We had conversations about sex, kinks we enjoyed and plenty of dirty talk so I decided to simply ask her if there was a reason we’d not actually done it yet.

 

One evening, whilst watching a movie at her flat, she climbed on top of me and kissed me with incredible passion. I ran my hands up her back, under her t-shirt and caressed her ribs – knowing that if my hands got any higher, she would likely push them down. I pulled away from the kiss and whispered in her ear ‘I really want to fuck you’.

‘Good,’ she whispered, ‘I want you desperate.’

I pulled her top off of her, revealing a black and green lacy bra. She pulled my top off too and ran her hands down my chest. I lifted her gently and lay her down on the sofa, kissed her neck and started working my way down her body, between her covered breasts and kissing the soft skin of her stomach as I started to unbuckle her jeans. I pulled her out of her tight jeans with a little difficulty, but she offered no resistance and I smiled at her sexy lace thong, a particular weakness of mine.

My jeans came off next and we continued to make out passionately in our underwear for several long minutes. I could feel the wet between her legs and I was sure she could feel my raging hard-on, I genuinely believed that within a few minutes I would be furiously fucking the girl I’d been obsessed with since the moment I saw her at that party.

Soon she was on top of me, grinding against me and moaning softly. I was just about to make a move on the clasp of her bra, when she pushed me down, climbed off of me and declared, ‘Let’s go out somewhere’.
I hesitated and stammered, ‘But… but…’.
She responded my throwing my jeans at me, ‘Come on, get dressed.’

 

I watched her put her clothes on, completely confused by what was happening but willing to go along with anything she wanted. After we dressed, we headed out for a walk along the seafront and I barely said a word as she chatted about uni friends, her course and her favourite TV show.

After a while I decided to bring up the subject that was most on my mind, as tactfully as I could. ‘Is everything okay?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, of course it is,’ she smiled, ‘why?’.
‘Well, we’ve been seeing each other for over two months, we keep having these intense make out sessions but not going any further. We’ve both had sexual relationships before, we’ve talked about it, so I was just wondering if something was wrong.’
‘Oh,’ she replied, ‘I see.’ She was still smiling, which I took to be a sign I’d not overstepped.
‘I’ve not even seen you naked,’ I told her, ‘Which is a little odd considering guys can see you naked at the bar – which I don’t have a problem with. It’s just odd.’

I was convinced I’d gone too far with my last comment but she remained calm and hadn’t let go of my hand or anything. We sat down on a nearby bench, looking out at the sea and she gave me a warm smile and told me she would explain everything.

‘I’m going to be honest,’ she began, ‘I really get off on teasing guys, on making them as frustrated as I can. That’s why I strip, they want me but can’t have me. But in a relationship, it has to be different, I know that.’
I nodded my understanding.
‘You’ve told me about your past relationships, the kinky things you have done. I like that you are a bit kinky, I’m into those things too. I’ve told you that before. The problem is that you are fifty-fifty, you switch between dominant and submissive and that’s not what I want. I want a guy who is one hundred percent submissive, that’s what really gets me off, so I need to ruin you. I need you to be so frustrated that you would do anything for me and you just aren’t ready.’

The conversation had me aroused again and I wondered if she was turned on too.
‘I am ready,’ I told her, ‘I can be as submissive as you want.’
She smiled doubtfully.
‘I can,’ I insisted, ‘I would literally do anything for you. Anything just to see you naked. Let me prove it.’
‘Okay,’ she told me, ‘I have something in mind, let’s go back to mine.’

 

A short while later, we sat on her bed and she explained what she had in mind.
‘A little test, well a big test actually, that you can be a properly submissive boyfriend. It’s to prove that you are one hundred percent submissive.’
I nodded my understanding.
‘Close your eyes and hold out your hands.’
I obeyed and felt a cold, light object placed in them.
‘Open them.’

I looked down at the steel chastity cage she had placed in my hand. I knew what it was because of videos I’d watched but it was my first real life encounter with one.
‘Wear this for one week and I will let you see me naked,’ she told me.
I nodded my agreement and she smiled a big smile. Little did I know that this was just the beginning.The Girl Who Ruined Me: Part One

I pressed the send button on an email and leaned back in the booth. “With that our time working together is over.”

“Cheers! It’s been a fun couple of months, Sarah.” Glenn smiled as he lifted his glass.

“Yeah I’ll miss this, it’s been fun. Well, as fun as work can be.” I lifted my drink to meet his.

Glenn was handsome. Older than me, but fit and with a solid build. For the last two months I had been working at his company as a temporary consultant. Tonight we weren’t colleagues anymore, just two attractive people having drinks.

While I worked for him there had been some long looks, a couple of suggestive jokes and one time I playfully kissed him on the cheek to say goodbye. I noticed he how red his face got afterwards. Nothing unprofessional had happened but I found myself wishing something might between us, and I’d begun to fantasize about him the last couple of weeks.

We’d decided to celebrate at a bar not too far away from the office. I was kind of thinking that drinks might loosen him up a little. Every time things had gotten a little flirty at work, he quickly clammed up. Maybe he didn’t approve of office romances, or maybe it was the age difference; whatever it was I intended to find out tonight.

“So no wife or girlfriend, aren’t you a little lonely sometimes.” The Jack and Coke in my hand might be making me a bit more forward.

“Ummm… yeah I guess, but I’ve never been a relationship guy.” He shifted in his seat a bit.

