FEMDOM FIRSTS: How Dominant Women And Their Submissives Got Into The BDSM Lifestyle - Volume 1 of the WellHeeledDominatrix.com Collection

by Nika Bella Dea

  FEMDOM FIRSTS

  How Dominant Women And Their Submissives Got Into The BDSM Lifestyle

  Volume 1 of the WellHeeledDominatrix.com Collection

  Compiled by Nika Bella Dea

  WARNING: Contains Sexually-Explicit Material.

  For readers 18 years or older.

  WARNING

  This book contains sexually-oriented material that may be offensive to some people. It is not suitable for persons under the age of 18. By buying and/or reading this book, you certify that you are at least 18 years of age or older, or the appropriate legal age required for your municipality.

  Copyright © 2013 WellHeeledDominatrix.com, Nika Bella Dea

  KINDLE ISBN: 9781626465008

  PRINT ISBN: 9781626464377

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Some of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarities in those stories to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For the true stories, names and other details have been changed to protect the identities and privacy of those involved.

  WellHeeledDominatrix.com, 2013, First Edition

  DISCLAIMER

  These stories are provided for entertainment purposes only. Role playing the scenes in this book is to be done at your own risk. Use a "safe word", and only practice consensual sex. Research hygiene and safety, and consult with a licensed medical professional, before trying any new or potentially dangerous sexual technique.

  The author and publisher are providing this book and its contents on an "as is" basis for entertainment only, and make no representations or warranties of any kind with respect to this book or its contents. The author and publisher disclaim all such representations and warranties, including for example warranties of merchantability and sexuality or relationship advice for a particular purpose. In addition, the author and publisher do not represent or warrant that the information accessible via this book is accurate, complete or current.

  Except as specifically stated in this book, neither the author or publisher, nor any authors, contributors, or other representatives will be liable for damages arising out of or in connection with the use of this book. This is a comprehensive limitation of liability that applies to all damages of any kind, including (without limitation) compensatory; direct, indirect or consequential damages; loss of data, income or profit; loss of or damage to property, psychological or physical, and claims of third parties.

  You understand that this book is not intended as a substitute for consultation with a sex therapist or a licensed medical professional. Before you change your lifestyle in any way, you will consult a licensed professional to ensure that you are doing what's best for your situation.

  This book provides content related to Feminine Domination and sexuality topics. As such, use of this book implies your acceptance of this disclaimer.

  About Nika Bella Dea

  I am an avid (and stern!) practitioner of the Femdom philosophy and I am in a very happy marriage with my submissive husband. We live in a beach community near Tampa-St Petersburg, Florida. I got my first taste of the Femdom lifestyle in my teen years when I learned by trial and error many effective and rewarding techniques for manipulating men with my body and my mind. From that early age, I always sought the dominant role in my relationships with men. But, it wasn’t until my husband approached me about formalizing our D/s relationship that I became a firm (and full-time) adherent to the philosophies of female-led relationships (FLR). Since then, we’ve become active explorers of all things BDSM. I have a curiosity of many fetishes, but find flogging, pegging, and nipple play to be among my current favorites. I have a special love of CBT. Nothing makes me quite as satisfied as the act of whipping my sub’s hard cock. TALK TO ME! I love to hear from fans!!

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  The Receptionist Lands a Shareholder

  by Nicolette

  I was working as an "office manager" at a famous dot com but I was more of a glorified receptionist. Despite my entry level status, I didn't take crap from anybody, especially those nerdy executives who signed my paychecks. I knew how to put men in their place. And, I had big plans.

  I had my eye on the V.P. of Marketing. Not only was he handsome in a rugged sort of way but being one of the first employees at that start-up meant he was flush with stock and cash. Why didn't I go for the president? That's an easy one. He was mousy and thin. I don't like thin guys. No meat to wrap yourself around. I also don't like hairless guys. Fucking a hairless, skinny guy is like fucking a girl...and I don't do that. Well, I haven't since high school...

  Anyway, whenever Sam came by my desk to ask for copies or some other mundane thing, I looked him in the eye, pushed my arms ever so slightly into my breasts to accentuate my cleavage, and would uncross and re-cross my legs, making my skirt ride up higher. Oops. If he needed me to look at something, I would stand up and bend way over, causing my blouse to gape open in his face. I would then catch him looking at my tits, my face so close to his, and I would smile. No beating around the bush here (pun intended). I was in a hurry to score my millionaire, and escape that shitty job. Why play games?

  When I would catch him staring at me in meetings, he would blush and his upper lip would break into a sweat. That made me lick my lips, which made him stare even more. Yeah, he knew who was in charge here.

