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.

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

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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”.

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.

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.

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 6

Ben and I sat on the patio of a nice café on the edge of Chinatown, with its oriental apartment frontages, windows encased in elaborately designed steel cages and sidewalks filled with people sitting in plastic chairs, eating and drinking as the world passed by.

 

I played with the stem of the wine glass, running my fingers up and down its length, teasing Ben as he tried to talk about his undergraduate degree.

 

“I studied at Oxford for three years in psychology, philosophy and linguistics…”

 

“So you are a cunning linguist? I couldn’t tell.”

 

Ben coughed awkwardly, looking around. There were four guys from Australia on the table beside us, who were looking at Ben with amusement as they chatted amongst themselves.

 

“Sorry Ben. Do continue.”

 

“Then I took my Master’s in psychological research at Oxford too, studying, uh…”

 

I was running my tongue around the rim of the cool glass. The sensation was incredibly pleasant on this forty degree day. A group of tourists ran by, whooping and hollering, shooting their water pistols at a Thai girl, who ran giggling past them. It was Songkran – a three day celebration in Thailand, where people celebrate the Buddhist New Years with street water fights to wash off the bad luck of the previous year. A baptism of sorts, though instead of a fount, buckets of ice water and water cannons.

 

“Studying… uh?”

 

“Studying behavioural and cognitive neuroscience, developmental science and abnormal behaviour. That sort of thing.” He looked disgustingly proud of himself. “I graduated with honours, actually.”

 

I took a big gulp of wine, emphasizing the sound. Ben grinned stupidly. I leaned forward on my hands towards him at the table, pushing my cleavage up with my forearms and staring him down. Ben’s eyes fell predictably to where I’d expected them to.

 

“Really? You have a surprising amount of qualifications for someone who comes across so unintelligently. Still, there are many things that can’t be learned from a textbook.”

 

Ben’s grin fell. I leaned forward so I was a few inches from his face.

 

“And I wonder what Oxford would think about their prize student, kneeling down and sucking cock as you did last night…”

 

Ben looked desperately at me. The Aussie’s were leaving, laughing and glancing at Ben as they disappeared into the crowds outside.

 

“Don’t be humble, Ben. That was a performance worthy of an honours, right there. Your dedication to the task, your hunger for that red dildo… I couldn’t feed it to you fast enough…”

 

“Mistress!”

 

I frowned at him, grabbing him by the ring of the collar he’d obediently worn as instructed. Good boy.

 

“Oh Ben, what did I say about not taking yourself so seriously? Good grief – its not as if the mighty Oxford don’t have its share of perverts, especially in a subject as cold and repressive as psychology. Lighten up! I bet a good deal of the faculty there are buggering someone after hours. Or after class. Come to think of it, you seemed more than a novice at taking that cock last night. Something you’re not telling me,  Ben?”

 

Ben gritted his teeth and turned his head away to the side as I laughed. I released my grip on the ring and sat back down as a married couple sat on the table next to us. From the tone of their sparing conversation, they sounded Italian. While the man was lecherously ogling the Thai waitress, the woman had a far away look in her eyes. Probably wondering if she could hasten the “til death do us part” bit.

 

“So Ben… you’re a shrink… diagnose me.”

 

“I’m not a shrink… not yet. And I uh… I wouldn’t…”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Mistress. I don’t really know…”

 

“Five years of education and you don’t know how to diagnose someone? What kind of education does Oxford provide? Or perhaps you were too busy in the stock cupboard with your tutor, earning  those honours you talked about…”

 

“Katia! Ugh… oh… Mistress, but I don’t want you to be offended.”

 

Ben shifted on the bench, the dull jangle of the cock cage only barely audible above the noise of the restaurant.

 

“I might be offended. But if you’re worried about the keys falling into the Mekong, you don’t need to be. Not today anyway. I have other tools in my bag. You know me pretty intimately by now, surely you’ve made some judgement or other on me, scientifically speaking. I want to hear it.”

 

Ben hesitated. I glared and kicked his shin under the table.

 

“Ow! Ok, ok. It’s not my judgement, ok? It’s just the best that I can think of, given the categories I’ve learned.”

 

“Spit it out.”

 

“Um… maybe borderline?”

 

Sounded exciting. I hadn’t heard that term before. Though I did pride myself on dancing around boundaries – it sounded strangely fitting.

 

“Tell me more…”

 

Ben sat up, straight, clearing his throat in that self-important manner that overeducated people often do before they regale you with their brilliance.

 

“Um yes… borderline personality disorder. It’s characterized by rapid shifts in mood, addictive tendencies – you know, alcohol, sex…”

 

“Everything in moderation – especially moderation, Ben.”

 

“Impulsive behaviour.”

 

“I prefer spontaneous.”

 

“Hypersexuality.”

 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing!”

 

“And did you… did you have an eating disorder when you were younger? Like as a teenager?”

 

I grinned. He was good.

 

“Yes, I was bulimic, as a matter of fact.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Pfft. Don’t be.”

 

My insensitive gag reflex had become more of a blessing than a curse, long after I stopped that destructive cycle and learned my own power. My perfectionism was a strength in my work. My daddy issues – well, that was another story altogether, but nothing that concerned Ben.

 

Ben was looking more confident now, head held high, obviously feeling quite proud of himself.

 

“Explosive anger?”

 

“When merited.”

 

“Fear of abandonment?”

 

I took the last gulp of wine and slammed the glass down on the table. Ben trembled.

 

“Very interesting. All garbage of course,” I hissed, “but what else would I expect from a book smart little cocksucker like you?”

 

Ben deflated, grabbing his beer and downing the remainder, eyes closed, as if to shut out the world. I’ve read that small children do this and think they are invisible – you can’t see them if they can’t see you. Of course, not only did I see Ben, but I had seen him – multiple times – naked and degraded and begging for more. For all of his education and bravado, he knew as I did, exactly what a hungry little cumslut he was under the surface.

 

“So Ben… what are you planning to study next? Or are you going to go into practise?”

 

Ben opened his eyes, warily, placing his glass down on the table with a shaking hand, utterly humiliated.

 

“I want… uh… I want to specialize in CBT, Mistress.”

 

“CBT?” I bit my lip and grinned. “Oh, that’s definitely something I could teach you…”

 

*

 

We walked back down the road to the skytrain. Every few steps I’d ‘accidentally’ bump Ben with a shoulder, watching in amusement as he tumbled sideways into people, apologizing frantically. At one point, a skinny Thai man in short shorts and pole dancer shoes grabbed Ben’s arm and locked him against his tanned body.

 

“I be your new girlfriennn… OK?”

 

Ben tried to wriggle out of the ladyboy’s arm, but her meagre frame hid a persistent strength. Ben shot me a desperate glance, the ladyboy nuzzling her hair against his shoulder, a garish green wig wobbling on top of her shaved head.

 

“Very pretty, yes?” She cooed, batting her heavily mascarad lashes at him, her smile wicked, knowing – as I did – that Ben was weak at the core. “You liiiike?”

 

She ground provocatively against his side, with incredible balance on her pink heels.

 

“Very pretty, but I have to… Katia…!

 

I frowned.

 

“Sorry Ben, I don’t have time to wait around with you while you flirt with your new girlfriend. I’ll see you at six at the hotel reception. Have fun!”

 

“Katia… wait….”

 

The Thai flashed Ben a gruesome smile, a row of yellow-brown teeth between her coral lips. I left him to figure it out and wandered down the tightly packed stalls to peruse souvenirs. On one of them, I saw a teak ashtray with a carving of a naked man lying spread eagled against the sides, penis erect. I wondered what kind of sadist would enjoy the experience of putting a cigarette out on a man’s cock. Not my thing. Besides, smoking is bad for the health.

 

There was a stall at the corner which sold wigs. Row after row of blonde, black and brunette, short and curly, wavy and straight.

 

“Something for you?”

 

A man with a cotton shirt stretched over his Buddha belly came sweating from around the corner. He picked up a black wig, the shiny hair poker straight.

 

“For you, very nice. Only 500 baht.”

 

It was nice, I’d give him that.

 

“Not for me – for a man I know.”

 

“Oooh…” the stall holder’s eyes widened. “Same same…”

 

“How much is this one?”

 

I lifted up a dirty blonde coloured wig, with ribbon tied pigtails. With Ben’s blue eyes, the colour would go very well. Tonight I was going to turn him from man, to sissy. Rouge his cheeks, paint his lips and make sure the next time he cried, that his tears would be black. There is something about mascara stained tears, when you’re violating a sub with a strap-on, that is utterly glorious to behold.

 

Inspecting the wig, the hair net underneath showed through as I ran my fingers along the hair. It was cheaply made. Cheap. It would suit Ben’s new persona when I had finished with him.

 

*

 

On the 11th floor, I warmed the wax strips under the taps in Ben’s bathroom. I had gotten them from Boots earlier, that renowned English pharmacy that so many English people in Thailand rave about. It’s expensive, but it was the only place I knew would carry wax strips. That’s the funny thing about Bangkok, there are so many things here you wouldn’t expect to see. Boots, Tescos, street vendors selling fried scorpions on sticks. An Oxford graduate lying prone on the hardwood floor of a room in an upscale Bangkok hotel, waiting patiently for his Mistress to abuse him.

 

I turned the hot water off, kneading my fingers down the large, shiny paper sandwiching the wedge of wax. I’d remove his back hair first, then roll him over and tackle the chest. For a man of 27, his hair was fairly meagre. He shot me nervous glances as I slowly split the papers in two, hot wax separating between them  in thick strings.

 

I strode towards Ben in my heels, clicking across the floor dramatically, wielding the two strips. Ben averted his eyes as I crouched down and sat over his bottom, adjusting myself by rocking hard on his hips, his body arching with arousal and the pressure of the cock cage below.

 

“Ben, poor Ben. Your all caged up and nowhere to blow, mm? Don’t worry, my dear, I’m going to take you out tonight. You’re going to love it. But first, I am going to transform you. Change you into the sissy I know you really are, underneath all of those words. The sissy I know you want to be. The one who loves cock and dreams about being used terribly – that sounds about the right diagnosis, doesn’t it?”