“Too busy hooking up with all the hotties then?” I leaned forward a bit and made sure my cleavage was as exaggerated as possible.

“No not exactly, it’s a bit more complicated than that.” Glenn polished off the remainder of his scotch. His eyes lingered on me for an extra second, he was trying very hard not to look at my tits.

“Well you’re certainly good looking enough to be with someone, and I know you like girls, I’ve seen you looking at me.” I held up a hand to stop his protests. “You were always professional and I never felt uncomfortable, but I know you think I’m attractive.”

“You’re very pretty. I’m just looking for a specific type of relationship, it’s nothing personal.” A subtle reddish hue had spread to his cheeks, I was pretty sure it wasn’t just the alcohol.

“What about casual hookups or a friend’s with benefits type thing, is that what you’re looking for?” I flashed a hungry smile at him, this was no time for subtly.

“Why? You offering?” He laughed nervously, I think he was trying to play it off as a joke.

At this point i decided that we’re going to fuck tonight, he just doesn’t know it yet. I looked around to make sure the coast is clear and summoned my crazy college girl days. I lifted my top and flash him my tits, making sure to pinch the pierced nipple. “Would you really pass this up?” I tease him.

His eyes go wide, and I know he liked what he saw. This time I polished off the last of my beverage and waved my hand to signal a waitress we want two more.

Waiting for our drinks, we make a bit more casual conversation, I’m not good at waiting but I managed. Once the server leaves, I dive back in. “So tell me what you are looking for, I’m open minded.”

Glenn let out a long sigh. “I don’t do girlfriends or hookups, what I’m looking for is a Domme.” Glenn can’t even make eye contact as he tells me this, just starring at his feet, like there’s something interesting down there.

To say there was a long silence would be an understatement. I took a pull of my new drink before letting out a long laugh.

“See, I knew this was a bad idea.” Glenn buried his head in his hands.

“No, no I’m not laughing at you, it’s just a surprise. That’s all. So you want someone to, like, tie you up and spank you?” I’ll admit I was surprised at how much I was turned on by the idea.

That’s pretty tame actually, but yeah I want someone who’s going to take charge and make me their submissive.”

I tried to reset myself, I was shocked but I knew I needed to take this seriously. It ment something to him. “So have you ever had someone do that for you before, or is this a new thing?”

“Yeah, I had someone, but it’s complicated.” He sipped his drink looking a bit defeated.

“Did you guys brake up? Is that even a thing that happens in that kind of relationship?”

“She married my brother.”

“Wait WHAT?!?” We had been talking in more hushed voices, but obviously I couldn’t hold back after that bombshell. “So she married your brother and now she won’t do it anymore? That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“No, she’ll still do it.”

I just barely caught myself before I yelling again. “She’ll still do it! Your brother’s ok with that!” I managed in a harsh whisper.

“He doesn’t know. He never did. I didn’t even know they were dating. She just showed up to a family get together on his arm, engaged. They got married a few months later.”

The last five minutes of conversation had revealed more about Glenn than everything I’d found out while we worked together. I didn’t remember finishing my drink, but I found it was empty. I took a very deep breath and tried to push past the incredible series of revelations.

“So, do you think she got with your brother just to mess with you?”

“I honestly don’t know. Probably. Listen, Sarah, can we just forget all this go our separate ways?”

“So wait you never told your brother that his now wife has been your sexually dominant girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend isn’t the right word, and what am I supposed to tell him? That the woman he knows as Amy, I know as Mistress Sadie. Or that she used to peg me with a 12 inch strap-on and made me swallow my own load. There’s no real way to start that conversation.”

“She really made you…wait 12 inches? Really?” I thought I was done being surprised. Wrong. He simply held up his hands to indicate length and girth. “Damn where’d she get something that big?”

“There’s plenty of places, I got this on online. I still have it back home in my dungeon.”

I couldn’t believe I was getting turned on by all of this, but I very much was. “So you have a sex dungeon? With a bunch of naughty toys and stuff?”

“Well yeah you can’t do that shit in your kitchen, anyone serious about being that kinky needs a room dedicated to depravity.” He was very matter of fact about it all.

“Take me there, I wanna see it!”

Glenn waved his hand at me. “Sarah, look it’s nice to get some of this off my chest, but I don’t think you’re really ready for that yet.”

“So you doubt me then? You don’t think I can be a domme?” I tried be as serious as I could be under the circumstances.

“Well usually we wouldn’t work together first, that might be weird. And I mean, you’re cute but you just don’t seem like someone who’d be a natural dominant.”

“What because I’m not some goth girl covered in leather, latex and tattoos I can’t boss you around?”

He chuckled at me. “Yeah kind of, plus there’s your voice. It’s light and sweet, the one time I heard you yell at someone, you sounded like an anime character.”

It was true, I don’t have an overly commanding voice, but I was in now. Now backing down. I summoned my most intimidating presence.

“Take your dick out.”

He looked like a deer in headlights “What here, now?”

“I showed you my tits, only fair. Plus I just realized I shouldn’t go through all this trouble without seeing if it’s worth it. You might have a pathetic little cock.”

“Listen I don’t think this is a good ide-“

I cut him off “Shut up and do it pussy.”

Glenn looked around nervously and stared to undue his pants. I could not believe he was really doing it. He reached in and took out a very nice member. Now it was only a little engorged, still mostly soft, but even so I could see he was going to have a well above average dick when hard.

