Today we finish up Richard’s piece which he’s so generously shared with Zen Fetish.

If you haven’t done so already, be sure to read Part I and Part II before continuing. It’s been interesting reading commentary/reaction to the first two parts, which seems to reflect a bit of confusion regarding Richard’s purpose in writing this bit of “specualtive D/s Fiction.”

But it really isn’t that complicated. As Richard explains (click link to read more): “I wrote it many years ago to give dominant women that I met online a picture of my perception of Femdom relationships.” Anyway, let’s see how this “Imaginary Femdom Encounter” turns out:

Fantasy Mistress: Part III

As I went up the walkway I wondered how she’d test me today. And what the tests proved. And when they’d end. We actually exchanged a fair amount of email before she’d agreed to see me. We shared complimentary appetites: she like to do to men what I wanted done to me (or at least I thought: since I’d never done any of it I didn’t really know).

The door opened for the third time.

“Go to the back yard and wait for me.”

As I did so I wondered if she was going to have me mow or lawn. The fear of something like that dampened my enthusiasm but I couldn’t bring myself to stop now.

She walked out. Dressed in a pullover top, cut-off jeans, and cheap rubber sandals, “flip flops” my mother used to call them. She’d always been dressed casually before but I’d been too hyped up to really notice the actual clothes.

She went over to a pick-nick table made of greenish wood.

“Sit here. Put your right hand’s palm down on the table.”

As I complied I noticed a wooden ruler in her hand.

“You are to keep your hand flat. I’m going to give you ten strokes. If that is too much for you leave and don’t come back.”

I barely had time to steel myself before the first slap hit. But it wasn’t that bad. At first. By the fifth stroke it really stung. My fingers felt like I might not be doing much with them tomorrow but it was almost over. I thought. An eleventh stroke hit me. A twelfth. With the thirteenth she turned the ruler so the edge cut into my fingers.

I yanked my hand away.

When I realized what I’d done I wanted to cry. I’d failed and would have to leave. But when I looked at her she looked pretty pleased.

“Don’t worry, you weren’t supposed to be able to take the last one. Once you got past the first ten you’d passed the test. The others were to teach you that no matter what I say I’m going to do I can still do whatever I want.”

“You have one last test. Come with me.” Shortly we were back in the room whose corner I’d knelt in. This time there was a big wicker plantation style chain in the center. She sat in it.

“Come here, may kneel in front of me. Remember you still aren’t to speak.”

So excited I was trembling I did.

“You have no idea how many men want to be where you are now. But they don’t really want it badly enough. They don’t really want to serve.

“The first day you proved you were willing to work for you place in my service. Yesterday you showed enough determination to withstand boredom which was a much harder test. Today you had your first taste of pain. I like hurting men. If you hadn’t been able to take it you wouldn’t be suitable for me. This is your last test.

“You won’t think it hard when I tell you but it will take all of your willingness work work and to keep on even if you get bored or tired.

“I am very, very slow to orgasm. Your last test is to satisfy me with your tongue. You probably think this is a big treat.” She was right about that.

“But it will take longer than you think. If you manage it we’ll do all the things we wrote to each other about. Otherwise, you won’t have made the grade.”

Standing up she pulled off her top and dropped her shorts. She sat back down. Gesturing at her cunt she said “Get to work, slave.”

She was right. It was long. It was wonderful at first. Then it took all my determination to keep going. At the end it was wonderful again. And then I was hers.

***

What this story says to me more than anything is that Richard is most definitely not a wannabe sub. He is the REAL DEAL. And it also tells me that he is truly deserving of the title, Submissive Savant.

In the very near future I will be featuring another “fantasy” penned by Richard. A bit different than this one. Quite intriguing and of interest to more than a few of my callers and readers.

xo, Angela

By Richard,

Submissive Savant to the Stars (er, one Super Nova).

Read Part I

My First Mistress: Part II

She opened the door and put her fingers to her lips to indicate that I wasn’t to speak.

“Follow me.”

We went through mildly snazzy but pretty conventional living room to a side room that I suspected had been a breakfast room. It was completely empty.

She looked me in the eye and I felt a mild shiver pass up my spine.

“Go in the corner,” she pointed, “and get on your knees facing the corner and keep your hands at your sides.”

I complied getting very exciting wonder what she was going to do to me.

“You will stay there until told otherwise. Keep your eyes facing the corner, your arms where they are and your mouth shut. If you decide to stop before told you just leave the house and do not come back.”

I heard her leave the room.

A few minutes passed. Then several. Then I couldn’t guess how long I’d been there. Minutes started to seem awfully long. Sometimes I thought I saw the wall move. My knees were hurting and my ankles were sore.

I started to get mad. This was awfully boring. But I didn’t dare move. I’d hungered to be trained for a long time and she was the first who ever offered to do so.

I might as well have been chained there even if the chains were only in my mind and of my own making.

Finally after an eternity that I later was told was only 90 minutes she was back in the room.

“Get up and face me.” I almost fell and legs were wobbly but I was up in a flash.

