Getting a man to accept sexual slavery is easier in a new and uncommitted relationship than in an established and committed one. When the relationship is new, he’s turned on to you, concerned about pleasing you, probably in love with you. You don’t have to overcome established patterns of interaction that are inconsistent with female domination, and he’s encouraged by the thought that if the experiment goes badly, he can cut his losses and flee.
On the downside, there’s a much greater risk that the mere attempt will scare him away for good. In a committed relationship, you’ll have to work harder to enslave your partner and there’s a greater probability that you’ll fail, but the chance that the attempt will end the relationship is slim. In an uncommitted relationship, the least likely of the three possible outcomes is that he’ll refuse to become your love slave but remain willing to negotiate some other arrangement.
I enslaved all my lovers early. Since I wasn’t interested in any other sort of relationship, I didn’t worry about scaring them off. Only two ran, but don’t let that encourage you more than it should. Remember, anyone can see before getting involved with me that I’m a tease. Remember too that I’m rarely attracted to a man unless my intuition tells me he’s well suited to my agenda. If the same number of partners had been assigned to me at random, I’m sure at least three would have run. What I’m getting at is that my advice is based on the assumption that you’re not worried about losing your man. If you are, be forewarned that I haven’t taken that into account. You may lose him. Use your priorities, not mine, in deciding whether to accept the risk.
The way I invited Patrick to become my love slave is just one possibility among many. You would likely set up a different scenario. Its exact nature would depend on your age and experience, your partner’s age and experience, quirks of your personality and his, the degree to which you’re worried about venereal infection, and so on. We’ll look here at some of the possibilities—not all, by any means, but a few that seem generally useful.
I’ll proceed from the assumption that you’re truly determined to enslave your man. This will permit me the corollary assumption that you’re willing to wield the one threat that underlies all female domination: Your man can’t have you except on your terms. You have to be willing to make that a rule, make it clear, and enforce it. If he won’t do as you say, put some distance between you and leave him sexually frustrated, accepting your own unsatisfied lust as an unfortunate necessity.
We began our survey of invitations to sexual slavery with the story of how Patrick was persuaded to accept mine. Let’s expand our perspective by looking at the major crossroads that Patrick and I negotiated as we made our way toward his acceptance. The earliest was our decision to fuck without a condom. I don’t divide that into a decision to fuck and a decision to forgo a condom, because I never use condoms. If I don’t feel comfortable fucking a man without a condom, I don’t fuck him at all. I might enslave him anyway, just as a young virgin trying to save herself for marriage might enslave her boyfriend, but the techniques I would use, like those the virgin would use, exclude fucking.
If a man is wearing a condom, the stimulation inflicted on his cock by my pussy is dulled to such a degree that he can resist it. I can’t make him come against his will as I can when he’s naked, and once he’s come, the condom dulls the effect of further stimulation, masking the sensitivity that most men experience after orgasm. If my sexual relationship with a man includes fucking, it’s while fucking that I like to find out whether he’s subject to that sensitivity. I can’t do that if he’s wearing a condom. And once I’ve found that his cock does get sensitive when he comes, I can’t play with that sensitivity while fucking him through a condom.
The second major crossroads in the unfolding of Patrick’s enslavement was my discovery that he was, in fact, one of those men who can’t bear continued stimulation after orgasm. Had I found out differently, I would have had to change my approach.
The third and last crossroads was Patrick’s refusal to acknowledge his enslavement that Saturday until after I’d made him come. Had he voiced his assent a few minutes earlier, the rest of the afternoon would have gone at least a little differently.
Those three crossroads aren’t the only ones anyone ever encounters; they’re merely the ones that stand out most clearly in my relationship with Patrick. Men often open up other possibilities by what they do in the course of a developing relationship, or by how they respond to what their partners do. We’ll look at a couple of such twists soon, but first let’s explore the alternatives arising out of the last two of the three choices we’ve identified in the story of Patrick.
We can start by putting me back where I was that first Saturday afternoon: sitting on my lover’s chest, inviting him to be my slave. What if he says yes? It happens quite often; more men have said yes than no.
