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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Before you set about restraining your lover, be sure he’s horny—very horny. He should be comfortable too, not ill nor in pain, and not troubled by allergies that will keep him sneezing or itching. His bladder and rectum should be empty and you should have a reasonable expectation that neither will fill soon.

The place where he’s to be tied should be warm, perhaps even too warm. Physiologically, a cold environment inhibits sexual response, especially when the stimulation offered isn’t the cuddly sort. Psychologically, bondage can be frightening, and a person placed in a situation that’s both sexually stimulating and frightening has a choice, usually made preconsciously, between turning on and getting scared. The close link between cold and fear is part of your own experience: it’s easier to get scared when you’re cold, and fright gives you chills. To keep your man from being distracted by either of these creepy twins, be sure he’s warm.

Food can be a problem. A man won’t be nearly so responsive with a big meal in his stomach as without it.

Alcohol, barbiturates and narcotics are disasters. I advise against restraining a man for sexual purposes if he’s had so much as a single drink. He’ll find you too easy to resist. His attention is impaired, so he may tune you out. At the same time, the nerves that carry sensation from his penis to his brain are at least somewhat anesthetized. If he succeeds in resisting you, it may damage both your confidence and your credibility, so it’s better not to take the chance. Even if he can’t resist you, he may later refuse to take your interaction seriously, dismissing it as the result of his chemical state. And of course, there’s the obvious objection to engaging in any form of lovemaking with a man who’d under the influence of any depressant drug: He isn’t capable of fully appreciating you and he isn’t fully present for you to appreciate in return.

Some drugs, on the other hand, enhance a man’s responsiveness and make you harder to resist. Three that deserve consideration are coffee, chocolate and cannabis. Coffee contains caffeine, which is a powerful nervous stimulant. It enhances both sexual sensation and the psychological processes of sexual response. Unfortunately it’s also a strong diuretic, while the substances that give coffee its flavor are powerful bladder irritants. To top it off, coffee is almost entirely water. The result is that a man dosed with coffee will soon experience a strong need to urinate, which will cause considerable bother if he’s tied in place and distract him from sex whether he’s tied or not. The effect will be somewhat mitigated if he was dehydrated to begin with, especially if he’s young and healthy with a large, resilient bladder.

Chocolate is much better. Its active agent is theobromine, another powerful stimulant, but not so strong a diuretic as caffeine. Chocolate doesn’t irritate the bladder and is easily consumed without water.

Only the strongest chocolate contains enough theobromine to be useful as an aphrodisiac. Milk chocolate won’t do, and most men won’t eat baking chocolate because it’s too bitter. That leaves semisweet, also known as bittersweet or dark. Even most of this is inadequate; you have to know which formulations really work. The bittersweet chocolates imported from Switzerland and Holland are excellent but expensive. Most American chocolate can’t compare, but a few brands can, and at a reasonable price. See what’s available in your area and try it on yourself to make a selection on which you can come to rely.

Besides being an aphrodisiac, chocolate is food and chocolate is fuel. If a man is hungry, but a meal will inhibit his responses, a dose of chocolate will relieve his hunger enough so he isn’t distracted, but it won’t fill him up. It will also warm him as it’s metabolized, decreasing the likelihood that he’ll be turned off by cold or fear.

An ounce of dark chocolate will make a significant difference in the sexual responsiveness of a man of average size. Two ounces will make a big difference. It’s hard to get someone to eat more than that unless he’s very hungry.

Cannabis, whether in the form of marijuana, hashish, hash oil, space cakes or whatever, has one major drawback: it’s illegal in the United States, though less so in some states than others. Despite its illegality, it’s so readily available that its usefulness as an aphrodisiac is worth examining.

Cannabis enhances sensory appreciation. If you subject your man to sexual stimulation, his attention is more strongly drawn to that stimulation and he feels it with greater intensity than without cannabis. Cannabis also encourages the belief—usually delusional—that one’s thoughts and feelings are obvious, and at the same time it discourages reality testing. This combination makes the Loop inescapable. Once you start teasing him about his inability to resist you, a man under the influence of cannabis knows you can read his thoughts and feelings, and he won’t test that knowledge for fear that whatever he says will only move the conversation in a direction that will embarrass him all the more.

Consider, though, the cliché of the double-edged sword. The use of cannabis is traditionally a social ritual; you don’t administer it but share it. You get stoned too, and that can make it difficult to maintain a confident demeanor in the face of adversity. If you pull a shocker like trying to get your man to agree to be your love slave, or telling him for the first time that some terrible consequence will befall him if he allows himself to ejaculate, he may not take it well. Though he’s less likely while stoned to make a conscious effort to bluff you off course, he may truly be outraged or turned off, and not know that if you were to begin stimulating him, confidently and teasingly, his orientation would quickly and dramatically change. If he tells you you’re a bad person or makes threats against the future of your relationship, you’re likely to find it exceedingly difficult to remember that he can’t see how worried you are, and even more difficult to test the reality of the situation by going ahead with whatever it takes to turn him on.

For this reason, I advise against using cannabis when your agenda includes anything new and surprising that your man may take badly. If that means you can’t give it to him either, so be it. There are exceptions of course. Some people are so used to cannabis that they can handle anything; if you’re such a person, you already know that my cautionary advice isn’t for you. Going one step further, you and your partner may be sharing a continuously stoned existence. In that case, avoiding cannabis before a particular lovemaking session would be so unusual that it would become an issue in itself, creating more of a problem than anything else that may have developed. But again, if you’re living stoned, you already knew that.

The only other problem with cannabis is that it drops the blood sugar way down, causing phenomenal hunger and increasing the likelihood that your man will get cold or scared rather than turned on. It may also make your hands cold enough to shock his skin. All you can do is make sure you’re in a very warm place and have some good dark chocolate on hand to satisfy the munchies. The chocolate will raise your blood sugar, keeping your hands pleasantly warm; it will raise your partner’s blood sugar, keeping him from the shivers and the terrors; and it will act as an aphrodisiac in itself. The combination of cannabis and chocolate, incidentally, is great for sex even if you have no interest in female domination.

Positions, materials, knots, toys and safety

The position in which I most often tie a man is on his back with his arms extended to the sides. Almost always, he’s on a wide bed, and I tie his wrists to its legs—the pair near the head end. Occasionally, outdoors, I’ve tied a man in this position between two trees.

I don’t normally restrain a man’s legs. Unless he’s unusually large, strong or flexible, tying his arms is enough to keep him from going anywhere or doing anything. Tying his legs is even counterproductive. When he comes, I want it to be spectacular. I like to see him dig in his heels, lift his bottom, and thrust his hips. He can’t do that very well if his legs are tied. If I continue to stimulate him when he’s run dry and needs me to stop, I want him to be able to squirm and thrash about, trying to pull away. It affirms my power over him. Most important, I want his orgasm to overwhelm him, and if I choose to play with his sensitivity afterward, I want that to overwhelm him too. If his legs are tied, he can maintain some measure of composure by straining against the bonds and concentrating on the act of straining. If I leave them loose, he can’t do that; he gets completely caught up in whatever sensations I inflict on him.

Sometimes I put a man in that position and then decide I want to watch him masturbate while he’s tied. It wouldn’t do to simply release one wrist; that would be the same as untying him completely. Instead I tie his ankles to the nearest legs of the bed, not so tightly as to cause discomfort but tightly enough, then untie his more skilled hand. If I feel the need to discourage him from trying to free himself, I tie the hand to the same leg of the bed as his ankle, leaving enough slack so he can reach his cock but not his opposite wrist.

Sometimes I tie a man’s wrists together behind his back without tying him to anything.

Occasionally I tie a man’s wrists together in front of him, then tie them to something overhead so that he’s standing with his arms extended upward. Usually I use a hook that’s screwed into one of the studs that support my ceiling. When I’m not using the hook for bondage, it supports a potted plant in a hanging basket.

If you try such a thing there are a couple of things to beware of. First, use only an anchor that will bear a heavy load. A hook driven into wallboard alone won’t; an expansion bolt in plaster won’t; a shower head won’t. Second, the position can be so uncomfortable as to inhibit a man’s sexual responses; worse, it can dangerously interfere with the circulation in his hands after only a short time. Leave enough slack in the line between his wrists and the anchor so that his feet are under his shoulders, his elbows are somewhat bent, and the rest of his body is relaxed.

Any number of materials can be used for bondage: stockings, neckties, plastic wrap, rope and clothesline are some of the most common. Stockings and neckties usually have to be tied together and can’t be used for much else afterward. Plastic wrap should be food grade rather than industrial because the latter may contain poisons that can be absorbed through the skin; multiple layers are needed to ensure resistance to stretching and tearing, and it can’t be reused. Rope and clothesline are almost perfect, but can dig uncomfortably into a man’s wrists.

My favorite is tubular nylon webbing. I became acquainted with it when I took up rock climbing, and its suitability for bondage was immediately apparent. It’s like nylon rope, but flat. Then again, it’s different from flat webbing too. Flat webbing is truly flat and isn’t used much in climbing; it’s made into the belts and straps found on knapsacks and heavy-duty dollies. Tubular webbing is shaped like a drinking straw that’s been flattened. It’s softer and more flexible than flat webbing, and it’s readily available in stores that sell climbing gear, as well as by mail. It tends to be colorful and comes in a variety of widths; the most convenient for bondage is one inch. It’s easy to work with, and if tied correctly it’s quite comfortable and doesn’t cut into the skin at all.

I buy it in twelve-foot lengths. Twelve feet is long for most purposes, but just right for others, and if I have to cut someone out of it in an emergency, I still have a length I can use. When you buy it, it’s cut by being pulled across a red-hot wire. If you have to cut it yourself, it’s a good idea to use a hot knife so that the filaments melt together to prevent unraveling. Use a worthless knife that you’re never going to use for any other purpose, because heating will discolor it and you’ll never get it clean. Alternatively you can cut the webbing with a cold sharp knife or a pair of scissors and either let it unravel or try to seal the frayed end by holding it over a candle or stovetop burner. The end may or may not seal correctly, but it’s sure to release a cloud of noxious gas which will somehow aim itself directly at your nose. I think it’s still worth it; bondage is truly a labor of love.

If you want to use the sort of material that has to be tied but you don’t know much about knots, get a book on the subject, study it, and practice. Also study the descriptions I’m about to give of my own favorite knots and practice those. Use your own ankles to substitute for your man’s wrists.

You may be tempted to improvise knots rather than studying them. It won’t go well. For each purpose, you need a knot with certain characteristics. To bind a man’s wrist, for example, you’ll want a knot that will neither loosen nor tighten when pulled. You won’t be able to make it up as you go along; you have to know the knot. You also have to know your knots well enough to untie them. If you manage to invent a knot as you go, you won’t know what you did and you’ll have trouble getting it out. It may turn out to be so complex that it has to be cut. If you cut knots frequently, you’re likely to give up bondage because of the expense.

If I want to tie a man’s wrist, I take my twelve-foot length of webbing and circle the wrist three times, taking care that the webbing lies flat against his skin for all three go-rounds. The short end of the webbing is about a foot long; the long end, about nine feet. I hold the short end out straight and I tie a half hitch around it, very near the wrist, with the long end. This involves pulling nine feet of webbing through the loop that becomes the half hitch. I do the same thing a second time. The knot in the long end now has a definite shape and can slide freely along the short end. (If only the short end were held, the wrist would be in a noose; the knot would tighten when pulled. If the long end were pulled instead, the loops around the man’s wrist would loosen and the short end would eventually come through.) I slide the knot so that the wrist can’t come out of the webbing, but I don’t make the loops uncomfortably tight. Then I hold the long end of the webbing out straight and use the short end to tie a half hitch around it. That’s it. The knot will neither tighten nor loosen when pulled, and no part of it touches the man’s wrist—his skin touches only the soft loops of webbing.

When I’m ready to secure the wrist to the leg of the bed, the first thing I do is see to the man’s comfort by making sure that the knot lies in the natural path that the long end of the webbing will take from his wrist to the leg of the bed. His wrist shouldn’t be resting on the knot, nor should the knot be forced against his wrist; these conditions cause discomfort at first, then later correct themselves in such a way as to slacken the bonds.

When I’ve rotated the knot to the ideal position, I run the long end of the webbing just once around the leg of the bed and tie first one half hitch, then another. It’s not much of a knot, but it won’t come out unless untied on purpose. When I want to untie it, I can do it quickly. I take care to put the half hitches right up against the leg of the bed and not leave a big loop. Since two half hitches make a noose, a big loop will tighten to become a small loop when the man pulls, leaving him much more slack than I intended—perhaps even enough to get loose.

To tie a man down, it’s best to tie both wrists, then both legs of the bed. This lets him scratch itches for as long as possible. To untie him, it’s best to untie the legs of the bed first. The knots there come out more easily, and once you’ve undone one, he can help with the knots at his wrists.

If I have to tie a man to a bed that’s on a platform instead of legs (most motel beds are on platforms) I take a length of webbing and tie a bowline in each end. The bowline is a knot that includes a loop that will neither tighten nor loosen under tension. I run that length of webbing crosswise under the mattress about three quarters of the way toward the head of the bed, then use the protruding loops as if they were the legs of the bed.

The wooden frame of a futon can be fitted with eyebolts. If you sleep on a mattress on the floor, you can screw eyebolts or hooks into the wall at the level of the mattress. (Find the studs first!) If you own your own home and don’t value the floor, you can bolt cabinet handles to it. When you bring a new partner home for the first time, such fittings make for interesting conversation.

If I want to tie a man’s wrists together, I start by tying one of them as if I were going to tie it to the leg of a bed. I run the long end of the webbing back and forth between his wrists in a moderately tight figure eight, then wrap a few loops of webbing around the middle of the figure eight in the third dimension, and finally tie the loose end with a couple of half hitches.

