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Don’t know if this would be considered out-of-bounds. I don't have a "switch" side though. It’s more about an imagined society with a strict Female Supremacy hierarchy in which even a female slave is Lord to any male. FS to me is never about man-hating. It is an instinct I’ve always had that women are just closer to the tuning fork of the universe, inherently wiser, and stronger in the ways that matter. But in this scenario, enforcement can be a bit… rigid. A note for casual passers by. There are some violations of "consent" here. It's a fantasy. Your consent is sacrosanct in this establishment, so don't take anything too seriously. ***** Part 1. Things were off to a very ominous start. Communications were what you'd call "clipped." I hadn’t visited for a while and didn’t grok that this absence might have become an “issue.” "You'll arrive Saturday at 7 sharp." Um, how long are we talking about? "7pm sharp. Don’t make plans.” Do I bring anything or wear anything? "You’re a whore. Dress like one.” Click. Whore? Under the circumstances, I thought it would be wise to keep one chastity key at home in case the tone I was picking up was more than a passing thing and involved key confiscation. I arrived on the dot and was led to the bathroom and unceremoniously pushed toward the door. “Get dressed. 2 minutes.” “Dressed” in Her view meant full slut regalia, slave collar, leashes on chastity device and collar, remote controlled plug inserted, and a street-walking layer of red lipstick. It was not conceivable to do all that in 2 minutes, but I knew better than to say so given the overall tension in the air. I emerged about 7 minutes later and dutifully handed Her the 2 leashes, the remote control for the plug, and 2 (of 3…) keys to my chastity device. “Do you not know how long 2 minutes is?” She tapped her leg with a riding crop menacingly. I looked down as submissively as I knew how and said nothing. This was definitely not the time to offer anything cute or defensive on my behalf. “Face the wall.” There was a sharp tug on the leash to my chastity device. “Spread ‘em.” It was the perp position, and soon was augmented with police cuffs. A chain was run down from the back of the slave collar to hoist my hands so they could not reach lower than the small of the back. “Can you protect your ass this way?” I don’t think so… “Try.” She brought the crop down hard. This was … highly motivating. I strained to lower my hands to stop the next blow. And failed. The crop landed twice more and echoed in the hallway. “Excellent!” The defenselessness pleased Her. I tried a different tack. Mistress, I have an event coming up this week. So, I wanted to ask not to be marked… too much. I added the ‘too much’ because the first 3 stripes with the crop would definitely last for days. She grabbed a handful of my hair and snapped my head back to speak directly into my ear. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before?” She marched me down the hall by the 2 leashes to a locked room. “Kneel, bitch.” She felt my balls for ‘fullness.’ I shudder to think what would have happened if they weren’t full to Her satisfaction, indicating unacceptable sluttiness. Thinking we might be turning a corner in the tension department thanks to my not “cheating” in chastity, I tried a little further self-promotion. I shaved too, Mistress. I was in fact, completely bare under and all around the chastity device. But this did not impress. “Why did you need to shave? You aren’t allowed to have hair on your clit - ever.” I went back to plan A – looking down silently. She removed my lock and threw it in the trash along with my keys. She replaced it with a new lock with a shiny red key. So much for my clever idea of leaving a key at home. “Open.” A pink rubber ball was stuffed in my mouth. A blindfold followed. Suddenly the elevator felt incredibly far away in another world. Finally, She relented. Slightly. “You have forgotten your place in the world. Today, you will remember. Make me proud, little slut.” Speaking being precluded by the ball in my mouth, I nodded vigorously. That there was a path, however thorny, back to making Her proud was a distant spot of light in the enveloping darkness. She fastened my slave collar to the bottom of the rack against the wall. The leash on my chastity device was pulled between my legs, over my butt-plug and up to an upper rung on the rack. These 2 maneuvers left me with my face on the floor and my ass in the air. I sensed a flash through the blindfold and heard the click of a digital camera. “I’m sending your picture to Someone. She is your only chance at redemption. Understand?” I nodded as well as I could in my predicament, though the thought of the Someone only seeing/knowing me as a