Like oil over water

Femdom erotica

HE ARRIVED a few minutes after her. Standing at the entranceway, bundled in a jacket and scarf, her umbrella pooled raindrops at her feet. She smiled when she saw him approach, looping her arm through his and directed him through the doorway. 

They checked in at the front desk, giving fake names because it never mattered anyway. Led down a black staircase by a tidy woman in a grey spa uniform, they were directed to the respective dressing areas; street clothes were exchanged for swimwear, small possessions were left behind as they explored the space. 

Dark and moody, atmospheric, the spa was all slick black tiles and low lighting. Thoughtfully organised with plenty of quiet nooks, the considered design offered the demanding clientele places to relax and be alone. They could hear the patter of their footsteps as they walked, but only the faint echo of a few other voices, distant, removed.

Glass doors to their right and left reflected blurry silhouettes and to anyone else, they would have seemed a couple like any other. However, it’s often things too subtle to notice, things that seem so natural that they don’t stand out. Her grip on his arm was leading; he followed several steps behind. 

In the first room, whirls of steam obscured the air, moisture slicking the tiled walls and floor; they were greeted with a blast when they opened the door to step through and a quiet hissing as the room refilled and regained its temperature.

She sat on the black tiled bench inset into the wall and for a moment, he sat alongside her. Leaning her body into his, she could feel his breath quicken with her closeness, but he never felt right when he found himself alongside her — only under her or at her feet. Knowing his place and where he wanted to be, he moved into a more appropriate position, kneeling on the damp floor.

Resting her feet on his thighs, she leaned back into the hot damp wall and felt some of life’s pressures begin to dissipate. 

She moved her foot onto his chest and nudged him gently. Instinctively, he caught her foot in his hands and kissed, first gently, then more urgently as his feelings awoke; his lips caressing her arches and soles and working his way up her legs, kissing and licking the mixture of sweat and moisture from her smooth skin, until he was leaning his chest against her legs and his head lay on her lap. 

She scratched from the top of his back, along his neck, leaving reddened pathways, tangling her hands in his hair, and pulled his face back roughly so he was looking at her. The reddened welts stung in the steam, but he kept his eyes affixed to hers.

She looked into his eyes for a long moment, searching, while he fought the urge to avert them. She found his submission to be a beautiful thing; the mask of daily life shattered to expose his humility and desire laid bare, raw and honest. It was a piece of himself that he kept hidden, something only she was allowed to see, something she wholly-owned, and the intimacy of it moved her every time. 

She pinched his nipples, first softly, then more roughly, spurred on by his moans; rubbing the side of her foot against his cock, caged, hidden underneath the shorts. She knew he was already straining, but his discomfort was another confirmation of all that he would take for her. Pushing him back so he was resting once again on his knees, she then nudged him down until he was lying on the hot, damp floor. She sat on top of him, her wet skin glistening, then leaned her body close so that they were chest to chest. The heft of her body on top of him felt so slight, but this belied how this petite woman held so much weight for him. When she was this close, her weight on him, light as a feather, was such that he could barely breathe. 

His hands instinctively found their way to the sides of her legs, ensuring she stayed steady on top. She bit his chest, leaving two purple welted half-moons, nearly touching, before licking and biting up his neck. 

‘Mine’, she whispered in his ear, chest to chest, her small body cradled perfectly on his larger frame. ‘Everything you ever need will be fulfilled from My body.’ 

She leaned in to kiss him, first running her tongue gently across his lips, then biting the lower one while he moaned into her mouth. He could taste a slightly metallic stickiness when she pulled away.

She pressed herself upon his body and him into the floor further. The tiles were hot and wet and hard, but he felt that at any moment, he would be absorbed right into them. Sitting directly on top of his hips, cock cage hard against her ass, he instinctively raised his knees to her back, forming his body into her throne. She placed her feet on top of his face, leaning back against his knees. He kissed then, licked them hungrily, but she pulled them away, teasing before slipping her toes into his mouth. 

Drops of water and sweat rolled down her wet skin; she could feel them caress her faintly, tracing paths like the fingertips of a lover. 

‘Open your mouth.’ 

He did. 

She stood up and allowed the drops to roll down her leg, dropping them into his open mouth. He lie below obediently accepting.