There are alternatives to learning how to tie knots. One is plastic wrap, which sticks to itself so well that you don’t need good knots. Because multiple layers are needed, it’s best tied using techniques that rely on its tendency to cling, and such techniques are easy to improvise. (Quite the opposite of nylon webbing!) Since plastic wrap can’t be reused, you can cut it when you’re done and not feel wasteful; indeed you probably won’t be able to undo it any other way.

Another option is the purchase of ready-made restraints, either at your neighborhood adult boutique or by mail. I don’t use them. First, I don’t need to; I’m proficient with webbing. Second, webbing feels natural to me, probably because I handled so much of it during my rock climbing days, while ready-made restraints feel alien and would seem to be intruding into my lovemaking. Third, I don’t want to spook a new lover with hardware that’s likely to remind him of that mean dominatrix in the fetish magazines.

If you’re considering ready-made restraints because you find knots daunting, the first two of those reasons are irrelevant to you. The third will be irrelevant if you and your partner have been together a while; he’ll know that your interest in kink is new. It will also be irrelevant if kinky toys are consistent with the image you want.

I don’t recommend metal handcuffs. They can tighten painfully unless double locked and they’re uncomfortable to lie on. Neither do I recommend anything that the wearer can easily remove; many of the toys one finds in an adult boutique are just ornaments and suffer from this deficiency.

The one toy that’s most useful is an apparatus for tying your partner to a bed. Typically it consists of two wrist cuffs and a length of flat nylon webbing that can easily be anchored to the bed. The wrist cuffs are usually leather, often padded. They close with either a buckle or hook-and-loop tape. The closure is simple enough that the wearer could easily undo it if his hands weren’t separated. The cuffs attach to the band of webbing by means of a pair of quick-release fasteners. These fasteners take a variety of forms, but most commonly they resemble either the clip by which a leash is attached to a dog collar or the flexible plastic buckle on the waist strap of a knapsack. They’re secure only because they’re beyond the wearer’s reach when the apparatus is set up properly.

Another useful toy is a pair of soft handcuffs—again, usually leather and often padded. If soft handcuffs are to be secure, the closures and fasteners have to be much more tamper-proof than those on a tie-to-the-bed apparatus because anything on the wearer’s left wrist is within reach of his right hand. The really secure models rely on small padlocks.

I never put anything around a man’s neck while he’s bound, nor even allow anything with hazardous potential to remain there. (If he’s just seen a vampire movie, I hang his crucifix from my own neck.) I never leave him alone for more than a few seconds, nor do I allow a locked door to come between us.

I almost always have a pair of surgical scissors within reach—the kind with a blunt end. They’re sharp and they cut well, so if I have to release my partner quickly, as in case of fire, I can. The blunt end makes it possible to force the blade between his skin and whatever material he’s tied with, without cutting him. Such scissors are a necessity if you use plastic wrap; they’re superfluous if you use a ready-made apparatus with quick-release fasteners.

The most likely emergency is sudden illness. Digestive viruses strike with frightening speed. It’s unpleasant enough to have a bed messed up, but it would be devastating to have a man I care about choke to death on his vomit while I fumble with my knots. The police in my part of the world have encountered kink before and would accept my explanation, but I couldn’t. Safety first!

When I’ve settled into a stable relationship with a love slave, we agree on a word he can use to let me know he needs to be released immediately. Francesca gave Roy such a word after tying him down only half a dozen times; some couples who set out to experiment with bondage agree on a safeword before the first knot is tied. I wait longer because when I get involved in a new relationship, I like to keep my agenda hidden at first and reveal it one surprise at a time. Also, a man will normally use his safeword the first time a woman plays with the post-orgasmic sensitivity of his cock. By the third time, he’s learned he can take it—and even if he can’t, that’s not what the word is for. I wait until the man is emotionally committed to being my slave and knows that that’s what he wants more than anything else. That’s what I think is necessary to prevent him from using a safeword frivolously. But when we’ve got that far, I don’t wait longer; I make sure we have a word.

A safeword shouldn’t be one that might be uttered accidentally, such as mirror or birthday, nor, obviously, should it be something like no or stop; those would interfere with the natural flow of conversation. Madagascar or periwinkle would be good, but both require a degree of composure to pronounce. Rhubarb is just about perfect unless you or your partner eat it or grow it; likewise smallpox unless one of you is studying it.

Her appetite for fucking far exceeds what the yeast will allow; in fact it closely matches Roy’s. They each want sex about every other day.

Sex is an issue to Roy. He sees sex as ultimate acceptance and its refusal as ultimate rejection. If Francesca were to say no to him, he would at best sulk, complain he couldn’t sleep, and treat her for days as estranged from him. At worst, he’d leave her immediately, unalterably convinced that it was her own wish that he never return. Even if he were only to sulk, Francesca would be unbearably distressed; besides, she believes that withholding sex in marriage is wrong.

It wouldn’t do for Francesca to deny Roy; therefore she can’t enslave him. A woman who enslaves her man has to let him know that sex is available only on her terms; she has to use his desire for her as an incentive to obedience. Not Francesca and not Roy.

Now, Roy isn’t a bad man. In fact he’s a very good man. He’s totally devoted to Francesca, works hard, and never even gives another woman a lustful glance. He doesn’t drink, smoke, gamble or use hard drugs, but he still doesn’t begrudge Francesca her beer. He respects her individuality and isn’t at all domineering. He’s very nearly a perfect husband.

The only thing about him that ever seemed to need changing was his unfortunate tendency to aggravate Francesca’s infection. Even in that regard, he was never really villainous. He understands Francesca’s problem and expressed a willingness to have his sexual needs met by oral or manual stimulation, and a further willingness to meet her needs by gently licking her clit without stirring up the yeast or adding to the irritation.

Unfortunately Roy is powerfully built and easily gets carried away in the heat of a sexual encounter. Francesca gets carried away too, and finds it difficult to hold her determination to resist him. Far too often, he fucked her when they’d agreed he mustn’t. Even when he set out to satisfy her orally, he often let his enthusiasm overcome his judgment; he likes to insert a finger (or two, or three) into her vagina to massage her g-spot, which stirs up the yeast almost as much as fucking does.

It was a sad state of affairs, especially for so close a couple. Francesca often endured terrible discomfort while Roy tormented himself with commensurate guilt.

Eventually Francesca discussed the problem with me. I prescribed female domination much as the physicians of my youth prescribed penicillin, which was what she’d expected, and I gave her quite an extensive series of lectures on the subject. She described the problem of Roy’s rejection button, then went on to explain her view of sexual morality. It struck me odd, probably in much the same way that my own sexual morality strikes others odd, but I understood it and acknowledged that female domination wasn’t for her. I suggested an alternate approach—one that didn’t involve ever quite saying no to Roy, but that still employed many of my favorite techniques and offered their inherent advantages. Francesca liked it, tried it, made it work, and fine-tuned it until it met their needs perfectly.

The first night, when Roy had started into some heavy sexual foreplay, she asked him to wait a moment, got out of bed, and retrieved the two lengths of nylon webbing I’d given her.

“What’s that?”

“Nylon webbing, like mountain climbers use.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Tie your wrists to the legs of the bed, so I can make love to you and you won’t do anything that will stir up my yeast infection.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be careful.”

“Maybe. Sometimes it works that way. But if I tie you up every time you want to make love, you won’t have to be careful and I’ll get well enough so I can let you come inside me.”

He looked doubtful.

“I’ll make sure we have a good time.”

“Okay, I’ll try anything once.”

She tied his wrists and went back to kissing and caressing him, then knelt astraddle his face so he could tongue her clit. She found it easy to control the level of stimulation so as to get exactly what she needed. When he’d satisfied her perfectly, she turned her attention to his cock. She played with it, took it in her mouth, swallowed his come, then untied him.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No! You’re great!”

Two nights later, Roy was ready for more. Francesca was pretty sure she’s be well enough to fuck after just one more night’s rest, so she tied Roy down and simply made him a present of the same treatment.

The next night, Francesca was indeed well enough, and horny besides, and made the first move. They fucked, with Roy on top, and Francesca was left as satiated as ever, but Roy’s lust seemed to lack its accustomed urgency. Though that probably contributed to Francesca’s physical satisfaction by allowing him to keep going longer than usual, it still disappointed her.

Three days later, Francesca and I discussed Roy’s lack of enthusiasm. Was he already so jaded by bondage that he couldn’t turn on fully without it? Maybe, but we decided it was more likely he’d been drained by the previous night’s play and needed two days to recover.

Undaunted, Francesca undertook to expand her repertoire of techniques. The fourth time she tied Roy down, she made him come using the two-handed technique that focuses on the frenum and corona, and she kept up the stimulation until he started to squirm and tried to pull away.

“Oh! You can’t stop till I let you.” She let go. “That will be fun to play with.”

“Wow!” Nothing more.

She untied him.

Two nights later, she was ready to fuck and she let him know. They went at it with Roy on top. He was enthusiastic as ever, not jaded at all.

The next time he was horny, she tied him again. She used the same two-handed technique and decided to see how long he could take it. After he came, he squirmed, tried to pull away, started to whimper, and finally realized that it wasn’t going to end until he admitted to his woman that she could be too much for him.

“Let me stop!”

She released his cock, bent down, and gave his nipple a quick going over with her tongue. His scream was just barely controlled.

“I didn’t know you are so sensitive. It makes you so much fun to play with.”

“You’re torturing me.”

“No I’m not. And you don’t look like someone who has been tortured.”

She untied him and they cuddled and slept.

Two days later he was horny, but apprehensive about letting her tie him down.

“I’m afraid you’re going to torture me again.”

“I never torture you.”

“It hurts when you keep playing with me after I’m done coming.”

“I don’t believe you. You just can’t stop till I let you and you worry when you have no control.”

“Could you just not do it like that?”

“I don’t know.” I like it, just like you like to keep massaging my g-spot so I can’t stop. Besides, I never turn you down. You can let me have some fun.”

“Please!”

“I’ll tell you what. I won’t make you keep coming tonight, but I won’t promise for next time.”

She tied him down, had him eat her, and went to work on his cock. She started with the two-handed technique, then changed over to brushing one hand lightly over the frenum. His cock rose repeatedly to press against her palm, and she exclaimed her delight at its response as she kept rubbing. Finally his breathing turned to panting and his cock rose with the stiffness of impending orgasm. She continued rubbing it until the first momentary relaxation of his muscles let it drop to the level of his pubic mound, then she quickly pulled her hand away.

“What I get to see!”

His cock stiffened and rose again, splashing his chest.

“Oh, nooooo!” His cock plopped down again, then bounced back up and spurted a second time.

Again. And again. And yet again. And a few more little twitches after that.

When it finally came to rest, she contemplated his shamefaced demeanor and decided there was nothing to do but confront the obvious.

“You must be so embarrassed!”

“Oh, wow! You know it!”

“I’ll bet it will turn you on all day tomorrow, when you remember that, and think I may do it again.”

“Oh, wow!”

She untied him. He needed to be held. It made her feel loved. It made her aware of the intensity of her love for him.

I had coached Francesca in detail on that technique and its probable effect. It’s one of my favorites, and men find it embarrassing in the extreme.

If a man comes with nothing holding his cock, it bounces obscenely with each contraction of his ejaculatory muscles; and if his hands are tied out of the way, there’s nothing he can do about it. As each contraction begins, he feels and sees his cock stiffen and rise an inch or two. As it rises it spurts. A thrill of pleasure runs through him, accompanied by a rush of embarrassment at knowing that the woman next to him is watching him with a distinctly feminine mix of curiosity and amusement. When his muscles relax, his cock falls against his lower belly with a wet slap. It all unfolds for him in slow motion because the upward and downward movements of his cock seem to add to the time taken by each contraction. They don’t really, and they might not even seem to if he weren’t so exquisitely aware of the female attention focused on him, but the attention is there and each contraction becomes a long, slow exploration of the depths of sexual embarrassment.

The technique has a useful tuning knob that few techniques do. The way Francesca did it that first time with Roy, the man’s orgasm decays quickly. The number of contractions is relatively small and the amount of fluid expelled by each contraction (beginning with the third) is less than it would be if stimulation were continued. The result is that the seminal vesicles aren’t drained to the usual degree, so it’s likely to take less time until the man gets horny again.

You have the option, though, of making the orgasm last longer, thereby emptying the seminal vesicles more completely. Just stimulate some area of the man’s body that’s erotically sensitive—a nipple, perhaps, or his scrotum—and he’ll keep coming until he’s drained. It will seem like an eternity to him. He won’t keep coming after he’s drained, as when stimulation of the frenum and corona is continued, but it will still be quite a show.

Francesca took every opportunity the next day to tease Roy in little ways, reminding him what she’d seen and how it embarrassed him. She could see that it turned him on. By the time the day’s work was done, he obviously needed her. Since she was well enough, and half crazed with lust herself, she invited him to fuck her. He accepted eagerly and did his part with great enthusiasm.

I’m sure a number of factors conspired to make Roy so much more enthusiastic after only a day’s recovery than he’d been the previous time: he hadn’t been drained as thoroughly; his recollection of the previous night’s embarrassment excited him; Francesca’s continued teasing added to that excitement; and he felt that a missionary fuck would restore, if only symbolically, the balance of power in their sexual relationship.

The next night, in a calmer mood, Roy told Francesca they needed to talk about the weird sex they were having. He focused on her propensity for torturing him, but it was obvious that that was only a small part of what was troubling him. She told him that what they were doing made it possible to keep her illness under control. Besides, she said, she’d taken a liking to it and didn’t want to stop.

He acknowledged what was really bothering him: He felt that this new style of lovemaking was perverted and he was afraid Francesca would lose respect for him if he continued to go along with it. She assured him that what they were doing was a perfectly reasonable adaptation to their circumstances, that she appreciated his help in dealing with the infection, that his allowing her to tie him up made her feel loved and trusted, and that it intensified her love for him.