bound, gagged, plugged, chastised harlot with my welted ass in the air was unnerving. “Good girl.” She left. Part 2. After 15 minutes or 4 hours – whatever it was – I felt the jolt of the remote-controlled plug being switched on through the walls. She was returning. I heard a brief scuffle at the door and another woman’s voice. “No, Master, please. Not in front of her.” “Quiet, slave!” There was a slap of flesh. I guessed it was the crop again. The female slave fell silent. I was the “her” She’d referred to. About that…. When I first came to study Their secret society as an anthropological curiosity several months ago, I’d asked if there was any place for males in it. “Of course, pet. But you don’t seriously think you would be one of them, do you?” She laughed at the silliness of it, and continued the thought. “The weak-minded will be brainwashed and feminized. No exceptions. It will be better for your research.” I took offense to the “weak-minded” reference and the implied ease of brainwashing me. But here I am today on my knees in a pink corset and stockings with a foreign lock between my legs…. But, I digress. So, meanwhile, back in the present…. The female slave was led to the frame and shackled to it facing the wall. Her legs were spread so that a spiked heel was under my nose where my collar was fastened. The Mistress released my collar so I could kneel in an upright position. She removed my gag and blindfold as well. She introduced the bound Slave. I did not qualify to be introduced to anyone. “This is my Slave. Slave I. Say hello to Her, whore.” Hello, slave I. Her slap was immediate and resounding, leaving a red handprint on my cheek despite her latex glove. “You will never refer to any woman as ‘Slave’. Including Slaves. You will refer to all women as Mistress or Master.” It took a moment for my head to clear from the slap. Hello, Mistress I. I'm sorry if I was rude. She hissed. “Don’t look at me, bitch.” Clearly, submitting in front of me infuriated the Slave. I looked away immediately, but the Mistress lifted my chin so my eyes were on the spectacular thong-parted ass of the Slave. The Mistress asked her Slave if She 'needed' the crop again. “No, Master.” She was quiet again. The Mistress addressed me. “You will pay a high price for witnessing this spectacle, whore. The highest in fact” Yes, Mistress... I hadn’t chosen to see ‘this spectacle.’ But it was not my place to choose spectacles. Suggesting that it was would have been considered extreme defiance. “Kiss Her foot. Worship it. Kiss your way up Her stockings…” I’ll pause here to add something. The Slave was an absolute Goddess. And, to avoid severe consequences, I had been in chastity a week. My brain was melting…. “Now, kiss Her ass. Kiss my Slave’s ass.” She leaned down and whispered. “You’re worshiping a Slave’s ass. What does that make you, whore?” It was rhetorical. I was whatever She said I was. But I noticed there was no angry welt on the ass I was worshiping. Unlike mine… She freed the Slave from the frame momentarily, spun her around, and restrained her again, facing forward this time. I now saw that the Slave was wearing a strap-on. And, god, She was gorgeous. I couldn’t process it. Everything about Her exuded dominance. We were not peers. But we were both at the mercy of the Mistress. For now. “You know what to do, whore. Suck my Slave’s cock. My Slave wants to cum down your throat. It will be good practice for swallowing your own cum later.” I abandoned myself to the task. Trying to understand always got me in trouble. So I didn’t. “Good girl. Cover it with lipstick. Your lipstick might be all the lube you will be getting from Her.” From Her? But She increased the vibration on the remote-controlled plug and spoke in that hypnotic voice. “You’re sucking Slave cock. You love Slave cock. You need Slave cock. You are the lowest of all whores. A Slave fluffer. A slave to Slaves.” I tried to remember my haughty dismissal of Her casual assurance that I would be easily brainwashed. So long ago and so far away…. Meanwhile, She deepened her mind-control over me. “Stop!” She pulled on the leash between my legs. “What is this?” She pointed with her crop. The ‘this’ was me bulging out of the chastity device as her “Slave cock” mantra was filling my ears. “You got aroused at the sight of a Goddess in bondage? You, the lowest of all whores?” I apologized, but knew the consequences were already set. “That will be 25 with the crop.” “Fifty,” the Slave amended Her. This time the Mistress did not silence Her. The wheel was beginning to turn. “It is Her decision, whore. In fact from now on, everything is Her decision.” Everything? I looked up at Her face for the first time. And there, hanging in the triangle of her cleavage was the shiny red key. The one for the lock I was wearing. For the final time, the Mistress released Her from bondage. Together, they fastened me to the rack. The former Slave pulled the gag into my mouth and spoke softly in my ear. “Fifty. Make me proud, little slut.” Yeth, Mithtress, I slobbered through the gag. She grabbed my hair and jerked my head to Her lips. “It’s 'Master' to you, slave.” She waved the red key in my face for emphasis.

