Date some of my new crossdressing members.

Crossdressing success starts with a desire to create a certain look. What’s your look?

“I can see his nuts from here!” said Bernard, looking through his long lens as he photographed one of the squirrels in my garden. As fall replaces summer my garden is a hive of activity, with the wildlife all preparing for the onset of winter.

And that’s precisely why I thought you’d be interested in the new members joining My Little Black Book. We have so many new members this month, I can barely keep up.

You can now sign up for just $2.95 a month here: https://gumroad.com/products/mMgcZ

Be sure to email me after you’ve signed up, so I can get you set up nice and swiftly.

It’s wet. It’s hard.

crossdressing wig

It’s wet. It’s hard!

First of all I’d like to pass on my prayers and thoughts to all in floods in the US and other countries this week. It is a sobering thought that the death toll in Nepal is over 1200, Sierra Leone is over 1000 as well as those affected within Texas. Our thoughts here in the offices of FD go to all those suffering, where ever they may be, in this tragedy.

A couple of quick shout outs to members who have written to me this week. For Amber in Colorado, my best suggestion is that you should insert a straw and then push it up the bottom firmly. And, yes, I agree it can be very tricky finding the best way to remove the green stalk of the strawberry without making a mess.

Cheryl, in Texas, I would think you should probably have thought about that before choosing to wear heels as you stepped into the inflatable boat. Of course, our thoughts are with you and all our members in flood affected areas, but suitable evacuation wear probably doesn’t include stiletto heels at this point.

And lastly, yes, Michelle, in such situations it really is important to get consent from your partner, if not the hamster. A safe word might indeed be wise.

I am thrilled to report that Bernard has been discharged from hospital and is now convalescing at home. He was unable to join me at the advertising agency for this year’s summer costume party, but doubtless he’ll be back in circulation before long.

After finding the perfect costume, I decided to go a little retro and go as Xena Warrior Princess. I have always liked that look, and like Xena consider myself something of a problem solver. It’s just the kind of gurl I am. As SylvesterAliMax and I prepared for the party and got into our costumes Max’s mother, Marjorie, came over to see what all the excitement was about.

“Hello, Marjorie,” I said as she wandered into my kitchen. “We’re almost ready.”

“So, I can see,” she replied eyeing my breast plate. “And Max is doing a wonderful job of buffing up the brass of that breast plate.”

“He’s been most helpful,” I replied.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d taken it off first?” asked Marjorie.

“Oh, no,” I replied. “What with Max so hard at work…”

At that moment Ali, who you may remember looks after my garden, came in dressed in a set of Klan robes.

“Ali,” I said. “Are you sure that’s entirely appropriate?”

My Syrian friend replied, “I thought I looked very presidential.”

I could hardly fault that, and said so.

“Perhaps we should all go out and stand on the front lawn, Perhaps Marjorie could take a photograph of us from the landing upstairs? That window overlooks the garden and the picture will be lovely with the roses in the background.”

Marjorie agreed and went up the stairs. A moment later she called down to say she couldn’t get the window open, and that she needed a little help. The window seemed blocked by something from the outside.

“Don’t worry,” cried Ali. “I’ll get a ladder and clear it up.” With that, and a flurry of robes, Ali disappeared to get a ladder. Now the reason I explain all this is simple enough. You can imagine the scene when I was then standing on the front lawn, along with Sylvester dressed like a warrior from Middle Earth, about to go on a quest, Max as a Viking, and all of us staring up a ladder at Ali dressed as a KKK klansman, complete with hood, trying to open the upstairs window of my house on a sunny midweek afternoon.

As the sun glinted off my breastplate, we heard the silent hum of Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, arriving unannounced to visit my wife – who is unfortunately travelling at present.

With the unmistakeable sound of tweed rustling she stepped from her car, open mouthed, and said “What on earth is going on here?”

“Ali’s taking care of a blockage,” I said helpfully, and stared up the ladder. Amanda followed my gaze.

“That’s Ali? I thought you’d finally upset the wrong people,” murmured Amanda with her usual distaste for everyone around her.

Ali’s voice drifted down, “Marjorie’s  Areolas are coming out beautifully this year.  I’ve not seen her garden from this angle before.”

Sometimes I wonder about Ali’s English lessons. Being a Syrian refugee, who was welcomed to Canada in somewhat disadvantaged circumstances, one might forget that he was also a professor in Damascus University prior to the war.

“I thought something dreadful was happening, as I drove up. I could see this crazy Klansman trying to break in through the window. I thought maybe… Honestly, those people should be bloody well hung!”

Looking up Ali’s klan robe, I replied, “Amanda, from where I’m standing, I think Ali’s pretty well…”

“Oh my god,” said Amanda. “You people make me boldly sick. I just dropped by to tell Max, he’s got the job at Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly as my editorial assistant.”

“Oh,” I replied. “What a sparkling start to a career in journalism. Today Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly, tomorrow the world!”

However, that is not the main reason I am writing to you. I thought I’d just let you know that Oakley Dale has put another of her wonderful “How To Feminize Your Boyfriend” broadcasts up. You’d be surprised at all the entertaining things Oakley puts up! You can find it here.

Have a wonderful weekend,

😊

Fiona

Rock The Boat  1974 Hues Corporation
What’s your evacuation wear? What looks best in a inflatable? Being evacuated? Send us a pic for the website! FD
Are you reading the exciting adventures of Andy in “Clothes Maketh The Man”?

Manipulated and taken advantage of by the evil Devina, Andy finds himself compromised into dressing. You’ll never believe what follows!
If you haven’t yet dived into the extraordinary serialised feminization adventure you can find it here:

Read the story – Clothes Maketh The Man http://fionadobson.com/clothes-maketh-the-man-part-1/

Let’s face it, who among us hadn’t had that same thought from time to time – “Heaven’s to Betsy, I wish I had an enormous rack!”.

How convenient it would be to be able to develop an enormous pair of breasts, slip into a silky blouse and wander about crossdressing all morning, before changing back into your overalls for the afternoon shift at the iron foundry. How perfect is that!

Check out our page  of breast formsand accessories for adding a little shape to your chest. HERE

A wig – The crossdressing accessory that changes everything.

crossdressing wig
A wig allows you to adopt a new personality. Put it on, and feel the change!

If you’ve read Clothes Maketh The Man, you’ll know that when Andy found he’d been dressed and prepared, it was the wig that was the most personality changing accessory. So it will be for you.

As you put on the wig and apply a little eye makeup you will rapidly discover that your self image changes. Wigs have a powerful psychological impact on the wearer. You’ll start to see a different person before you – and feel a different person within you.

Below is a selection of wonderful wigs that can be bought online and delivered to you in plain packaging. The wig selection below is designed to give you an entry into the world of hair. Most are budget priced, and wigs can be very expensive, particularly when made of human hair. Before deciding on an expensive wig, try one or two more budget priced options. This will give you an idea of color, and length that will best suit you. FD

Instant breasts for crossdressers!

Let’s face it, who among us hadn’t had that same thought from time to time – “Heaven’s to Betsy, I wish I had an enormous rack!”. How convenient it would be to be able to develop an enormous pair of breasts, slip into a silky blouse and wander about crossdressing all morning, before changing back into your overalls for the afternoon shift at the iron foundry. How perfect is that!

Well, perhaps that’s not your exact image, but I think you get the general idea. Finding the full breast shape and incorporating it into your crossdressing can look magnificent and feel even better. While not for everyone, using breast forms, either adhesive, or within a bra designed for the job, is an interesting way of bringing added authenticity to your look, and to a photosession.

There are certainly ways of encouraging your own natural breast growth, but for some of us, simply buying the right equipment is the most practical solution. And with that in mind I’ve put together a great selection of offerings below. Check them out and keep in mind these are Canadian $ prices, so you’ll actually pay a little less if you are paying in US$.

 

If you’re looking for a totally natural way to enhance breast size, our Breast Enlargement Hypnosis page is something you should seriously consider.  It is a proven method and has been around since the 1960’s. Years ago one could actually buy the vinyl records with this same type of hypnosis, to listen to every night. I imagine such a recording would be quite a collectors item now.

There are also a few dietary supplements that can promote breast growth. One of the simplest things to do is bring more soy milk into your diet, as it  is loaded with estrogen.

I’m not a great fan of pharmaceutical solutions. As I was saying to Julie just the other day, “If you’re going to put something into your body, it would be nice if it can at least buy you dinner later!”

FD

How to feminize your man – Part 2 – With Oakley Dale – Crossdressing

You can find part 1 – here: http://fionadobson.com/oakley-dale/how-to-feminize-your-man-part-1-with-oakley-dale/

 

These instructions are very simple, but they take time. There’s no point rushing this, and you’ll fin it far more enjoyable if you invest the time and effort to make the changes lasting or even permanent. If you haven’t heard the first in this series, just look for the link on FionaDobson.com.

So, by this time, he’s wearing a pair of panties more or less every day. If he has to go to the gym or the pool, maybe you cut him some slack, but otherwise, he’s pantied and you shop together for nice feminine panties. Ask him which ones feel nicest, which feel they feel like they fit best – simply engaging him in the talk will help him say that he likes one over another – which sounds almost like ‘I like wearing them’. You’re actually conditioning him to like them as much as anything. Soon he’ll just put them on without you suggesting it, as long as you continually affirm how turned on it makes you feel.

The fourth task is easy.

One evening, out of the blue ask him to paint your nails. Simple as that… except you tell him how good he is at it “just like my girlfriend xxx. We used to paint each others toe nails hwne we were kids, and then make out, pretending each other were guys. It was pretty hot! Would you like me to paint your nails?”

If you get him a little turned on before you ask him, it will help, but he’ll likely say, “OK, but just one!” Just go along with this, and absent mindedly do them all. Don’t worry, he’ll play along. Once painted, refresh them every three or four days, and tell him that each time you see them you get so turned on you just can’t help it.

Next – Task 5.

At some point you’re going to have to begin something he may have wanted for years. If he’s ever talked about ‘anal’ now’s your chance to give him what he wants, though maybe not quite the way he anticipated. Next time you make love have a small vibrator, or adult toy, and surprise him with it. There’s a first time for everything, after all. Tell him, you like it because it makes you feel powerful. You love that he trusts you so much. Tell him you always wanted to and so few men let you do what you want.

Now keep in mind he’s pretty receptive to your training by now. He’s ready to do anything for this enhanced sex life. He’s also unknowingly drifting into an increasing submissive sexual role. You should be sure that you are stimulating him anally when he climaxes, and that’s going to be a feature of your lovemaking from this point forward. What you’re doing is setting up the association of him eventually needing to feel the anal excitement to achieve orgasm.

By this time, when he comes, you should be using language such as – ‘You’re such a good girl,” and “My little girl loves to be used, deosn’t she?” whenever you’re enjoying sexual intimacy. Believe me, he’s going to be so occupied enjoying himself, you won’t need to worry about what he is thinking.

In fact, at this point he’s going to be so receptive to suggestion during the process that he won’t even realise that he’s being programmed into a femme role. It’s going to seem like the most natural thing in the world.

On to Task Six. This is one you have to play very carefully. In fact, in successful feminizations of this sort, this is the tell tale task – the one that dictates what happens next.

Ask him if he finds that his orgasm is more intense following a period of not having sex. You should be recording each time you have sex up to this point, and you’re now going to find what the average period between nights when you have sex is.

So, if it’s every four or five days you are going to need to know that. Here’s why; you’re going to deny him sexual release for at least double the average period between sex. Now, he’s not to know that you’ll likely satisfy yourself, or make your own arrangements. During this time you should keep encouraging him, telling how good it will be.

When the time comes, and you do make love, he’ll be thrilled. However, you are going to pretend that you think he’s been jerking off and relieving himself. You want to try the experiment again. Only this time you want to be sure it really works, which is why you’re going to ask one of your girlfriends to get hold of a chastity device. He’ll balk at the idea at first, but you let him know it’s just for a few days.

Now, I’m happy to answer your questions – but if you’re enjoying this, then perhaps you should check out http://FionaDobson.com – where you can learn all about crossdressing. And if you want to feminize your boyfriend, be sure to look out for Part 2 in this 3 part series, by following me on Twitter and Periscope. That way you’ll know when I’m doing them, but they’re also on http://FionaDobson.com – You can also find more of my Periscopes at http://OakleyDale.com

Goodnight.

OD

Continuing crossdressing adventures, and leotards!

Hi,

I am pleased to report that Bernard is making a slow but healthy recovery and seems to be over the worst after his unfortunate encounter with a carrot. I visited him this morning and when I arrived home from the hospital I found my wife’s appalling friend Amanda at my house. Max had let her in, something I’d warned him about, but he seemed to have forgotten. I was a little irritated as I had a lot on, and had to get to a jazzercise class which would start shortly.

As I hurried in Max silently mouthed his apology.

“Hello, Amanda,” I said as I heard her beige trouser suit rustle in my direction and she appeared from the living room. “Have you been having fun on the newsdesk?”

“Why, what have you heard?” she replied nervously.

I couldn’t really imagine what fun one could have on the newsdesk of Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly, but didn’t waste too much time thinking about it.

“I wasn’t expecting you today,” I said. Had I known she’d be coming I would have been out.

“Well, I thought I’d stop by. Leo’s with me today,” she said, and glanced over her shoulder into the living room.

I should explain, and I’d like to do this with the sympathy and delicacy this subject deserves, that Leo is what we used to call ‘developmentally disadvantaged.’ He is a very sweet young man, but has never really progressed beyond the early stages of mental development. Now, I should point out that in Canada we have a very inclusive approach to those less fortunate than ourselves, and we embrace those less able than the rest of us. It’s a point on which we stand with great national pride. Not withstanding my recent unfortunate episode with a homeless person, I believe we measure ourselves as a nation by how we treat the less fortunate. To us, universal healthcare at no cost whatsoever, for example, is an absolute no brainer. Which, in it’s way makes what happened this afternoon even more difficult to relate.

I made my apologies to Amanda and said I had to hurry to get ready for my Jazzercise class, and had to change, and so hurried upstairs. I had washed and prepared a few things, and as I gathered them together and put them in my bag, I realised I’d left some clothes lying in the living room.

I called down to Max, who came upstairs.

“Max,” I said, “I seem to have left some things in the living room. Some tights and a leotard, they’re probably in the living room. Can you be a sweetheart and see if you can find them. I think they may be lying over the back of the chair by the window.

With that I changed out of my office clothes and into a light summer dress. I’d slip into my dancewear at the studio.

It was then that I heard a commotion from downstairs, and the slamming of the front door. From my bedroom window I saw Amanda hurry to her Prius, and help her brother Leo into the passenger seat. I couldn’t think what had caused such a commotion, and a moment later Max was politely knocking on my bedroom door.

I opened it and stepped out.

“What on earth was that all about?” I asked.

“I think I must have said something to upset Amanda… I don’t know what I did. She just erupted.”

“Max, calm down. I’m sure it’s nothing.  Just tell me what you said.”

Max followed me downstairs, and recounted his words.

“I just walked into the living room and said to Amanda that you were changing upstairs and I had come down to find a leotard that was lying around in the living room.”

“That’s all you said?”

“Yes,” he said looking hurt.

“Those were your exact words?” I pressed him.

