Texture of Desire [part 1]

femdom erotica

THE MESSAGE appeared on his mobile on a Thursday at 10pm:

‘Next Friday evening, NYC. Let me know what time we depart.’

Arrangements were made, details confirmed and they met in the airport lounge. He had a drink prepared, ready for her, as he took her carry-on from her hands.

When they arrived it was still early in the City. Departing in the evening and arriving in the afternoon always felt like the hours that had passed simply evaporated and they had reversed time for a little while. Fall was her favorite season; the leaves unveiled the colors of the sunset, the air was crisp and cool so a light jacket and a scarf kept the temperature comfortable without the overbearing weight of a winter coat; it was still as pleasant to be outside as it was to be inside.

The hotel was in the Meatpacking district; after checking in, they walked through Chelsea and she recounted important landmarks and moments of her story – the concrete building with stained glass windows where she went to high school; the stoops where she and her friends smoked weed in-between classes; the fancy restaurant that stood in the place of the local bodega that sold fried chicken for $1; the place where her first boy knelt for her. On 21st Street, she pointed out the famous venue that she frequented nearly nightly in her 20’s while aggressively pursing a career in the music industry; the bagel shop where she’d pick up breakfast nearly daily – a bagel with two fried eggs and a coffee, light and sweet, just like her – on her morning walk to the office of the sports brand she later worked for; the  the hotel bar where she met her professional athlete ex-boyfriend, the first man strong enough to let her tie him down (stumbling over the words to explain, simply told him they were ‘keeping things hot in the bedroom’ and demanded he submit). She was truly the product of both her environment and ambition – Mistress and businesswoman – two different worlds smashed together, each still sparkling in the pile of shards and when the light caught one just right, he found the reflection blinding.

They had taken a walk in Central Park. Fallen leaves crunched underfoot, beginning to decay already and the musky-sweet smell traveled lightly on the breeze. Wandering through a wooded path into the trees, they came to a clearing in which a massive tree stood, trunk thick as history, rising up and up until its leaves became indistinguishable from those of the smaller trees underneath. A circle of felled, thick branches atop smaller stakes ringed the tree, creating a fence. A sign explained that the fence protected the tree from compaction and erosion; that the surrounding trees had been halo-pruned to ensure it had enough space and light to continue to grow.

Just as the city went from day to night, they too morphed — from their casual street clothes they slid into something more sophisticated: she, a silk dress and sharp high heel booties, he, a blazer, t-shirt, dark jeans and immaculate trainers. Dinner was in the hotel restaurant, a massive, elegant dining room with lofted ceilings and dim lights, which ensured that the rest of the space – other tables, guests, distractions – dissolved as they sat down. Excellent service meant they were never left wanting, nor bothered at an inopportune time. 

She left him to settle the bill and wandered down the hall to the hotel bar, configured into a network of small rooms connected through archways, but twisted and turned enough to offer privacy to each one; she took the end room to which there was only a single entryway. In the room, curved velvet sofas faced each other with a low table formed of rich dark burls of wood and raw metal, in between. The message appearing on his mobile instructed him to bring two drinks from the bar several rooms away; he did not even need to confirm, he would unflinchingly do as she asked, but ‘Yes Miss’ echoed through his head anyway. 

He called her Miss, a term of more intimate endearment denoting their personal relationship and his position of privilege over more casual toys; other Doms that he might encounter or be sent to serve were always Mistress or whatever alternative they preferred, showing respect and humility for unfamiliar masters.

After he placed the drinks on the table in front of her, she told him to humble himself. A look of confusion passed over his face for a moment, which was met with a straight look which could not be mistaken, so he found a spot on the side of the sofa where he was less likely to be seen, knelt and leaned forward so his chest was pressed against his thighs, arms and hands out in front of him, palms down, and his face close to the floor. He hoped she would not notice that he had not actually pressed his forehead against the floor as she had trained him, but the dirty floor concerned him; with his face so close he could see the minute debris left by others. He remained in that position for what seemed like some time, but could have only been minutes, completely still except for his breathing, able only to see her stilettos occasionally moving as she shifted her weight.

Shortly thereafter, another pair of stilettos arrived and the slender ankles of another woman joined those of his Mistress. He could hear the sound of two glasses clinking together and the low murmur of conversation intentionally being kept too quiet for him to understand, words mashing together indistinctly as he strained to listen, punctuated occasionally with bright peals of laughter. Instead, he studied their shoes to distract himself, as they seemed to not notice he was there, forgotten and unused – his Mistress’ stiletto booties formed of intricate lace material and studded with silver spikes – a gift she laughingly said he bought her so she could walk all over him – and her guest in more simple black high heels, both with a recognisable red sole.

