Female Domination: A Vomit Fetish Unleashed

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My name’s Sasha, 23, and I’ve always had a thing for Femdom. Not the vanilla kind—no, I like it messy, primal. Last week, I met Ethan at a dungeon party. He was 20, submissive, and clueless about what I had in store. He knew I liked control, but he hadn’t clue how deep my kinks ran. Let me tell you about what happened that night.

He was tied to a steel frame, hands cuffed above his head, knees spread, ankles locked. His face was covered in a blindfold. I walked around him like a lion circling prey, running my boots over his calves, tracing my fingers through his hair. “You’re here to vomit for me,” I said, my voice low. “Not because you want to. Because I say so.” He swallowed hard, nodding. I love that fear in his chest—he doesn’t know what I’ll make him do next.

The prep started slow. I licked my fingers and rubbed his temples, then slid down his chest, licking the hollow of his throat. He tasted like nervous sweat and desperation. I made him drink a glass of sour citrus mix—I’d measured it earlier. The sourness would help. I wanted him primed, physically and mentally. “When I tell you to throw up, you do it,” I said, my hand on his dick, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. “Don’t hold back. Don’t hesitate.” He nodded again, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

From the corner, I grabbed a small mirror and held it to his face. “Watch yourself,” I said. He groaned when he saw his face—pale, mouth slack. I tilted the mirror, showing him his crotch, still rock-hard despite the fear. “You’ll keep that up,” I hissed. “You’re a good boy for your Domina. Aren’t you?” He whimpered. I slapped his cheek, and he yelped.

The first purge was a test. I slapped his cheek again faster this time, harder. His stomach lurched. He gagged, vomit spilling over his lips. I caught it in a ceramic bowl, my fingers pressing into his chin, forcing his mouth open. The sour liquid slid down his throat, warm and thick. “More,” I said. He dry-heaved, tears cutting through the sweat on his face. I let him rest, patting his forehead with a damp cloth.

“You’re doing so well,” I cooed. I untied one ankle, letting his leg dangle, then retied it. The shift in position made him dizzy, and his cock twitched. I kissed him, tongue probing his mouth, savoring his taste—metallic, sour, salty. He tried to kiss back, but I bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Don’t be a hero,” I muttered. “You’re here to serve.”

Next, I gave him a choice. Literally. I held a feather to his throat and made him close his eyes. “If you can stay still, I’ll let you cum. If you move, you throw up again.” His balls clenched. He chose stillness. I slid the feather over his dick, back and forth, until he was shaking. Then, just as he peaked, I smacked him across the chest. His orgasm melted into a fresh wave of vomit, bubbling up as if his stomach were trying to reclaim the sour liquid. I wiped it away, humming. “So pretty,” I mused.

Afterward, we cleaned up in the shower. He sat on the floor, head bowed, while I washed his hair, my breasts brushing his shoulders. “You’re a good sub,” I said, soaping his back. “So responsive to my rules.” He mumbled a thanks, voice hollow. I liked that—how he was half-dazed, still floating on the edge of puke and pleasure. Femdom isn’t just about pain or power. It’s about trust. And I could see in his eyes that he trusted me to push him further.

If you want raw stuff like this, check out the video section of this site. Some of it’s amateur—some of it’s wild. But remember, always negotiate boundaries. You can’t fake trust, and you can’t force respect.

Later, we smoked a blunt and talked. Ethan said my kinks scared him, but also turned him on. “You control everything,” he said. I laughed. “What’s your favorite part?” He shrugged. “Watching you chew my puke. Even though it’s gross?” I snorted. “Good. Let it gross you out. That’s the point.”

We didn’t have sex that night. There was no need. The power was already there, in the restraints, the blindfolds, the puke. The next day, he texted me. Said he got a piercing done—something to “honor my domination.” I haven’t replied yet. But I’ll send him a collar when it’s ready. Because that’s what Femdom is. It’s not just a night. It’s forever.

If you like this kind of story, read more stories here. Some of them are hot. Some are heavy. But they’re all honest.

I don’t need Ethan. But he’ll never forget me. And that’s the real kink, isn’t it? Making someone yours, even after you’re gone.