An Erotic Sunday Treat: Femdom with a nip of mommy-baby

Dinner in the Forest

I much prefer going to see Mistress in a new place for both of us, rather than a dungeon or hotel room.  It gives us both a chance to fantasize about context and a feeling.  I also like to see her when she travels—and she does see clients all over the world.  When she announces a travel date, I try to think about how I might engineer my professional and personal life to coincide with hers.  After all, our time together becomes experiences of pleasure that will last a lifetime.

Discussing with her where we would next meet, I had this very strong need and feeling of wanting to feel safe and cozy with her.  I wanted a place that spoke of cuddling and intimacy, one of total relaxation and comfort, and just plain good vibes.  

We settled on a charming cottage in the woods.  I liked that it was not far from her home, as somehow I felt superstitiously that proximity to home gives power and energy—a truism from my own life.  Feeling her power at her most centred place, her most comfortable place, put me in a frame of receptiveness.  What was it?  I get it…she is the womb for me, the source of supreme comfort, and spiritual access to the womb comes through submission.

I wore a house dress in anticipation of her arrival.  It made me feel like a domestic Goddess straight out of Good Housekeeping, and I cooked for her, in a frilly apron and in my bare feet.  No, I did not look silly.  I looked hot.

Mistress shares my love of food and I wanted to welcome her with something tasty, something I had created for her, so I did.

When she arrived there was the predicament of being seen in a dress by her uber driver, but thankfully he pulled out before I was able to go outside and grab her bag.

“Look at you,” she said, surprised since I am normally such a boring dresser.

“Hi Daddy,” I said, a little afraid that she might not like being called that.

“Hi,” she said hugging me.  So nice.  “It looks good on you.”

“Thank you,” I said, “I’m channelling my inner Martha Stewart.”

“Something smells nice,” she said picking up on the smells wafting out into the evening air.

“I have something I would like you to taste,” I said, walking over to the stove.

Mistress is a self-confessed switch, though I have not one bone of dominance in me in relation to her, I can play because I know she likes to play.  I picked up a little spoon and scooped a small quantity of what I had been up to out of the bowl and held it up to her mouth to feed her.  Her eyes sparkled, amused, defiant, surprised, but she opened her mouth and tasted it.  Ahh, Trust!  The last time we had been together we were in a restaurant and she had fed me.  I will confess that I found it rather erotic.

“Mmm, delicious,” she purred, “Sabayon.”

“Yes Mistress.”  She picked up the other spoon and did her own scooping.

She brought the spoon to my mouth and fed me.

“Good boy,” she said, “or should I say good girl?”

“As you wish Mistress.  I am forever both, sliding from one to the other.  It is enough that you call me ‘good’.”

She fed me again.  “Good baby,” she said.  She knew how to get me.

“Mistress?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“This got me thinking,” I said pointing to the Sabayon.  “I had this big fantasy, spurred in part by this place, and what a great kitchen it has, and what a wonderful big table to dine at…and how magical it would be to cook a dinner for you, but not just you, for you and some friends.  No kink, just a celebration of food.  Do you think we could ever do that?”

“Hmm,” she said, “that will take a while.  You know I don’t like to mix my lives.”

“Maybe with friends who know what you do and don’t disapprove.  But anyway, it would be totally vanilla.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said.  “Let me think about it.  Don’t get your hopes up.  Think 6 months from now.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” I said so very grateful.  I knew it was a big ask.  “If it had to be kinky and with your professional associates, that would be fine too.”

“No, I like your idea.  I like the idea of you slaving for all of them, but that it is just an act of fealty.  Let me think it over.”

And with that, we played.  I am learning to please her, and it is very fulfilling to do so.

In the end, it did take 6 months to stage, but about four months after this encounter, she suggested that it might be possible.  That she had a small group of women friends who knew her activities, and who would happily join a dinner.  I knew how far she was going out on a limb for me.

“I’ll tell you what though,” she said.

“Yes Mistress?”

“It had better be good.” 

“Yes Mistress.”  What a wonderful challenge!

“I can’t wait to plan the menu you with you.  Food fit for a Goddess.”

“I can’t wait either.”

I won’t bore you with the details of our exchange on foods, dishes, recipes, flavours, textures, table settings.  It got rather complicated, but if you love these things as I do, or as we do, you would know that this is as good or better than any session.  Good food is also a spiritual endeavour.

