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  The Domination Diaries

  First Time Femdom

  By Emma St Giles

  Erotic Fiction By Emma St Giles

  The Librarian Tales Series

  1 - The Virgin Librarian’s First Time

  2 - The Virgin Librarian’s Bondage Secret

  3 - The Virgin Librarian’s Sex Show

  4 - The Virgin Librarian’s Suppository Surprise

  5 – The Virgin Librarian’s First Time Spanking Experiment

  The Virgin Librarian’s Erotic Collection

  Volume 1

  6 – The Virgin Librarian’s Sex Wager

  The Domination Diaries

  1 – First Time Femdom

  2 – The Flute Teacher and the White Cotton Panties

  3 – The Mystery of the Missing Panties

  The Succubus Series

  1 – College Girl Succubus – The Awakening

  2 – College Girl Succubus – Caned

  3 – College Girl Succubus – The Bottom Problem

  4 – College Girl Succubus - Gang Bang

  5 – College Girl Succubus – The Public Sex Contest

  The College Girl Succubus Erotic Collection

  Volume 1

  Text copyright © Emma St Giles

  All Rights Reserved

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 – The Problem With White Cotton Panties

  Chapter 2 – Cane, Black Panties and Black Leather Boots

  Chapter 3 – The Mechanics and the Art of Caning

  Chapter 4 – Caught, Stripped and Screwed

  Chapter 5 – A Really Hard Caning

  More From Emma St Giles

  Chapter 1 – The Problem With White Cotton Panties

  “Dear Diary. I, Antigone Driver, twenty one years old, am sitting on my bed writing this. I have been home from college for nearly a week now, and I am bored. I am wearing white cotton panties, and I am using the end of my pencil to rub my pussy . . .”

  I sighed, stopped writing, and dropping my black, leather covered diary on the floor, I lay back on my pillows and opened my legs. The thin cotton that I’d just mentioned in my diary entry stretched tautly across my moist, swollen lips, and sighing with a mixture of pleasure and boredom I closed my eyes and probed myself with the end of the HB pencil. Presently, I dropped the pencil next to the diary and, pulling my panties to one side, I started using my hand, one finger working on my clitoris while another slid in and out of my moist slit.

  Afterwards, I repositioned my panties, picked up the diary and pencil and sat there thinking while I got my breath back. I sucked the end of the pencil, enjoying the salty taste of my body that clung to it. Presently I started writing again.

  “I have been home now for six days, seven hours and forty one minutes, and I have masturbated fourteen times. I am really, really bored. It is the middle of the afternoon. My Mum is out, my Dad is out, my little sister is off visiting friends (yes, she has a social, and probably a sex, life) and the house and the outside are totally silent. And the only thing I have to do until Mum and Dad get home later on is to hang out the washing . . .”

  I dropped the diary and pencil back onto the floor and got up off the bed. My knickers were cold, damp and soiled against my skin, and I pulled them down, letting them drop in a splash of cotton onto the carpet. The air felt nice on my bare, shaved-that-morning, vagina. I went over to my underwear drawer and opened it. ‘White, white, white, white and white,’ I muttered in disgust. My collection of white underwear was a comment on me and my lack of a sex life – virginal, pure and sensible. Nothing in red lace, or black silk. Without much enthusiasm I selected a pair, bent down to put them on and then stopped. I dropped them, unfolded, back into the drawer, and I stripped – skirt, top and bra. Not quite sure what I was going to do next I headed for the door, totally naked. As I walked towards the stairs I passed the full length mirror on the wall of the landing. I stopped to examine myself. My mirrored self stared back at me with thoughtful eyes – age somewhere over eighteen. Brown hair pulled back into a pony tail, medium height, and slim, but with full, well developed hips. I cupped my breasts in my hands and pointed them at mirror girl. They were small and pert, with nipples that in my opinion were too large for the size of the breasts they were mounted on. Under my gaze they became more erect. I put my right forefinger into my mouth and licked it, then I ran it in circular patterns around my right nipple several times, before pinching it lightly. It popped outwards, standing proudly to attention. I repeated the process with the left nipple, then I left the mirror and went downstairs.