If I was really going to be his new Mistress Sadie, I couldn’t acknowledge how fucking hot all this was. “That’s it? That’s what all this has been about, trying to get that little guy off?”

I kicked off a shoe and placed my bare foot between his legs. I began to rub him ever so gently. I spare a second to look around, I like this bar and don’t want to get kicked out. Fortunately, we’re alone in a corner booth and no one seems to be paying us any attention.

“So Mistress Sadie, was that supposed to be short for sadistic?” I’m hold eye contact and acting like this the most normal conversation in the world.

“I asked her that once.” He swallowed hard.

“And?”

“She kicked me in the balls so hard I almost passed out.”

“I guess that’s your answer then. Did you like the pain?” I don’t give him time to respond. I slam my heal into his crotch and smile.

Glenn does everything he can not to cry out in pain, it might be a quiet night but screaming about his balls would draw unwanted attention. He doubles over with his mouth silently hanging open. “Fuck.” He manages in a horse voice.

I giggle at him. “So are you gonna take me to your sex dungeon now, or do I have to keep correcting you.”

He takes a few moments to recover, and finally after a deep breath starts to put him self away. He had grown in size quite a bit, so he struggled a little tucking everything back in. I sat and enjoyed the show biting my lower lip. Eventually he won the struggle with his pants and looked at me with what seemed like hunger in his eyes.

“I’ll get us a car.” He says sheepishly.

The ride back to his place is quiet. I could have tried to embarrass him in front of our driver, but decided that a silent, almost awkward, ride would build more tension. I made Glenn hold every door and continued to silently follow him until we entered his house.

“Take me to your sex room, perv.” I was enjoying giving commands to the man who was basically my boss until a few hours ago.

“Right this way Sarah.” He holds out a hand to indicate I should follow.

Right there I knew I was going to need a new name. Sarah, or even Mistress Sarah, wasn’t going to cut it. I mentally workshopped names as we walked to his dungeon. As I stepped into the room a wide smile spreads across my face.

The room itself is fairly stark. A single bed with a handful of pillows sat in the middle. The main event was the nearest wall. Mounted like trophies are cornucopia of sex toys, whips and restraints.

I walk towards the wall and let my hand run over several of the more interesting options. Holding a special place in the center of everything is the aforementioned strap on and it’s 12” dick, waiting.

My hand wrapped around a stiff leather whip with a small pad a the end. “Oh, I like this one! It’s the thing they use in horse racing right?”

“Yeah, it’s called a riding crop.” He replied.

I spin around to face him with a raised eyebrow. “Why do you still have clothes on?” I point the crop at him menacingly.

“I didn’t know I was-“

“Rule one: you’re no longer allowed clothes in this room. I doesn’t matter if I’m here or not, you wear even one stitch in here and I’ll punish you with this.” I swing the crop in the air in front of me.

I’m still a little surprised how quickly he obeys me. He’s a strong man, almost twenty years older than me, and yet here he is doing whatever I tell him. In a matter of seconds he’s fully nude hands behind his back.

I circled him, the tip of the crop dragged against his flesh as I do. “Good boy. Very good!” I bring the whip up to his nipple and give him a good flick. Glenn stifled a groan as my smile grew wider. “So your old mistress abandoned you, when’s the last time you were with someone.”

“I haven’t cum in 108 days Mistress.”

I’m stunned my the number, but an evening full of crazy shit has the inoculated me from the surprise of it all. “You haven’t jerked off since she left?”

“I’m not allowed.”

“Good, I like that. Well keep that, it can be Rule Two: Only I can make you cum.” I smack his other nipple. “And it’s Mistress Ani. That’s what you’ll call me, understood?”

“Yes Mistress Ani.” He obediently replied.

“108 days? I’m can’t believe you didn’t pop when my foot touched you at the bar.”

“I almost did Mistress, I’m sorry.”

“Well, let’s clear your pipes.” I removed everything but my panties and enjoy his eyes on me. I can see him getting harder, swelling at my nudity. “Oh and you’re going to buy me a nice table for this room. Something to put my clothes on, I’m not happy I’ve got to keep them on the floor while we do this.”

“Yes Mistress Ani. Please forgive me!”

I grab a bottle of lube from a pedestal on the wall and coat my hands. I rub them together and take my time, watching as his eyes beg for me to start. He continues to grow. I kneel beside him, but still deny touching the throbbing cock in front of me. Instead I run my hand along his ass, finding his crease and bury my hand deeply between his cheeks.

For a moment it looks like his hands move slightly, reaching for his dick. “Keep your hands behind your back, or I’ll punish you.”

“Yes Mistress, sorry. It just been so long, it hurts.”

I continue rubbing his ass, fingers slowly zeroing in on his opening. Teasing his hole, as we both know that I’m going to use that strap-on before the night is done. With my other hand I slowly wrap my fingers around his swollen balls. “Is this where it hurts?” I tug on them slightly.

I can tell he’s trying to hold back, but a low grunt escaped him. My hand slowly slides up from his sack, a firm grip traveling from shaft to tip. I use my thumb to massage the underside of his dick. He’s leaking already, and I stroke back down the length of him.

My other hand probes his hole, two fingers easily slide in and I love the sounds Glenn is trying not to make. I’ve never fingered a man before, but I know the basics, find his prostate and attack. He rocks onto his toes and I know I’ve found what I’m looking for. I focus on his ass, introducing more fingers. If he can take 12” he can take more than a couple fingers. I want to work him more, but he’s dripping so much I don’t think he can last much longer.