 

I applied the strips to Ben’s back, rubbing them up and down until they were firmly adhered to his skin. Ben took a deep breath and held it, his body trembling.

 

“It will hurt more if you do that. Trust me, I know. Relax now, breath into it…”

 

Ben stubbornly continued to hold his breath.

 

“Suit yourself.”

 

I ripped both wax pads up at once, roughly.

 

“ARRRGHHH!”

 

“I did try to tell you. Now, hold still.”

 

A few stray patches of wax covered hair remained. I placed the backs of the used papers back on the skin, rubbing them into the redness and ripping up on them again.

 

“Ow! ARGHH!”

 

I got up to warm another strip of wax, taking my time. Enjoying the effect that the anticipation of fresh pain had on my subject, at the same time as the anticipation of having my warm ass  pressed against his bottom aroused him.

 

More strips. More cries. I was almost tempted to gag him, but no one knocked on the door. I suppose Bangkok being Bangkok, the hotel staff had heard more than their share of strange things happening after dark.

 

“Instability of mood, hmm?”

 

RIP!

 

“I’m sor… ow! Mistress, you asked… I…”

 

“Abandonment issues?”

 

“I’m so sorry… so… sorr… OWWWW!”

 

RIP!

 

“Pain is beauty, Ben. Take it like a man. Oh – I forgot. You gave your balls to me. You’re not a man anymore, are you? Just a little sissy, hungry for humiliation, lying helpless between Mistresses’ thighs…”

 

RIP!

 

“Katia… Mistress…!”

 

I dug my fingernails into both of his shoulders and he quivered. Lying down over him, I hissed into his ear, his head jerking away from the assault of hot breath.

 

“Quiet! If you want more of that cock you were so hungry for last night, I’m going to have to pretty you up. Make you into a good little slut. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

 

“Y… yes Mistress.”

 

I sit back up and slap his red flesh.

 

“Say it.”

 

“I want to be a good little slut, Mistress.”

 

SLAP!

 

“What else?”

 

“Mistress…”

 

SLAP!

 

“I want to kneel down and have you feed me cock… Mistress… I want to… I want you to…”

 

SLAP!

 

“I want you to take me… to rape me in the ass!”

 

I toss the last hair coated strip to the side, admiring my handiwork and running a cool hand down his angry skin.

 

“Rape you… in the ass?”

 

Ben was breathing faster now, a circle of condensation under his mouth on the floor, growing and shrinking with every breath. His face was  red and sweaty.

 

“Yes Mistress.”

 

I stood up and kicked him in the side until he turned over onto his back. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He looked quite magnificent, but the best was yet to come. I placed my hands on his hips, drinking in his shame.

 

“What a vulgar thing to say, Ben.”

 

“Sorry Mistress. But I thought you wanted me to…”

 

“Shh!”

 

Ben looked abashed. I hiked my dress slowly up one smooth, tanned leg, black silk sliding luxuriously up my thigh, until my fingers touched the elastic of my black lace pants. Slipping a thumb under the side of them, I coaxed one side down my thigh, watching in amusement as Ben’s tongue stuck stupidly out of his mouth, watching me.

 

“Dirty little boys ought to have their mouths washed out with soap, mmm? And you are a dirty, filthy little boy aren’t you, Ben?”

 

Ben could barely speak. I repeated the process on the other side, Ben making strange clucking noises with his tongue as he watched me lower the black lace past my knees, my calves and gently easing them from around my stilettos.

 

“Though I imagine you’d rather have your mouth washed out with something other than soap, wouldn’t you? I imagine cum is far more to your taste.”

 

Ben wriggled on his back, his straining cock cage padlock jingling as he writhed about in hopeless arousal. I rolled the panties up in a ball. It had been a hot day, we had walked a lot, and seeing my man slave this helpless under my control, had made me a little aroused. The fabric was warm and wet with the moisture of my sex. Something told me he wouldn’t mind in the slightest.

 

“Open.”

 

Ben opened his mouth and I shoved the fabric in between his teeth. He chewed ravenously on the fabric, moaning and wriggling his hips. Gulping repeatedly as he tasted his Mistress on the black fabric, looking at me with pained ecstasy.

 

“You like that, don’t you? Dirty little reprobate. Sucking and chewing on my panties like a dog. You’re a dirty little dog, aren’t you, Ben?”

 

“Mmm…”

 

Ben jangled madly on the floor underneath me. His balls bulged tight and shiny under the metal. Hopeless.

 

“Well, chew on that for a while. I have work to do.”

 

I walked back to the bathroom to warm up another wax strip. Ben moaned and jangled on the hardwood, overwhelmed with frustrated arousal. I waxed his chest with the same merciless vigour as I had his back, sitting at the base of his pelvis, just in front of his cock cage, teasing him with the warm wetness of my bare sex on his skin – so close, but so far from his bound and useless  cock. I had to slap his hands down repeatedly to the floor as his excitement grew, which was rather challenging when applying the wax.

 

When I had finished, I sat back to admire my work. One scarlet and perfectly smooth chest. Not enough strips for under his arms. That could wait.

 

“Mmmm…mmmmm…”

 

Ben groaned as I traced a finger around one of his nipples, his fingers wriggling helplessly by his sides as his body shook this way and that. I checked the bedside clock. 7:30pm. Barbar, a Dungeon Club in seedy Patpong, had opened at 6pm. Time to get our skates on. I grabbed his nipple hard between my fingers, digging my black nails deep into the pilled flesh there and pulling up.

 

“MMMmmmMMmm?!”

 

Ben looked at me beseechingly with glossy eyes, thrusting his hips.

 

“Time to get up. Sit on the chair over there. I have more excitement planned for you tonight!”

 

“MMMRGHH. Mmmm?”

 

Drool ran down the edges of Ben’s mouth as he masticated on the black lace. I probably wouldn’t wear that pair again. They were his now. I wondered what he’d look like in them, in a pair of heels, pushing his ass up. Ben in a skimpy dress, make up and pigtails. My sissy. I’d have to think of a name…

 

“Don’t worry, Ben. It wont hurt. You can relax now. Sit over there. I’m going to pamper you – make you look pretty. I think you’re going to like it very much when I’m done with you.

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 5

The next morning, I wasn’t sure if – with time to think about the sensations of the night before – Ben would have left early for Bangkok. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he ran. Plenty do. And I’d put him on a bit of a fast track, given the timeline. Given the anonymity of a foreign country, and the lack of contact details, there would be nothing I could do about it.

 

At the breakfast table, the talk turned to the exploits of the group the night before. Everyone looked a little worse for wear, especially Bruno, who was pushing scrambled eggs around the plate with his fork. Apparently Bruno had become a bit of an extrovert last night, after a few rounds of bucket drinks, talking about his recent divorce. The groups evening culminated in him attempting to dance on the speaker of the club. The others had had to wrestle him into a tuk tuk, offering drunken apologies to the frantic manager. He had started crying on the way home.  The piece de resistance? He had thrown up on Penelope.

 

“You OK, mate?” Aussie said, passing Bruno a bottle of water. “You should drink something… you really went for it last night!”

 

“Ugh.”

 

Bruno groaned, letting his head fall forward onto his arms. A familiar figure appeared in the doorway, looking a bit self conscious.

 

“Ben!” Penelope cried.

 

“Hey mate! Where were you last night? Katia said you got sunstroke or something. You alright? Bruno didn’t do much better, poor bugger – look at him!”

 

Ben looked at Bruno, looked at me. I smiled.

 

“You were a little tied up, weren’t you Ben?”

 

Ben’s face began to flush. Aussie looked at me with a grin.

 

“I mean, Ben leaves today, so I imagine between the heat and the packing for his flight this evening, he was too busy, weren’t you Ben?”

 

“Something like that. Yeah.”

 

Ben took a pastry and sat down slowly with the group. He wolfed down his food, periodically glancing up at me. I pulled my hair brush out of my bag, catching Ben’s eye as I ran a manicured finger down the bristles and banged it a few times in my hand. He coughed and shuffled awkwardly in his seat, wincing a little.

 

“Ben, you don’t look well,” Kim said, “maybe you should get some rest? Your face looks really red.”

 

I started brushing my hair, placing my tongue between my teeth as I grinned wickedly at him. Ben’s eyes widened.

 

“I think I may go and lie down. Catch you later, guys.”

 

Ben got up, almost taking the table with him, and hurried out, day bag placed strategically over the front of his shorts. I chuckled.

 

*

 

When I got back to my room, I found a piece of paper slipped under the door: Ben’s address in Bangkok. His cellphone number. He’d be staying in Silom, nearest skytrain station, Sala Daeng. I slipped the paper into my wallet. He was going to continue the game. Good.

 

Signed, “I wont cum until you do, Mistress. Ben.”

 

*

 

I wiled away the last few days at the resort, taking time to relax, to ride a bike down the red dirt roads, past fruit and vegetable markets, with their spoiling cuts of meat and little Khmer children playing in the doorways of stores and homes. In the afternoons, I sunned myself by the pool, watching in amusement as an unlikely holiday romance bloomed between Penelope and Bruno. The boring and the naïve in perfect harmony. It was very cute.

 

Kim went onto Bali the day before I left, no doubt with an expanded mind. Sunshine and relaxation were good, but by the time I caught my flight to Bangkok, I was keen to get back to work.

 

Bangkok was hot, but not so oppressively as Cambodia. Compared to Cambodia’s sleepy vibe, the multisensory assault of Thai music thudding over loudspeakers from bars and restaurants, the endless stream of traffic, city lights and the smell of food carts were an adjustment.

 

I took a taxi to the hotel I had purchased in Siem Reap before the flight, deliberately close to Ben’s, in Silom. The City of Life is a place that never sleeps. If things went well in the few days, neither would Ben.

 

I didn’t bother to contact Ben the first night. He could wait. Instead I bought a Chang beer at the Skybar just around the corner and searched for Bangkok Mistresses. Call it window shopping. I was curious how they did things around here. Maybe I could learn a few things. There is a surprisingly large bdsm community in Bangkok and among a sea of PVC wrapped Mistresses was a wide range of ages and sexes. Petite women with scowls on their doll-like faces, to the more playful aggression of the ladyboy dominatrixes. There were a few much older women too that looked like they had spanked more than their share of bottoms in their lifetimes. All power to them.