Haven't written any D/s fiction for a while. Re-reading the last one, finding some inevitable similarities. Well, I've only been blessed with one kinky mind. Which is better than none at all I guess. My D/s fiction tends to be a pretext for a session or multi-sessions. Good for setting tone, but not overly prescriptive about the session(s) itself. I'm drawn to non-consensual or limited consent scenes that don't place too many burdens on the dominatrix to orchestrate; or "acting" duties for myself, which would be the source of endless cringing for the dominatrix. I "roleplay" as a shy, over-committed professional in need of very dominant guidance. In real life, I am a shy, over-committed professional in need of very dominant guidance. It's mostly a session-triggering backstory then, but hopefully entertaining to a certain mindset. Use the keywords to see if it's up your alley or would bore you to tears. A disclaimer: The Goddess in the story takes advantage of how easily she can turn her prey into a helpless puddle of submission - for which she can easily get him fired. It's not in any way a negative reference to #MeToo which I full-heartedly endorse. It's a fantasy only. The Goddess is quite ethical. But she knows her prey would benefit from knowing he has no choice but to do things her way.. *** Master. One of my company’s VIP clients is FF Consulting. Exactly what they do is only known to a few senior executives, but it is a thriving business and they are treated with the highest degree of deference and care whenever they visit our office. One day a representative from FF is in the office for meetings. Professional attire fails to conceal the fact that she is an utter Goddess. And there is just a hint of fetish in her choice of accessories. She has a particular gift for shape-shifting seamlessly between cult-worthy ethereal seductress and (relatively) innocent young professional. I first see her as I am getting in an elevator and hold the door for her. I immediately start looking down at the floor once the doors close. I am used to being invisible to women like her. She reminds me that I didn’t ask her floor. “Oh, sorry - which floor?” I press it and resume looking at the floor. I feel her looking at me appraisingly as I keep my gaze lowered. “Do you like my shoes, little one?” Little one? I am older, taller, larger. Yet it sounds so right coming from her. “Yes--” It is out of my mouth before I know it. I am praying someone else gets on the elevator, but it keeps moving.. “You’re a shy girl, aren’t you? I like shy girls.” Right then, it was over. She had already made up her mind about me. My shyness was like waving red meat in front of a lioness. From that point on she never referred to me or related to me as anything but her little girl, her bitch, her filthy whore. Slave girl. Not even slave boy. She grabbed my name tag and read it. “Mark, is it? Mark dear, we need to talk later.” I jumped back behind my professional facade. “I have meetings all day. I’m sure we have excellent people who can help you. I’ll just—“ “I don’t need help. And you will be excused from your meetings. Now be a good girl and go get me a water. I’ll be in conference room A.” Be a good girl? But I went back downstairs and bought 3 kinds of water not knowing which kind she liked. I recovered myself and knew what to do. I’d bring her water, show her my calendar with meetings all day and then offer to find literally anyone in the company to see to her needs. I found her alone in her reserved conference room. A sign outside said she was not to be disturbed… She smiled at my 3 kinds of water. “What an earnest little princess. You would make a Mistress very proud.” I was blushing uncontrollably. Then I remembered my calendar. I opened my phone to show her. “You see as I was saying before I’m very—“ But when I looked I saw that I was excused from all of that day’s meetings. And as her stern visage indicated, she already knew. “Never contradict me, pet. That will cost you 25 but only because it is your first offense.” “25?” “Strokes with my crop. On your pretty ass. I like to leave marks. Not today but soon enough. Still, I will remember your total. So no more rudeness, understood?” “Yes….” I was looking down again. Bewildered. "Yes, what?” “Yes…Mistress?” I guessed that was the title expected. “No, silly. Slave boys have Mistresses. Slave girls have Masters.” Then her tone changed from gentle