I decided that it’s time. I take his shaft with both hands and work him hard. Only a few seconds of pumping and I feel pleasurable pulsing turn into a hard forceful straining. My left hand continues stroking as I use my right to catch as much of him as I can.

“Nnnnaagghhhhh, fuck!” Glenn groaned as he unloads into my hand. His cock keeps pumping as 100 days of build up drains form him. My cupped hand fills with his milky white cream.

“You know all the best anime characters have finishing moves.” I stand and look Glenn in the eyes. I raise my voice to inmate the characters I’ve heard. “Do you wanna see my full power?”

“Yes Mistress, please.”

I pull my filled hand back, and smiled. “CUMMMMY SLAPPPP!”

I could feel a warm wet mist tickle my face as his cum sprays everywhere. Glenn dropped to a knee, and when he looked up at me a wet red handprint covers his left cheek. I couldn’t help but laugh. I had done this to him, and he had needed me to do it.

“All those toys are clean and ready to use, yes?” I asked, back to using my normal speaking voice.

“Yes Mistress Ani, I thoroughly clean and sanitized everything after use. I also change the sheets and scrub the entire room.”

“Good, that can be the Third Rule: You’re responsible for all the cleaning. Now, help me with the strap on then. We’re gonna fuck some more cum out of you.” I removed my panties and step into the rigging, letting Glen secure all the adjustments until everything feels tight. “Is your phone in your pants?”

“The right pocket, yes Mistress.”

“Good, unlock it for me and get on the bed face down.”

He hands me his phone and climbs onto the bed like I commanded. My hands are full of cum and lube. It makes navigating the menu tricky, but I open his camera and climb on top of him. I make sure the large dildo covers his entire crack, and snap a picture.

The click draws Glenn’s attention. “What are you doing my Mistress?”

“Claiming my property. Your old mistress, her number’s in here?”

“Yes, under Sadie.”

I type out a message:

He’s no longer yours. A NEWER, YOUNGER, Mistress now owns this submissive pet. Do not contact, failure to comply will have severe repercussions!

I attached the photo, and for the second time that night hit send on a life changing message.

Looking at the sheer size of the toy against his ass, I still have doubts it’ll fit. I apply a good helping of lube and work my new dick between his cheeks. He slowly opens for me, and I press down into his waiting hole.

“You ready to be my slut.” I taunt.

“Yes Mistress Ani, I’m yours.”

I rock my hips forward and I can’t believe my eyes. His ass parts and accepts the thick dildo. I pushed in half way, and felt only a little resistance. I pull out and then back in, this time I go all the way in. The last two inches are a tight fit, and I hear him start to groan. I lean forward and use both hands to push in his back, my legs pin his down. Now I can really work him hard.

I surprised how good it feels. Fucking him is fun, but there’s also a nice friction against my pussy as I hump him. The harder and faster I go, the better it feels. I lose myself for a moment, it’s no longer about punishing him, but pleasing me. I only notice his loud moans because my arms and hips begin to tire.

“Get on your side slut.” I’m not ready to stop, but I needed a new position. We roll to together and Glenn lifts his leg, opening his ass wide. From this angle I can reach between his legs and stroke him. I feel the pulses in my hand, but I’m not sure what’s more cum and what’s just me slamming my big dick deep inside him. I don’t care.

My body is tired and covered in sweat, it’s time to get mine. “Eat your Mistress’s pussy, she wants to cum.” Glenn slides off my dick, there’s a wet popping noise as does. When he gets up I can see just how much creamy goo is pooled on the sheets. “How many times did you cum? I got a lot of milk out of you didn’t I.”

“I’m not sure, I lost count. My Mistress was very generous. Everything aches.”

“Good. I want you to think of me tomorrow, as your ass throbs sitting in your office.”

Glenn is quite gentle as he obediently undoes all the straps, releasing my slick opening. I thought some of my wetness must be the lube, that worked its way under the strap on, but no it was all me. I couldn’t recall ever being so open and ready.

I grab Glenn by his hair and push him between my legs. His face stubble rubs on my outer lips and sends a tingle up my spine. His tongue is eager as it slides into my folds. The skill of his mouth is very impressive, he’s clearly been taught well. He works in deep as his upper lip sucks on my stiff clit. For a moment he tries to lift his head and come up for air. I don’t let him.

Pulling him hard into me I yell. “You can breathe after I cum.” My hips use what strength I have left to flex in his face. A warm feeling begins to radiate from deep within me, eventually building to an explosion that radiates throughout the rest of my body. I let go of Glenn and collapse back. The pleasure hits me in waves and I soak up every moment.

I lay there for a minute as slowly the ecstasy fades, turning into a satisfying relaxation. Once I have finally caught my breath I prop myself up and see the state of the room. A large pool of cum on the bed next to me, lube everywhere and my thighs are so shiny and slick I can see Glenn’s reflection in them.

“Go got me a wet washcloth to clean up a little.” I tell my new submissive. As he gets up to walk out of the room I stifle a giggle when I can see his ass hasn’t recovered yet, it gapes open when he leans over.

He returns a moment later, and as he’s about to hand me a towel his phone chimes. I look at it and belly laugh at the message. “Your old ex is the jealous type huh?” I flip the phone to show him the text.

HE’S MY PROPERTY! HE DOESN’T GET TO DECIDE WHO HIS MASTER IS! I’ll PUNISH BOTH OF YOU FOR THIS!

