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Miss Irene is Listening

Miss Irene is Listening

If you are looking for an authentic Agony Aunt who can answer all your questions then join Femdom Cave. Membership enables you to share your thoughts with Miss Irene Clearmont.
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Fit for Submission - Rose Thornwell - Pink Flamingo

Psychological Domination and Golden Showers – Fiction From Pink Flamingo

Psychological domination and golden showers are amongst the many tools utilized to bring the hapless male to his knees in Rose Thornwell's latest tale of male submission to the female. 

Tony Sinclair is engaged to the wealthy and beautiful Lara Wiley and trying very hard to overcome his submissive past. But when his former mistress Giselle shows up to re-stake her claim, Tony starts feeling those old desires all over again. The man’s newly ignited masochistic heat is not lost on Lara’s younger sister, the cruel, tempestuous Miranda who decides to use Tony for her own pleasures. Tony soon finds himself caught between the savage love of two women, each trying to outdo the other in her ability to punish and degrade him.

Tony submits to a bizarre series of games and rituals; designed to break his spirit. His secretary, the cheeky Katy, tries to save him, but ultimately, Tony can bear no more and finds himself turning back to Giselle, the one woman who will accept him, naked and groveling. Only this time the rules have changed. Slavery is no longer a game but a savage reality, and if Tony is to survive he must come to Giselle ready to be beaten and broken...

And in every way.

In short, he must be made...

Fit For Submission.

***********************

Brotherhood is Powerless: An Anthology of Femdom Tales - M J Rennie - Pink FlamingoFans of sophisticated Femdom are in for a major treat with this all new, never before published anthology from author M. J. Rennie.

While paying homage to the classic 1970 manifesto of Feminism, Sisterhood is Powerful, Rennie explores an array of liberated women who pursue an ascendant agenda over their cowed and now submissive men.

Whether they are forced to kiss her feet or do her laundry, these men are remain in thrall to the superior female.

Always.

FCEDITOR

 

 

 

 

 

captionedimages

Ms Lillith’s Captioned Images

Miss Lillith has joined our growing team of contributors. With over 500 captioned images that have been created over  a few years Miss Lillith has donated these to our Members only Photo Galleries. The images run the gamut between classy, and utterly depraved. Themes include straight femdom, cuckoldry, sissyhood, smoking, bdsm, cbt, some of which are a little outside our normal style. But hey who believes in censorship? As long as there is due warning we have decided to publish them all and you can see the collection here. There are over 30 galleries available - enjoy!

 

Pagan Dreams - Lizbeth Dusseau - Pink Flamingo

Lesbian Sexuality

Female lovers Cassidy and Peach quit the city for the summer, traveling north to The Edge, a B&B playground for sexually open-minded women, run by an experienced Female Dominant, Tasia. Wanting Peach for herself, Tasia lures her from Cassidy. While the angry Cassidy waits for Peach to return to her, she finds her own dominant tendencies are brought from hiding as she’s seduced by the mysterious waif, Analise. Cruelly taking this innocent initiate through bondage, whipping, anal probing and other S&M tortures. Yet only the Midsummer Madness and a stunning confrontation with Tasia gives Cassidy the fulfillment she desires. A fantasy of love and surrender, of twisted motives and crude sexual practices for readers who enjoy the sensuous extremes of lesbian sexuality.

Excerpt

obsession

A thought… random… fleeting… unbidden, leaping from cell to cell

in a tantalizing dance,

of what’s to follow.

A thought… returning with friends… demanding… impatient,

twisting in a spiral

of unrecognized lack,

seeking attention’s wandering gaze.

A thought… swelling with desire… festering with passion, as it’s slowly brought to a boil

over lust’s licking flames,

stoked by insatiable hunger.

A thought… leading the body in hell born pursuit… of appetite’s need,

nerves pulsing in pleasure filled desire, seeking to worship

at gratification’s altar.

A thought… exploding in completion…

dying of spent release, on the altar’s cold stone, as orgasm

becomes one with obsession…

A thought… random… fleeting… unbidden,

leaping from cell to cell, in a tantalizing dance

of what’s to follow…

Chapter One

I see her standing by the stacks in the old library. I’m surprised to see that she actually showed up. I usually don’t arrange dates this way. But I was obsessed. I watched her every day for two weeks. She was doing research, and so was I; though after two weeks I confess I was doing more research on her than on my American Poets thesis.