 

My eyes settled on a Thai Mistress who looked in her fourties. Her age showed in the soft lines around her eyes, but her eyes sparkled with a brightness of someone much younger, or etherically older. In her PVC leggings, t-shirt  and stilettos, she could have easily passed for just another Thai woman dressed in black in the street, during this year’s duration of mourning for the King who passed just a few months before. Except for the riding crop, of course. That’s the fascinating thing about the bdsm community. By day its members are teachers, or mothers, or grandfathers or pastors – by night, they are master or servant. Two worlds, two lives. Mundane and mythical.

 

This mistress, crop in hand and reclining in the red velvet chair of the local Dungeon club in Patpong, reminded me of my own Mistress – the one who introduced me to the scene two years ago. The smile curled up to one side, like hers, giving the impression that she had two faces in one. Both filthy and tender. I’d met my Mistress through a friend at a work party, and while I consider myself hetero in preference, her, provocative language, razor sharp wit and exaggerated sensuality fascinated me immediately. Before I knew it, I was helplessly in love with her, which I now realize was foolish, because to her I was only ever a plaything to be dangled. But what do you know? Turns out, I actually enjoyed being dangled, then whipped… then violated. By her. I would honestly have done anything for her if she had asked me to. And this relinquishing of my power to her gave me freedom and new strength to tackle other challenges in my life. Before meeting her, I was submissive and miserable about it. I would draw boundaries with others, but when I read the disappointment on their faces, I’d remove the boundary and feel utterly disgusted with myself. Mistress pushed me to remove my boundaries too, but it was different, because I had agreed to it and because she was pushing me to become something better. With every lash, every teasing word, every moment of her terrible silent treatment, I was excited, terrified and deeply aroused. When I couldn’t take it anymore, when I thought I hated her and wanted to give up, she would coax me back in with those words of hers and I’d lie before her again. Her’s totally. When it was time for us to go our separate ways, I was deeply sad, but also inspired. I started Mistressing shortly after, one sub at a time, opening the door for my subs to walk through, as she had opened it for me. I don’t think I could be submissive for anyone ever again. Except perhaps her.

 

Anyway, enough introspection. I drink up the rest of the Chang, take a few panoramic photos of the neon circuit board city below me and pull Ben’s number out of my purse. A ring tone.

 

*

 

“Katia!”

 

Ben greeted me in the doorway of the hotel, attempting to hug me. My eyes looked dourly into his.

 

“Mistress..” he whispered, dropping his arms.

 

“Eyes.”

 

Ben looked down. I passed him my bag.

 

“Your room?”

 

Ben walked ahead of me past the reception, where a Thai desk clerk was chatting animatedly in broken English to a couple, whose child was laying screaming on the floor. Nine o’ clock. I’d stopped by a stall on the way, seeing a black leather collar with a ring on the front, that might have been a fashion accessory for a teenager, but was large enough – I thought – for Ben’s neck.

 

We took the elevator to the 11th floor. The bay windows showed the electric buzz of Bangkok’s night scene. Ben’s room was around the corner. It was of a modest size and had a leaking faucet. How appropriate.

 

I kicked off my stilettos at the door, my feet throbbing from the heat and the recent travel. Ben had placed my bag next to the chaise lounge.

 

“Strip!”

 

“Yes Mistress.”

 

He dropped his pants immediately and hastily unbuttoned his shirt. I sat down on the silken chaise lounge.

 

“Crouch. All fours. Sideways, under my feet.”

 

Ben hurried over and crouched, the petuchiae on his ass had begun to blossom into a map of purple and blue constellations. He’d shaved fully, exactly as I’d instructed, his cock far more vulnerable now it had no hair to hide in. It hung there vulnerably like a shrivelled up worm that even a broken beaked crow wouldn’t touch.

 

“Like this Mistress?”

 

I slapped him hard on his mangled ass.

 

“Did I instruct you to speak?”

 

“No Mistress.”

 

Slap!

 

“And say thank you, Mistress. I am spending my valuable time teaching you.”

 

“Thank you Mistress.”

 

His ass clenched. He didn’t say another word. I took the remote and turned on the television. A Thai lady in a pink suit was teaching Thai phrases. Ben’s head lifts to see what was on the screen.

 

Slap!

 

“Eyes down!”

 

“Ow! Thank you, Mistress!”

 

He looked down. I spanked him again and again until he was exactly how I wanted him to be: submissive and silent. Thai was an interesting language, I listened to the lady for a while – though throughout the tutorial there was no instruction on how to say, “yes mistress”. I pulled out my phone to Google it.

 

“Chi phu pen thirak”. That could be useful later.

 

I turned off the television, spreading my legs and running each along Ben’s back until one was placed behind his bottom, pushing him forward, and one below his downturned face, teasing his lips with my big toe, which he obligingly began to suck.

 

“Kneel.”

 

He released by toe with a satisfying smack of his lips and knelt before me, eyes down. I reached into my bag for the leather collar, unfastened it and placing it around his neck. I wondered if it would take a choke chain, whether it was real leather. Bangkok vendors have a saying: “same same” (but different). You ask if something is real leather and they say “same same” with a naughty grin that suggests it may or may not be, but who’s worried?

 

Buckle fastened, I pulled Ben’s head up by the hair and fixed him with my gaze.

 

“Who are you?”

 

Ben looked confused.

 

“Ben, Mistress.”

 

“No. Not Ben. Ben is that cocksure no-nothing that existed before you met me. Now you’re mine – my faithful lapdog, that would do anything for me.”

 

“Yes Mistress.”

 

“My slave.”

 

“Absolutely Mistress.”

 

I reach down, grab his semi-erect cock and yank it forward until I see tears form in his eyes.

 

“And whose is this?”

 

“Y… yours Mistress…”

 

I released my grip, then mercilessly thrust my hand between his sweaty thighs to grasp his balls. He yelped as I squeezed.

 

“And this?”

 

“Y… ow… yours Mistress… please…”

 

“Good.”

 

I released my grip and withdrew my hand. Ben sighed, beginning to slump down but caught my gaze and straightened up. I leaned for the toy bag to retrieve the cock cage and keys.

 

“Stand. Quickly now.”

 

With Ben’s erections going up faster than new apartments in the city, I knew I had to work fast. I unlocked the fastenings, applied lube roughly to his cock and slid on the cage.

 

“What is that, Mistress?”

 

Click. The padlock snapped shut.

 

“It’s a cock cage, Ben. It means that your balls and cock are mine. I own not only your mind, but your pleasure too. And as both of your heads lack self-control, my metal friend here is going to help me with your lower one, while I turn the screws on your mind. That sounds good, doesn’t it Ben?”

 

Ben looked hesitant.

 

“Oh, what is it now, dog?”

 

“Uh, what if I need to pee, Mistress?”

 

“Then pee. I’m not stopping you. You might want to sit down though – I imagine it might get a little messy otherwise.”

 

“From now on, Mistress? How… uh… how long?”

 

“How long will you be in Bangkok?”

 

“Eight more days.”

 

“Perfect. I am here for another ten. So in eight more days you will get your toy back to play with, but for now its mine, understand? Day and night, under lock and key. And you might want to stay on my good side,” I say, jangling the keys on my finger, “because the Mekong River is very deep and dark, and if these were to accidentally fall into it… well who knows how complicated it would be to get out of that.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare!”

 

Ben looked up at me in horror. I cackled and stood up, fetching the strap-on from my bag. I fitted it over my black faux-leather pants.  Ben crawled on all fours, without thinking, hungrily watching as I fastened the buckle and bounced it theatrically around for him.

 

“You look like a very excited dog right now.”

 

“I am Mistress!”

 

“I wonder what you’re thinking about right now…”

 

Ben licked his lips then tried to look away, suddenly shy.

 

“Let me help you articulate, then, Ben.”

 

I walked behind him with the strap-on, towering over him as he wiggled his ass hungrily, growing more aroused with every moment of anticipation.

 

“I imagine you are thinking what it would be like if I lubed you up as I did the other night, teased your balls with this giant cock of mine, rolling it softly up and down the inside of your thighs as you release any resistance to the idea of what I am going to do to you.”

 

Ben let out a low groan as his breathing quickened.

 

“And then perhaps that I might tease the tip of it back up your thigh, past your balls and over that tender skin up to your arsehole, pushing it against that pink little rose until you ask – you beg, you cry – for me to drive it deep into you.

 

“Yes… yes Mistress…”

 

I smiled as Ben’s hips took on a life of their own. He might have been a dog, except that without a tail he showed his excitement in the rapid jerks of his eager cheeks, licking his dry lips, mouth breathing.

 

“And then maybe you’d imagine me taking you by the hips, digging my fingernails into the sides of them, that soft flesh, and using them to ram myself in and out – in and out – until you scream with pain and terror and pleasure. Imagine the sounds you’d hear, between the slickness of that lube and the resistance of your ass giving to the pressure of me using and debasing you for my pleasure.”

 

“Urghh…”

 

Ben looked beside himself in arousal, body writhing close to the ground as he panted. I gave him a sharp slap to the side of the face.

 

“Mistress?”

 

“Did I tell you to be on all fours?”

 

“Mistress! Sorry Mistress!”

 

Ben got up to his knees, straight backed and staring apologetically at me. The cock cage looked a little more snug now, red flesh bulging out of the sides of the metal, giving his cock the look of hung salami.

 

“As always you are thinking of yourself first. But as I told you before – women come first, always. I understand. You’re hungry, aren’t you Ben?”

 

“Oh yes, Mistress!”

 

“I’m going to give you something that should satisfy that need, because I am very good to you – aren’t I, Ben?”

 

“Oh yes, Mistress. Thank you Mistress!”

 

I walked around to face him, positioning myself so the tip of the phallus teased his lips.

 

“Mouth open!”

 

Ben opened his mouth, looking a little unconvinced.