For a moment he closed his eyes, and then in a moment of reflection he said, “No, wait a moment… I came through that door, and then I said “Is there a leotard lying around in here?”… And that’s when she took off in a huff!”

“Oh,” I replied.  “You don’t think she thought you were referring to her brother, do you? I mean, his name is Leo… and he is… well, you know.”

We looked at each other ashamed of ourselves. I felt pretty sure I had an awkward phone call ahead to make to Amanda.

But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you today. I thought I’d drop you a line and tell you about some of the spectacular leotards that you can find on my website. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. That’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it? They’re versatile and fun, and as you’ll see can be worn either in a very femme way, or quite an androgynous manner. Check out the page on my sitethat tells you about them and you’ll find they’re fun and can make you look great.

Till next week.

😊

Fiona

If your mum comes in while you’re watching this, switch to porn whatever you do. It’s just easier to explain away!

How to feminize your man – Part 1 – With Oakley Dale

These instructions are very simple, but they take time. There’s no point rushing this, and you’ll fin it far more enjoyable if you invest the time and effort to make the changes lasting or even permanent.

So, here’s how you start – and I suggest you don’t really tell him much about what you’re doing. We all love surprises, right?

So, the first step is really simple. All you need to do is, one night when it seems he’s eager to have sex, and you can make that happen by teasing him a bit, or denying him anything for a while, you’re simply going to ask him to wear your panties while he makes love.

Now, don’t push it further. Just ask him to, and tell him it makes you feel really turned on. Most guys will go for this. If you need to, just tell him it gets you excited about a lesbian fantasy you have. Don’t worry, he’ll go for it.

You’ll probably find he likes this exercise, but the next one is going to be more challenging, so you need to be quite insistent. Wait for a few days, and keep telling him how hot it was when he made love to you in your panties. But now you’re going to ask him if he wouldn’t mind shaving for you. You want him to shave his pubic hair and also his legs.

When you do this tell him that you actually find that men’s body hair really grosses you out. You had a previous boyfriend who understood, and when he shaved it became so much more sensual for you. In fact he found it more intimate too, and the sex was way better.

After he’s shaved once, insist he keeps his genitals and legs shaved. Each time you make love tell him how you like it so much more now. Suggest to him that he seems to be enjoying it more now, too.

Now, you’re a week or so into this exercise now, which is when you tell him that you want him to wear your panties every time you have sex. Tell him, you’d do the same for him – and that you really admire a man who is so committed to pleasing you.

When you buy feminine razors, about this time, start buying him feminine razors. There’s little difference other than the color, of course, but you are beginning to condition him into this new behavior. At this stage he’ll have little idea that you are modifying his behaviour – but that’s OK.

In fact, it suits you just fine.

Now, I’m happy to answer your questions – but if you’re enjoying this, then perhaps you should check out http://FionaDobson.com – where you can learn all about crossdressing. And if you want to feminize your boyfriend, be sure to look out for Part 2 in this 3 part series, by following me on Twitter and Periscope. That way you’ll know when I’m doing them, but they’re also on FionaDobson.com – You can also find more of my Periscopes at http://OakleyDale.com

Goodnight.

OD

 

Fire and Furry.

I’m emailing you having just returned from the heart unit, where I am happy to relate that Bernard is in the process of recovery from his rather unfortunate incident with a carrot.  This is much to the relief of Max, who for a moment thought he may have blood (or rather carrot juice) on his hands after shooting Bernard with the aid of Sebastian’s motorcycle. If this is all a bit confusing you may be able to catch up here.

I arrived home to find Sylvester sitting at my kitchen table looking more confused than a Trump supporter who had recently learned that he’d won a months free food at Hooters, only to discover that he had to complete a skill testing question asking him to calculate the area of a square measuring 2 inches by 2 inches, before being eligible to collect his prize. I asked Sylvester what could possibly be wrong.

“It’s this business with North Korea. My dad was out there years ago, and that didn’t go so well,” said Sylvester.

Now, in case you’ve been living under a rock – which might be the safest place to be under the circumstances – then you might be unaware that people are talking about the possibility of nuclear war. At times like this one is forced to ask the big questions. ‘What’s it all for?’, and ‘Isn’t there hope for humanity?’, and ‘What does one really wear for Armageddon?’.

As I looked down at my troubled friend, I was forced to conclude that one should always look on the bright side, and dress up for the occasion. Seeing Sylvester’s legs, also brought something else to mind, and consider that this is a man who looks like a gorilla and a fridge got together and created a baby.
I am of course talking about the need to deal with body hair when one crossdresses. The need to look one’s best supersedes all other considerations as the nuclear clock ticks toward midnight. Sylvester’s legs are very hairy, and if one is to meet one’s end looking fabulous either waxing it off, or at least disguising the body hair is a great place to start.

Not all of my members are able to shave their legs. For those who discretely dress without the knowledge of their partners, suddenly appearing without leg hair may be something of a give away. One member did successfully claim that their new swimming regime required them to remove as much body hair as possible, but this isn’t going to fly for some members.

In the quest to disguise body hair the fishnet pantyhose are your friends. Better still, try a fishnet body stocking. No one should be without one, in my opinion. If you’re unable to find one locally, you can follow this link and order one on my website.

So, the question remains, faced with the unpleasant eventuality of nuclear annihilation, what would your outfit be? Personally, I think nice summer dress and some heels, pretty pink bra and panties. Feel free to let me know.

Now don’t forget, you can now join My Little Black Book for just $2.95 a month by using this link – https://gumroad.com/l/mMgcZ.  Be sure to let me know once you’ve paid and I’ll get you set up.

😊

Fiona

Leotards – a great way to keep fit and look great doing so.

Whether you like to get into a dance class, or just like to do a little yoga at home, you can look wonderful at the bar or on the mat by slipping into something figure hugging and fun.

Now if you read my weekly emails you’ll realise the unfortunate story behind the leotards and the whole thing with Amanda – but if not, you may like to browse through these anyway. You can sign up for the free program here.

For those who want to wear their leotard in a slightly different way, it’s going to look great as a top, over jeans or just a light skirt. As a simple androgenous look there are many leotards that work perfectly, and as a feminine icon, it is of course, spectacular. FD.

It’s summer – it’s mini skirt weather!

It’s time to get into that mini skirt and show off your curves.  The hypnosis file above will help you make up your mind to get out there and give it a try, all you need to do now is select a great skirt and off you go! Remember to check sizes, and most guys will be a XXL.

Here’s a few great options you can order online.

Don’t ever underestimate the power of a mini skirt. It will change the way you look, and change the way you feel. Be sure of one thing, though. If you’re going to wear a mini, you have to wear it like you mean it!

FD

Bernard goes beyond.

Bernard goes beyond.

Hi,

Well, I’m sure you’re aware of the latest events around Bernard being shot in the chest with a carrot – if not you can catch up here – which has left us all very worried about his health.

To get you up to date, it wasn’t until several hours after he’d been carted off in the ambulance, following Max getting so upset about what he described as Sebastian and I doing yoga ‘doggy style’in my garden, that I managed to get through to the emergency department. The head nurse left me on hold as she went to see what had happened to poor Bernard.

Now, as you likely know, Bernard recently had a heart transplant following a Tazering incident, and we were all most concerned that he may have been severely hurt by the flying vegetable. Additionally, Max was getting increasingly worried about the idea that he may have committed a crime.

I had the phone in my kitchen on speaker, as Max and I waited to be transferred. I remember the moment in some detail, as I had just finished freshening my nail polish and I couldn’t very well hold the cell. Really, though, that scarlet color is simply to die for!

I asked Max to paint my toe nails, as I waited on hold. I was standing there on one leg, my other foot on a bar stool, my tight leggings showing the well defined shape of my legs, as Max painted my toes. You know, you might think me a little cruel, but I do get a little thrill from the fact that his eyes would drift up my leg from time to time. Torturing the puppies is a secret pleasure of mine!

“Is that Fiona Dobson,” came the nurses voice.

“It most certainly is,” I replied.

“Yes, Ms. Dobson. Bernard has you listed as his primary contact.”

“Of course he does!” I said, attempting to keep the frustration from my voice.

“Well, Ms. Dobson, I’m sorry to tell you this…”

At that moment Max’s hand shakily managed to paint one of my toes.

“Just a moment,” I said, then turning to Max, “for goodness sake, Max. Please be more attentive!”

I turned back to the phone, “Go on, dear,” I said.

“Yes,” she continued, “I’m sorry but I have to tell you…”

“Max!” I shouted, as he slipped once more. “Do be careful!”

The nurse continued, “I’m sorry but Bernard is no longer with us.”

There was a pause, and Max fell pale. I took the phone off speaker mode, and said to the nurse, “But … How?”

“He’s no longer in the emergency department,” continued the nurse. “He’s been transferred to the Intensive Care Unit, he’s scheduled for heart surgery later today.”

Now, I am sure you know I am not an unkind individual. However, I do confess I thought briefly about leaving Max in his growing sense of panic. Mentally, he was already gathering a few things and ready to head to Mexico.

I arranged to visit in the morning, and hung up the phone.

“Don’t worry, Max. Bernard’s having surgery. I’m sure he’s got a good chance of a full recovery.  It was a nasty accident, that’s all. We can go to see him in the morning.”

With that, Sebastian entered the kitchen, doing his very best to be helpful. “I feel I should come, too. After all, it was my exhaust pipe from which he was hurt. I feel a kind of karmic obligation.”

“How thoughtful you are,” I said. “Max, my nails aren’t going to paint themselves!”

“Perhaps I could take him one of my nice recordings of relaxing sounds. That’s sure to make him feel better. Fiona, what’s the most relaxing sound you can think of. Whale song? The sound of the wind through a forest?”

“I think the sound of the door closing as Amanda leaves my house following one of her visits. That always leaves me feeling better,” I said.

“I think whale song might be more relaxing,” murmured Sebastian.

With that we did our best to put our fears for Bernard to rest. Max continued to do my toe nails and we resolved to visit the hospital the following morning.

And so it was that we decided to visit the following morning, Max and Sebastian bringing both guilt and karmic balance, and I some perfectly painted nails and a rather smart pleated skirt.

I shall let you know how things went next week.

😊

Fiona

You can now join My Little Black Book for just $2.95 a month and start connecting with CDs and Admirers right away.

Julie is working hard to get this new price structure in place and to help more of our members connect with each other. If you’ve never read her story you can do so here.  Julie also has a pretty cool Tumblr page here: https://julierenner-cd.tumblr.com/

With over 400 members spread throughout the world you are sure to connect with one of this growing network of friends and people sharing your interest.

Use the link below to sign up and then email me to let me know, and I will set you up immediately, so you can start emailing and connecting with others right away.

Join My Little Black Book – $2.95 a month.

If you’re in the Little Black Book already, you know what it’s like to be so hot for her… At just $2.95 you can’t loose!
Are you reading the exciting adventures of Andy in “Clothes Maketh The Man”?

Manipulated and taken advantage of by the evil Devina, Andy finds himself compromised into dressing. You’ll never believe what follows!
If you haven’t yet dived into the extraordinary serialised feminization adventure you can find it here:

Read the story – Clothes Maketh The Man http://fionadobson.com/clothes-maketh-the-man-part-1/

No one should be without a body stocking!

If you are getting my weekly emails – which you get when you sign up for the Free Program – you’ll already know the importance of having a great body stocking in your wardrobe.  I was reminded, when looking at Sylvester’s legs the other day, that some of us bare a closer resemblance to the lower primates than others. Having a great body stocking is a good way to disguise body hair.

Here’s a selection of options that are fun, easy to wear and will make you feel fabulous.

 

 

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The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 11.

Ben’s feet moved cautiously across the creaking floor, his hand in mine as I guided him blindfolded towards the sounds of the group. Goosebumps studded his naked form, still wet from the shower. I’d reapplied his makeup, but without the corset and striated with the marks of heavy use and a slight limp, he looked less magnificent now. After her frigid baptismal cleansing in the chemical room, Britney looked every part the fallen woman. But she wasn’t done falling yet.

 

“Just remember, I’ll be here.”

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

Roger, Brad, Pierre and David stood beside the wooden chair between the machines. Cuffs dangled from the hook above. A case of red wine had been opened and the men were drinking and whispering conspiratorially amongst themselves, bottles in hand, their voices growing silent as we approached.

 

I handed Ben to Roger, who took him by the arms and guided him up to stand on the wooden chair, fastening Ben’s wrists in the cuffs so his arms were ballerina-like above his stretched torso.

 

I took the tasselled leather whip the men had left for me beside the chair and began teasing it over Ben’s nipples, feeling him stiffen as I moved it around his sides, a smirk forming on his face.

 

“It… tickles…”

 

SMACK!

 

“So, Roger, how good would you say the sound insulation of this place is?”

 

The tassels moved down Ben’s back, I flicked him lazily on his right buttock, playing with him. Roger harrumphed, pulling out what looked like a blade from his pocket and poking David gently on the arm with it. David drew back with a snap as Roger laughed.

 

Electro shock blades. I had seen these before but never had much desire to use them. Roger looked half cut already, which was disappointing. If he thought he was using that on my Ben, he had another thing coming. That said, I was game to test it out. I figured Ben had had ample time to show evidence of a heart condition by now – if I hadn’t shocked him into a coronary so far with my antics, chances were a little surge of electricity to the testicles probably wouldn’t do it either.

 

“The windows are obviously cracked, but no one comes here. I used to work part time as a security guard here in the evening. No one but the dogs.”

 

“Good.”

 

SMACK!

 

Ben’s body moved gracefully from side to side with every slap of the whip. A faint sigh. His cock, shrunken from the frigid water of the shower, started to grow again. I walked back to his front, cracking the whip down on his hips, his thighs, with increasing speed. Roger was playing around with the CD player – the Greenskeepers’ “Lotion” started to play. I had to stifle a giggle. It did help me get a fairly even tempo with the whip though, leather biting into flesh in two-four time.  I’ve always been good at timing. At boarding school I played violin in the orchestra. These days, I do a fair bit of fiddling, but very little of it with strings.

 

I was going for Ben’s cock now with the whip, not as hard as I could, but hard enough to make him teeter and exclaim an occasional profanity.

 

“Language, Britney. Or I’ll make these gentlemen choose what to wash your mouth out with.”

 

Hardly a deterrent – the little pervert looked positively excited at the prospect, the beginnings of that irritating smirk on his face. Any hesitation I felt about him being too fragile disappeared with that smirk. Oh, we were going to play with him alright.

 

“Sorry Mistress.”

 

Half way through the song, David stepped forward with the marker pen Roger had given him earlier.

 

 “I think the meat is sufficiently beaten now, Katia. Thank you.”

 

I stepped back watching as David ran his hand appreciatively over Ben’s thigh, his belly and his back. Ben shuddered at this new touch of coarse hands, as the butcher pinched and slapped his flanks. Evaluating.

 

“Have you heard of Kobe beef, Britney?”

 

“O.. of course… Why?”

 

David uncapped the pen and began drawing the cool ink down in a dotted line around his waist.

 

“Katia… Mistress?”

 

“I’m here, Britney. Try to breathe. Your hands tied above your head like that may make you dizzy after a while. Breathing will help.”

 

“But…”

 

“Shhh, Shhh.”

 

David drew words between each line. Flank steak, brisket, stew meat. Short plate, fore shank. His handwriting was surprisingly elegant, not what I would have expected from a man in his profession. Almost a waste. Roger twisted the wine opener into the cork of a new bottle. Ben jolted in his restraints as the cork released with a pop.