Completing their interaction, her guest left, the sounds of heels clicking against the marble floors growing more distant with her retreat.

They returned to their room; her in the lead and him just a few steps behind, but their rhythm still enabled him to open the door for her. He followed just after her, sinking to his knees just beyond the closed door. The room was dimly lit by side table lamps, the diffused light softening hard edges of two velvet sofas and a low dark table with raw metal detailing, in the center. An archway opened into the bedroom just beyond.
She stood on the balcony In the hazy darkness; the refraction of the city lights enabled her to just make out the shapes and outlines of her hands, a joint tucked between her fingers. Bringing it to her lips, she took small pull, held it in for a minute, before exhaling. Ethereal grey tendrils of smoke wove around her fingers as she inhaled, dancing as they diffused into the night sky.

A light breeze played at the edges of her silk dress, caressing her legs; she smoothed it down as the breeze whipped it up. She smoked slowly, leisurely, enjoying the view of the city laid before her, twinkling below and in the distance; the red flare at end of the joint intensifying as she drew the thick smoke deeply into her lungs.

He met her where she stood outside, offering a crystal tumbler containing an expertly mixed old fashioned. She took the glass as he knelt at her feet and she leaned on the balcony railing once again, taking another deep pull on the smoldering joint, exhaling and chasing it with a sip of the amber liquid. He was naked before her, body exposed and available, except for the silver cage between his legs. She owned all of him, including the part of his body that was a typical man’s master.

He offered her collar in both hands and asked for her permission to wear it, as their ritual went. She wrapped it around his neck purposefully.

Gazing out at the sparkling city lights, she ran her fingers through the curls in his hair, twisting them around her fingers, roughly pulling his head back, then stroked the back of his neck absentmindedly.
A knock at the door caught his attention, but he could see that his Mistress was expecting company. She glanced down at him, naked and on his knees, and walked off to get the door with him crawling more slowly behind. Next to the end of a sofa, out of sight of the door, he obediently adopted the kneeling position that had become so familiar that it seemed his body had always held it, and cast his eyes to the floor as he had been trained.

Two women entered his Mistress’ presence; he noticed that one woman’s shoes were the same ones from earlier. Once the door fell shut, one woman sank to her knees by the other woman’s side. Somehow he found himself unsurprised – through his career and having served his Mistress for quite some time, he was now able to identify the dynamic of any relationship before it was made known.

Although he knew it was against his Mistress’ rules, his curiosity about the woman still standing was overwhelming. He stole glances up her body – familiar black high heels… long legs in tight leather leggings… tucked at her waist, a figure hugging blank strappy tank… above emerged the creamy white skin of her chest and neck… short blond hair… red lipstick… elegant nose… dark piercing eyes – until he formed a somewhat blurred picture of his Mistress’ Guest. She looked familiar, but, while he was fairly confident that they had never met before, he was sure that he knew her from somewhere. The kneeling woman was dressed simply in a short black dress, back seamed stockings and heels, and her face was tilted down, eyes to the floor, hair hanging like curtains. 

The Guest was welcomed with an embrace and took a seat on one of the sofas; her submissive, introduced as her frau, immediately crawled to her side and waited.

Unsure what to do, he stayed where he was, but felt self-conscious that he was the only naked body in the room. He tried to shift his position slightly, imperceptibly, to make the silver device between his legs less noticeable – for some reason, he felt more embarrassed than if his cock was naked and exposed for all to see, rather than possessed in her silver prison.

His Mistress called room service and requested a trolley of mixers be brought to their room. Arriving shortly thereafter, the frau answered the door – since she was still fully clothed – while he remained tucked out of sight, still kneeling, still naked. 

When he had first met his Mistress, he would often respond to her summons with some challenge – too far, too inconvenient, too complex, he didn’t know how to make it happen (but obviously hadn’t spent much time thinking it through). She said that he lived his life like a man with too much money — someone who always expected others to resolve these obstacles because he was used to always having someone to do it for him. She was unsympathetic; she wasn’t going to offer solutions for his real or imagined roadblocks – it was his function to make her life more pleasurable. If he wanted it enough, he’d find a way to make it so. Their relationship humbled him; at least in this aspect of his life, he learned to serve someone other than himself – nor expect others to serve him. Without excuses, without hesitation,  he met her demands, both reasonable and unreasonable, eventually proactively anticipating and feeding her appetites. Over time, he came to know what she wanted him to do and who he was to be, but ultimately, there was really no need for him to know anything, except that she owned a part of him and that part of him would do whatever she demanded. He thought back to the tree in the park and how it was an apt metaphor for a woman who contained him, pushed him with both hands into his discomfort and created the conditions for him to grow and expand beyond who he knew himself to be.

