Mistress Sidonia's Femdom Blog

The Secret Diary of a Dominatrix (in the Making) Pt1

Here at the English Mansion, we were given access to the secret diary of a woman who had been writing an account of her sexual exploits. It was something we were immediately interested in because as she started to explore her sexuality, she began to discover the intense pleasures of Femdom sex. Read her innermost thoughts as she unearths a real craving for abusing and using men for her sexual pleasure. Regularly, on this blog, we are going to be releasing the true account of her real-life fetish adventures.

Diary of D – Pt 1

Dear Diary,

I don’t know what came over me last night. I’m just a normal married woman, I work as a legal secretary in a small American law firm in the City and I’m fast approaching my 35th birthday. Life has become predictable, unadventurous, dull and lacklustre. My husband, XXX, takes me for granted, I’m lucky if I get sex a couple of times a month and then it only consists of a few pokes and grunts.

Things were so different when I was in my early twenties, always the party animal, with a voracious appetite for the opposite sex. I loved the power I had over their trouser bound brains, such simple creatures to manipulate. A quick hand job or a mouthful of their cocks and they would do anything I wanted. Life had seemed much simpler then, nothing a hard fuck couldn’t sort out. How I miss the young, carefree me. I feel like I’m on a downhill slope to retirement with a big cup of Horlicks, well, it seemed that way up till last night.

Accompanying a couple of my work colleagues to a bar, I was keen to have as much excitement as my youthful self would have had. I got through the first bottle of wine in a frenzy and that’s when my clit started to bleep, like an early warning siren. Usually, I would fight the throbbing and moisture in my knickers but now found myself with very little inhibitions and a sex drive that had returned with a vengeance. My radar noticed a small, shy looking man, standing by himself at the bar. He looked very self-conscious and uncomfortable in his own skin and was not the type I would ever normally look twice at. The bleep in my wettening panties led me to him, though. The look on his face as I chatted him up was like a scared rabbit being shown a huge carrot by an angry looking farmer. He had no idea what to do. Filth started emanating from my mouth, bypassing my shocked brain, I enjoyed telling him how I needed his tongue in my pussy and arse. Observing his eyes widening in shock and then placing my hand on his crotch and feeling his small penis hardening, what a thrill. The joy I got from this power over him was immense. Me, this middle aged housewife, mesmerising a stranger, leading him to the female cubicle and spending the next hour with his tongue working tirelessly in my wet pussy and arsehole. The orgasms that crashed over me as I called him filthy, degrading names was like a rebirth of my soul, the real me appearing after years in stasis. As I sat there, my mind in a dreamy place, I was expecting the normal male thing of trying to shove his cock into my hole, (they never seem to mind which one, we always joke at work), he started rubbing his rock hard little cock, then with pleading eyes, he made a strange request to cum over my shoes! It was surprising and I wasn’t sure at the time if I wanted my expensive shoes to get dirty, but he continued his, frankly, pathetic pleas, saying he would make sure they were spotlessly clean after. I nodded at this and almost immediately a few spurts of spunk jumped onto the leather. True to his word, he then cleaned his mess, but not with toilet paper as I expected, but with his tongue! What an odd thing to do, but he did make them gleam, even licking the dirty soles. It quickly bored me and coming off the earlier high, he actually started to repulse me, so I told him to fuck off, which he obediently did. My girlfriends could hardly believe it, when I returned to the bar, to be honest, I could hardly believe it myself.

I had some brief sex with hubby when I got home, but it wasn’t him I was thinking about when I got a rare intercourse orgasm, it was the face of that pleading man. I must look into this more!

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons or actual events is purely coincidental.