 

“Well, let me tell you, Britney, Kobe beef is the finest of beef. Before the cows are slaughtered, they are massaged with sake for hours, to improve the skin’s softness. Sometimes they feed them sake, to increase their appetite. A plump cow is a tasty one. Here… you have a sip…”

 

Roger leaned up to Ben’s lips with the bottle. Ben, now so programmed to respond to anything near his lips, obediently opened his mouth and allowed Roger to pour the garnet liquid down his throat.

 

“Interestingly in France, they have a similar practice. Except there’s no massaging, they just fed the cows up to two bottles of wine a day. As with the cows in Japan, the booze increases their appetite. They get fat and happy. Not a bad way to go, eh?”

 

“Drink.” Roger pushed the neck of the bottle back up to Ben’s mouth, bumping it roughly off the sides of his lips, the glass chinking against the hardness of tooth.

 

“You will be more careful with my slave, Roger. I’m a Mistress, not a dentist after all.”

 

Roger shot me the scowl of a boy disciplined in front of his friends. This may have been his game, but Ben was still mine, so if Mr. Bigshot wanted to play with my toy, he had to play by my rules. Roger’s problem was not his imagination, or his eloquence, but how sloppily he conducted himself in the game. The shaky hands, drinking too much and the arrogance. So like a man to lose sight of important details. The problem, I suppose, with two heads rather than one to think with – when both are altogether too big.

 

“How about I pour. You can go back to your bottle. I’ll take the blade too, if you don’t mind.”

 

Ben’s smirk disappeared.

 

“Blade? Mistress? What blade? I never agreed to….”

 

SMACK!

 

“You will be silent unless spoken to, is that clear?”

 

“Yes Mistress. Sorry Mistress, but…”

 

I kneed him in the balls and he yelped, falling silent.

 

Roger, irritated, passed me the bottle of Merlot and the blade, which I stuffed into my bra. I climbed up onto the chair, tilting the bottle to Ben’s lips, who sipped and half choked with his trembling. David continued to scribble furiously below me, as I ran my fingers through Ben’s hair. Short ribs, porterhouse, chuck. Pierre shifted his weight impatiently on the balls of his feet, eyeballing the helpless captive, his pupils almost black with excitement.

 

“Pierre,” David turned around, “You’re up.”

 

“I’d be delighted.” Pierre giggled.

 

“You know, Britney. I’m a little disappointed,” David said, moving forward. “I took you for a lady when I first saw you, but I see now that you’re just a small cocked, deceptive little faggot who likes being jazzed on. I feel deceived. I think we should punish him, don’t you guys?”

 

“Cut off his balls!” cackled Roger, from the corner.

 

Ben’s thighs instinctively pressed together. His arms rattled in the restraints – he was trying to wrap his legs around me, as if that was going to help anything!

 

“Safeword! Mistress – What’s the safeword?”

 

“Oh you forgot to remind me about a safeword beforehand. Silly you. It’s too late now, my dear. If I were you, I’d go along with it as best you can. On the bright side, you’ll still have your cock…”

 

“Mistress!”

 

I slapped him. He kept on wriggling, trying to anchor my shin with his leg. It really got exciting when Brad turned on one of the metal saws. Sparks flew as an ear splitting screech of agitating metal ripped through the old building, making the thin panes of the windows chatter. Ben screamed then. I placed my face against his, kissing his ear, tasting the sweat running down the side of his face. Brad turned off the saw.

 

“W..what are you going to do to me? Please don’t cut off my balls… please!” Ben shook in his shackles, the chair legs clacking below him.

 

Please… please….” Roger taunted.

 

I shot David a concerned look as tears started to stream down Ben’s cheek. The butcher mouthed ‘it will be ok’. Ben trembled in my arms. Pierre knelt down on a stool in front of Ben. His large hands running down the outside of Ben’s thighs, working inwards towards his erection, that – despite the terror – grew none the less.

 

“The problem with the whole slaughtering business…” David said, “Is that you don’t want the animal to feel the fear before it dies. Frightened meat tastes awful. You want to know why, Britney?”

 

“N…n… no….”

 

“Well, I’ll get Brad to tell you anyway. Brad – you spock – why don’t you tell us? You’re the biochemistry student…”

 

“Fear produces adrenaline. Adrenaline uses glycogen, glycogen converts to lactic acid post mortem. So less glycogen means less lactic acid means tough, acidic and tasteless meat.”

 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Brad’s a smart kid, aren’t you?”

 

Brad raised his glass of wine. Thankfully barely touched. He looked the smartest of all of them. Shame he was so incredibly dull. But that’s the way it goes with excitement – chances are the people who excite you most aren’t the ones who are good for you.

 

“How about you, Britney? You finish school? How many teachers did you have to suck off to graduate? Ah, never mind. So listen, Britney, you’ll like this. So with this slaughtering business I’m in, the problem comes when the animal anticipates something terrible is coming. Animals are smart, like us – we have our fears for a reason. But as the slaughterhouse attendant, you have a duty to keep those animals dumb and accepting for as long as you can. Happy even. So even though you’re terrified now… your legs are quaking below you, you’re barely breathing…”

 

“Breathe, Ben.” I commanded. He took a deep breath. A tear was running down his cheek. His bottom lip quivered. I almost felt bad. Almost.

 

“Even though you’re terrified, if we arouse you at the same time, there’s a chance that you’ll accept whatever we do to you next with far less resistance.”

 

“But I can’t resist, I’m tied up! Katia! Katia! I’m frightened! I’m frightened! Please… these people are crazy…”

 

I climbed up on the chair, embraced Ben tightly in my arms and wrapped my leg around him, kissing him. I enjoyed the feeling of his boner against me as I did so. Savouring the fear and desire of this helpless man who would, by now, foolishly do pretty much anything I told him to, because I was his Mistress.

 

“I think we’re all a little crazy, Britney. Perhaps you the most. You chose to come here, to this factory so far from civilization that no one can hear you scream. With these strangers who used and humiliated you. You had the chance to leave, and you didn’t. Obey the commands. I’ll be there throughout, and to hold you at the end. Whatever is left. Body and mind.”

I laughed, taking the bottle and pouring the wine into Ben’s mouth and letting it drip down his illustrated front, down his cock, to Pierre’s waiting mouth. Pierre lapped at the wine, then enclosed Ben’s erection in his large lips, sucking and smacking at the prize he’d craved from the beginning while Ben’s fear made him cry, and his arousal made him thrust into the stranger’s mouth. In this moment, fear and pleasure fused into something far more potent – Ben had the choice to hold both, but one cannot hold both forever. As Pierre moved to Ben’s balls with his admirable suction, Ben gave himself entirely to the pleasure of the moment. I poured more wine, a little, then a large stream, coming down over Ben like a river of fragrant blood. Sticky and warm from being stored in the hot entranceway locker.

 

As the bottle drained its last few drops, Ben writhed more on the chair, starting to feel the alcohol, but also the increasing, painful need to release in a way he hadn’t been able to under my care.

 

“Mistress… I’m going to cum…”

 

“You can wait…”

 

“I can’t… please… please can I cum?”

 

Pierre eyes were rolled back in his head as he fiercely slurped between Ben’s leg’s. Pierre wanted Ben’s cum just as much as he’d wanted Ben’s ass. I liked Pierre’s enthusiasm. When Pierre glanced over at me, I gave him a nod. He worked faster.

 

“Mistress I….”

 

Brad turned on the metal saw again. Ben screamed and came at the same time, his entire body shuddering in violent orgasm, pushing himself into Pierre’s mouth as Pierre latched hungrily to his cock and sucked as if he wished to turn Ben inside out. The wooden floor vibrated below us. Sparks bouncing off the plastic safety glass around the machine.

 

As Ben caught his breath, I approached him with the blade. The edge is not sharp like a knife, but thin enough to feel like one – if one’s mind has been addled by the play. The real pain comes from the voltage dispensed from the end on the push of a button. I passed the wine to Roger, who stood poised on Ben’s other side. David lit a candle, then pulled out of his pocket a tissue with some nail clippings in it. In some other circumstance, I would have been disgusted, but Roger had explained earlier the purpose of every move. Nails burnt in the flame of the candle release a foul smell, not unlike burning hair. Olfactory horror.

 

I grasped Ben’s sack in my hand, and slowly ran the knife edge along it. Ben pulled backwards, Brad helping to hold him steady.

 

“There’s nowhere to go, Ben. I suggest you breathe. I don’t want to do it, but I suppose I’ll have to. After all, it’s just the two of us against the four of them, mm? And you don’t want me to get into trouble, do you Ben? I mean, you’d do anything for me, right?”

 

“Y… yes but…”

 

“Even this.”

 

“B… but you said…”

 

“I promise you I’ll do this as quickly as I can, OK? If you squirm, I might miss and get an artery – we wouldn’t want that, right?”

 

“Mistress!”

 

“Shhh… shhh… Ben. Now – hold still.”

 

I pressed the button and the blade discharged the shock. Ben cried out, then slumped in his restraints, passed out. I checked his pulse. Still alive, but no doubt he’d be a little cross with me when he woke up.

 

Quickly, the men helped me unshackle him and carried him outside to the parking lot, disappearing inside to dispose of all evidence and close up before driving us back to the hotel.

 

 

*

 

 

Ben didn’t stir until we hit the expressway. His eyes blinked open, once, twice. Then suddenly his hand whipped down between his legs, grasping in the dim light for that reassuring softness he thought he’d lost.

 

“I still have… my balls! My balls! Yes! Yes!”

 

He was as excited as a kid at Christmas, fondling his beloved sack. It was almost cute.

Connecting with other members of Fiona’s Little Black Book.

By now you should have your Profile up in Fiona’s Little Black Book, a nice pic – or even just something simple until you have the time to do a really good one. Now it’s time to think about reaching out to others.

You don’t want to just sit there and wait for someone to connect. That’s just a wee bit too passive. No, as Sebastian said to me while pulling on his spandex cycling shorts, “Gotta get out there and seize the day!”

Actually, anyone wandering around in those shorts should be more concerned about someone grabbing them – there’s just too much on display, if you ask me.

So, now you’re going to send out at least three ‘Requests To Connect’. That’s what we call it when you send a message out to other members of Fiona’s Little Black Book. You might be tempted to send out hundred – but resist this urge. This is a marathon, not a sprint.

The smartest way to do this is to write a simple email – and save the contents in a Word document, or another similar program. Then use it as a template for the various emails you’re going to send out. You’ll be going back to that original document and tweaking it now and then. You may find that initially it’s not generating the responses you’d like to get, so it will need a little polishing. By saving it, and reworking it, you’ll gradually improve the quality.

Just hitting the entire membership in one go would not let you refine the email. So, gradually as you reach out to others, you’ll be refining your message and improving it.

Be sure you say a little about yourself, say a little about what has brought you to Fiona’s Little Black Book, and be sure to mention some of the things on Http://FionaDobson.com that you’ve enjoyed. Then – and this is the important bit – be sure to ask a few questions about the person you’re writing to. You’ll probably have to tailor that part of your email to each individual, based on what they’ve put in their dating profile.

Ask one or two of your friends what aspects of you are appealing to others. Hopefully there are some! Either way, be as honest and as open as you reasonably can be. There’s no point trying to deceive anyone in the Little Black Book. It’s just going to lead to disappointment.

All our members have committed to our Guidelines – http://fionadobson.com/about/the-guidelines/ – so be sure you’re familiar with these and you’ll be well received.

Most members find that if they set aside about thirty minutes every week to send out a set of Requests to Connect, they very soon have a good network of friends developing. It’s great to select one close by, one mid distance, and someone far away. This provides variety and helps those who are far away find connection they need.

Fiona’s Little Black Book is as much about supporting others that feel alone as it is about finding local friends. Don’t be afraid to reach out across the miles.

Julie.

Max, we appreciate your service.

Before I go any further I would like to say that like my valued members I stand with all our brave people serving in the military regardless of color, gender or race. I strongly believe that anyone who has ever been exposed to the realities of conflict knows very well, we have other more important things to get on with, rather than focusing on distractions that do nothing but further the questionable agenda of one sad old man. Our servicemen protect our rights and freedoms – which is kind of the point, isn’t it?

I’ve received several emails from members of the services who are members of FionaDobson.com. All I can do is reassure them that their service is appreciated and that this will pass. Calmer heads will prevail.

Now, let me see if I can give you the short strokes to get you caught up with the exciting happenings here in Montreal. You may remember last weekBernard, my photographer, had been shot in the chest with a nefarious carrot. Unknown to me at the time Max had pushed the offending vegetable  up Sebastians exhaust pipe after becoming agitated while watching Sebastian and I doing yoga.

As the ambulance raced off Max sidled up to me, looking the picture of guilt ridden youth, and said “Fiona, there’s something you should know.”

I bent  down and picked up the carrot and frowned.

“What on earth is a carrot doing here?” I said, as the ambulance siren faded in the distance.

“Actually, I might know something about that…” said Max, where upon he told me the whole grissly story.

“But what on earth possessed you to put it there?” I asked.

“It was seeing the two of you in the garden. Seeing you do yoga, doggy style!”

“I think you mean downward dog. Well, these leggings don’t leave much to the imagination,” I mused.

At this point Sebastian, who had been inspecting his motorcycle for damage, wandered over.

“Pretty bad luck, that. You don’t often hear of someone being carroted to death.”

Several years ago a young man I was acquainted with had a nasty incident with a squash (that’s a marrow if you’re in the UK), but I thought it better not to mention it.

“You don’t think he’ll die, do you?” Asked Max.

“He was doing a pretty good impression of it, when he was choking here in the driveway, three minutes ago,” said Sebastian. “I always told him he should eat more vegetables.”

“He’s only just recovered from a heart transplant. I think the sooner we dispose of the evidence the better. Max, why don’t you get rid of that carrot and if anybody asks, the bike just backfired,  ok?”

“Why?” Said Max, looking genuinely niaive.

“Because, Max, if the wrong people ask questions, someone might get the idea you accidently murdered poor Bernard.”

“Urgh! Murdered?” Gasped Max.

Sebastian interjected at this point, “I’m not sure you can ‘accidentally’ murder someone.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Stammered Max.

“Of course you didn’t. But anyone dumb enough to believe that Bernard was shot in the chest with a carrot is dumb enough to believe it was murder. It’s better all round just to say there was a bang and Bernard collapsed.”

I handed Max the carrot. “I suggest you feed the evidence to your rabbit.”

😊

Fiona

You can now join My Little Black Book for just $2.95 a month and start connecting with CDs and Admirers right away.

Julie is working hard to get this new structure in place and help more of our members have a place to connect. If you’ve never read her story you can do so here.  Julie also has a pretty cool Tumblr page here: https://julierenner-cd.tumblr.com/

With over 400 members spread throughout the world you are sure to connect with one of this growing network of friends and people sharing your interest.

Use the link below to sign up and then email me to let me know, and I will set you up immediately, so you can start emailing and connecting with others right away.

Join My Little Black Book – $2.95 a month.

Ian Dury - Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll
Grey is such a pity.
Are you reading the exciting adventures of Andy in “Clothes Maketh The Man”?