correction to pure dominance. “Say it!” “Yes…Master...” “Good girl! See how easily that fell from your slutty lips? Run along now. Master is having your email and phone hacked and reviewing your credit card statements. I have some suspicions that I believe will be confirmed shortly.” My eyes popped. Could she really do this? But she already had my day’s meetings cancelled. Was she about to find all the BDSM pictures and videos I had downloaded? Every single one depicted total male submission. And all of the forced feminization materials. Even submission to transsexual Mistresses. She would also find my attempts to locate a therapist to “make my fantasies go away.” And the therapists’ analysis that my desires were perfectly healthy; and my insurance company's refusal to let me seek a 3rd and 4th opinion on a closed matter for an imaginary "problem"...... She would also find all the purchases of plugs, gags, restraints, chastity devices. The very picture of the reluctant, confused submissive. Everything she thought I was from the first "shy girl" moment in the elevator. I sat at my desk fighting a panic which was made worse by the fact that I had literally nothing to do. Finally around noon an email popped up from HR. It was notice of a status update. My gender had officially been changed from "male" to "intersex" on all my personnel records. The change was approved several management levels above me but made to look like it was done at my request. As I stared at this bizarre document trying to make sense of it, my phone rang. “Get back up here NOW, bitch." She hung up immediately. My panic rose 3 orders of magnitude. When I got back to the room she closed and locked the door behind me. Her teasing tone was gone. “On your knees, hands behind your back, eyes on the floor.” It was clear that she had given that command countless times. I was finding it impossible to recall that I was older, taller, anything. I felt powerless and deeply naive in her presence. “You have very interesting browser history and credit card receipts. Did you think I wouldn’t find out, slut?” “No, I-“ She slapped me. “No, what?” “No, Master.” She soothed my slapped cheek and her tone became gentle again. “Always be honest with me. There is no way to hide anything from me. Don’t try. Ever. Understand?” “Yes, Master.” I was embarrassingly aroused and jutting out of my pants; I wanted to cover up with my hands but was required to keep them behind my back. She rubbed me with her spiked heel, making matters much worse. Suddenly she grabbed my hair to make me face her. “Why isn’t your clit locked up? You have a chastity device. Why aren’t you wearing it?” I was thrown off by the word 'clit' and took a moment too long to reply, resulting in another slap. I felt like my 25 strokes was about to go up. “I just got it to experiment, Master.” “Am I an experiment, slave?” Slave? It was one thing to be required to call Her Master. It was another for Her to call me slave. I felt like I was in a locked room with the water up to my chin and my ankles chained to the floor. “No, Master. No.” “Then shave it and lock it and keep it shaved and locked. I won’t tell you again." “Yes, Master.” She took a picture of me with her phone, one that would suffice to end my career at this firm or any other. The water was continuing to rise in my locked room. "You do know, don’t you, how easily you can be terminated now? Behaving so obscenely in front of your most important client?” “I know, Master…” Doubtless she would switch off her insanely seductive dominance when dragging me in front of HR and instead present herself as the offended, completely innocent representative of a client who, let's be honest, could have me thrown off the roof if they wanted to. But as I was trying to come to grips with my permanent unemployability, she lifted my chin again to speak. “But we don’t want that, do we?. So I will see you on Saturday night. Dress the part.” “What is the 'part,' Master?” “Master’s new slut. Master’s new whore. Master’s new bitch. Master’s new slave girl. White with red accents would work. White because you are a virgin. Red because you are a slut.” Virgin? It was true. That was why everything was upside down. Why she could call me "little one" and not seem to simply be playing a part herself. It was why it sounded absolutely correct. Because in her world, I was a virgin. On Saturday I was directed to wait in a room, facing the wall with my arms and legs spread like a perp. I was “dressed for the part” in mostly white but red panties. I was also plugged and had leashes attached to my slave collar and chastity device. And shaved bare. She kept me waiting. I doubted she was ever late for anything. She simply wanted me to learn to wait for her. I knew not to turn around when she entered. She walked