Femdom Profile
I read her profile again, slowly stroking myself.
I’m a successful, brilliant, talented, artistic funny, humble (ha-ha) dominant woman in My early thirties, looking for a submissive man to fulfill all of My desires and make My already wonderful life even better.
I enjoy a wide range of activities, especially foot worship, domestic service, mental domination, and punishment (when appropriate). I especially love orgasm control and denial. I will own your orgasms, and you will find yourself naturally submitting to Me naturally before you know it.
Be confident but not cocky, in good shape, and truly submissive. This is not a game for Me. I’m looking for a long-term romantic relationship that will lead to marriage. You must be willing to commit to something real. If you’re just looking for kinky sex, move on and spare both of U/us the emotional expense.
Do not worry if you don’t have any experience; I’m a great teacher. To respond, tell Me about your experience serving a dominant woman and what submission means to you. I look forward to O/our journey,
Amara
She was good looking, not great: a 7 if I was being generous. Fuckable. She had a full body and large breasts. What attracted me though were her piercing green eyes: confident, bordering on arrogant. I imagined kneeling before her in nothing but a black leather collar…
I had found Amara’s profile three months ago while scanning an online dating site for people into FEMDOM. She stood out from the fakes and the man-haters and the ones who didn’t know the difference between the adjective and verb form of dominant: “I’m a dominate woman!” This one had a brain, and her red hair and full figure made her total spank material.
I’d been jerking off to dominant women ever since I was little. I didn’t want to be dominated for real, obviously, but I found the fantasy exciting. Afterward, I always feel guilty and ashamed, but it went away, and the next day I’d be back looking at BDSM porn. In my real life I’m dominant. In bed with women I always take the lead, pulling their hair, spanking them.
They love it. But for some variety, I masturbate to dominant women, and now was the time for variety. I was quickly moving to orgasm when a thought hit me: why not try it? I was just out of a six-month relationship; why not have a little fun before getting into another one? I’d fulfill my fantasy and move on. And who knows? Maybe this would cure me and I could masturbate to normal things. I stopped masturbating. Really, why not? I couldn’t think of a good reason. This woman was attractive enough. She could stand to lose a few pounds, but she had a pretty face.
And she’d be lucky to have me. She probably got a lot of wimps and losers hitting on her. I’m a good-looking guy, 28 years old, with a good body. I can write a sentence without making a half-dozen spelling and grammatical errors. I make good money. Why the fuck not? I quickly created a profile. I used her likes and dislikes to make myself more attractive to her: saying how I appreciate art and am looking for a slightly older woman to show me the ropes (no pun intended). I drafted an email.
Dear Amara, We have so much in common! I’m successful, brilliant and humble, too! ☺ I really enjoyed reading your profile and would love to know more about you.
I love the idea of a confident, powerful woman teaching me how to worship her and make her life better. To me, true submission is about the dedication to another. In my dream relationship, I love, cherish and obey my dominant as she loves, cherishes and leads me. It’s that reality I seek more than any one particular kinky activity. I don’t have a lot of experience, but I believe you when you say you’re a great teacher.
I’m looking for a real relationship, so I’m glad you are as well. I’d love to talk more and see if I’m right for you. Please let me know if you’re curious about communicating more. Sincerely,
Mike
I moved the mouse over the send button. I had a fleeting moment of guilt: I was just looking for kinky sex, and in six months, I’d have had my fill and be ready to move on. Was this right…? Fuck it. This is the game, and if she doesn’t like it she needs to stop dating. Plus my dick was hard, and those tits! I hit send.
After I came, I wondered what I was doing. Why did I masturbate to such sick fantasies? And was I really going after a woman so completely full of herself? Was I going to pretend to be beneath her just to fuck her? I went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer. As I drank, I calmed down. I would pursue this woman, but I wouldn’t do anything embarrassing that she could use as potential blackmail. And who knows? Maybe she really just wants to have a little fun, and like me she’s normal, too.