Manipulated and taken advantage of by the evil Devina, Andy finds himself compromised into dressing. You’ll never believe what follows!
If you haven’t yet dived into the extraordinary serialised feminization adventure you can find it here:

Read the story – Clothes Maketh The Man http://fionadobson.com/clothes-maketh-the-man-part-1/

If you’re looking to connect with others crossdressers and chat, Skype or meet, then you should definitely check out My Little Black Book.

That aside, there’s some great people in My Little Black Book,and you can have a lot of fun with it. Give it a try for just $2.95 a month and you are sure to make some interesting connections. JR

Writing your Profile in Fiona’s Little Black Book.

Fiona always tells me, don’t write in a hurry. Slip into something comfortable, a nice skirt or leggings, and then take a moment to write a few bullet points of what you want to say. Then leave it for an hour or so. Then come back and write your first draft.

I think she’s got a point. I always write best when I am dressed in a manner I like. I also think more clearly that way. So, when you write your profile in Fiona’s Little Black Book, don’t rush it. It doesn’t have to be long – two or three paragraphs is enough to kindle most people’s interest, if you write something worth writing.

A single line profile will get the attention it deserves – which is very little. If you walked into a party and introduced yourself by saying “I’m Jeff and I like your tits,” you’re probably not going to get far. A better approach might be, “Hey, I’m Jeff, and I can see you like to take care of yourself. I love to ski, and I’d love to show you a few cool places to get out and have some fun on ski’s.”

I think you get the idea. And remember, the profile is just the first step. You’ll have plenty of time for people to get to know you after they make that initial contact. You can go into detail in subsequent emails. The idea of the profile is just to stimulate that initial connection.

I asked a few of our friends what they thought were good ideas about what to say in your profile. Sylvester, our mechanic, was stopping by for tea yesterday. He took me for a ride on his huge chopper, and then we sat in the garden talking about online profiles. He is a very good looking man, in his bottomless chaps.

He suggested “Tell the guys not to oversell themselves. It sounds insecure, and it leads to disappointment. Just tell people who you are and what you like to do. Curiosity will take over from there.”

I thought that rather good advice. You’ll have plenty of time to elaborate after the initial contact, so keeping things simple but well thought out sounds like good advice.

After you’ve written your profile, step back and have a break. Take a look at it later, and imagine you were reading it on someone else’s profile. Is it interesting, original and engaging? If it is you’ve got a winning formula.

Keep in mind that if, after a week or two, it’s not getting the right amount of attention, you may want to tweak it or even start from scratch. There’s nothing wrong with that at all. When you have it just right, you’ll know.

We like members of Fiona’s Little Black Book to try and reach out once a week to at least three new people. The best approach is to contact one person relatively close by, someone more distant and one from far away. This approach ensures you get a good variety of connections.

One of our favorite members is in Zambia. The connection they feel with others is most likely going to come from Skype or email. That is no less valuable than the friend you meet for coffee every Thursday evening.

Keep an open mind about distance friendships. This is, after all, the 21st century.

Julie.

Creating your dating profile in My Little Black Book.

I remember Fiona telling me, one quiet afternoon after we’d had a pedicure together, “We should make it easier for our members to get it up!”

I was a little surprised. Fiona is rarely quite so direct.

“We should make it really easy for them to get it up, and find satisfaction quickly.”

“Not too quickly,” I suggested. I find things that happen too quickly are rarely satisfying. A pleasure extended over a little while is so much more enjoyable, don’t you think?

“The quicker the better,” she declared. I think she saw my confusion, as she then added, “… in My Little Black Book.”

“I don’t follow,” I said.

“I want it to be really easy for them to get their profile up, and start connecting with other crossdressers and Admirers.”

“Oh, I see what you mean,” I replied, a little relieved. Now it fell into place. “Perhaps I should put together some kind of guide. A Karma Sutra of My Little Black Book.”

“Perfect,” she declared, and went to put the kettle on. When she returned from the kitchen with some tea she suggested I get Max, her neighbours son involved. He looks after much of our technical requirements.

“You can unload some of it on him. I am sure if you put yourself in his hands you’ll come up with something. He’ll bend over backwards to help you bring it to completion. Such a helpful boy!”

So, that’s why I am writing this – the first part of our guide to Fiona’s Little Black Book. Now, if you’re not familiar with this particular tool, I’ll describe it for you. You can always join it here: http://fionadobson.com/fionas-little-black-book/

The Little Black Book is for connecting with Crossdressers, and Admirers (our term for guys that would love to meet CDs). Our members sign up, create a profile and then reach out to others in the Little Black Book, by emailing them. We created a club for the Admirer’s here: http://fionadobson.com/the-admirers-club-2/

No one knows the world of crossdressing quite like Fiona, and our friends here, so we’ve also built in some cool features. For a start, everyone commits to a set of values and guidelines. You can see these here: http://fionadobson.com/about/the-guidelines/

So, unlike Craigslist, you are not just meeting some random person, who may or may not show up. You’re meeting someone who shares your values and is committed to your privacy and behaving in a manner that is likely to instil confidence.

You’re also looking at a system that’s not really built to create a random hookup. There’s plenty of those out there, and they’re often filled with working girls and people who are not really very serious about creating friendships. My Little Black Book is about forging genuine connections.

The next thing to help you feel secure is that the only thing listed in your membership details is an email address. From there, you can choose how much or how little information you share. Many members create an email account just for My Little Black Book, and then – when they feel comfortable with whoever they’re connecting with – begin to chat on Skype or Whatsapp. The point is that you are always in control of the relationship. You can release as much or as little information as you choose.

Now, that all sounds simple enough, however there are some things about it that insure you will do well with it. If you stick to the successful techniques you’re going to have a great time and make a lot of new friends.

One of the great things to do in Fiona’s Little Black book, is to load up a picture.  You are going to want an image that is fun, engaging and says a little about who you are. I have chatted with some of our most prolific members, and they all tend to agree that you shouldn’t just put up a cock pic and hope for the best.  That will get you nowhere fast.

So, if you’re going to upload a picture take the trouble to get a really great picture. What better excuse could there be to take time and dress up really well. Our best CDs make sure they have a girlfriend come by and help them with their make up. Unless you are well practiced, or in our Premium Program, you’re unlikely to be able to do as good a job on makeup as your favorite girlfriends are. Just ask someone to help out. You might be surprised how much fun this can turn out to be.

So, have an evening where one of your girlfriends comes over, helps you dress and maybe even brings a few accessories. You’ll have to be careful who you ask, if you’re not in a friendly environment for this. However, we have some members who travel for work and have told us stories of dressing in the hotel and having someone come in and help them. This sort of situation is ideal for pictures as well.

If you dress, have a glass or two of wine, and then at 2 am take a pic in the ornate hotel lobby you will not be the first to have done it, I guarantee! Either way, try and do the pic in a nice location. Take the time to dress nicely, really think about the look you wish to present, and then have fun with it.

Here’s a few suggestions to help you have a few things to make the pic more interesting. Whether you are an Admirer, or a CD these tips are quite helpful.

Tips for your photos:

  1. Make up – keep it simple but classy. See if you can find a girlfriend to help. Have fun with it, but don’t over do it. Less is often better.
  2. Choose something that looks cool, but keep it simple. The tried and tested simple outfits are always great. Nylons, heels, and choose a number of outfits to experiment with.
  3. Accessorise! You need the bangles, scarves and earings – even if it’s just to play around with.
  4. Sketch out what you’d like to look like, so when it comes time to take a picture you have some idea what it’s meant to achieve.
  5. Choose a simple background that doesn’t detract from you too much.
  6. Lighting is important. If possible, use plenty. If you’re shooting in daylight, harsh sunlight and shadows don’t help. Overcast skies give a flatter more forgiving light.
  7. If you’re in a low light situation try to use a camera which has adjustable ISO settings, and get them up to about 1600.
  8. The images are not going to be used large, so it doesn’t matter if they are a little grainy.
  9. The sexiest thing you can wear is a smile.
  10. Don’t try and look too slutty. If you’re over 30, don’t try to look like a school girl. Try to look like a confident woman who is comfortable in her skin. If you’re over 60, look at the women out there of that age that look wonderful, and emulate that look.
  11. Using a camera and having a tripod makes images look way better than a hand held selfie.
  12. Using a tiny bit of forced flash often lifts the colors nicely.

The most important thing in getting the picture is to have fun. If you’re doing it on a phone you can still get great pics. You also have the advantage of being able to use an App like InstaBeauty, though you have a little less control of the image. It’s really down to what your photographic skil level is.

Bernard, Fiona’s photographer, always says that it’s not the size of your lens that important. It’s how you use it. I think he’s probably right about that.

I will make a point of posting another tutorial about creating your profile on My Little Black Book in the next few days. In the meantime, if you haven’t checked it out do so here: http://fionadobson.com/fionas-little-black-book/

Or, if you’re looking to date a crossdresser, have a look into joining the Admirer’s Club here: http://fionadobson.com/the-admirers-club-2/

Julie

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 10

The phone rang before I had a chance to finish. The irony of having edged myself wasn’t lost on me. Irritated, I fumbled for my cell, Roger’s tone sounding hurried on the other end of the line.

“Katia, we’re parked outside…”

“Well, come on up, Roger. Britney’s waiting for you.”

I lay back on the bed in front of Ben, his puzzled eyes watching me curiously. I offered the glistening tip of the vibrator to his mouth to clean – he wrapped his lips around it and started sucking on it like a ravenous baby on a neon teat. We were both a little frustrated.

“Can you come down? The guys and I have a place we want to take her.”

“Take her? Where? Why?”

“Old plastic dryer factory by the canal. It’ll be a bit of a mind fuck, no real harm, but if she’s not ready, she might get freaked out. I think she’ll enjoy it though.”

I pondered this for a moment. I could at least go to the car with Ben, check these guys out. Personally I was feeling like I might have to call it off, drink some wine and tenderly fuck him raw with the strap on. I asked Roger for more details. He explained his plans to me in considerable detail – the use of a recently abandoned factory, with all of its old smells, cold chills and power still connected. There would be no real threat, but the perceived threat would be considerable. In the end, it would be down to my intuition and Ben’s willingness to go along with it. The more Roger talked though, the better I felt about it. He was, despite his thuggish sexuality, quite an eloquent deviant. For an American anyway.

I had to respect that.

“We’ll be down in five minutes. I want to meet the others in person before committing.”

I hung up and took Ben’s vaginal pacifier out of his mouth, turning it on and running it down his neck, back and down to just above his ass until he quivered.

“I’d like to play with you more, and myself, but it seems our guests have other plans. I’ll lend you a jacket. We’re heading out.”

“Where Mistress?”

I undid the knotted rope that held him on four quarters and he sank bank onto his stockinged legs, shaking out his wrists, his boner looking a little more unsure than it had a few moments ago. I guided him by the small of his corseted back to some high heels, then dipped in the wardrobe to fetch him a long Chinese dressing gown with an embroidered tiger on the back. Black silk and long enough to hide the fact he wasn’t wearing a skirt.

“Tuck it between your legs and walk with me.”
Ben ham-fistedly tried to push the stubborn erection between his legs, but it kept popping back like a phallic cookoo. Amusing little toys these boys have. Sighing, I raced to the cupboard to get one of my purses, thrusting it into his hands and telling him to cover up.

“If you stain it, there will be consequences, and you wont enjoy them. I’ll make sure.”

“Of course, Mistress!”

“Very good then. Shall we go down?

Ben nodded, walking down the hallway to the elevators with me, clutching my sequin purse to his groin with both hands.

*

The silver Mercedes SUV was outside, purring against the stone pillars of the skytrain. As we approached, Roger rolled down the window and wolf whistled. Ben clutched my arm, playing the part of the shy coquette very well. I shrugged him off and he staggered on his heels.

“The others, Roger. I want to see them.”

Roger reeled round in his driver’s seat and barked over his shoulder. The back tinted window rolled down and in the dim flicker of the old overhead light, I saw the silhouettes of three men. One was black – his name was Pierre – he had fine features, an almost feminine mouth, but his body was that of a quarterback.

Pierre fixed Ben intently with his dark eyes. “My my, what a pretty piece of ass. Are you gonna come party with us, sweet thing?”
Ben looked at me, his brow etched with concern.
The guy in the middle was younger than the others, perhaps late twenties like Ben. He looked like a frat boy.

“Brad.” He said, dully, offering his hand.

“And I’m David.” Came another voice.

Familiar – not American. English. He leaned forward and I realized I knew him. I had seen his sausage before. His Cumberland that was – finest Cumberland sausage in the quaint English village I was raised in – or so the sign said. My mother was a big fan. David Dickens, owner of Dickins Meats, now looking aged and awkward from when I’d seen him slinging his meat in the shop window so many years ago. I must have been flushing too. What awkward circumstances.

“David…?”
“Oh, my goodness. It’s you! Katia! Almost didn’t recognize you – but… what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question, you old devil. So this is what you’re up to these days? What about the shop?”

“My new partner’s looking after it until I get back.”
“How do you know Roger?”

“He’s my cousin. Just coming out for some fun before heading back to the grind.”

My eyebrow raised at this incestuous little gathering, but who was I to judge? I wondered if they’d spent time together as children at all, and what those meetings would have been like. I never knew David had that side – but I suppose when you spend all day beating meat and handling sausages, you probably end up with some interesting quirks.

“So this your boyfriend? Girlfriend? Didn’t catch her name?”

“Project. Devoted slave. Pet. Britney – introduce yourself.”

Ben stepped forward on his heels to shake David’s hand, but dropped his bag as a gust of wind blew the base of the silk jacket apart, a second’s glimpse of his semi erection bared to the passengers before he wrapped it back around him coquettishly. Pierre and Roger looked hungrier now, Brad was just smirking. Idiot. Ben was a finer caliber of creature than that idiot, I almost felt protective. But not really.

“I see. And I don’t suppose your mother knows what you’re up to?”

My smile must have said it all. He laughed heartily.

Seeing David there made me feel better about the situation, given that he could vouch for Roger. I placed a reassuring hand on top of Ben’s ass, and turned to him.

“Britney… these gentlemen have an exciting evening planned for you, and I can vouch for David. I knew him growing up. Roger’s told me about your role in this evening’s events. If you’re afraid, or don’t want to go, you can tell me now. No pressure.”

“What are the… events… exactly, Mistress?”

Ben almost looked a little teary as he said this. In his eyes I saw the conflict of excitement and fear, lust and disgust. Just what were these men planning to do to him? Of course I knew, but the information was not his to demand. I wrapped myself around him, and hissed in his ear.

“You want to be used, don’t you? It just so happens the stars have aligned for you. I’ll be there, don’t worry, to hold your hand or pin you down. You wont be alone.”

“But… where are we going?”

“Your choice, my dear, is only to accept or refuse this information. No further information will be given. Of course, I know the plans, so if I’m willing to offer this opportunity to you, you must trust me that it is safe. Mostly. It could be frightening, it may scare you at points – it will also likely arouse you to states of pleasure such as you’ve never experienced before. The path less travelled, the path of knowledge and pleasure and pain – a way to my Covenant, a way to endear yourself to me as one of my most rare and favoured of slaves. It’s a rare privilege and I wont offer again. So – what is it to be?”

Ben looked at me, glossy eyed, hungry. I felt the warmth of his breath on my neck quickening as he shifted against me.

“I’ll go, Mistress.”