In the end, to prepare, I hired a professional chef with a professional kitchen to test all of the recipes with me and to work them through, not once, but twice.  I booked the house also a few days early, to have time to prepare everything in situ, and to ensure that it was all “just so”.

She came by to visit and taste once or twice in those days.  And there is something about her presence that never fails to make me cry.  She brings out a vulnerability and joy in me that together turn on the waterworks.  There’s that, and there’s laughter.  They usually come together.

On the day, I got everything ready.  Laid a most beautiful table and did all of the final cooking.  Everything came together beautifully.

She arrived first, followed in short order by her guests.  Mistress had chosen my clothes, alien to me, but she wanted me to look a certain way, and I revelled in that she cared enough to choose.  I wore a dark turtleneck, shirts I have always hated because of the feeling of something on my neck has always been stressful (except when she collars me), and dark, slim trousers.  A chestnut belt, but barefoot—a nod to D/s.  The other nod to D/s was that I was to address her guests as Miss Jane, Miss Sarah, Miss Kate, Miss Alice, and Miss Lynn.  I knew what I was to call Mistress already.

The guests were all appreciative of the setting, the scent of the food, and the lovely things I set on the table before them.  It was an absolutely wonderful evening, filled with happiness and good cheer, laughter, fun conversation.  I was able to serve and clear and do any last-minute prep without interfering with my ability to participate and enjoy the evening.  That was the nicest part.

Mistress had asked that I give a nice gift to each of her guests, and I had done so, presented at the end of the meal.  She had helped me choose something appropriate for each of them, and a nice little Tiffany’s blue box was presented to each along with dessert.  You could see that they almost couldn’t believe it.  They were very gracious about the gift and about the dinner and lavish in their praise.

Neither Mistress or I had touched alcohol, something we had always kept out of our interactions…but her friends were having fun, and it was loosening tongues and inhibition.

“So, Patrick,” one of the ladies said, “how far will you go for your Mistress?”  I looked at Mistress for her approval to answer.  She nodded.

“Thank you for asking Miss Jane.  I don’t know, because she has never abused her power, but conceptually, I will go wherever she takes me.  And if I cannot, I will certainly try.”

“Do you like being whipped?”

“No Miss, I don’t.  But if Mistress wishes to whip me, then I am glad to receive the lash.  Does that make sense?  If Mistress wishes to make me do something, even if it is uncomfortable or painful to me, it is because she asks it of me that I enjoy it.  And when she asks things of me that are hard for me, I end up enjoying it more.”

“But do you really feel that you deserve to be punished?”

“No Miss.  If I am good, I never deserve to be punished.  I should hate deserving to be punished.  It would mean I had failed at my most basic task, to be obedient and subservient.  No Miss, I am whipped because Mistress wishes to whip me, nothing more.  I believe she enjoys it.”

“I do,” Mistress purred.

“Could we see it?” asked Miss Lynn, “I’ve never seen that.  I think it would be fun.  Would you mind?”  I don’t know who she was asking, but the question was not for me to answer anyway.

“Get my crop,” Mistress commanded.  It was standing next to the door in the corner of the room.  I went and fetched it.  I knelt before her and presented it to her.

“Oooh,” one of the ladies said.

“Take your shirt off,” Mistress commanded.  I did.  “Put your hands on the table,” she said indicating the coffee table next to us.  I turned, and stretched out my arms, giving her a flat, naked back and arms to work with.

“It is very important to start gently with a sub,” Mistress said quietly, gently caressing me with the end of the whip, lightly touching and tapping me with it here and there.  “It helps his mind get ready for what is coming, helps his body to produce the adrenalin and endorphins he will need to be able to get through it.  And then I heard the swoosh and felt the crack rip through my body.  I cried out.

“Thank you, Mistress,” I said after.

“The cane is the most cruel of whips,” Mistress continued.  “It leaves marks.  In an experienced Domme’s hands it is an art, but with someone who is not, it can cause serious damage.”

The blows came now, with varying intensity, with no lasting rhythm, always keeping me guessing, all the way up my arms and down my back…alternating with her soft touch.  It was bliss.  My body was surely marked.

Most of the ladies clapped after.  One came over and inspected the welts.

“That was hot,” another said.

“I don’t know, it’s pretty extreme,” Miss Jane said.

“Mistress?”

“Yes?”

“Did you bring my favourite whip?”

“Yes, I did,” and she went and got it from her bag not 10’ from us.