 

“Oh don’t pout like that. What’s wrong now?”

 

“It’s just that… I’ve never…”

 

“Is that it? Really Ben, you sucked my toe earlier, and I know you can work a banana like a pro. This is the same – just think of it as a… a bigger banana.”

 

(Same same – but different)

 

“Mistress…”

 

“Open!”

 

Ben opened his mouth. I prized it open a little more with my hands, then slid half of the cock into his receptive wetness, rocking gently backwards and forwards as he got to grips with taking it. At first his attempt was meagre, but he soon got into the spirit of things.

 

“That’s it! Oh you’re a good little cock sucker aren’t you? Maybe you could make a career out of this. Oh… so hungry. Would you like me to give you more?”

 

Ben gave a muffled moan of what I took for approval between slurps, and I clutched two handfuls of hair and started to drive further into his mouth, exploring the back of his tongue, his throat. He gagged. I stopped for a moment, then resumed my thrusting.

 

Gluk gluk gluk!

 

His mouth began to foam with saliva, his nostrils working furiously to maintain the oxygen level as I increased the pace and depth. He really was quite exceptional at the task. The amount of devotion to a task that a few days ago, I couldn’t imagine he’d ever have contemplated doing in his life.

 

Gluk gluk gluk!

 

“Atta boy!”

 

After ten minutes of this I had quite tired myself out. I drove the cock a final time as far into his mouth until he started to gag, held it there for a few moments, watching his toes wiggle and stretch as he struggled to hang on. When I drew back, a foam of drool splashed to the floor, Ben’s tongue still undulating against his teeth, mouth agog.

 

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight, Ben. I will see you tomorrow. We have more work to do. Perhaps lunchtime – your treat of course.”

 

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 4

Pub Street was quite the sight. Compared to the smaller roads outside the city, this one roared with crowds of tourists, partying the night away. I’d enjoyed a glass of wine and some dinner with the group, and some of them asked after Ben. I offered the explanation that perhaps he had seen a little too much sun earlier, though Kim was watching me with some suspicion.

 

Two hours in, I broke off from the group – who were going on a pub crawl until the wee small hours. My thoughts were getting back to the captive in the bathroom. I hailed a tuk tuk via the tourist goods  store, where I hastily purchased shaving foam and a razor.

 

I was, in truth, a little worried about Ben. He had caught rather a lot of sun earlier and though he was young and fit, he was still relatively inexperienced and would be thirsty by now, and possibly dizzy from limited circulation in his position. These are the sorts of practicalities one has to consider as a Mistress. People seem to think its all whips and chains and screaming for Mommy, but there’s a lot more too it than that. Aftercare is just as important as punishment. Maybe more. I imagined  if nothing bad had transpired in the bathroom in this last little while, Ben would be a little raw from this experience, to say the least.

 

Keys in the lock. Inside, I throw down my bag and head to the bathroom.

 

No corpse. Good.

 

Ben is exactly how I left him, except he is sleeping. The floor in front of him is wet with drool, a glaze of it down his legs and the front of his shirt too. He doesn’t stir when I fetch the shaving cream and razor, or when I fill up a bowl with hot water from the tap in the shower next to him.

 

I fetch two scarves next, laying them out with the shaving things beside my bed. When I fetch the cock cage, I drop the keys. They clang to the floor and Ben stirs with a snort.

 

“Mmmgh? MMRGHHH! MMMRGHH!”

 

“On my way.”

 

I walk over, undo the ring gag and release it from his unclenching teeth. Garlands of beaded drool cascade from either side of his mouth to the leather, splashing down with the rest as I toss the gag to the side.

 

“How long have I been here? You left me! Uncuff me! I want to leave! You’re crazy! UNCUFF ME NOW!”

 

The handcuffs clinked loudly against the metal rail as he tried to flail his hands.

 

“Calm down Ben. Someone will hear.”

 

“I want someone to hear! You’re crazy! A devil! Uncuff me!”

 

Disorientated, his head swung in all directions: my red panties still hanging over his eyes. I gently pulled them off.

 

“I’m sorry Ben, I couldn’t take you seriously wearing those on your head. Now… you were upset?”

 

I knew then that I had pushed him too far. Rookie mistake. I’d have to handle this carefully. Obviously I can’t do my job without the permission of my subs. That said, after all of this work, I was reluctant to let him go that easily.

 

I took the keys out of my bra and dangled them in front of his red face. So much for submission – my slave looked like he wanted to bite me, and not in a good way.

 

“Ben. You are angry and a little afraid, I understand.”

 

I crouched down in front of him, stroking the side of his head and angling my breasts within his sight line. He gazed reflexively down at them for a moment, then fixed me with a glare.

 

“That… that wont work… uncuff me now. Now Katia! I’m not joking!”

 

I put the keys down in front of him. He wiggled, but of course – what could he really do? He could only kneel helplessly as I leaned forward as if to whisper in his ear, but instead, traced my tongue down the soft, sunburned skin at the side of his neck.

 

“You taste good when you’re angry, Ben.”

 

“Don’t… don’t do that. Uncuff me. Right now. RIGHT NOW! You’re not a nice woman!”

 

I stopped, picked up the keys and undid his cuffs. His arms dropped down simultaneously and he turned his wrists and flicked his hands before placing them stroppily to the floor in a clumsy attempt to stand. His legs and arms, with their previously restricted blood flow, refused to obey his brain and he fell forward into my waiting arms. There, I cradled his head in my lap, his nose against my pubic bone as I stroked his hair. He sighed, relaxing a little.

 

“I never said I was nice, Ben. I said I could teach you. A few days ago you wanted to be taught. You wanted to please me. But if that has changed… this path isn’t for everyone. Perhaps you are not as strong as I judged you to be. There’s no shame in being weak, Ben…”

 

“I’m not weak!”

 

Ah. Straight in the ego.

 

“I imagine you’re a pretty lousy fuck too, and a mediocre human being at best.  That’s ok though, Ben. There’s a validity to that too. You’d be in the majority.”

 

Ben gave me a look as though he wanted to lunge at me, but did nothing. I yawned, released him, leaving him glaring forward as I turned and began to walk away.

 

Behind me, Ben was having a bit of a tantrum. Quite adorably, he’d reverted back to the speaking ability of a toddler too.

 

“I… you… I… you…YOU…”

 

“I don’t have time for games, Ben. Shit or get off the pot. In or out.”

 

I stopped in the door frame, unfastened the clasp on the back of my dress and let it slide down my body to the floor. The anger in Ben’s eyes was dimming, replaced by that familiar flicker of arousal as he ran his eyes along my bare skin. I had won and he had lost.

 

“If you’re out – your clothes are in the other room where you left them. Close the door on your way out.”

 

I walked out, kicking off my heels in front of the bed, then lying down on the cool sheets. The ceiling fan clacked around on its circuit, its breeze cooling my belly and curling down my legs.

 

Ben didn’t come out  right away. When he did, he lingered in the bathroom doorway. Apparently his circulation was all back to normal now. He was trying to downplay a certain increase of blood flow downstairs with my bath towel.

 

“I’m tired, Ben. Towel goes back in the bathroom. Good night.”

 

I closed my eyes. No footsteps. He was still there.

 

“Uh… Katia? Mistress?”

 

I opened one eye sleepily.

 

“Mmm?”

 

“I uh… I want to apologize…”

 

“Mmm Hmm.”

 

I closed my eyes again.

 

“I do want you to teach me, Mistress. I just… I wasn’t comfortable. I thought you were making fun of me. Laughing at me.”

 

I sat up with a sigh, looking at this penitent slave of mine, standing there pathetically with his towel and hungrily observing my state of undress.

 

“Of course I was, Ben. You are very laughable.”

 

Ben frowned. I tested the water in the shaving bowl with my fingers. Tepid now. I was feeling the effects of the wine and heat earlier now, and on a different night, I could have easily slept. But the thought of Ben and his boner, standing on the threshold of truly beginning this process, was motivation enough to stay awake.

 

“Life is hard if you take yourself so seriously, Ben. I wont be able to teach you either. So if you truly mean what you say, then you are going to have to learn to approach this process with a sense of play. Reverence and obedience too, but a sense of play is the most important thing for working with me. You understand?”

 

Ben nodded, considering. I walked over to him, throwing my arms over his shoulders and pressing my body into his. His erection poked me in the belly, so I pushed it down hard, then straddled it. Ben gasped.

 

“So Ben,” I whispered, “Do you want to play… with me?”

 

He drove his erection deeper into my thighs. As his breath came faster,. I could feel him stiffen through the fabric of the towel.

 

“Yes Mistress. Yes!”

 

I bit his neck, hard. His fingers released their grip on the towel as he moaned, and it slid down to the ground with a dull thud.

 

“Good, then let’s begin.”

 

*

 

I led him into the shower, turning on the warm jets and throwing the shower at over the drool that had amassed on the tiles earlier.

 

“Stand. Do not move. Do not look at me – and as I mentioned earlier, do not cum.”

 

“I wont, Mistress!”

 

I reached for the soap, lathering it up in my hands. The ‘slupslupslup’ of it foaming in my palms distinctly similar sounding to other things that I’m sure Ben was thinking about at that very moment.

 

With a rich lather going, I began to wash him, rubbing his shoulders first. Lathering more, then moving in circles over his pecs, feeling both nipples stand stiffly to attention with every movement of my fingers. Ben moaned, thrusting his hips forward. I stopped.

 

“No. No thrusting.”

 

“I’m sorry Mistress, I cant help it! I cant take this… much longer…”

 

I grabbed him hard by the balls and squeezed. He flinched and cried out. I stared coldly into his terrified eyes.

 

“You can and you will, Ben.”

 

“Y…yes Mistress.”

 

Slupslupslup. Slupslupslupslup.

 

I worked his sides, around his belly button, above his cock, then slid my hands around his hips to the back, digging nails into both of his bare ass cheeks.

 

“Mistress… I’m going to…!”

 

I moved out of the way to avoid the warm jet of cum. Ben moaned incoherently as I hurriedly stepped out of the shower and dried myself off. In a few moments, he had stopped speaking in tongues and attempted to apologize.