“We should have her and your brother over for dinner. It’ll be fun don’t you think.” Glenn’s face turns ashen. I type the invitation.

Market Break
A Power Couple Short Story

[F47M48] [foot worship] [femdom] [semi-public sex] [dressing room] [shoe fetish] [office sex] [under desk] [fishnets] [PIV]

When Alice’s afternoon meeting gets cancelled, she seizes the opportunity to give her husband an unforgettable treat—a shoe shopping trip that turns into a dressing room power play. What begins as playful public teasing escalates into a day-long game of dominance and worship, with Calder serving as everything from footstool to devoted admirer.

————————

I’d been in back-to-back strategy sessions all morning, fielding questions about solar incentive structures and grid modernization timelines. By the time I stepped out of the conference room, my shoulders were tight and my head was buzzing with policy minutiae. But the second I pushed through the doors into Union Market Hall, something shifted. The noise of the city softened. The cool tile under my sandals, the bustle of people moving between vendor stalls, the layered scents of garlic and cumin and fresh bread—it all grounded me. I could breathe again.

Calder spotted me before I spotted him. That crooked smile of his lit me up from the inside, the same way it had the first time we met more than twenty years ago. He was wearing that silly Star Wars graphic tee I secretly loved, the one that clung to his shoulders just right and made him look like the overgrown grad student he’d never quite stopped being. I watched him weave through the crowd toward me, his eyes tracking my movement, and felt this sudden, delicious awareness of him that had nothing to do with being married for over two decades and everything to do with how much we still wanted each other.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, kissing my cheek as he slid onto the stool beside me at Boudreaux’s Creole Kitchen. The warmth of his mouth lingered on my skin. I shifted closer, letting my knee press against his thigh, and slipped my hand under the bar and into his lap. I needed the feel of him and I didn’t care if anyone saw.

“You’re warm,” I murmured, tracing my fingers slowly along the seam of his jeans. “Good thing I’m in the mood for something spicy.”

He stiffened under my hand, his breath changing in a way I recognized immediately, and it thrilled me. God, I loved knowing I could still do that to him. That after all this time, my touch could turn his whole body into a tuning fork, vibrating at a frequency only I could hear.

We ordered—étouffée for me, jambalaya for him—and talked about nothing important. He told me about the symposium panel he was moderating next week, something about post-apocalyptic narratives and climate anxiety. I half-listened, more focused on the way his voice dropped when my fingers moved higher on his thigh, the way his sentences lost their academic polish and became just a little bit ragged. Every time he shifted in his seat, every time my hand brushed against him, my heart beat faster. I wanted him, not just his body. I wanted his attention, his surrender, his need. I wanted to make him melt in the palm of my hand. I licked a bit of sauce off my thumb and watched him track the movement of my tongue. His pupils dilated and I smiled.

My phone buzzed on the bar. I glanced down and saw the notification: Meeting canceled; rescheduled to next week. I froze for a second, disoriented. The afternoon I’d been mentally preparing for had just evaporated. Then, slowly, a different kind of plan began to take shape.

“Well, would you look at that,” I said, setting my phone down and meeting his eyes. “My two o’clock just fell through.”

“Lucky break,” he said carefully.

I leaned in close, my lips nearly brushing his ear. “Want to go shoe shopping before the old Macy’s closes for good?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Shoe shopping?”

I let my hand settle more firmly in his lap, feeling the evidence of exactly how well he understood. “You know exactly what kind of mood I’m in.”

The way his eyes sparked told me he did. Immediately and completely.

The walk to Macy’s felt charged. The summer heat pressed against us, thick and humid, but I barely noticed. Calder walked close beside me, his hand occasionally brushing mine, and I could feel the anticipation rolling off him in waves. We didn’t talk much. We didn’t need to. The silence between us hummed with possibility.

The store was practically a ghost town when we stepped inside. The racks were half-empty, clearance signs everywhere, and the skeleton crew of remaining staff looking bored and ready for the place to finally shutter. But the shoe section somehow still sparkled like an oasis in the fluorescent wasteland. It was messier and more disorganized than usual, a sad echo of the store’s former glory, but the right heels still made me feel powerful and dangerous.

I didn’t often wear heels anymore. My work life had long since shifted toward practicality—wedge sandals that could carry me through twelve-hour days of depositions and site visits, comfortable flats for courtroom appearances. But today felt different. Today, I wanted to give Calder a treat. Something special. Something that would live in his memory for weeks or longer.

I pulled a pair of red pumps off the shelf—deep crimson leather with a crocodile texture, delicate ankle straps, and pointed toes that made them look elegant and dangerous all at once.

“What do you think?” I asked, holding them up.

His gaze locked on the shoes, then traveled slowly down to my feet, still in my practical work wedges.

“Try them on,” he said quietly.

I sat on one of the benches and slipped off my shoes, taking my time. I pointed my toes, flexed my ankle, let him watch the small movements. The gold anklet caught the light and I saw his eyes fix on it before traveling to the single gold toe ring on my right foot. When I slid my foot into the first red pump, I heard him exhale—just a soft release of breath, but I caught it. I bent forward slowly to fasten the ankle strap, giving him a perfect view down the front of my dress, and felt his attention like a physical touch. My fingers worked the small buckle carefully, deliberately slow.

“How do they look?” I asked, standing and turning in a slow circle.

“Perfect,” he managed. His voice was rough.

I walked a few steps, feeling the way the heels changed my posture, made my calves flex, lengthened my legs.