My obsessions drive me to such things. In a mad impulse I finally peeked in the front of her opened notebook when she was off to the bathroom. I was looking for a name, maybe a phone number. That was three days ago. That night, I called her.

“Yeah sure, I remember you,” she said, when I described myself. “You’re the one with the

gigantic blue eyes and the soft blonde hair. You were sitting at my table.”

I’m excited that she remembered me at all. I feel so stupid, flustered like some school kid. I’ve never felt quite this way about a woman. I knew I liked women, but never like this, never with an obsession that made me follow her around, steal her name from her notebook, and find out where she lives and with whom (no one, I was glad to discover). Would she still be meeting me if she knew to what lengths I’d gone to feel close to her? My God, I was certain that if I didn’t have some consummation to this heated insanity, I’d soon be stalking her nightly, peeking in her window, stealing flowers from her flower bedecked porch.

Seeing her now in front of the stacks, perusing some enormous art book that looks too big for her, I’m tingling all over, especially between my legs. That place gives me away, it leads me running around after phantom lovers like a child with a first crush. But Peach is no phantom.

I call her Peach when I see her dressed in this peach colored tee-shirt dress. It’s nearly ankle length, but she might as well be wearing nothing the way her body seems to climb out on top of it. Her ass, which is turned to me, is one of the pert round kinds. I see the hint of her cleft as an indentation in the material. I know when she turns around, that her pendulous breasts will be pressed against the fabric erotically, her tiny nipples poking through the cloth. I know this because other tee shirts I’ve seen on her do the same.

“Good evening,” I say, trying not to scare her. Approaching people from behind can be risky, so I take it slowly.

She doesn’t miss a beat, turning around as if she knows I’m there all along. Exactly what I want, a smile is beaming on her face, her bright cheeks glowing. And yes, there are her breasts with the conforming fabric of her dress showing off the subtle curves and her nipples.

“Cassidy,” she says, in a voice that floats to my ears like Mozart. She gives off warmth like perfume. I can smell her scent, a fresh scrubbed soapy scent, kissed with the trace of some sweet hand cream. It’s been hot, so there’s a musky sweaty fragrance too, on her skin and mine.

“Hey, Peach, I’m glad you came,” I reply.

She doesn’t balk, not even when I call her Peach. Her name is Samantha Clarisse Sykes. It’s much too much a name for her, she’s much more simple than that.

“I liked your invitation,” she says.

“Not too bold?” I ask.

“Honest,” she replies, “telling me you’ve been having erotic thoughts of me, I know that’s a

bold thing for you to say. You’re really very shy, aren’t you?”

I giggle a little.

She takes my hand and pulls me deeper into the stacks. We wind our way into the maze of tall metal shelves, into the bowels of this ancient place, searching for some privacy.

She touches my breasts first. Her hand is like a feather. I’m shivering. I can feel her touch in the top of my head underneath my hair, and at my shoulders, they’re trembling, and of course, between my legs. But it’s not enough that it’s there, it’s everywhere that shivers.

I lean forward, instinct leading me, and touch her offered lips with mine.

“Ooooo, I am in love,” she says.

I can’t believe that she’s saying this to me. How can she love me when we’ve just met? Then, how can I love her when I don’t even know her? Has she been feeling anything that I’ve felt, can I be that lucky?

She kisses back, and then there are a dozen more little kisses, while she leans into my body, pressing herself against me and fondling me more.

I think I’m going to swoon, until she laughs that lilting, approving laugh. She seems to know my trepidation and my joy, and tries to put me at ease with her hands. They are all over me. One hand breaches the bottom of my shirt, lifting it so she can fondle skin to skin.

“I don’t understand this, Peach, why I love you like this,” I tell her. I figure I need some kind of explanation.

“Shush,” she puts a finger to my mouth and smiles. We kiss again. And I take liberties with her body. My hands were poised for minutes, then finally after she shushes me I have the courage to touch her, really touch her.

We’re leaning against the stacks of books: the tall, fat, musty medical library where no one ever goes. I’m glad we have this privacy, because she feels free to raise my shirt enough to view my breasts with her eyes, not just her hands.

“You have such creamy white skin,” she says.

I want to tell her, I find her dark tanned skin perfection, my blonde skin always seems uneven and flawed.

She presses her mouth into my breasts and kisses them all over. She sucks the soft flesh.

Sucks hard, so I know that there will be a hickey there when she’s done. I couldn’t ask for more.

My hands reach around her so I can find her ass, that perky round one, with the melon globes of tight flesh that lightly bounce against the dress.