“Remember the other night, when you were so embarrassed by the way I watched you come, and you needed me to hold you after I untied you? Holding you like that was such a loving feeling, like people who have been married so long usually don’t get.”

Roy didn’t try to dispute that, but took issue with the propriety of a style of lovemaking that involves such great embarrassment. She pointed out that it turned him on, and he made a face.

“Look, we have both found that being embarrassed turns you on. We would be stupid to waste it. We have been together a long time. We love each other. We know we can trust each other. Will our marriage be happier if I don’t make love to you a way I like, and you refuse to enjoy something that turns you on like when you were a kid?”

It was a convincing argument, but that’s not why Roy bought it. He bought it because it was reassuring. It promised him a safe and loving environment in which he would be accepted for the man he’d just discovered he was, and in which he could freely enjoy being that man.

Francesca chased the last bit of doubt from Roy’s mind by giving him a magic word that he could use if her tortures got to be too much for him—a word that would let her know that he needed her to stop immediately. He found that reassuring too. It made her tortures less worrisome, though I’m sure they haven’t become any easier to take. And he’s never actually used the word to stop her.

Eventually there came a day when Francesca was ready for a good fuck and hadn’t got around to telling Roy before he made his own need known to her. She decided to complicate his expectations by tying him down in her usual fashion and fucking him from above.

“This is neat!” she said as she mounted him for the first time ever. “You get to be inside me and I get to be on top.”

Their sex life settled into a routine, but certainly not so dull a routine as most couples live with. When Francesca is horny and well enough to fuck, and Roy hasn’t made the first move, she’ll do so herself and they’ll wind up fucking with Roy on top. He’s figured this out, and since it’s still his favorite way of making love, he tries not to make the first move unless he’s too horny to sleep. If Francesca is ready and Roy makes the first move, she’ll sometimes let him fuck her the same way, but other times she’ll tie him down and get on top.

If she’s not well enough to fuck, and doesn’t expect to be well enough the next night either, and he makes advances, she’ll tie him down, have him eat her if she’s horny, and then bring him off. Sometimes she plays with his cock or eats him just until he’s comfortably done coming. Sometimes she plays with his cock way too long. Sometimes she lets go of it when he reaches the point of no return and plays with his nipple. Sometimes she lets go and just watches. That’s what she always does when she expects to be ready the next night.

She’s determined to keep him from figuring out that part of the pattern. If he were to know that she’s going to be ready on a certain night, he would wait for her to make the first move, eliminating the possibility of his being tied down for their fuck. For that reason, she mixes up the things she does, and he never knows what to expect. If she uses her mouth, it doesn’t mean she’ll still be using it when he comes; if she uses two hands, it doesn’t mean she won’t let go when he reaches the point of no return. It excites him to consider the possibilities as she brings him closer and closer to the edge.

They’re a very happy couple. Their one big problem is solved, they both get all the sex they need and still aren’t blasé about it, and most impressive of all, they’re still in love even though they’ve been through years and years of marriage.

The advantages men find in sexual slavery are diverse, and the important ones vary from one man to another. Let’s look at some of the most common.

Sexual excitement

The most obvious advantage of sexual slavery is that it’s tremendously exciting.

After a while, a man in an ordinary relationship becomes sexually bored with his partner and comes to regard lovemaking as more duty than pleasure. If he’s not committed to the relationship, he seeks a new and therefore more exciting partner, then repeats the pattern until he makes a commitment before getting bored. When he gets bored with a partner to whom he’s committed, he stops making love. If his libido was weak to begin with, he becomes impotent. More commonly, he delivers brief, mechanical sexual performances devoid of emotion.

Many women blame themselves when this happens. Some blame their partners. In actuality, blame is inappropriate. Men are wired to lose interest in a partner who’s always available. They can’t help it. Fortunately they’re also wired to turn on to the techniques of female domination; they can’t help that either. And the power of these techniques to excite is far greater than the tendency of monogamy to bore. If your man can’t have you whenever he wants, if he gets to experience that yummy little thrill only on your terms, boredom never sets in. He remains always a bit insecure, always eager to please you, always horny for you.

A love slave spends much of his time in a state of sexual arousal. He may find this frustrating at times, but always exciting and never boring. I’ve heard of two love slaves in their seventies who were vigorously potent, and one of them had given up on sex in a conventional relationship fifteen years earlier, believing he was too old.

A particularly introspective man might appreciate this, as might a man who has been rescued from sexual boredom without a change of partner, but a man of ordinary self-awareness who is sexually enslaved early in a relationship will likely attribute his state of continuous arousal to his lover’s attractiveness alone. And so much the better for her!

Love

Like sexual excitement, being in love is a delicious feeling. Men, control freaks that the are, rarely seek it; they seek sexual flings instead. Nevertheless men do fall in love early in their relationships and feel a loss when they assert dominion over their partners and the feeling goes away. Eventually a man reaches a point in his life where he becomes aware that he’s no longer in love with the woman he married and, unless he ends or at least risks his marriage, he’s doomed to live out his days without ever experiencing that feeling again. Grim.

Female domination saves a man from that. A love slave is, first and foremost, in love with his partner, and the feeling doesn’t go away. Many factors contribute to this, among them the same insecurity that keeps him sexually excited, her sharing of his vulnerability with respect to the Loop, and his eidetic recollections of her teasing.

As with sexual excitement, only an uncommonly experienced and introspective man will understand that his enslavement is what makes him love his partner with such enduring intensity. The average man will be aware only of being in love. Both will be emotionally committed.

Intimacy

Men crave intimacy but fear it. Generally fear wins. A woman who sexually enslaves her lover can tip the balance so he can enjoy being known by her.

Early in a relationship, when a man is in love, he wants to share all his thoughts, feelings, fantasies, beliefs, hopes, dreams and fears. He rehearses what he’d like to say, but typically can bring himself to voice only a small fraction of what’s inside. He’s learned to keep it all to himself, and the learning is of a sort that’s difficult to overcome.

As the relationship matures, he feels obliged to control it. The necessity of confronting his partner as an adversary when they have differences (for that’s how he sees it!) now makes self-disclosure impossible. The enemy might learn something she could use against him. This is war, and he has to win—has to expand and consolidate his control.

From her point of view, the most appealing aspects of his personality have disappeared behind an impenetrable wall. From his point of view, he’s involved in a relationship recognized as the ultimate in intimacy by his friends, colleagues, church and state, and he’s emotionally isolated.

Sexual slavery makes it easier for a man to talk openly with his partner about matters of emotional significance. It does this in several ways.

If she uses her sexual power to take control of all aspects of the relationship, making whatever decisions there are to be made, he doesn’t have to be ready for battle. There isn’t going to be a battle, so there’s no tactical disadvantage in having a history of intimacy.

If she considers his needs in making her decisions—and she would be foolish not to—he’ll learn that it’s in his best interest to let her know what those needs are. He’ll learn to prioritize them honestly as well. Some things matter to him a great deal, others only a little. There are preferences he might insist upon in an ordinary relationship that aren’t his at all, but represent instead what he thinks he owes his family or what he hopes will impress his buddies. If she considers his stated needs in good faith, her decisions will suit him best if he’s been honest with her. Intimate self-disclosure thus becomes a way of getting what he needs and wants.

The Loop, by being a significant vulnerability he can’t help but share, gets him accustomed to being intimately known. Other secrets no longer seem so dark as to be worth hiding. In time, he learns his partner isn’t dangerous and he gets comfortable enough to talk openly about anything. Eventually he realizes she knows him quite well and loves him for who he is, rather than for the image he was trying to project when they met or for some utilitarian advantage. That’s a truly exhilarating high—one that the conventionally dominant man will never reach.

Because he’s in love, he wants to share his thoughts, feelings, fantasies, beliefs, hopes, dreams and fears, just as at the beginning of a conventional relationship. And the love inspired by sexual slavery lasts, so he actually has a chance of communicating it all, then going on to share the changes that come with maturity and age. Happily ever after.

Escape from responsibility

Responsibility is strenuous. Some men, particularly those in high-pressure jobs that require them to make decisions that have profound effects on the lives of others, carry far more than is good for them. Such a man often feels relieved if his woman takes control of their relationship and assumes all responsibility for the part of his life that she shares.

Permission to reject overwork

Some men, once married, spend too much of their lives working and too little at home. They do it partly because it’s a socially acceptable way to avoid the terrors of intimacy, partly because they believe their wives value the financial rewards of their industry above their companionship. A few, sadly, are right. Most are wrong but refuse to change their ways no matter how their wives beg. A woman who sexually enslaves her husband is in a position to require that he spend a reasonable amount of time at home. If she states a willingness to accept the resultant decrease in his income, he has no choice but to believe her. He’s almost always happy with the results.

Motivation

By way of contrast, there are men who can’t motivate themselves as they would like; they find it useful to have their partners oversee their endeavors, spurring them on with sexual rewards and punishments. I’ve known women who used the power of their femininity to push their men through a program of weight loss, a course of study leading to a master’s degree, training for a marathon, and the completion of a book of photographic essays. The men themselves chose their respective goals and were happy for the motivational assistance their partners gave them, though they grumbled a bit along the way.

This sort of arrangement has an extreme form, considerably darker. I’ve known two women whose husbands developed gambling addictions so severe and damaging, it seemed suicide was the only way out. When each of these men hit bottom, his wife scraped him up, sexually enslaved him, and used the leverage that that gave her to pull him back to a semblance of sanity. The men seemed as happy as those who chose their own goals, if only because they weren’t abandoned to financial ruin and social disgrace when they knew they deserved it. Indeed they grumbled less about their treatment, even though it was considerably harsher and they had no real choice but to accept it. Now back among the living, they could free themselves if they wanted to, but neither has tried.

Knowing what’s expected

A man in a conventional relationship is often troubled by the feeling that his partner is unjustifiably annoyed with him—that she blames him for neglecting something important to her, for somehow failing to meet her needs. But she hasn’t actually said that, and she certainly hasn’t given him a list of things he’s neglecting. Her rule seems to be, It’s no good if I have to tell you, and he suspects that she changes the secret desideratum whenever he comes close to identifying it. He finds this frustrating.

The relationship between a dominatrix and her love slave doesn’t work that way. She tells him clearly and truthfully what she needs, wants, and expects of him. He delivers it because he loves her. She thanks him. Simple and fair. Instead of feeling frustrated he feels appreciated.

Avoidance of performance anxiety

A man in a conventional relationship often falls into the worry that his partner will be horny when he’s not, and that she’ll react unpleasantly if he’s unable to fuck her on demand. This worry kills what little desire he might have had, setting up a loop that can lead to chronic impotence.

A love slave doesn’t have that problem—not unless his partner is foolish enough to demand sexual arousal from him. Instead he has the opposite problem—that he’ll be embarrassed by his inability to keep his arousal under control—and that mind-set precludes performance anxiety.

If she finds herself in desperate need of sexual satisfaction when he’s absolutely incapable of arousal, she can always have him eat her or finger her, warning him beforehand what he’s in for if he lets his cock get hard. Afterward she can congratulate him on his rare self control. I don’t recommend this because it gets him used to the possibility of sexual contact without arousal, but it does get her needs met without inducing performance anxiety.

Altered consciousness

Since time immemorial, we humans have tried to gain a perspective on our own nature and our role in the larger scheme of things. In pursuit of this goal, we’ve sought ways to escape ordinary reality, retaining just a vantage point from which to observe what happens to us—who we become—when the world goes weird. The aids most commonly employed to achieve such alteration of consciousness are botanicals such as marijuana and hashish, iboga and ayahuasca, peyote and magic mushrooms. Some people get comparable results from yoga or fasting; others from such pursuits as skiing, hang gliding, rock climbing or sailing.

Sexual slavery can do it too. It splits the personality the same way, into the objective observer and the kid taking the trip on the ragged edge of the impossible. The kid on the trip is out of control, can’t say no to his partner, can’t help turning on, can’t help loving her. The observer looks on in wonder. Wow! Is this really me? I never would have imagined it possible!

Dave was a man with whom I went climbing in Yosemite a few times one summer. He liked to lead, while I preferred the relative safety of seconding, and we were comfortable with climbs of the same length and difficulty, so we made a well-matched team. He said that what he liked about climbing was that the alien environment, the exertion and the risk brought back the person he used to be before he grew up—the boy exploring the world for the first time, the simple human being who had been born and who would some day die. We developed a strong mutual affection and a sexual relationship that expressed that affection.

Since we always had ropes and webbing at hand, our lovemaking was kinky from the start, and I quickly discovered that once Dave had been drained of cum, his cock would go into that wonderful state of sensitivity I’m so fond of. Just as quickly, Dave discovered how much I enjoy playing with that sensitivity, and what a tease I am. One evening, a couple of weeks after we had first made love, I tied him down in my usual fashion and wondered aloud whether, if I kept playing with him long enough, he’d get past the sensitivity and cum a second time. He told me he wouldn’t, that it would just hurt, and I told him I intended to find out. He pleaded with me not to, so I said that if it was going to be so terrible for him, he should just not let himself cum the first time and I’d quit trying after about twenty minutes; but if he came once—and I told him I knew he would—I was going to try for twice. Actually I didn’t expect to be able to make him cum twice; I wasn’t even going to make a genuine attempt. I just wanted to show him he couldn’t resist me and then make him squirm long enough so he’d make a serious effort to resist again next time.

I used both hands on his cock and occasionally bent down to suck his nipple. Soon he was at the edge of orgasm, looking into my eyes with an expression that begged me to stop.

“Georgeann, you’re really doing it to me!”

I felt his cock stiffen. I was about to say something, but—

“Georgeann, noooooooo!”

His hips lifted into the air and the first spurt went flying before he had quite finished his protest. He was still looking into my eyes. I couldn’t look away even to watch my toy.