“Very good.”

I nodded to Roger. The side door of the SUV slid open and the passengers shifted to let down the seat that granted passage to the back row. Pierre touched the inside of Ben’s thigh through the silk as he clambered into the back, Ben gasping as the hand touched him between his legs.

I clambered in beside Ben. The side door slamming as we raced off into a dark Bangkok evening.

*

The factory was old. Some twenty minutes down the expressway and some side roads, it lay close to the silent railway tracks. Beside a waterway I didn’t recognize from my excursions in the city. Some distance away, riverside tenements and shops were closed for the evening. No one was about, but a stray dog ran in mad circles, barking at nothing, near the entrance of the large brick building in front of us. From the outside, it looked run down, broken windows and tall grasses growing out of the cracks that lined the base of the walls.

Roger punched a code into the keypad by the door as the others bought a box and a sound system from the car, eyeing Ben with lust in their eyes as he pulled his gown around himself, trembling. I placed an arm around his waist, using my other hand to rub his cock through the silk. He shuddered to my touch.

Inside the factory, Roger flicked a switch and the blink blink blink of ancient halogens flickered on in threes from the door to the far end of the factory. Roger passed me the blindfold, and I placed it over Ben’s eyes, pressing my lips to his and grinding against him, as he pressed himself to me.
“Mistress…”

“Go with it, Ben. I’ll be close by.”

I removed his silk coat and guided him up flight of oil stained and sagging wooden stairs, behind Roger, to the top floor of the building. The space had been a design room, with blueprints still on the drafting tables. David ran downstairs briefly, and after a few moments, music began to play. I recognized the tune as Holst: the Planets – Mars. There are probably few tunes so sinister. A percussive rhythm, and violent frenzy of a buildup of horns that soars into stops and starts befitting of the god of war.

When David came back upstairs, Roger moved one of the drafting tables forward to the centre of the floor, brushing off the blue prints. As Roger went to rip off Ben’s bodice, I smacked his hands away and carefully unlaced it. Animals.

Then Ben’s arms were gripped by David’s as he bent him over one of the drafting tables, lowering the side winch so Ben’s body was bent at an almost ninety degree angle, his pert little ass hanging above his stockings as Roger ran his hand over it, then slapped him on the cheek.

“She’s a fine piece of meat, eh, Roger?”

“Fine indeed.”

“You boys play nice.” I remarked, stroking the side of Ben’s face. “And you… you lucky thing. Try to enjoy the ride.”

Roger threw David a marker pen, as he pulled some lube from a box and poured it liberally over Ben’s ass, his legs quivering in the stockings below. I took Ben’s legs and spread them a little, then moved beside him to stand by his head. Front row seat. It was my birthday after all.
Ben shuddered at the sound of Roger unfastening his belt.
“I can hardly wait to get a taste.” Pierre rasped, unzipping his flies and squeezing Ben’s cheeks hard in his thick hands to get him to open his mouth to receive his erect cock.

Brad stepped forward, cock in hand, slowly jacking off as I held Ben by the hair and moved his head back and forth against Pierre’s sizeable cock. He frothed and gargled on the sizable intrusion, then gasped as Roger approached his rear and drove deep into Ben’s velvet. Pierre was more sensual in his violation, slowly moaning and whispering sweetly to his “princess” as he pulled his cock in and out of Ben’s mouth. Roger was more vicious, slamming himself against Ben’s cheeks, balls deep in his excitement, pain and terror.

Ben could only blindly follow the tide, occasionally exclaiming something between Pierre’s head fucking him.

“Oh god… oh gaaagghh…. Ghh… ghhh… ghhh…”

Roger let out a guttural roar of pleasure as he came, pushing deep into Ben and grasping the side of Ben’s mouth, lipstick smearing as the American used his lips for a bridle. Pierre protested, moving in closer to push his cock deeper into Ben’s mouth. As Roger withdrew, he pulled off his condom and threw it on Ben’s head, where it slid slickly down his cheek and onto the floor below. Brad stepped forward, more lube, then another gasp from Ben as something new entered him again, and Pierre exploded in his mouth. Sensations abounding, grunts, gagging, a cooler breeze coming through the chipped panes as the music changed from Holst to Toccata and Fugue and David stepped in to take Pierre’s place at Ben’s mouth. Roger watched his cousin, as David’s eyes narrowed in lustful pleasure, taking his fill of Ben.

By the time the men had taken their turns, Ben was a red and matted mess at both ends. I helped him up from the board, two angry lines indented at his shoulders and hips where the board edges had carved into his flesh, his ass gaping. Removing his blindfold and watching the men’s seed drip down the inside of his legs to the wooden floor in glistening strings.

Roger signalled us downstairs. We followed. Through the entryway was a great room of machines. Drills, metal saws and lathes. In the centre of the metal canopy was a worn, wooden chair, above which, a winch and hook stood. Roger signalled us to the room at the end – a chemical shower.

“Clean your girl up. We’re not done with her yet.”

The water in the shower was cold. It was for emergencies, so there was little care taken to make it more than functional. Beside it, a sink and a bar of soap. The hand towel was grimy and marked with oil, suggesting those that had preceded us had a tenuous grasp of basic hygiene. Ben limped in, taking my hand. I led him to the spluttering fount of frigid water and soaped him up as he flinched at the chill and the still tender ache of his recent use.

“You’re doing incredibly well, you dirty little boy. I never knew you had it in you. Now I’ve seen lots of things in you – I do believe you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Mistress… argh! It’s cold…”

“Did it excite you? Being taken like that? Helpless?”

“Y.. yes Mistress…”

“So it’s not too much? You don’t want me to whisk you out of here? You are ready for more?”

Ben shivered and shook his head under the cold stream of water, a baptism into yet deeper terror and filth.

I soaped his back and shoulders and kissed him on his cheek.

“Good little lamb.”

I stroked his hair, and he sighed at the touch. I envisioned at that moment a documentary I had seen once about how when animals are about to have their throats slit for ritual use, the one brandishing the knife speaks tenderly to them, stroking their hair, holding them close as to hear their own heartbeat – so they never know what’s coming.

Tonight would be a little like that. Tonight Ben was the sacrificial lamb to lust and darkness. Except, unlike the sheep, Ben would still be living at the end of it. In some fashion. Changed. Hopefully for the better, though it’s always possible with a mindfuck that things don’t always go back as they should once the exercise is complete.

Usually as Mistress, I am tormenter, seductress. But tonight, the reigns were not entirely in my hands – I was observer, ring side assistant, nurturer. If Ben was going to be at his best, I had to be there to support him. Pull him out of the other side of the vortex, because if he made it through this, he had proved himself more than a worthy slave. The best was yet to come, although, I suppose that might depend on ones perspective. I had a good feeling that Ben was still an optimist. I had to hope so anyway.

KT

PS – to continue reading the unfortunate exploits of Ben please be sure you are registered. You can do that here.  The next episode will be out in one week.

Max shoved his carrot up Sebastian’s exhaust pipe!

What an extraordinary week it has been, with the most exciting things happening about the place.  But before I get into that, I will first answer a couple of quick questions from my valued members.

Yes, Ellie in Texas, when you have a costume party to celebrate your ten years NRA membership a piñata is a very suitable idea for a game, though we do not generally feel that putting ammunition in it as prizes is a very good idea. Perhaps crystal wine goblets or a decanter would be better.

Olive, in Halifax in Yorkshire, we find the best remedy is to plunge your plums in boiling water. Both Julie and I enjoy making jam, too! What a small world it is.

As we revel in a beautiful summer here in North America it’s definitely time to delve into your wardrobe and find a mini skirt. Whether it’s to do a private set of selfies, or get out in the park and brave going out in public, the summer gives us all a great excuse to expose our legs to sunshine and get a beautiful tan. You’ll find one of my very popular self hypnosis recordings that so many of you love right HERE.  Of course, in the Premium Program there’s many to help you along. If you’re already a member I hope you’re getting the most out of these. If you’re thinking about joining the Premium Program enjoy the self hypnosis filehere and see how you feel. It’s likely to harden your resolve to getting into a lovely skirt.

And speaking of hardening my resolve, Sebastian my personal trainer was over at my place just yesterday. He came over to give me a yoga class, and afterwards he gave me a very enjoyable massage. I was out in the sun, in the back garden, with Sebastian rubbing some oils into my aching muscles, when I noticed Max, my neighbours 20 year old son, watching us from his bedroom window, which overlooks my garden.

I should point out that Max has shown growing curiosity about me in recent months.  He’s not quite sure what to make of me, I think. Either way, seeing Sebastian rubbing my thighs so intimately seemed most disturbing for him. Whilst Sebastian was hard at work, as it were, Max was suffering.

Unknown to me at the time, Max was indeed so agitated that he went downstairs to his mother’s kitchen, took a large carrot, and then went out into my driveway, and pushed it right up Sebastian’s exhaust pipe! Sebastian, I should say, rides a little Honda scooter. It’s very cute. Not as big as Sylvester’schopper, of course,  but that’s another story.

Nothing good ever comes from jamming vegetables places they shouldn’t be. Believe me, I should know, my cousin works in an emergency room at the hospital. Anyway, after inserting his nefarious carrot, Max returned to his bedroom.

Sebastian was just finishing me off, (phrasing), and our yoga session was coming to a very happy ending.  It was not a minute too soon, as Bernard, my photographer, was due at my place to discuss a shoot we have next week for one of the advertising agency clients. I like to work from home, and Bernard often drops by.

I was just seeing Sebastian off, when Bernard arrived. Sebastian straddled his scooter and hit the starter, just as Bernard was walking up my driveway. There was a phut, phut, BANG!

Next thing I knew Bernard was lying on the ground gasping and clutching his heart. You may remember he had a heart transplant just about a year ago, after an unfortunate Tazering incident at O’Hare.

At first I thought the shock of the backfire had given him a heart attack. Then I saw the carrot, fallen to the ground, beside Bernard, who was by now convulsing and looking decidedly peeky.

“Hold on, Bernard,” I said as calmly as I could. “I’ll call an ambulance!”

He gurgled as first Sebastian and then Max, appearing from next door ran to him to help.

As I rushed inside Sebastian was telling Bernard that he wished he’d brought his homeopathic first aid kit. This didn’t seem to comfort Bernard, who was gurgling and coughing up blood.

I called the ambulance from the phone I’d left in my kitchen, and then hurried back to the increasingly pale form of Bernard lying in the driveway. He was reaching out in front of him, clutching at the air.

“It’s OK,” I said as calmly as I could. “The ambulance is coming.”

“I can see a light,” said Bernard, his eyes glazed over.

“Go toward the light,” said Sebastian. “Go toward the light!”

“Are you sure?” I said. “I thought you were supposed to go away from the light.”

“They’re calling me,” babbled Bernard, still clutching his chest, but fading from pale to a blue color. With that he seemed to go limp and give a final sigh.

A moment later the ambulance pulled into my driveway. The ambulance service here really is very good, and they have such very nice uniforms.

They loaded Bernard into the ambulance. Max was flapping around like an old woman, fawning over Bernard, and looking terribly distraught. As the ambulance pulled away and headed toward the hospital, I thought he was going to run and get his bicycle and follow it. Even then, I realised something was amiss.

As the ambulance siren faded Max turned to me and said, “Fiona, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Now, I’m going to tell you exactly what happened next in my next newsletter, because it really was so extraordinary. Let’s just say that the truth really does set you free, but at what price?

I hope you’re having a better weekend than we are!

😊

Fiona

THE MIXTURES : "THE PUSHBIKE SONG" (1970)
Sebastian’s Health Tip For The Week: There’s no better way to get out and about and keep in shape than on a bike.

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 9

If one night in Bangkok makes the hard man humble and Ben was not a hard man to begin with, then a night in Patpong had made him more than humble – and he was about to sink even lower. It was 10:15am and I was enjoying my second coffee of the morning in the corner of the quiet lounge of my hotel. Under the shimmer of grand chandeliers, a pianist played the end of a jazz set as a slow trickle of tourists filtered out into the streets beyond at the end of breakfast. From my private vantage point, through earphones, I watched the recording from the night before. Ben, cowed and accepting in front of the American, mouth opened. His stifled moans and retching sounding out between the American’s alternating abuse and encouragement.

 

“That’s it… you little whore. Want to drink some of daddy’s juice? Beg for it… beg for it…”

 

Ben had done a good job. Not that Roger, the American, gave him much time to beg. I suppose it had been more of a rhetorical question. The black, mascara-stained tears running down Ben’s cheeks in the low light added a touch of delicacy to the sordid situation. From the way Ben swayed in the video, completely at the mercy of his Master’s lust, it was clear that the few drinks at BARBAR had hit him hard. Nonetheless he had gulped and smacked fiercely on his meal, approaching it with a determination and hunger that was incredibly pleasing to behold. At the end of it, the American had smacked Ben across the face with his cock a few times, wiping the cum into his hair roughly, then pushing him aside with a smack of his large paw.

 

“You gonna say thank you, boy?”

 

Once sated, Roger had, in a gentlemanly fashion, helped me walk Ben to the street and load him into a tuk tuk. The gesture was not entirely altruistic. Excited about his new toy, Roger had given me his number, asking to use him again, if the opportunity arose. Ben had looked at us conversing through glazed eyes, shooting me a look both embarrassed and hopeful. It seemed a shame to deny my diligent sub of more of what he craved, so I took Roger’s number and said I’d call him very soon.

 

Back at Ben’s hotel, I’d helped him up to his room. The concierge, who was grimly checking his phone, didn’t even give us a second glance. Laying Ben out on his bed, I’d carefully removed his makeup and his clothes. The wig had fallen off en route somewhere. Stroking his hair and congratulating him on his fine efforts, Ben smiled blithely at me before passing out on his pillow.

 

I deliberately left my underpants on him. That, and the cock cage, would be a gentle reminder, if he woke up early, that those strange dreams of his were not dreams at all. That, and the smell and texture of the substance that matted his hair and eyelashes together. The American’s parting gift.

 

I remember when I used to have a drinking problem, many years back. Nowadays, I can take or leave it, but in my early twenties, I drank like a fish. There’s a saying: “a man takes a drink, the drink takes a drink… and another and another”, though in Ben’s case, it could be rephrased as “a man takes a drink, the drink takes a drink and the man takes another man’s cock in his mouth in some dark and squalid alley”. I remember back in the days of blackout drinking, the terrifying sense of lost time when I woke up the next day. Like with Ambien or Xanax, the body still moves, hearing and speech still functions, but as the saying goes, “the lights are on, but no one’s home”. Ben would likely be waking up soon, trying to piece together the events of the night before. He’d remember the walk to the club, perhaps some of the happenings there – beyond that, when the shots had hit him, he’d probably struggle to remember. There would be physical sensations though – sore knees from the cold stone floor, an aching jaw. Still, I could imagine it would be difficult for him to truly make sense of what he had agreed to do, how he had been used.

 

It was time to remind him.

 

I hit send on the video. Taking a few bites of toast, I watched the morning traffic crawl by outside. The moto taxi drivers, standing on corners, tanned and mean looking, like vultures, waiting to descend on a backpacker whose wide eyes and unconfident stride betrayed their naivety to the way things work in the city. The Western men, standing outside the 7/11, watching sylphlike Thai women glide by in their black dresses and heels, aware of – yet unconcerned by – the energy of predatory lust fixed upon them. Everything or everyone hunts something in Bangkok, or is hunted. Innocence is neither protection, nor excuse.