  It didn't take long for him to think of an excuse to take me to a "business lunch." When he opened the door of his sports car to let me in, the wind caught my very short skirt. Oops again. As I leaned over to get into the tiny, low seat, my skirt hiked all the way up and he was so close he could read the Victoria's Secret® label on my black thong. By the time he got into his own leather seat, he couldn't hide his growing co
ck in those gray suit trousers. He looked at me, sweating again. I pointed at his crotch. "Can I see it?" He obeyed. Men rarely hesitate when I give an order. Sam's cock was big and thick, just the way I like them. I said, "That'll do. We're having lunch in your penthouse." With his fast, erratic driving, it was good we made it there in one piece.

  When we arrived, he literally ran through the lobby, pulling me by my hand. I laughed. Such an excited little boy. You'd think he'd never been fucked before. Maybe he hadn't. He was a powerful but nerdy executive and he clearly didn't have much, if any, experience with women. Just my type. Easy to train and control.

  Once we stepped in the door, I dropped my purse and skirt to the floor, and unbuttoned my blouse as he stood in front of me, his mouth agape.

  I patted his cheek. "Your expression is sweet. You know why we're here, right?"

  "Yes," he mumbled.

  "Yes, MA'AM," I corrected him.

  I heard him gulp and he whispered, "Yes, Ma'am."

  Now that I'd set the tone, we had an understanding.

  I stepped forward in my heels, thong, and bra and grabbed his crisp, white shirt. I pulled fast and hard and buttons hit the shiny marble floor. He started shaking. Adorable! As he pulled his arms from his shirt, I went to work on his trousers. I ignored his cock, which clearly puzzled him. Once all his clothing was on the floor, I led him to the leather sofa. His high rise overlooked downtown and I briefly fantasized that someone in the building facing his had binoculars.

  I slid my now-soaked thong down to the floor, and fell back into the sofa, ordering him to kneel in front of me. I grabbed his ears with both my hands, and pulled his face into my pussy. He lapped at it like a dog. Clearly, he needed some training in that area. I slid down further so I could open my thighs wide. I then guided him with my hands, whispering what he needed to do.

  After my first orgasm, I ordered him to lay across my lap. He looked embarrassed and confused. I raised my voice and he quickly complied. Too easy!

  His ass was nice and round. Plenty of meat to beat on there. I spent a minute just caressing it, fantasizing about how red it would be in a few minutes. When I laid my first smack, he tried to jump up but I steadied him by digging my red nails into the back of his neck. He groaned and I whispered reassurances to him as I hit him a second time, and a third. I then sat back to watch the red handprints appear. My favorite part. Good thing his sofa was leather because my soaked pussy was sliding back and forth by then. I pushed his legs apart a bit, and reached for his balls. He needed to be shaved. I looked forward to doing that for him. I cupped and massaged them while he squirmed and groaned. While I continued to massage him, I removed my nails from his back, and started beating on his ass with my free hand. The harder I smacked, the more he flailed. I kept silent, getting off on his whimpers and struggles. I swear sometimes I can come just listening to a man beg for mercy.

  Once his ass was just red enough, I pushed him off my lap to the floor. I reached down, and picked up my wet thong. As he attempted to stand, I slapped his cheek with the thong, gritted my teeth, and whispered, "You smell like pussy, you naughty boy. What will your colleagues think?" He looked ashamed again. Turning my back, I said, "Get dressed. Lunch is over." When he tried to protest, I turned back around, and slapped his face with my hand, hard. I then grabbed his stiff cock, and yanked him closer to me.

  "If you do exactly as I say, I may let you have lunch with me again tomorrow."

  He was mine. All mine.

  I Know My Place

  by Walter

  I'm writing this story standing up. I have a work table with adjustable height, which I've moved from the garage to my study. I am making like Ernest Hemingway, who wrote on his feet so as to encourage concision. My reason is much less exalted: I'm standing because my backside is on fire. My wife is watching me as I write. She has a warm smile on her face.

  We're a long-married couple, Annie and I, both recently retired, two grown kids, with our share of regrets and triumphs. Our marriage has had its ups and downs and I will freely admit that most of the problems have been my fault. I'm a man with all the typical flaws: bad communicator, bad housekeeper, insufficiently considerate of my wife. Annie has done a lot of grinning and bearing over the last four decades and, recently, she decided she'd had enough. I've been put in my place and, as painful as my humbling has been, I think I'm happier now. She definitely is.

  It all started one evening last month. I'd gotten home from golf around five in the afternoon. I was a little worse for the wear and Annie smelled booze on my breath as I came in from the garage. Usually, I get the silent treatment for stuff like that, but this time she almost seemed happy to catch me. She brought me into the den, and sat me down in front of the computer.