When I squeeze the cheeks, I can feel her thighs tense, her breath becoming short and excited. Pulling up on the dress, I want to feel the soft skin underneath.

We’re wrapped together, pressed tightly. Her hands rove at will. Mine do the same. We’re both wet like rivers between our legs. We’re feeling each other in the center, where undiscovered clits become discovered, and once virgin holes become places to violate again.

“Cassidy, right there,” she instructs me, as my hands find her special spot. I drop to my knees, I want to see it, tongue it, watch it burst. Her cunt is dark, a silky bush of hair covers plump brown labia. I spread the hair and the lips to find her clitoris. It’s become a hard throbbing finger.

It only takes a few gentle sweeps of my tongue to discover what she likes best, what makes her throw her head back in a passionate stupor. She grabs my hair to keep her balance. So easily she could tumble to the floor, but I keep her stable. I want her to remember only that this was the most exquisite orgasm she’s ever had.

Her cries are nearly inaudible, but to me they are like an ocean roaring with waves of fervent bliss that crash at my ears.

She claws my hair. She tenses.

I work faster with my tongue against her clitoris, my fingers passing through her hole to bring her twin pleasures. Her channel around my fingers squeezes them tightly, a spasm of orgasm and then another. They seem to be rippling through her, one after another in an unending stream. My hands and face are covered with her juices. They taste salty and sweet, that fragrant musk of sweat, makes my own cunt ready.

When it’s over, she slips down against the shelf of books, till she’s on the floor beside me. Her legs are open, her cunt exposed. She almost looks as  if she’s airing out. The sweet contentment written on her face is lustful, peace filled pure. If this is all she ever gives me, it is enough. I couldn’t want anything more than to see the love obsession of my life this happily satisfied.

She opens her eyes. There’s a cute smile on her face.

“You don’t think you’re getting away from me, you slut,” she says. No one has ever called me ‘slut’. I like the name.

She reaches in and begins to paw my thighs, though they’re covered in denim; I admit I wasn’t as well prepared as she.

“Here? A little risky, isn’t it?” I say.

“Hey, you little tramp, I took the risk and so shall you, even if you do get caught with your pants down.” She’s adamant, unbuttoning the waist and unzipping the zipper, and then pulling firmly on my jeans until they are at my ankles. She leans over, lays me down and begins to plant her mouth on my needy clit. She goes straight for the center where the best feelings reside.

She licks with a gentle, but experienced tongue.

It won’t take long, and it doesn’t.

With her hands climbing all over my thighs and reaching inside my shirt to my tits, she brings me off, raises me up, tears me in two. My entire body is gasping, letting go, struggling to let free all three weeks’ worth of piled up lust.

I’m afraid I’m too loud, but for at least twenty seconds, I couldn’t give a damn who hears.

We both collapse in an abbreviated hug, her head to my belly, until I become too scared of being so exposed in a public building.

“You don’t mind my calling you Peach?” I ask.

“I like it. Almost as much as I like you,” she says. “This was a good idea you had,” she continues.

This is where I’m most afraid. What if it’s only been a lark for her and nothing more? God,

please, I promise to be good, if you don’t make that so, I pray silently. “I want to see you again,” I tell her.

“God, I hope so,” she replies, “but can we do it someplace besides this library, my God this floor is too hard!”

We pick each other up laughing, and walk out arm in arm.

That is, after I’m zipped and buttoned again.

Celebrity - Jo Paso - Femdom Cave

Retro femdom From Jo Paso

Jo Paso again visits the swinging sixties to provide us with some retro femdom.

This time around it's a group of guys who find themselves placed under the retro microscope.

A group of guys set to become the music world’s next big thing.

But only until the female singer fronting them decides the guy’s girlfriends – as well as one of their mothers – would be an even bigger thing.

And guess who will be their roadies and general flunkies.

Not to mention providing other, more... sexual... services.

No matter how humiliating they prove to be.

FCEDITOR.

Asserting Female Authority - Miss Irene Clearmont and Mrs Jessica McKovanaugh - Femdomcave

Miss Clearmont Writes…

Training a man!

Around a year ago I met up with an old friend of mine in London. Over a glass or two of red, Jessica disclosed that she begun to write a book based on personal experience and would I or could I edit it for her and prepare it for publication? Like a diary of her experiences moving towards a 24/7 female led lifestyle; the book was a combination of her ideas and theories as well as her experiences and setbacks at creating the husband that she thought that she had married in the first place!

