Femdom Fantasies

by Free Thinking Writer © 2008

— Alan —

I read the brief advertisement again. “Dominant lady seeking handsome gentleman.” It was only 6 sentences long. The clincher was the phrase “the shiver of restraint.” I blushed as I thought about what that might mean.

She ended the post quite simple. “Take me to dinner. I’ll order the wine.”

I had first noticed the posting in and amongst other posts. Most of them all read the same way. “Full bodied woman seeking open minded gentleman for walks on the beach and candlelit dinners.” The details changed. Of course, a few were a little more blunt, using terms I can’t even bring myself to repeat.

I closed the browser. I’d been looking for a cheap coffee table in the for sale section and had wandered through the personals ads primarily out of curiosity. I admitted to myself the curiosity was clearly fueled by loneliness.

I spent the rest of the day working, but I just couldn’t forget the phrase, “the shiver of restraint.” I was pretty sure a date with Mr. Hand wasn’t going to help me forget, either.

The long day turned into a long evening, but the words continued to resonate. My thoughts were filled with images. My saner, more vanilla side told me to just get over it. “She’s not real. And if she is, she probably just wants to tie you to an operating table and cut out a kidney for the black market.” I couldn’t even remember the movie where I had seen that scene, but it stuck with me.

It was 9:45 before I couldn’t hold out any longer. I found the posting, now several pages back, and clicked the mail link. I stared at the screen, not knowing what I wanted to say. How do I get her attention? She must have received a hundred replies by now. In desperation, I asked the leading question in my head. “Are you real?” I hit send.

There, I had done what I could. I’d replied to the posting. I didn’t expect a response. Or if I got a response, I suspect it would direct me to some web site offering to take my money in exchange for nebulous services I didn’t really want, services that weren’t going to fill the aching hole in my life.

— Valeria —

“I must have been insane to post that advertisement,” I told myself. I stared at my in basket. 218 replies. I’d written the post late last night, and now I had 218 replies. I sighed. I couldn’t bring myself to ignore them.

I opened the first one. It included 3 poorly written sentences and a photo of mail anatomy. “What a moron,” I said and deleted it.

The next one was similar. I deleted it, too.

I started skimming them to get an idea what they were like. I realized I could quickly categorize each of them. I created new folders for each of the categories and started moving the emails into the appropriate folders. One folder labeled “Idiots”. That folder got every email that included a photo
I wouldn’t let my mother see. I also included the ones that wrote in dude-speak or whose writing was clearly terrible after a half second skim.

The next folder was titled “Airbags”. Long posts that didn’t seem to have a real point went there.

I created a folder titled “Haters”. I mentally kept track of these, and the haters seemed to be about 50-50 men and women.

It took me until nearly 10 PM to organize the email that had arrived by then. I was playing catch up right at the end, as new emails arrived. I finally caught up and reviewed my options. At first blush, not a single post I found intriguing. I was going to have to go back and read through 74 posts from
the Airbags folder. Although I had to admit, some of the guys in the Idiots folders had a certain physical attraction, but I just couldn’t see myself encouraging anyone who sent women they didn’t know photos like that.

One more email arrived. I opened it to see how to categorize it.

— Alan —

I played a game of Sudoku and wondered if tomorrow would be a better day. Three games later, I had new email.

It was a response. From her. It was brief. “Yes. Are you?”

I stared at the screen for a while then hit Reply. “Yes. And a little surprised you wrote back. Now what?” I hit send.

— Valeria —

It was such a simple email. Just “Are you real?” I actually stared at it for a while. The shortest email I’d gotten (excepting a few with one word epitaphs), and I spent more time reading it than any other I’d received so far.

I thought about why I’d posted my original advertisement. I wanted a guy who was willing to fill my life on my terms, a guy who understood the joy of playing. This guy asked a simple question, and after everything else I’d received, I decided of everyone, he deserved an answer.

Such a simple question. It deserved a simple answer, so I sent one.

His reply was nearly immediate. He was real, too. I stared at his question. “Now what?”

I started to tingle.

— Alan —

Her reply took 7 minutes. I know, because I was finishing my third game of Sudoku at just over 2 minutes a game. Can you tell what I do when I need to think?

“LOL,” she had written. “Actually, I’m surprised I wrote back, too. I guess after reading through 74 lengthy posts from guys trying to impress me, looking at 121 pictures of male anatomy I didn’t really care to receive, and 22 emails calling me a variety of names, receiving an email that was so easy to answer was intriguing. So, now what? Now it would be traditional for you to try to impress me. And if
you do, I’ll add you to the other 74. What’s your name? Are you married? How old are you?”

