Paper Crane_Miss Lee in background
 

Erotica by miss lee

I greatly enjoy writing about kink and female domination. Exploring my various fantasies through the written word has always been a passion of mine and I'm happy to share that with you. 

If you like what you are reading, I also will write custom stories, which are negotiable on a case-by-case basis. (You can request custom stories here).

 

 

Sample 1: The Ranch 

My life on the ranch is just a never ending cycle of stable mucking, preparing meals, and being patient with customers who sit on a horse for five minutes and think that makes them John Wayne. A lot of our regular business at the ranch comes from family reunions and team building weekends. It's steady and predictable. We even have all the tech to let presenters show PowerPoints in our small conference room. But what people don't know is that we make over half of our profits from two particular weekends. Twice a year the pony people roll up to the ranch and we all look the other way while they rent out our rooms to do… things. The first time they came here six years ago, my job was to make sure no one fucked any of the actual horses. We learned over time that we don't need to worry about that. And I have picked up a trick or two from the occasional hook up with one of the pony boys. I think that might be the reason our boss gives a “No Fucking the Customers” talk annually now. He at least looks at me a lot while he gives it.

This weekend it's a team building group from some university or another. Very tame. Very boring. They are a relief from the kink convention we held last weekend. Most of the time they stay up at the house at that suits me just fine. It's late in the evening and I'm in the tack room oiling down the saddles and girths for the next day. Everyone else hates this chore, but I find it calming. There's something deeply satisfying about polishing leather inch by inch. This is my private time at the end of each week when I can reflect and center myself. As usual I'm seated on the far side of the small room with a saddle over my lap, rag in one hand and polish in the other. My head is bent over my work and I'm wearing my earbuds. I don't hear you approach and I'm startled when I glance up and see you in the doorway. “Oh! Oh, hey. Are you looking for someone?” I ask. Your face shifts from curious to confused and you reply, “I think I'm looking for you?” I shoot you an equally confused look and say “Huh?” It's past ten at night and the horses have all been put out to pasture. The guests are all up at the house, except for you obviously, and my employer wouldn't call me away from this unless it was an emergency. You hesitate and then tell me you must be mistaken. Someone left you a note to meet down here tonight. I ask if you still have the note and you hold it out towards me. I drop the saddle, put my music away, and walk over to take the folded piece of paper from you.

I look down and realize almost instantly what has happened. It reads “Meet me down in tack room after ten. There's an itch I need scratched.” The note is mine, but it was written last weekend for the guy I was playing with during the pony convention. He must have left it laying around the room he was staying in and it wasn't picked up when the linens were changed during the week. I'm about to explain the misunderstanding, but before I do, I take a long look at you and think better of it. There's just something about you that suggests you'd be down for the type of play I enjoy. I immediately get the image of you naked and hogtied on a bale of hay flashing through my brain. And then all I can think about is how much I want to make that thought a reality. I grab you by the belt loops and pull you forward into me. If you freak out about being manhandled, then I have my answer as to whether we'd have chemistry or not. You stumble forwards, catch yourself, and don't complain when I rub our crotches together through our jeans. I ask you if you're okay with playing rough. I put enough of a rasp in my voice so you’ll know exactly what I'm implying. You look a little embarrassed but you tell me that you're okay with it. I tell you to strip down to your underwear and I'll be back in a second. If I had been expecting you I would have had my tack trunk with me, but thankfully it's just a couple doors down in the employee storage closet.

I leave the room without looking back at you. If you follow directions, then we’ll continue. If you don't, I'll pat you on the head and send you on your way. No harm, no foul. I grab my black box of supplies and head towards the tack room. I wonder if I should take my time and make you wait. If I should see just how long you'll stay half-naked in a strange room for me. I decide not to risk it. I want you and I don't want you to leave because of a miscalculation on my part. I open the door and see that you've piled your clothes on the chair I was sitting on. And I can't help but smile at you. You look so adorable and your nervous energy excites the domme in me. I like that you're nervous. But I'll love it when you're nervous and aroused. I close and lock the door behind me. You give me a look and I assure you that the lock is to keep people out, not to keep you in. You can leave whenever you want, no questions asked.