She took his hand and pulled him up. He followed her silently out of the room and towards the whirlpool; she led the way, holding him by his wrist, walking down the recessed stairs that led directly into the dark water. Wading to a corner, a comfortable nook was chosen and he turned the jets on so they whirled tumultuous white water around the pair.

‘Come closer.’

He moved closer. 

‘Closer.’

Inches from her body now. She reached out with her legs and pulled him in, so his body was pressed to hers. Keeping her legs around him, she controlled his range of distance, but he’d never pull away. His cock cage pressed against her clit, as she pulled his hips closer to hers. She kissed his neck again, biting the sensitive, soft spot under his chin, feeling his breath catch in his chest, a little gasp. She kept her face close. He could feel her breath on his skin as he waited for her to move, but she just paused for a moment and he could hear the rush of the water around them, but nothing more. Her hand was on the back of his neck, stroking, scratching, gently, fingers finding their way into his hair and pulling his head roughly backward. Her fingers stroked his throat, the tender spots that were equally vulnerable and turned him on. He loved being in her control, but his desire to submit was sometimes so strong that it scared him; as if he was already underneath the water, suffocating while he waited for her touch, to serve her desires, none of it was enough. 

The pads of her fingers traced the hollows of his throat until he found she was squeezing. He suppressed the urge to close his eyes and let the moment wash over him, but he knew that she liked to watch, to see his eyes struggle with the complex emotions; the instinctive fear he felt, but knew he shouldn’t; the desire for her to know she owned all of him including his right to breath; the heat that boiled in him wanting her body. If he could crawl underneath her skin, he would still never feel close enough to her. He could only ever truly breathe when she was near, so he let her take his breath away whenever she wished to. 

Free to taste him, control him, use him as she wished; he knew that he belonged to her. 

The tiles, rushing water, her face, her eyes, all disappeared and reappeared, depending on her will and the pressure with which she squeezed the tender spots on his throat. He tried to stay present, to look attentive, as he knew she expected, but he was not in control of his body. He noticed the water droplets on her face, periodically rolling down her cheek along her neck and into her cleavage, as if in slow motion.

She pulled his face close again. 

‘Open your mouth. This hole belongs to me.’

Mouth open, tongue slack just behind his parted lips. She kissed him again, nudging his lips further apart, coaxing his tongue into her mouth. She sucked it gently for a moment, then bit down and he moaned, a mixture of pain and pleasure which instantly turned her on. Her hand stroked his throat again, while his cock throbbed, trying to escape its cage, now painfully too small under her touch. He kissed her fingertips, one by one, then took each in his mouth, running his tongue over each pad. She pushed them into his mouth and farther down his throat than he would have wished, violating his comfort, but he accepted them and submitted to her invasion.

She pulled him close, bodies pressed together in a few places, skin to skin, bones, and flesh interlocked like multi-dimensional puzzle pieces. 

They stayed like that for some time, in quiet, close conversation, oblivious to others coming and going from other nooks nearby. When she once again led the way and they waded out of the whirlpool towards the heat of the sauna, their fingertips had shriveled into tight uncomfortable whirls like raisins.

On the way in, he picked up the shock collar and affixed it to his leg on the inside of his thigh where it hurt him most. She owned all of him, even his most tender spots.

The sauna was sweltering, a dry heat that made it hard to breathe; in one instance, drying the water from the whirlpool, in the next, a fresh sweat slicked their skin. He had brought a small bucket of ice from the ever-renewing ‘ice fountain’ immediately outside. 

Standing at relaxed attention, in a slave’s waiting position, as taught and perfected when they had first met,  she inspected her property with the shock remote in her hand.

‘Kiss me while I hurt you and tell me you want more.’ 

Quick and sharp, with the first shock his body seized for a second before recovering; the electric pain dancing and spreading through his muscles and across his sweaty skin. The second shock caused him to crumple slightly, again, only for a second. She knew exactly how much he could take and pushed him each time before allowing him to crawl back from the edge.

