Domme vs. Santa

Love this! From Flickr user Jean-Luc Diabolique

And may I remind you that She’s on Top: Erotic Stories of Female Dominance and Male Submission makes a perfect holiday gift for that special submissive man or loving domme in your life?

And guess what I’m doing this weekend? Proofreading Yes, Ma’am so it can be sent off to the printers!

Here’s a little snippet of Chris Cooper’s story “Exhibit A” from Yes, Ma’am for you:

I snap back to the present as a waiter clad in only a pair of Speedo-tight pants comes by with flutes of champagne. I, of course, don’t even think of taking one, but the hostess does, her long, red nails clinking against the skinny glass. She’s the belle of the kinky ball, dressed in a stunning silver latex gown that hugs every gorgeous curve of her tall, generous body. Once again, I see my mistress across the room, also elegant in a black silk dress loosely draped against her, blood-red shoes raising her several inches off the ground. Save for that brief ocular warning, she seems to be studiously ignoring me while I stand shackled here, unable even to lightly stroke my dick. The torment is both agony and fantasy fulfillment at once. The hostess peers around the room, surveying her shining sea of dommes, smiling slightly to herself as she takes a small sip of champagne. My cock is going wild as I slyly steal glances at her. Her home is everything mine isn’t, not only separated by a borough—hers on Central Park West, mine deep in the bowels of Brooklyn—but by class, taste, comfort. Hers is elegance personified and I wonder what her husband (because there’s got to be one behind this whole setup) knows or thinks about her little soiree.

My staring must have subtly alerted her attention because she turns around and beams her all-seeing eyes into me. She penetrates me with her gaze until I look down, properly reverential. Mistress Karen has told me to do what any woman here asks of me; my orders from her are to treat these women, every last one, as my dommes for the day. My cock is theirs, no questions asked. She told me this earlier while fucking my face with a huge black dildo, her melodic voice drifting down to my ears as I dutifully swallowed the massive toy, feeling my dick jerk each time its head scraped the back of my tongue, so I may have missed some of the subtleties of what she was imparting.

I swallow hard, vowing to be everything she wants me to be, to live up to her standards and impress her friends. I’m not sure if they are all serious players like us, or professionals, or women who just want to capture a little of the power their husbands wield with the snap of their fingers. These are women who trade in fur coats, fancy lunches, and fast fucks in high-end hotels, who travel in a world of luxury I can only vaguely imagine. The thought of being Mistress Karen’s full-time slave has passed through my mind before, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that, or if she is. I spend most of my free time with her when she’ll have me, but sometimes I need to retreat to my crash pad, my old futon and comforter slapped against the corner of a stark room, my meager belongings putting me back into the world I’ve always known.

The next thing I know, the hostess is standing before me, her gaze landing at my chin. She’s in shiny black heels and sheer black stockings in addition to the dazzling dress, the first things I see from my view with my head down. I’m grateful Mistress Karen has secured my arms over my head, because they’re already getting tired. Hostess steps closer so the latex of her dress is almost touching the extended hairs on my legs. “You make a nice piece of artwork on my wall, kind of a living sculpture,” she mused, trailing a long red nail from my hip up my flat stomach toward one erect nipple. She rakes her pointy talon over my bud, causing an exhalation of breath. “It’s too bad you look so lonely over here,” she says, now pinching my nipple between two fingers, tugging on it. I glance upward enough to see her lips curving into a smile that gets bigger the harder she pulls on my nipple. I don’t wince, even though my body quivers where she’s touching me.

“I enjoy it, Ma’am. I want to be accessible to all the women here, just like Mistress Karen told me to be.”

“Forget about Mistress Karen,” she says, twisting my nipple even more fiercely. Before I even sneak a peek toward the rest of the room, I know they’re all watching us curiously. Their chatter has quieted down from its previous din as they wait to see what she’ll do to me.

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One Response to “Domme vs. Santa”

  1. shy Says:

    wow, You really want me to buy this book, don’t You? 😉

    both of the excerpts You have published here have set my heart racing. i’ve daydreamed of scenarios like these two!

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