“You know,” I said casually, “I have that energy summit next month. I should probably get some photos to see which shoes work best with my navy suit.” I handed him my phone. “Would you mind?”

His hand trembled slightly as he took it. We both knew this wasn’t about outfit coordination. I posed—foot extended, ankle turned to show the buckle detail, toes pointed. I heard the fake shutter noise click: once, twice, three times. I shifted my stance, let him capture different angles. Each click of the camera shutter felt intimate, like a small act of devotion.

“Try another pair,” he said, his voice low.

I smiled and reached for the next box: navy blue mules with clear vinyl straps that wrapped around my feet like water. They were bold, modern, almost architectural in their simplicity. I slipped them on and immediately felt the difference—the exposed skin, the way the transparent straps created negative space that drew the eye to the curve of my arch, the gleam of my painted toenails.

“These?” I asked, lifting one foot slightly.

He nodded, already raising the phone. I turned, giving him a side angle, then shifted my weight so the muscles in my calves stood out in sharp relief. The camera clicked rapidly now and I could see the concentration in his face, that laser focus he got when he was completely absorbed in something.

The third pair was pure excess: snakeskin strappy heels with multiple bands that wound up my ankle in a serpentine pattern. They took longer to fasten and I made him watch every adjustment, every buckle. When I finally stood, I felt taller, sharper, almost predatory.

“God,” he breathed.

I walked toward him slowly, deliberately, letting my hips sway with each step. “Take the picture,” I said softly.

He took multiple shots: close-ups of the strappy detail, full-length views, angles that showed the way the pattern climbed my ankle. I could see his hands shaking now. He was barely holding himself together.

I looked around the deserted store, noting the lack of staff in this back corner. “Come on,” I said, gathering the shoe boxes. “Let’s use the dressing room mirror. Better light.”

The dressing room was big and quiet in a way that practically invited mischief. I locked the door behind us and turned to him slowly, the way a cat might stalk something already caught.

“Put the phone down,” I said. “And lie down.”

His obedience sent a shiver through me. He set my phone aside and lowered himself to the floor without hesitation, his eyes never leaving mine. There was something intoxicating about how willing he was to give himself to me, especially when I stepped into the dominant role. I didn’t always crave it, but when I did… oh, I wanted everything.

I was still wearing the snakeskin heels. I placed one foot on his chest, right over his heart, and felt it hammering beneath the thin sole. Then I dragged my heel down slowly—over his ribs, his stomach, stopping just above the growing hardness straining against his jeans. I watched him writhe beneath me, his eyes wide and glassy, his breath coming in short gasps.

“Stay still,” I whispered.

I stepped back and slowly removed the snakeskin heels, setting them aside. Then I slipped into the red pumps again—the ones that had started this whole thing. I placed one stiletto heel on either side of his hips, straddling him without touching, letting him look up the length of my body.

“These are the ones,” I said. “Don’t you think?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

I pressed one heel gently against his chest again, then traced it down his body with excruciating slowness. When I reached his cock, I applied just enough pressure to make him gasp. “Tell me what you want,” I said.

“You,” he breathed. “Anything. Everything.”

I smiled and stepped back, lining up all three pairs of shoes in a neat row on the floor beside him. Then I slipped off the red pumps and placed my bare feet next to the shoes. My toes were painted deep green, my gold anklet was gleaming, and my gold toe ring caught the overhead light just right.

“Look at them,” I ordered. “All of them. The shoes. My feet. Everything I’m giving you right now.”

His eyes moved across the display like he was memorizing every detail, every curve and texture and color.

“Touch yourself,” I said, my voice steady and calm. “And don’t look away.”

He unzipped his jeans with shaking hands, his gaze fixed on my feet and the shoes surrounding them like offerings at a shrine. I watched him stroke himself, slow at first, then faster, his breathing ragged. I pressed my foot against the red pump, letting my toes trace the leather, and heard him moan.

“Come on my feet,” I whispered. “Mark them.”

When he came—spilling over my skin and the shoes with a strangled groan—I felt this rush of dark, glowing satisfaction flood through me. I was his goddess. His queen. And he was mine. Always.

We cleaned up carefully, quietly. I wiped my feet with tissues from my purse, straightened my dress, slipped back into my work sandals. Calder sat on the bench, looking dazed and utterly content.

“I’m buying the red ones,” I said.

“Good choice,” he managed.

At the register, the teenage sales clerk barely looked at us as she rang up the purchase. I wondered if she had any idea what had just happened in their dressing room, but her expression stayed bored and professional. As she folded tissue paper around the red pumps, my eye caught on a display of fishnets hanging next to the counter—the kind with small diamond patterns that would look elegant under a skirt. I grabbed a pair and added them to the purchase. The clerk didn’t even blink. I handed over my credit card and watched her slide everything into the bag, already imagining what came next.

Outside, the afternoon sun felt aggressive after the dim cool of the store. Calder walked beside me, his hand finding mine, his fingers lacing through mine with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

“Come back to my office,” I said. It wasn’t a request.

“OK,” he said simply.

My office building felt like a different world, all polished marble and quiet efficiency. We rode the elevator in silence, his hand warm in mine, and when we reached my floor I led him past my assistant’s desk with a brief smile.

Inside my office, I kissed him slow and deep. “I have a Zoom call in ten minutes,” I murmured against his mouth. “Regional stakeholders. Solar farm permitting.”

He smiled. “Where do you want me?”

“Under the desk,” I said. “But give me a moment first.”

