FemDom – Not Just for Sissy Boys
I have written a few femdom short stories and a novel (Princess, Tough Guy and The Story of Owen, respectively). These were a departure for me, an admitted sub girl who gets all tingly at the thought of a strong, dominating alpha male who knows what I need without me having to spell it out.
Like most of my readers, I’m a romantic at heart. Even my dark ‘n dirties contain an element of, if not romance, the possibility of, or at least the longing for, love, however misplaced. I want the guy to be strong and virile, the kind of man who will ride in on his horse, metaphorical or otherwise, and sweep me up into the saddle, his muscular arms secure on either side of me as we dash off into the sunset.
So why, you might ask, would I write about a submissive male’s journey? What intrigues me as an author and as a romantic, about the psyche of a man who craves a woman’s control, a woman’s direction, in matters of the body and heart? I think the answer lies in the same place where my m/m stories derive, as well as my non-cons and dub-cons. I like to put myself into the mind of someone who is different from myself, sometimes radically different (as in the evil, crazy guy who abducts the girl and thinks his brand of torture and control can somehow masquerade as love), and sometimes just a different approach to the same subject (a gay man in love, or a submissive man seeking connection).
When I write a story from a male submissive’s perspective, I try never to lose sight of the fact he is a man, first and foremost. I don’t write about feminized boys, though I appreciate this is a serious genre in its own right. But, probably because of my romance roots, I like to keep my men strong, brave and appealing to women. Hence, my sub guys are not pussy boys or sissy boys. They are strong and sexy. They are courageous, because when you think about it, it takes a certain kind of bravery for a man to admit his desire, his need, to be dominated by a woman. He risks being labeled as weak, as feminine, as somehow less than a man, by those who have no understanding of submissive longings. Subs don’t ask to be this way, any more than gay people ask to be gay. It’s how we’re hardwired, that’s my belief. Finding the courage to accept and embrace one’s orientation is the first step to happiness.
The first paragraph of chapter one of The Story of Owen (and yes, it’s a play on the timeless BDSM tale: The Story of O) opens with a sense of Owen’s longing to connect, to admit his needs, to find the woman who can fulfill them:
Owen wiped the sweat from his upper lip and shifted in his chair, willing his erection to subside. As he stared at the scene before him, his yearning was suddenly almost too big to contain. The sudden, fierce need to feel the sting of a whip and the grip of strong rope and chain moved through Owen with such raw intensity he had to clench his hands into fists and press them hard against his thighs. How he longed to kneel naked with head bowed, ready, willing, desperate to do the bidding of the woman who would dominate not only his body, but his heart.
The story follows his submissive journey, as he finally finds the courage to explore the secret essence of himself that he has denied for so long. When he meets Mistress Sylvie, a woman he pays to teach him about BDSM, the reader realizes from the beginning he’s going to fall in love, even if he does not yet know it:
Mistress Sylvie wrapped her fingers around his right biceps and squeezed lightly. “Nice,” she commented with obvious approval. “You work out, I see.”
“I swim, Mistress Sylvie. And do some weights.”
“I did not ask you a question.”
Owen pressed his lips together, feeling his face heat. Mistress Sylvie began to walk in a slow circle around him, moving her hands over his shoulders, chest and back, squeezing and prodding him as if he were a horse. She drew her fingertips lightly along the inner part of his arms. Whether or not she intended it, her feather-light touch tickled when she reached his armpits and though he hadn’t meant to, Owen pulled slightly away.
“Stay still,” she commanded. “Have you no discipline?”
It was a question, but was it rhetorical, or did she want an answer? And what was the answer, when it came to that? He’d had this fantasy of submitting to a strong sexy woman a thousand times in one form or another, and now it was actually happening. But was discipline part of the equation?
“I will answer for you,” Mistress Sylvie said, standing directly in front of him. In her heels, she was nearly as tall as he was, and she leaned in close, so close he could have kissed her if he’d dared. She spoke softly, but her voice was hard. “You have no discipline. You are untrained and I’m not sure I should bother to take you on.”
“Please, Mistress Sylvie,” Owen interrupted, startled at the intensity of his need. “I’ll do better. I promise.”
Mistress Sylvie stepped back, her look skeptical. “Will you? Are you sure?”
“Yes, Mistress Sylvie.”
Her lips lifted in a small triumphant smile. “All right, then. Show me. Put your hands behind your head, locking your fingers at your neck. You will look straight ahead, no matter what I do to you. You will not move or resist me in any way. Can you do that, Owen?”
“Yes, Mistress Sylvie.” Owen moved his arms, relieved at the change in position. She drew her fingertips lightly over his biceps and underarms. Owen realized he was clenching his jaw in his effort to stay still. He hated being tickled, but at the same time found himself deeply aroused and excited by her actions and his position. Somehow he managed not to move, save for the rise and fall of his chest and the twitching of his throbbing cock.
“Much better,” Mistress Sylvie said softly, and Owen found himself smiling, pleased by her praise.
She moved behind him and he felt her cupping his ass cheeks through the cotton of his shorts. “Have you ever been spanked, Owen?”
“No, Mistress Sylvie.” Owen’s skin tingled in anticipation of the hard slap of her palm, but instead she moved again to stand in front of him. She pressed her hands against his chest, the palms flat against his nipples.
“Have you ever been tied down?”
“No, Mistress Sylvie.” There had been some bondage play with a girlfriend in college, but he’d been the one using the rope, not daring to admit his fantasies back then.
Mistress Sylvie slipped the tip of one finger beneath the elastic at the waist of his boxers. “Have you ever been whipped, Owen? Have you ever felt the sharp, sweet sting of the lash?”
Mistress Sylvie stared deep into Owen’s eyes, her lips lifting in a slow smile that made him forget how to breathe. “No, Mistress Sylvie,” he finally managed, though it only came out as a whisper. He wanted to look away but found himself unable to wrench his gaze from hers. He could feel her power, and his own powerlessness to resist it.
“Do you like pain, Owen? Erotic pain?”
“I don’t really know, Mistress Sylvie,” he answered honestly, though his cock was hard as steel. “I want to find out. I know that for sure. I—think about it. I fantasize about it.”
“Tell me more,” she whispered, her lips close to his ear. “Tell me your darkest fantasy. Hold nothing back.”
Owen’s heart lurched into overdrive. “I’ve never told anyone—”
“But you will tell me,” she interrupted. It wasn’t a question, but a statement, and he nodded slowly in agreement.
“Yes, Mistress Sylvie. I will tell you.”
If you were drawn in by this, even though you didn’t think you would want to read about a submissive man, I suggest it’s the same reason so many women like to read m/m erotica – even though we might not directly relate to a gay man and what he’s going through, ultimately it’s the human experience we crave and connect to. If an author can weave a story where you care about the person, no matter if they are gay or straight, male or female, sub of Dom, then she’s done her work. She’s held out her hand and said, “Come with me. I have a story to tell you…”
To read Story of Owen, or any of my other work, please visit my indie publishing site: Romance Unbound. There you can also find my latest release (June 13, 2014), The Inner Room.
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