The Dar Mistress and Her Throne

Context

The short stories that I wrote to my Wife for Her to read are being shared here are some of the experiences that i have enjoyed with my Wife, Ms Raven. This is my first attempt to put these memories and experiences to words and first time that I am sharing them with hope of reaching like minded Femdoms or their submissives. They are written to Her as you will read below.

Please, if you provide comments, be respectful and if not refrain from your commentaries. Would love to hear from others who have discovered the amazing relationship that can exist between a Femdom and a submissive. I will share other memories and experiences soon. Thanks for taking the time to read this story.

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It started like so many of our afternoons--quiet touches, warm skin, the two of us tangled in soft sheets and something unspoken building between us. You lay beside me, your body bare and breathtaking, glowing in the afternoon light. I took you in with reverence--your smooth, shaved mound inviting my worship, the gentle rise of your small breasts with their perfect subtle curve catching the rhythm of your breath. Your nipples were already stiff, standing proud with the quiet satisfaction of being adored, of being touched just how you wanted. The flush across your chest told me everything: you were enjoying this, claiming it, letting yourself be worshiped.

My hands and lips moved slowly, worshipfully, exploring every inch of you as though I was rediscovering a goddess I'd already surrendered to. Your kisses grew deeper, hungrier, and Your hands didn't ask--they took. You gripped me, stroked me, and guided the rhythm between us, as you always do. You prefer to be in control, always on sitting on top--physically, emotionally, energetically. That was your place. Your throne. And I was lucky to be beneath you. Every moment we shared was one more assertion of that truth. And I knew, even then, you wanted all of our time like that--for you to be in control, and me beneath you.

Just when I thought I'd melt completely into you, you leaned in close, your breath hot in my ear, your voice low and final.

"Get your toy."

And I already knew what you meant. Not just any toy, but your toy. The one you nicknamed with a smirk and a knowing gaze: the Dark Mistress. That massive, unrelenting plug. The one that stretches me, takes me, makes me feel what it means to be owned from the inside out. But this time, you didn't leave it to me. You had something else in mind.

You kissed me, held me close--like the softness before a storm. Then you grabbed the lube, slick and cool on your fingers. I could feel your fingers working me open with a quiet precision. You coated me generously, and then you took the toy in your hand, coated it too, and pressed it against me. I looked into your eyes, and you didn't even blink. You pushed slowly, deliberately, never losing contact with my gaze. I gasped when the widest part passed through me, my body forced to accept all of it. The Dark Mistress was fully seated. But the real Mistress hadn't even begun.

You straddled me again like a goddess claiming her altar--only this time, you didn't settle lightly. You took your position between my legs, your thighs prying mine apart, my legs involuntarily wrapping around your waist like they belonged there. Your arms braced on either side of my chest, locking me in. There was no escape, no illusion of equality. You were in control. I was laid bare beneath you--offered to you.

And you knew it.

You began to move--slow, grinding thrusts of your hips, driving the Dark Mistress deeper inside me with every commanding stroke. The plug didn't just fill me--it claimed me. Your hips moved with purpose, not to tease or coax, but to dominate. Each thrust struck a raw, aching place inside me, and with every pulse of pressure, I dissolved a little more under you. You were fucking me. With my toy. And I was the one being used.

My cock, trapped and aching in its cage, was irrelevant. You ignored it completely. You didn't even glance down. Your eyes were locked on mine--demanding that I look at you and only you. "Don't look away," you warned, your voice low, nearly feral. "If you do, it ends. Right there."

I couldn't look away even if I wanted to.

Our roles had never been more reversed, more raw, more true. You thrust into me with your whole body, your movements deliberate, claiming your rhythm and driving it deeper into the helpless shell of my body. I wasn't your lover in that moment--I was your vessel. You used me with hunger and precision, savoring the way I writhed, the way I moaned, the way I clung to you as you made me yours from the inside out.

Your eyes stayed locked on mine. Your dominance was total. My submission was absolute.

You didn't want penetration. You were the penetration.

Then came the vibrator.

You reached for it slowly, deliberately, your eyes never leaving mine until they dropped--not to look at me with tenderness, but to assess the caged cock below as if it were just another one of your personal toys. Not my cock -- but yours. Something you owned. Something you used. Your look said everything: This isn't yours anymore. It never was. It's mine to tease, to torment, to control.

You clicked it on.

The low hum of the vibrator sent a shiver through me before it even touched my skin. You started slowly, tracing it along the shaft through the rigid bars of the cage--your cock's cage. The vibrations crawled up my nerves, sharpening my need like a blade. Then you moved the vibrator to the head, the locked glans--caged but still unbearably sensitive--and applied it directly. The intensity was almost too much. I gasped. You smiled.

"You don't cum," you stated flatly. "Not unless I say. And I haven't said."

You kept going. Building the pressure, your motions precise. Calculated. You knew exactly how to edge me, how to pull me close to the brink and keep me there--hovering. The stimulation wasn't relief. It was exquisite punishment. Each pulse of the vibrator was a wave of stolen pleasure, a reminder of what I couldn't have.

I moaned out, barely able to breathe. "Please... I'm so close..."

Your eyes flickered--amused, maybe even moved by my desperation--but unrelenting. And instead of stopping, you pressed harder. You knew exactly where to stop for denial--but this time, you didn't. You took me right to the edge and pushed me over, forcing a ruined orgasm inside the cage.

It wasn't release. It was surrender.

My cock twitched and pulsed in your grasp, but there was no climax. Just a dribble of spent cum leaking out, no satisfaction, only aching need. You watched it with great satisfaction, almost wonder, loving how gently it exited--like your toy was sighing in defeat.

"That's all you get," you whispered, brushing my face with your lips. "That's all mine. And now you're going to want me even more, aren't you?"

You were right. I was wrecked. Spent. And hungrier than ever.

When the last tremor of my ruined orgasm faded, I reached up with trembling hands, still panting, and asked softly, "Your turn now? Can I give you yours--with your toy?"

There was hope in my voice. Desire. The aching need to serve you, to repay you, to do something for you after you had left me wrecked and soaked in my own frustration.

But you looked down at me with that calm, knowing smile--the one that always sliced through me with its effortless authority. You didn't even hesitate.

"No," you said, your voice cool and certain. "I already had mine."

Your fingers slid down my chest as you leaned closer, lips brushing against my ear. "I penetrated you. I got what I wanted. I don't need your toy. I don't need your help. Not right now."

I was stunned. Humbled. The cage still pulsed around my cock--my denied, aching cock--as your words settled in like heat through my bones.

"You're the one who needed to be taken," you whispered, pulling back to meet my eyes again. "And you were. Completely. Look at you--filled, spent, empty, leaking. That mess down there? That's mine. You gave it to me. And I decided what you got."

You sat back, still straddling me, your body hot and electric. Your nipples still hard, your face glowing from the power of what you had just done. There was nothing left to negotiate. This wasn't an exchange. This wasn't equal. You had made it clear: you didn't need anything more--because you had already taken everything you wanted.

And that, somehow, made me want you even more.