You will respect my authority!

Some days, I like to lie and tell myself that being a writer means for at least a small part of the time, I am actually in charge of people who will do exactly what I tell them to do. I mean, I'm the writer after all, right? When I write a character, that fictional person will do exactly whatever it is I decide they are going to do, without any back-talking or heel dragging or whining or outright rebellion. Writers write and characters obey. Right?

Wrong. Oh so dead wrong. Anybody who has written a story will tell you horror stories of characters run amok. You set out to write a beautiful little love story full of tenderness and life lessons and the next thing you know, your main character has pulled out a chainsaw to hack up the zombie hordes who have decided to invade the plot line. It happens so frequently, I wonder why I even bother to kid myself that I'm the one doing the actual creative part of the writing. I'm not. I'm just some schlub taking dictation half the time. The other half the time, I'm some schlub who's down on her knees begging her characters to say something, anything to get a story moving forward. Yeah, it sucks to be a writer.

I've actually written quite a few stories about fem dommes. I like seeing women in charge, especially in charge of men. It's a huge turn on for me to write these stories, right up until the characters take off in some direction I didn't expect, and then I'm back to being the dictation-taking schlub. One of my first fem domme stories was called A Man In A Kilt, and it was about a dominatrix who's lover is - you guessed it - a kilt-wearing Scott.

*****

We were at Jimmy's place one night when the phone rang. Jimmy was kneeling on the floor with a spreader bar between his ankles. I sat behind him, binding his wrists behind his back. We were busy, so after the fourth ring, the machine answered for us.

"Hey Jimmy! It's yer brother! Pick up the phone!" Jimmy started as a Highlands brogue rang loud and clear over the answering machine.

"Sorry," I told the machine as I stood up to survey my handiwork. "Jimmy's a little tied up right now!"

"Nan!" Jimmy strained against the cotton ropes, trying to free his hands.

"Don't worry, love," I cooed as I guided his head to the floor. His ass came up as his head went down, presenting me with a picture-perfect view of his anus, scrotum, and cock. "He can't hear me."

"Where the hell are ye?" the voice continued. "Nobody's seen ye in months, and ah'm starting to worry. Come doon to the pub tomorrow night so ah know yer not dead."

The phone clicked and the answering machine fell silent. The only sounds in the room now came from Jimmy as he continued to struggle.

"You're never going to get free," I said as I knelt behind him and fastened a leather strap around his balls. "Why don't you just relax?"

Two pieces of lightweight chain dangled from the strap. Jimmy gave a little moan as I hung a small weight between them. With a push of the finger, I sent the weight swinging just a bit. It tugged his balls back and forth as it swayed.

"Oh God Nan!" Jimmy gasped. "What are ye doing to me?"

"Something you'll like. Trust me."

I waited while Jimmy bitched and moaned. The weight gradually came to a stop and he calmed down a bit. Then I slipped my fingers between his legs and started rubbing the sweet spot just behind his balls. Jimmy moaned and rocked his hips, which sent the weight swinging again.

"Ah! Ma baws, Nan! Please!"

"Now, now. This doesn't hurt and I promise your family jewels won't fall off. Oh, speaking of family, you never told me you had a brother!"

I continued to massage his perineum with one hand as I slid the other around his hips to stroke his cock. Jimmy couldn't help himself. He stiffened right up and pushed forward into my grasp. The weight swung in a wider arc and Jimmy swore.

"Language, dear!" I chided him. "So what's your brother like? Is he nice?"

"He's just... oh God... he's a'right..." Jimmy gasped. I quit stroking his shaft and began toying with the Prince Albert dangling from the tip of his cock. He shuddered as I twirled the shiny steel ring in and out of his urethra. The piercing was my gift to Jimmy on our one-month anniversary, my way of saying how special he was to me, and I played with it every chance I got.

"He's okay, huh? Maybe you should take me to this pub tomorrow night so I can meet him."

"Oh, ah don't know, Nan... Oh God!" He jerked as I left off massaging his perineum and pressed a finger against his anus.

"Oh quit fussing! It's not like I'm exploring virgin territory here. Besides, I've got plenty of lube." I let up on Jimmy's trap door long enough to grab the nearby tube of gel and flip the top open. I squeezed out a dollop and slowly spread it between his cheeks. "So why won't you take me to see your brother? You too embarrassed to introduce me to your family?"

"No!" Jimmy's hips came up high as I teased the rim of his little brown hole. The weight arced between his legs like a fortuneteller's pendulum.

"So why not take me to the pub?"

"Oh God Nan! Ah'll do whatever ye want!"

"I want to meet your brother tomorrow. Think we can do that?"

This time I pinched the head of his cock. Jimmy bucked uncontrollably and the weight swung wild.

"Aye! Aye! Please Nan! God please!"