That was a year ago, and much of what she had written were jotted notes and references to psychological books and Internet sites. I was supposed to set it into order and offer the female reader the chance to learn from Jessica’s hard-won experience.

As is so often the case, the book became something else! In discussion and argument it became a book that distilled all that experience of training and molding the character of a husband or male partner. It became a guidebook for women on a method of moving a man in the right direction. The path of obedience.

This is not a book that details whips, the best canes and imaginary lifestyle contracts! It does not instruct on knots, chains and devices or have anything to say about the height of heels and what type of chastity device best fits or can be worn permanently. There are so many resources that cover these matters that are not really at the heart of dominating a man.

This book covers the psychological aspects of moving a man in the direction of subservience. It details how to assess goals and aspirations and how to systemize and approach the ambition to create a man who is subservient, willing to serve and obey. It takes the reader through the basic principles of Operand Conditioning, the use of simple reward systems to begin the process. The process of sexualisation that leads a man by an unseen and unrecognized leash to a position under female control. Aspects of body language, psychology and conditioning are laid on the table in a simple and easy-to- understand manner. The book stresses that all that is needed is a little self control and acute observation on the part of the woman and that the targets can be minor, major or totally open ended as long as the method is applied appropriately.

There is no fiction in this book! 

This is a book that sets out a framework for a woman to move to a more secure and dominant role in her relationships with male partners. Compact, easy to read and to the point, a realistic, real world and tested (you should meet Jessica’s husband!) approach to create the perfect man-servant in any long term relationship.

Soon to be published 'Asserting Female Authority'.

Irene & Jessica

Mrs Jessica McKovanaugh and Miss Irene Clearmont can be reached at:

Irene@MissIreneClearmont.Com

Irene's Website is at:

WWW.MissIreneClearmont.Com

Jessica does not have a website at the moment, but what she does have is a husband who feeds from the flat of her hand and does as he is asked without demur...

 

 

Tales of Male Submission - Rose Thornwell - Pink Flamingo

Domineering Women

What do a philandering husband, a male chauvinist redneck and a Latin American dictator all have in common?

They're all about to fall into the Fem Zone; a world of beautiful domineering women with eerie, sexy powers in a startling collection of Femdom fiction that includes a healthy assortment of earth bound babes, ready to put their men down in a most satisfying way... as well as a shape shifting witch, a band of nubile forest nymphs, and a race of alien hussies who give new meaning to the term 'anal probe.'

EXCERPT

Jessyca and the Boys

A mysteriously beautiful girl discovers the source of her power over men is not of this earth…

Jessyca was always superior to the boys. Her power was in her green eyes and her long auburn hair. When she was nine she made them play house with her. They would have to do the chores and if they made her unhappy in any way she would line them up, bent over, their pants down around their ankles.

Sometimes she would spank them with her hands, but she had a ruler, too, and they were under strict instructions never to reveal the welts left upon their behinds by their stern mistress.

All the boys were her ‘children’, with the exception of one whom she would choose to be her husband. The boys all vied for this honor, though they knew in advance that they would be dealt with all that much rougher. It fell to the husband to please his wife, waiting on her hand and foot.

When they were alone in the “bedroom” he would have to kiss her feet and sometimes her bottom, too. He would also not be allowed to pee without Jessy’s permission and when he did so it was in the open, under her watchful eye. The ‘husband’ would have to beg to relieve himself and she enjoyed making them cry beforehand. If they were especially annoying or displeasing she would make them go in their pants and then they’d have to go home and explain it to their parents.

Jessyca’s own household consisted of herself, a cat named Aristotle and her father, a forward-thinking professor of classical studies. The professor could hardly be blamed, or credited with making his daughter into a 20the century Amazon, though he did expose her to the various myths and stories that fueled her ideas of female supremacy. There were the Furies and the muses, dreaded Hera, queen of the gods; the goddesses of field and earth and stream from whom all creation was born. It never occurred to the slender, waifish girl that males should be in charge on account of size or any other quality. By her own observations, which more than corroborated the stories she read—she knew that men were clumsy, slow and easily manipulated. As near as she could tell, a mere cross word or sign of displeasure from a girl could put them into an immediate tailspin, causing them to physically quiver, or sending them into a paroxysm of ‘what can I do to appease you?’

They were like puppies, tails and tongues wagging; their whole little brains focused on pleasing whatever strong female was the force in their lives.

Time and again she proved her point to her own satisfaction.

