The Number

Lilly had been perpetually shy her entire life. She had been a little frumpy as a kid and was often teased, underpinning her fragile self-esteem. She had grown in to a very attractive woman, though she hid it under layers of baggy loose fitting clothes. She often garnered attention from men, but she would always fob them off. “I’ve got a boyfriend” “I’m just too busy” “I’m gay” were her go to retorts, and she would always berate herself for not having the courage to receive the advances more openly.

Typically Lilly would be dragged out for after work drinks on a Friday, in her colleagues never ending attempts to loosen her up a bit. One particular Friday while at the bar a typically handsome man, tall, athletic and adorned in the thin woollen sweater of the time made his approach, only to be suitably halted by the well-worn boyfriend line. He politely wished her well and went about his business.

While Lilly was in the depths of her standard self-delivered lecture she was approached by a man who did nothing more than place a card in front of her. No conversation, no contact of any kind. Lilly wasn’t even certain that she saw his face. The card was blank except for a phone number. Lilly was preparing to throw away the card when it dawned on her that even though she didn’t know what he looked like, he had jumped the first hurdle. The line of communication was possible without the abrupt nature of a cold approach. Lilly tucked the card in to her handbag.

Lilly didn’t call the man. But, it had awakened a part of her mind that had been laying dormant her entire life. She started fantasising about what might have been. Her first thoughts were defensive, what if he meant her harm? After a while this dissipated and she started wondering what an encounter between the two would be like. These thoughts began to consume her. She would lay awake in a state of ponderous arousal. Lilly had never been comfortable enough in herself to masturbate, but there was no diminishing the life that had sprouted between her legs. Waves of pleasure overcame Lilly time and time again but it just wasn’t enough to send her in to the stratosphere that she now thought she was capable of.

It finally became too much. Lilly, in the midst of another solo carnal mission knew that if she was to get any further she needed the man that started it all. So she defied her instincts and made the call.
Every note of the dial tone pierced Lilly’s soul. It rang, and rang, and just as she thought it would ring out, silence. This was it, there was someone on the other end of the line. “I knew you’d call.” Lilly was taken aback, “How did you know it was me?” “It doesn’t matter” the voice replied. “There is a sexual being inside of you and if you want someone to wake her up you need to meet me at Windsor Hotel, room 304 at 9 tonight. Wear a long coat and nothing else.” Silence, the call was over.
Against her normally conservative judgement, Lilly knew that if she didn’t go, this endless frustration would haunt her for the rest of her life. Before she had time to over think it, she draped a long grey coat over her naked body, slipped on a red pair of heels, and made her way to the hotel.

Face to face with the timber panel door, there was no thought of turning back, but Lilly was nervous. She gathered herself, and raised her trembling hand and knocked. The door opened.
The room was dark, the curtains were drawn and all the appliances had been turned off. Lilly was ushered in, “Just stand in the middle of the room.” Lilly replied, “Who are you?” The voice, hidden in the dark returned, “I am your guide.” Lilly questioned, “My guide for what?” The voice, “This is the last you will hear of me speaking.” Lilly then felt his warm breath just behind her ears; he must be a little taller. He reached around her waist, and started unbuttoning her coat. Lilly trembled as his wrists gently brushed her breasts. His movements were slow and deliberate, the arousal heightening with the loosening of every button, until the last. The coat eased its way apart as it was slowly lowered from the shoulders until it dropped on the floor. Lilly was completely naked but for the heels, and as the voice pushed himself against her back, she realised that he was naked as well. She was in, her soul had submitted to his. She began to visibly shake as she felt his hands roaming around her. His touch was gentle, using just his fingertips as he explored her quivering form. She visibly convulsed as he brushed the area between her navel and now sopping groin. He raised his hands to her arms. His grip firmed, and he directed Lilly to the wall.

Lilly’s hands were placed shoulder width apart on the wall. The voice had broken contact and proceeded to gently blow on her neck. The goose bumps were unbearable, Lilly screamed, “I can’t take any more” pushed her behind outwards, and grabbed the throbbing phallus behind her and slid it inside her. “Fuck me you evil cunt!” she cried, and he duly obeyed. He obeyed? Lilly now knew that she was in control. “Deeper!” she cried as the strained breath of the other was becoming more evident. “Harder!” “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” Waves were crashing in Lilly’s mind. One orgasm after the other, she was too far in to stop in between. She had never known such power and bliss. She threw him on the bed, climbed on top and continued. She had truly reached ecstasy. Lilly was not of this world any more. On the crest of one final climax she felt a violent shudder from underneath. Now it was he who was convulsing uncontrollably under her. As a gesture of gratitude, Lilly climbed off the pulsing cock and stroked until he exploded all over her hand.