"Good boy. That's exactly what I wanted to hear," I said as I slipped a finger inside him.

From A Man In A Kilt, published by Logical Lust.

*****

When I started working on A Man In A Kilt, I had had a certain preconceived notion of what a dominatrix was supposed to act like. You know the stereotype; the she-bitch in black leather corset and matching thigh-high boots who walks around swinging a riding crop. But Nan flat out refused to conform to that idea. She was just too damned easy going. She was also too damned sure of herself to let me write her any other way, so I did my obedient little dictation thing and just wrote as fast as I could to keep up with her. Then I submitted my story to the critique group at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association to see what others thought. Wouldn't you know it? The first critique I got back told me I had done it all wrong. Nan was no good as a dominatrix. She should have been more severe, a hard-nosed bitch who wouldn't put up with any nonsense from her sub. My critic even went on to suggest that Nan should have stabbed a potential rival in the hand with a fork in one scene. It was an interesting critique as I recall.

But it also wasn't the only feedback I got. Other writers came back with fervent support of Nan. No she didn't conform to the usual ideal of a dominatrix, but she was definitely in charge of the story. Considering that Nan had pretty much written the story, those supporters had no idea how right they were! In the end, I let Nan be Nan and went on to publish the story not once, not twice, but four times. To this day, I'm still getting positive feedback on it.

Nan was my first dominatrix, but hardly my last. Since then I've written about Amazons who turn the tables on self-indulgent frat boys making homemade porn; a world where women rule and virgin men are married off for expensive dowries; dryads who torment lazy gardeners with whips of willow branches; and my own personal favorite, a dominatrix who sees the future every time she comes. None of these women are the stereotypical ice queen in black leather. Heck, some of them aren't even human! But they are all in charge of their own stories, and I do not dare suggest that they be anything other than what they are.

I am a writer. I like to pretend that I am in charge of my characters. Fortunately, we all know better than that. Right?

Right!

*****

"Sahir came... Sahir comes... is coming, will have come..."

It sounded like a lesson in verb tenses, but it was actually the beginnings of a prescient vision, the kind Nadine only got when she was on the verge of a twenty mega-ton orgasm. The word come sounded promising, but my name was Aaron, not Sahir, and it kind of bothered me to hear Nadine call out another man's name when things were getting hot and heavy. Not that I thought she was involved with anyone named Sahir. It's just that after spending two years as her boy-toy, it would have been nice to hear my loving domme shout Aaron, Aaron! when she was about to blow.

"Sahir will come... will come..."

Well, at least she was with me physically. Gray eyes glazed, vision turned inwards, Nadine cinched a piece of surgical tubing around my freshly shaved balls. All the while, she kept muttering about Sahir. I bit the penis-shaped gag stuffed in my mouth and groaned. I should have realized playtime wasn't her top priority when she brought me into the lab instead of the apartment upstairs. Most dominatrixes have a dungeon. Not Nadine. She was a scientist, so she had a lab and a test subject, a very willing test subject.

From the start of our relationship, she'd measured all my responses, tested my physical and mental capacities, and analyzed my phobias and fetishes. Feminization ranked as my fifth-worst fear as well as my second favorite turn-on, which meant wearing frilly panties got me so hard it scared the hell out of me. So naturally, Nadine had transformed me into a little girl for this particular session. I stood before my latex-clad domme, hands secured behind my back, wearing a lacy pink baby-doll dress with matching socks and patent leather shoes. A pair of itchy ruffled panties hung around my ankles. I had cried when she made me put them on, then breathed a sigh of relief two hours later when she finally yanked them down to torment my cock.

"Sahir comes... comes up to the register... he counts the till..."

Damn, still talking about Sahir. Sahir was the guy who ran the convenience store a few blocks from Nadine's house. He got robbed once a month, but she'd had never had a vision about it before now. Why the hell was he so important this evening?

"Sahir counts the till... a boy is hiding... hiding in the store..."

Beads of sweat formed around a series of flat metal disks pasted to Nadine's forehead. More disks lay hidden beneath the red latex suit that encased her from neck to ankle. The wireless electrodes, one of Nadine's early inventions from the days she worked for a biotech firm, stood out as stark white patches against her dusky brown skin. They transmitted her brainwave activity to a nearby computer where all Nadine's visions were recorded for later analysis.

"The boy pulls out a gun... Sahir doesn't see... he counts the till..."

As her vision grew more intense, I stole a peek at the computer's monitor. A series of wavy lines crawled across the screen. The third line from the bottom, the one Nadine said represented her theta waves, began to spike. Did that mean she was close to coming, or was that a symptom of the vision she was experiencing?

Wham! The stinging smack of a paddle on my ass drove any further questions from my mind. Even through the vision, Nadine had sensed my straying attention. To correct me, she picked up a small leather flogger and began slapping my cock with it. With every stroke, my tortured dick bounced up and down.