In the third grade, Bobby Indiano lay down on a railroad track for Jessyca, and in fourth grade, Hal Ryan stripped to his underwear almost daily so she could ride him like a horse in her basement.

In high school, Billy Joe Lauderbach ran nude through a swamp on her dare just for a chance to take Jessyca to a school dance. Actually, Jessyca didn’t ‘do’ dances, but that didn’t stop boys from trying to meet her demands to be first on her list of potential dates.

Nature had been kind to her, after all, and far from losing her edge over them at puberty, she honed it considerably by becoming a sensuous object of budding male lust. It was all in the genes, according to her father, who had wisely married a Soviet figure skater with a genius IQ back in the 1980’s. To her father, the professor, Tatiana Alexyovna’s tragic death, brought about by giving birth to Jessyca, seemed fitting, because he deemed her too good for this world; too close to perfection to sustain herself in such a morass.

Her father’s ongoing idolization of the lovely Tatiana was another reason for Jessyca’s conclusion that women were the true divinities of the world.

She had little doubt that were her mother to reappear, the dry and logical professor would at once fall to her feet to do her bidding.

Though not a matriarchist per se, the professor spared no effort in arming his only child for the age-old combat of the sexes. From the age of three she had been enrolled in classical dance, karate as well as classes for three separate foreign languages.

Without breaking a sweat Jessyca maintained her place at the top of the class throughout her school career.

When some of the boys tried to even the playing field in gym class in the eighth grade she promptly demolished five of them with well-placed karate chops.

By the time she reached high school even her teachers were wary of her.

Jessyca’s first serious boyfriend was Simon Trist.

Simon was a thin, blond boy with a serious face. People were amazed at her choice, but really he was perfect on account of his unflagging willingness to engage in all of Jessyca’s games. They were both eighteen at the time.

“Show me your penis,” she said to him on their first date.

He did, unzipping it right there in the movie theatre.

“Make yourself come,” she said next.

He did that too, somewhere in the middle of the second reel.

“I love you,” said Simon when he’d finished shooting his thick spurts of jism onto the theatre floor.

“You can call me again,” Jessyca told him when he’d dropped her off at home at the end of their date.

The following summer Simon and Jessy played games at an abandoned farm, which contained a dairy barn with metal stalls. Simon would take off his clothes and then Jessy would make him walk on all fours to one of the stalls. She’d put a collar on him and make him stay there for a long time.

Sometimes while he lay on his side, she would stand over him and pee.

Simon would get very hard whenever she did that.

Samanthas Assemblage - Patrick Richards - Pink Flamingo

Femdom eBooks from Pink Flamingo

With "Samantha's Assemblage", two femdom eBooks between one cover are brought to you from Pink Flamingo and the pen of Patrick Richards.

First up is "Samantha’s Slave" – Jack has spent years searching for his dream Mistress, and when he finally meets the stunning Samantha, he’s immediately in love with this beautiful Goddess.

But Jack is not prepared for her cruel tests in male submission to the female and after her treatment takes him to the edge of sanity and he’s left on the street miles from his apartment with his hands cuffed and wearing only a woman’s thong to make a long and potentially embarrassing journey home he is, understandably, hesitant about continuing their relationship and realises his fantasy may just prove to be more than he can handle in reality.

Hesitation that is far too late.

The second of these absorbing femdom eBooks  is "Addicted to Samantha" – Jack’s addiction to the beautiful Samantha is becoming more and more marked – as is he – when she ups the ante in the tests of submission he must pass if he is to prove himself worthy of remaining in her life.

And remaining in it as no more than her abject slave.

For real!

FCEDITOR

The Cuckold Collection - Femdomcave Publications

Collected Cuckold Fiction

The Cuckold Collection - Femdomcave PublicationsThree different authors, each linked by the common-denominator of a gift for the erotic female dominant story, can now be found together in the first volume of Femdom Cave’s collection of cuckold fiction.

Xavier Couperin, author of the massively popular “One-Way-Marriage” kick-starts proceedings with his tale of a respected wife, librarian and mother in a middle-England village whose sex-drive suddenly kicks into gear… With dire results for the husband she now regards as beta and incapable of satisfying her needs.

Anise Pemberton, is up next with yet another popular work of cuckold fiction to be found on the Cave titled: “The Spiral She Led Me Down”; but there are no respectable wives to be found here, at least below the surface, as three formerly downtrodden wives turn their lives and relationships around with the help of a powerful black business man and his even more powerful wife and daughters.