“Georgeann, that’s me you’re seeing! O, my! That’s all me! You know me!”

It was all happening at once. He said it as he came, and he started to cry as he said it.

I started to cry too.

“It’s okay,” I said.

I continued stroking his cock for as long as I knew he really wanted it.

I let go.

“It’s okay,” I repeated.

Still crying, both of us.

“Beautiful man!”

I untied him as quickly as I could and we lay together and talked. He told me what I already knew: I had revealed, to Dave and to myself together, the same person he sought to know through his climbing—the real Dave, who had been born, who would die, who held on to life in the form of a little nubbin of rock when holding on was impossible but there was no alternative. By motivating him to resist his sexual responses, I drove a wedge between those aspects of his adult personality that thought they were capable of such resistance, and the real Dave, who wasn’t.

When he came, everything in him that had been trying to resist was swept away. All that was left was the male human being who couldn’t help but want to come all the way, couldn’t help but want to be completely known by the female human being who was making him happen. What made him cry wasn’t fear, wasn’t even embarrassment; it was just the beauty of the trip we were sharing, and the intensity of the sharing itself.

by Georgeann Cross

Some women are interested—maybe even more than interested—but they’re committed to relationships so nearly perfect as to discourage tampering. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Perhaps, but if your relationship is so solid as to be unbreakable, you won’t really be taking much of a risk; if your interest in female domination is strong, acting on it might be worthwhile. Maybe your partner even has fantasies of becoming your love slave. Perhaps when you met, he sensed that you’re the sort of woman who’s capable of enslaving him and that’s part of what attracted him to you. Of course it’s hard to be sure, but you might suspect it, especially if he gave you this book.

Women who try female domination usually do so out of either enthusiasm or desperation, sometimes both. Enthusiasm is simple—That’s for me! Lemme at him! Desperation is more common. A woman is committed to a relationship that her partner is making insufferable and she needs a way to overcome his stubborn refusal to change. Women who try female domination out of desperation are sometimes enthusiastic, but not always, and desperation is certainly nowhere near as good a predictor of success as enthusiasm. A woman who is desperate without being enthusiastic will often succeed if she still has some affection for her partner, likes sex, has the personal attributes that make an effective dominatrix, and is reasonably comfortable with both the idea and the techniques of female domination. A woman who has come to hate her partner, dislikes sex, feels there’s something unnatural about female domination, or is disgusted by the techniques of female domination, won’t succeed.

Unfortunately, though revulsion guarantees failure, enthusiasm doesn’t guarantee success. Enthusiasm makes success likely, but it’s possible for a woman to believe in female domination as an ideal, even fantasize having a love slave, yet still find the actual doing of it so alien to her nature that she can’t. What I’d like now is to invite you to assess yourself for the purpose of forming a realistic opinion of whether you could succeed at sexually enslaving a man. Perhaps the results will temper your enthusiasm; perhaps they’ll overcome your doubts if you’re unenthusiastic but desperate; perhaps they’ll reinforce your doubts; perhaps they’ll even reinforce your enthusiasm. What I’m hoping is that an objective personal inventory will help you overcome both the contagion of my own enthusiasm and the discouraging influence of society’s conventions, so that whether you decide to use my techniques or reject them, your choice will truly be right for you.

The first thing to consider is whether you’re constrained by a taboo that puts these techniques beyond your reach.

Let’s look at a couple of taboos.

Some women, even after twenty years of marriage, can’t walk around naked in their own homes. Can’t! Could such a woman use the power of her femininity to take control of her marriage? Maybe. It depends on what else she can and can’t do.

Here’s a taboo that’s more remote, not even sexual: Some women (and more men) can’t make an honest and wholehearted attempt to correctly pronounce a foreign language; they have to deform it into the sound system of their own. Taboo goes beyond reluctance. It’s absolute. It makes a behavior not just difficult but impossible. If you can’t use the techniques of female domination, you can’t. Sorry.

If no taboo prevents you from using the power of your femininity to control your man, there’s still the question of how you feel about it. Think about what I did to Patrick that Saturday afternoon and imagine doing the same.

If the idea sexually excites you, or even if it just seems like fun, female domination will very likely suit you.

If you would feel ridiculous—if the slightest difficulty would make you feel like a fool who should never have tried such a silly stunt, while a perfect performance would make you feel like an actress in a play by Georgeann Cross rather than a real woman in a real relationship—then you’re not ready. You may want to practice by doing other things that present the same sort of challenge. If you learn to handle them well, it’s likely that you’ll also be able to manage female domination.

If it would make you feel like a guard in a Nazi concentration camp and therefore bad, you’re probably bumping up against a dogma that’s lodged between your feelings and your perception of them. Try to work your way around the dogma. You may find it helpful to pay special attention to the autobiographical material in this book. I’m a dominatrix, but I’m no Nazi—not even close. As you get to know me, you’ll see where the differences lie.

If you have a strong need to be dominated, and playing the dominatrix would leave you with a terrible sense of loss at having foreclosed the possibility of getting that need satisfied, your choice is clear: go for what you need. The purpose of this book is to help other women (and their men!) develop relationships that will make them happy, not lure you into one that will make you miserable.

If the idea of playing with a man’s cock until he comes bores you—if it never interested you very much to begin with, and you’ve done it too many times with one man or another to whom you felt obligated, when you couldn’t bear to let him inside you—putting yourself in charge isn’t going to make it any less boring. Even if it’s obvious that you need to do something to take control of your relationship, that need won’t make up for your distaste. Your feelings will be apparent to your partner and negate the effect of your attempts to turn him on.

If you feel as I do that a man’s cock is just about the neatest plaything ever invented; if you can’t imagine ever getting tired of it; if you like the way it responds to your touch, the way your play opens your partner up to you, the spectacular show when he comes, the implicit affirmation that the power of your femininity is too great to resist and that that’s what makes it all happen, then you’ll probably derive even more pleasure from sharing aloud the understanding that this wonderful plaything is truly yours, that the power of your femininity really overwhelms him, that you make him come.

I haven’t covered the whole range, but you get the idea. If you honestly find female domination appealing, not just as a political ideal but as something to do, you’re off to the best possible start. Consider now whether you have the qualities that make it a realistic option.

Trustworthiness

One attribute that’s absolutely essential is trustworthiness. We can examine it in either positive or negative terms, and though I prefer the positive, we’ll start by looking at the negative.

If a man distrusts you, he’s not going to be your love slave, and he’ll distrust you if he has reason to suspect that you mean him harm. If he distrusts you, he certainly won’t let you tie him up (unless he’s in a suicidal depression) and, while you might not want to tie him up very often anyway, his acquiescence is symbolic of the degree to which he’s willing to give himself over to you. If you want to sexually enslave your lover but he doesn’t trust you, you’ll have to earn his trust or you can’t succeed. Coercion alone won’t work, at least not for any length of time. It’s certainly a useful tool for overcoming a man’s initial resistance, but it won’t hold him. True, a token level of coercion may always be necessary to keep your relationship from reverting to the conventional, but if your lover has any means of escape at all, the only way to keep him enslaved over the long haul is to lead him to the belief—his own belief!—that he’s best off as your love slave. He won’t believe that if he distrusts you.

Let’s look at the positive side now—at what you and your lover stand to gain if he trusts you without reservation. He’ll share his most secret thoughts and fantasies with you and love you for accepting them, as well as for using what he tells you to make your control over him all the more complete. He’ll regard you as a safe haven where he can be loved for himself without having to worry about the judgments of the world outside. When you make decisions for the both of you—the kind that men usually make so badly in conventional relationships—he won’t feel resentful because he’ll know you care for him and have his needs at heart. If you treat him lovingly and keep his secrets, he’ll respond with a level of devotion that’s rarely seen. He’ll try to do even more to meet your needs than you do to meet his.

Many times a man has told me, as we rested together after I’d teased him to exhaustion, “That was so embarrassing!”

My answer depends on my mood and on the effect I want to create.

“Mm-hm!”

“I know.”

“Neat!”

“Wait till you see what I do Saturday!”

Occasionally I answer more seriously. “I’m happy to be able to give you a safe place to enjoy it. Thank you for trusting me to know you like that.”

That sentiment is as much a part of me as the teasing is, and sometimes I feel the need to say it. It always brings a warm response, and the exchange affirms the caring and respect behind the kinky sex. It’s one of the benefits of trustworthiness.

Empathy

Another quality you need in fair measure is empathy, so you can read your lover’s feelings quickly and respond to them effectively. You’ll be teasing him a great deal, and you have to learn what kind of teasing turns him on, what kind is perceived as mean, what kind has to be avoided because it triggers the recollection of some childhood horror unique to him. You’ll make mistakes, and sometimes you’ll have to apologize for a hurt and administer emotional first aid. Women in general are good at this. The development of empathy is part of our basic training; we’ve always been expected to take responsibility for our relationships, even when we weren’t permitted to control them. If you skipped basic training though, and never made it up, and now find that you can’t always tell whether someone is laughing or crying, it will make for difficulties.

From a positive perspective, a high degree of empathy enables you to play the Loop perfectly. You’ll be able to gauge your partner’s responses accurately, you’ll know where his attention is focused, and you’ll always be sure of what to do and say. Empathy will also make your lovemaking more spiritually rewarding; you’ll be able to read not only the more obvious of your partner’s responses, but his every fleeting emotion. And you’ll know that each one is something that you caused—a gift of feeling from you to him, perhaps exquisitely subtle and complex, made possible by the power of your femininity.

How empathetic are you? If empathy is alien to your nature, please hesitate, at least, before proceeding. If, on the other hand, you’re Empathy Personified, a relationship that you control should be most gratifying to both you and your man.

The ability to communicate effectively

A dominatrix has to be able to communicate well. You’ll be aiming to produce a certain psychological effect in your lover, and this effect is achieved almost entirely by a combination of speech, facial expression and posture. If you’re to succeed, you have to speak well, mug well, and carry yourself well. If you talk in a monotone, if there are words you can’t bring yourself to utter, if your face has the blank look appropriate to a high-stakes poker game, if you carry yourself as though you’re waiting in line to be guillotined, then you’re going to have problems in any relationship and lots of problems in one that you try to control sexually.

If you’re to feed the Loop, you have to be able to tell your man what you’re going to do to him, exclaim over the reactions of his body, and leave no doubt that you know what he’s feeling. If you want him to know that he’s safe with you—that you accept him for the person he is—you have to say the words. Whatever you tell him will be more believable if your tone matches the content of your message, and all your speech will be more effective if it’s well-modulated.

Your face is also a means of communication. Its expression can convey love, curiosity, determination, enthusiasm, and a host of other feelings. If you know how to control it you’ll accomplish a great deal.

Your posture can project confidence or betray fear. It can express lust, boredom or hostility. Adjust it purposefully and the message your lover gets will be the message you intend.

As you take control of the nonsexual aspects of your relationship, you’ll have to let your partner know what you want and need from him, what he must and mustn’t do. If you fail to do this clearly, then punish him for misunderstanding you, he’ll develop resentments that will undermine the relationship.

Consider how well you communicate. Do people often misunderstand you or misread your mood when you think you’re being straightforward? read you too well when you’re trying to deceive? If so, it might be a good idea to take a couple of courses in communication and acting at your local community college before you try the role of dominatrix. If you already communicate effectively and know it, you’re all set to go.

The ability to act strategically

To take control of a relationship, it’s necessary to act strategically. To maintain control of a relationship it’s necessary to continue acting strategically. You need to gather and remember information about your man, implement long-term plans without arousing suspicion, and generally do the right thing at the right time.

Let’s look at some of the preparation that went into my afternoon with Patrick.

During our first two months together, I learned his bowel schedule. When I tied him to the bed, I knew he could comfortably stay put for as long as I might need.

Until that day, I took care never even to mention any form of lovemaking except fucking. That created a context in which he was virtually certain to be embarrassed at having me bring him off by hand while I watched—and not just a little! It also ensured that he would find the varied sex play of the following months exotic and exciting.

The second time we fucked, I got on top. I wanted to see how he liked it, and I found he liked it just fine.

I began our fifth session by telling him I was going to tie him to the bed and fuck him. He couldn’t feign skepticism, because he knew from experience that I could manage the female superior position. Happily, he didn’t argue, panic or ask whether I’m into whips.

It was on that occasion that I first advised him to empty his bladder before I tied him. There are three reasons I bother with this. First, it’s intimate, it shows that I’m comfortable discussing so personal a detail, and it invites him to be comfortable initiating such discussions with me. Second, it ensures that for as long a time as possible, he won’t be distracted by a full bladder. Third, it shows that I’m concerned for his comfort, from which I hope he’ll infer that I’ll treat him well while he’s tied.

I didn’t pull any surprises, just tried to gauge his reaction to the experience. It was all I had hoped for. He was excited in the extreme, he couldn’t take his eyes off me, and his orgasm was the most intense we’d yet shared.

The eighth time we fucked, I tied him again. When he came, I continued thrusting my hips a little longer than I had previously. I kept it up just long enough that he started to squirm but not long enough to make him suspect I was doing it on purpose. That’s how I learned he was one of those men who need the stimulation stopped when they run dry. I found out without letting him know I was interested and without having to make him come by hand before I was ready.

I tied him yet again for our tenth fuck and had him start by eating me so he wouldn’t find it unusual in the future. I didn’t do anything else that could have struck him odd, and I certainly didn’t make him squirm again. The next two times, he was on top and of course not tied.

Ask yourself whether you can manage this sort of thing. Are you a natural spy? Do you have the patience to time your moves strategically? If so, you’ll have much more fun with female domination than if not, and most everything you try will succeed.

A talent for teasing

Because of the nature of the Loop, you’ll find female domination easier if you have a natural talent for sexual teasing. Teasing can probably be learned, and ordinary skill can certainly be perfected to the level of an art, but natural talent makes everything easier.