The next two days I checked my profile on the site about every hour. I knew Amara wasn’t going to respond right away, being dominant and all. I wondered how long she’d make me wait. It really didn’t enter my mind that she wouldn’t write back: my pictures and my message were too good. That night there was a flashing envelope icon when I logged in. I quickly clicked on it.
Dear michael, What a pleasant letter! It’s good to know someone can follow directions and proofread his email before hitting send. We do seem to have a lot in common. Tell Me when you first realized you were submissive, and tell Me what type of animal you would have if space were not an issue. Send this email to Me tonight between 10 and 11pm.
Best,
Amara
PS. In your future correspondence, capitalize all pronouns related to Me.
This was good! She wanted to know more about me, but she wasn’t desperate. I would have been disappointed if she’d bitten too hard on my email. And wow, was she ever cocky! Telling me to capitalize her pronouns and not capitalizing my name! This was a woman who could stand to be knocked down a peg. Any guilt about lying to her disappeared. I constructed my response carefully. I’d have to make up some stuff about when I first realized I was submissive of course, but that wouldn’t be a problem.
Dear Amara,
Thank You for getting back to me. I hope my answers suffice. I first realized I was submissive in 7th grade, around the time my friends and I hit puberty and started to notice girls. All the other boys talked about the things they were going to do to girls, and all the pleasure they were going to get. I talked about that, too, but inside I wanted something different. I wanted a girl who would order me around and take pleasure from me.
When I fantasized at night, it was never about me penetrating a girl, but of girls tying me up and making me kiss their hair. I don’t know why hair was such a big part of it, but it was. I knew I was different from the other guys, but I was afraid to admit it. I’ve been dating vanilla girls ever since, but I realize that I’ll never be satisfied this way. I need a strong woman to lead me.
As for what animal: a goat. Goats can climb up sheer cliff faces. Admittedly, I don’t have much need to move items up a sheer cliff face, but it’d be good to know the option was there if I needed it. ☺
My second choice is an octopus, because octopi are really cool looking. How about You? What animal would You choose? And when did You first realize You were dominant?
Sincerely,
Mike
I hit reply at 10:05. The next day she wrote back.
Good boy, michael,
You can follow directions. You’re off to a good start! I would choose a camel. My family took a trip to Egypt when I was very young, and I rode a camel, which felt very exotic. Ever since, I’ve loved camels. As for when I knew I was dominant: I was always dominant. As a child I was never afraid of adults or older children. I knew best, so it was natural to tell other people what to do. I still feel that way now. ☺ Let’s meet.
I’m not interested in a pen pal, and there’s only so much you can know about someone over email. We’ll only know if there’s a physical attraction once W/we’re across the table from each other. Be at Angie’s Café this Sunday at 2pm. If you have plans already, cancel them. Bring me a bar of dark chocolate, 70% cacao, and wear a red shirt. Reply to Me this evening between 10 and 10:30pm
Best,
Amara
She certainly moved fast! I was impressed by her no-fucking-around attitude. It was kind of guy-like. She definitely knew what she wanted, even though she was maybe trying too hard to come across as dominant. Whatever. I’d see how I felt about her when we met. My dick was hard, so I jerked off. But this time I had to think of someone else: it’s bad luck to masturbate to someone you’re trying to hook up with for real. I went into my file of femdom photos and picked out one of a woman wearing a strapon dildo, standing in front of a man bound to a spanking bench. The woman had long hair pulled back into a ponytail, and her eyes stared piercingly into the camera.
She held the base of her strapon with one hand and rested the other on the man’s back. I didn’t want to get fucked with a strapon, but there’s something about the picture that got me so hard. I think it’s the power shift of a woman doing the penetrating. I masturbate about it a lot, even though I don’t want it. I sped up my strokes as the tingling feeling in my balls spread up my cock. I came with a loud and satisfying grunt. After I cleaned up, I sat on the sofa and watched tv. What the fuck was I doing? Why was I going to meet this clown who thought she was superior to everyone?