I roll my shoulders and crack my neck as I decide what to do with you. There are a million different things that I want, but it's difficult to know what will make you run and what will turn you on. I open my tack trunk and take out a length of hemp rope. I motion for you to step forward and hold your wrists out in front of you. I quickly bind them together and lift your arms up over your head. I pull so that your hands are right behind your neck. Then I wrap the free ends of the rope under your armpits and across your chest before tying them together at the center of your back. You handle the bondage well, even though the rope is made to chaff the more you struggle. I steer you towards the back of the door and shove you face first against it. I expect you to struggle but you don't push back. Your breathing has sped up slightly and that's the only sign that anything is out of the ordinary. No moaning, no twitching. You can take a lot more than I originally planned for you.

I kick the inside of your feet so your legs are forced a little wider than shoulder width apart. I stand right behind you and run my hands down the sides of your body. Your skin is soft and cool to the touch. My hands drift over your shoulders and along your arms, back towards your neck and down your back. My usual style is distant and unattainable, but it doesn't feel right. There's something about you that compels me to reach out and touch. To know what it's like to trace the lines of your body to wherever they lead. I tug on the waistband of your underwear and pull them down past your knees. I reach between your legs and grip your balls in one hand. You have a slight intake of breath as I release them and then drag my index finger back along the crack of your ass. I dip my finger inside to brush briefly against your asshole. This part of you is warm, unlike the rest of your body, and it makes me want to know what you taste like. I step up behind you and softly kiss your back. I grind my crotch against your ass and listen as you make quiet, little noises. For a second I wonder if I could come tonight with you, but the thought leaves as soon as it comes.

I turn around and walk over to where we hang the bridles. I find a pair of reins and unclip them from their bit. As I walk back over to where you're standing, I lazily twirl them in my hand. They make a whistling sound as they cut through the air. I wind my arm up and whack them against the wall. The loud crack makes you jump and you look over your shoulder at me. I say, “I want to hit you. Do you do that sort of thing?” There's a pause before you answer, “I think so.” The phrasing throws me off and I ask you what you mean by that. You tell me that you’ve never been hit before but you’re probably fine with it. This is the first moment when it dawns on me how inexperienced you are. I try to think about whether it’s because you’ve never had kinky sex before or because your previous dominants didn’t like pain. I decide that the why doesn’t matter much at all. It doesn’t change the situation at hand. That I’m going to be the first person who is allowed to hit you, because for damn sure we’re moments away from you being thoroughly whipped. Virginal is a big turn off for me, but the idea of getting to be the first person who plants a dominant flag in you makes me hot and wet in a way that I don’t want to think about.

The reins I have are five feet in length, but I find the midpoint and choke up on leather so there’s only a one-foot loop in my hand. I stand next to you and press myself up against the side of your body. I whisper in your ear that you can still leave whenever you want, but I hope that you’ll stay. That if you stay I promise to make it worth your while. You nod your head and I take that as consent. I kiss your shoulder and then bite down. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave little teeth marks in your skin. I take a step back and lightly smack you with the reins in the same spot that I bit you. Not much happens, but it comforts me that you don’t suddenly flinch out of the way. I hit you gently on the ass, pause, and then try upper back. Still no signs of distress. The next time I hit you on the opposite side of your back but with a good deal more force. I get a small exhale and a faint pink line rises to the surface of your skin. I stare at it and then reach out to touch it with my fingertips. Your skin is so pale that even the slightest change in color stands out clear as day. And it’s beautiful. One pink line on you is better than looking at another sub who I’ve turned black and blue. And I have to see more.

