The Making of a Mistress 8. Strength

The start of this story can be found HERE..

In this chapter of “The Making of a Mistress” Katia and her coworker Joanna discuss a BDSM contract. Johnathon appears mysteriously in the local greasy spoon, and MadDog gifts a timely “oracle”…

I had opened the envelope on the way home from Valleri’s, pulling out the letter inside. It appeared to be some sort of checklist, heavy with the scent of typewriter ink – that dusty old smell that reminded me of the grandfather on my father’s side, who I’d met a few times in early childhood. He spent hours in the upstairs office, hammering out letters to customers, with the vexed heavy-handedness of the perpetually overworked.

It was a list of terms to a BDSM relationship. It listed a number of things, many of which I’d not heard of and some of which I had heard of, that horrified me. Surely she wasn’t planning all of this? But by the looks of it there was consent. Electrical wands? Swallowing semen? Tampon training? Surely this was something every girl knew – and then I read the addendum in brackets – in the ass. Certainly everything I’d ever learnt about tampons was that they were not to be played with and they certainly didn’t go there. What about toxic shock? Good grief.

Alongside each item were three boxes where the reader was to specify their willingness to perform it. Looking at the list, there were quite a few I knew I’d never stoop to. In fact, it was most of the list. Calvin would never approve. Perhaps a little paddling, but even that seemed to be pushing the line. And how would this help me with my art? The further from Valleri’s place I got, the less certain I became of her offer. By the time Calvin answered the door to me and enfolded me in a hug, I was almost certain I’d have to rethink it.”

I kissed a gurl and I liked it.

Hi,

What a busy week it’s been here in Huckleberry Close. We’ve got a wonderful new installment of The Making Of A Mistress by Katia Thornwood, another episode in Oakley Dale’s advice column about How To Talk To Your Partner About Crossdressing, and of course all the fun of things going down in my kitchen. Today’s theme is a little unusual, being of a more Eastern European flavor.

But first, to Mildred of Colorado Springs. In reply to your question, I would suggest caution. I don’t think it’s a good idea to take your nephew to the US Mexican Border and abandon him. True, it’s not pleasant witnessing a six year old boy’s tantrum when he’s upset that mummy and daddy aren’t sending him to summer camp this year. However, abandoning the child at the border and suggesting he ask the nice man in the uniform about something called ‘asylum’ might be considered inhuman by some. Exposing him to a photo op and a kiss on the cheek from Melania Trump, on the other hand, would likely fall into the category of cruel and unusual punishment. By the way, if you’re interested in getting a cool T-shirt check this out. I have to say, kissing Eastern European women, in my experience, has often been a little like putting my tongue in an industrial vacuum cleaner that’s recently been used to clean up a toxic waste spill. Okay, I’m going to leave that one right there…

Of course, SebastianSylvesterMaxAliand I have all been watching the World Cup Soccer from Russia. We’ve also been getting some very interesting input from one of our Little Black Bookmembers, who toured in Russia and learned to speak the language some 20 years ago. Apparently she got about a great deal shortly after the fall of the wall, and found the experience strangely educating. She mentioned that she found it quite easy to master the local tongue. Among the most educational moments, she recalls, was when she was cornered by several members of the US Embassy staff, who took it on themselves to ‘debrief’ her in a Moscow hotel.  She tells me she was quite overcome. At least I think that’s what she said happened. Well, I guess we all serve our country in different ways!

Pictured above is Astrid, our special Sochi Soccer correspondent. She’s a very helpful student, who is helping us out. She’s studying Counselling Psychology, with a minor in Abattoir Management at Sochi University.

The other big news this week is that I opened up the membership of My Little Black Book to all who download The Fiona Dobson Crossdressing App. This means anyone who downloads the app can get access to the members listings free. If you wish to place a listing in the book, the price remains either $2.95 a month for Crossdressers, or $4.95 a month for Admirers. Anyone subscribing to My Little Black Book is now able to connect with over 5000 people who have downloaded the App. That’s a lot of crossdressers!

If you’re a loyal member of the my programs I would love to see you in My Little Black Book. If you’ve not done so already sign up here.

Have a wonderful week.

