Domination of Trent 2/n M/F Femdom 


I realize that I have been staring
at his lips. For some reason it
surprises me that they are
soft and smooth. I raise my hand as
if to touch them, then stop just
short. He doesn't move.

I shrug and then contemplate my
accoutrements. Nothing that I
have seems right. I have
learned to trust myself in these
matters. It is an art in which one
must channel their
impulses. I leave the room and look
in the freezer for the flogger I want
- the one that is like
a riding crop with small silvery
chains instead of leather strands. I
shake it out and bits of
frost fly off. The links tinkle like
tiny bells. I swing it, and then
walk back to the chair.

I stand for a long moment before
moving. He lies waiting, not
cringing in anticipation, just
waiting. He is impudent, as he was
in the bar to stare openly at me.

I snap the crop down on to his upper
thigh. It gives a strange metallic
thwack and he jolts in
the chair. I am rewarded by a cry.
It sounds startlingly like the sound
on the beginning of
The Downward Spiral . There is no
effect on his throbbing cock.


I never bring my clients to orgasm.
It makes

me feel like too much of a whore,
and besides,

that would require me to touch
them. But I

know, suddenly, that today I will
make him

cum.


I swing the crop over his prone
body, knowing

he can feel the swish of cool air
around the

chains. He jolts when I dip it over
his skin

allowing the freezing metal to pour
over his

torso and thighs, then give him
two smart

snaps of the crop, one on each hard
pink

nipple.


His moans hopelessly and his
head droops to

the side. An expanse of neck. I
have tortured

him a little, and only now will I
permit myself

to counter that with warm flesh.

I lean toward him. Lift the black
hair from his neck. I lean in, and
gently, gently kiss there.
Where it is warm. Soft skin, and
vague smell of sweat and shampoo.
His whole body
bristles. He moans again, this time
with desperation. I sense immense
loneliness. I
remember an interview, him saying
"I was really just super-fucking-
lonely."

Poor child. I kiss him again, one
finger tracing the outline of his
shoulder. He moans. God, I
wish I'd set up a recorder. I could
get off listening to this wonderous
symphony. I nibble on
the hollow of his neck and then
soothe it with my tongue, then bite
again harder.

Then, I step back, leaving him
looking in my direction and
wanting more.

His cock has softened a bit. Once
again I take the icy metal and
hold it over him. Then, I
lower it to his cock, where the
chains pour over it like water. He
bucks up in the seat and is
held cruelly back by the leather.
Impudent. I silently reach for the
leather crop, then flog his
ass along the thigh.

He is breathing fast and deep but
he is struggling to be quiet. His
chest, gorgeous chest I am
dying to lay my head on, is rises
and falls roughly. It is intimate, to
see the cage thatholds
his breath, shaking.

My instinct...I hook my thumb
under the blindfold and peel it
back. There are tears pooling
on his skin beneath his eyes. He
looks, shamed and miserable, up at
me, for that second the
contact is so much, too much, and
the brown of his eyes is so human
under the tiny
membrane of tears.

"Close your eyes," I order.

Look at you, so broken and fucked
up that you have to come here for
your pleasure, you
talented and beautiful man, who
should have a love, a wife, a
lover, coming to me so that I
can make you hard when I hit you
and soft when I show you
tenderness.

And look at me, invested so
heavily in the psyche of my client.

We're a sad bunch, you and I, Trent.

"Close your eyes", I repeat softly,
although he already has.

I bend down to kiss him, and
although it is a soft kiss, it has all
the passion of a mechanical
doll. I press my fingertip to the
inside of his brow. I pull
downward, drying his skin. I do
this
to the other side. My fingers
become wet. He lies obediently,
eyes closed, not moving. I toss
the blindfold aside.

I put down the icy flogger that is
now
sweating and warming up. I take a
piece of
fur, and then mother his body with
it slowly,
over damp cheeks, over his lips,
down over
nipples that rise and harden under
the barely
discernable touch. Down, and now
he is hard
again.