The exchange of power was complete, with that warm seed still dripping Lilly was in control now. The nervous shaking woman that entered that room put her coat on and strode out, never again to deny that which had been ferociously awakened.

By Magnus Andersen

Finding a Mistress

You have inspired me to become a woman’s CFNM slave locally!!

I got this message from a man in New York city, who has been writing to me, wanting to be a slave. Naturally I was curious, so I pressed him on the details. After giving me a fictionalised slave-fantasy account of his first meeting with his new Mistress at a cocktail party, which I rejected, he offered this.

I was at a vanilla cocktail party when I noticed a woman wearing a long, ankle length dress with a high neck. It was sexy because it was artfully draped. She sat down and when she crossed her legs a high slit in the dress opened. I could not help staring at her feet and shoes from across the room. She noticed me looking at them, met my eyes, and I looked down and away. Later she was sitting down talking to another man. I could not keep from staring at her feet and shoes again. She caught me looking again and I turned away. Later I was at the bar and she came up to me and said hello. I suppose I blushed. I could not say anything. She said she saw me looking at her feet and shoes twice. I said yes I was looking because they were so beautiful.

She said that she has found an alpha man looks into her eyes. A submissive man looks at her chest. And a slave looks at her feet.

She said she dressed the way she did to separate men into those three categories. She then asked me what category was I. I did not say anything.

“Tell me.” she said in a commanding voice.

“I am a slave.” I answered.

“Self knowledge is a good thing.” she replied.

Then she asked me if I had a small cock. I was pretty shocked. I did not know what to say. She then slapped me with her gloved hand. Not hard, but enough to make people stare. I was very embarassed and humiliated but also felt myself getting aroused.

“Tell me.” she said. ”

“Yes.” I replied.

She looked down at my pants and said, “Clearly you get off on being humiliated. I don’t date small cocked masochists but if you want to clean my apartment while I am out with a real man I might let you if you beg. Here is my card.”

I called her later.

“Hi this is Brian. Is this Laura?”

“Did I meet you at the party yesterday?”

‘Yes Ma’am.”

“You are the small cocked sissy faggot who wants to clean my apartment while I am out.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“And why do you want to do that?”

I was not expecting that question. I had to think how to express how I felt.

“Because it excites me sexually to serve you.”

“Why does it excite you? Do you like being humiliated by a woman who will never fuck you?”


“Have you masturbated about me?”


“To orgasm?”


“That was rude to do without my permission. The next time I see you I want you to be wearing a Mature Metal Jail Bird. Find it on the Internet. Put it on, lock it, and call me again.”

She hung up.

When it arrived I called her again.

“Hello, this is Laura.”

“Hi Laura. This is Brian.”

“Hello slave. Are you wearing the Jail Bird?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Good boy. I have a hot date on Thursday. I want you to arrive at 7pm so that I may instruct you in your tasks before I leave. My address is [address]. Do you have it?”


“Good. Goodbye.”

I went to see her at the appointed time and things went from there.

Public transport fantasy

Do you ever sit on the tram and wonder how your fellow passengers like to have sex?

What about him, the meek looking balding guy reading the paper, spectacles on his nose? Does he like to be dominated by a woman with big strong thighs as he kneels naked and vulnerable on the floor? Or is he a secret sadist who pinches his wife’s nipples just a bit harder than she likes, as he gets a kick out of hearing her cry out in pain? He never admits this to her because he can’t admit it to himself.

Or him, the man with the broad face and hooded eyelids. Caramel coloured smooth skin and an army green cap over his short hair. Does he love his wife? Is he faithful to her? Or is he on his way to see his mistress while her kids are at school and her husband at work. Will he go to her place and they’ll steal an hour fucking in the marital bed or will they meet at some cheap motel that smells of stale sweat and carpet deodoriser?

The young guy, tall and lanky, his curls a wild mess. He’s a man, yes, but there is still much boyishness in his smile. Is he aware of his appeal to girls who are drawn to his awkwardness and cherubic looks? Does he take them home and fuck them up the arse? Or is he shy, stealing glances out of the corner of his eye when he is sure she is not looking? At night he sneaks into her garden to watch through her living room window as she kisses another and takes off her white cotton bra in the warm glow of the imitation Tiffany lamp.

