More Than Words

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This is another Jack story. I hope I’m not going to bore you all to death with Jack stories. I don’t want to get… Well you know how things can get. I shall endeavour not to get like that.

But this story is mostly about me. And it is also a good illustration of where the fuck all the dom women are. Because even though I *am* here, I do understand the mind set that leads women to have fantasies about being sexually dominant and not to act on them in any way because they do not fit into the prevailing ideology of the femdom.

Jack sent me an email. Our relationship is really mostly on email. Because we live in different cities and I am busy, busy with work. (actual non-sex-related work – ‘cause I do that. I’m kind of eccentric.) I’m working weekends and everything – it’s quite silly. If you wonder why I’m online such a lot – that’s why. Me and Jack’s second date isn’t going to be until 1st Sep.

So, email. Jack wrote me an email. I forget what about. Something. Nothing. And at the end he says something like, I am sorry this email contains no exciting promises to suffer just to make you wet. Here.

I promise to suffer for you, just to make you wet.

That’s nice, isn’t it? A nice line. So I write back. That was nice. That’s the kind of line I’d like to have you write out 100 times.

I kink for that, see. For the guy writing lines. Not in a role play. Just as is. It’s a kind of begging thing really. And a word thing. And a punitive achy hand thing. In my masturbatory fantasies he is often writing stuff like please don’t hurt me over and over.

Please have mercy.

He’s often tied. Maybe already quite sore from something. I am not so arse fixated – but I do like it hurting to sit down sometimes. Maybe his dominant hand is cuffed behind his back. Maybe he’s having to write cack-handed with a pen he has to dip into an inkwell. He has a time limit which is completely unachievable. Sometimes he’s writing to try and avoid imprisonment as well as pain. Locked up starvation is all too popular with me.

Maybe he’s achy-crampy and trying to write enough lines fast enough to avoid going back in that cage he can’t sit down in.

Anyway I vaguely say all this to Jack and link him to this, which I had seen earlier that day and found stupid-hot. I don’t know much about this guy’s blog, it seems abandoned and there is nothing else I find hot on there – but writing lines just fucking does it for me.

And then Jack went quiet.

See I have fantasies I have never acted on because I just assumed no guy would find them hot.

No guy would really write lines for me. I am no way beautiful enough to demand whatever I want. Best not to ask. It would only be awkward when he said, ‘god, no. Where’s the fun for me in that?’

So I just left it. A man writing desperate lines, with his achey unfavoured hand. I masturbated to it. Never really mentioned it to anyone. Not until I saw that blog and then had it in mind when I was talking to Jack. And I never *asked* Jack to do it. Just said that I would find it fucking hot if he did.

I may have said, while chatting to Jack, that if I talked about a man writing lines anymore I would have to go and masturbate – but that is as direct as I really got.

Not saying I didn’t know what I was doing. I am not coy. Just that I couldn’t put myself in a position where he could tell me no.

About half and hour later Jack emails me. Here.

And attached are pictures. Lots of pictures. Close up and long shots showing the pages full. Long hand. Over and over. Those words.

I promise to suffer for you, just to make you wet.

100 times.

God. All those words and I was speechless.

I didn’t try and enact my fantasy before because I assumed it didn’t have a place in femdom. It didn’t fit. That’s a little picture.

Here’s a big picture.

I think a lot of women feel that way about their entire urge to dominate men.

Women have fantasies about dominating men all the time.

But very broadly, female sexual fantasy is a lot more quirky and untidy and emotional and story-driven than male fantasy. And it has a lot less rubber dolls in it. Exactly *not* what is presented to them as femdom.

Women’s fantasies of femdom don’t fit the femdom they are offered. So no deal. They don’t fit the crappy, horrendous, do-it-for-money-not-for-you model so they choose – what else is there? - vanilla. In fact, I think they choose vanilla because if you are a domabe woman with any self respect, a strong-woman in a vanilla world type lifestyle is probably a better fit for your self-image than the dismal non-con humiliation of watching as the femdom corporation kick your desires to shreds for their personal private profit every damn day.

And that is why I started my blog. To get some of those women back.

That’s my big idea. Create this chink of a world where femdom looks different. It’s just a chink, but a few women will get in this way. And they will make this hole in the world bigger and bigger.

And eventually – I know it will take ages - all the women who *want*, deep down inside, to be hitting men with stuff will be happy doing it, instead of just closing their eyes and wishing they were.

And all the male subs will have nice non-ass-hat girlfriends. So they’ll be happy too.

So come the revolution everyone will be happy. Well except a few manky old prodoms who will find there is much less need for they’re spanky services now there are a bunch of women out and happy who actually *enjoy* spanking men so much they do it for free. (Imagine! For free. Mistress Whap, can you imagine loving being cruel and mean to men *so* *much* you’d do it for no money?)

Yeah, so the poor pros might have to sell their ‘full fetish wardrobes’ to buy food and lipstick and botox.

I know, I know, it is so rare to find a solution to a problem that has no downside!

But here’s the end of my story. Back to the little picture. After I’d masturbated over those pictures Jack sent me ten thousand times I told him all about how I thought no man would ever want to do that for me.

He said, ‘Well, look, in future, if you want to do anything and you are worried I won’t find it hot, just ask me. I’ll find a way to eroticise it. And if I can’t, you know, I’ll just do it anyway.’

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