  Walking around the house in the nude was nice but it wasn’t that special. I went through the kitchen and into the laundry room, where I pulled the wet laundry out of the washing machine, loading it into a blue, plastic laundry basket. Then I carried it to the door which led into the back garden. There I hesitated, although it wasn’t much of a risk. The large garden was almost entirely surrounded by tall hedges which totally blocked the view from anyone in the road. In fact, the only place with a view of our garden was the Nixon’s place next door. And I was pretty certain that they were all out, too. Mr and Mrs Nixon both worked, and their son, Dean, who like me was home from college, would be down at the hardware store where he was working for the summer. My nipples ached slightly at the thought of Dean. I’d had a thing about him ever since I could remember, but he was tall, good looking and popular, whereas I was . . . well, I was just me.

  A little wave of frustration ran through me, and I stepped over the threshold and into the garden. Holding the basket in front of me like a shield, I looked over the fence at the Nixon’s house. The place was still and quiet, but the blank and empty windows stared at disapprovingly at my nudity. ‘Fuck you,’ I told them and balancing the basket on my bare hip I walked down the garden path to the clothes line.

  It is odd, but doing a little domestic chore like hanging out the washing made my nudity all the more exciting. As I pegged the damp clothes to the line, I became more and more aware of the gentle breeze and the sunshine on my body, the movement of my thighs, and the slight jiggle of my breasts when reached down to the basket or up to the line. It was quite disappointing when I picked up the last piece of clothing from the basket, one of my Dad’s shirts, and pegged it up.

  I looked back at the house, and after a moment’s thought I turned and wandered off down the path towards the end of the garden. I passed the vegetable plot on my left, where my Dad liked to spend his weekends, and went into the large greenhouse, with its organised rows of tomato and cucumber plants. The smell reminded me of afternoons spent helping my father weed and carry things when I was young. I ran a hand down the warm, smooth, green skin of a ripening cucumber, and for a second I thought about sitting up on the work bench next to the plants and using it as a dildo. But the image of its green vegetable length sliding in and out of me while I climaxed noisily was replaced by another one of me with a look of horror on my face as the cucumber broke off inside me and I decided against it.

  I turned, left the greenhouse and walked down the remainder of the path to the very end of the garden. The house was out of sight here, blocked from view, and the hedge, which was kept trimmed and neat back where it could be seen, was wild and overgrown, arching upwards and throwing the little area into shade. When I was little I used to think that fairies lived there, and as I stood there now I knew why. There was still an air of secrecy and magic about it. I raised my bare arms to the dappled patches of blue sky that were peeping down through the arch of the hedge, and some lines of poetry came into my head.

  “It had become a glimmering girl
, with apple blossom in her hair

  Who called me by my name and fled,

  And vanished through the brightening air.”

  I vaguely remembered that it was about a man who came across a beautiful fairy maiden when he was walking in the woods, and how totally under her spell he spent the rest of his life searching for her. I imagined standing naked before Dean, my body working its female magic on him, and I lowered a hand to stroke myself gently between my legs.

  The fence that separated our garden from Dean’s ended here, and just before it stopped at the large post banged into the ground next to the hedge, there was a gate joining our gardens that we used to use to visit each other to play. It hadn’t been opened in years and I wandered over and gave it a push. Nothing happened. I pushed harder and it gave slightly, creaking as if it might fall apart. I gave it yet another push and it opened just a little bit. One more push and it opened a bit further, just far enough for a person to squeeze through.

  I thought for a moment, then I slid through the opening. I shivered. This was a bit different from wandering around unclothed in my own garden.

  The bottom of his garden was similar to ours, without the greenhouse, the vegetable patch and the air of secrecy. The only cover was a bush next to the gate and I peered carefully around it at the house. It still had the air of desertion it had had ten minutes ago. I stepped out from behind the bush. The garden was mostly neatly trimmed and manicured grass. No flower beds, no pots with trailing flowers overflowing their rims. The Nixon’s weren’t gardeners. For them, a garden was a place to entertain during the long summer weekends.