Pressing through the pain, he put his lips to hers, kissing deeply as he knew she liked to be kissed and tried not to jump when the shocks came. She stood impossibly close to him, body brushing against his as she walked around, assessing his form, his posture, his reactions.  Periodically pressing up against his back, side or chest to chest, molding her curves to fit his. He leaned his face into her neck, kissing as she shocked him. 

‘I want more’, he breathed into her damp skin. 

She shocked him. 

‘Please Miss.’ 

He didn’t know if he was begging for more or for her to stop but was glad that the choice was not in his hands. 

She pulled his swimsuit down roughly so that his hips and silver cage were exposed for all to see, but the room was empty. His cheeks still flushed, knowing that she would have done the same even if there was an audience. His discomfort was irrelevant in the face of whatever she wanted. 

She drew a tiny key from around her neck and unlocked him, pulling the metal cage from his cock roughly. No kindness there. His cock was so hard, it felt bruised from pressing against its prison for so long. Wanting to look down and assess if this was real or only in his imagination, he knew better than to avert his attention from her to his cock. She slapped his cock hard just because she could and by then he was dripping from the abuse. Slapping him again, his juices smeared on her small hands, so she stuck her fingers roughly in his mouth again and he licked them clean. He hoped that he wouldn’t accidentally drip on the ground, knowing that she’d make him clean that mess up off the floor too.

Leading him to a bench, she pushed him to his knees on top of it. The hot, unfinished wood felt like it was burning his skin, but he remained dutifully in position. Kneeling on the elevated bench, he was eye to eye with his Master.  

‘Down’, she ordered. He lay down, back against the sweltering wood. He resisted the urge to move from the exposure, knowing that it would cool shortly and his discomfort was only temporary. She climbed on top of him again, his cock rock hard underneath her body, burning where the hot nylon of her swimsuit touched it, her skin only slightly cooler. 

Taking some of the ice cubes from the bucket, she held them in her mouth until they fully melted, then nudged his lips apart with hers and let the water trickle from her mouth. He drank greedily, as she repeated this a few times, giving him sustenance in the suffocating heat. 

And with his thirst temporarily satiated, she commanded him back to the floor, kneeling and waiting, fingers intertwined behind his head, body alert, shoulders back, knees apart, and cock standing at attention. 

She spread a towel on the elevated wooden bench at mid-level – her skin would never be scorched – and positioned herself on top, one leg dangling lazily off the side. From his position, he could see only her small foot and ankle, hanging at eye level, while the rest of her body was obscured above. After all this time of knowing her, bending to her will, sometimes even breaking, she often seemed obscure. Trying to decipher her was like tuning an old radio — slowly winding the knob to get past the static, occasionally hearing snatches of a song that sounds somewhat familiar, but when turning the dial further it fades back into the white noise. The more he believed he knew her, the more elusive she became. 

Maybe he didn’t get her, but as much as he desperately wanted to, maybe he didn’t need to.  She knew him. Imagine someone wanting to know you, just so they can discover exactly how you need to be loved. 

Their encounters were an archive of longings; he never knew when he’d be summoned, where, if she’d use him or make him suffer through disuse – but he hungered for more. Never knowing if he’d ever hear from her again, the silence was oppressive as he waited between encounters, memories increasingly elusive as the days passed, but the yearning grew. He knew he would always come when beckoned, just another of her demands to which he was unable to say no. It was through her he discovered that everything he wanted was on the other side of fear.  It was once said ‘We love the things that destroy us, because in that destruction, we truly feel alive.’

Kneeling obediently, he heard her breath deepen and quicken; his cock got harder as he imagined her touching herself while he felt the creeping fear of obsolesce on the floor, desperately wanting the reward of serving further, deeper. As her moans filled the heated air, he was reminded that as much as he yearned for her, she did not need him at all. For years, men chose to render themselves irrelevant to her; now she considered them negligible. Just a temporary distraction from her busy world, one he’d never know or have the privilege of truly being part of. Nothing but a toy, a treasured one indeed, but in the same way that young children have their favorites, she would inevitably, eventually outgrow him too. 

When she climaxed, he heard the familiar sound of the breath catching in her chest as the pleasure fluttered through her body.

The room was still for a moment; she rose, climbing down from her lofty position. She leaned over and before slipping out the door, whispered in his ear:

‘Thank you for the inspiration.’


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