Your collected stories of cuckold fiction take a more classical, if no less erotic, turn with one of Sandrine Bessancort’s wonderful re-imaginings of classical literature and a tale adapted from the master of the decadent and erotic himself, Guy de Maupassant, to show how an arrogant and self-absorbed French Comte is both cuckolded and utterly mastered by the wife he has neglected.

FCEDITOR.

Secret Fantasies Fulfilled and THEN some - J G Leathers - Pink Flamingo

Erotic Femdom From Pink Flamingo

Pink Flamingo brings you yet more erotic femdom.

We all have secret fantasies.

And, most of the time, that’s what they remain.

Or at least they should,.

In his latest work of femdom fiction, JG-Leathers presents us with another tale of a man’s darker dreams brought to reality.

When Alexander’s internal pressures finally become too much to bear he reveals his secret fantasy to his wife but has no idea of how dramatically his life is going to change as she gives his femdom fantasies a try and finds the experience an enjoyable one and wants more.

Much, much, more…

FCEDITOR.

Celebrity - Jo Paso - Femdom Cave

Retro Femdom From Jo Paso

Jo Paso gives us the complete version of her two-part work of retro femdom.

Once again, she re-visits the past to mine yet another entertaining read from the Jo Paso again visits the swinging sixties to provide us with some retro femdom  from her favourite period.

This time it's gives us a group of guys set to become the music world’s next big thing who take her eye.

Unfortunately for them, however, their time in the sun lasts only for as long as it takes the female singer fronting them to decides the guy’s girlfriends – as well as the mother of one of them – would be an even bigger thing.

Both their management, the owner of a record label, and the public, agree and, before long the girls are becoming successful.  Very successful. And guess who it is who become their roadies and general flunkies?

FCEDITOR.

 

Bellringers-Part-1of-4-CoverImage

“Bellringers” by Jo Paso

Jo Paso is back with another rollicking femdom fiction romp set in the rural, but just as street wise, setting of a sleepy Somerset village.

Read of the hilarious, cruel and sexy exploits of four young women who take advantage of both common interests and uncommon assets to manipulate and control the many and varied men unfortunate enough to cross their individual and collective paths.

Four young women whose individual motives in regard of the hapless male range from revenge to personal gain to sexual gratification and lead them, ultimately, to realise that only complete and utter control over the men in their lives will provide the deep satisfaction and security they seek.

Part-Two of Jo Paso’s work of female erotica will follow shortly.

CONTAINS ADULT MATERIAL

FCEDITOR.

The Second Circle of Hell - Part Two of Three - Miss Irene Clearmont - Femdom Cave

Femdom Erotica From Miss Irene Clearmont

 

 

The 2nd installment of the glorious Miss Irene Clearmont's latest piece of femdom erotica,"The Second Circle of Hell", continues its evil, nasty, and downright perverted journey.

And, for once, our eponymous and sadistic heroine is not having things her own way.

Far from it, in fact.

Not all Miss Irene's friends and associates are as loyal - or out-and-out terrified - of her capacity for cruelty and vengeance as the lady herself thought and this over-confidence on her part is about to reap the usual pay back reserved for those too convinced of their own invincibility.

Which begs a crucial question:

After years of being on the giving end, how will the glorious lady react at being forced into a position where she must receive?

FCEDITOR.

 

Brandy-Cover4-225x300

“Brandy” – An Anonymously Written Story Donated By Eternal Quest

This week the ever generous "Eternal Quest" once again lives up to a name harking back to days of chivalry and courtesy with the donation of yet another story for the Cave's expanding free-library. An anonymous and eponymous tale going by the name of ...

"Brandy."Brandy-Cover4-225x300

For those men out there who have yet to realise - or be made to realise - it truly doesn't pay to get on the wrong side of a friend's partner.

Especially when that partner has a low bull***t threshold and is as physically capable as the  Brandy.

FCEDITOR.

Clare calling

Clare Calling……..

Well, I haven't been on here for a little while - apart from my drawing work, for which I have had a few commissions recently, I have been engaged in writing. I am coming up to half way through a novel entitled "The Dressed Investor", the story of an intellectual property investment specialist being sucked into new employment under the control of a powerful and wealthy Lady, who is a member of a syndicate of worldwide women in similar positions, the syndicate looking to reap huge rewards financially and sexually.

It hasn't been that tough to get the story down once I am into it, it's just getting going, but now I am setting myself a target of 1500 words a day and running a word balance, which is now nearly three days in surplus. It may sound rather mechanical but it works for me and I am probably approaching the 40 -50% range of having it written.

