A Dominatrix Fantasy
"Touch Me" an erotic story by Terri Pray
You can see me, can't you? I know you're watching me, waiting for me to reach for that top shelf, or bend over to grab something from the bottom one. I know where your gaze lingers. I know you're hoping for a glimpse of silken panty, or perhaps something more. You take one look at the short, tight skirt and the three buttons undone on my blouse, and you start searching for something more. Something I haven't given you permission to look for.
Permission, you say?
You think I don't have the right to say what you can do?
You're wrong. I control what you do to me, at least what happens outside of your pathetic little mind. When you’re with me, I have the ultimate say.
You think I'm joking, you're a fool. If I didn't want to catch your attention I wouldn't dress this way. If I didn't want you to stare at my ass and thighs, I'd get you to bend over, or reach up. But you see this is how I control you.
I'm the focus of your attention until I dismiss you.
The bulge in your pants, your sweaty hands, they tell a story, but do you have any clue what I'll do when I get home?
Do you think I'm a submissive little slut, happy to do whatever my man wants?
You couldn't be more wrong. I rule in my household and I have not one, but three submissive little male sluts willing to do whatever I wish. They feel privileged to do so. From the moment I walk into the house, my every whim is served.
These boots I wear? They're licked clean nightly by one slave who would never think to ask me to wipe my feet when I walk into the room. My sexual desires? If I wish them to be taken care of I either do it myself, after tying my three boys up, or I have one of them put their tongue to good use.
Ms. Boots, San Francisco, 2000 by Phyllis Christopher
Their sexual needs? They surrendered those when they submitted to me. See these keys? Chastity devices. They gain nothing without my pleasure, and they beg me to lock them up tight. No nightly release for them. No stroking themselves or finding a girlfriend on the side.
Cruel?
Inhumane?
Insane?
Perhaps it is from your point of view, but not from mine, nor theirs.
I didn't force them into this life. I didn't even go looking for them. They came looking for me.
That's it, look at my legs little boy, just watch me bend over and see what you can't have, what you can never touch as you haven't earned it. You haven't spent all day in nothing but a pair of stockings and satin panties, cleaning the floor on your hands and knees.
You won't be there, hands cuffed behind your back, a gag stuffed in your mouth, watching me finger myself, knowing that my pleasure comes from your helplessness. You'd want to touch me. You'd complain even through the gag if I left you there to suffer. Your cock would be hard, throbbing, desperate to escape the metal and leather confines of the intimate shackles I'd have locked in place.
You'd watch my fingers dance between my thighs. The way they play over my clit, one finger buried deep between my labia. Would you watch that? Or would you watch the way my nipples peak, ripen for the touch of a man, or perhaps a woman?
Your imagination will fill in the gaps even as you watch me. The way my hips roll, the play of my tongue across my lips.
I can see it now. The way you'd plead, whimper and beg through the gag. The way your cock would seep pre-cum, the tightness in your balls as you watched every move my fingers made. Would the aroma of my arousal make things worse for you? Of course it would. You'd want to taste, to thrust into me, pin me beneath your body.
But it wouldn't happen.
Why would I let someone as pathetic as you ever touch me? You're worthless, a nothing, even that silly little thing in your pants is laughable. Have you ever managed to make a woman scream in pleasure?
Of course not, the only screaming you cause when you doff your pants is that of hysterical laughter.
It's not fair. You can't treat me like that! I'm a man!
Those are the words you'd scream into the gag, aren't they?
Why would I care if you think it's fair or not? As for a man, I'm sure that's debatable, though I've no intention of looking too close in order to find out. I'm not asking you to kneel to me. I'm not going to let you touch me. I'm not your plaything nor will I ever be.
So keep your little dreams of a hot, willing, wanton woman in your bed. They're just dreams. I'll go home to my slaves, knowing that my every dream, every need, even my darkest desires, will be fulfilled by those who have knelt at my feet and sworn to be mine. They'll smile and whimper, begging to lick my dildos clean, no matter where I've used them and then thank me for the honor of doing so.
So, keep looking at my legs and my ass. Keep dreaming that you'll get to slide my stockings down my thighs. Dream and never touch.
I'm out of your reach…
Originally published February 2010