“Ooh, yummy! I know just how I’m going to have you seal that agreement!”
I tie the man’s ankles, untie his hand, and tell him to play with himself until he comes.
I watch closely. I tease him about the show. I talk about how we’ll both always remember, to his great embarrassment, that I watched him do this. I point out that as my love slave, he’ll have to give me a repeat performance whenever I want, and that he’ll always be aware of the possibility. I feed the Loop every way I can. If his nipples are erogenous, I set to work on the nearest one as he approaches orgasm, and I keep playing with it until he’s done. This adds to the intimacy of the experience and prevents him from limiting his stimulation to an intensity that won’t overwhelm him. Through that nipple, I can completely destroy his composure.
If he were to refuse to play with himself, I’d warn him that he’d get very uncomfortable after lying there a few hours, and that if he doesn’t prove his willingness to be my love slave by doing as I say, our sexual relationship is over. Then I’d stimulate him lightly in an attempt to make him desperate for release. When I evoked some obvious response—a moan, a twitch of his cock—I’d say, “You like that, don’t you? You’re going to have to bring yourself off the rest of the way or you’ll never get to feel me do it again.” I’ve never had to go that far. Every man with whom I’ve gone this route has sealed the agreement as I asked, and with very little argument.
Now imagine that during my third sexual encounter with a man, I start licking his nipple without touching his cock, and he starts playing with it himself. It would be silly to try to seal a contract of sexual slavery with such a man by having him masturbate while I watched; the gesture would be meaningless. Taking this to its extreme, it’s possible to imagine a man whom I couldn’t invite to be my love slave at all, because I wouldn’t be able to think of anything I could have him to in that role, and if he agreed and kept his promise, I wouldn’t be able to tell. Fortunately I’ve never had that problem because I’m not attracted to that sort of man. Shyness is one of the qualities I need to turn me on. It doesn’t really impose much of a limitation on my choice of partners because almost all men have learned at least a little sexual shyness, even if they pretend otherwise.
What if my lover turns out to be the sort of man who experiences no discomfort at all when I continue to stimulate his cock after he comes? What I do then is pretty much what I did with Patrick. I get him used to eating me while tied down, and I wind up presenting him with the same invitation in the same way. If he accepts, I tie his ankles and tell him to seal the agreement by playing with himself while I watch.
If he declines, I explain that I need him to accept or I can’t continue our sexual relationship; that’s just the way I am. Once a man’s refusal is confronted in this way, there’s a good chance he’ll reconsider and accept. It makes no difference. If he accepts only after the choice is put to him in this manner, you can’t have him seal the agreement by masturbating then and there because he’ll be playacting. Your teasing will be directed not at him but at the character he’s portraying to satisfy your demands. He’ll go his way not as your genuinely devoted love slave but as a cynical womanizer rehearsing stories to tell his buddies about the kinky scenes he’s been acting out to satisfy your weird tastes. He’ll continue his relationship with you out of curiosity and because he expects you to continue to satisfy most of his sexual needs until he finds another woman, not because it excites him as he never imagined his own embarrassment could, and certainly not because he loves you.
If he claims to have reconsidered—to be willing to submit to you—tell him he needs to think about it a few days and then you’ll get together if he’s still sure he wants to go through with it. Other than that, don’t tell him what to expect.
He’s still horny, still tied down. Straddle his cock and put it in your pussy. Sit still and tell him that if he decides not to accept your invitation, this will be your last fuck. Embellish your speech with as much affection and sentiment as you honestly feel, and by all means encourage him to make good his acceptance. Etch in his memory a picture of you that he can love while considering. Then let your pussy do its thing, and enjoy.
I went this route with two men. Two friends tried it with one man each. One lost the man immediately. Two of the men came back to see whether their relationships with my other friend and me could continue under more conventional protocols. I said no, but the other relationship was salvaged. One man came back to me as my love slave.
Drew called me at work three days after he initially refused, then hastily reconsidered, my invitation. He told me he hadn’t been able to get me off his mind, that he needed me, that he was worried I had already written off our relationship. He wanted to see me—that evening if possible.