There aren’t any objective criteria by which you can gauge your talent for teasing, but every woman with whom I’ve discussed the matter knew whether she had it. Some who knew they had the talent had a way of using it that was too mean to be sexy, but that’s a different issue.

Ask yourself whether you’re a natural tease. If you are, you have much of what you’ll need. If not, perhaps you’ll pick up enough pointers here to do reasonably well. If teasing is bad… well, give it another look. Maybe, when you’ve read further, you’ll decide it’s okay.

Attractiveness

What about attractiveness? There’s no such attribute. Every woman is attractive to some men and repulsive to some. A man won’t become your love slave unless you turn him on, so if you’re looking for a man and you know you’re going to want to enslave him, choose one who finds you irresistible.

If you’re already committed to a relationship, your attractiveness to your partner becomes very much like an attribute; it’s what you have to work with. Indeed it becomes an essential attribute. You can’t enslave a man who won’t turn on to you. But that doesn’t mean that just because your man doesn’t get instantly hard at the sight of your body, you should give up without trying. We’ll explore what it does mean later, when we discuss the differences between committed relationships and uncommitted ones.

Confidence

After you’ve considered all the other traits that make an effective dominatrix (or better yet, after you’ve read this book all the way through) there’s one more question to ask: Can I really pull this off?

Confidence at this point reflects a belief, based on objective consideration of your other qualities, that female domination is for you. Confidence is also an asset in itself, making you more difficult to resist. If you’re obviously confident, your lover won’t try to rebuff you with a hostile or impassive front. He’ll know it won’t work. He’ll know that you know that the power of your femininity is too much for him—that sooner or later he’ll have to submit. It’s a loop that feeds his Loop. You succeed because you’re confident and you’re confident because you succeed, and he turns on because he’s embarrassed by his inability to keep from turning on.

Written by Georgeanne Cross

If you want to sexually enslave a man, it helps to start with a good understanding of the workings of male sexuality. In all likelihood you already have most of the knowledge you need: you’ve read other books, gathered a good deal of practical experience, and refined your skills as a lover. Still, there are a few things I feel I ought to mention—things that aren’t in those other books because their authors don’t share my perspective—things that may have escaped your notice as you accumulated your experience, perhaps because the men in your life were trying to avoid being known too intimately. I’m going to fill in what the other books leave out, and I’m going to try to do it without repeating too much of what they say.

Let’s start by considering a man in the most ordinary of sexual states. It’s been a while since his last orgasm, but not so long that he’s starting to get horny again; sex isn’t on his mind. Still, it’s been long enough that he’ll respond favorably to sexual stimulation; he won’t feel bothered or pressured by it; rather he’ll enjoy it and turn on.

Surrounding the neck of his bladder and the upper portion of his urethra is the prostate gland. It’s slowly producing one of several fluids that will be mixed together and pumped out the next time he ejaculates. The prostate is spongy (though firm) and the fluid it produces remains within it until it’s expelled. Another fluid is secreted by the testicles. This fluid carries sperm cells and, unless the man has had a vasectomy, travels through two tubes (the vasa deferentia) to a pair of reservoirs called the seminal vesicles, there to await the next earthquake. The seminal vesicles are located above the prostate and behind the bladder; their outlet passes through the prostate and into the portion of the urethra that the prostate surrounds. Besides storing fluid produced in the testicles, they secrete a fluid of their own. Over time they fill, pressure within them builds, and they distend. They’re drained only by ejaculation.

If the man encounters no sexual stimulation, the production of sexual secretions continues at its usual slow pace. When enough time has gone by, and enough pressure has built up in his seminal vesicles, the man starts having sexual feelings and fantasies. He’s horny—perhaps not extremely so, but definitely horny. What seems to happen (though it’s unproved by the scientific standards of the medical world) is that pressure in the seminal vesicles is felt as a need for sexual release, as lust.

If, instead of letting this happen by itself, you sexually excite the man, the process is speeded up. When he’s aroused, more fluid is produced in a shorter time and the seminal vesicles fill faster. Prolonged stimulation also leads to a feeling of congestion throughout the reproductive system and a dull ache in the testicles. The man becomes desperately horny, often in less than an hour, and he’ll do almost anything to have his lust satisfied. If he’s like most men, he’ll let you tie him up no matter what he fears you might have planned, just so it includes emptying those reservoirs.

If you stop stimulating him, perhaps because the demands of the real world separate you, and if he has things to do that take his mind off sex, the feeling of congestion and the ache will dissipate, but his seminal vesicles will still be full and he’ll respond readily to stimuli that are even vaguely sexual. If he sees a line drawing reminiscent of a nude woman, for example, he’ll feel a twinge of arousal before the cause registers in his consciousness. He’ll easily drift into sexual fantasy, which will cause another erection, accelerate again the overfilling of his seminal vesicles and, if continued for any length of time (as is likely), bring back the feeling of congestion and the ache.

Prolonged stimulation or fantasy also leads to the production of a clear lubricating fluid by Cowper’s glands, located near the base of the penis. This fluid doesn’t accumulate, but is secreted into the urethra and, if there’s enough of it, leaks out the tip of the penis without producing any sensation along the way.

Men are highly subject to arousal by psychological stimuli, including their own fantasies and the Loop. Almost none, though, can reach orgasm through psychological stimulation alone. Furthermore, men have few erogenous zones, and stimulation of these, though arousing, won’t induce orgasm. Orgasm is reliably brought on only by a specific form of stimulation of the penis.

Still, erogenous zones are fun to play with and therefore worth looking for. The common ones are the scrotum, the perineum, the anus and the nipples. The scrotum is best stimulated by lightly running a couple of fingers along its surface, parallel to the middle of the body, in either direction or both. If the perineum is erogenous the technique is the same, likewise the anus.

The effects of nipple stimulation vary greatly. Most men exhibit a strong erotic response to having their nipples played with by hand, sucked or licked. Some don’t respond at all. A few find any stimulation painful. One of my lovers could tolerate only the lightest licking, but found that erotic. At the other extreme are men who are aroused by having their nipples pinched, bitten or even clamped. Experimentation will let you know what works best on your man, and you’ll have a lot of fun finding out; just don’t start at the rough end of the spectrum or you may undermine your partner’s trust.

Though stimulation of erogenous areas other than the penis will almost never of itself induce orgasm, it may do so when combined with a level of penile stimulation that alone would be just as insufficient. If, for example, you’re fucking your man slowly and with short strokes—which you know from experience won’t make him come unless you keep it up for a long time—sucking his nipple at the same time might put him over the edge in seconds.

The penis is designed to be effectively stimulated to orgasm by friction with the vagina, but the details of that design aren’t at all simple. The penis is a large organ, and only two small parts of the surface have sufficient sexual sensitivity so that stimulation will reliably induce orgasm. One is the frenum, where the glans (or head) meets the undersurface of the shaft and seems to be split in two by a continuation of the slit in the tip. The other is the corona—the protruding ridge at the edge of the glans where it flares out from the upper surface of the shaft, diametrically opposite the frenum. During sexual intercourse, regardless of the position used, these two areas are stimulated by the walls of the vagina, and it’s that stimulation that precipitates the man’s orgasm. If you’re on top, you can control the intensity of the stimulation by varying the length and speed of your strokes and the tightness of your vaginal muscles.

From a physiologic point of view, it doesn’t matter whether you apply the stimulation with your vagina or your hand; stimulation of the frenum and corona induces orgasm, and does so reliably.

This is a different matter from the question of how a man likes his penis handled. That varies. One likes to be gripped tightly and pumped roughly, the skin dragged along to rub against the underlying tissue; another likes only a fingertip touch along the undersurface. For every gradation in between, there are men who like it. If I’m involved with a man, I try to learn his preference, but it doesn’t really matter because most of the stimulation I apply is psychological rather than physical. When I’m ready to make him come, one of my own favorite techniques will always work.

The most effective of these—reliable even when used on a man who’s only moderately horny—is to lightly massage the undersurface of the penis with one hand, brushing the frenum with each stroke and sometimes running the fingers over the scrotum, while lightly massaging the upper surface with the other, brushing the corona with each stroke. This approximates the stimulation his penis would receive in your vagina. Your hands may be synchronized or not, or synchronized some of the time, depending on how exotic you want to get.

Another technique—a more effective variant of Rena’s—is to position the lower segment of your thumb against the upper surface of the shaft, crosswise, just below the corona; wrap your index and middle fingers loosely around the shaft; then move your hand smoothly up and down so that with each stroke the thumb slides over the corona while the pads of the lower segments of the index and middle fingers slide over the frenum. Adding to the stimulation, the web of skin between your thumb and index finger will naturally tend to brush against the protruding ridge on one side of the glans, while your fingertips will brush the protruding ridge on the other. If you’re right-handed and the man is lying on his back, this technique is most easily practiced from his right; if you’re left-handed, from his left.

With either of these techniques, the lubricating fluid that the man secretes can become a nuisance. It dries partway and gets sticky, interfering with the free motion of your hand. This isn’t a problem if there’s too little of it to notice, or so much that it can’t dry, but most men produce just enough to be troublesome. There are two ways of dealing with it. You can squeeze it out of the urethra and wipe it away before it starts to dry, or you can use a lubricant that overwhelms it, such as mineral oil. (Mineral oil packaged as baby oil has a scent, even if the label says it doesn’t, that turns some men on and others off; there are very few to whom it does neither.) If stickum becomes a problem and you don’t want to use mineral oil, you can clean it up with a damp cloth or your tongue.

(This seems like a good opportunity to explain why I have so little to say about fellatio. I regard it as useful for just a few very specific purposes, such as cleaning up half-dried male lubricant or inducing an erection. Otherwise I avoid it because it limits communication: you can’t talk; you can’t see your lover’s face nor he yours; you can’t even get a good view of his cock.)

My third technique for inducing orgasm by hand is the least reliable. It works only on a man who is very horny and lying on his back, but it has two advantages, one of which is that the stickiness of drying lubricant doesn’t get in the way. What I do is rub my palm against the frenum and nearby portions of the underside of the penis. The motion of my hand, of course, is parallel to the axis of the penis, not crosswise. What makes this technique so appealing is that since the man’s cock isn’t held in place, its responses are put on display. At moments of particular excitement, its rigidity increases and it presses against my hand, which amuses me greatly and embarrasses my partner to the same degree, especially as I tease him about it. And there again we have the Loop.

As a man approaches orgasm, the muscles of his pelvic floor contract and his cock stiffens. If stimulation is withdrawn as this starts to happen, the man will usually, but not always, slip back from the edge; the muscles will relax and his cock will lose its extreme stiffness and become only ordinarily hard. If stimulation is continued, though, orgasm begins. The fluids stored in the prostate and seminal vesicles are pressed into the upper portion of the urethra. The man feels a tingling inside and knows he’s coming; he’s going to ejaculate and there’s no longer any way to prevent it. Semen starts flowing into the lower portion of the urethra—the part that runs from the base of the penis to the tip.

At some point the muscles of the pelvic floor relax for a fraction of a second, releasing the extreme stiffness of the man’s cock. Then they contract again, giving the urethra a hard squeeze. His cock stiffens again and spurts at the same time.

The pressing of the components of the ejaculate into the urethra continues until there’s nothing left to deliver or until the ejaculatory spasms end, whichever comes first. The ejaculatory spasms continue for some minimum number of spurts if stimulation stops immediately, or until stimulation is withdrawn (which may not be until long after the supply of fluid has been used up) or, in extreme cases, until exhaustion sets in. The spasms are spaced four fifths of a second apart. After the first spurt, the muscles of the pelvic floor relax again, exactly four fifths of a second after they did the first time; then they contract again, and a third stiffening of the man’s cock coincides with a second spurt four fifths of a second after the first.

If the man has been trying not to come, but loses control and feels the upper portion of his urethra start to fill, he can delay ejaculation only so long as he can keep the muscles of his pelvic floor contracted, holding off that first momentary relaxation. It won’t be very long. Sometimes he can do it long enough so that some semen traverses the entire length of the urethra and leaks out the tip of the penis before the first spurt, though that doesn’t signify a strong effort to hold back unless you know it’s unusual for that man. Once the muscles of the pelvic floor take that first little break, the spasms follow each other uncontrollably at intervals of four fifths of a second; the man can’t delay the second spurt as he can the first.

Each of the first few spurts causes the man an intense thrill of pleasure. It doesn’t matter how desperately he may have been trying not to come or why; he’ll still experience that thrill with each spurt. And (unless he’s both uncommonly inhibited and in a position to prevent continued stimulation) once the first spurt has overcome him, he can’t help but want to pump out the rest. This, too, happens regardless of how hard he was trying not to come, or for what reason. Say he got himself in a spot like that boy in Maryland, but he has more experience. He knows what might happen, and he fixes in his mind a determination to maintain control, to preserve some measure of dignity. First he tries not to come, and of course he fails. As his cock stiffens and he feels that tingle, he resolves to put on an air of detachment and remain as still as possible even as he ejaculates. With the first spurt, though, his resolve is obliterated. He arches his back and thrusts his hips, overwhelmed by a mad desire to do what he must, no matter how embarrassing. This desire is separate from the reflex contractions of his ejaculatory muscles and separate from the pleasure of each spurt. It takes possession of him completely, a primeval force that’s been around longer than fur or feathers, but which is still him, and more genuinely so than the complex personality it displaces.

Not only does a man’s attempt to hold back his orgasm fail to diminish its intensity, it actually makes it more powerful. It’s like building a bigger dam. When it finally bursts, everything in the path of the flood is devastated. If a man has been wanting an orgasm as if to scratch an itch, it might amount to little more than a sneeze in his penis; an orgasm that he’s been trying to resist will overwhelm him. His whole body will convulse; his emotions will go bonkers; his mind will be wiped. It’s something to see!