 

The phone rang. Ben. He launched into a rant as soon as I picked up.

 

“You recorded it? YOU RECORDED IT! Delete it right now, I’m not joking…”

 

“Well good morning to you too, Ben. Why don’t you take a deep breath and explain…”

 

“Katia! No! You’re… we’re done, OK? Right now, you and me – we’re done.”

 

“Done?”

 

“We’re done! I’m telling you we’re done. I want you to take me out of this… this cage. Today, Katia. And then I never want to see you again. And if you wont get me out of it, then I’ll find a way.”

 

“Oh? Well, don’t let me stand in the way of your resourcefulness. Though Ben, what exactly do you plan to do to remove the cage, mm? Are you planning on walking into the locksmith and dropping your pants? I believe the tourist police would have something to say about that.”

 

“I…”

 

“Or perhaps you know the Thai for hacksaw, mm? Though aside from being expensive, it’s a little radical. I only locked your cock in a cage, I didn’t castrate you. That would be a case of cutting off your nose to spite your face, don’t you think?”

 

I laughed, signaling the waitress to fetch another cup of coffee.

 

“I can’t believe I…”

 

“Yes, quite incredible what we can do given the right situation, isn’t it? As they say, there, but for the grace of God…”

 

“Don’t talk about God! There’s… there’s nothing good about this. I went along with it… but on camera? On camera, Katia? I never agreed to that… you’re a devil! A devil!”

 

“The devil always gives you a warning, Ben. He’s really quite civilized. But you did say you were in, and you did agree to do anything. And by the look and sound of it, you enjoyed it very much.”

 

“Look. I can give you money – how much do you want? How much do you need? I’ll give you whatever sum you want, I just need you to delete that video…”

 

I laughed aloud. A man sitting in the opposite corner of the lounge eyed me over the top of his paper.

 

“I don’t need any money, Ben. And I would never hurt you, either. No lasting marks anyway. No, I just want this video for my own amusement. Perhaps you can earn me deleting it for you. I figured you’d need some help remembering the events of the night before too, given all you imbibed…”

 

“You got me drunk!”

 

“Would it really have made any difference if I hadn’t? You seemed pretty keen last night when presented with the opportunity, as I recall. What were those sounds you made again…”

 

I gulped down some of the water from my glass next to the receiver. Ben sounded frantic.

 

“Katia. I mean it. Please destroy the video. I will… I need you to…”

 

I felt a little bad. Ever since a child, I’ve had trouble knowing when to stop a game. The excitement and torment is part of the work, but beyond a certain point, I need to reign myself in and retie the threads. Work a sub too far, too fast, the threads snap and the game is done. He was at breaking point, and I had more plans. Time to change tack.

 

“Alright. Alright Ben, I can see you’re a little bit anxious, so let’s start again. Maybe you might ask me how I’m doing? It’s a special day today, Ben. Are you going to ask me why?”

 

“W.. why Katia?”

 

“It’s my birthday, Ben.”

 

“Happy birthday.”

 

“Oh, don’t bother saying it unless you mean it. I heard more enthusiasm last night, with your mouth all but gagged.”

 

“Happy birthday!”

 

“Why thank you, Ben. That’s very kind of you. I’m having a celebration tonight, in my room. You’re coming of course.”

 

“I…”

 

“What?”

 

“Sure… I mean, I can come, but can you delete that movie? I need to know, I just…”

 

“Why don’t you come on over for six? We’ll talk about it. I’ll even take off that cage of yours… so you don’t have to castrate yourself…”

 

“I…”

 

Click.

 

I messaged him the hotel details, then messaged the American to let him know about the festivities too. He messaged back – would it be alright to bring some friends? Of course, I said.

 

*

 

Ben, being Ben, came early. He knocked on my door at a quarter to six. I greeted him in a short PVC dress, offering him a coffee. He paced around the floor of my room as I switched on the coffee machine.

 

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. You want the phone. Of course. But why don’t we look at that movie together first, while the coffee’s brewing?”

 

I walked over to the bed and patted the covers. Ben sat down dutifully.

 

“First things first,” I said, pulling the keys out of my bag, “Drop those pants.”

 

Ben wriggled out of his khakis and kicked them off on the floor. I removed the underwear, then slid the key into the lock of the cock cage, releasing his bonsai member into the relief of its natural form. I ran my fingers along it – it was a little raw, a little red. Ben would need to work on his hygiene if he was to wear something like this in future. Bless him, but I think he thought it’d clean itself.

 

“Better?”

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

I stood up, then placed an arm around Ben’s shoulders and sat on his lap, stroking one naked thigh with my fingernails and squirming a little to get comfortable. I could feel his hot breath against my ear. That weight of expectation, not just for the video, but for things to come. I reached in my bag and pulled out the phone.

 

“Just so you know, I’ll delete this Ben, OK? But first I want you to watch it with me. I want to feel how your body responds when you do – if your earlier protests are in line with how your body really feels. Are you ready?”

 

Ben nodded. I hit play on the video and the night before unfolded again. Ben got hard almost immediately – it’s amazing how the body can recover from a shock. It felt pleasant to rock and shift on his boner through the stiff PVC of my dress. He growled softly.

 

“You’re turned on? That’s good. Is it because of me, rocking like this on your erection? The scent of me close enough to you to touch? Your hands on the curve of my waist? Or is it the video? Is it the sight of yourself taking that stranger like a slut in the alley beside the river? I bet there was a time when that was not something you’d ever think you’d do – but look at you ravenously taking him in while he abuses you – its quite arousing, isn’t it?”

 

Another groan, Ben’s hands tightened against my waist, he pushed his erection into my thigh.

 

“Down boy. There’ll be time for that soon enough. Now, tell me – having done it once, would you do it again? You can tell me, no need to be shy about it. After all, we do know each other very well now, don’t we?”

 

Ben looked at me hesitantly, then nodded.

 

“Yes, Mistress. I’d like to do it again.”

 

“For me, or for your own pleasure? I don’t mind either way – I’m just curious.”

 

A pause.

 

“Both, Mistress.”

 

“Very good. Well, as I said, I am celebrating tonight. You know it’s my birthday yes? Ah oh – kettle’s on. My star sign’s Aries, you know that? Sign of the ram.”

 

I rammed my ass into Ben’s erection, then swiftly got up to fetch the coffee.

 

“Go ahead and delete the video if you want. I’ve left it unlocked.”

 

Ben tapped around on my phone. Watching him there, pantless and aroused was quite glorious. He looked in better spirits now, uncaged and unconcerned by the video. Of course, he wasn’t simply here for coffee. Oh no. The real event was coming in another hour – in the form of four lustful American queers, looking for a place to take a load off, quite literally. I’d need to hurry up and get Ben ready.

 

I passed Ben a coffee cup. He relaxed and took a sip, eyeing me with expectation.

 

“You know there’s no porn in this hotel?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“There’s censorship of it here, since the military coup in 2007, I think. It’s hard to get something exciting to watch in the evenings.”

 

“Oh..”

 

“Did you know that porn means ‘blessing’ in Thai?”

 

“I didn’t know that either.”

 

“Ben. I want you to bless me with some entertainment tonight. For my birthday.”

 

I strode over to my toy bag, pulling out the strap on. Ben’s sat up to attention.

 

“When you say entertainment…”

 

“Relax. I’ll ease you into it.”

 

I laid out three butt plugs and lube onto the bed. Next, I picked some thigh high stockings and a corset. 

 

“Get dressed. I’ll be back.”

 

I walked into the side room with the phone, checking the messages. The Americans would be on their way shortly. Ben struggled with the stockings – I had to come in and roll them up for him before placing them on the end of his foot. The state of those toenails! I will never understand why men think its acceptable to go around groomed everywhere else, but having feet like a hermit. It would hardly be my problem, except that thigh highs aren’t exactly cheap. Usually I’d make my subs pay for them, but I’d grown to like Ben. For someone who’d only just met me, he was incredibly loyal and diligent. His interest in my feminine whiles aside, I saw in him the same pride in service that I held myself. 

 

“Alright. You’re in. Now for the corset. Arms in…”

 

I placed the silk brocade over his chest. A navy blue with Paisley swirls, it looked fabulous with his dark hair, bringing out the colours of his eyes. Drawing the strings tight across his back, I ran my hands down his accentuated waist, around to the base of the corset, under which his erection stood proudly. I grabbed it and roughly shoved it between his legs, forcing his thighs closed over it.

 

“There. Much better. Neater. Good little sissy for Mistress now, aren’t you?”

 

Ben smiled, groaning a little as I ran my hands down his denier clad thighs.

 

Next, I applied some mascara, then gloss. Not quite the same look as before, a little darker. Last night’s virgin had been defiled a little. I hoped to catch the remainder of his innocence in his mascara framed eyes and glossy lips. 

 

“All fours. On the bed.”

 

I fastened his wrists and ankles with red rope. Winding and tightening, winding and tightening around his limbs until he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.  Ben laughed nervously.

 

“I’m a little afraid…”

 

I smiled, fetching three sizes of butt plugs from the bag, then squirting out a sizable dollop of lube at the base of his spine, allowing it to drip slowly down his ass crease.

 

“That’s probably wise. Fear always serves a purpose. But you’re excited too, aren’t you?”

 

He pressed himself against my hand as I worked the lube into his crease.

 

“What exactly do I have planned for you? I’m sure your mind is turning. I could tell you, of course, but where would be the fun in that? Now,” I reached for the smallest butt plug, “to warm you up. Take a deep breath dear, just a little prick…”

Gently I eased the tip of the plug against the resistance of his pucker. He gasped a little as the tension released, allowing the length of the plug to slide in. I slapped his ass and he groaned, writhing a little on the bed.

“Good mm? Are you ready to take something a little bigger?”

Ben moaned approvingly. I pulled the plug out with a slick pop and moved to get the next.

“Same thing again. Ben, look at me. Show me your eyes. I want to see your pleasure as this goes in.”

Ben turned, his eyes almost rolled up in his head. I grabbed his chin and squeezed it. He fixed me with his glance and I smiled.

“Good boy. So very pretty when you do what you’re told.”

The next plug went in with less resistance than I thought. I had to question if this really was the first time he’d had something put in his ass.

“You’re doing so well, my dear, I think we’ll skip the next course and move to dessert.”

I moved behind him with the strap on, teasing his thighs with the end of the dildo as he quivered and moaned in anticipation. Another squirt of lube – I dug my fingernails into his buttocks as I massaged it into its target and down the length of the dildo, Ben’s eyes hungrily on mine.

“Are you ready? Tell me how much you want it.”

“Please Mistress… I want it…”

“You want me to violate your little virgin ass with this huge dildo?”

“Mistress… please…”

“When you ask so nicely, how could I possibly refuse?”

I pressed the tip of the dildo against his ass and pushed. It took a little work, but with a hard shove and a guttural moan, Ben began to accept it. Millimetre by millimetre, I drove it into him, grasping his flanks with my fingernails and licking the base of his back while he struggled to watch and balance at the same time. Watching his eyes roll back in his head with every small invasion, his tongue lolling from his panting mouth as I bit my lip and groaned in pleasure myself.

“I’m warming you up, Ben. I think you’ll be ready soon.”

“Ugh… ready… for what… ughh….”

“I have some guests coming very shortly.”

“Mmmm? Ugh….”

“You’re the main attraction. Think of it like taking medicine. I’m going to cure you of your reluctance to complete obedience and submission once and for all. You’ll be taking the medicine orally, though I may let them use your ass too, if you’d be up for that? I think you’d like it… I know I will…”

“Who…?”

“Oh, just some strangers. You’re not averse to taking strangers are you, Ben? Not after last night. Don’t come over all coy now. You and I both know you sucked off some guy you only just met not even 24 hours ago. He’s coming too. His name’s Roger, I doubt you caught it last night because you were pretty busy, but… he’d like to Roger you. I’m sure they all would.”

“Katia I…”

I thrusted deeper into him, withdrawing and thrusting in a symphony of wet sounds, underscored by his moans. I’ve always loved music, but the kind of music made by a submissive in heavy arousal is perhaps my favourite.

“You don’t need to play shy with me. Although, if you really want to leave, I can’t make you play.”

I stopped thrusting and pulled out – Ben moaning in unsatated lust. I knelt down beside his head and stroked his hair, looking into his eyes.

“Shall I untie you? Do you want to run back to your hotel before the big bad Americans have their wicked way with you?”

Ben heaved some deep sighs, wriggling his ass and making plaintive sounds.

“No… I want to… stay…”

“I am so happy to hear that, Ben. So happy.”

Ben was trying to thrust his erection into the bedsheets. Impetuous, but I was impressed. Some time in the cock cage had seemed to have cured him of his premature outbursts. I slapped his thigh.

“No! Stay still. I want you hungry when they come. You don’t get to cum until they do. Myself though… I’m a little too distracted to be a proper host now. I should deal with that. You are going to stay there – it’s not as though you have a choice, but… formality.”

I strode across the room to the bottom drawer of the dresser, pulling out my orange vibrator and walking back to sit in the chair opposite Ben.

“After all, it’s my birthday, I can cum if I want to. And I will, Ben. Again and again and you will have no part in it, no pleasure at all, until I say you can.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“And while you can get pleasure from watching me engaging in this activity, you are not to give into your own greedy desires. If you so much as leak, I will lock you back in that cage and make you eat the key. That will be fun to explain to the airport staff, mm? Now look!”

Ben gulped and shook a little on the bed. You could tell by his clenched muscles that he was concentrating hard. Good. He’d need to focus if he wasn’t planning on eating key for an appetizer.

“Don’t take your eyes off me for a moment, Ben. I will know, and it will end badly for you.”

I spread my legs in front of Ben, watching his mouth fall open as I turned on the vibrator and began running it up my thigh. I wasn’t sure if he’d last, and honestly wasn’t sure if I would really make him eat the key. The thing with me is, as disciplined as I am, I never really know where my inspiration will take me from one moment to the next. If Ben was smart, he’d follow instructions. I sank back into the chair, eyes fixed on Ben’s as he breathed heavily and stiffened every muscle to resist his own urge for pleasure. I don’t know what was more satisfying – the high speed function of the vibrator, or his helpless compliance with the game. I just know these are the moments one lives for. As my French friend once told me, they are “les petite plaisures de la vie”.

Bigger breasts – generally a good thing.

Hi,
I always listened to my mother’s advice. She would often say things like, ‘If you have something to say about someone, make it something positive.”I’ve always thought this is very good advice. It’s kept me out of trouble, mostly, however this week I had a situation in which this seemed to backfire.As you likely know, Amanda (my wife’s appalling friend) has a habit of dropping in unannounced at the most inopportune of moments. She was with us just last weekend on one such unplanned visit. I have asked Sylvester, who is something of an inventor in his spare time (see Sylvester’s Boner), to come up with some kind of early warning device to avoid such situations.

Julie and I were helping Ali in the garden just yesterday afternoon, where he was pruning my bush. We’d polished off a bottle of Riesling, when I heard a timid squeaky voice coming from the direction of my neighbour’s garden. Ali and I walked over to look over the hedge, and there was Marjorie, Max’s mother. You’ll remember that Max is my neighbors 20 year old son. A strange boy, but very helpful.