😊

Fiona

Download the App free today – and get daily updates. Download the Android App HERE.
You should probably be in my Premium Program.
Chastity Devices – Breast Forms – Wigs – Corsets

Are you reading the exciting adventures of Andy in “Clothes Maketh The Man”?

***Part 18 has just been released!***

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/

When was the first time you crossdressed? Do you remember the details? Check out one of our most popular sections on the website and read others experiences of the first time they crossdressed.

You can add your own story and find out how similar it is to others. If it’s an unusual story we may end up featuring it in our program.

My First Time

The Making of a Mistress: 4. The Emperor

The start of this story can be found HERE.

The next part of this story can be found HERE.

A dark hero’s journey for the BDSM set. The Making of A Mistress. How Katia Thornwood came to wield her whip and view the world through her particular lens darkly.

Intertwined with stories from the tarot, the tale is one of a young girl who finds herself drawn to the BDSM underworld and sensual intersect of mythical and mundane through an older Mistress, Valleri. When these two women’s path’s meet, the results are nothing short of cataclysmic for Katia. Is it magic? Or insanity? Or does life run with equal amounts of both? Whatever the case. Everything will burn.

Katia Thornwood – The Making Of A Mistress – Part 3

The start of this story can be found HERE.

The next part of this story can be found HERE.

A dark hero’s journey for the BDSM set. The Making of A Mistress. How Katia Thornwood came to wield her whip and view the world through her particular lens darkly.

Intertwined with stories from the tarot, the tale is one of a young girl who finds herself drawn to the BDSM underworld and sensual intersect of mythical and mundane through an older Mistress, Valleri. When these two women’s path’s meet, the results are nothing short of cataclysmic for Katia. Is it magic? Or insanity? Or does life run with equal amounts of both? Whatever the case. Everything will burn.

 Learn more about Katia Thornwood here.

Katia Thornwood – The Making Of A Mistress – Part 2

The start of this story can be found HERE.


The next part of this story can be found HERE.

A dark hero’s journey for the BDSM set. The Making of A Mistress. How Katia Thornwood came to wield her whip and view the world through her particular lens darkly.

Intertwined with stories from the tarot, the tale is one of a young girl who finds herself drawn to the BDSM underworld and sensual intersect of mythical and mundane through an older Mistress, Valleri. When these two women’s path’s meet, the results are nothing short of cataclysmic for Katia. Is it magic? Or insanity? Or does life run with equal amounts of both? Whatever the case. Everything will burn.

Enjoy further exploits of Katia Here.

Katia Thornwood – The Making Of A Mistress – Part 1

The start of this story can be found HERE.

The next part of the story can be found HERE.

A dark hero’s journey for the BDSM set. The Making of A Mistress. How Katia Thornwood came to wield her whip and view the world through her particular lens darkly.

Intertwined with stories from the tarot, the tale is one of a young girl who finds herself drawn to the BDSM underworld and sensual intersect of mythical and mundane through an older Mistress, Valleri. When these two women’s path’s meet, the results are nothing short of cataclysmic for Katia. Is it magic? Or insanity? Or does life run with equal amounts of both? Whatever the case. Everything will burn.

You can further enjoy The Katia Chronicals here.

The Making of A Mistress – Introduction.

The next part can be found HERE.

A dark hero’s journey for the BDSM set. The Making of A Mistress. How Katia Thornwood came to wield her whip and view the world through her particular lens darkly.

Intertwined with stories from the tarot, the tale is one of a young girl who finds herself drawn to the BDSM underworld and sensual intersect of mythical and mundane through an older Mistress, Valleri. When these two women’s path’s meet, the results are nothing short of cataclysmic for Katia. Is it magic? Or insanity? Or does life run with equal amounts of both? Whatever the case. Everything will burn.

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 11.

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

  Continue reading “The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 11.”

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”

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 7

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

 

“Mouth open! Drop! Good boy!”

 

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

 

“Mistress?”

 

“Yes, Ben?”

 

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

 

I leaned back, crossing my arms.

 

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

 

I went to stand up.

 

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

 

I sighed.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Thank you, Mistress.”

 

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

 

Ben smiled weakly.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Good grief. How men complain about stupid little things.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Oh for goodness sake, don’t rub it.”