At some point during a man’s orgasm, fluid stops being pressed into the urethra. In some men, this ends the process of ejaculation, and continued stimulation of the frenum and corona has little or no effect. In most, though, it brings only a need to end the process of ejaculation, and continued stimulation keeps the reflex spasms going, accompanied by a feeling of distress at being unable to stop them.

Few women get the opportunity to observe this phenomenon; a man whose orgasm has gone on long enough is usually in a position to end the stimulation without making his partner aware of his vulnerability. Some men, though, become so sensitive that when they fuck, they need to pull out immediately after ejaculation; the continued pressure of the vaginal walls on the frenum and corona, even in the absence of motion, is too much to bear. If you’ve had such a lover, you’ve had an unusual opportunity to observe the male need to protect the penis from prolonged stimulation, though he might never have explained what was happening. (Men, as we’ve seen, tend to be secretive about their vulnerabilities, and there’s many a man who would rather leave you feeling puzzled and rejected by his hurry to put some distance between you than let you know that his cock is too sensitive to leave in your pussy.)

Most men don’t become quite that sensitive, but continued active stimulation of the frenum and corona causes them distress. You’ll see it if you’re fucking your man from above and you hold his wrists down, tighten your vaginal muscles, and continue thrusting after he’s come; or if you tie his arms away as I did Patrick’s and continue rubbing his frenum and corona with your hands after the spurting of fluid stops.

If you want to hold your man in this state—and I recommend that you do, at least occasionally—there are four things you should know. First, it can’t do any harm. The distress of continued stimulation isn’t pain (though some men may call it that) and it doesn’t reflect tissue damage—not even temporary damage. When you stop, your partner’s distress ends immediately, and that brings us to point two: When you stop, even for a few seconds, the ejaculatory spasms also stop. If you resume stimulation, it will have little or no effect, so don’t take a break until you’re sure you’re done.

Third, the stimulation you apply must be specifically to the frenum and corona. The nerves that end there are the only ones that reliably force continuation of the ejaculatory spasms; if you milk the shaft alone, the spasms will end, comfortably, when the supply of fluid runs out. (If your man is an exception, great! But don’t expect it.)

Fourth, your man’s cock itself will give you some help. You can feel the continuing spasms and use them to time the motion of your hands, which makes for a much more effective sort of stimulation than a random beat. And for as long as you keep the spasms going, the process of detumescence is slowed, giving you a convenient degree of resistance to rub against. Usually you can even continue fucking if you don’t give your partner clearance to pull out.

For a period of time after a man has an orgasm, he’s physically incapable of responding to sexual stimulation. The length of this period varies from one man to another, and isn’t always the same even for the same man. It tends to be shorter in younger men and ranges from seconds to hours. In my experience, five to twenty minutes is typical. During this time, a man has no sexual desire and is likely to find any attempt to stimulate him irritating, both physically and emotionally.

This refractory period is followed by a time during which arousal is physically possible, but stimulation is still likely to be perceived as an annoyance. The man just doesn’t want sex. Even if he’s tied down and normally finds you irresistible, you might not be able to make him come. If he isn’t tied down and you make advances, he’s likely to develop a severe attack of performance anxiety. He gets worried that your continued acceptance of him is dependent on his meeting your sexual demands of the moment, and that not being horny, he’ll fail. That worry kills whatever capacity to respond he may have had. Perhaps he starts a petty squabble so he can reject you over some silly issue of his own choosing rather than be rejected himself as sexually inadequate.

I’ve always taken care that my lovers don’t fall into this unpleasant state. My method is simple. I don’t attempt to arouse a man who isn’t ready for it. I’ll be affectionate. I’ll cuddle. I’ll let him know that I love him and that I appreciate his love for me. But I won’t lick his nipple. I won’t take hold of his cock. I won’t put my pussy in his face, or even suggest he play with it. I won’t do anything that says, I want sex now, until I know he’s ready.

My reason goes beyond a desire to save him from performance anxiety. I want my lover always to think of sex with me as something he craves, so I keep the supply at least a little behind the demand, sometimes way behind the demand. That keeps him in the habit of wanting me, and the possibility of not wanting me doesn’t enter his mind, even though I know there are times he doesn’t.

What would happen if, for example, I were to have him eat me when he was sexually satiated? He would experience the sight, smell and taste of my pussy objectively, as sexually neutral. I don’t want that to happen. I want him always to look forward to the opportunity to see, smell and taste me, and to find me a turn-on every time. I don’t want to give him one chance to be objective about my pussy because I don’t want him to learn how.

The obvious question is, What’s the good of having a love slave if you can’t use him as you please?

A simple answer is that I can use him as I please, but the relationship will go better and last longer if I’m considerate, realistic and sensible in my demands.

A more complete answer is that sexually enslaving my partner allows me to manage the relationship, and I can manage it better than he can, precisely because I know better than to use him without regard for his feelings. One of the reasons I advocate female domination is that most women, given the opportunity, manage their relationships better than men do. We take a more balanced approach. We’re more mindful of our partners’ needs and desires even while looking after our own. My respect for my lover’s need to rest from sex is an example of this. If I subjected him to sexual demands when he needed to be left alone, he would come to resent it, just as many women come to resent the ill-timed sexual demands of their men. A relationship controlled by a woman who fails to consider her man’s needs will deteriorate just as rapidly, into just as deep a state of misery, as a relationship controlled by a man who does the same. With power comes responsibility. Inevitably.

During Patrick’s fateful Saturday afternoon visit with me, I set up a situation that demonstrates a little-considered truth about the relationship between the sexes—a truth of prime importance to a woman seeking sexual power: If a man is horny to begin with, and the sexual chemistry between you is such that you naturally turn him on, and he’s physically unable to resist, you can make him have an orgasm; his will alone can’t prevent it.

It’s easy to see why this truth is so obscure. The situation doesn’t come up in most people’s lives. A man is rarely put in a position where he’s unable to resist what a woman might do, and when it happens, it’s not in the presence of a woman whose intentions are sexual. Even among couples who play at bondage the situation is rare; when the man is tied up, the woman doesn’t create in his mind a need to resist the stimulation she offers.

Besides, we’ve been acculturated to a view of masculinity that tells us that men are always eager for sexual release. We’re not used to thinking that a man might be subjected to sexual stimulation and try to resist it. This in turn feeds the rarity of the occurrence; the situation has so seldom been set up because only a few women have thought to do it.

Not all societies share this view. Anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski, in his 1929 tome, The Sexual Life of Savages, describes the yausa of the southernmost villages of the Trobriand Islands—a ritual sexual assault committed upon a man by a group of women. According to Malinowski’s informants, the group would first tear up their victim’s pubic leaf, so that he would have to go naked afterward and be unable to conceal what had happened to him. Next they would hold him down and display their genitals and stimulate his penis until it got hard; then one of them would mount him and fuck him until he came. If that didn’t exhaust him, another woman would take a turn. Eventually the man would be completely worn out. When he was, the women would urinate and defecate on him, paying particular attention to his face, and often beat him as well.

This sort of pastime is a bit much for so gentle and fastidious a person as me, and I wouldn’t like to see it become common in California, but it does prove my point. A victim of the yausa, once set upon by the gang, knew the script. It was, after all, a ritual, and notorious throughout the islands. Still, even though these women had destroyed his pubic leaf, even though he knew the pollution to which they were going to subject him, he couldn’t help but get hard when the right sort of stimulation was applied, and he couldn’t help but come when he was fucked. The power of femininity is truly irresistible.

There are two reasons it’s important to understand that you’re irresistible. One is that it builds confidence. Confidence gives you an even sexier aura and makes you even harder to resist—an effect that’s magnified still further when your man is unable to interfere with what you might do. Confidence also keeps you from being bluffed off course. If you set up the sort of scene that I did with Patrick, especially if you do it for the purpose of gaining leverage in dealing with a problem in your relationship, many a man will try a bluff to get you to stop as soon as he sees what you’re up to, and he’ll do it even while tied naked and helpless. He’ll ask in a disappointed tone, designed to make you feel guilty, whether you’re “that kind of person.” He’ll tell you that what you’re doing turns him off, hoping to stop you before you’ve had a chance to make your own observation of the intensity with which it turns him on. He’ll tell you you’ll never see him again. He’ll tell you more things than I can warn you about. Whatever he tells you, it’s best met with a confident demeanor. You won’t always succeed this way, but almost always. If you lack confidence—if you let yourself be bluffed—you’ll never succeed.

The other reason it’s important to know you’re irresistible is that if you’re to control your man completely, he has to know he can’t resist you, and he has to know that you know he knows. It’s actually necessary to demonstrate this to him, as I demonstrated it to Patrick, and to do so repeatedly throughout your relationship.

It might not be all that obvious that Patrick was trying to resist me. He certainly made no great show of it, but that’s because if he had, he would have been all the more embarrassed when the inevitable finally overtook him, and he knew from the outset that it would.

Patrick was trying not to come for several reasons, all of which I had given him for the purpose of creating resistance that I would defeat. One was that I was going to continue playing with his cock, in its state of sensitivity, until he promised to be my love slave. Continued stimulation would be distressing. Being forced to submit and make the promise would be embarrassing in itself, and it would also open up the possibility that I might use his sensitivity again in the future, either coercively as I used it that afternoon, or simply as a toy. He had never before had a lover who was aware of that possibility, much less interested in it, and it made him feel terribly vulnerable.

Another reason for his resistance was that I was going to watch him ejaculate, and that embarrassed him too. Sure, he had come in my pussy a dozen times, but I don’t have eyes there. Sure, he’d had other lovers, and it’s certain that some of his previous lovemaking had included manual stimulation that led to orgasm. Sure, it was obvious from my age and skill that during my life I’d witnessed the ejaculations of many men, and many times each. Still, on that afternoon, his emotional reality—the scene as it felt to him—was that he’d been tied up by a curious teenage girl who was going to make him have an orgasm so she could watch him ejaculate. And she would tease him about it afterward.

There was yet another reason for Patrick to resist, and it’s the big one: His orgasm would confirm that what I was doing to him was indeed an irresistible turn-on. It would confirm that he was turned on by the idea of being my love slave, by the fantasy of having to stand before me with his cock sticking out, by the expectation of having me watch him come, by the awareness that I knew how sensitive his cock gets after he comes, by my intention to play with that sensitivity. All these things were running through his mind and, because of what I was saying to him, he knew that I knew.

He was embarrassed in the extreme at being so obviously turned on by all that, and he was turned on by his embarrassment—by the feeling that all my attention was on him, that I’d taken control of his body, that I knew his most private thoughts and feelings, that he had no place to hide, that he was so intimately exposed to me in every way.

Stripping the last bit of commentary from that explanation, we’re left with the simplest possible description of the psychological Loop in which a man finds himself when placed in that sort of situation: He’s embarrassed at being turned on and he’s turned on by his embarrassment. I call it the Loop because that’s its shape—a self-reinforcing cycle made up of two components, each of which fuels the other. The way I take control of a man’s sexuality is to set up this Loop in his mind and feed it, doing this to add to his sexual arousal and that to add to his embarrassment.

Reduced to ultimate simplicity, the Loop might sound silly, far-fetched. With an appropriate context of circumstances and events though, like the circumstances and events of the afternoon Patrick promised to be my love slave, it becomes quite credible—different, to be sure, from what most people are accustomed to, but as credible as any obvious truth.

In the coming chapters, you’ll find a number of scenarios that illustrate the sexual dynamics of female domination, and the Loop figures prominently in all of them. You’ll also find a wide range of technical advice, and much of it will be focused on the Loop. Perhaps some of the scenarios will be built on circumstances that so closely match your own that you’ll be able to enact them almost as presented, and with good results. You’d do better, though, to use the scenarios only to help you understand the Loop and its possibilities, then steer your own course. Your circumstances, after all, are at least somewhat different from those of any couple described in this book, your personality is certainly different from that of any other woman, and your partner’s personality is different from that of any other man. If you develop a good understanding of the Loop, you won’t have to follow a recipe; you’ll know what you’re trying to accomplish and you’ll be able to find your way as you go.

An understanding of the Loop also enables you to feed it optimally—to say and do all the right things to enhance your lover’s perception that you control his body, that you know his most private thoughts and feelings, that he has no place to hide, that he’s intimately exposed to you in every way. Of course! If you want to create the impression that you know a man’s most private thoughts and feelings, nothing could possible help so much as actually knowing them.

If that were the whole story of the Loop, its potential would be awesome enough, but there’s more.

First, the Loop has a way of getting burned in—it quickly becomes a man’s habitual mode of arousal. If you press your body against his and kiss him, not only does his cock get hard, but he gets embarrassed by knowing that you can feel it. Without additional prompting he gets further excited by his embarrassment, by knowing that you know he’s embarrassed, and by imagining what you might do with both his hard cock and his embarrassment. Even your smile, by itself, teases him about the secrets you know and becomes a powerful erotic stimulant.

Second, the Loop is addictive. Your lover begins to fantasize, even crave, scenarios in which his loss of control turns out to be especially embarrassing. His fantasies keep him turned on, and his awareness that it’s you who transforms fantasies into reality keeps him turned on to you in particular. As a consequence, his need for you is much stronger than it would be in an ordinary relationship. Because he needs you, he wants to please you. And his addiction to the Loop (and to you) can sometimes be made to compete with other, destructive addictions he might have, giving you a degree of leverage in getting them under control.

Third and best of all, the Loop can make a man love you with truly phenomenal intensity. We women have traditionally been more in love with our men than they, with us. This is because we’ve opened ourselves up to them, shared our secrets, and been accepted. At least that’s how it was early on, when love was new. Later, if things went according to the usual pattern, we continued to share what was important to us, and our words were barely heard and dismissed as trivial. Not as good as what we started with, but a pretty fair substitute when you consider the alternatives: it’s better than being rejected and it’s better than feeling obliged to keep everything inside as men do.