A good chunk of the story is set in the beauty of New Zealand in a dedicated "Ring" (as the syndicate is known) lodge , near Lake Taupo, our hapless victim being assigned to one of the Lady's trusted women to develop him in the way she wants before he is even considered for candidacy, the process of which he is continually questioning as to the motives of his employer - but recognising that he is a weak male with strong "feminine" tendencies that got him into being considered for employment in the first place. Something to be played on with him as we roll along.

Other than that, life rumbles on, distractions provided by the Olympics and family! It was also good to see that the transfer into the account this month from FDC was a little higher....long may that continue.

Good also to see the flood of reading material coming on here too, and all the different genres within our domain of interest.

Anybody read (if that is the appropriate term says she bitchily), 50 Shades of Grey? My view is that it isn't really BDSM but a love story - it's not well written, not at all, but does have a charm and EL James has to be credited for her success (and the marketers).

Maybe we will see one break through from here!

Clare.

Cox Folly - Jo Paso - Femdomcave

Femdom Erotica From Jo Paso

Cox Folly - Jo Paso - Femdomcave

 

The complete four-parts of Jo Paso's return to femdom erotica is now in one volume and complete.

In this latest of her sexy and humorous looks into the lives of the middle and upper classes - with a large smattering of those below in the English class-system - Jo turns a retro eye on those dominant women who never seem to be out of either fashion or manservants.

The women of “Cox Folly” come in all shapes and sizes but, no matter height or weight, they always have too much strength of both body and mind for those poor males who are either unfortunate enough or too stupid to do otherwise and cross the path upon which their femdom erotica happens to be travelling.

No matter how fleetingly.

FCEDITOR.

Drycombe End - Jo Paso - Femdomcave

Drycombe End – Female Authority Figure

The Mistress of the rollicking and retro femdom yarn is back with another tale of the female authority figure of days yon.

This time it’s the fifties that takes Ms Paso’s ever humorous yet severe eye as she takes us back to a period when parents were very serious when it came to keeping their teenaged sons on the straight and narrow.

And had no shortage of places of education to choose from.

Strict and controlling female educators goes without saying.

And it’s not just lads in their late-teens who find themselves over a stocking-clad knee!

EXCERPT 

THE MID NINETEEN FIFTIES

The cool, clear, fresh moorland waters chase and chatter as they course their way over rocky granite, sand and pebbles, bad tempered currents argue with eddies, contesting territorial channels, unfolding their knots of aquatic energy and depositing them in the mirror like pools that laze beside the soft, inviting grassy banks, where residing daisies dance with daffodils and dock leaves dote on dandelions; nature’s children, alive with innocence, their perfect posy reflections more picturesque than poetry.

With an urgency of purpose the stream’s unrelenting meander, though, appearing meaningless, is driven by its principle of projection; its mindless industry providing one of mother nature’s enduring enigmas, that, why a busy, bustling, babbling brook with its headstrong soliloquy, its random candour that can procure a peaceful providence and restful recreation from within the state of a troubled mind.

As if in contemplation of this unlikely equation, a solitary Wordsworth daffodil stands proudly surveying the scene, a rural referee overseeing Mother Nature at play.

The warm summer breeze, its gentle convection the essence of peace and tranquillity itself, with energy as tender as the warmest love, kisses the skin as only nature can.

Such is life on a Sunday morning, somewhere in a North Devonshire meadow.

Standing on the steadfast Dartmoor granite bridge that straddles the stream, the rear aspect of Drycombe End can be clearly seen, once past the single railway track that, twice a day, conveys a conscientious Great Western pannier tank locomotive and its single carriage to and from its sleepy village stations.

Past the rusty, rustic barbed wire fence that clings perilously to the dry rotted posts that stand at incongruous intervals along the winding river bank, the lush green grass, typically moorland short, tidy and trim, stretches ahead to the very edge of Drycombe End and its vast expanse of gardens.

A church bell is ringing in the distance, accompanied by a barking dog from a nearby farm; after a while the dog gives up, the persistent church bell continues its calling.

Following the cultivated line of pines that stand like Roman Centurions along the east and west boundaries of the garden, the eye is lead to the imposing back terrace. Ahead of this terrace, tending the vegetable plot is the black negro giant Bruno, a mountain of a man, a product of the West Indian immigration programme, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing his powerful forearms, meaty and muscular with huge hands and fingers like trees of bananas.