 

I slapped his hand away.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Now put them on.”

 

“But they’re wet, Mistress.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Look at yourself. How do you feel?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Ben shuddered.

 

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

 

“Yes, Mistress! Britney. I like it!”

 

***

 

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

 

Britney stumbled behind me on her heels.

 

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

 

“Takes practise, but you’ll get it.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Obey your commands, Mistress?”

 

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

 

Britney looked concerned.

 

“What kinds of plans, Mistress?”

 

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

 

“What’s the safeword?”

 

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

 

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

 

“I’m in, Mistress.”

 

“Very good.”

 

*

 

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

 

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

 

“Aiiiieeee!” Yelled the Mamasan.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Kneel. Eyes in front.”

 

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

 

“I want you to watch, Britney,”

 

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

 

“Wow…”

 

“Shh. Britney. Watch with you eyes.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“You want to try?” The Mistress said.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Yes, Britney?”

 

“Um… what’s the safeword, Mistress?”

 

I clapped my hands together.

 

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

 

“Anti… what?”

 

I cackled.

 

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

 

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

 

“Head up, Britney! Atta girl!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

 

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

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 6

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Sorry Ben. Do continue.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Studying… uh?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Mistress!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Go on.”

 

“Mistress. I don’t really know…”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Spit it out.”

 

“Um… maybe borderline?”

 

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

 

“Tell me more…”

 

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

 

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

 

“Everything in moderation – especially moderation, Ben.”

 

“Impulsive behaviour.”

 

“I prefer spontaneous.”

 

“Hypersexuality.”

 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing!”

 

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

 

I grinned. He was good.

 

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

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Pfft. Don’t be.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Explosive anger?”

 

“When merited.”

 

“Fear of abandonment?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

*

 

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

 

“I be your new girlfriennn… OK?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Very pretty, but I have to… Katia…!

 

I frowned.

 

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

 

“Katia… wait….”

 

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

 

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

 

“Something for you?”

 

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

 

“For you, very nice. Only 500 baht.”

 

It was nice, I’d give him that.

 

“Not for me – for a man I know.”

 

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

 

“How much is this one?”

 

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

 

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

 

*

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Ben stubbornly continued to hold his breath.

 

“Suit yourself.”

 

I ripped both wax pads up at once, roughly.

 

“ARRRGHHH!”

 

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

 

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

 

“Ow! ARGHH!”

 

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

 

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

 

“Instability of mood, hmm?”

 

RIP!

 

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

 

“Abandonment issues?”

 

“I’m so sorry… so… sorr… OWWWW!”

 

RIP!

 

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

 

RIP!

 

“Katia… Mistress…!”

 

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

 

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

 

“Y… yes Mistress.”

 

I sit back up and slap his red flesh.

 

“Say it.”

 

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

 

SLAP!

 

“What else?”

 

“Mistress…”

 

SLAP!

 

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

 

SLAP!

 

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

 

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

 

“Rape you… in the ass?”

 

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

 

“Yes Mistress.”

 

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

 

“What a vulgar thing to say, Ben.”

 

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

 

“Shh!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Open.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Mmm…”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Mmmm…mmmmm…”

 

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

 

“MMMmmmMMmm?!”

 

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

 

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

 

“MMMRGHH. Mmmm?”

 

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

 

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

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 5

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Ugh.”

 

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

 

“Ben!” Penelope cried.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Something like that. Yeah.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

*

 

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

 

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

 

*

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

*

 

“Katia!”

 

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

 

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

 

“Eyes.”

 

Ben looked down. I passed him my bag.

 

“Your room?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Strip!”

 

“Yes Mistress.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Like this Mistress?”

 

I slapped him hard on his mangled ass.

 

“Did I instruct you to speak?”

 

“No Mistress.”

 

Slap!

 

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

 

“Thank you Mistress.”

 

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

 

Slap!

 

“Eyes down!”

 

“Ow! Thank you, Mistress!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Kneel.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Who are you?”

 

Ben looked confused.

 

“Ben, Mistress.”

 

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

 

“Yes Mistress.”

 

“My slave.”

 

“Absolutely Mistress.”

 

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

 

“And whose is this?”