I surmised he was both desperately in love and desperately horny. Beautiful!
I was glad to hear from him. I loved him and I was horny myself. I regretted that I wouldn’t be able to share my own orgasm with him that evening, but I knew what had to be done. My satisfaction would have to be the solitary sort, after he had gone, but at least it would be spiced by the fresh recollection of the coming evening’s adventure and the happy thought that in time I would again feel him inside me.
I asked him when he could be over, and he suggested picking me up for dinner at seven. I told him I’d meet him at Francescas. I had no use for the elaborate courtship ritual I was sure he had in mind; I preferred the comfort of my own stamping ground, an early evening that would leave me rested for the next day’s work, and a meal light enough so as not to inhibit our sexuality.
I left work more promptly than usual, drove home, walked to the pizzeria, chatted briefly with Francesca and a couple of other friends, then settled into an empty booth. Drew arrived soon afterward. He greeted me enthusiastically and told me how happy he was to see me again. I assured him I felt the same way. We shared a stromboli, playfully cutting bite-sized pieces and feeding one another. He drove me home and I invited him in.
We took off our jackets and shoes and stood hugging and kissing until I could feel the straining of his cock. He took hold of the hem of my sweatshirt, making ready to lift it over my head.
“Unh-unh,” I said, stopping him.
“You don’t want to make love?”
“Not until I’m sure you’re really into being my slave, and love me even if I keep my shirt on.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“How about you take off your clothes?”
“If that’s what turns you on. Okay.”
If he had been dealing with the dominatrix in the fetish magazines, the tone of that remark would have earned him a whipping, and she would have stomped him with her spike heels for good measure. I didn’t even comment; he would adjust his attitude soon enough.
As he undressed, I sat down on one end of the couch. By the time he was out of his clothes, his erection had subsided. I invited him to lie down with his head on my lap. He did.
“What made you decide to call me? Getting horny?”
“I called you because I love you and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”
“Do you love me even if I keep my shirt on?”
“Yes. I wish you’d take it off, but I love you whether you do or not.”
“Do you love me enough to give me that toy between your legs, to play with as I like, even if I don’t let you put it in me, or touch me, or even see me naked again?”
It grew just a little.
“Yes.”
“Mmmm!”
I smiled affectionately and looked into his eyes briefly, then I added an expression of curiosity to that affectionate smile and shifted my attention to his cock. I watched it with interest. I felt, deliberately but genuinely, the affection and curiosity that my expression showed.
It’s truly awesome what that look does; it’s one of my favorite examples of the power of femininity over the male psyche. His cock grew, angled up, and stood fully erect, just clear of the mound, pulsing slightly with the beating of his heart.
I kept watching it with the same expression, looking briefly into his eyes every few seconds.
He took my hand in his and tried to move it into position to relieve his lust.
“Unh-unh.” I pulled my hand away.
“You don’t want to play with your toy?”
“I want to watch you play with it.”
He tried to reckon how much negotiating he could get away with. None, and he knew it, but he tried one request.
“Would you take off your shirt while I do it?
“Maybe next time.”
I put new enthusiasm into my expression of affectionate curiosity and stared at his cock again. He wrapped his hand around it and began stroking, watching my eyes as he did.
When he seemed ready to come, I started lightly rubbing his nipple with the back of my hand.
I was still staring at his cock when it erupted, but I could see the desperate, questioning look on his face as he struggled, through his embarrassment and his pleasure, to make sense of what was happening, understand its significance to me, guess what it might mean to the future of our relationship.
“Big come!” I observed as his orgasm subsided.
I stopped rubbing his nipple.
He let go his cock and lay there, looking at me questioningly.
“I do love you, Drew. Don’t push to have things your way, and we’ll have a lot of fun together. Both of us. Wait here a minute.”
I got a towel, then put my lap back under his head. I set about cleaning him up.
“You were horny! That was a big load you had saved up.”
“I couldn’t get you out of my mind since Saturday. Thinking of you does that.”