I beat you with a steady, slow rhythm along your back and ass and the top of your thighs. Strong enough to draw blood to the surface, but not enough to bruise. I need to make it last. I need to stretch this moment out and savor it for as long as I can. I need to hold myself back and make sure that there will always be another blow to come. The impact lines on your body start to bleed together into one shade of red. I hold the reins in between my teeth and place both hands on your back. Your skin certainly isn’t cool any longer. There’s a comforting warmth coming off you and I can feel a pulse through the palms of my hands. I can’t tell whether it’s your pulse or mine. I tell you that we’re almost done. That I only have ten more strikes to give. I order you to count them out loud for me and you respond, “Yes, ma’am”. I let the reins out to their full length and step back even further from the place that I had been standing. I take a deep breath and then aim a good, hard smack on your right shoulder. This time the reins make that whistling sound and a loud snap as the collide with you. You let out a surprised yelp and then a quieter hum as you let the pain disperse. You say, “one” and I smile behind you even though you can’t see. I give you ten seconds to recover and then strike you on the opposite shoulder. Very small welts are showing up and it gives me a feeling of relaxed glee. The next four times I hit you are on the ass. You are still counting, but you voice has taken on a strained tone and your wrists are starting to chaff from where you’re pulling on your rope. The seventh and eighth blows are on your thighs, one on each leg. I purposefully back down on the pressure because I’m worried you’re going to ask to leave before we finish. And I desperately want to finish. I want to hear the word “ten” come out of your mouth more than I need to breathe. I’m sure I’ll have to unpack the feeling later, but for right now I just want to revel in it. I feel on edge and alive and so present in the moment. The penultimate blow is in the center of your back and as you’re saying “nine” I bring down the leather reins with great deal of force in the exact same place. You yell and your shoulders twitch and I know with absolute certainty that you couldn’t handle another strike. I pull at the knot of rope on your back and move your wrists back over your head. You turn around with a hazy look on your face and I pull you close to hold you. I mention that you didn’t finish counting. You immediately keep saying the word “ten” over and over. As if you’re afraid that I’ll disqualify that last one because you didn’t count it out. I keep hugging you and petting your hair at the back of your head. I tell you that you did a good job and that I’m proud of you.

You slowly come down out of subspace and hold your wrists up to me that are still bound in rope. I ask if you want to leave. You reply no and ask if we’re going to do anything else. I laugh and fight the urge to give you a peck on the lips. “If I was you, I’d want to come. But hey, that’s just me.” You tell me pretty emphatically that you’d like to come and your dick that had been half-hard at the end of your beating becomes fully erect again. I tilt my head and ponder about how I’d like to see you come. Usually I’d just have whoever my sub was jack off in the middle of the room and leave, but this feels like a special occasion. I tell you to stand over to the side and hold your cock. Not stroke it. Just grip it. And I set to work, dragging a saddle stand into the center of the tack room. I grab the saddle that I had been polishing and set it on the stand. I find a small girth and tighten it down so the saddle is immobile. With one last jiggle to make sure it’s in place, I look at you and pat the seat. You step up next to it and give me a wary look. I grin back and tell you to hop on. You roll your eyes at me and comply. It’s not the most graceful thing I’ve ever seen, but I know I would have been disappointed if you had been any more elegant about it.

Once you’re in place, I tie your wrists to the horn and adjust the stirrups to the length of your leg. I’m surprised at how handsome I think you are on a horseless saddle. I’m also determined to not let you know that. I step in front of the stand and ask if you know what posting is. You tell me that you don’t. I nod and turn around to dig in my trunk. “Posting is mostly done in an English saddle. You’re in a western at the moment, but the idea is the same. When a horse is trotting you get bounced around quite a bit. To not get your brains completely rattled, riders do something called posting. Lifting yourself up and down in the saddle to the gait of the horse.” I turn back around holding a bottle of lube and a black dildo. “And tonight, you’re going to do the same thing on this.” The look on your face couldn’t be more perfect. You say that I can’t be serious and I assure you that I most certainly am. I walk up to stand beside you and I can tell that you’re not convinced. I reach out and massage your balls while telling you I know it can be done. You huff and remind me that you’re not other guys. I pat your thigh and say, “I know. And I’m not sure because I’ve seen other subs do it. I know because I’ve done it myself and I think you’re just as talented as I am.” I tell you to hush before you can make another comment. I want you to at least try it and if you really can’t handle it, we’ll stop.

I command you to stand up slightly and lean forward. I pour some lube onto one finger and gently prod until I find your asshole. For several minutes I don’t do anything besides explore and rub little circles around the entrance. You’re hunched over enough that you can hump a part of your hands and you seem to be coming around to the idea of this being a good thing. You even seem a little disappointed when I draw my hand back, but I quickly reapply lube and start up my massaging again with two fingers. When you start making little moaning sounds, I push one finger inside you and begin to gently fuck you with it. I slip another finger alongside the first and watch your face for signs of severe discomfort. You look like you might be uncomfortable and I ask if I should stop. You shake your head and I go back to stretching you out. Your breathing is labored again and your face is even more flushed than it was while I was hitting you. Your cock is leaking precum and I reach up with my other hand and rub it into the head. I pull both hands back and grab the dildo before telling you to stand up all the way. You have to hold onto the horn to balance yourself but you manage. I drip a generous amount of lube onto the silicone cock and suction the base of it onto the surface of the saddle. I hope that my aim is right. I can’t help but shoot you a shit-eating grin as I order you to sit back down.