— Valeria —

He wrote back quickly. “No, not married. Not for a while. 43. Alan.”

I frowned. He was quite a bit older than I was. But the tingling didn’t stop.

— Alan —

“Hello, Alan,” she wrote back. “Call me Valeria. Not Val! I’m 32. Why did you respond to my ad?”

I thought about that one for a while. Finally, I told her the truth. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about your phrase, the shiver of restraint.” I thought some more then added, “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

— Valeria —

Thinking about those words, I smiled. I’d been pretty pleased with that phrase myself. I spent some time daydreaming, imaging this man I didn’t yet know kneeling at my feet, ankles bound together behind him, arms secured to his sides.

I finally shook myself, waking up to a good dose of reality. If he was responding to online ads, there must be something wrong with him, right? On the other hand, who was I to talk? I’d written one of those ads.

I was intrigued, but I wasn’t ready to decide what to do. I glanced at the clock and realized I’d left him hanging for a while. I wasn’t ready to go to bed with this so undecided. I decided to buy myself some time.

— Alan —

I stopped counting the Sudoku games at 8. I figured she’d either lost interest or had gone to bed. I was about ready to give up for the night when more mail arrived. It was brief.

“Are you still awake?”

I responded immediately. “Yes.”

A half game later, I had more email. “I have questions. I expect honesty. And the first question is: what is YOUR biggest question right now?”

I stared at the screen. Honestly? I didn’t know how to answer that without being offensive. My biggest question was simple: was she a prostitute? I hit reply, then stared at the screen. I hadn’t written a word when I had more email.

“Keep working on the first email before you reply to this one. Are you in shape?”

Oh God. This wasn’t going well. I finally wrote her to say, “My biggest question? I don’t know how to ask this. But… was your post a marketing letter for a financial venture you are running?” I hit send.

Her next question was easy to answer. “No. A little heavy, not quite obese. Desk job.”

In the meantime, a third question arrived. “When’s the last time you hit a woman?”

Ouch. That one was even easier to answer. “Does that question count sisters when I was growing up? I think my older sister and I got into a heck of a scuffle when I was about 13. That was the last time.”

— Valeria —

I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to know how he thought. I wanted to know what he looked like. I wanted to know if he was an asshole.

The first question actually wasn’t hard to ask. I really did want to know what was going on his head right now. The second question was pretty obvious, too. I fired those off quickly.

Then I got stuck until I remembered a psychology exam my mother told me about once. In it, one of the questions was “Have you stopped hitting your mother?” We had discussed possible answers to that, and I pointed out that the only answer is “No”. You can’t stop an activity you haven’t started, after all.

His answers took a little time to arrive. When the first one arrived, my jaw dropped to the floor, but just for a moment.

“He thinks I’m a prostitute!”

It took about 5 seconds before I started laughing. No, he doesn’t think I’m a prostitute, he’s just making sure, and I couldn’t think of a better way to ask.

His next email arrived before I’d decided what to do about the first one. More honesty. Two emails with difficult questions and the most honest answers I’ve ever heard.

I was squirming.

— Alan —

There was a pause. I was hitting the “Check Mail” button every 15 seconds, obsessively. Eventually, mail arrived.

It was spam. Hell is going to have a special space reserved for spammers.

Five minutes went by. She hadn’t liked my answers, I decided. Then mail arrived. “Don’t go to bed yet,” it said.

I wrote back. “Okay.”

She wrote back right away this time. “Smile. Good boy.”

I started a fresh game of Sudoku. I didn’t count games, but it was after midnight when the next email arrived.

“Without doing a web search, do you know what the term female led relationship implies?”

I wrote back, “No. I can guess, I suppose. Sort of the opposite of a traditional, male-dominated relationship?”

“Sort of,” came her reply after a few minutes. She included a couple of web links. “I’m going to bed in 3 minutes, so respond immediately to this email and read these web sites later. Dinner, tomorrow, 6:45.” She named a restaurant. “Meet on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. I want a confirmation email now plus re-confirmation by noon tomorrow after you’ve read those sites. “

I thought about it. What’s the worst that could happen? I was a big guy; we were meeting in a public location. I suppose she could embarrass me. I could handle a little embarrassment.

“I’ll be there.”

I had a reply almost immediately. “Good. Wear something purple. Good night, Alan.”

It was late. My eyes were tired, and I had a date tomorrow night with a strange woman about whom I knew practically nothing. What was I doing?

I began to read. It was quite late when I finished, but I had one more email to send.

“Valeria, 6:45. I’ll be the guy in the purple tie. Alan.”