Did I really think I could stand being around her? These were the type of women I never got along with! Why would I put myself through this? My sick desire for femdom was something I needed to get over, not indulge. What was wrong with me? I decided not to think about it. I watched Sportscenter on ESPN and ate leftover pizza.
By the time I went to bed, I had calmed down, and meeting Amara on Sunday seemed like a good idea again. Sunday morning I put on a red shirt and went to the store for the chocolate. They only had milk chocolate, but fortunately I found 70% cacao dark at the local coop. Thanks hippies! On the drive to Angies Café, my chest was tingling, and I realized I was nervous.
I hadn’t thought it would be like this. I arrived 10 minutes early. I looked around but didn’t see Amara, so I got a coffee and sat at a table in the corner. Suddenly a horrible thought gripped me. This was all a scam! There was no Amara, and instead it was a group of dudes who sucker morons like me into meeting them. I was going to get stood up. They were probably somewhere around here, spying on me and laughing. Or worse, they were going to post a video of me to social media or use it to blackmail me! What had I done!? Ok, calm down. Calm down. I took some deep breaths. This was crazy talk.
I hadn’t written anything incriminating in my emails that I couldn’t explain away with the truth: I just wanted fun. And if someone were going to put in the effort to blackmail someone, it probably wouldn’t be a 28 year old. I needed to get myself calm before Amara arrived and saw me looking panicked and crazy. I took some deep breaths and visualized the summer camp I went to as a kid. Those were great times for me. In a few moments I was feeling better. At 10am exactly, Amara came through the door.
She was wearing a brown sweater over a white collared shirt, and a tan skirt. Her curly red hair went past her shoulder blades to her upper back. She looked directly at me without looking anywhere else first, then smiled and walked over. She looked better than her photos. There was something extra attractive about her, too. It was hard to pin down: she wasn’t a classic beauty, but she had a presence. When she came into a room, people noticed. This was going to be fun. I stood up, and she clasped my hand in both of hers. “Hi Michael. It’s so nice to meet you. Sit.” I sat down. “It’s great to meet you, too, Amara. Or should I call you mistress? I’m sorry. I’m new at this. I’m not sure how to address you.” “Amara is fine for now.” She smiled and stared at me.
I felt like she was trying to communicate something, but I wasn’t sure what. Then it hit me. “Can I get you a coffee?” “Black. Medium. No sugar.” She thanked me as I returned with her coffee. “Sorry about that Ma’am.” “Amara.” “Amara. Thank you.”
“Is there something you have for me?” “Oh! Right! Sorry, Ma’am. Amara.” Why was I acting like such a dork? I handed over the chocolate bar. She inspected it, then put it in her purse and looked at me. Her eyes were beautiful. “Do you like dark chocolate, Michael?” “Yes, I do.” I didn’t, but I felt I should agree with her. She looked at me for a moment without speaking. “Do you like the movie, Love Actually? I really enjoyed it.” My last girlfriend made me watch that stupid fucking movie. She’d even cried during it, which I counted, actually, as one of the reasons we’d never make it.
If she thought that piece of shit was good, we weren’t in for a long relationship. “It’s ok. I mean, it has a lot of good points.” “Like what?” “Like the acting. And there’s a lot of variety.” She leaned back and smiled. “Really?” “Kind of.” “Is this how you think a submissive should act?” I quickly looked around after she said it. There weren’t many people in the café, but she had a clear voice that carried. “I want a real conversation, Michael. I want to know what you really think so I can tell if we’ll get along. If you pretend to be someone you’re not, this isn’t going to work.