It occurs to me that at this point I
usually gag
my clients. I have never gagged
Trent.

I drag the fur up his leg, down to
tickle toes of
the other foot, stifling a giggle as
his toes curl
up, ticklish. Then up again, and I
drag the
looped strip under his balls,
hefting them,
making him shift and groan. I pull
it up, so
that the soft loop of fur caresses
his hard cock.
I wind it around slowly, with
enough slack so
that it moves gently over his skin.
His arms clench into fists, rattling
the chains that hold
him. There is a dewlike drop at
the tip of his hard cock.

Instinct, I lie to myself, as I break
my own rule swirl my tongue in it.

His thighs clench and buck,
muscles like a rearing horse as the
leather creaks, but holds fast.
I watch in wide-eyed delight as
more precum trickles from the tip
of his cock.

I want to wrap my hand around his
cock and jerk him silly, jerk him
until he cums and bucks
and screams, and then ask him to
tell me, explicitly, how it feels.

I want to lie on my back and order
him to fuck me, relentless, until we
are screaming and my
heels are dug hard into the cheeks
of his ass so that he may fuck me
marder, relentless.

Back to the refrigerator, his head
turned toward me, but still
obediently blind, eyes dutifully
closed. I take the cream out and
return. Silently I open the jar and
scoop some out. It is cool
and delicious on my fingers, silky.

Quickly so that he doesn't sense
the cold. I envelope him with it, in
one slick motion,
returning for another scoop, and
then coating his balls.

He seems to be attempting to
shrink away from the stimulation.
I smile. I have clients who
beg me for this stuff.

I stand back, again appraising. He
seems as if he is convered in
shaving cream, as if he is
going to remove the hair from his
genitals.

On my cart I find two nipple
clamps. Nothing more than
clothespins with strips of soft fur
on the clasps. I open them, then
abruptly affix them to his nipples
simultaneously. It's not
the toys, it's the presentation. The
performance. Slow builds and
surprise assaults.

I stand back again and wetten a bit
at the sight of him. Something,
though, is missing.

I spread the legs of the chair as far
as it will go and then slide under
his ass a little wire tool
that I made myself. It is held by
his weight, like a bookend, and
has adjustible wires that
come around and spread his ass
cheeks. The puckered hole seems to
quiver a bit at the
prospect of invasion.

Trent whimpers softly. He knows
he is open, and vulnerable.

I can take advantage of this and
this alone, so I stand there, quiet as
a mouse, watching his
chest rise and fall as he wonders
what I will do there next.

I have a tiny probe that is made of
soft plastic with a smooth rounded
end. It is like a
syringe. I suck some of the cold
lotion into it, then dip the probe
into it, then smoothly push it
three or four inches inside his ass,
discharge the plunger, and pull
out, all in one smooth
motion. He whimpers softly. I can
feel his ass muscles open and close
over the strange
sensation of the cool cream. In a
minute or so it should start getting
warm, and his
now-cool cock and asshole will
start to tingle.

I stand back again. Clothespins
protrude from his nipples. His cock
and balls are slathered
in coldness. His ass is spread and
ready for invasion, and is full of
the cool white goo, a bit
of which is trickling out.

Still, something is missing. My
eyes keep returning to his cock,
which is now in a state of
semi-erection. I grin, then get a
vinyl bolo cock ring and secure it
under his bulging testicles,
then thread his cock through. I
tighten the bolo just enough so that
it is snug, then leave the
room.

When I return, his cock is straining
and hard. The white lotion at the
top has thinned and it
is clear that more precum has
trickled down the head, diluting
the stuff.

His balls are tight and under the
thinning cream I can see that the
head of his cock is purple.

"Trent," I asked softly, "would you
like to cum?"

He moans, tosses his head to the
side. "Please." He says. It is just
one word, and very quiet.
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