 

“You could have got me in the eye with that!”

 

“I’m sorry, Mistress! I’m really sorry!”

 

“I’m going to have to punish you.”

 

“I’ll do anything, Mistress.”

 

“Anything?”

 

“Anything. Yes Mistress.”

 

I threw him the towel.

 

“Alright. Dry yourself. Then get on the bed. On all fours.”

 

Ben dried himself quickly, then raced to the bed, his flaccid cock bouncing pathetically in a crumple of foreskin.

 

I walked over to my toy bag, pulled out the strap on with its terrifying red appendage and fastened it to my waist. Hearing the jingle of buckles from where he was crouched on all fours, back towards me, his head reeled around and his eyes widened.

 

“No… n… no Mistress. Not that. It’s… it’s so big…”

 

I shot him a wicked smile, bouncing up and down on my toes, phallus dancing in its leather harness.

 

“It is big, isn’t it? Can you just imagine something this big driving into that little virgin ass of yours?”

 

Ben looked like he was going to cry. He went to sit up.

 

“Stay! All fours!”

 

Ben bit his lip and assumed the position.

 

“I’m not even sure if it would fit. Something this size… that would take a lot of lube… and even then…. I’m just not sure. I guess it would be fun to find out.”

 

I walked teasingly up to him, with my waist high object of terror.

 

“Please Mistress. Anything… but that. Spank me! Hard! As many times as you like! All night even! I don’t mind! I WANT TO BE SPANKED… PLEASE!”

 

I gave him a sharp slap.

 

“I bet you do. But I think you enjoy it too much, and I don’t have the time or inclination to spank you all night.”

 

“Mistress…”

 

“Settle down. I was only going to shave you.”

 

“But the…”

 

“I happen to like wearing a strap-on, Ben. Now, no more questions. Hands forward, grasp the frame.”

 

Ben did as I asked and I secured both wrists to the bed frame with silk. I noticed with amusement that at no time during this process did Ben lose his focus on the strap-on.

 

“Ben, I do believe you’re a bit more keen to enjoy my toy than you’re letting on. You can barely take your eyes off it! I can… if you’d like that…”

 

I reached for the bottle of lube. Ben shook his head wildly.

 

“No? OK. Suit yourself.”

 

I splashed water on his crease, lathered him up and began to shave the coarse hairs away. I rested the strap-on between his tensed thighs, letting it bounce softly against his balls as I ran the razor down his cheek. Ben trembled: overwhelmed with sensations.

 

“You might want to stay still, Ben. That is, if you don’t want to lose a testicle. I would imagine being fucked in the ass would hurt a lot less than that.”

 

Ben complied and I continued my work. I felt him tense as I pulled his cheeks apart with one hand, to drive the slippery mix of shaving foam and water into his crease, rubbing against his anus with a lubricated thumb  and massaging his balls with the strap on as I rocked my hips gently backwards and forward behind him.

 

In a few moments, Ben’s ass was shorn smooth.

 

“You know why I am shaving you, Ben?”

 

“No Mistress.”

 

“Some people say, without hair, your skin is a lot more sensitive  to sensations. I don’t know. What do you think…?”

 

I rinsed him off and rose up on my knees, teasing his perineum with the tip of the strap-on. He gasped and pushed himself backwards onto it, not allowing it to penetrate, lingering just on the edge of it. His panting rough and fast now.

 

I hopped off the bed, he looked around at me, hopefully. Hungrily.

 

“That’s enough for one night, Ben. I really need some sleep. Take the razor and the cream – you can deal with the rest of it.”

 

I untied his wrists. He didn’t move. He was still staring at the strap-on and goodness if that boy wasn’t excited all over again. He collapsed to lay face down on the bed and started to grind on it.

 

“Ben! No! Bad! Down. That stops right now.”

 

I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head up to get him to look at me. Ben gazed helplessly into my eyes. In those almost black irises, I saw a mix of arousal and terror about what had just aroused him. With incredible need and no permission to cum, he looked utterly torn, pleading with his eyes for something I was not going to give him… at least not tonight.

 

“Go home, Ben. Take a cold shower. I’m tired.”

 

Ben got slowly up, then started walking towards the bathroom.

 

“Not my shower. Yours! Go!”

 

“Uh… yes Mistress.”

 

Ben stumbled back to the wall, then composed himself and darted to the pile of clothes he had shed earlier, lifting up his pants.

 

“Not here, Ben. Take it to your room.”

 

“But…”

 

“Ben…”

 

“Uh, yes Mistress!”

 

Ben picked up the clothes pile, covering his excitement as best he could, and fled out into the night. I chuckled as I closed the door and curtains, catching a glimpse of this naked, terrified slave of mine running off down the dirt path under the moonlight.

We’re firming up our members.

First of all, I feel I should address a matter of concern to many of my members. Angela in Arkansas asks, ‘Is it possible that White House spokesperson Sean Spicer and Sarah Huckabee Sanders are the same person? I have never seen them appear on camera together.’

I am so glad you asked me that. Naturally I am a keen commentator on political matters – my views being held in very high regard in some circles. I have several sources close to this matter and let’s just say that you’ll be seeing a lot less of ‘Sean’ in the coming months. I protect the confidentiality of my members very diligently as you know, so I am precluded from saying more. Suffice to say that Sean may be accepting himself as he is, and creating himself as he wishes. I can neither confirm or deny whether he is a member of my programs.

This weekend I have organised a barbeque for my friends. Sadly, my wife is travelling, leaving me to entertain myself. As I slipped into a new bikini and tiny pink skirt today, I found myself considering how very lucky I am.

I have such an eccclectic group of friends. Sylvester with his unusual tattoos and enormous chopper. Bernard, my photographer always wanting to expose himself. Sebastian, my personal trainer, who incidentally has just taken up pole vault. I very unusual choice of sport.

And of course, who could forget Max and Ali – still rummaging about in the arboretum looking for his hoe. This weekend I am also playing host to Katia Thornwood and Julie, who’s been hard at work (literally) stimulating new male members.

Perhaps I should explain that. We had a special promotion last week, for father’s day. This resulted in some wonderful new men joining my Little Black Book as admirers. I am thrilled to see the list of members growing and firming up all the time.

I said to Julie just the other day, “Julie, you need to take the members in hand, firm them up and make them grow!” She’s been breathlessly applying herself.

As my friends started to arrive for the barbecue and Sylvester busied himself at the grill, I joined the boys in conversation.

“But, Sebastian, darling! Why pole vaulting. It seems so… I don’t know, suggestive.”

“Not at all!” He insisted, turning his sausage on the grill. “Personally, I think it shows great self coonfidencel”

“Well, if you say so,” I said. “Mind you, it’s all a little dangerous, if you ask me. Plunging your great pole in a slot and getting up like that. It reeks of over compensation!”

“Its all about keeping it stiff,” said Sylvester, ever helpfull

Sebastian glanced at him, doubtfully.

“We’ve got pills for that,” chimed in Ali, from where he was showing Max the difference between a Chrysanthemum and Chlamydia.

Ali has been doing rather well with his English classes. One would never guess he arrived from Syria just six months ago.

 

“Sebastian ,” he called over toward the grill. “You’re obviously overcompensating, my young friend. I have some friends who can help you with that.”

I sometimes wonder what they teach him at that English class. Nonetheless, his integration seems to be coming along nicely.

I’m watching as Max tries to engage Katia in polite conversation. Now that really is the lamb attempting to lie down with the lion. I think I should go and interpose myself between them before Max ends up being served up on a skewer.

For those of you who don’t know Katia, she is a somewhat stern woman. Statuesque and beautiful, but very commanding. Her wonderful travelogue is being published on my website at http://FionaDobson.com in episodes – look for The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood. You’ll be hearing more from her. Suffice to say that her holiday entertainments went far beyond looking at temples in Cambodia.

I hope you have a lively weekend and enjoy the summer weather. By the way, as I mentioned, we’ve had an influx of male  members (phrasing) in My Little Black Book. Now’s a great time to join, if you’re not already a member.

We have a major expansion of our website underway. My objective is that there should be something new almost daily for you to check into and occupy yourself with. Check it out and come back whenever you feel a little femme. You’ll love what I’m doing!

😊

Fiona

Imagine if some of your graduating class could see you dressed. What might they think?
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/

Not yet signed up for the Premium Program? Take your time, but when you’re ready jump in and join the fun.  You can sign up for full membership – US$ 35 a year – here: http://fionadobson.com/premium-program/

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 3

I’d gone easy on Ben the next day, keeping it simple, with only three rules for him to remember. Rule one – that he would obey me, without question, rule two – that he would keep quiet and not speak to me without being spoken to and rule 3) that he was not to cum until I expressly gave him permission to do so. It would be hard for him, in both senses of the word, but I had faith in him.

 

On Wednesday morning, our group woke early to catch tuk tuks to the sunrise over Angkor Wat – the oldest and largest temple complex in the world, originally built for the Hindu god Vishnu. That morning, we all filed into the reception area at 4:30am.

 

Ben was already there as we filed in. He looked up at me and smiled. I didn’t return the gesture. Penelope, Kim, the Aussie and I all sat down on the bench opposite Ben. Bruno chose not to sit next to us, standing in the corner, staring vacantly into the space he seemed to permanently reside in.

 

“You must have gotten up early, Ben,” Penelope smiled, the woes of her massage violation and distrust of men obviously behind her now, “How long have you been here?”

 

“Half an hour. I thought they said to be here at four.”

 

“Oh no! Four thirty!” Penelope chirped, “You came so early!”

 

“I imagine Ben often comes early, don’t you Ben?”

 

The Aussie cackled. Ben flushed, looked up at me, open mouthed,  then to the Aussie, then back to me. I gave him a sharp glance and he lowered his eyes, saying nothing.

 

The tuk tuk drivers arrived and we all filed in. Boring Bruno got in with Penelope and the Aussie. I can only imagine the delights of that conversation. Kim and I clambered in on one side of our tuk tuk, leaving the opposite bench free for Ben to sit down on.