At the beginning of their relationships with us, men, too, open up and share their secrets. Love involves an exchange of vulnerabilities, and a relationship that doesn’t begin with mutual self-disclosure doesn’t get off the ground. Men, though, are raised to seek mastery over everything they encounter, including their women, so they soon find it necessary to erect barriers against us, hide their vulnerabilities, and do what they can to control us. In the process they lose the feeling of being in love, and it’s a great loss.

(Women who are bitter about being downtrodden will argue that men have done immeasurably more harm to women—stripped us of our humanity to a far greater degree—than they’ve injured themselves. I don’t disagree, but the question doesn’t interest me. Men don’t dominate me; I dominate them. And I do it to the good of both and the injury of neither. One of the thoughts with which I nourished my enthusiasm for writing this book was my conviction that few women who take control of their men will be so stupid as to follow the male pattern of depriving themselves of the closeness that initially made their relationships appealing.)

The Loop is a vulnerability that your man has to share with you. Unless he goes to the unlikely extreme of ending your sexual relationship, he can’t avoid the Loop; you can make it part of any or every sexual encounter. And once you’ve got him turned on, he can’t refuse to share his feelings; even if he’s as reticent as Patrick, his body will tell you everything. When you comment on what it does, even if only by saying, “Mm-hm,” he’ll know that you know.

It might be less than clear that the Loop is a vulnerability. We women are more matter-of-fact about such things, but men invariably experience it that way. A man is supposed to be in control—of himself, of his woman, of his whole world. The Loop is a loss of control over his own body and psyche that, unlike passing out in a drunken stupor, isn’t socially sanctioned. It isn’t regarded as common, either—at least not yet—so he worries that he’s perverted. Horrors! He has a dark secret! Other people might find out! Maybe it shows! He can find any number of reasons to feel vulnerable and insecure.

And so there you are, the two of you, and he’s sharing a significant vulnerability with you. He starts feeling that he’s in love with you. If you let him know that you find the Loop an endearing part of him, if you let him know that you don’t care that he’s perverted, if you let him know that his arousal and embarrassment together make a neat plaything, if you let him know that you can be trusted—that you appreciate being trusted—to give him a safe place to enjoy what he’s feeling, he’ll definitely fall in love with you, and in a big way. Don’t go so far as to tell him he’s not perverted, or that you wouldn’t want to lose such a neat plaything, because that will dilute his feeling of vulnerability, and with it the feeling of sharing his vulnerability with you, and with that the feeling of being in love.

When your man is both habituated to the Loop and in love with you, his love becomes a part of the Loop. When you say or do something that intensifies his embarrassment, he feels a rush of love as well. If you see this happen, you can tease him about how he can’t help but love you for embarrassing him. Do this with acceptance and affection, and it feeds the Loop, adding further to his arousal, his embarrassment, and his love.

There’s another way in which the Loop helps build a man’s love for you—one that’s more primitive. Love is nourished by sharp images of the beloved—snapshots etched in the consciousness, if you will. That truth is probably as little considered as the truth with which this chapter opened, but truth it is nevertheless, and if you think about it, you’ll recognize it as such from your own experience.

When you set up the sort of scene I did with Patrick, one of the things that happens is that your man pays attention to you. He doesn’t close his eyes and get lost in his own world, as men so often do during ordinary sex. He watches you. He listens to you. He builds a sharp mental record of everything that happens. When it’s over, he remembers every word you said, every move you made, every detail of how you looked, sounded and smelled. And for reasons buried deep in our brain stems, it makes him love you.

Patrick continued his relationship with me, as my love slave, for twenty-seven months. Obviously the reason wasn’t that he felt bound by the promise he made while tied to my bed. He stayed because I was the most sexually exciting partner he’d ever had, because he was more intensely in love with me than he’d imagined he could be with anyone, and because he felt more loved and accepted than ever before. That’s what the Loop can do.

Copyright © 1997 by Georgeann Cross

[ratings]

There was a time when acetylsalicylic acid and penicillin were called drugs and a woman who exercised, ate a moderate and balanced diet, and avoided alcohol and tobacco was said to be looking after her health. At that time, if one had been permitted to talk about such things at all, I might have been called a dominatrix.

The old words have since been taken over by the hard stuff, so that only the likes of heroin and cocaine are called drugs, while people take care of their health with such medications as acetylsalicylic acid and penicillin if they haven’t followed a wellness program or it has somehow failed them.

A dominatrix wears a costume of black leather with metal studs. It includes an uplift bra and spike heels. She has a severe hair style and carries a whip that she uses with terrifying frequency, apparently because she’s always angry. She ties her victims into the most uncomfortable of postures and subjects them to hideous tortures. To top it off, she gets paid for all this. By the people she mistreats! It’s beyond strange.

That’s not me. I don’t look like that, I’m seldom angry, and I don’t beat or torture people, though I do use the word—sometimes as a playful exaggeration and sometimes as a convenience. I don’t own an unusual amount of leather, little of my clothing is black, and I favor neither black nor leather when I anticipate making love. I rarely wear a bra and almost never high heels. I don’t have a whip. I’m in my forties, slim, of moderate height. My breasts are small; my hair hangs a bit below my shoulders; I keep my nails short; my ears have never been pierced. I usually wear jeans and sneakers with a T-shirt in summer or a sweatshirt in winter.

I’m gentle by nature, friendly, easy to talk to. I don’t like to hurt people. I’ve never even spanked any of my lovers. I drive courteously and with regard for the rights and safety of pedestrians, even when visiting the Great Northeastern Megalopolis.

And I’m an amateur. I’ve never been paid for sex, nor has anyone ever offered to pay me. If someone did make such an offer, I wouldn’t respond favorably. That sort of transaction shocks my conscience, though I don’t presume to judge the people who do things that way.

Am I, then, really a dominatrix? The word is convenient, so I’ll continue using it whether I’m entitled or not. Genuine dominatrix or mere pretender, I’m a woman who enjoys sexual power, and this book is offered so that you, and other women like you, may be empowered in the same way if you so choose. I’m including this account of myself so you’ll be able to judge whether my advice is worth considering.

I was born, raised, and educated in California. I’ve worked my entire adult life in the computer industry of Silicon Valley, writing technical manuals. I’ve never married, partly out of a determination to remain childless and partly because I rebel against allowing the state to license my living arrangements and love life. I’ve had a number of relationships with men, one at a time, and some of those relationships were very much like marriages in closeness, intensity and duration. They ended because of my fear of parenthood or because of my partner’s need to move to another part of the world or for other ordinary reasons.

The only real difference between my relationships and those of so many other women is that I openly took control of the sexual aspect of each one and, just as openly, used the leverage that that gave me to direct the relationship as a whole. As more women read this book and discuss it, the pattern will become common. When I took control of my first relationship, though, there was no book to guide me. I got started differently.

It’s commonly recognized that our sexual appetites are shaped by our earliest adventures, and it was a chance occurrence at the age of fourteen, before I had any real sexual experience, that sparked my interest in female domination.

I was spending a few summer weeks visiting a friend who had moved to Maryland the year before. One afternoon we were at the home of her neighbor, Beth, along with a few of Beth’s other friends. There were six of us in all, fourteen to sixteen years old, and we were skinny-dipping in the enclosed backyard pool as we’d done a couple of times previously. At some point my friend approached me in the water and quietly told me that our hostess had noticed a boy hiding in the bushes near the garden hose, spying on us. Beth wanted us to close in on him slowly, pretending not to have observed his presence, then grab him.

I don’t know how well we pretended not to notice him, but we did manage to get hold of him and pin him to the ground. He was about my age.

Beth asked him why he was hiding in the bushes and he said he didn’t know.

“Yes you do. If you didn’t know why you were doing it, you wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of getting in here and hiding. You wanted a chance to see us without our clothes on, didn’t you?”

He admitted that he did.

“I’ll bet you were going to brag to your friends about it afterward, and then they’d all be teasing me for the rest of the summer.” She thought a moment. “We’re going to show you how it feels to have someone staring at you when you’re naked.”

She bent down and removed his shoes and socks, then told Rena, who was sitting on his chest, “Let’s get that shirt off.”

The two of them unbuttoned it and I made sure that his right hand, which I’d been holding against the ground, didn’t get loose when we bent his arm and slid the sleeve down.

When the shirt was off, Beth grinned at him and said, “Soon you’ll be as naked as we are.”

Then, to Rena, “Help me get his pants off.”

They pulled the pants down slowly. He was wearing undershorts and they were pushed up in front like a tent by his stiff cock. I couldn’t wait to see it uncovered. My pussy was congested and I could feel the pulse beating in it.

Beth and Rena got his pants clear of his feet, Beth supervising to make sure neither of his legs got loose of the girls holding them.

Beth looked at the tent in the undershorts, then up at the boy’s face. “You have a hard-on. You’re really going to be embarrassed when those shorts come off and we all get to see it.”

The two of them took hold of the elastic waistband of the shorts and slowly pulled them down.

I still remember every detail of how his cock came into view—the glimpse I got by peering between the waistband and his body as they lifted the elastic clear; the frantic effort he made to free his wrist from my grip as he realized that if he couldn’t stop us, six girls would see, the way it stood so stiff, as I now know only a young boy’s does, when the shorts were down below his bottom. I remember everything about it—its color, its texture, the way the few strands of hair sparkled in the sun. It was the first erect penis I’d ever seen and I was utterly transfixed.

Soon the shorts were pulled over his ankles and every inch of the boy’s body was bare.

“See how embarrassing it is?” Beth teased. “You shouldn’t have spied on us.”

Rena giggled and gestured toward the boy’s cock. “Let’s play with it till he can’t stand it.”

Beth licked her lips. “Go ahead!”

Rena took it between her thumb and forefinger and began stroking it with a milking motion. The boy struggled a bit, then gave up. His breathing turned into a heavy panting, and then, all at once, about twenty seconds after Rena had started, his whole body seemed to convulse and his cock spurted.

“It’s broken! I’m dying!”

He struggled again to free his arms even as he bucked his hips and continued to ejaculate.

I watched, fascinated. I had read descriptions of the male orgasm, but I’d never seen it happen. I hadn’t expected that the amount of fluid was so great, or that it was expelled with such force.

When the fireworks were over and Rena withdrew her hand, the boy was half crying, a bewildered expression on his face.

“Let me go! It’s broken!”

Beth answered him. “No it isn’t. Didn’t that ever happen to you before?”

He shook his head and said no.

“Well, that’s what happens when a girl plays with your thing.” She pointed at the white liquid on his chest. “You wet all over yourself.”

He looked where she was pointing and blushed.

“I guess we might as well let you go now. Don’t tell anyone you were even here, or we’ll say you took your own pants down and played with yourself in front of us. Then they’ll think you’re a real sickie and put you in an institution.”

We let him up, we all got dressed, and we escorted him out.

Sex, for me, became that scenario. When I was horny, what I fantasized wasn’t conventional courtship and the sort of passive lovemaking that was expected of girls in those days, but my rendering some boy helpless and teasing him sexually. (In fact I still enjoy replaying my recollection of that day in Maryland and, understanding now that our sexual tastes really are shaped by our early experiences, I get a particular kick out of thinking that somewhere in this world there’s a man my age whose favorite sexual fantasy is his recollection of how he was held down and made to have his first orgasm by six curious teenage girls, one of them me.)

As I grew up through my high school and college years, I became involved in a series of relationships with young men, as any young woman does, and in a few purely sexual adventures besides. I met my partners in the usual ways—by being in the same classes, through shared interests, or accidentally—and until I was twenty my relationships were almost completely ordinary. They differed from those of other lusty young women only in that I contrived to tie up each of my partners at least once and sexually toy with him. After all, it was my favorite fantasy. I got my partners to go along by whatever means necessary, though only a couple seemed sufficiently enthusiastic to do it repeatedly. I didn’t try to sexually enslave these young men, and for a very simple reason: I hadn’t yet any idea that such a thing was possible.

Then, during my junior year of college, I met the man who was to become my first love slave, and my preferences set the tone of all our lovemaking. That relationship showed me what was possible, and since then I’ve sought to sexually enslave every one of my lovers. I’ve almost always succeeded too, and I’ve become so sure of my power that I simply won’t continue seeing the occasional man who refuses to do things my way. I know what I need and I know I can get it.

Over the years I’ve learned a great deal. I’ve learned the anatomy and physiology of male sexual response, and its psychology as well—especially what happens inside a man’s head when a woman takes control and toys with his sexuality. I’ve learned technique and developed it into an art form.

What does all this mean? What does my history tell you? What use can you make of the knowledge I’ve gathered?

At one extreme, you know that female domination isn’t for you. It involves taking on a role that’s somehow contrary to your core personality. I can’t dispute that—you know your own nature—but I invite you to continue reading anyway. You’ll find out how it is for me and for other women like me, gain some insight into men, perhaps even pick up one or two techniques that turn out not to make you uncomfortable.

At the other extreme, this book is just what you’ve always been looking for. You’re as enthusiastic about female domination as I am, and you’re going to use the techniques I recommend, along with any others you hear about or think up, to take control of any relationship you get into. You’re reading this as a technical manual and it won’t disappoint you, even if it doesn’t tell you how to be the dominatrix in the fetish magazines.

Most likely you’re at neither extreme. You’re committed to a relationship, perhaps a marriage, and its sexual aspect is nothing at all like the sexual aspect of my relationships. You’re interested in the potential value of my advice but you’re skeptical, and well you should be.

To start with, I seem to have gone to school in a different world. I told you I arranged to sexually toy with every one of my high school and college lovers, and that seems unlikely. When you were that age you knew any number of young men with whom such behavior would have been unthinkable. I knew them too. There were only a few of them. They avoided me or I, them. I have a confident manner and a natural talent for teasing. That attracts men who are psychologically well suited to my agenda and repels most of those who aren’t, though unfortunately it also attracts the sort of man who has a need to become involved with a woman he regards as a bitch and beat her into submission. I have an instinctive dislike for thugs and an intuitive ability to recognize them, so I’ve always managed to avoid men who might react to me with violence.

