Femal domination fiction

‘Call of the Collar’ is a FemDom story…

…featuring my alter ego, Mistress Misery. The situation it concerns – a ;friend’ contacting a Mistress to ask for mercy, and then getting embroiled himself – is one I encountered a few years back. While not all it is is ‘literally’ true, there is enough truth in it to identify with. Especially if you are – or even might be – sub curious. See below for thr Amazon description, and then an extract from the story itself.

Amazon Description:

Her eyes were pools of dark spite, malevolent and amused, drawing him closer and closer, unhurried and certain…

Respectable family man Willard Brown closed his eyes. But the haunting face was still with him. Did he expect any different? He could think of nothing else. No matter that he might distract himself at times, his mind was enticed back to Her Image as soon as there was an opportunity. His will was slipping away, becoming a strange thing. He seemed to feed and draw on an obsessive, degrading energy, a force that gripped him, and held him, trembling and afraid.  

Willard tried desperately to distance himself, but there was no escaping. In Her hands, She held a studded collar, a dog’s collar, and it had a lead attached. His head was full of her cold laughter….and those eyes.

Extract:

He pressed the ‘call’ button, and she picked up on the third ring.

‘Hello?’

Her voice was quiet, breathy and deep, and amused. Perhaps a touch of a northern accent, but he couldn’t be sure. It did seem to go with that image of her face, though.

‘Hello, my name is Willard Brown,’ he started, and immediately he went into a much more comfortable mode as if he were introducing himself to a new batch of students. He was very good at public speaking and being entertaining at dinner parties, after all.

‘You don’t know me, but I think you do know a friend of mine, Harry Field.’

‘Oh, yes, dear Harry’, she said, with a bit of an evil snicker that made his blood run cold. 

Willard had rehearsed more or less what he would say, both sympathetic and firm, but her tone rather made it seem an irrelevance. Nevertheless, he pushed on with it.

‘I understand completely that you have formed a deep attachment with Harry,’ said Willard, beginning to sound like a lawyer. ‘But unfortunately, as so often happens, I have to break it to you that your feelings are not at all reciprocated. Not. In any sense.’

‘Oh.’

‘And he would very much appreciate it if you left him alone. It is affecting him badly, affecting his work.’

‘Oh, dear.’

Her tone was entirely unsympathetic, and it instead left Willard at a loss for a comeback. Then, just as he was going to lay it on a bit thicker about how Harry was suffering, she spoke again.

‘I think a conversation of this sort of sensitivity should at least be done via video; what do you think?’

‘Oh, OK,’ he replied, somewhat relieved that she sounded a little more amenable and obviously intending to take the matter seriously. She ended the call, and then he jumped as an invitation to a video link came immediately afterwards.

He pressed the acknowledgement, his finger trembling slightly.

The standard features filled his screen, and dark eyes trapped his gaze.

‘Hello, Willard Brown.’

He told himself it wasn’t a new conversation; it was a continuation of the one he had been making. But it felt as though it were strangely disconnected. He felt strangely disconnected altogether.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

She smiled at that, a thin, slowly forming expression that reminded him of a film where the evil villain witnessed some dastardly scheme coming to fruition.

He waited for her to speak, but she did not.

Willard was suddenly desperate to fill that silence, even with the constant sounds of passing traffic.

‘So, are you going to leave Harry Field alone?’

His voice was raspy and dry, and he hardly recognised it.

‘Are you sure that’s what you rang for, Willard Brown?’

Her voice was soft and unhurried, and the cold smile still lingered about her lipsticked mouth.

‘Of course, that’s what I rang for!’

But another of those silences followed the automatic denial, and he stared at her, unable to think of something else to say.

‘Goodbye, then.’

She ended the call, and the screen went blank.

Willard flinched. The air around him suddenly seemed as still as a tomb, despite the proximity of the busy road. It was the strangest phone call that he had ever had. So much of it had been unspoken, unspeakable. The question that she had put to him rang again in his head, and he shuddered at the memory, refused to consider its implications. He had found it so difficult to put her image out of his mind, and his interest was starting to feel unhealthy.

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3 thoughts on “Call of the Collar: FemDom”

  1. I loved this story, “Call of the Collar: A Mistress Misery story”.

    The slave was so enthralled by Mistress Misery’s picture and voice that he had no choice other than to submit to her control even though he did not even know her name or even meet her in person.

    I liked how she laughed when he sent her the picture of him begging to be collared and leashed. I imagine her with a fishing rod and bait, watching the slaves nibble at the bait and laughing when she hooks them and pulls them out of the pond.

    Mistress Misery seems to be really into male tears in the last few stories, telling her slaves that she wants pictures and videos of them crying.

    She also seems to really enjoy manipulating slaves into recruiting additional slaves. Almost as if she is running a pyramid scheme or marketing scheme, where slaves that recruit other slaves can reduce their burden slightly.

    Reply
  2. Oh yes, absolutely. A pyramid scheme. That so appeals to my instincts. And why not? It is the nature of of true domination to expand. And who better to do the donkey work. I loved writing this story 🙂

    Thankyou for your comments

    CP

    Reply

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