?? “His Birthday Belongs to Her” – An Easter Femdom Story with Mistress Vixen ??
Easter morning dawned with golden sunlight streaking across the velvet curtains of
Mistress Vixen’s private estate. The birds chirped in celebration, the scent of spring
drifted in the air, and all across the land people opened chocolate eggs and exchanged
hugs.
But not Björn.
Today was his birthday.
And like any important day, it belonged entirely to Mistress Vixen.
He knelt silently in the middle of her sunroom, a thick leather collar hugging his neck. In
front of him: a pristine, hand-bound notebook and a gleaming black pen. The task was
clear. He was to write 1,000 lines—each line bearing the sentence she had personally
chosen to commemorate his "special" day.
“Every year I grow older, but I will never outgrow my devotion to Mistress Vixen.”
Again.
And again.
And again.
“Such a cute little tradition, don’t you think?” Mistress Vixen said sweetly from her
comfortable sofa, her voice silk-laced with dominance. “Easter. Rebirth. SuSering.
Sweets. And you… spending your whole birthday on the floor, worshiping me with ink
and obedience.”
She wore a delicate sheer black robe, the kind that floated like a whisper. Her long,
flawless legs were stretched out on the velvet cushions, but her bare feet were the true
torment.
Because every few minutes—just when Björn found his rhythm—Mistress Vixen would
slowly glide her perfect sole across his face. Teasing. Interrupting. Claiming.
"Eyes on the page," she purred, “unless you're asking for ten extra lines for each look.”
Björn shivered, nodding. “Yes, Mistress.”
Her feet were warm from the sunlight. Soft. Impossibly smooth. And she knew exactly
what they did to him. Sometimes she would press her toes under his chin and lift his
head slightly, just to see the hunger in his eyes—then laugh and shove him back down
with the heel of her foot.
“You’ll thank me for this birthday one day,” she teased. “None of your little friends will
ever get this close to my feet.”
By noon, his hand was cramping. 427 lines done. Mistress Vixen inspected his progress
and tsked disapprovingly. “Messy on line 311. Add twenty more. And your ‘M’ in ‘Mistress’
must always be capitalized and reverent, pet.”
Then she casually swung her leg over his shoulder, resting one perfect, slightly scented
sole flat against his cheek, pinning him gently.
“Does my little birthday bunny like that?” she mocked, wiggling her toes along his
temple. “You should be grateful I’m using you like this.”
“I am, Mistress,” he whispered, dazed.
“Say it,” she commanded, “say it out loud.”
Björn took a shaky breath and said, “I am grateful to be your property on my birthday,
Mistress Vixen. Please let me earn more of your feet.”
She chuckled and let her foot slide down his back, trailing slowly until it rested on the
floor, victorious.
“Good boy,” she whispered. “Finish your lines before sunset. Then, maybe... maybe I’ll
let you unwrap your birthday and easter present with your teeth.”
He didn’t dare ask what the present was.
He only prayed it would involve her feet.
And that she wouldn’t make him write 1,000 more lines tomorrow—though, if she did, he'd crawl to her and thank her all the same.