Nadine continued muttering about Sahir and the hidden boy. I writhed before her, caught in a hellish mix of agony and ecstasy. Beneath the surgical tubing, my balls swelled and ached. The throbbing head of my cock turned purple and started to leak. A buildup of pressure at the base of my dick told me I was almost home, but just as I was about to drop to my knees and explode, Nadine tossed the flogger aside and spun me around to face the examining table. I wanted to scream in frustration, but the gag made it pointless to try. Even in her current state, the lady knew exactly how to take me to the edge and keep me there for hours on end.

"The boy is hiding... a red-haired boy hides, pulls out a gun... Sahir counts the till..."

Christ, could she just shut up about Sahir? Nadine grabbed me by the neck and bent me over the table. I heard the snap of latex and felt a cold dollop of lube hit between my ass cheeks. My third-worst fear and all-time favorite kink-anal penetration-kicked into play as Nadine's slender gloved fingers spread the lube around my clenched hole.

Heart pounding, I wriggled and bucked, desperate to break free. Hell if I was going to let some woman finger-fuck me! I was the guy, I was supposed to do the penetrating. No way was I going to stand there, dressed up like fucking Shirley Temple, and take it up the ass from some bitch!

Nadine grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and shoved me back down on the table. With my hands cuffed and my ankles hobbled by those damn ruffled panties, there wasn't much I could do except whimper into my gag. Then Nadine slipped a couple fingers inside my sphincter and I just melted. Waves of pleasure rippled through my body as she eased them in and out of my hole. I couldn't fight her. I didn't want to. It felt good when she fingered me, calling me her sweet boy, playing with my cock while she stretched my hole wide. I wanted her to fuck me. I wanted her to bend me over and make me cry. Most of all, I just wanted to hear her say my name.

"Sahir looks up... he sees the gun... Sahir..."

God dammit! I started struggling again. I didn't want to hear about Sahir and some stupid robbery. I wanted Nadine to focus on me.

"Sahir sees the gun... the boy with the gun..."

Nadine forced me back down on the table and slipped a third finger inside me. My knees started to shake. I'd never taken more than two before. Now I was stretched impossibly wide. A million different feelings flooded my brain-fear, pleasure, shock, shame, excitement, relief... I had Nadine's attention, all right. That one extra finger had put me into orbit, and she knew it. If she did anything else...

"The boy pulls out the gun... puts his finger on the trigger..."

I was so excited I could barely hear the words anymore. Nadine grabbed my hair and pulled me upright as she continued to work my ass. As soon as I was standing, her hand snaked around my waist and gripped my cock. I forgot all about Sahir and Nadine's vision. I rocked my hips back and forth, thrusting into her clenched fist and then back onto the fingers of her other hand. I started to moan and shiver, all my senses focused on my throbbing dick and my aching hole. The buildup inside me grew and grew and grew...

"Sahir sees the gun... the boy pulls the trigger... the boy pulls... Oh god, Aaron... Aaron... Aaron!"

My name at last. The sweetest sound in the world issued forth from my lover's lips as I shot my load all over the examining table. Behind me, I felt Nadine stiffen and shudder. Her hand tightened on my cock, squeezing the life out of it along with the last drops of cum. Completely exhausted, my knees gave out. Nadine and I sank to the floor.

Nadine pulled the gag out of my mouth. I turned to curl up against her, burying my face in her neck. "Oh Nadine, oh god I love you," I whimpered.

Panting, she stripped off the latex glove and tossed it aside, then held me tight to stroke my hair. "It's all right, baby. Mama's got you."


I wriggled closer for a kiss. She gave me a squeeze, then straightened up.

"Honey, we got to get moving." She pushed me away and struggled to her feet. "Come on, get up. We've got to go."

"Nadine, please!" But she was already pulling me up after her. With a quick tug, Nadine undid the restraints from my wrists. She tore the electrodes off her face and scalp and grabbed the coat she'd left hanging on a nearby wall hook. Then she snatched my clothes off the floor and shoved them into my arms.

"Don't just stand there, Aaron, we've got to go. Sahir's in trouble."

"What, you saw him getting robbed again?" I snapped. "He gets held up all the time. Why the hell are we running out to help him tonight?"

"Because tonight he gets shot and killed!"

Nadine glared at me, her grey eyes sparking. Shamefaced, I dropped my gaze to my patent leather shoes.

"Can't we just call the police?"

"They won't get there in time. Now come on, we're leaving."

She spun on her heel and raced out of the lab, pulling on her coat as she went. I yanked up my panties and ran after her. I prayed no one would see me stumble outside to the car. The engine was already running by the time I slid into the passenger seat. As Nadine tore off down street, I struggled into my clothes. Oh well, at least she said my name when she came.

From Future Perfect, published by Logical Lust.