Eventually the real you will come out.” I blushed slightly. She was right. “I hated that movie.” “Me too.” “It was such a piece of crap! Not one of those stories was believable!” “Do you like dark chocolate?” “Not really.” I smiled, and she smiled back. “That’s better. You can relax your shoulders, too.” We talked for an hour and a half. She was really charming and fun. I had thought she might be bitchy, or that she would try too hard to be dominant like she did in her emails. But she was confident and smart and…normal. Or almost normal. She didn’t ask me to do anything; she told me. Little things, such as “get me a drink of water,” and “I’ll have a refill of coffee.” But she had a way of saying it that made it seem natural, as if this was just completely normal to tell someone you just met to go get you coffee without saying please or even having that upward tonality at the end to make it seem like a request.
When she told me to get her coffee, it was an order. As weird as that was, it was also really exciting! Here was an actual, real life dominant woman right across the table from me, telling me what to do! It felt like I was on an interactive safari. She really did look better than her pictures, too! The weird thing was, we didn’t talk about domination at all. I had a ton of questions I wanted to ask her, like what she was into (besides what she listed in her profile) and how we would handle it when we disagreed, but I wanted to let her bring it up when she was ready. I knew that she wanted to get to know me first, and I had a feeling that other, unsuccessful guys pushed too hard on this point too early.
I told her a little about my childhood and how I never did well in school because I couldn’t sit still. I talked about how working out had brought me peace, and then how I dropped out of college to start my own business at age 20. Yes, my business was doing well, but no, I wasn’t one of those obnoxious, rich twenty-somethings who thought he was God’s gift to the world. I asked her a lot of questions. She told me about her love of art, and how she had made a career of photography after thinking her whole life that she would be a painter.
She talked about loving to travel and some of the places she wanted to go. She had made her own way. Her parents had been supportive, but hadn’t been able to help her financially, so she had worked through college, as her scholarship paid for school but not anything extra. Before I knew it, it was 11:30, and she had to go. “Michael, it was really nice talking to you. Let’s have dinner on Wednesday night. Do you know where Sushi Yama is?” “Yes.” “Meet me there at 7.” No curiosity about whether I was free or not. “Ok.” “I’m going to leave. But take your phone out and put it on the table. Now set your timer to five minutes. When I stand up to go, you’re going to stand, and I’m going to kiss you on the cheek. Then you’re going to sit back down, hit start on the timer, and put your right palm flat on the table. When the timer goes off, you can leave. But not before then.” “Ok. But…why?” She looked at me sternly. “Because I said so.” We stood and she kissed me on the cheek. Wow! It felt electric! I’d never had that happen before.
I mean, I knew she was sexy, but this was something else. I got instantly hard and sat back down quickly to hide it. Amara smiled. I think she knew her effect on me. “See you Wednesday, Michael.” “I’m looking forward to it, Amara.” I hit the timer and put my palm flat on the table. My breath was shallow. That kiss had thrown me off. It went right through me, down to my chest and to my cock. If she could do that with just a slow kiss on the cheek, sex was going to be amazing! I thought about that for five minutes. I had a feeling there was someone in the café keeping tabs on me. When Amara came in, she didn’t look around to search for me, even though I wasn’t visible from the outside. She must have had someone who texted her where I was sitting. I looked around to see if anyone was staring at me. No one was, but I stayed there until my alarm went off.
Then I gathered my phone, drove home and masturbated furiously. The next morning I sent Amara an email telling her how nice it was to meet her and that I was looking forward to dinner. She wrote back later that day:
michael,
It was very nice meeting you, as well. I hope you enjoyed the rest of your weekend. Write Me an email listing what you did. Send it at exactly 10:45 tonight.
Wednesday night, bring Me a present of a piece of art you create. Something small and simple, but that expresses who you are. Also, wear a white shirt and blue tie to dinner. Best,
Amara
This was the first time I had ever had homework for a date. Well, I wanted a dominant woman, and I guess this is what that means. It was a little annoying, but it did turn me on. I listed out everything I did for the rest of the weekend. I lied a little, because I didn’t feel like including “masturbated for hours on both Saturday and Sunday.” I also watched a lot of television and didn’t read, but I reversed that. The next day I made a collage out of some old magazines I had lying around. I cut out images I liked, some because of the mood, some because of the color, others just because they looked cool. I arranged them into a figure that was looking upward, as if searching for inspiration. It was actually pretty fun, and I thought Amara would like the theme. I showed up at the sushi restaurant in my white shirt and blue tie at 6:55.