Luckily, you understand what that means and very carefully lower yourself back. I hold the base of the dildo steady and tell you to take it slow. It takes you three tries, but on the third attempt the head of the dildo disappears inside you and you sink down an inch or two along its length. You let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. I spin around and grab a step stool that's resting against the wall. I place it right in front of the stand and climb on so I'm face to face with you. I caress your cheek and kiss your nose. “Use the saddle for balance. Keep breathing. Up and down, beautiful. Ride it like you mean it.” You close your eyes and focus. I can tell that you haven't spent much time on a horse but at the moment your struggle only makes me hornier. After a few experimental thrusts down, you find a shaky rhythm. I know you're not hitting the base of the cock, but you're getting close. You're the best thing I've seen in a long time and all of a sudden I'm claiming your mouth with mine. Holding your head in place by two fistfuls of hair and using my lips and tongue to try and convey to you what this moment means to me. You speed up the pace that you're using to fuck yourself and I grab both of your nipples and pull viciously. You make a glorious keening sound and ask if you can come. I chuckle and reply, “I don't know. Can you?” You don't seem as amused as I am and answer back, “MAY I come?” I grab a hold of your dick and stroke it in time with your movements as you shove yourself backwards. “Go for it. You earned it babe.” I watch as your eyes shut tight in concentration and your mouth falls open. It takes you another minute, but then your balls tighten and your cadence falters and you're coming into my hand and onto your bound wrists. I want to look down as your dick becomes slick with your own cum but I force myself to keep my gaze on your face. I want to know what it looks like when you're totally blissed out. I want to be able to remember this for years to come.

I untie your wrists from the horn of the saddle and jump down from the step stool. I pull the dildo off the saddle with a wet popping sound and help you down carefully. You seem to be able to stand on your own two feet, but I can tell it isn't easy. You ask if I want to come too and I wave my hand dismissively at you. “I don't do that with other people.” I go to my tack trunk and pull out a clean washcloth. I hand it to you so you can clean yourself up and get dressed. As you put your clothes on, I take a second to admire how well you were able to play with me. I wonder if your whole group is like you and quickly derail that train of thought. I don't need to have any more wayward thoughts about customers and what they do when they're naked. I unlock the door and grab the saddle off the stand. I'm going to have to start over with polishing this one, but it was well worth the trouble. You wave goodbye to me before you take off back towards the house. I find the gesture sweet and then realize I have no idea what your name is.

 
 
 

 

Sample 2: My Menagerie

I find many men attractive. And I've had the same fantasy for as long as I can remember. I image myself sitting on a throne at the end of a large hall, dressed in a silk evening gown and black stilettos. Lining the walls of the hall are gilded cages, each one holding a half-naked man. The men are all different with various ages and ethnicities. Each one handsome in their own right. I want to sit and sip on a glass of red wine while just admiring my collection of men. I don't touch them. I don't talk to them. I just appreciate their beauty from a distance. Maybe I get up once or twice to pace the corridor between my cages. Taking time to inspect each person up close before moving on to the next. This is all the fantasy has ever been.

Until you.

Last night it changed.

My new fantasy starts out exactly the same, but the story doesn't end with me walking back and forth in front of my male menagerie. I stroll to the end of the hall and find you in the last cage. You are calmly standing in the center of it. Your attitude is self-assured and your confidence makes it seem like you have no idea you are jailed at all. There is just something about you. Something that makes you different from all the others. I beckon you to come forward. There is a moment’s hesitation before you step towards the bars. I stare at you for a long time. The woman inside of me knows that you are just another attractive man. But the dominant inside of me is twitching with the need to claim you. For the first time, I need to know what one of my slaves feels like.

I reach out between the bars and place my palm in the center of your chest. Your skin is warm and that surprises me a little. I flex my fingers slightly and my nails leave the smallest of imprints. I lift my hand off of you and look at the tiny half-moons I've dug into your chest. They're beautiful. A few minutes ago, I would have thought that any imperfection would make you less attractive. I'm shocked to discover that it only turns me on. Your facial expression changes from neutral to curious. I don't think you're nearly as affected as I am, but you're not disinterested either. The impressions from my nails have faded and I'm overwhelmed by the urge to replace them. Not only that, but to take both hands and scratch ten claw marks down the length of your torso. You're mine and seeing that physically on your body is what I need in this moment.