up behind me, took a firm hold of the leash between my legs, and breathed in my ear. “Good girl.” And right then, counter-intuitively, I knew I would be ok. Broken, violated in ways I couldn't even imagine, psychologically reprogrammed as whatever she wanted me to be. But ok. Even cherished if I accepted the inevitable without conditions. And the inevitable was to become whatever she considered a “good girl." She handed me a large garbage bag. "For your first task, put everything on the table in this bag and deposit it by the door so it can go out with the evening trash." "Yes, Master." I was eager to show my capacity for unthinking compliance. But when I turned and saw Master in a breathtaking latex dress, I began to wobble. She had, after all, kept me locked up all week and now presented me with this excruciatingly hot sight.... But tidying up would at least occupy my mind for a few moments. Then I saw what she had piled on the table for me to discard with that night's trash: my male clothing and the keys to my chastity device. I froze, taking in the threshold I was about to cross. Or be forced to cross. My delay was cut short as her crop crashed down on my ass giving me my first welt. "Never hesitate, slave. Everything I tell you to do is good for you, whether you understand it or not. So simply obey without thinking. That will cost you another 25." "Yes, Master." The water was rising again, but somehow I didn't care. i would have to learn to be a fish. Master smiled ever so slightly as I began to stuff everything in the bag. That smile was all the oxygen I needed.

Another tawdry daydream. Kind of long, but hopefully the keywords help you decide whether to check or skip. It was triggered by this post, speculating on a dominatrix observing me being professional and composed and absolutely seeing through it. #### For the shy and socially reserved types out there - the trick to these meetings is that they're all the same meeting. Few variations. Looks hard, but isn't. Prepare an agenda, read it a few times, stop thinking about it. Attendees are people from the firm and maybe some outside consulting companies. While there's a full room, only a few are crucial. Get a sense of the room, go at a good clip, finish on time. No one will see the other you or even suspect there is one. Today was different. I didn't know if she was maybe a consultant? Someone from another firm? Just happened to be at that hotel during the conference? I can usually tell. But I couldn't this time. Her authority didn't emanate from the usual sources. She was also one of those women who managed to make professional attire disturbingly hot. But it was her eyes that overpowered. It felt like she could instantly read any unacceptable thought that popped in my head - and they were coming in waves. I did the only thing I knew how to do - reminded myself that she was too young and uber-sultry to have any interest in me and then avoided looking at her. This seemed to work tolerably well. Since she insisted on sitting toward the front, I had to brace myself every time she crossed her legs in that dress. My hopes soon faded that she would diddle with her phone constantly, like most girls would who were as stunning as she and sitting through a fiduciary policy presentation. Instead I sensed her studying me. Not the material I was presenting, but me. Like something pinned to her dissection table. But I pressed ahead, trying to lose myself in the material and the task at hand. When it was finally time for Q&A, she waited til everyone had finished. Then, when it was completely quiet, she asked if I was available for "private instruction." Avoiding the devouring vacuum of her eyes, I looked slightly past her as a blind man might when answering in the direction of a voice. I said arrangements could be made with the firm for individualized presentations to small groups. She corrected, "No, I meant are you open to receiving private instruction. One on one." My mouth went dry. I reached for my water and spilled it, which fortunately created enough of a diversion to end the presentation. People started shuffling out and I reminded them to fill out their feedback surveys. Two remained at the end. She and an unconscionable nerd. I was thankful for him and his potato-headed earnestness. I answered all his questions and some he hadn't even thought of, hoping she would get bored and leave in the meantime. She didn't. The over-indulged nerd left at last and we were alone. I busied myself to the point of theatrics packing my papers and laptop. "You didn't answer my question about private instruction." Trying to keep things general and corporate I managed to say, "Well, I'm always open to learn new material. It would depend on the course. Feel free to leave a brochure or website with your