Love Letter to a Femdom

From the first time I saw you I knew I was helpless. Defeated. It wasn’t like being excited, or infatuated. It wasn’t like other things. You arrived in my consciousness with a finality that made me feel like everything that was to come was an epilogue.

When you told me what you were, what you “liked” as you put it, I could tell you felt like you were divulging a secret but to me it was like speaking a profound and honest truth that barely needed to be said— “Water is wet.” “Sunshine is warm.” and “I am a femdom.”

At the time I didn’t really know what that meant, I didn’t understand in the way I do now, but a part of me knew exactly what you meant and how worthy you were of that title. If I’m honest I expected more… I don’t know, cruelty or… or something, and at first I thought of it as something I’d involve myself with out of grace and indulgence, something I would tolerate and humor because I loved you. I would take the pain. I would bear it, as a gift. But as time went on I found little by little that you were showing me what I was too.

We talked a lot in those early days about what was okay, about what would hurt and what would hurt, and the more we talked the more comfortable I became with the strangest things, the more my willingness and my boundaries grew with my trust. I came to know you, and to trust the heart that carried you through all the things to which you would subject me.

Your darkness wasn’t black, wasn’t heavy, wasn’t suffocating. As I looked and as I came to understand I saw a galaxy of deepest blues and purples and reds in you, saw the shine that catches the light like in a bottle of ink. I saw the richness in your depths, and like the bottom of the ocean I saw the clarity and cool in the waters of the murky abyss.

So I was ready. I was ready even as my instinct and body resisted, when it came time for you to enslave me.

It was simple at first.

“I want to give you a spanking,” you had said. And I almost laughed. Oh brother, right? And I took down my jeans, laying myself over your thighs, and I thought, fine, and for the first few smacks of your hand I thought the whole thing was silly. But then something happened.

You had slowed down, almost stopped, and I thought maybe you were finished, but in the split second that I decided to turn back to look at you you grabbed my underwear, the tight little black trunks you like with the white waistband, and you yanked them up into my ass before slapping me four times in a row, quickly, sharply. It took me completely by surprise and I looked back at you, and you snapped, “Head down!” as you hit me again, hard.

To my own surprise I did exactly as you commanded without hesitation, and as it went on I was suddenly heightened, expectant, and nervous. Your strikes began splitting through my mind as I felt the fabric pull against my hips and wedge into my asshole, and I felt my dick being tucked snugly into the shrinking pocket of my y-fronts. It was almost like you were grabbing it, but I could feel your fist on the small of my back and the sting of your other hand. You were lifting my hips off of your legs just the slightest fraction of an inch, and the sensation made me feel completely suspended and controlled by you.

When you suddenly stopped, apparently satisfied with your work, I couldn’t believe how much I craved the next smack and how little I wanted it to be over. My body was still but I felt like I was shaking from the waist down. I wanted you to throw me on the ground, wanted you to tackle me and wrestle me and push me around. I wanted to feel your strength and your dominance. I wanted more.

I had no idea you would bring that out in me, that I would respond so strongly to such a simple act, but from there it was only a matter of time.

A few days after that you put me at your feet for the first time, and that too took me completely by surprise. I didn’t realize until it was over what a significant moment that was in our relationship, how significant it was in the course of my life, but I remember I was down on the floor, on my knees already because I was looking under the couch for something, and you were dangling your slippers in a way that I now would know meant you were feeling the urge.

I pulled back my head from looking and in a flash you dropped your slipper, flexed back your toes, and stuck the thick, dirty cotton of your socks against my cheek. I didn’t laugh this time. I felt it immediately, the same combination of shock, fear, trust, and embarrassment. I knew you had me in your sights again, and that something was beginning.

I turned to look up at you, past those pajama bottoms you always wear, and you didn’t smile, didn’t sneer. You just raised your eyebrows and slowly brought your heel to my chin, laying your sole across my face and resting your toes on my forehead. You held the other one up so I could see, turning it back for a moment to inspect it yourself, and I couldn’t believe I was feeling myself swell beneath you. There was something so definite and matter-of-fact about your attitude, about the way you presented them, that I knew it would be futile to resist.

I felt myself tremble as a strange light bloomed in my consciousness, and I almost shook as you brought your other foot to my face. You pushed my head back and reflexively my hands reached for your ankles but without being told I stopped them and laid them back in my lap. It was almost as if I could feel them bound together.

When you made me sniff something screamed in my mind, unable to comprehend, and when I breathed you in I reeled as the stink hit me. But the stronger part of me felt so compelled by your power, so enraptured by your grace, and I felt determined to please you.

It was humbling and humiliating, and I felt the same way I did when you spanked me. I wanted to show you my commitment and devotion. Wanted you to test me. Wanted you to do your worst.

By the time I first took your strapon I had learned to revel in your power and in my subjection, to appreciate the glory and comfort in giving myself to you. You didn’t even have to suggest it. We were laying in bed one night ready to fall asleep, and I felt you against my back, felt the gentleness of your strength, and in the quiet stillness I said it, speaking the same truth you had when all this started. “I want for you to fuck me.”

You hardly even responded but I could tell you were smiling, and you squeezed me tighter and kissed my neck.

When the night finally came and you mounted me, me lying on my back with my knees up, it was dark but I felt I could see you so clearly. And yet, my senses were heightened and I felt I was seeing you with my body.

I wasn’t scared. Wasn’t nervous. But I couldn’t say I was calm. Instead it felt like a rain beginning, my whole atmosphere bathed in cold and swollen mist, and as you nestled between my legs I could nearly feel the sprinkles on my face. I felt you press against me and I could almost hear the heavy drops beginning to beat the distant ground.

“Ah,” I said, I sighed, I whispered. “Oh.” You pushed and suddenly I was opening up to receive you, and I felt the hard, stiff plastic of your girlcock filling me up. A sweet light overwhelmed me, and I heaved as I breathed and focused on relaxing, letting you in deeper.

“Oh fuck! Oh Christ! Oh god!”

I felt the head slip in and I took you deeper still, unable to believe it, in awe of you and failing to comprehend. I was sure you were almost there, and I wanted to feel your crotch and your harness against my cheeks, but I reached down to feel you and found I still had half of it to go.

It made no sense, and I knew I couldn’t take any more, and a part of me was ashamed I couldn’t take it all the first time. I wanted to be a good slut for you, but I was taking all I could, and I could feel my cum rushing through me like my penis was a tap that just needed switching on.

I plead with you to cum, and you agreed, and you only had to pump me three times before my orgasm spilled out of me so easily, and I gushed and twitched and almost wanted to cry.

It wasn’t until later that you actually fucked me, actually dominated me with your feet, actually beat me, and actually made me into your filthy little slaveboy. But now that you’ve made me your bitch, pushed me to such depths, and come so completely to own and control me, I’ll always remember those first times fondly, always think of them with joy.

You are a femdom. I am a slave.

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