If you’re sure none of your male schoolmates could have been maneuvered into that kind of scene, it’s probably because you’re unaccustomed to considering the possibility, or because you were taken in by their macho posturing and bluff. Most of them could have been, and most grown men can too.

Even if you grant that, you still have good reason to be skeptical. I’ve told you my rule is that my relationships go my way or they don’t go; I’m willing to take the risk that a new lover will reject me as too kinky. Your priorities are different. Your existing relationship is important to you and you suspect that if you tried doing the things I’ve done, the consequences would be disastrous. It’s certainly something to consider. There are indeed relationships that would be irreparably damaged by an attempt to apply my techniques, and men who would react with the ferocity of a cornered animal. Contraindications are almost always obvious though, and if you heed them, you can pretty well avoid serious risk.

Besides telling you how—and why—to take control of your partner and make a devoted love slave of him, I’ll be telling you how to recognize situations in which it’s better not to make the attempt, and I’ll even show you how it’s possible to use my techniques to improve a relationship without going as far as I do.

Though it might seem that my gung-ho attitude and limited stylistic repertoire should have given me little opportunity to learn such subtleties, that’s not at all the case. Over the years I’ve made a great many friends. Some have been men, two have been celibate (one finds everything in California) and a few have been consistently happy with their partners. Most, though, have been involved in at least one difficult relationship with a man at some time during our friendship.

Whenever one of my friends told me of a problem she was having with a husband or lover, and the problem seemed to be one she could solve by using the power of her femininity, I’d describe my qualifications (if she didn’t already know them) and offer advice. If she was interested, I’d give her all the gritty details she needed to bring her man under control.

Some friends took my advice and some didn’t. Those who did usually told me how it went. Some thought up techniques of their own, experimented, and shared the results with me. Through years of this sort of vicarious experience, I’ve learned quite a bit about what can happen when a woman attempts to take control of an established relationship. I’ve learned to predict the success or failure of the attempt with reasonable accuracy, I’ve learned what kinds of problems can be alleviated by female domination, and I’ve learned what kinds of problems can be caused or aggravated by it.

In recent years, several of my friends have made repeated attempts to persuade me to commit my knowledge to written form so that it might be available to any woman who wants it. As you see, they succeeded. The result is the book you now hold in your hands.

One thing I beg. Before you attempt to use any of the advice I offer, please read it all, cover to cover. Many important points are presented only once to avoid boring you with repetition. Backward references are frequent while forward references are almost nonexistent, so reading from the beginning is easier than skipping around—the first time, anyway. Reading to the end will save you from acting on incomplete information; topics that seem to have been covered completely are sometimes further elaborated after the introduction of new but related material. More important still, nearly every strategy and technique I recommend is unsuited to certain situations or types of men, and most of the warnings you need are clustered in the later chapters. If you read everything before acting, you’re less likely to find yourself confronted with unexpected difficulty.

My fondest wish is that this work will affect people only to the good—that relationships between women and men will be improved, that individual women and individual men will be happier, and that no harm will come to any person or any relationship.

Gung ho!

[ratings]

It was early Saturday afternoon and Patrick, my lover of two months, had just arrived in my apartment. I led him to the kitchen and we chatted while I finished putting away the dishes, then he backed me up to the counter and pressed against me as we kissed. He was horny as I had hoped, but I wanted to make doubly sure. I pulled away, opened the refrigerator, and got out a bar of Swiss dark chocolate. Positioning my behind against the counter again, I broke the end of the bar into fragments and opened the wrapper.

“Antidote for my omelet,” I explained, putting a bit in my mouth.

I took a larger piece and fed it to Patrick as he pressed against me again. I savored the bitter sweetness of the candy, the feel of Patrick’s cock straining against me through his jeans, my anticipation of what I had planned for the afternoon. When we’d swallowed, we kissed some more. It made his cock strain harder. I gave us each another dose of chocolate. Then another kiss, another bite, another kiss, another bite, until he was saturated and wouldn’t take more.

I pulled away again and put the remains of the chocolate back in the refrigerator, then looked down at the bulge in Patrick’s jeans and ran two fingers along its length.

“I know what you want.” I looked up into his eyes. “I’m going to tie you up again.”

“God! You’re kinky!”

He wasn’t objecting—had no reason to—had no idea just how kinky I was or what he was in for. He expected the same thing I’d done each of the other three times I’d tied him up, and those three occasions weren’t all that different from the nine other lovemaking sessions we’d shared so far.

“Get yourself comfortable and lie down on the bed.”

He headed for the john while I went into the bedroom and got out the restraints. The first time I’d tied him up, I told him to start with an empty bladder because it might be a while before I let him go, and he’d learned well. Now he would be gone several minutes; he was too aroused to urinate and would have to cool himself down. While I waited I undressed.

A few minutes went by and he came in carrying his clothes, his cock at rest. I was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You are beautiful!” he said, looking at me briefly. Then he busied himself setting down his things.

His clothing didn’t really need that much attention and I knew he was fussing just to control his lust; he wanted to avoid the embarrassment of letting me see his cock grow to full erection while he was still standing, especially since he knew my propensity for teasing. That shyness was one of the things that attracted me to him, just as my teasing was one of the things that attracted him to me.

“Thank you.”

I was flattered by his compliment and knew he meant it. I don’t perceive myself as beautiful, and I know I don’t conform to the standard of beauty promoted by the media, but I’ve got used to the idea that there are men who honestly see me that way and I enjoy it.

Patrick lay down on the bed and positioned himself in the middle. He knew the procedure. I took a length of nylon webbing and tied it around one wrist, using a knot that neither tightens nor comes undone when pulled. I took another length and did the same with the other wrist. Then I tied each one to a leg of the bed so his arms were fully extended to the sides.

I lay on top of him and kissed him, lightly at first, then deeply, then lightly again. His cock responded from the first.

“I love making love to you when you’re helpless like this and can’t do anything but turn on to me.”

I repositioned myself so he could eat my pussy. I straddled his face, resting one knee on either side of his head, my feet below his armpits, my hands on the headboard. I was horny myself and I knew his mouth would have to satisfy me for the day, so I was going to get all the pleasure I could from it.

Patrick had given me head several times before. Once, the last time I’d tied him up, it had been in just this position. He always did it well, and on this particular afternoon I had more than a dozen orgasms. I let him go on much longer than last time, but I doubt that it led him to suspect anything. He enjoyed my pleasure along with me, telling me sometimes when I came that I was beautiful that way, then setting out to make it happen again.

When I’d had enough and one more, I moved backward and sat lightly on his chest, supporting most of my weight on my legs.

“Like my pussy?”

“Definitely. It’s the prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

“How would you like to be my love slave?”

“I don’t know. What does that involve?”

“Well, let’s see… You’ll have to be completely faithful to me and not have sex with anyone else; you’ll have to take off as much of your clothing as I tell you when we’re alone together and let me touch any part of your body any way I want; you’ll have to touch me any way I tell you, or not touch me if that’s what I say; you’ll have to let me tie you up whenever I want; you’ll have to play with yourself while I watch if I tell you; you’ll have to tell me all your secrets and fantasies… I guess that about covers it, but if I think of anything else I’ll let you know.”

I could feel his heart beat faster and faster as I spoke, and he looked absolutely panicked when I mentioned the possibility of his having to masturbate while I watched.

“Oh, yeah!” I added. “When we fuck, it’ll almost always be with me on top.”

He took a long time to answer, his heart beating so hard I could hear it.

“I like the relationship we’ve been having.”

“So do I. It’s not my intention to stop doing that. I like having you as a friend and companion, and I like us to cuddle with both your arms around me instead of tied away, but sometimes I want a sex toy I can play with just for fun.

“It’s way too kinky for my taste. You’ve got me scared half to death just talking about it.”

“I can understand your being scared; you’d be giving up a lot of control to me. But you know I’m a decent person, and you know I love you, and you must have a pretty good idea that I’ll make sure you enjoy it.”

He thought a while.

“Still, I can’t agree to that.”

“Oh, you’ll agree to it. Tied up like this, you don’t have any choice.”

“What are you going to do?” He sounded really worried.

I climbed off his chest and knelt on the floor with my upper body inclined across the bed, resting on my elbows. I stared at his cock, now just a short way from my eyes. It had been frightened back to its resting size and position.

“I’m going to play with my new toy here until you agree. You know how, once you come, your cock gets real sensitive and you need for it to be left alone for a while?”

I gave him time to say something, but he didn’t.

“Well, first I’m going to make you put on a little show for me. I’m going to play with you , and you aren’t going to be able to help but come, and I’ll get a real close-up view of how your cock does its thing.”

It grew and stiffened in response, and started to angle upwards. It was still lying against his upper thigh, but bigger than it had been, and pointed in my direction.

“I see the idea turns you on. Neat! Well, after you come, if you still haven’t promised to be my slave, I’m going to keep playing with it until you do. I don’t think it’ll take very long to convince you.”

I lubricated my index finger in the drop of fluid at the tip and slid it over the frenum. His cock jumped and came to rest against his lower abdomen, grown again to its full size.

“You were trying to hold that back, weren’t you?”

Again I gave him a chance to answer, and again he didn’t.

“See? I know how exciting this is for you. Of course if you really don’t want to be my love slave—if the idea really turns you off—all you have to do is keep from coming. After an hour or two I’ll get the message and let you go.”

I got some tissues and knelt alongside his right hip. I wiped the end of his cock, then used my thumb and forefinger to squeeze the rest of the fluid in his urethra out into one of the tissues and wiped again.

“I think you’ll agree to it though. When you’re ready, just let me know and I’ll stop what I’m doing. No sense torturing you any longer than necessary.”

I took his cock between my hands and started milking. I knew that the situation itself excited him so much, he would come in less than a minute no matter how gentle the stimulation, but I wanted to get in a few words to make sure we’d be on the same wavelength next time we saw one another.

“We’ll be doing a lot of this kind of playing, now that we both know how it turns you on. Next time we get together, I’ll probably tie your hands behind you and drop your pants first thing, then press against you and kiss you like we were doing before, until your cock is sticking straight out in front of you. Then I’ll back away and just look at it.”

I let go of his cock and stared at it.

“My sex toy!”

He had been breathing heavily, still was, and now his cock twitched its enthusiasm for my attention.

“Yummy! Nice fantasy, isn’t it?”

I waited for an answer again, still not touching him.

Nothing.

“You’re going to have to get used to sharing your thoughts and feelings with me. It’s part of being my love slave.”

Still nothing. There was no sense making an issue of it; by our next date he would have had an unbearable excess of time in which to rehearse the secrets he wanted to share with me, and he’d have plenty to say.

“I know the thought of that scene turns you on, even if you’re not used to admitting it, just like I know you’re turned on by the idea that I’m going to watch you spurt.”

I resumed my stroking.

In seconds he was panting. I felt his cock stiffen and I knew he was at the point of no return.

“You’re losing it, Patty!”

And he did. His panting turned into a stream of short cries and he dug his heels into the mattress, lifting his bottom off the bed. His cock relaxed for a fraction of a second, then stiffened again, sending a gob of come splashing onto his cheek.

“Ooh, sperm!”

I continued milking his cock, keeping pace with the rate of its throbbing.

“That must feel so good!”

After half a dozen spurts I reminded him, “Now, you just let me know when you’re ready to make that promise, and I’ll stop.”

I continued stroking at the same rate.

Even before he ran out of fluid, his breathing turned to a kind of whimpering, and the sound intensified as he realized he needed the stimulation left off. He tried twisting his lower body to get his cock out of my reach, but I followed along and continued my stroking. Soon he was squirming continuously and begging me to stop. I didn’t answer, just went on doing what I was doing, enjoying the sense of power I got from holding him in that state, loving him in his helplessness. He endured it longer than most men are able, but at last he gave in.

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it! Just stop!”

I let go as soon as the first, “I’ll do it!” registered. As I’d told him, I saw no sense in torturing him any longer than necessary. Besides, trust is essential to any good relationship, and I wanted to show him that I keep my word.

“Good. I knew you’d see it my way.”

I smiled at him, lovingly, the way I felt. He looked back at me shyly, trying to compose himself. I could see in his eyes how much in love he was, and the embarrassment he felt, and his confusion at it all.

“I got to watch your come.”

He lay there looking at me for a moment.

“I guess you did. God! I love you. I don’t know what to make of it, Georgeann, but I love you.”

“I love you too, Pat.”

I looked into his eyes a while longer, then broke away to get a towel.

“Clean you up!” I said, making a display of my thoughtfulness.

And I made the cleanup as intimate and affectionate as I knew how. First I wiped away the puddles of come, then, with short strokes, I dried and fluffed his pubic hair. After that, I squeezed the residual come out of his urethra onto the towel the way I’d got rid of the lubricating fluid earlier, and lastly I wiped the end of his cock dry again.

I put the towel aside and admired him, looking at his body, gazing into his eyes, just enjoying his company. Finally I took hold of his cock again.

“My sex toy!”

“I guess I am. I’ve never loved anyone this completely.”

“Neat! I’ll do my best to help you enjoy it.”

I undid the knots in the nylon webbing and lay down next to him. We cuddled, spoke again of our love, kissed, napped.

When we awoke, it was evening and we were hungry. We dressed and set out on our customary walk to Francescas Pizza, where we shared an agreeable dinner of Francesca’s simple but honest food. Sitting there together, we looked for all the world like a wolf guru and his brainwashed waif, except to Francesca, who knew me too well to be fooled.

Copyright © 1997 by Georgeann Cross.

[ratings]