  "Take a look," she said. On the screen was a picture of a man touching his toes, pants around his ankles. His rear was ruby red. Then, I saw the words written in bold above the photo: Keep Your Man In Line. At this point, I was more amused than anything. I turned to Annie, and raised my eyebrows.

  "I've been doing a lot of reading," she said. "A lot of reading and a lot of thinking. It's time for a change." And, that was that. Let's just say Annie can be very persuasive. Within a minute, I was unbuckling my belt. Within two minutes, I was pleading and hollering. Within three minutes, I was as sorry as I'd ever been.

  First, she made me stand in my jockeys, trousers around my ankles, while she lectured me about drinking and driving. I listened to every word, and prayed for her to go on as long as possible. Finally, she was done talking.

  "Get your underpants down," she said. As I lowered my shorts, she grinned, and produced a wooden hairbrush. "Now, touch your toes, honey," she said. I bent over, feeling the air against my bottom, and said a silent prayer.

  Whap! The first one was more shocking than painful. She rained blow after blow on my tush and, by twenty, I had lost count. I cried out for her to stop, I promised her anything she wanted, I pleaded for the sake of my poor, tanned flesh. When she finished, after what felt like an eternity in hell, I leapt up to caress my cheeks and my clothes tripped me up.

  She stood over me as I lay on the ground. "You look pitiful," she said. "Jockeys around your ankles, bottom red as a fire hydrant. You cry it out for a bit and then we're going to have a long talk."

  And, so it began. Now, I take out the trash without being asked, I pick my socks up off the floor every time, I massage her feet every night. I am now, in her words, "the best husband in the world." And still, it's not enough---she has to maintain her authority. She is literally the one who wears the pants. I'm stripped to my shorts when I walk in the door. She says it keeps me humble. If I get out of line, she takes my jockeys and I'm reduced to my birthday suit. If that doesn't teach me, I get the hairbrush treatment.

  She has a routine. I'm led into the den, lectured, and bent over. I get fifty whacks across the backside and, after that, she is very forgiving. She takes me in her arms, wipes my tears, and tells me how much she loves me. "Spare the rod, spoil the husband." That's what she says.

  And, I have to agree. I feel less guilt and conflict now. I know what being a good man means. It means respecting your wife in ways that most husbands don't, it means putting a lady's needs above your own, it means knowing your place. The brush sits on the coffee table, a constant reminder to be good. And, that's what men need, no matter their age---to be reminded.

  The last spanking was a special one. Annie's friend, Jane, was over for lunch and we were having drinks in the living room. I've been allowed my clothes when guests are present and, sitting fully dressed with the two ladies, I felt like I was on vacation in my own home. Then, I did something stupid. We were having a heated political discussion, with me opposed to Annie and Jane. Jane was the better debater and, losing the argument and my cool, I got personal. Recovering from my nasty comment, Jane said, "Well, if that's the level we're on now, I don't see the point of talking. I should get going anyway."

  "Oh no," said my wife and right th
en I started to sweat. "He's crossed the line and he's going to pay for it. We have some new rules around here, Jane. He's offended you and you deserve satisfaction." At this point, Jane was mystified and I was terrified.

  I started murmuring pleas to Annie. No dice. "On your feet," she said to me. I tried refusing and, of course, she played her trump card.

  "Do you want to have sex sometime in the next six months?"

  Up I got, awaiting instructions. Within a minute, I was reduced to my shorts and Jane was chortling with delight. The smirk on her face was punishment enough but Annie wasn't finished. "I'll be right back," she said, and went into the den. When she returned, she had the brush in her hand. I uttered one last plea, to no avail. She made me stand in the center of the room.

  "Underpants down," she commanded. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, and pushed them down to my knees. "No, no, down around your ankles. You know the routine." Jane burst into giggles, and clapped her hands. Once my briefs were in their proper place, I was made to touch my toes. I felt like a 10-year-old boy, bending over with my backside bared for punishment.

  And boy, what punishment! At the end of it, I was dancing around, hands on my tender tush, and tears rolling down my cheeks. The pain made me forget my humiliation, but only for a moment. When it subsided, I found myself face to face with the ladies, my manhood exposed for their amusement. I quickly reached for my briefs, and pulled them up.

  "Don't think you're getting dressed," Annie said. "You're going to stay in your jockeys for the rest of the day. Do you have something to say to Jane?"

  "I'm sorry, Jane."

  "For what?"

  "For being disrespectful to you. It won't happen again."

  "This is wonderful," Jane said to Annie. "You sure know how to keep order here."