“I can imagine! What were you thinking about me?
“Just loving you, wanting you, missing you, worrying about whether we could get back together, wondering what it would be like to be your love slave.”
“I guess you’ve had your first taste of that. How do you like it?”
“I don’t know. It’s better than not seeing you, but not as satisfying as what we used to do.”
“I’m sure some of what we do will suit you.”
I’d got him clean and dry. “I’ll have to send you home now. I have to get an early start tomorrow.”
He stood up and started to get back into his clothes.
“Can we get together this weekend?”
“You can call me at work on Friday. We’ll see then.”
He finished dressing and I led him to the door. We held each other for a moment and kissed.
“One more thing before you go. Wait here.”
I started back into the apartment as if to get something, then stopped about eight feet away and turned around. I lifted the hem of my sweatshirt and let him see my breasts. Four or five seconds’ worth, then I covered up again.
“Bye-bye, Drew. I love you.”
“Bye-bye, Georgeann. I love you too. And thanks.”
What I emphasized in that session with Drew was very different from what I emphasized when I enslaved Patrick. Patrick knew he was getting into something more exciting than he had ever experienced before, so I encouraged him in a purely positive way, teasing him to help him become acquainted with how his embarrassment fed his excitement and his love, and promising him unprecedented pleasure in an atmosphere of intimacy and acceptance. Drew felt he was being coerced into taking a demotion. He suspected I didn’t really love him and that I was taking advantage of his love for me so I could use him for some nefarious purpose. If I belabored his embarrassment at having to masturbate, he might well have picked up and left, so I hardly teased him at all. Instead I played on his insecurity about the future of our relationship, motivating him to go along in the hope of being rewarded the following week or the week after.
I knew, though, what the events of that evening would do to him. By the time he called Friday, he would have replayed them in his mind countless times. He would have come to appreciate how exciting it had been to feel me stare at his cock with that smile of affectionate curiosity, to know I was watching it get hard, to know that I knew it was getting hard because he was embarrassed by my staring. He certainly wouldn’t have lost interest in fucking me—that wasn’t part of my plan; I wanted to fuck him again as much as he wanted to fuck me—but he’d also know he wanted more of what he’d had that evening. He’d been led into the Loop, and it’s addictive.
Of course I fucked him again, and I embarrassed him again too, and I did both at the same time. When there was no longer any doubt about his being my slave, I stopped playing on his insecurity; and as he became more secure, I began teasing him openly about his embarrassment. And of course we both enjoyed it immensely.
What do I do with a man who, like Drew, declines the initial invitation to become my love slave, but unlike Drew, refuses to reconsider when told that the only alternative is the end of our relationship? I do the same thing. I invite him to get in touch with me if he changes in mind and I fuck him good-bye while he’s still tied down. I do it lovingly and hope he reconsiders. Does he? I’ve tried it exactly once, with a man named Chuck, and he didn’t. Two friends also tried it, once each, and one of the men reconsidered. The other relationship ended.
I’ve said that my relationships go my way or they don’t go, so if Chuck refused to be my love slave, why did I fuck him? Why didn’t I just untie him and send him on his way.
It wasn’t because I hoped that during the days that followed he would reconsider, though of course I did. Rather it was because I loved him, because I knew he loved me, because we were both horny, because it was the decent and loving thing to do. We had discovered an insurmountable incompatibility between us, one that would make it impossible for us to continue, but neither of us was to blame for that incompatibility, and it certainly didn’t necessitate denying ourselves one last expression of our love.
Most women have more reason than I do for fucking a man with whom they find themselves in such a situation; few are as committed to female domination as I am, and most don’t really want to scuttle an otherwise workable relationship for no better reason than that the man refuses to be enslaved. If you secretly hope that your man, having rejected sexual slavery, will come back and ask you to continue in a more conventional relationship rather than just disappearing from your life, do take care to treat him decently.
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My friend Janie was getting married. Our friend Annie invited all of us girls over to her house for a wild bachelorette party she was throwing for Janie. It turned out to be a very interesting evening.