I pulled the fishnets from the shopping bag and slipped into my private bathroom. I slid the delicate diamond mesh up my legs and adjusted them until they sat just right. When I emerged, I saw his eyes open wide as he took in the change.

I gestured to the space beneath my desk. “Think you can be very, very quiet?” I asked.

His nod was immediate.

My Zoom call began at two forty-five. Regional stakeholders discussing solar farm permitting processes—deeply unsexy policy work, but necessary. I settled into my desk chair, opened my laptop, and barely had time to pull up the meeting agenda before I felt Calder’s hands gently spreading my knees apart beneath the desk.
My heart pounded with the dangerous thrill of it—this brilliant, respected professor on his knees between my legs while I discussed renewable energy infrastructure with three state-level policy directors. I kept my expression neutral, my voice steady, even as I felt his hands sliding up my calves, tracing the diamond pattern of the fishnets with his fingertips.

“So the main bottleneck,” I said into the camera, “is really the interconnection queue timelines, not the permitting itself…”

His lips pressed against my toes through the mesh. I felt his breath hot against my skin through the small openings in the pattern, the texture of the netting adding friction to every touch. He kissed each toe slowly, his tongue finding the spaces between the diamonds, tasting skin through fabric.

“…and if we can streamline the utility review process, we could cut six months off the average timeline.”

His hands gripped my ankles, thumbs tracing the delicate lattice pattern as his mouth worked up the arch of my foot. I could feel his fascination with the fishnets—the way they framed my feet and legs, the geometric precision of the diamond mesh, the way the pattern created little indentations against my skin. His tongue traced along the lines, following the weave of the netting.

One of the policy directors asked a question about interconnection studies. I answered smoothly, discussing timeline comparisons and regulatory bottlenecks, while Calder’s mouth moved to my other foot. He took his time, his lips and tongue exploring every inch through the netting, the textured fabric creating a new dimension of sensation that made my breath want to catch in my throat.

When he tried to move higher, up my calves toward the hem of my skirt, I pressed one hand firmly against the top of his head—hidden beneath the desk, invisible to my colleagues on screen—and pushed down. He understood immediately, lowering himself further. But I didn’t stop there. I lifted both feet and placed them on his face, pressing him all the way down to the floor beneath my desk until he was flat on his back, looking up at the underside of my chair.

I rested my feet on his face like he was furniture. Like he existed solely for my comfort.
The weight of my feet settled across his cheeks and forehead, the diamond mesh of the fishnets pressing patterns into his skin. I felt his hands come to rest on my calves, steady and reverent, and continued talking about capacity studies as though nothing unusual was happening.

“The real challenge,” I said, shifting my feet slightly and feeling his sharp intake of breath beneath them, “is coordinating between state regulatory bodies and regional transmission operators…”

I pressed my toes against his lips. He opened for me immediately and I slid my toes into his mouth through the fishnets, feeling the heat and wetness of his tongue through the mesh. The sensation shot straight through me, intimate and filthy and powerful all at once. His tongue worked around my toes, tracing each one through the netting, and I had to pause for just a fraction of a second to maintain my composure.

“…because without that coordination, even fast-tracked permits get bottlenecked at interconnection.”

His hands began to massage my calves slowly, fingers kneading the muscle through the fishnets, palms sliding up and down in long, worshipful strokes. I kept my feet planted on his face, toes still in his mouth, and felt the vibration of his muffled breathing against my soles.

The policy director from Nevada started asking about federal incentive timelines. I pulled my toes from Calder’s mouth and repositioned my feet: one foot pressing across his forehead, pinning his head to the floor, the other resting across his mouth and nose. I felt his lips part slightly beneath my sole, followed by the warmth of his exhale through the fishnets.

“The IRA provisions have definitely accelerated development interest,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “But the supply chain constraints are the real limiting factor right now.”

His hands slid higher, massaging my calves with increasing intensity, his fingers finding every knot and tight spot with practiced precision. The combination of sensations—the power of having him literally beneath my feet, the skilled massage of his hands, the risk of being discovered—made my pulse race.

Then I heard the knock.

My assistant’s voice: “Alice? I have those revised documents you needed.”

“Come in,” I called, pressing my feet more firmly against Calder’s face.

The door opened. I felt him go rigid beneath me, his entire body tensing. And then—god—he opened his mouth wide and took all five of my toes at once through the fishnets, his tongue working frantically around them, his lips sealing tight. The sensation was so overwhelming, so perfectly timed to the moment of maximum danger, that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stifle a groan. My assistant crossed the room, set the folder on the edge of my desk, said something about tracking changes I’d requested. I nodded, smiled, managed some kind of appropriate response, all while Calder’s mouth worked on my toes and his hands gripped my calves with desperate intensity.

“Thanks,” I managed. “That’s perfect.”

She left. The door clicked shut. I kept my feet exactly where they were—one foot filling his mouth, the other pressed across his forehead—and continued the meeting. His hands never stopped moving, sliding up and down my legs in long, massaging strokes, tracing the pattern of the fishnets, occasionally gripping tight before releasing again. I could feel his complete surrender, his willingness to be used exactly as I wanted, and the power of it thrummed through me like electricity. For the next twenty minutes, I discussed solar farm economics and transmission planning while my husband lay pinned beneath my desk, his face under my feet, his mouth and hands worshipping me in secret. Every so often I would shift my weight, press my toes deeper into his mouth, or drag my heel slowly down his cheek, just to feel him respond.