“Oh, Fiona,” she said. “I need your advice.”

Ali, ever helpful, cast an eye over her flower beds and then chimed in, “Really madam, it’s alright. I can see your vulvodynia is blooming early this year. It just needs a little more water.” Ali’s English lessons are rather unconventional, however he does wonders in the garden.

“That’ll be all, Ali. I can take this from here.” I said, dismissing him to go back to tending to my bush.
Marjorie was gawping at me in a puzzled way trying to fathom what we were talking about. Ali’s Syrian accent is still quite strong.

“That strange woman you had in the garden this weekend. She wants Max to work on some magazine.”

“Oh, Amanda. Yes, she’s the editor at Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly. It’s the Washington Post of the agricultural sector. A bastion of the fourth estate,” and then I added doubtfully, “and one of the only media organisations to endorse Mr. Trump.”

“Oh,” she said, as though suddenly understanding. “I just wondered, what’s she really like? I mean, I don’t want my darling Max working for just anyone.”

I stifled the urge to say that that was exactly who Max should work for – anyone who would give him a job. ‘Just anyone’ seemed a perfect description, given his work ethic. He is a lovely boy, and very capable when it comes to tech tasks, but other than that his talents are best described as aesthetic.
“Hmmm, what’s she really like…” I mused. That was a tough one. I remembered my mother’s advice, and it could have been the Riesling talking, but responded “She has fine breasts. Very fulsome.”
“What,” said Marjorie, a little taken aback.

“A full bosom,” I reiterated. I really couldn’t think of anything else positive to say.

“That’s all you can tell me about her,” she stammered.

“Well,” I blundered on, “she sees things in black and white. Somewhat judgemental, some might say.” My mind slipped back to the incident with the adult toy and Hannibal, my dachshund. “It’s not surprising, I suppose,” I went on. “It’s all connected. Black and white, Friesians cattle, dairy farming and breasts…”

Marjorie stormed off, muttering and shaking her head. I have the feeling she’s never really approved of my lifestyle. I really can’t think why.

And in that very vein, I have a lovely self hypnosis file for my many friends who have recently been asking about breast enlargement. This is a lot of fun.

Self hypnosis is one tool for this, but there are a few other methods you can use. One of the most effective, though discrete is the use of soy milk.  If you choose a flavored one, like Vanilla So Good, and just be sure to drink a good size glass a day, you’ll find it gradually has a very beneficial impact. Soy contains isoflavones, a plant oestrogen that is similar to the estrogen that you humans produce. It is these isoflavones that give soy its cancer-prevention properties. Researchers have expressed concern that the estrogens in soy protein may affect the hormone levels in men – which suits us fine. Drinking more than usual quantities could result in breast growth in men. High consumption of soy protein, equivalent to over three litres of soy milk a day, could lead to hormonal shifts.

I’m not a fan of using HRT pharmacy. I find it’s not a good idea to put anything into your body that can’t at least phone you the following day and tell you how much they enjoyed it.

You can find the hypnosis file here: http://fionadobson.com/hypnosis/breast-enlargement-for-crossdressers-self-hypnosis/

There’s some food for thought. If you join the Premium Program we introduce you to a few practices that can stimulate these shifts. If you haven’t signed up yet, now is a great time to do so.

Have a wonderful weekend.
😊
FD

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 8

The man buying me a drink was a banker and ex-public schoolboy from London. Eloquent, well educated and a gentleman to boot, he was the picture of English reserve and dignity, even in his increasing state of intoxication.

 

“So, you’re a banker…”

 

“Uhh.” He laughed, dryly.

 

He beat me to the question of why I was in Bangkok, and so I replied honestly that it was a mixture of business and pleasure that bought me here. As I drank my coke beside him, he got through bottle after bottle of Chang, regaling me with some very interesting stories while Ben squirmed and gasped under the sub who was sitting on his back. The Mistress changed her whip to a paddle. It sounded as though Ben might have been trying to say something, perhaps the safe-word, but it was very hard to make it out between the gasps and the groans.

 

“One thing I love about it here… the Thai’s attitude to sex and sexuality is very fluid,” the Englishman mused, signaling another round from the bartender, “So far removed from Aquinas. You know Aquinas? His theory of sex and guilt?”

 

Ah yes. I remembered Aquinas from high school. The perfect induction to some of the best classroom sleeping sessions I’d ever experienced. I’d failed that class – I despised philosophy. Crusty old musings from crusty old men about the why’s of life, held no interest for someone like me, an experiential learner whose always learned best by doing.

 

“Anti… antidises… establish….ah! Tarianism!”

 

“You have to say the whole thing, Britney, or I wont believe you mean it! How’s the speed? Want a little more?”

 

Ben shook his head, mouthing no. I caught the Mistresses’ eye and signalled for her to slow the beating down a little. She nodded. Englishman looked curiously at me.

 

“Antidissastablishmentarism? That’s your safe-word? Little cruel, don’t you think?”

 

I chuckled.

 

“Britney likes a challenge. Don’t you, Britney?”

 

“Britney” was too occupied to answer. Spread eagled on a low table now, Mistress had dropped the whip and was now being all kinds of creative with her big toe on the inside of his thigh. Ben shuddered, the sub lapping at his nipple.

 

For all of his attempts to protest, Ben looked like he was doing ok. More than OK. Though his mouth looked dry and I’d need to apply more gloss later. I took another sip of coke and turned back to the Englishman.

 

“So why are you here?”

 

“Oh you know, the usual reason. Easter holidays. I like the culture here. I also like a beautiful woman… bit of ‘slap and tickle’, as they say…”

 

Did anyone say that anymore? I laughed, watching the Mistress guide Ben down to the floor on his hands and knees, walking him around like a peculiar looking dog, wig teetering on top of his sweaty locks, panting.

 

We got to talking about BDSM and how it was a creative field all in itself. Far from being about sex, it was about the anticipation. Words and situations that built tension and played with ones comfort zone. Like me, he wasn’t into scat or pee play, blood, or knives: we disagreed on mindfucks. He thought they were unethical and refused to contemplate them whereas I maintained an open mind, depending on the situation.  I asked him if he was a Dom at home. He looked aghast.

 

“I don’t really know you, so…”

 

I found his embarrassment hilarious given the situation. There we were, two strangers in a club full of people in various states of undress, being whipped, bound and teased by others, with all kinds of arousing symbols, textures and sounds around us and now he got bashful. Fair enough I suppose. I understood the English reserve, having lived in England for a few years before coming back to North America. Stiff upper lip and all that. But, like philosophy and the cult-like interest in soccer, I’d never resonated with reserve. I’ve always been an open person, seeking other open people – or at least people with cracks that I can pry open with the right questions and gestures. Perhaps it was the silent treatment I received as a child when I got into trouble, but silence and evasiveness has always bothered me. I felt suddenly restless next to my new friend. Time to be a brash North American.

 

“Well, I’m a Mistress.”

 

“Oh yes?”

 

“That girl over there… she’s mine…”

 

Englishman raised his eyebrow, unconvinced.

 

“She’s a…”

 

“… A work in progress, yes. But look, I’m going to be direct. She wants cock. Tonight if possible. I don’t suppose you know anyone.”

 

I’d just horrified my new friend.

 

“Goodness!”

 

I continued, unperturbed.

 

“She’s taken a strap-on from me already. I have to tell you she has brilliant oral skills – I suppose its not surprising. She studied at Oxford.”

 

Englishman sank back into his seat, looking at Ben,, looking back to me and signaling another round.

 

“Oxford? What year?”

 

“I don’t know. It’s still a good University yes?”

 

“One of the best. I studied there myself.”

 

I grinned.

 

“Anyway. She did so well, but I don’t have the real thing. I’m looking to take her to the next level. I think she’s ready.”

 

“You know you can’t do that here, right?”

 

“I’m not an idiot.”

 

Englishman dabbed some sweat from his brow and pointed over to the corner of the club. In front of the wine cellar, sitting on the couch, was a rather plump man in his fifties watching Ben with interest as he crawled around on his hands and knees a few yards in front of him.

 

“You could try talking to Michael. He’s from the States. One of your countrymen, I think?”

 

“I’m from Canada.”

 

“Whatever. Hmm. Anyway, he’s into that sort of thing. Frequents the ladyboys and is a lot more… eclectic in his tastes.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Ugh… I’m not sure though. How long have you been working with this sub?”

 

I counted on my fingers.

 

“A little under two weeks. She’s a fast learner.”

 

Englishman sighed, taking another gulp of Chang.

 

“I just… look, he’s not the most gentle of creatures, put it that way. I met him in London when he came to do some investing. He comes to Bangkok quite frequently. I’ve heard his stories. You put your sub in his hands… I mean, he’s not going to go easy on her… Maybe you want to look around a bit more?”

 

I placed my coke back on the bar, grinning.

 

“Maybe he’s exactly what she needs. Thank you… uh…”

 

“Douglas. It’s Douglas. But don’t thank me. And really, I wouldn’t suggest…”

 

“Goodnight, Douglas… Britney!”

 

I clapped my hands together. Ben would be alright. I wouldn’t be leaving her alone with this big, bad American. If all went to plan, I’d be right there, holding his hand, or hair, or ass. At least for a while, before I pulled out my phone to record it all.

 

Ben crawled on his hands and knees towards me, pink gloss smeared up the sides of his cheeks, like a more feminine Joker. I leant down and straightened his wig, ordering some shots from the bar and handing them to him.

 

“Good job, Britney. Here, have a drink. You’ve earned it. Good.” When Ben had downed the last of the shots, I took him by the ring on his collar and pulled up, “Come with me, under the stage. I have something I want to talk with you about.”

 

Ben obediently followed where he was directed. I looked back over my shoulder to see Englishman shaking his head at me. Prude.

 

*

 

Under the stage, I guided Ben to lay down in my lap, head against my thighs. I’d relieved him of the wig for a moment, wiping his sweaty hair with my hand and making him lick his sweat from my fingers. With a swift tug on the fabric of my skirt, I hitched it up, placing it over his head like a tent. Stroking his hair through the fabric, I felt his ragged breath against the inside of my thigh. Little pervert breathing in the smell of my sex and luxuriating in my warmth of my skin against his. There amongst the circular cushions we were perfectly alone. The music was muffled here. Every so often, a pair of legs would stride past the red gauze curtains separating this area from the club, pausing for a few seconds before moving on. I lay against the mirrored wall, appreciating the cool surface against my back, listening to the sounds Ben made as his arousal grew, nuzzling his face against me.

 

“I have to say,” I said, widening my thighs a little, his nose finding the new space, “I’m very impressed with you tonight. You’ve shown me you can be strong, can withstand both pain and public humiliation. You’ve followed my directions to the letter and given your best. I am truly honored to have such a diligent student…”

 

“Mmmph…”

 

I ran my hand down Ben’s back – up and down, up and down. The warmth of his breath between my thighs, more arousing than I could begin to describe.

 

“Such a pleasing pupil… I can see why Oxford adored you…”

 

Ben’s hand moved slowly up the side of my leg. I pulled back the fabric, un-tenting him. His eyes looked hungrily up at mine. I pushed my crotch hard against his chin. Jingle.

 

“Please… Mistress… can I pleasure you?”

 

I smiled indulgently, pulling him up to his knees by a few tugs to his collar.

 

“Believe it or not, that’s not something we can do here. There are strict rules in these clubs against that sort of thing. But if you really want to please me, there is something you can do…”

 

“Mmm? Tell me…!”

 

“There’s a man over there. American. His name’s Michael.”

 

Ben’s eager look suddenly dropped.

 

“You did such a good job with the strap on the other day, it got me thinking. What I’d really like is to see you work the real thing. See him over there? What I want you to do, is to crawl up to that guy – put your wig back on first.”

 

I placed the wig back on Britney’s head.

 

“Now, crawl up to him and ask him if you can suck his cock.”

 

Ben looked utterly disgusted. But as I know from my own introduction to this world, disgust and desire are neighbors separated by the thinnest of fences. With a gentle nudge in the right direction, the right words, touches or sensations – a no can quickly become a yes.

 

“Oh don’t pretend you don’t want it. You take a good cock – I’ve seen it. Honestly, it turned me on to watch you. But my hands were busy the last time. I’d really like it if they were free the next time…”

 

I took Ben’s hand, taking his index and middle finger and pushing them in and out of my mouth. He growled softly as I did so. I released them with a pop.

 

“… If you see what I mean.”

 

Ben looked at me intently, placing his wet hand on my thigh, digging his fingertips into the flesh.

 

“I thought you’d said I’d be your own, Katia. That’s what I agreed to. But not… asking a stranger… something like that… I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”

 

I grinned. Taking his head in my hands and gazing into his eyes, I changed the position of my legs to anchor his waist tight between my knees.

 

“You’re right. I can’t make you. But as for you being mine, that means you’re mine to use as I see fit and mine to give away as it pleases me. Now, Britney, I want to see you crawl over and beg that American for his cock. I want you to lick his shoe first, make love to the leather with your lips and tongue – give him a bit of a show. Make him want to use you. Then I want you ask – leave him in no doubt of what a cum hungry little cocksucker you are. Looking like you do, I very much doubt he’ll refuse.”

 

Ben looked at me, the reluctance in his eyes fading to acceptance.

 

“But I don’t know him. What if he’s got a disease or something?”

 

“Come on. You really think I’d let you catch an STI? I’ve got condoms in my bag. Everything’s safe. Well…” I said, looking over to the large American, sipping his whisky as he watched the Dutchman, now being whipped by one of the slender Mistresses, “No lasting marks anyway.”

 

I stroked Ben’s face: he nuzzled against my hand like a dog, sweat-stained and anxious to please. Quite endearing.

 

“How about instead of focusing on the fear, you focus on the desire instead? You want to please me, don’t you?”

 

He nodded.

 

“And what you really want, underneath it all, beyond your desire to please me, you want to find out what it’s like to take a real cock in your mouth, like the one in Michael’s pants over there. Undoing his fly with your eager hands, unleashing the scent of him, intermingled with stale piss and sweat from his day. Feeling the humiliation of him holding your head as he pulls down his dirty cotton underwear for you, slapping your face with his rapidly hardening cock, as you beg him to use you, to thrust into your mouth and cum into it, all over that pretty little face of yours. Leaving that pointless speaking hole of yours glistening with his cum – like a donut glazed in filth.”

 

Ben was shaking his head, mouthing ‘no’, but as I ran my toe up his thighs, towards that shiny, capillary striated sack between his legs, his breathing quickened and he turned to look at Michael, standing against the wall. Ben traced his eyes down the corpulent man’s body, eyes resting on his crotch, gulping – as his imagination began to work.

 

“You’re not doing this for me, are you, Britney? Really this is all for you. Your pleasure. I am giving you permission to have this pleasure with this stranger, something you never would have dared do before. Really, you should be thanking me.”

 

Ben licked his lips. I pushed him down onto his hands and knees again.

 

“Now… crawl… beg him. As Britney. Say exactly how much you want it. Be polite. Demean yourself if you need to. I’ll be watching.”

 

*

 

Ben really did an incredible job, begging the American, who was at this point a little hammered, for his cock. I stood close by, listening for the approval, then came over an introduced myself. The deal was that the American could use Britney, but only if I was allowed to watch too. The idea seemed to turn him on a little. As BARBAR was off-limits for this sort of thing, the American proposed a tuk tuk down to the canal, to have Britney suck him off in one of the dark alleyways near the railway track – practically deserted at this time of night.