He needed her; she wanted him. Therein lied the delta. And she had him whenever she wanted. A few words appearing on his mobile screen and he found himself at her feet without hesitation.

Her Guest gestured towards her bag and her frau brought out several bottles of high quality, small-batch bourbon, gin, and mezcal, as well as a small bell. An unusual selection perhaps, but clearly Her Guest had similarly refined taste. 

Her frau was sent off to make cocktails at the small bar tucked in a corner, while his Mistress and her Guest chatted. It felt like the room was stifling with his nakedness. Discretely, he stole glances at the two women, still trying to place from where her Guest featured in his memories, but knew regardless that he was always to be the ideal, obedient, and disciplined sub that his Mistress expected, the well trained, loyal dog, the sweet pet that she kept for fun and could show off when she wished.

When the frau returned, his Mistress took the drinks from her hands and with a gesture from the Guest, her frau adopted a perfect kneeling slave position, hands behind her head, body leaning just slightly forward so her ass was tilted up and the arc in her back accentuated the curve, legs spread apart. His Mistress lifted her dress with her shoe, pushing the fabric back to expose the frau’s rounded ass, stockings held up by garters. She rose from where she was sitting and walked around the frau, first stroking the curve of her ass gently, then pushing the fabric up  in different places, exposing more of her leg, unzipping the dress to gain access to her torso, her small breasts exposed. The frau allowed herself to be undressed, as if being unwrapped by a beautiful stranger was the most natural thing in the world, while never removing her gaze from the ground. He yearned for his Mistress to touch him like that and felt the familiar pressure of his cock pressing against the hard shape of the cage, but being unable to stiffen further.

The Guest rose and from behind her frau, wrapped a small, leather collar around her neck. Despite all his training, he couldn’t help but to seize the moment for a closer look at the Guest’s face. As soon as he did, the whole thing clicked into place. 

The Guest was a Domme whom he mentioned to his Mistress one night several months before, after stumbling across her images online. They admired the photographs together — she was undeniably beautiful after all – laughingly commenting on the misfortune that she lived in NYC. He thought nothing more of it, conversation forgotten amongst hundreds of others, but his Mistress was artful in the most unexpected ways and obviously had not. Apparently his Mistress wanted an accomplice for the evening; he was grateful for her generosity and the privilege of serving them both.

However, he did not have the pleasure of appreciating the surprise for long, as his Mistress caught him looking and decided it was time to make something more useful of him. Pushing him forward onto all fours, spreader bars were affixed between his wrists and ankles, along with a humbler between his legs. In this position, any big movements were met with uncomfortable tension.

His cock, in its tiny silver prison, hung lonely between his legs, now dangling and exposed, the greatest deception of freedom. She unceremoniously spread the cheeks of his ass and he felt a cool liquid drip into the hole before a large plug was worked in, attached to a metal hook. Wrapping straps below his ribs and across his chest, a tabletop was tightened on top of his back, a stabiliser connected between the end of the table to the plug hooked in his ass. Excess lube rolled down his leg and despite being immobilised, the urge to wipe it away rose inside him.

The plug was just large enough to be impossible to ignore, just a little too big to wrap his muscles comfortably around so felt like an ongoing violation. This undeniable feeling of fullness, the immobility, invasion and occupation of his body, humiliated him.

The frau was kept free, but a small gag with a table attachment – just about the size of the bottom of a cocktail glass – was placed in her mouth and the strap affixed around her hair. She now sat straight upright alongside him, both serving as tables.

Already familiar, he knew he would be able to hold this awkward position for some time as his Mistress had been training him over several weeks, at the time, for what he did not know.

His Mistress and her Accomplice balanced drinks on their human tables as the pair on the floor tried not to sway. The frau was tasked to refill their glasses whenever the bell was rung —  to crawl to the bar, mix the drink and then crawl back with the drink on the tiny pedestal, in an excruciatingly difficult balancing act. 
In the meantime, his Mistress stroked the inside of his leg as she chatted with her Accomplice, absentmindedly, just as people tap their fingers on the underside of a table without really noticing. HIs cock woke immediately to his Mistress’ touch, betraying him at the most inconvenient time, as it often had in the past and adding a new distraction to the challenge at hand. The gentle stroking was both ticklish and erotic, making it hard to ignore, alongside the fatigue slowly building in his arms and legs. He couldn’t comfortably lift his head without bumping the end of the table, so he let it hang, but that too was becoming heavier by the minute. Beginning to shake, at that point imperceptibly, it began to be quite challenging to hold the tabletop still.