 

“Y… yours Mistress…”

 

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

 

“And this?”

 

“Y… ow… yours Mistress… please…”

 

“Good.”

 

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

 

“Stand. Quickly now.”

 

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

 

“What is that, Mistress?”

 

Click. The padlock snapped shut.

 

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

 

Ben looked hesitant.

 

“Oh, what is it now, dog?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“How long will you be in Bangkok?”

 

“Eight more days.”

 

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

 

“You wouldn’t dare!”

 

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

 

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

 

“I am Mistress!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Ben let out a low groan as his breathing quickened.

 

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

 

“Yes… yes Mistress…”

 

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

 

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

 

“Urghh…”

 

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

 

“Mistress?”

 

“Did I tell you to be on all fours?”

 

“Mistress! Sorry Mistress!”

 

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

 

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

 

“Oh yes, Mistress!”

 

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

 

“Oh yes, Mistress. Thank you Mistress!”

 

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

 

“Mouth open!”

 

Ben opened his mouth, looking a little unconvinced.

 

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

 

“It’s just that… I’ve never…”

 

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

 

(Same same – but different)

 

“Mistress…”

 

“Open!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Gluk gluk gluk!

 

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

 

Gluk gluk gluk!

 

“Atta boy!”

 

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

 

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

 

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 4

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

No corpse. Good.

 

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

 

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

 

“Mmmgh? MMRGHHH! MMMRGHH!”

 

“On my way.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Calm down Ben. Someone will hear.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I’m not weak!”

 

Ah. Straight in the ego.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I… you… I… you…YOU…”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Uh… Katia? Mistress?”

 

I opened one eye sleepily.

 

“Mmm?”

 

“I uh… I want to apologize…”

 

“Mmm Hmm.”

 

I closed my eyes again.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Yes Mistress. Yes!”

 

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

 

“Good, then let’s begin.”

 

*

 

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

 

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

 

“I wont, Mistress!”

 

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

 

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

 

“No. No thrusting.”

 

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

 

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

 

“You can and you will, Ben.”

 

“Y…yes Mistress.”

 

Slupslupslup. Slupslupslupslup.

 

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

 

“Mistress… I’m going to…!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I’m going to have to punish you.”

 

“I’ll do anything, Mistress.”

 

“Anything?”

 

“Anything. Yes Mistress.”

 

I threw him the towel.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Stay! All fours!”

 

Ben bit his lip and assumed the position.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

I gave him a sharp slap.

 

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

 

“Mistress…”

 

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

 

“But the…”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“No? OK. Suit yourself.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“You know why I am shaving you, Ben?”

 

“No Mistress.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Not my shower. Yours! Go!”

 

“Uh… yes Mistress.”

 

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

 

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

 

“But…”

 

“Ben…”

 

“Uh, yes Mistress!”

 

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

We’re firming up our members.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian glanced at him, doubtfully.

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

😊

Fiona

Imagine if some of your graduating class could see you dressed. What might they think?
Are you reading the exciting adventures of Andy in “Clothes Maketh The Man”?

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

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

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

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 3

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Eat.”

 

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

 

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

 

“Hey Kim.”

 

“Yes?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Kim eyed Ben and I with amusement.

 

“Are you guys…?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

He took his bags and  went to get up.

 

“Ladies first Ben. Always.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Katia…” Kim said, touching my arm.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

*

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

*

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Yes, Mistress!”

 

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

 

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

 

There was a knock on the door.

 

“Come in, it’s open.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Strip!”

 

“But Mistress.”

 

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

 

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

 

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

 

“27, Mistress.”

 

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

 

“But…”

 

“Ben…”

 

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

 

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

 

“Yes Mistress.”

 

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

 

“Ouch! Hey!”

 

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

 

I wound back again.

 

Smack!

 

“Ow… ONE!”

 

Smack!

 

“Ow… ouch… TWO!”

 

“Ben…”

 

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

 

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

 

Smack!

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Ben went to pick up his pile of clothes.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Straighten your back. That’s better.”

 

“My knees hurt.”

 

“Open your mouth.”

 

“But my knees…”

 

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

 

“Mmmrrrph!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Mmmmgh…”

 

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