Max, we appreciate your service.

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

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

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

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

I bent  down and picked up the carrot and frowned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” Said Max, looking genuinely niaive.

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

“Urgh! Murdered?” Gasped Max.

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

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

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

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

😊

Fiona

Writing your Profile in Fiona’s Little Black Book.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Julie.

Creating your dating profile in My Little Black Book.

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t follow,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tips for your photos:

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

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

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

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

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

Julie

Max shoved his carrot up Sebastian’s exhaust pipe!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

😊

Fiona

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

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 9

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

Continue reading “The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 9”

Bigger breasts – generally a good thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a wonderful weekend.
😊
FD

One of our Premium members writes…

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

Hi FIona,

I completed task #2!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Helena”

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 7

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

 

“Mouth open! Drop! Good boy!”

 

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

 

“Mistress?”

 

“Yes, Ben?”

 

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

 

I leaned back, crossing my arms.

 

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

 

I went to stand up.

 

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

 

I sighed.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Thank you, Mistress.”

 

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

 

Ben smiled weakly.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Good grief. How men complain about stupid little things.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Oh for goodness sake, don’t rub it.”

 

I slapped his hand away.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Now put them on.”

 

“But they’re wet, Mistress.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Look at yourself. How do you feel?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Ben shuddered.

 

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

 

“Yes, Mistress! Britney. I like it!”

 

***

 

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

 

Britney stumbled behind me on her heels.

 

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

 

“Takes practise, but you’ll get it.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Obey your commands, Mistress?”

 

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

 

Britney looked concerned.

 

“What kinds of plans, Mistress?”

 

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

 

“What’s the safeword?”

 

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

 

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

 

“I’m in, Mistress.”

 

“Very good.”

 

*

 

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

 

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

 

“Aiiiieeee!” Yelled the Mamasan.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Kneel. Eyes in front.”

 

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

 

“I want you to watch, Britney,”

 

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

 

“Wow…”

 

“Shh. Britney. Watch with you eyes.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“You want to try?” The Mistress said.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Yes, Britney?”

 

“Um… what’s the safeword, Mistress?”

 

I clapped my hands together.

 

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

 

“Anti… what?”

 

I cackled.

 

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

 

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

 

“Head up, Britney! Atta girl!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

 

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

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/