The call wrapped at three-thirty. The moment the screen went dark, I rolled my chair back and looked down at him. His face was flushed, the diamond pattern of the fishnets imprinted on his cheeks and forehead in a delicate lattice. His eyes were glazed, his lips slightly swollen, and he looked utterly wrecked.

“You’re incredible,” I breathed.

“I aim to please,” he said, smiling up at me. “If you’re done with me, I guess I’ll head home and start dinner.”

“Perfect.”

By the time I walked through our front door that evening, the sun was starting to slant golden through the windows. The rowhouse was cool and quiet, and I could smell roasting chicken and herbs. I set both my backpack and the shopping bag with the red pumps still inside down and exhaled for the first time in hours. Calder was in the kitchen, cocktail shaker in hand, his face soft and open. He looked like home.

“Perfect timing,” he said, pouring a lavender gin fizz into a coupe glass and handing it to me. The first sip tasted like summer, bright and floral and cold.

I watched him move around the kitchen, pulling the chicken from the oven, checking the roasted vegetables, his movements efficient and easy. We’d done this dance a thousand times—me arriving home wrung out from work, him having dinner half-made and a drink ready. It was one of those small intimacies that made a marriage work, the kind of thing that didn’t look like much from the outside but felt like everything from the inside.

“How was the rest of your day?” he asked.

“Good,” I said, leaning against the counter. “Productive. Yours?”

“Read a dissertation draft. Wrote some notes for next week’s panel. Thought about you.”

I smiled. “Yeah?”

“Constantly.”

We ate dinner on the roof deck, the evening air finally cooling, the city settling into its nighttime rhythm around us. The chicken was perfect—crispy skin, tender meat, lemon and thyme and garlic. We talked about his symposium, about my upcoming trip to a conference in Phoenix, about whether we should finally replace the dinner table and chairs. Easy conversation, the kind that flowed without effort. By the time we moved inside, the sky had gone deep blue-purple, and I felt warm and tired and aroused and completely in love.

Later that night, I heard the shower shut off in our bathroom. I moved quickly, positioning myself at the foot of the bed. I kneeled, bent forward over a pillow, my ass raised, still wearing nothing but the fishnets from earlier. The diamond mesh clung to every curve of my legs and hips, the pattern stretched taut across my skin. I arched my back slightly, making sure the position was unmistakable, and waited.

I heard the bathroom door open followed by his sharp intake of breath.

“Alice…”

“Fuck me,” I said, not looking back at him. My voice was steady and commanding. “Now.”

I heard him cross the room, then felt his hands settle on my hips. He was tentative at first, but then gripped harder as he understood exactly what I wanted. His fingers traced the fishnets, following the diamond pattern down to where they stretched across my ass. I felt him find the seam at the crotch, testing the fabric’s strength.

Then he ripped it open.

The sound of tearing nylon sent a thrill through me, raw and primal and perfect. I felt his cock pressing at my entrance and then he pushed into me in one long, hard thrust. I gasped, my fingers clutching the pillow beneath me. He felt impossibly deep from this angle, the stretch and fullness overwhelming. His hands gripped my hips harder, fingers digging into the flesh through the mesh, and he started to move with the kind of desperate intensity that came from a day of restrained worship finally unleashed.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Like that.”

He thrust harder, his hips slamming against my ass and his balls against my clit with each stroke. I could feel the torn edges of the fishnets rubbing against my skin, could hear the rhythmic sound of our bodies meeting, could feel myself getting wetter with each deep penetration. This was different from the careful dominance of earlier. This was raw need, mutual hunger, the perfect culmination of everything we’d been building toward all day.

His breathing grew ragged. I felt his rhythm start to falter, felt him getting close.

“Pull out,” I said quickly. “My feet.”

He understood immediately. He withdrew and I shifted position, rolling onto my back and bringing my legs up, feet together, soles facing him. Our eyes locked on to each other. The fishnets still clung to my legs, torn at the crotch but otherwise intact, the diamond pattern framing my feet perfectly. He stroked himself once, twice, and then he came. Hot ropes of cum splashed across the soles of my feet, coating the fishnets and my skin in equal measure. I watched his face as he marked me, saw the pure satisfaction in his expression, and felt that dark glow of power settle over me again.
When he finished, I brought one foot to my face and licked a drop of cum from the fishnet mesh, tasting salt and satisfaction. His eyes went wide.

“Mine,” I said softly.

“Always,” he breathed.

Later, we lay tangled in sheets, the fan kissing my exposed skin, my true crime audiobook playing softly in my headphones. The torn fishnets lay discarded on the floor. I reached down and wrapped my hand gently around his cock, just holding—possessive and casual at once. I felt grounded and adored and utterly safe. We didn’t speak. We didn’t have to. My thumb traced him in slow, absentminded circles, and his breathing deepened and softened as he read his own book.

The narrator’s voice wove through the darkness, detailing some cold case from the seventies, and I felt myself drifting.

At some point in the night, I felt his hips shift behind me. I was half asleep, half dreaming. The audiobook narration echoed in my head, but beneath it, I felt Calder’s cock pressing between my cheeks. I started rocking back against him, slow and lazy. In my dream, we were still in the dressing room. He was still kneeling. Still worshipping. In the waking world, I guided him inside me with a sigh and let him fill me. Deep and slow. I don’t know if either of us were fully awake. But we came again together—slowly, sweetly, wrapped in sleep and skin and shadow.