I got us a table and waited for her to arrive, which she did right at 7. We hugged and she kissed me on the cheek. As she did, she held my chin in her hand and maneuvered me to look at her. “Hello handsome.” “You look beautiful, Amara.” And she did.
She was wearing a green sweater that matched her eyes. She wore a cream colored skirt and brown boots that I’m guessing went up to her knees.
“Thank you, Michael. Sit.” I handed her my collage. She studied it, then asked me questions about why certain images were included and what they meant to me. She was curious in a good way. I wondered if she would be critical, being an artist and all, but if she was, she kept it to herself. “I like this Michael. Good boy.” The strangest thing about her saying “good boy” to me is that it didn’t come across as condescending and weird like it should have. In fact, it made my dick twitch. She was dominant, but she was different than the dominant women in porn. Most of them barked their orders loudly, or angrily. Amara just told me what to do in a straightforward way. It wasn’t exactly friendly – it’s hard to be friendly when you’re telling someone to go get you coffee – but it wasn’t angry.
I guess it just sounded natural. “Is there anything you don’t eat, Michael?” “I don’t like cantaloupe or green peppers, but I eat everything else.” “Hand me your menu: I’ll order.” I handed it over. She signaled the waiter and gave him our order. She really had internalized the whole dominance thing. She didn’t ask me what I wanted, and she was very direct with the waiter without being rude. I thought it would feel weird to have a woman order for me, and I looked around to see if other people were staring, but no one was. The waiter didn’t seem to find it unusual, either.
Maybe she came here with people a lot. Amara asked me about my values. She asked me a lot of things I’d never really thought about too deeply. At first, I tried to make things up on the spot, but then I figured it was better to just be honest and admit to her that I hadn’t thought about it and didn’t know. She smiled when I did, and I got the impression she’d known I was making stuff up. I guess it was obvious. She’d thought about her values a lot, so when I asked her what she wanted from life and what she thought about things such as kids or religion or happiness in general, she had confident answers at the ready.
She also wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable. She talked about some of her early fears and her failures in art. I hadn’t expected that from a dominant woman. The dinner flew by. I was more nervous than I’ve been in long time. I’m good with girls. I know how to act on the first few dates to get them liking me. It can get a little boring, honestly. Most guys my age are morons when it comes to women. They’re insecure, so they try really hard to appear confident and brag or use sad pick-up lines, which just highlights their insecurity. And they’re afraid of women and angry at them because some girl in 7th grade didn’t like them and they don’t have any idea how to listen to a woman so she’ll open up.
I’ll tell you what to do Michael. Is that an issue?” “No. I just wasn’t sure, because I want to kiss you, but I know…” “That I’m in charge?” “Yes.” “Yes what?” “Yes, you’re in charge.” We were at her car, and she pushed my back up against her door. She raised her fingers and slowly caressed my cheek until she was holding my chin. She then leaned in and kissed me. I pushed back against her. “Stop.” I stopped. “When we kiss, you’re surrendering to me. You can kiss me back, but keep your lips soft and receive my kiss.”
She kissed me again and I felt it through my whole body. I kept my lips soft as she placed her hand on the back of my neck. I wanted to grab her and throw her against the car. I wanted to ravage her body and thrust into her. But more than any of that, I wanted her to keep kissing me.
Finally she pulled back, but she kept her hand on the back of my neck. “That was nice, Michael.” “When can I see you again?” “This Sunday. You’ll come over for lunch, and we’ll talk more seriously about what a relationship with me means. I’ll email you my address and instructions. Good night Michael.” “Good night, Amara.” I really felt great on the drive home. I couldn’t believe how sexy she was. The dominant part really added another layer, too. This was going to be a fun little time.
exciting story!
I like to read those emails!