 

The leather seats were warm to sit on. Tropical heat hung in the air, even at these early hours. Frogs croaked under the full moon and countless, stars shone out like diamonds scattered over black satin.

 

Kim said she was hungry, and as it so happened I had packed some bananas, knowing we wouldn’t have time for breakfast before we left. I split one off the bunch and gave it to her, then took another one and began to peel it. Ben licked his lips.

 

“You should eat one too, Ben. It’s going to be a long day.”

 

Ben reached out hesitantly towards the bunch. I shook my head, broke a banana off and slowly peeled it, while looking into his eyes with the most filthy glance I could muster. I saw him swallow. The tuk tuk rattled down the narrow roads, among early morning traders, stacking boxes under colourful blinking LED covered stalls. I held the half peeled banana out to his mouth.

 

“Eat.”

 

With every large stone in the road that the wheels of the tuk tuk found, the vehicle bounced. I smiled in amusement as Ben struggled to do as he was told, the tip of the banana glancing his nose and dancing around his stupidly opened mouth: banana fellatio. It was a little arousing to watch.

 

Just as his lips got around the end of it, I withdrew it and turned to Kim. Ben’s teeth snapped shut on nothing.

 

“Hey Kim.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m curious. You  told me you broke up with your boyfriend before you went travelling, that’s too bad, but I’m curious as to the kind of guy you like.”

 

Ben had his eyes on the banana in my hand. If he could only grab it, but I know he knew better than that.

 

“Uh… I like uh… kind guys. And smart – they have to be smart, because I don’t like stupid guy. And, maybe they are a bit – like they make me hungry, you know? Haha. I kind of like artists too…”

 

I smiled and looked disparagingly over to Ben, who was still eying the banana I was toying with in my hand, teasingly near my lap.

 

“It’s a shame there’s no one like that where we’re staying, huh?”

 

Kim and I laughed as Ben’s shoulders hunched. I held out the banana to him, but he was refusing to play the game. That wouldn’t do, so while Kim was distracted, looking out at the increasing lights of Siem Reap proper, I gave Ben a kick to the shin with my hiking boot. He cried out in pain then caught my eyes and leaned forward obediently to the banana.

 

Kim eyed Ben and I with amusement.

 

“Are you guys…?”

 

I threw back my head and laughed so loud our tuk tuk driver craned his neck around to see what was going on. I could see the illuminated roof of the grand ticket offices a short way away.

 

“Oh my god Kimmy, no! God no! Can you imagine someone like me with… with Ben? Even I wouldn’t stoop that low. That really would be scraping the bottom of the barrel, wouldn’t it Ben?”

 

Ben nodded, trying unconvincingly to laugh as Kim grinned.  He leant forward to take a bite of the banana I was still holding out, but as the tuk tuk stopped suddenly in the parking lot, he missed the bite again.

 

“Oh stop playing with it, Ben. Good grief!”

 

He took his bags and  went to get up.

 

“Ladies first Ben. Always.”

 

He sat down as Kim and I threw on our day packs and headed out of the tuk tuk. I threw the banana into his lap and told him to get us coffee and pastries from the café in the atrium. There were people everywhere. Tourists from all over the world in large crowds at every ticket window, and a line of forty or so people outside the café, the only fresh java at this time of the morning for miles around.

 

Kim and I had a good chat while we snaked slowly through the admittance line for day passes. We were almost at the front when Ben came along with the tray of coffees and pastries. I took Kim’s and passed it to her, then took the my coffee and pastry, as well as the items  Ben had got for himself. He looked relieved and went to climb under the railing to join us in the queue.

 

“No Ben. What are you doing? Look at all the people behind us. You can’t just barge in! Everyone’s been waiting here for a long time. Wait your turn.”

 

“Katia…” Kim said, touching my arm.

 

“No, Kim. He can wait. I read that queue jumping is very rude in Cambodia – I’m just trying to help him.”

 

Kim seemed to accept this dubious explanation. I glared at Ben and pointed to the back of the queue. It was even longer than it had been when we first arrived. Ben shuffled off quickly to the back of the line. Kim and I got our day passes. As Kim headed back to the tuk tuk, I stood against a pillar close to the line up, catching Ben’s eyes as I sensually enjoyed every sip and bite of the refreshments he’d bought. His coffee and pastry lay by my feet.

 

“Try to hurry up would you?” I barked at Ben, “Our driver is waiting.”

 

I watched his face fall as I took his coffee and pastry and dumped it into the trash can.  Then I turned on my heel and sauntered out to Kim and the waiting tuk tuk.

 

*

 

Angkor Wat at sunrise is like nothing else. We sat around the gazing pool with hundreds of other tourists, all snapping photos. Because Ben was carrying both of our bags, Kim and I got to crouch down right at the front of the crowd, for the best view. Slowly pinks and oranges seeped into the morning sky, like paint into dark brush water. The orange sun rose slowly above the old stone turrets and the birds sang. Behind us, a hot air balloon sat stationary in the sky, some ways behind Ben, who kept stumbling, trying to balance under the weight of our packs, harassed by the hustle of twenty Khmer women and children all trying to hawk their souvenirs.

 

The temple itself was amazing. Kim and I ran our fingers down the carvings of the Hindu stories, feeling the power from old stones that bridged the gap between the mundane and divine worlds. Periodically Ben would slump down like an exhausted mule, to catch his breath and I would bark at him to get up, otherwise we’d leave him behind.

 

I am not completely heartless. I realize the perils of the Cambodian sun and only meant to teach Ben a lesson, not kill him. So one hour into our temple tour, I took back our bags from him, but not before sending him off to get me some souvenirs: a few Khmer silk scarves in various colours. Cambodian silk is second only to their silver. I have a bit of a penchant for silk, and besides – I had plans for it later, which involved a certain little project of mine.

 

*

 

By midday, our group was templed out. We came back to the resort for some refreshments and a few hours rest before heading out to the restaurants and bars on Pub Street later.

 

As Ben went to go to his room, I took him by the arm gently.

 

“Oh no. I’m not finished with you. Take a shower, you stink. Use soap.  Then come to my apartment. Number 7. Hurry.”

 

“Yes, Mistress!”

 

While he was preparing himself, I went back to my place and lay out a red scarf on the bed. I pulled out the toy bag and began to take inventory.

 

Handcuffs? Check. Nipple clamps. Weights. Plugs. Lube – of course. Padlocks, keys, vinyl gloves, chastity cage. I lifted out the strap on, but I wasn’t really feeling it today. I laid it out of the scarf in any case.

 

There was a knock on the door.

 

“Come in, it’s open.”

 

Ben came in with a nervous smile and shut the door behind him. I walked over to him, embracing him for a moment, but being sure he was facing the collection of toys on the bed. As he held me, I stroked the small of his back through his T-shirt and pressed myself into his groin.

 

“Are you ready?” I whispered, stroking his ear.

 

A moment later, he stiffened, and broke the embrace, his countenance terrified.

 

“Um… Katia… I mean Mistress… uh… you’re not going to make me… I mean, I want to tell you, I’m not having anything in my bum, OK? That… that is not happening, OK?”

 

“Strip!”

 

“But Mistress.”

 

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

 

Obediently he peeled off his shirt, his shorts and his socks. He hesitated on removing his underwear, so I ripped them off him myself, tearing them a little and taking a few public hairs captive in the process. He gasped as if to protest.

 

“I make it simple for you, Ben, but you don’t listen. . I told you the other day not to displease me, but you obviously have a short memory. So I’m going to help you with that. How old are you, Ben?”

 

“27, Mistress.”

 

“Old enough to know better. Alright, good. Now, bend over and touch your toes. I will be right back.”

 

“But…”

 

“Ben…”

 

Ben complied. I walked into the bathroom, picked up my hard bristled brush and carried it back to where Ben was bowed, balls dangling vulnerably below his clenched bottom.

 

“I want you to relax, Ben. The more you resist, the more this will hurt. I’m going to strike you 27 times, one for each miserable year of your mediocre life so far. You are going to count each strike aloud. You may cry out, but you may not move. If you move, we will start again, from the beginning. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes Mistress.”

 

I turned the bristled side of the brush to his bottom, then reeled back and smacked him with all the force I could muster.

 

“Ouch! Hey!”

 

“No Ben. I told you to count. That was one. Now we start again. Unclench those cheeks. Relax.”

 

I wound back again.

 

Smack!

 

“Ow… ONE!”

 

Smack!

 

“Ow… ouch… TWO!”

 

“Ben…”

 

Smack! This time the hairbrush caught his sack. He cried out in pain and crumpled to the floor.

 

“Oopsie daisy, did I miss? I’ll try to be more careful from now on, OK Ben? But I did tell you not to move, so now I’m afraid I have no choice but to start again.”

 

Smack!

 

It took quite a while, but we got there in the end. 27 strikes. I went a little easier on him for the last fifteen, because he had tears running down his cheeks. At the end, I dropped the brush to the floor and cradled his head in my hands, stroking his hair and enjoying the sight of my artistry branded red hot and angry on his bottom.

 

“Good boy, Ben, I think you are learning.”

 

I felt Ben sigh into my hands, his body relaxing in this moment between torment, allowing me to caress him, to soothe him and bring him back from the brink.

 

“I hear from Penelope that you’re leaving for Bangkok tomorrow night.”

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

“Do tell me where you’re staying and for how long, because as it happens I’m headed there in a few days myself. And before you go, I have a present for you. Stand up.”

 

Ben shot me a panicked look. But as coy as he could try to play it, the little pervert’s hard-on was clear as day.

 

I snapped on a pair of vinyl gloves, squirted some lube onto them and  unlocked the hinged cock cage, kneeling in front of Ben, examining his cock critically, as one might with a troublesome faucet.

 

Penises have always amused me. As a young woman, I sometimes reflected that every man I met – no matter how successful or formidable they seemed –  had one of these ridiculous looking things in their pants, waiting to spring up at something stupidly simple and spew up its contents. Ben’s was bobbing up and down like one of those sprung door catchers – almost pleading for release. Also inconveniently now far too unweilding to go in the cage. I sighed and looked at the clock. The group was heading into town in half an hour. This would have to wait.