This one is standing, holding onto the pole. A business man is my guess. Confident bright eyes, short clipped blonde beard and hair. He looks straight at me. I don’t smile back, but return the stare. Does he like to be in charge? Does he know how? Or is he only after a quickie in missionary position before rolling over and going to sleep? Who knows, perhaps he is a secret romantic who likes candlelit dinners and giving gifts of expensive handmade chocolates.

The next stop is mine. I get off and merge with the business of the crowd. Losing myself.

Sex, naked power, relationships and not so very good vibes

My adventures in online dating and self-discovery have been going on for a little while now and I’m used to getting strange messages from all sorts of people. Many writers are trying to be funny and fail miserably. Some are downright offensive or are negging.

Still, every now and then I get a message in my inbox that makes me shake my head in wonder. Like this choice example from Mr VeryGoodVibes

Your profile makes me smile… at a first sight I was thinking it’s a joke…. very funny humour…
But when using saw that you are German… I started to cry…
I have spent the last 15 years with a German wife and I have been exactly like the man you are looking for… serving the princess…
She is giving me order, I do everything for her… share money, raise her children, do everything to make her happy…
And no sex, no empathy, no caring … a disaster… love disappeared…
Your profile is not a joke… It’s a German characteristic…
Sorry I’m not interested any more.

To this I can only say ‘huh?’ For starters, I am looking for a CFNM house slave, not a man to raise my children and pay my way in the world. It states so clearly on my profile. Second, if you, Mr VeryGoodVibes, are not interested, then why are you bothering to write to me? I am sorry you have had a shitty marriage, but that has nothing to do with me. Most disturbing is the inference that I am German. Nowhere on my profile does it state that I am German. The mere fact that I am able to speak German does not make me German.

VeryGoodVibes’ message does, however, touch on a subject that is close to my heart and that may interest you too, gentle reader. This is the subject of relationships, power and sexual fulfillment.

My path to sexual exploration started with a different, rather innocuous message, sent to me by a self professed CFNM lover.

Hi, I would like to chat with you.

These days I would not respond to this sort of message as it shows a lack of imagination and effort. But this was within the first few days of my using OkC and I was still open to responding to all and sundry to explore the possibilities. In this case, I am very glad I answered, because after googling CFNM (Clothed Female Naked Male – A sexual scenario the male is naked and the female is fully clothed), I found that I was very interested in the topic. The ensuing conversation also caused me to think deeply about my own interests and sexual desires.

Much like Mr VeryGoodVibes, I’d spent more than a decade in an unfulfilling relationship with an unequal power balance. I was the one with the greater power personally, financially and sexually. My partner needed me to be in power in these areas, as it was a great way for him to abrogate responsibility for decision making in his own life. On the other hand, he resented deeply any decision I made. In response he was persistently passive aggressive, manipulated me emotionally and continually set me up for failure by withholding information. The power imbalance was never openly addressed either by myself or my partner.

Once I was finally free of this unhealthy dynamic (read I finally managed to kick him out, which was like excising a cancer) I licked my wounds for almost a year before resolving to make another foray into sex and relationships. I had no idea what I wanted or how to go about it.

A friend mentioned to me that she was on OkCupid and I thought I’d give it a try too. The next weekend I asked my friend to come over. We took some pretty pictures of me – I look wholesome, nice and approachable. In one of them I am even holding a kitten.

My profile was similar. Not extensive, not soul searching, but upbeat, funny and engaging. The only thing that hinted at my emerging interest was an aside in the section

I spend a lot of time thinking about…

which I answered with

… Finding myself a house slave.

Maybe it was this line that had hooked my new CFNM friend. Though on reflection he may have been writing to every new female profile on OkC, as I have since heard more than one story of women being approached by someone with an interest in CFNM.

I was too naive at the time for this thought to even enter my head. What I discovered from talking to CFNM guy was that I was deeply interested in the concept. The thought of having a man come to my house, strip naked, do housework and cook, with me having the option to watch, tease or use him in any way I liked and then sending him on his merry way again, seemed perfect. What also appealed was that the power (im)balance was explicitly negotiated prior to the encounter and that it was a bounded situation. In other words, I would hold the power in a certain context in a way previously agreed upon, but I would not have to be responsible for someone else’s important life decisions (or lack thereof).

That’s how it started.