As his Mistress was reaching for her drink, the frau caved a little bit and the glass and liquid went crashing to the floor. The glass itself had not shattered, but the sticky sweet liquor splashed on the floor and her Accomplice’s shoes.

‘Don’t worry,’ said his Mistress to her Accomplice, ‘he’s a tidy boy.’ Grabbing his face roughly to look at her, she said ‘Clean it up.’

Her Accomplice leaned back on the sofa, legs still crossed and put her shoe right in front of his face. Hesitating for a moment, he gingerly extended his tongue and began to lick her shoes clean. He dreaded moving on to the floor. 

The liquor tasted sweet, but the more he thought about what other filth her Accomplice may have walked in on the way to this encounter, and his complete inability to disobey a direct order from his Mistress, the shame rose in him – such a powerful man rendered utterly obedient to another; whatever dignity he might have had left evaporated as he realised his cock was twitching more and swelling against the cage.
The frau next to him awaited her punishment, but none came. Instead, she was stroked like a loyal pet cat, while he stiffly licked the floor, nearly immobilized by his restraints, like a crippled dog too senseless to eat the food while it was actually IN the bowl.

Regardless, he knew that his humility pleased his Mistress; she loved knowing that he was her property and challenging him to prove his commitment to his choice again and again. She took from him as if it was her right; to just take and take and take, whatever she saw fit, because he truly existed through his capacity to give to her.

The frau was, once again, sent off to the bar, tasked with fetching refills for the previously spilled drinks. She returned on her hands and knees, somehow balancing the glass on the tiny pedestal. He reflected on how well she had been trained and felt embarrassment for the feeling of stiffness spreading through his body.

Her Accomplice picked up the glass from her human table and her frau crawled off to get one for his Mistress. Seconds crawled towards minutes, time stretched with the growing discomfort in his body; waiting for the frau to return. The two women toasted ‘to life’, clinked, then sipped in unison.

However, her Accomplice looked unsettled; it was only a moment before he discovered that her frau had prepared the cocktail with a fault, a small error. Thinking back, he tried to remember if her Accomplice had actually requested something specific or simply expected her frau to divine this detail, but it was clear that regardless, her service was faulty.

‘As our Guest, my boy will bear the punishment for your frau this evening,’ he heard his Mistress tell her Accomplice; his fate suddenly, inextricably linked together with this young stranger.

Internally, he cringed, uneasiness washing over him, wondering if she had observed any of his transgressions earlier that evening, but declined to raise them in the moment only to make him suffer now for displeasing her; however, equally, he knew that she might just be punishing him because it amused her to see him suffer.

The air in the room contracted, the evening tensed; now he knew there would be corrections forthcoming, but not what shape they would take, how much or how long. He would long for the conclusion if he wasn’t aching to serve his Mistress’ desires so thoroughly instead.

His Mistress called him over – he was still stiffly framed with spreader bars and tabletop, ass violated to keep them steady, humbler pulling his tender balls backward between his legs. He crawled slowly to her. Despite being mostly immobilized, the little moment in his limbs felt good.

To his further embarrassment, she removed the small silver key from her neck and instructed her Accomplice’s frau to free him from his cage. A look of uneasiness passed over the frau’s face – she clearly did not want to handle this stranger’s cock, especially as it was clear that it was already fighting to be free, expanded with flesh pressing through the bars.

She fumbled around until she got the cage off; he instantly wanted to offer to do it for her, so she wouldn’t be forced to touch a total stranger in such an intimate way, but he knew that they both would have obeyed their respective masters regardless and the other by proxy.

From the drawer of the desk, his Mistress produced some thick beige rubber bands and gave a few to the frau, telling her to wrap them around his cock. The frau hesitated, clearly unsure about further touching this helpless stranger, as well as her clear awareness that this was not going to result in any kind of positive outcome for him.

He felt her small hands touch him, fumbling with his cock, now half erect – he was unsure if he should be turned on or afraid – wrapping the rubber bands around it. His initial reaction was that she seemed tentative, perhaps inexperienced with touching a man, but then scolded himself – perhaps she simply did not want to touch a man she did not know so intimately – but she managed to wrap the bands so they did not fall off. They were tight enough that he could not ignore them, but not exactly painful.

His Mistress and her Accomplice had already gone back to ignoring them as soon as the order was given as if he had already taken up too much of the evening’s attention. The frau was again sent off to make drinks and returned to the two women’s laughter chiming on the sofa above. She was sent off for some snacks. Once again, time crawled as if it too had been subjugated by his Mistress; the bands around his cock feeling tighter and tighter.

[To be continued…]


error: Content is protected !!