 

“Ugh. Ben, this is not going to work. You’ve gotten yourself far too excited. So, here’s what we will do. You are going to go to my bathroom, kneel down beside the towel rail and wait for me.”

 

Ben went to pick up his pile of clothes.

 

“No, Ben. No clothes. And if you need the bathroom, you better use it now.”

 

As Ben went to empty his tanks, I fetched the handcuffs and the ring gag and burst in on him at the end of his stream. He looked at me, horrified.

 

“Oh hurry up and shake it off. Good. Now kneel.”

 

So Ben knelt and I took the handcuffs and fastened him by his wrists to the towel rail.

 

“Straighten your back. That’s better.”

 

“My knees hurt.”

 

“Open your mouth.”

 

“But my knees…”

 

I fastened the ring gag around his head, buckling it tight, but not too tight.

 

“Mmmrrrph!”

 

“That’s better isn’t it, Ben? Sometimes it takes something more uncomfortable to take your mind off a different discomfort. You can choose what to focus on. I’m going to get ready to go out now.”

 

Slowly I unbuttoned my shirt, revealing my red lace bra and the breasts that spilled over them. Watching Ben’s eyes as I continued downwards, past my belly button, then completely released, dropping the shirt to the floor in front of Ben. A bead of drool that was suspended from the front of his  gag dripped to the floor. I unfastened my bra fastenings one by one, slipping each strap down. Ben watched intently, his eyes locked on what my fingers were doing.

 

“You little deviant! You do not look at me unless I tell you to, understand?”

 

“Mmmghmmm…. Mmm…” he drooled, apologetically.

 

He lowered his eyes and I took off the rest of my clothes and threw them at him, except my underpants. Those I placed over his head, mostly covering his eyes.

 

“Red is your colour, Ben. I had no idea!”

 

Ben tried to smile, but slurped loudly instead, more drool pooling on the floor in front of him.

 

I stepped into the shower, smiling at this man slave of mine, cowered ridiculously by the towel rail with my underpants on his head. The rhythmic jets of water felt delightful and – as luck would have it – the shower  head was extendable. All of this work had been a little arousing for me, so I took the opportunity before getting dressed to pleasure myself with my jets of the five star resort’s shower. As I moaned with increasing pleasure, throbbing in intensity in response to every drop of water, I watched Ben’s jaw clench and his head turn around, trying to see, but unable to get a good picture through the fabric.

 

“If you cum, Ben, there will be trouble…”

 

“Mmmmgh…”

 

Pleasure pulsed through me like lightning as I came, placing the shower back in its holster and leaning against the tiles to compose myself. Ben was grunting softly on the tiles, rocking his body forwards and backwards, but he hadn’t cum. Good boy.  I turned off the taps, and wrapped myself in a towel, then hurried to get dressed. I’d probably take my time, savour the food and enjoy a few drinks on Pub street with the crew before coming back to Ben, who would – of course – be waiting for me.

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 2

Later that evening, Kim and I were going through our luggage together, seeing if we could thin it out. Pulling out my evening wear, a long black dress with slits up at the sides and a plunging neckline, my toy bag fell out. I had clumsily forgot to zip it before packing it and as it rolled onto the floor, so did all of its erotic cargo.

Kim, trying to help, went to pick up one of the butt plugs. Purple, with a jewelled end. One of my favourites.

“Hey, what’s this?”

“Ah… don’t touch that.”

She recoiled. I picked it up. I always sanitize toys between uses – cleanliness is next to goddess-ness after all – but I didn’t want to scare her. Kim points to the head of the double ended dildo now, that is peeking cheekily out of the bag opening.

“Oh my god, what is that? It looks like a… like a…”

Well the cat (or dildo) was out of the bag now. So, with that, I began to try to explain to this innocent little thing from Malaysia, the various tools in my bag and their uses. Her eyes widened when I explained the plug.

“It goes where?”

“Some people like it.”

“But why? Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Mmm. Hopefully. Possibly at first.”

Kim looked at me with confusion, then amusement.

“You are a funny lady, Katia.”

I smiled indulgently at her. Time to put the toys away and change the subject. At that exact moment, Penelope – Thai tasselled skirt flaring out behind her – threw open the door and ran in crying. She smelled of coconut oil and her eyes were wild.

“I just went for a massage in town… and… and…”

“Penelope!” I said, stepping forward to help. “Whatever is the matter?”

As I stepped forward, one of my toys fell from the bag I was trying to zip. Penelope looked down at the mid sized, flesh coloured plug on her foot, shrieked and ran outside again, wailing louder. I looked at Kim in confusion. She shrugged.

Later, I heard through Kim that Penelope had apparently had a bit of a misunderstanding with a Khmer masseuse. Khmer massage – along with Thai massage – is known to be quite an intimate experience. But there are also two types of massage place: the ones that relax you and provide muscular and skeletal relief, and the ones that provide – for want of a better phrase – happy endings. Penelope, being Penelope, had stumbled into entirely the wrong kind of establishment and their attempts to give her a happy ending had very unhappy results.

She sat quietly at dinner, legs tightly crossed. I tied to engage her in conversation, but as the resort’s in-house sexual deviant, I was apparently only adding to her trauma and she refused to look at me.

Then along came Ben, with his tray of food.

“Penelope! Babe! What’s up? Time of the month?”

Ugh. Penelope winced. Now that was the last thing she needed right now.

I patted the seat beside me, glaring at Ben.

“You. Come. Sit.”

Ben stiffened, grinned, then did as he was told.

In the vast expanse of farms and stilt houses around the resort property, the heavy pound of Khmer music was playing. It would be Khmer new year in a week and the festivities were starting early. There was something incredibly pleasant about sitting by an open window, feeling the wood frame and chairs vibrate with every over amplified beat. In addition, the thrum of a thousand crickets in the garden outside and the intermingled incense from the Buddha shrine combined in the humid evening air in a way that was deeply sensual.

I excused myself from the dining hall early to scour the garden a final time. I found myself a fallen bamboo cane of the right size, then wandered to the apartment where Ben was staying and found – to my delight – a Kapok tree: it’s bark, a mosaic of merciless thorns. I pressed my body gentle against them, feeling each little point press threateningly against my skin. Yes, this would do nicely.

I waited there a while. The others left the dining hall and filed past me first. Bruno shot me a suspicious look, while the Aussie winked at me:

“You look like you’re up to no good.”

I grinned back at her and watched the group leave. No Ben. He was probably still eating. I imagined the others had grown tired of his inane prattle and rushed their meals to escape him.

Finally Ben came around the corner. He looked surprised to see me. I nodded to him and allowed him to walk a few more steps until he was between the Kapok tree and I.

He looked at the bamboo cane in my hand.

“Katia! What are you doing here? And what’s that stick for? Were you planning on beating me with it?”

I shot him a wicked smile, lifting the cane and placing it to the side of his neck.

Ben shifted uncomfortably, accidentally brushing the thorns on the trunk behind him. He winced in pain.

“I imagine you usually beat yourself. It might make for a nice change, mmm?”

“Uh…” he leaned back, as if to get away, but caught the thorns again. He could have moved away on either side, there was space, but his feet didn’t move. Presumably they knew something his fearful mind did not.

I started to trace the cane gently around his neck, then deliberately slowly, down the length of his chest, his sternum, his belly and down to his belt line. Then below. He spasmed a little.

“What’s wrong? Am I making you nervous?”

He gulped. Sweat was beading on his forehead. He licked his lips and took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself.

“N…no. It just… it’s just that it tickles a little.”

“Mmm. Tickles? I imagine it’s doing a whole lot more than that, Ben. At least, that’s what your other head is telling me.”

Ben looked down at the obvious bulge in his chinos, covering it reflexively with his hands, like Adam in the Garden of Eden perhaps, when realizing his nakedness. In a sense, he was naked. I saw right through his coyness and attempts at bravado, to the slobbering, desperate man inside. A slave to his desires, and soon, yes, to me too.

What an uncomfortable position to be in. Poor thing.

“No need to be shy, Ben. You think it’s the first time I’ve seen an erection?”

I smacked his hands away with the bamboo cane.

“Hold this for me, would you?” I said, placing the bamboo cane between his teeth. He held it obligingly, his eyes widening. “There’s a dear. Now let’s see what we have here.”

I knelt down in front of him, placing a hand on both of his hips firmly.

“There now. See? Do I look scared? It’s hardly threatening, Ben: you don’t need to protect me from it. I’ve seen bigger. Much bigger than this… attempt.”

Ben’s shoulders slumped and for a moment he looked like a little boy lost. I gently began massaging the side of his hips, then kneading forwards towards his groin, stopping short of the strained fabric there.

“Katia…”

“Yes, relax. That’s it. There. Now, you don’t need to look so afraid. Well, perhaps it’s wise, but you’re not going anywhere, are you?”

Ben shook his head, wincing as in a moment of relaxing his back caught the barbs of the Kapok.

“And you want to please me, don’t you?”

Ben nodded slowly. He looked wonderfully ridiculous, standing there helpless, cane between his teeth like an obedient puppy, awaiting my next instruction.

“Good. Good.”

I increased the speed and intensity of my massage, still avoiding the intimate area. So much of this work is the energy from potentiality. Sex is a release – it’s fast and furious and then its gone. Where there is tension, where there is potential, there is creativity and hunger. This is my preferred arena to work from, in all areas of my life, but especially in my work. Ben was moaning softly now, edging his erection towards my hands, but my hands always moving away from it, continuing to massage.

“I wonder what you thought when you saw me here, standing outside of your room. I look quite appealing, don’t I Ben? This black dress glides over my contours like poured wax and – ah – I caught you. You like breasts, don’t you Ben? It’s alright. You can look. They are very nice aren’t they? I bet you must have imagined what it would be like to hold them…”

I paused, watching his jaw clench over the bamboo.

“Perhaps to place one in your mouth… suckle on it. Mmm? Feel its softness giving to your tongue as you lapped on it.”

He was beginning to drool.

“And perhaps as you did that,  to have me sitting over you as you did that, sitting on that little mound of yours and squirming on top of it.”