 

We took the tuk tuk, the heat of day fading to something far more tolerable. The air in the alleyway was cool and damp, smelling vaguely like sewage from the polluted waterway nearby. I nodded to the American as Ben stood there in front of him, looking disheveled and a little afraid.

 

“On your knees.”

 

Michael pushed Ben down onto the dirty ground below the overpass. Somewhere in the distance a train clacked down the tracks. A gecko chirped from the bushes nearby. The American was unbuttoning his fly, cursing as his fat fingers fumbled with the fastenings.

 

“Beg me for it… you little slut. I wanna hear you beg.”

 

Ben did as asked. I was impressed and a little aroused. Watching as Michael pulled out his cock and taunted Ben with it. Judging by the guy’s appearance, his hygiene didn’t look the best. Ben didn’t flinch however, even as the American took his head and buried it in his crotch against his sweaty belly, taunting him in between slaps.

 

I reached into my purse for my phone, to capture the next few minutes on video. Ben approached the task with surprising gusto, drunkenly stumbling a little on his knees as the shots kicked in. The American thrust into his mouth with gusto as Ben hungrily worked him, not noticing the phone I was holding up, recording every squalid moment.

One of our Premium members writes…

I received a lovely email today from one of our Premium Members, Helena. She had just completed the second of the Premium tasks, and was kind enough to provide the following report back. I thought I’d post it as she writes so very well, and also as an indication of how some of these tasks can help my gurls develop.  Helena writes:

Hi FIona,

I completed task #2!

I went to Walmart to buy 3 pair of panties and fishnet pantyhose.

When I arrived I started roaming near the lingerie section, I was very nervous so I had to make sure there weren’t many girls nearby, was trying to avoid any looks or something. But when I started browsing, hunting for the simple black ones, I realized you are totally right!

They are just minding their own business when shopping and didn’t even look at me, even the attendant woman was like, I just wanna get out of here, yawning even. So that relaxed me immediately, I just browsed everything in there, and picked 3 pairs, one simple and black, some lacy red ones, and a pinkish thong with black highlights.

I am a tall person so I went for XL and they fit nicely, maybe a bit snug, but I like how they look, then I continued over to the nylons and stockings section and had more trouble with sizing than anything else,

I stayed there some time wondering and the attendant came along and asked me if I needed help, as natural as I could I just told her I was having trouble with the length of the nylons and she suggested a pair of fishnet pantyhose, because even if I didn’t know my length they were flexible in that regard, more so than stockings which may be too short and unfixable, pantyhose would be more suitable, and fishnets do provide more stretch and resistance she said, so I just went with her suggestion and thanked her for it 😀

At home I tried them all on immediately and found them to be good choices.  Thank you so much!

It was a good start, I feel much more confident now.

Helena”

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 7

A great thing about Thailand market stalls  is that their flowing skirts are pretty much one size fits all.  Ben and I were around the same height, and I wagered, the same shoe size. Giddy from his trauma with the wax, he needed a little coaxing to release his clench on the panties.

 

“Mouth open! Drop! Good boy!”

 

I fetched a towel a wet towel, to wipe the drool from around Ben’s mouth and prepare his skin for the make up application. He was a little short of breath. I got him a bottle of water and knelt down in front of him, taking my make up bag out of my purse. Blue eyes, brown hair. Summer or winter?

 

“Mistress?”

 

“Yes, Ben?”

 

“Are you really going to put that stuff on me? I’m not really sure I…”

 

I leaned back, crossing my arms.

 

“In or out, Ben? My head is spinning with this indecision of yours.”

 

I went to stand up.

 

“It’s just… not too much, OK Mistress?”

 

I sighed.

 

“If this is going to work, I can’t have you directing me. In or out, Ben? Otherwise I leave right now and you don’t see me again. But before you make the decision – think. Have you ever experienced what its like to put make up on? The right tone of foundation and blush, the cool thickness of lipstick on your lips and the sweep of the blusher brush? It feels incredible, you really should give it a try. I could transform you, Ben, into a sissy slave, that’s all my own… you’d like to be all mine, wouldn’t you, Ben?”

 

The last part I said coquettishly, head cocked to or side, tongue between my teeth as I felt him wind slowly around my finger.

 

“And if you’re a good little sissy for me, we could play with more of my toys later. And maybe I could play with yours. Doesn’t that sound fun? Ben sighed. Hung for a sheep as much as for a lamb. He’d gone this far…

 

“Yes Mistress, I’d like that very much.”

 

“I must say you did a very good job earlier, dealing with the wax. It must have been hard for you…”

 

“Thank you, Mistress.”

 

“Well, the task I mean. Not your… you know, in the cage. That’s too bad.”

 

Ben smiled weakly.

 

I set to work with my brushes. First primer, then foundation. I figured he’d look more virginal with pink, rather than red lips. I lined his lips first, then filled them in with pastel gloss. Gloss always looks a lot sluttier than matte. For blue eyes (my own were brown), I’d have to use a different tone – I thought of the colour wheel. Complementary shades for blue eyes were, as I recalled, brown, mauve and dark purple. I rubbed the applicator in purple first, lining the outer crease, then filled in with a gold tone.

 

“It hurts a bit, Mistress. I think some went in my eye. Could you press a bit softer?”

 

“Then close your eyes and take a deep breath!”

 

Good grief. How men complain about stupid little things.

 

“Now open your eyes, look down. You’re doing very well.”

 

Ben looked down. I stroked his upper lash with the mascara applicator. The idiot moved and got some in his eye.

 

“Ow!” He said, waving his arms like a small child, “Its in my eye!”

 

“Oh for goodness sake, don’t rub it.”

 

I slapped his hand away.

 

“I’m being quite patient with you, Ben, but I’m reaching my limit now. So no more talk. If I hear a peep from you again, I’m going to jam this brush so far up your ass that you’d have an easier time finding keys in the Mekong than retrieving it, understood?”

 

Ben stopped his whining and sat nicely for the rest of the application.

 

I took the sodden pants from the floor and handed them to him. Ben took them gingerly.

 

“Now put them on.”

 

“But they’re wet, Mistress.”

 

“Well if you will make a meal of it when I gag you, then what do you expect? Do hurry up.”

 

Ben grimaced as he drew the wet material up his legs. I yanked it up faster – no time for my sissy to be a sissy now. The pants just about fit, his swollen balls peeking coyly out the side of the lace. I handed him the rest of his outfit: a padded black bra, the skirt, a black t-shirt and a long black skirt. Once he had those, it was time for the heels. The heels really completed the look, hiking up his ass and lengthening his calves. I placed the blonde wig on his head, straightening it out, guiding him to the bathroom mirror  by the small of his back.

 

“Look at yourself. How do you feel?”

 

Ben ran his hands down his new silhouette, turning to admire his ass in the mirror, pouting in his makeup.

 

“That was actually pretty fun, Mistress. I look good!”

 

“No Ben,” I cackled wickedly, “You look slutty. But that’s good. I approve very much. Right now, I’m imagining some things I’d like to do with those glossy lips of yours, and that pert, tight little ass.”

 

Ben shuddered.

 

“Tonight you’re not going to be Ben anymore. Tonight you’ll be… Britney, my sissy slave.”

 

“Yes, Mistress! Britney. I like it!”

 

***

 

The streets around the club were abuzz with sounds from Patpong night market. A multicoloured spectacle of tarps, under which sequinned bags and hippy skirts danced in the light breeze, next to touts on stalls, waving photographic evidence from the local “ping pong” bars and making obscene popping noises with their mouth.

 

Britney stumbled behind me on her heels.

 

“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” he said, before turning his ankle again on the ill fitting shoes.

 

“Takes practise, but you’ll get it.”

 

As seedy as the place was, it was filled with small children and families, all stopping to peruse the goods on sale.

 

“A few words before we go into the club – just a reminder. Eyes down, do not speak unless I tell you to and…”

 

“Obey your commands, Mistress?”

 

“Well yes. That goes without saying, but I also have to warn you, some of the things I have planned for you tonight may be a shock for you. Regardless, I’m going to expect you to listen and obey, however unsure you may be about them.”

 

Britney looked concerned.

 

“What kinds of plans, Mistress?”

 

“I need to know before we go in, that you are in. If not, you can head back to the hotel and our work is over. If you are in, then I expect perfect adherence to my commands. If you renege on being in, I have the keys in my bag and will take the first motorbike taxi to the Mekong river to deposit them. And if at any point the sensations get too much – if you are afraid – I will give you a safeword to use. Say it, an all activities will cease, at least for a while.

 

“What’s the safeword?”

 

“Ill tell you when were inside. Are you in, or out?”

 

Britney looked back at the road to the skytrain behind us. We turned a corner, then another, into the street where BARBAR’s neon sign fizzled against the black night sky.

 

“I’m in, Mistress.”

 

“Very good.”

 

*

 

The club was even darker than the electric night outside. We passed a Asian couple on the steps – the man pulling his protesting girlfriend up the stairs as she shrieked at him in some unintelligible language and tried to let go of his hands. At the front desk, the Mamasan took our fee, handed us masks and then signalled to Britney to wait, as she fetched something from under the counter. A schoolgirl outfit. I had no idea they gave out those sorts of outfits here, I’d heard the usual offering was a t-shirt. Still, he was going to look very good in it.

 

As the Mamasan helped Britney with her skirt, putting the new one over her skirt then pulling down the other one, she leaned in close to fasten the last button, clucking maternally in Thai. Ben being an idiot, misjudged what she was trying to do. He wrapped her in a tight hug, slapping her back.

 

“Aiiiieeee!” Yelled the Mamasan.

 

“Britney, down! Don’t you know its rude to touch Thai’s you don’t know?”

 

The club was relatively full, predominantly with English men of a certain age. One Dutchman, drunk and jolly, licking his fingertips and fiddling with the nipples of an indulgent, rope bound submissive, between sips of whisky.  On one of the couches, a man with glasses cowed, clenched jaw chewing at nothing as two of the girls put on a show for him. A rubinesque sub spread-eagled over a low table, completely naked and red breasts bulging out of of rope the same colour, as a Mistress lapped the inside of her thighs with leather tassels. There was a couple, and a very extroverted Asian lady, who was throwing herself into several submissive activities with gusto.

 

I found a leather couch to sit on, patted the floor just in front of me.

 

“Kneel. Eyes in front.”

 

Britney came and kneeled in front of me as a Mistress and her sub approached and began setting up in the black steel birdcage in front of me.  A candle was lit, the towering mistress weaving the rope around the back, the breasts and under the crotch of the sub, her arms and legs spread, hands gripping the bars and head held high.

 

“I want you to watch, Britney,”

 

The Mistress picked up the candle, and tossed wax forward in small spurts, at the sub’s ample buttocks. All credit to the sub, who made no sound and didn’t move. I admired the pair’s dynamic. The Mistress then took a tasselled whip, and rubbed the handle teasingly between the sub’s stiffening legs.

 

“Wow…”

 

“Shh. Britney. Watch with you eyes.”

 

Ben was shifting about on the floor, jangling and licking his lips. I imagined he hadn’t seen anything quite like this before. Perhaps some porn – but real life is so different to porn. To be surrounded by the sound of leather on flesh, the smell of sexual arousal and so much visual stimulation that you cant turn your head away from it. Every surface, every colour, every song played from the speakers adds another level to the experience. Immersed in desire – yours and others. Its an experience.

 

The sub turned round to face us, her complicatedly bound breasts hanging down gloriously, her head to the ceiling. A thong that barely covered her being rubbed and struck by the tassel of a, quite honestly, rather lacklustre but gorgeous Mistress. Mistress poured wax over the sub’s breasts, after securing a peg to each. The sub remained still.

 

“I want you to be as still, as quiet, as her, Britney.”

 

Ben twirled one of the pigtails around a finger. His breathy yes almost inaudible as he got lost in the show.

 

Now the Mistress moved the clips to the sub’s labia. The whipping got harder now. Something under Britney’s skirt tried to too. The girls spoke in Thai to each other, as the Mistress blew out the candle and approached us with the whip.

 

“You want to try?” The Mistress said.

 

“Buy her a drink, Britney. You’re going to have a go now – isn’t that exciting?”

 

Ben was still processing what he had just seen. He clicked off to the bar to buy some drinks – two shots for himself and a cocktail for the Mistress. A soft whispered dance track played. The club was filling up, a few couples in front of the red silk curtains framing the bar, behind which masquerade masks peered out from a wall of melted wax.

 

Ben gave money to the Mistress, who started peeling off his schoolgirl outfit. When the skirt fell, some of the girls gasped and giggled at the rather unladylike bulge in his black panties. Ben looked at me as though he wanted to say something.

 

“Yes, Britney?”

 

“Um… what’s the safeword, Mistress?”

 

I clapped my hands together.

 

“Ah yes, I almost forgot. How remiss of me. The safeword is ‘antidissastablishmentarianism’.”

 

“Anti… what?”

 

I cackled.

 

“Legs spread, arms spread, Britney. Do as she directs you to do. No sound, no movement.”

 

Ben stepped into the birdcage, lifting his hands to the side of the cage as the Dominatrix lit the candle. The sub from the performance crawled into the cage in front of Ben as the Mistress fastened the ropes around him. Ben looked from one to the other, excited and terrified. He was surrounded.

 

“Head up, Britney! Atta girl!”

 

The Mamasan rushed over to us, speaking animatedly in Thai. One of the girls translated. Apparently there had been a mistake. The school girl outfit was meant for someone else – a member of the landlord’s family. Apparently Britney had looked so similar to her, that they had mistakenly passed her the clothes. Now Mamasan wanted them back. Shame. He had looked wonderfully tarty in them.

 

I folded up the clothes and handed them back to the Mamasan,  as Ben stood spread eagled over the lit candle, the Mistress tracing her paddle over the skin of his back as her sub slid her body up him and began lapping at one of his nipples. Ben was trying to stand still, but his body arched and trembled at every touch, overwhelmed by the sources of sensation that he couldn’t see and so felt five times stronger.

 

I got up to explore the facility. Some of the girls were checking their phones in the background. A girl was talking to a willow like bartender. There was a medical themed “inspection room”, a stage – under which some red gauze curtains hung. I pulled them back to explore the backlit cave. Red circular cushions sat like lily pads over the wax stained carpet. A quiet, if not quite private, place for exploration. The vacant showers were open, with only bars for a door. Upstairs, in the private room, the vicious snap of a whip being applied hard between someone crying for Mommy.

 

“Mommy’s here…” came a deep woman’s voice from the top of the stairs.

 

I gazed back to see Britney being turned around in the cage. She was doing well, no cries of pain or gasps. The pleading for mommy from upstairs made me feel a little more competitive. I walked over the bar and purchased another drink for the Mistress working with Britney, intimating for her to go harder. She grinned and nodded. The whip cracked down over his thighs – he gasped and fell forward into the sub’s hands, pushing him back into position. Much better.

 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

 

I turned to the source of the voice. An English man, perhaps in his late forties, sat at the bar with a near empty beer. He looked intelligent, if a little drunk. Harmless. Britney would be occupied for a while. I accepted his offer, sitting down at the bar next to him, leaning back to watch the show.