Her expression was unreadable. It couldn’t decide if she looked grim, amused or maybe even mildly approving.

“Go but you may come back tomorrow at the same time.”

I left softly shutting her front door.

I’d washed her car. I’d been bored almost to tears. None of it had been even faintly erotic. I could not guess what tomorrow would bring. But looking inside myself I knew that having been forced to conform to another’s arbitrary commands had given me some satisfaction.

But I did wonder how many more tests I’d have to pass.

***

Now this is starting to get interesting, dontcha think? I can’t wait to see what happens next.

Stay tuned for Part III.

Oh. FYI: Richard has yet another up & coming website breaching the waters of WebTopia: BDSM Reference. While still in its embryonic stage, I do believe it will grow up to be quite an interesting addition to the BDSM community. And remember, folks. You heard it here first.

xo, Angela

So Richard, cherished Savant and venerated Web-Chronicler of all things submissive, shared with me a few days back that he has occasionally dabbled in the fine art of writing fantasy. He says it’s not erotica (“This isn’t erotica. I wrote it many years ago to give dominant women that I met online a picture of my perception of Femdom relationships.”), but….

I say it is. What do you guys think?

My First Mistress – Part 1

When I came to her house I was a little surprised by the size. She lived alone but it was large enough for a largish family. Big yard too. Otherwise it was a plain suburban west Durham house.

When I got to the door I tightened my stomach muscles trying to tame the partying butterflies that had moved in there. As instructed I knocked three times. About half a minute later the door opened. For a split second I thought I’d faint.

She was wearing sunglasses. I couldn’t see her eyes and my feelings of intimidation took another jump. Not wanting to look like a gawking fool (probably already too late) I started to introduce yourself.

“I -.”

“I know who you are.” She sounded impatient but out of habit than actually annoyed. “Don’t speak, just nod. You saw my car as you came in.” It was under a carport. I nodded. “Go wash it. If you aren’t going to do a good job you might as well leave now. When you’re done come back and knock at the door.” She shut the door.

She’d told me I’d have to pass a few tests. I’d been expecting something more exciting. It was probably proof of my desperate need that without hesitating I went over to the car.

There was a hose, clothes car wash and wax. I don’t own a car so I was a little lost at first. But my father used to make me wash his car when I was a teen. I hated doing that with a passion. I could almost believe that, Joan – that was her name, had read my memories when she picked this chore.

I scrubbed the car twice, including the hubcaps and tag areas. It was hot and it was tiring. But waxing was even worse. I was so afraid it wouldn’t look right I kept buffing and buffing until my arms ached. Finally it was as good as I could do and I hoped good enough.

Back at the door I waited a couple of minutes until she answered my knock. She wasn’t wearing the shades so I could see her very intelligent intense looking dark eyes. She had a few worry lines etched into her forehead but they only added to her look of smart competence. She was tall probably about five inches less than my 6’3″. She was skinny, almost boney but I don’t know that her body could’ve matter I was so sucked in by her eyes.

But she was only there for a moment. “Come back tomorrow at the same time.” The door shut.

I felt like I should be disappointed but I wasn’t. But I sure hoped tomorrows test would be less strenuous.

***

Stay tuned for Part II.

xo, Angela

I kinda-sorta-maybe have a thing for shoes. The latest additions to my ever-growing Fetish Shoe Closet:

Aren’t they just adorable? Can you imagine all the fun we could have with these? Yum Yum! Even the shoe boxes are adorable.

Oh, and the shoe line? SEDUCE by Pleaser.

Wanna see me wearing them?

xo, Angela

Pervert Savant sends the following email.

Subject: Pulp Fiction for the Jaded

Dearest Angela:

I’ve been thinking.

My contribution to “Pulp Porn” would be an elaboration on a new idea that has been percolating in my fevered brain. “Phone Sex Pimp Daddy” — a bare-knuckled tell-all expose about a middle-aged white office worker who, one day, decides to become a PPP (“Phone Sex Pimp).

Follow him as he gathers his stable of phone sex whores — preying on innocent intellectual women, corrupting them, buying their bifocals, encouraging them to read books, forcing them to speak in grammatical sentences and then, when they have nothing left, requiring them to slave away at phone banks in dingy offices, dingier apartments, and still dingier trailer parks, plying their trade until they’re used up and hoarse — enslaved and willing to give all their hard earned profits to their pimp, (a man who is known on the avenue as “NiteFlirt”).

He’s their “Phone Sex Daddy!” You can do the screenplay. I’d want a percentage of the take from the movie, of course.

Sincerely,

Pervert Q. Savant

What do you think? Should I go for it? Write that screenplay and share the wealth with this rascal of a guy? I think he has the talent. Certainly the gumption. Or maybe I should write the book and the screenplay. Reap the bounty myself?

Or maybe I’ll just ignore this silliness and buy a membership to Tit-Elation.

Which reminds me: One of my stories, Tying up Amy was featured via Tit-Elation at Samarel Erotic Art.

And for those who emailed and/or commented on yesterday’s entry, I am fine. I really am. Just rolling with the punches. Thanks so much.

xo, Angela