Ben’s mouth gaped open, the cane falling out. I gave a sigh of exasperation, stopped the massage, picked it up not bothering to dust it off and shoved it forcefully back between his teeth.

“No Ben. I didn’t tell you to drop it.”

He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like an apology, but there was too much saliva to make sense of it.

I knelt back down again, switching from the previous massage to just running my hands softly down his thighs. Ignoring his now more desperate attempts to thrust his boner into my hands.

“Settle! Just listen Ben, I am telling you a story. Please don’t be rude or I will be forced to take that cane from your teeth and impress my disappointment onto your buttocks. Understand?”

He nodded. He was moaning louder now, his breathing coming out in hard rasps. Anyone could hear. The thought crossed my mind that we may both get into a bit of trouble for these shenanigans, but this would only take a few moments more. He was close.

“Those images I just gave you. They caught your imagination didn’t they?”

I stood up, brushing the red dirt from the front of my dress and starting to walk away. I heard Ben let out a gasp, I heard the sound of the cane dropping to the floor. I turned to see his body spasm helplessly for a moment or two in front of the tree.

“Ben… did you just?”

Ben looked up at me, ashamed.

“Oh dear. Did I tell you to do that?”

Ben shook his head.

“No.”

“No Mistress.”

“N.. no… Mistress…”

His chinos had a growing darkness on their front now.

“I have to say Ben, I am really quite disappointed. I was simply trying to reassure you, to tell you a story, and you do – this.”

Ben looked at me, vainly trying to brush off the stain with one of his hands.

“You’re really quite pathetic. I would imagine there are wild horses with more self control than you.”

“I’m sorry…”

I raised my eyebrow and glared at him. He cowed.

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

I sighed, picked up the cane and dusted it off.

“Apology considered. Really Ben, as embarrassing as this whole thing is for you, you could consider yourself quite fortunate. I have the tools to teach you to overcome that undisciplined nature of yours and shape you into something far more… pleasing. It would of course be quite a lot of work for me, and I am supposed to be on vacation but…”

I ran the tip of the bamboo through my hair, brushing my bangs out of my eyes and looking Ben up and down.

“If you really want my assistance, I suppose you could ask very nicely and I might consider it…”

Ben paused for a moment, then knelt down before me.

“Yes… please Mistress. Please help me. I want to please you.”

I smiled. He looked a lot more fetching down in the dirt, than he had all day. I placed a wedged shoe on top of his back for a moment and rocked forward on it, pressing him down a little more. He spluttered a little, then looked up at me with a placating smile.

“Request accepted, Ben. Alright, your work starts tomorrow. Better get some rest – you will need it.”

Ben got up slowly, watching me conscientiously as a student might gaze at a teacher at the start of an important lesson. He jangled his key chain in his hand, flustered, and placed the key in the door.

“Oh and Ben?”

“Yes Mistress?”

“You’d better change those pants, unless you want to advertise to the world what a pathetic little thing you were tonight..”

“Yes Mistress.”

Ben disappeared into his room. I yawned and stretched my arms. To sleep now, perchance to dream, of a tailored set list of discomfort and frustration for my new project.

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 1

All work and no play does make a person dull. And in my work, I need to always have an edge, or many, preferably sharp, pointed or at the very least, hard.

So I’m travelling to South East Asia for research, and of course a little respite. First stop, Cambodia, a little resort just outside of Seam Reap. Then Thailand – that heady mix of dirt, excitement, and mystery that I’ve always found so intoxicating a prospect.

Siem Reap is a harsh Mistress in herself. The heat is hard to explain, inescapable, it invades every pore and the only way to survive it is to surrender to it. My dewy skin breathes in temporary relief as the tuk tuk turns and the mildest hint of a breeze ripples through my cotton shirt, over my bare décolletage, sensually brushing bare skin and bringing me to life in a way I haven’t felt in a long while.

The road is an ordered chaos of interweaving tuk tuks, mopeds and cattle. The smell is a heady mix of boiling refuse and floral fragrance from the vegetation of the fields and forests beyond.

I contemplate being a stranger in a foreign land must be somewhat similar to how my submissives feel at times. At the mercy of many things that are beyond their control, trusting that things will work out because they have to, yet knowing around every turn is something that may just push them completely out of their comfort zone, at best, or completely destroy them, at worse.

No, I’ve never destroyed any of my submissives. There seems little point going to all the trouble I do for them to simply have them fall apart at the end. Yet I aways try to impress the possibility that I might have this unspoken destructive power, when I learn their fears and subject them to them in small, arousing doses. They don’t understand, in those moments of vulnerability and terror, that I never mean them any harm – I am simply showing them a new way. A way to transcend those dull fears and limiting beleifs that stop them living to their full potential. I am the inner city paint store to the suburban artist – come to me and I’ll show you shades and tones that you’d never known before. Especially red. I do like red. And purple. Even blue.

Opposite me in the tuk tuk, Kim sits quietly, hugging her backpack to her as if to protect herself from the world. We’re staying at the same resort, and while waiting for our driver she confided in me that this was her trip to find herself, after quitting a well paid but unsatisfactory job. She talked to me about her upbringing in Malaysia and the “Asian work ethic”, which I found very interesting. But the part where my ears really pricked up was when she spoke of physical discipline in the school system.

“When we were bad, to punish us, they used bamboo,” she said, obviously somewhat pained by the memory. “We were given a choice, thick bamboo, or many thin bamboos tied together.”

“Which did you choose?” I asked her.

“The thick one. It looks bigger, but it hurts less. The smaller ones tied together were sharp. They really sting.”

Bamboo. I take a mental note.

“How about you?” She asked, “What do you do?”

I raised my eyebrow at the girl sitting in front of me, some ten years younger than me and full of childish curiosity. Should I tell her what I do? The toys I have and where they go?

“I’m… not sure I should tell you.”

She leaned forward a little, eye widening.

“Oh. You do something bad? You mafia or something?”

She laughed at her own joke. I sighed and shook my head. How to explain? Do they have kink in Malaysia? Did she have a boyfriend? If so, that might make it easier. Kimmy, sometimes when two people love each other very much, they tie each other up and put things up their asses? No. No, and anyway, love has nothing to do with this business of mine. Affection? Yes. Friendship? Sure. Trust? Absolutely. It was not love, beyond that I love my work and the submissives seem to love theirs.

“Have you ever heard of Mistresses?”

Kim looked lost in thought a moment, then frowned a little.

“You mean, like the other woman?”

Ugh no.

“No. Different kind of Mistress. It’s about… being a person of power for another person to reliquish their power to. How to explain? Ok. When someone submits to me, to my whims and caprices, I can take them past their stale day to day reality and into a whole new world of strengths and possibilities. It’s a creative process of sorts.”

“Like a life coach?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Like a life coach.”

Kim smiles

“You could teach me! Be my coach, I need one.”

I smile back awkwardly. We enjoy a minute or so of uncomfortable silence until our tuk tuk rattles loudly down the stone drive of the resort.

Lush green canopy and a myriad of flowers and fragrance greets us at the gates. I learn that there are seven others here, mainly females in their late twenties. Two men. One, a German called Bruno who looks very dull. The other a cocksure English man in his late twenties called Ben, who made me bristle (not in a good way) when he introduced himself to me in the manner of a drooling, undisciplined puppy. I pondered he might be a good subject to bring to heel.

Bags unpacked, Kim and I slipped into our bikinis and headed to the pool. The smouldering tiles surrounding it threatened to brand bottoms that lingered there too long, so we slipped slowly into the cool blue water, letting it cool our overheating skin. An English girl named Penelope was there, on a gap year, writing a segment on “following your bliss”

I suppose bliss is alright, but I’ve always found pain to be a better teacher. Perhaps that explained why she hadn’t learnt much. There was an Aussie girl there too, lean, angular and as intimidating in nature as the vast hot expanse she travelled from. Of course, I liked her immediately.

We were rudely awakened from our blissful soaking by a large blur of pale skin and red trunks whizzing over our heads and landing with a great splash in the pool.

Ben.

He came up, spitting water, like some kind of lecherous Orca.

“Ladies.” He said with a wink, then sidled up next to Kim. “Your first time here in Cambodia?”

He was leering at her chest. Practically drooling. No subtlety. He asked the question directly to her breasts.

Kim shot me a worried look. Help me. Ben was obviously blissfully unaware of how much of a cretin he appeared at that point in time. It came to me at that point that I’d have to teach him. Holiday schmoliday. This had every potential of becoming a very satisfying project indeed.

“Ben, is it?” I said.

He looked a little scared as I addressed him. Good. He nodded.

“You look like a physical guy, Ben.” His head perked up, rooster-like, obviously pleased with himself. This was disappointingly easy.

I lifted my leg out of the water,, being careful to brush the inside of his thigh with my big toe before presenting him with one of my black manicured feet. He tensed a little as I brushed that soft and vulnerable spot. His eyes betrayed in that moment all of the sad little fantasies such men have about women… before they meet me.

“My feet are an absolute wreck after all of this travelling.” I drawled, lifting my other foot out of the water. “I’d so appreciate a pair of big… strong… hands…”

I didn’t need to continue. He was already pressing and rubbing my feet with all of the hopeful obedience of a submissive.

I moaned sensually. I really couldn’t care less about the foot rub. I’m not a foot person. But this was all part of the game.

He stopped for a moment, looking at me with that stupid smile on his face. Probably thought he was going to get lucky later.

Oh, he had no idea.

I returned his gaze, unsmiling, and with solemn intensity. He gulped and turned away.

“Well,” I said, pushing my foot into his hand. “Carry on.”

He did as he was asked. Kim looked at me, puzzled. I shot her a wink. Penelope was giggling. Silly girl.

I looked around the lush garden. Many exotic plants, abuzz with butterflies and birds.

And there, between the bathrooms and the change rooms, exactly what I was looking for.

Bamboo. Canes of it dancing in the slow afternoon breeze.

I lay back, Ben kneading my feet as I plotted the ways in which I could knead him into a better specimen of man.

It was going to be a wonderful vacation. I could feel it.