Femdom in the Real World – Married M&F

It had been a normal Sunday morning: we went out for espressos, spent an hour straightening up the house, ate an early lunch…married, domestic stuff. We've been married for five years, so had our routine but don't have kids, allowing for quite a bit of flexibility. But generally, Sundays are for slow sex.

Christmas season is my busy season at work and after an entire week of filling orders, I had no energy for kink the night before. A glass of wine and I crashed. So this late morning, after coffee and cleaning and lunch and a quick shower, I sat on the couch, scrolling through reddit, waiting for my wife to finish with her bath. I fully expected slow, Sunday sex.

I was excited, for sure, as anybody would be, but I was sorry to have missed my chance at submission the night before. Our femdom/sub roles don't extend beyond sex but I surely needed it. I needed not to be in charge of things at work. I needed not to have to make decisions. I needed not to worry about costs and overhead and creative control.

I figured, "Well, a quick fuck and a drink would do me good anyway."

But my wife, being a great wife and my best friend, picked up on my mood (as great wives and best friends do). After what was probably the 75th reaction gif I lazily browsed at I heard the familiar "clop clop clop" of high heels on the hardwood floor of our hallway.

My first reaction was actually that of annoyance. Had I forgotten about some Christmas party or something? Did I have to get dressed up and put on airs? Dammit.

But then I looked up and saw the goddess I inwardly longed for. Her purple hair framing her dark eye makeup and red lipstick. She wore only a new, black waist cincher, simple but with a touch of white trim, and the high heels I have a rightly condition response to associating with a bitchy mistress. No bra, her piercing glinting in the sunlight from the open, front windows. No panties, her dark patch of trimmed yet prominent hair eschewing submission.

I'd be pleasing her! My heart leapt at my future servitude.

She bade me to follow her back down the hall and into the bedroom. I did so eagerly, never once taking my eyes off of her beautiful ass, accented so perfectly by corsets and waist cinchers.

She knew. She strutted.

Once we got into the room, standing in the doorway, I leaned in for a kiss. We start all of our dom/sub games with a sweet kiss to signal the start of the game. But she only allowed me a quick peck and then pulled back. I leaned in further and she grabbed the top of my head and pushed it down to her chest, demanding that I suck on one nipple…and then the other.

That's my submission. Some dommes make their subs kiss their feet. Some their ass. Mine makes me pay homage to her nipples.

Once unmistakably in command, she turned from me and walked the few paces to a chair we keep in our room called "The Throne." I never sit on The Throne. She never kneels at it. She took her seat and pointed at the floor in front of her. I knelt. She spread her legs. I waited for permission. Eventually she granted it. I leaned in slowly. She grabbed my hair and pulled my face into her.

My wife has a habit rubbing my face, from my chin to my forehead, into her pussy after I make her cum with my mouth. She calls it “marking her territory.” We've found that even after we clean up and assume our normal, equal roles, my face will still faintly smell like her for about a day. She's fond of kissing me on the cheek in public and whispering that my face smells like pussy. I love it.

Once satisfied, she told me to lay on the bed. Fairly sure that she was going to reward me with what we call a “submissive blowjob,” I almost too excitedly obeyed. My intuition was correct. She climbed on top of me, sixty-nine style, pinned my wrists beneath her shins and began to tease me with her mouth.

The rules while receiving a submissive blowjob are simple: I am in no way allowed to kiss or lick any part of her or she stops. Following the rules, however, is fucking difficult. She knows it too. She can drag out a submissive blowjob for a long time and likes to bob her clit on my lips or ask why I don't want to lick her ass to tempt me.

Finally she let me cum (I say that like I didn't enjoy every second of it) and, like all submissive blowjob endings, she drops her hips and buries my face between her legs, restricting my breath, and grinds out another orgasm. This is her way of reinforcing that my pleasure is derived from her pleasure. When I cum, my entire world – smell, taste, touch, sight, sound, breath – is her orgasm.

Hours later, we were listening to Christmas music, drinking wine, decorating the tree, hugging, cuddling, our normal, sweet selves. I grabbed her and kissed her. Not a sexual kiss, just a loving kiss. We parted lips and looked into each others' eyes, our arms still around each others' waists, she smirked and said, “Your face smells like pussy.”

And that is what Femdom looks like in the real world…at least to us.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/3xcx4v/femdom_in_the_real_world_married_mf