She felt the hunger again. It was 2:37 on a Tuesday. Sometimes the hunger worked like that. She swiveled back and forth in her chair and looked at the computer on her desk. After a moment’s consideration (the hunger did not go away in this moment), she opened her email program. She looked at her throne in the corner of the room. She scanned the responses to her post. Most of them she had trashed, right off the bat. A few she had corresponded with. Of those, this one seemed good. So did that one. That one was good but he rambled on and on. She picked the funny one with dark hair. He looked kind of cute and boyish.
Her initial email to this chosen one was to the point: “Can you be at my place by 6:30 this evening? I am hungry.” She then listed her city and signed it “Y.”
Fifteen minutes later, she checked her email – his reply had arrived. The message in her inbox was short and courteous: “Yes ma’am. If I may be so bold as to ask a question – why “Y”? On your earlier emails to me you had signed them “J”. I am, of course, your servant and look forward to satisfying any an all appetites you may have this evening.” He signed his name and left a little smiley face 
She read the message twice and the hunger squealed in delight. “You will arrive at my home at 6:30,” she typed. “Also, when was the last time you had an orgasm? Please tell me the truth.” She then followed with her address.
“Yes ma’am. My last orgasm was last Friday.” He replied.
She wrote back: “Thank you. I will see you at 6:30. Please bring me flowers….roses. And the Y is something you’ll find out about in due time.”
He knocked on her door at 6:30. He wasn’t late. He wasn’t early. She was pleased. Until she opened the door and saw him – he was shorter than she. He looked up at her, straight in the eye for the shortest of moments and then dropped his gaze in what she found a subtle, yet pleasing, act of servitude. She considered shutting the door right there and then. Perhaps the next time she tried this, she’s specify how tall applicants must be.
“I am here ma’am.” He handed her the roses. A beautiful bouquet. She inhaled deeply, their aroma filling her.
“Enter. Remove all of your clothes and give them to me.” She commanded.
She shut the door behind him and watched as he bared himself. The hunger inside jumped up and down and clapped. She felt the moistening among the folds of her labia. He folded everything and handed it to her. His underwear – black boxer-briefs. His socks charcoal grey and knit.
She set the flowers atop a hall table and on impulse leaned in and bit his nipple. Hard. It surprised her. The hunger was now in control. “You won’t be needing these,” she said referring to the clothing in her arms, “I’ll be right back. Wait.”
“Yes ma’am.”
The taste and feel of his nipple was still on her tongue as she shoved his clothes to the back of her closet. She stopped at her lingerie drawer and removed a blindfold. When she returned, his penis jutted straight out. She slapped it. Once. Twice. A third time. He winced. It bobbed up and down, red. She watched it for a moment and put the blindfold over his brown, now-wide eyes.
As she took him by the hand and led him into her “throne” room she explained. “I will be naked as well this evening, and you will be undressing me, as this is my wish.”
She paused as she opened the door to what was still her home office, “but you have not yet earned the privilege of seeing me. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Do you wish to see me naked?”
“Very much so ma’am.”
She smiled. “Too bad, then, huh?”
He began in typical sub fashion, as if reading from a script, “It is your wish ma’am. It is not my place –“
“No, tell me the truth – I really want to know.” She interrupted.
“Yes then, well it is too bad. I would love to see your body.”
She steadied him in place, set the roses on the floor beside her “throne” and turned to face him. The computer sat on her desk – off. “Undress me.”
His fumbling fingers worked at the buttons on her blouse.
She slapped his balls as hard as she could. He groaned in agony.
“I simply want to let you know the consequences of touching me inappropriately as you take off my clothes. I also want you to know I have a cane in this room, along with several other unpleasant things, should you – or your wandering hands – disobey me.”
Still in pain, he barely got out a ‘yes ma’am’ through gritted teeth.
He struggled a bit with the hooks on her bra. She laughed and was pleased to see him smile. “My nipples are so hard…too bad you can’t see them,” she teased.
When he – on his knees – removed her panties, they were damp. The hunger took the panties from his hands and rubbed the cotton crotch and her scent on his nose. “This is the woman who now rules you.” Her voice was low.
He didn’t reply, just breathed deeply, falling further.
After a moment, she continued. “You asked me about the Y. It stands for ‘yin’ and that is me. You are ‘yang’ this evening.”
She positioned him down on the floor and rolled him on to his back. She then moved his head under what she called her throne, a rather simple queening stool a friend had created for her. It had a comfortable seat with a hole cut in it, exposing her sex to anyone bound below. His mouth was under that hole. She then pulled his hands up to the legs of the stool and bound them there, up near his head.
She sat on the throne.
Once comfortable, she went on, “The pleasure I receive this evening will be perfectly balanced by your pain. My satisfaction,” she gave the word special emphasis, “will be balanced by your frustration – and I want you to know, your frustration will be great because my satisfaction will be great. My hunger demands it.”
She paused a moment and then smiled though he could not see it, “and it’s ‘Y’ also because that’s where you’ll be eating tonight.” She laughed. “I’m hungry, but your mouth is going to be doing all the work.”
He lay silent under the throne, his mouth almost touching her wetness.
She picked up a rose, took a deep breath from the bud and let the essence of the flower enter her, take her over, sate the hunger. She then turned the flower over in her hand, and removed a petal, and let it drop, and as it hit the ground she whipped his erect cock with the stem. Another petal followed. She whipped him again. There were many petals that would fall this evening.
“Lick.”
END
Craig, this is good and wicked. I like wicked. I haven’t read many F/m stories and a few things came together for me to write one myself, as you have read. I admit to there being a fascination here. It is all so delightful. Thanks and I shall be back for more as soon as I can.
Hugs
Mina
Thank you so much. I really appreciate the kind words. It was fun to write (and for me, imagine I’d just bought a bunch of roses – grin) so I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Writing and putting these up is a bit like the tree falling in the forest bit – if no one comments, has anyone really read, and even if they have read, did it make an impression. So it’s nice to read comments.
C
very good! i like it!