  I thought about long summer weekends from the past and my gaze was drawn to the old swing still there on the other side of the lawn from where I was standing. I walked over to it and sat on the worn, wooden seat. It was warm from the sun on my bare bottom and I gave a little wriggle of pleasure. Grasping the ropes on either side I started swinging, arching my body on each downswing, and pulling my legs back on the return. Higher and higher I went, the air rushing across my naked flesh, the play of muscles and tendons a pleasure to lose myself in.

  After a few minutes of swinging I slowly became aware that the seat was rubbing on my cheeks, creating a slight soreness that tapped for admission at the entrance to the sheer pleasure I was in. I stopped using my body and sat there, totally still, while the swing slowed. Finally, when it was almost at a stop, I let go and jumped off it as it swung forwards. I stood for a second and rubbed my bottom, and for a second pretended to myself that I’d just been spanked. Spanking was one of my fantasies. I liked to imagine being bent over a good looking man’s knee, wearing only my white, cotton panties. Then he would pull them down and smack my bottom with his hard, masculine hand, while I squealed helplessly and wriggled. I decided that I might visit that particular fantasy when I played with myself before going to sleep that night.

  I walked up the garden to the house. On the right hand side was the back door, which led into the kitchen. There was a crack in the brickwork next to the door and I felt inside it. Sure enough, the spare key to the door was still there. For a moment I thought about letting myself in and lying on Dean’s bed with my legs wide apart for just a minute or two, but I decided that was probably a risk too far and I replaced the key and walked along the back of the house instead. Next to the door was the kitchen window, and further along the patio doors that led into the large dining room and through into the sitting room. I tried the handle of the patio door, but as I expected it was locked.

  I wandered back again, past the kitchen windows and the back door to where a concrete path led around the side of the house. Halfway along there was gate, bolted on the inside, with two green, plastic wheelie bins next to it. I opened the larger of the two, the one with the recycling in. It had the usual mixture of soft-drink bottles, wine bottles and cardboard. I let the lid drop, but as it closed I heard a noise. A car was pulling into the gravel drive at the front of the house. I quickly peeped through the tiny gap between the side of the gate and the house.

  It was Dean! I hadn’t seen him since we both went off to college at the start of the year, but he still looked amazing. Although I couldn’t see his face as he reached into the car to get something, I knew that it was good natured and attractive, but with just a hint of the arrogance that good looking and popular people often had. My stomach jumped in panic at the thought of being caught by him, standing naked in his garden, and after a final glance I turned and ran back down the garden to the gate, my tits bouncing in time to my steps. I squeezed through the gate, pulled it as far shut as it would go, and then ran up the path to the safety of my own house.

  Chapter 2 – Cane, Black Panties and Black Leather Boots

  That evening, after eating supper around the dining table and then clearing up like the dutiful daughter I am, I left my parents watching television and went back upstairs. I lay on my bed and thought about what had happened. Then I thought about me and about the drawer full of white panties that somehow seemed to sum me up. I lay there and stared at the ceiling, then I rolled over and retrieved my diary and the pencil from where I’d hidden them under the pillow.

  “Dear diary. I have decided that I need to change. But how?” I pondered for a few seconds, then I started writing again. “I need to become more assertive. More dominant.”

  I stopped writing again and looked at what I had written. One word stood out from the page. “Dominant.” I pushed the diary and pencil back into their hiding place, got up from the bed and walked quietly, so I wouldn’t be heard from downstairs, along the landing to my sister’s room. Jacinta was a year younger than me but people often thought she was the older one of us. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar and her room was in darkness. I imagined its owner, who wouldn’t be home for a couple of days, was probably out partying somewhere at that moment. Or maybe even having more fun. An image of Jacinta riding a massive cock while its owner lay back and moaned in uncontrollable ecstasy came into my mind. Then I imagined doing the same thing to Dean. My throat and the muscles in my thighs tightened. It was a scary thought.