I pull a small key from my bra and step over the the door of your cage. I turn the key in the lock and the door swings open. Then I lift a pair of manacles from the wall and order you to step outside. You obey my commands and don't put up a fight. Once you have stepped over the threshold, I turn you to face away from me and cuff your wrists behind your back. By now, the other men have taken notice and are watching my every move intently. A few are even pressed against the front of their cages, craning their necks to get a better view. No one has ever been removed from their prison in my presence. I turn and start walking back towards my throne. I know you are smart enough to follow me.

I stop directly in front of the dais that my throne is perched upon. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I need to collect my thoughts and create a plan. Up until this moment I have been running on pure instinct. My desires taking over any sort of rational thought. I spin on my heel to look at you. You are standing a few feet behind me with an amused look on your face. Intrigued and obedient, but not submissive. I decide that I don't mind. I will be satisfied if you follow my directions. You’ll surrender your control in due time.

I command you to sit on the throne. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise and you stay rooted to the spot. There's an audible gasp from one of the cages behind you. I point at the seat and say, “I won't repeat it again. You challenge me and I'll send you from this place and you’ll never step foot in here again.” You climb up onto the platform and gracefully settle yourself onto the throne. Even with your wrists bound behind your back, you hold your head up high. If you were more clothed, anyone would have mistaken you for the lord of the hall. I smile to myself. Gently convincing you to surrender your control to me is going to be quite satisfying. I find a length of rope and bind your chest and upper arms to the back of the chair. Your feet rest comfortably in the floor. I stand in front of you and run my fingers through your hair a few times. You look up at me and I sigh. Such lovely features. Suddenly I grab your hair at the back of your head and force your gaze up to the ceiling. I brace myself on one of the arm rests and slowly bite the side of your neck.

I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of my lips and teeth on your skin. I can feel your pulse speed up underneath my mouth. My hold on your hair tightens as I nip my way to the other side of your neck. The sight of my bite marks along this sensitive area of your body is intoxicating. I pull back, release your hair, and run my fingertips over the places your skin is raised and reddened. I move forward and straddle your legs, putting my weight on my knees that are pressed up against the outside of your thighs. My touch switches from soft to sharp as I dig my nails into your arms and pull my hands down past your elbows. You make a soft grunting sound but maintain eye contact. I slide my hands back up your arms and then scratch down the front of your chest, catching both of your nipples as I go. More grunting and a shift of your weight in the chair. I rock my hips against you and grin when I discover you're starting to get hard.

Without a word, I push your undergarments to the side and pull your erection free. I tug at your nipple with my left hand and wrap my fingers around your cock with my right. My hand doesn't stroke you, but it applies steady pressure as I squeeze. Finally your expression becomes less composed. You moan low in your throat despite your best efforts to be unaffected. I lick the palm of my hand and stroke your cock in an agonizing rhythm. Not nearly fast enough to get you off, but not slow enough for you to catch your breath. I wonder how long I could do this before you beg me to end your misery. I'm guessing quite a long time. The dominant inside of me purrs.

I reach up to begin carving my nails into you again, but stop because of a subtle look in your eyes. I laugh softly to myself and cup your face with both hands. My body leans forward so that our lips almost meet in a kiss. I can feel the warmth of your breath on my mouth. And for the first time, you take some initiative and try to close the distance. My head jerks back out of range and I laugh again. I trace your lips with my fingertip. They're softer than I expect and I briefly mourn not letting you win just once. Before you have a chance to let out a sigh, I scoot forward and lower myself onto your cock. We both groan and your head falls back to knock against the throne.

I vaguely recognize that there’s movement and sounds from behind me. We’re not truly alone in this moment, but I have no fucks to give. My sole attention is on you and how you look and how you feel. I plan to ride you until you scream for mercy and then send you back to your cage. You’ll be disheveled and ruffled, wearing angry red claw marks up and down your chest and arms. I will stay sitting on my throne and go back to sipping my wine. Maybe next time you can come. That will be your reward. And maybe next time I’ll taste your lips. And that will be mine.