feedback." I gave her a completely idiotic nod and smile and attempted to leave. She dropped her gloves as I passed. "Could you get those?" Her voice was a kind of narcotic honey. I dropped to the ground without realizing it. As I reached for the gloves, she stepped on them with her black spiked sandal. "How do you like these shoes?" My mouth was dry again. In my mind her shoes were glowing with an intense debilitating fetish power. But they somehow went with that dress. "V-very n. Nice. Very. Both." It was barely english. She was pleased with what a wreck she had reduced me to and continued. "It's not what I would wear for your private instruction of course. Then again, you would be dressed differently as well. Slut." She lifted my chin with her hand and looked through my eyes to the back of my head. "Mmm, yes. I was right about you." As she released my face to take her gloves she scratched my neck and cheek. My first marks by her hand. Something fluttered to the floor. It was a black shiny business card with red script lettering that said simply, "Your Goddess." There was a phone number on the back. I watched her perfect ass drift toward the door and out. It took several hours to compose myself. But I reminded myself that she was just a cat playing with a mouse. She was having fun at my expense. It was mean really, playing with someone who would never be part of her world. I felt sufficiently renewed to read the feedback cards. Most were the usual crap. Longer please, shorter please, talk more about my little problem please. Etc, etc. Overall positive as usual. I left hers for last. I knew it was hers because it was scented with her perfume. What part did you find most beneficial? The presenter kneeling in front of me. He looks very natural this way. He is confused about it, but we both know it. I could see it in his eyes. What part was least beneficial? The presenter avoided eye contact when I asked about instructing him. He knows better than that. It will be addressed later. Firmly, I'm afraid. What would have made the presentation better? The presenter should have been locked in chastity and wearing panties. But this can easily be corrected. And will be. Other comments. Hello again my little fool. Were you able to stop thinking about me? Rhetorical. I scare you, don't I? Poor thing. But then you comfort yourself with "the age difference." You feel protected by it, don't you? "What am I to her," you think. "Invisible," you tell yourself. But here is what you should understand about the difference separating us. I am a fully formed dominant woman, and you are a lost little boy. I can snap you like a dry twig. And you already know it. But I have no wish to harm you. I am, however, considering making you my slave. Does that paradox worry you? It shouldn't. You have no part to play in MY decision. But just re-imagine this morning. Waking up, taking your shower, looking down and seeing my name engraved on a lock to which you will never have keys. How lucky you would feel under my control. You would shave yourself bare because that is what your Goddess requires. And then put on your panties and go to work. No more trying to deny your secret self. I would not allow it. But I have not yet made MY decision about your fate. Here is what you will do. Shave yourself bare and lock yourself in chastity. Put on a pair of panties. At 8pm get on your knees, naked except for panties and chastity - and call the number on the card. Until then, Your Goddess. Outrageous. Absurd. Just more head games, I thought as I put an even coat of shaving cream everywhere from my abdomen to mid-thigh. Ridiculous, like this is anything real, I added, fastening the lock and putting on the panties. I hope you enjoyed the little joke at my expense, I muttered, listening to the phone ringing at 8pm as I waited on my knees. No doubt it was routed to a call center in Bangalore, I assured myself. But then it stopped ringing. For the first little while I only heard her breathing. Finally she spoke. "Why, hello little slut. Right on time. Do I even need to ask if you obeyed your Goddess? Of course not. You are kneeling, shaved, and locked. You will begin all of our conversations this way. "You will take tomorrow off. You were planning to lose yourself in work to forget what happened today. That is cancelled now. Forgetting your Goddess is unacceptable. I am the balance you desperately need. Deny me at your peril. "To teach you a lesson about such foolishness, you will spend a week in chastity. Two weeks if I think you need it. Then and only then you will come to the address I give you, and we will begin your transformation. Good night, slut. Don't try to understand. Everything is taken care of and beyond your control." Click. I barely made it to bed. Never slept like that before.