“May I?” I asked extending out my hands to her as she brought it over.

“Yes, you may.”

I crawled to Miss Jane with the whip in my hands and knelt before her and looked up at her.  I took the whip and bowed my head and held it up to her.  She hesitated, but then took it.

“It’s possible to be gentle too,” I said.  “Please understand that the physical part is meaningless.  What matters is the submission.”  And I could feel the tears welling in my eyes as I looked at hers.  “Please take control.  It’s something I need.  I can’t live without it.  It’s like water.  It isn’t extreme, or gross, or unnatural.  It is a doorway that we go through.  The whip is just a means of opening the door.  Please Miss Jane, please.” And then I lay my head on her knee, sideways.  “Please beat me,” I whispered to her, and then waited.

She hefted it, hesitated.

“Do it,” one of the other ladies encouraged.

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t bite like the cane,” my Mistress said, and then I felt the muscle in her leg tense under my check and felt the whip come down.  Like a brush with many strands, she whipped my back over the cane welts in a beautiful and cathartic way.  And no, not just once or twice, but as she struck, she seemed to develop a taste for it.

“Thank you, Miss Jane,” I intoned after each stroke.

And then it happened.  I began to sob.  Quietly, tears streaming down my face, but I could not hide the tell-tale movement in my body.  I looked up at her, her face.

“You’re crying,” she said, moved by pity and warmth.

“Please don’t stop, it’s so beautiful.  Thank you, Miss Jane, thank you.”

“Really?” she said, “how curious.  I think I rather like this.”  And she guided my head back down.  Her whipping took on variety, as if she had settled into it, and had learnt from Mistress.  I was lost in a dream, and then it stopped.

“It’s been a lot of excitement for you today, hasn’t it?” Mistress said.

“Yes Mistress,” and I relished the soothing hands on my back of both Miss Jane and Mistress.  “Thank you.”

“Ladies,” I’m going to get Patrick ready for bed and then bring him out to say goodnight.  We like to put him to bed early.  “Come,” she said, leading me to the bedroom.  I tuned out the conversation as if someone had put noise-cancelling headphones around me and Mistress…I was cocooned in her presence.

“I’m proud of you,” she said laying me down on the bed. “Everything was perfect.  You made me look good.”  I can’t think of higher praise from Her.

“Goddess,” I breathed reaching out to her, and she took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

We had not discussed or agreed what came next specifically in relation to this evening, but in general we were well in bounds.  And anyway, I had my safe words.  There, next to the bed was a diaper, some cream, some powder.  I looked at it as she undid my belt and pants and pulled them down, and brought my thumb to my mouth, and spread my legs, telling her with my body that I was ready.  She diapered me and the contrast with the still throbbing pain from my caning and whipping and the soft, sensual thickness of the diaper was sublime.  She gave me a pacifier and I sucked it into my mouth.  I looked at this most beautiful, wonderful person.  She handed me a t-shirt, a plain white soft cotton ones, so soft and comfortable, but also nice and short and snug to leave my diaper showing, and then she led me back out into the room.

“Someone’s here to say good night,” she announced.  Not one of them missed a beat.  It was all “aww,” and “cute,” and “goodnight baby.”

“Goodnight Miss Lynn.  Goodnight Miss Sarah.  Goodnight Miss Kate.  Goodnight Miss Alice.  Goodnight Miss Jane.  Thank you so much for coming tonight.  It was so nice to meet you.”

“Goodnight baby,” they all sang and blew me kisses, “thank you for dinner.”

And then Mistress led me back to the bedroom, where she tied me spread-eagled to the bed.  Then she gave me my pacifier again to suck on and left me to hang with her guests.  I knew not to bother her unless it was really important.

I lay in a mixture of bliss and discomfort on my whipped back but wanted to be stuck in this strange twilight forever.  I heard them laugh and joke and have fun.  It occurred to me that I didn’t belong in that adult world out there right now.  I was where I belonged, and I was as happy as I have ever been.  Later, before leaving, they all came and kissed me goodnight.  Miss Jane lingered, and whispered in my ear, “I really enjoyed whipping you tonight, maybe I can do it again sometime…”. The joy on my face.

After, Mistress untied me, and we talked and cuddled awhile.  I looked at the dishes and debris on the table of a wonderful evening and was especially thankful that a cleaner was coming first thing to take care of it.

Goodnight my Goddess.  Thank you for the time of my life.