  Inside the room I shut the curtains and switched on the light. It cast a soft sun-like tone through the round, yellow paper shade hanging from the centre of the ceiling. Then I opened the door a bit further – I wanted to be sure to hear anyone coming up the stairs in time to get back out without being spotted. Jacinta had a chest of drawers that was the twin of mine. I opened the left hand top drawer, but it was full of socks and pantyhose. Carefully, so as to make no noise, I slid it shut and I opened the one on the right. Jackpot! It was full of the kind of underwear designed to give a teenage boy an erection for a month. I pulled out a tiny, lacy thong from the top of the pile and stretched it out between my hands, imagining what it would feel like on my body. Then I picked up a small pair of silk briefs. They were white, but that was the only similarity to kind of white knickers that I wore.

  I looked though Jacinta’s underwear, occasionally picking up a particularly interesting or exciting pair. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but when I discovered several pairs of tiny, silky black panties towards the back of the drawer, I knew that I’d found it. They felt almost weightless in my hand and their material caressed my fingers like warm oil. I held them up to my face and buried my nose in them, breathing deeply. They had a slightly perfumed smell, mixed with the musky odour of a woman’s sex. I put them carefully into my pocket and pushed my hand back into the depths of the drawer. A second later I pulled out a black bra. It must have been bought as part of a matching bra and panties set – it would go perfectly with the panties.

  After tidying the contents of the drawer so no one would know I had been in there, I closed it and turned my attention to the rest of Jacinta’s clothing. The other drawers were full of T-shirts, denim shorts, but they didn’t interest me. Instead I crossed to her wardrobe and slid the mirrored door open. I gasped at what I saw. On the floor, underneath the neat row of blouses, skirts and dresses, was a pair of
shiny, black leather, knee length boots. I picked one up and sniffed it. It had a beautifully rich leather smell. I imagined the black panties sliding down over the boots. ‘Mmm.’ Despite myself, I let out a little moan of excitement.

  *****

  Two hours later I was lying in my bed with the light off, waiting for my parents to go to sleep in their bedroom at the other end of the house. There was a small gap where the curtains covering my window met, and the light from an almost full moon painted everything a dim and secretive, silvery grey.

  For the hundredth time I listened, my ears straining for any sound. But there was nothing. I was certain that I was the only one awake in the entire house.

  I slid out of bed, and pulled my nightie off over my head. I pulled the bra and panties out from where they were hidden under the pillow, then I dropped to my knees and felt under the bed for a second before pulling out the boots. I stepped into the panties and slid them up over my thighs. They felt like a second skin on me, their smoothness tantalising and teasing the lips of my womanhood as they encased it. Next the bra. I’d been worried that it would be too big for me, but Jacinta must have bought it before her breasts reached their full size, and my smaller breasts fit snugly into the underwired cups. I arched my back slightly and pushed my chest outwards. It almost felt as if I, too, had the kind of large breasts that men dream of. Finally, the boots. I sat down on the edge of the bed, and it creaked slightly under my weight. I froze for a second at the sound, but then relaxed. I picked up the first boot and slid my foot into it, running my hand up its smooth leather from my ankle to my knee. It felt good. I put the second one on, then I stood up and went to stand in front of my mirror.

  ‘Wow,’ I whispered to myself. I put my hands on my hips and struck a pose. I looked good. I pulled a stern face at the mirror and raised a finger in admonishment. ‘You’ve been a naughty boy,’ I whispered, arching my eyebrows. ‘And you know what I’m going to do to you, don’t you?’ Tearing myself away from the mirror, I reached for my diary and lowered myself carefully onto the bed again and crossed one booted leg over the other while I looked at my last entry. Presently I picked up the pencil and underlined the word ”assertive.” Then, after thinking for a few more seconds I crossed out “dominant,” and wrote “domination” in its place. Finally, I wrote “dominatrix” next to it.