The wide, paved, terrace is raised above the garden level by some three feet and accessed by a central tier of steps, the garden rises at each end to meet the terrace level and access to the front of the house is from both the east and west sides of the building.

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

The French doors from the drawing room are opened to the terrace; although it is early morning, it is from this room that a drama is already unfolding.

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

Around the side of the house is a greenhouse populated with tomato plants and tropical fruits, beside the door that leads to the front of the house is a tap, Stanley skilfully fills his watering can, he is very careful not to make a mess.

The front aspect of the house supports a large turning area for vehicle access, although in the year 1956, when motor cars are a rare and expensive luxury the surface area therefore, is an easy upkeep.

The front gateway is opened at eight every morning and closed by Bruno at six o’clock every night.

The lane that serves Drycombe End is quiet and generally only used by visitors to the establishment, there is little or no passing traffic.

The first thing visitors see when approaching the house from the lane is the name, which is proudly displayed on the large boarded sign:

DRYCOMBE END

A PRIVATE COUNTRY RETREAT

FOR THE REHABILITATION OF

  YOUNG GENTLEMEN

The Thousand and Second Tale of Scheherazade

“The Thousand and Second Tale of Scheherazade” by Sandrine Bessancort

The Thousand and Second Tale of ScheherazadeThe Thousand and Second Tale of Scheherazade

Yet another diabolical twist is given to a tale from antiquity as Sandrine Bessancort continues with her mission to endow the male-led tales of bygone times with her own brand of female supremacy.

The latest of Sandrine Bessancort's femdom ebooks takes Edgar Allen Poe's tale of Scheherazade and the king who would execute her should her stories fail to please, and gives it a female dominant slant Edgar Allen himself would no doubt have found horrifying to his sensibilities.

Extremely horrifying!

Spinning out her tale of a dominant wife, who with great patience and cunning, brings her philandering husband to her heel in the most abject of ways, over the thousand-and-one-nights required for her to avoid the king's - and her husband's - executioners, Scheherazade, the grand viziers daughter, not only avoids the fate of those preceding her but has a powerful effect upon the king.

Extremely powerful!

FCEDITOR.

submission

The Cost of Being a Gurl

Femdomcave's Ed is just in the throes of reading and editing my latest offer, 'The Cost of Being a Gurl.' Hopefully, it will be up on the site very shortly so this update is just to let you know that there is an imminent offering from me in the pipeline!

This is a much shorter novel than my usual offerings, some forty-five thousand words of excitement and dominant to submissive sex and abuse that focuses on a husband of a wife who transgresses in his/her want to be a gurl and who ends up paying one hell of a price - and ends with a 'punchy' conclusion.

Set in Hong Kong, Texas and California, it does share with its sister novels a love of food, wine and luxury.

It is perhaps more weighted to fem-dominance than gurl transformation, especially of the psychological form, than my previous FDC novels. I'll let you be the judge of that.

I've enjoyed writing it though and I hope my readers take the same pleasure from it.

Now the question is what next? Okay, I know some of you may say, 'Stop there, Clare; Spare us all!'

Clare.

Apartment Life - A J Brown - Femdomcave

A.J. Brown’s Femdom Erotica

The third and final part of A.J. Brown's tale of domination that mixes femdom erotica with femdom tyranny sees our hero's situation become more and more hopeless.

Now, not even the consolation to be found for him outside the apartment in the shape of his girlfriend is to be available as his younger, gorgeous, and utterly dominant, housemate decides this too should be something over which she has control.

Can our hero find a spine before it truly is too late for him?

Or is he doomed already to be no more than a chattel to any woman who comes his way in life from now on?

FCEDITOR.

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It Was Just His Way Of Relaxing
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Dara Dupree was a Caribbean street girl and prostitute who rose to wealth and power running the most popular fetish club in the islands. To treat herself upon reaching such success, she buys an adolescent male to conceal in an underground apartment below her estate.
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Book-One of Wes Royal's "The Golden Screw" collection sees the return of the irresistible Gilda Cane and her cohorts of deeply perverted and sexually dominant female friends and acquaintances as Hugh Bristol ("Hubris"), her new husband finds he might be wedded but any bliss he might take from the union is likely to be extremely painful. And ALWAYS humiliating.
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Janet and Edward’s sexual pursuits have led them and their kinky group of Switches’ Delight swinging friends on a number of erotic adventures exploring their pleasures and desires. As they meet new people, their options grow more numerous.
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