Pegging Femdom Stories

Of all my pegging femdom stories, and trust me there are several, the camping trip is the one I tell best. Maybe because of the stars. Maybe because of the way his voice echoed off the trees. Mostly because there's something about the wilderness that strips a man down to his essentials, and his essentials turned out to be adorable.

He was a summer fling, one of those golden outdoorsy types who owned three coolers and knew how to tie knots that actually held. He'd been showing off all day, building the fire one-handed, filleting the fish we'd bought at the market like a showman. I watched him perform masculinity for the squirrels and thought, oh, this one is going to be fun to dismantle.

We'd been circling the subject for weeks. Little comments I'd dropped, the way he'd gone quiet and interested instead of laughing them off. So when we were alone in the tent that night, sleeping bags zipped together, rain starting to patter on the canvas, I decided the wilderness was the perfect place for his education.

I told him I'd packed something in the side pocket of my duffel and told him to go get it. He came back with the little silk pouch, and the way his hands shook opening it told me he'd known exactly what this trip was really about. The harness. The lube. The inevitable.

I told him here's how this works in the wild: no neighbors, no walls. He could be as loud as he wanted, and I fully intended to make him loud.

Back at the fire I couldn't resist starting early. I sat across from him in my little tank top, flames between us, and started talking. About the pouch. About what was going to happen in that tent. About how he could be as loud as he wanted since there was nobody for miles, and didn't that make it worse? He poked at the fire like his life depended on it, jaw tight, and every time the flames flared I caught the look on his face. Hungry. Terrified. Thrilled.

I made him build it up himself first, which is my favorite part, watching a man who tied perfect knots all day fumble with buckles while I lay back on the sleeping bags giving unhelpful advice. When he finally had it on me, I stood up in the middle of the tent, lantern light flickering, and did a slow turn so he could appreciate the full effect. Then I pointed at the ground. He went down without a word. Good boy.

What followed was the single most uninhibited hour of that entire summer. The rain got heavier, drumming on the canvas, covering everything, and I took full advantage. Slow at first, because the tent floor is not a mattress and I'm not a monster, but deeper and more demanding as he relaxed into it, as the fight drained out of him and got replaced by something worshipful. I held his hips and set the pace and talked him through it the whole time, bratty and filthy, telling him how pretty he looked with pine needles in his hair taking it like a champ.

The best moment was when the rain peaked, hammering the canvas so loud we had to practically shout. I leaned over him, rain-roar all around us, and said it right against his ear anyway, low and filthy, describing exactly what I was doing to him in vivid detail, because I could. He came apart laughing and moaning at the same time, which is my favorite combination, and I filed the sound away under things I never want to forget.

At one point he tried to touch himself and I stopped him. I told him uh uh, this wasn't about him. This was about me, enjoying the view, under the stars, with my favorite new toy. He whimpered. The rain kept time. I kept going until I decided he was done, and only then did I let him finish, which he did with his face buried in the sleeping bag making sounds that probably scared wildlife.

After, we lay in the tent door watching the rain, wrapped in the same sleeping bag, his head on my stomach. He was quiet for a while. Then he told me finally that he'd never told anyone he wanted that. I told him I knew. That's why it was perfect.

He drove home the next day standing a little taller, and I kept the silk pouch in my duffel, because a girl never knows when the wilderness will call again.