There are many reasons women love to play with gender roles. In this series of interviews I talk to some of the women who love to feminize their partners. I’ll start with our own team. FD
First of all I’d say that it’s more accurate to say that I
like to feminize other people’s husbands.
I enjoy watching them do as I tell them, but most of all I enjoy seeing
their supplication at a psychological level.
For example, with my sissies, I will rarely use anything
like cuffs, or any form of physical bondage. I’d far rather watch the look of
conflicted confusion on their face as I tell them to do something, and they are
not sure if they should protest, or not, but then they realise it will do no
I find I can usually set things up in such a way that my sissies
obey. They know the consequences will be grave if they don’t. It’s funny how
quickly they learn when properly motivated.
As one of my braver guests once said, “I wanted to appeal to
your better nature, but then I realised you didn’t have one.”
He lived to regret that crack.
No, I like to see the interplay of emotions. I might tell
someone to do something they don’t want to, and you can almost see the cogs
going round inside their head.
“Oh, I don’t want to do that… but if I don’t I know
something bad will happen. Mistress Katia is very unkind sometimes… I don’t
want to do this, but I’ll do it. It’s better than the consequences.”
I’ve seen the same sort of things going on behind the eyes of
a cocker spaniel I once had. Men are quite like cocker spaniels really.
Especially when they look up at you with those big eyes as though they’re
pleading with you. It’s usually a sign
they need a good slapping about, you know.
But I’m really only doing things for their own good. My guests usually come back. Well, grovel
back. But the effects are the same.
I know most of them would really love to let go of the
pressure of their life. They’d like to relax.
Well, I just give them that push that forces them to let go. After all,
how much thought can you give to the profit and loss statement you’re supposed
to be working on when you’re dressed in a frilly pink maids outfit and I have
you sucking a pacifier? It just helps people let go of their stress.
Mind you, one of my clients did show up to a board meeting
once wearing a pink lacy collar I’d had him in for hours. He just forgot to
take it off. Well, he’s more careful
now, so you see he did learn something.
Yes, I’d say my brand of feminization is definitely a sort of ‘self improvement’ program.
The other morning I walked into my kitchen and immediately knew something was wrong. I should explain that my morning yoga is a sacred time for me, and I let nothing interrupt it. I’m only ready to start the day once I feel grounded and settled.
I usually follow my morning yoga with some tea, and a piece of toast, so I was surprised to find a deputation of some of my team waiting for me as I entered the kitchen.
Max, Katia and Mistress Meg fell silent as I entered. I glanced at them, and walked over to the kettle and put it on. To say the atmosphere was tense was an understatement.
“Well,” I said. “What are you all looking so worried about? Has someone died?”
Max, who was backed up against the wall looking a little scared, was the first to speak.
“Meg wants to hang me up by my…” he faltered.
Then Mistress Meg cut in, “I want to hang him by his wrists and have Stacy give him a damned good strapping.”
Katia just looked angry.
“What on earth’s going on,” I asked. “Max, tell me what’s the matter.”
Now, perhaps you remember that Max is my neighbour’s twenty year old son, and looks after much of the technology side of the work I do. There’s a surprising amount of work running the blog. He also manages my Patreon and a few other things, including entering Auntie Kittie’s content. He’s our tame techie.
“It’s Patreon,” he said and everyone fell silent.
“Oh yes. They recently named me as one of their top adult writing creators, didn’t they?”
“Yes, they’ve done very well from your Patrons. You’d think they…”
“Tell her what they’ve done, Max. Stop blabbering,” said Meg.
Max, who by now was close to tears, turned to Mistress Meg and said, “You’re not the boss of me! I’m just doing my best. You can’t tell me what to do!”
Mistress Meg picked up a breadknife, rubbed her thumb against the blade and then said menacingly, “Odd choice of last words, Max.”
“I think perhaps we should all calm down,” I said gently. “Now, Max let’s sit in my study and see what’s the matter.”
I took Max through to my study, usually my sanctuary away from others, and sat him down on the couch. His eyes were brimming over, and a tear ran down his cheek.
“It’s ok, Max. Just tell me what the trouble is.”
“We’ve been kicked off Patreon. They say our content is too adult.”
“What? Make up tips and hypnosis?” I said looking a little shocked. “Or was it that joke you said I should take out?”
“You mean the one about stuttering?”
“Yes, where I said that jokes about speech impediments were a big big ‘no no’?”
“No,” he replied. “I pulled that out before we posted that piece. It’s more Mistress Meg and Katia’s content. They say it’s too adult and they don’t want it on their servers. But that’s not the worst of it.”
“Really? What else is there?”
“We have hundreds of members there. And they’re not going to be happy. And Mistress Meg and Katia depend on the revenue from there,” he said clearly upset. “I’ve let them down. And I think Mistress Meg might want to do something horrible to me.”
“Mistress Meg does horrible tings to people all the time. It’s sort of her thing,” I said softly. “I won’t let her do anything to you, don’t you worry. She just want’s to look after the Seahorses.”
“I didn’t mean to get us kicked. Really. I thought we were ok, but they’ve just clamped down.”
“Don’t worry, Max,” I said soothingly. “We’ll take care of Patreon. If we have to be off it then I’m sure our members will understand. We got along just fine without Patreon before, remember? We’ll just have to accommodate the members on the website.”
I thought about it for a moment and then said to Max, “Mistress Meg is just concerned because her writing is more edgy. She probably thinks it really her fault. None of this is anyone’s fault. Patreon are just trying to be careful.”
Max looked a little awkward for a moment and then added, “Well, there’s more to it than that. I was thinking of saying we should get off it anyway. Some people feel it’s a bit of a scam. You should see the review of it.”
“Well, if that’s the case then we should get off it anyway. They’ve done us a favor. I want the best for my members,” I said.
Max stared into he distance and then said, “I can build a membership system on the site. We can ask Patrons to switch over. That way you can chat to them when they visit the site, using that chat window you use some evenings.”
“I love chatting with them,” I said. “Now, I’d better go and calm down Meg and Katia. Don’t you worry about a thing. It’s not your fault.”
And with that I left and went out to the kitchen. It didn’t take long to calm down Meg and Katia.
“We’re just going to build a membership system on the blog instead,” I told them. “Besides that way we can service them much better. Patreon has never been that great. I know people can’t find half the content you write, because their navigation is so outdated.”
Katia cut in, “You’re right. Someone wrote to me the other day saying they couldn’t navigate properly in their app. Half the time it doesn’t work properly.”
“Now, let’s not be unkind to Max. He’s going to have our website updated in a few days with a bunch more content for our members and we’ll let everyone know exactly how to switch over to our website,” I said. “Besides, it gives us an opportunity to do more on the website itself, rather than someone else’s platform. We can do even more cool things for our members.”
And that’s why I’m writing to you today. This has given us the great opportunity to improve the way we serve up content. It’s also a heads up that Clothes Maketh The Man is soon going to be served entirely free. You probably know that the first 24 episodes are currently free, but that subsequent episodes have only been available on Patreon. Well, I’ll be making them freely available on FionaDobson.com in the next couple of days.
Now, if you’re a Patron you’ll need to subscribe to one of the services here to continue your membership – and I want you to know how very much I appreciate each of you that does so. And if you’d just like to support the work my little team and I do then you can simply join for $1 a month in my Good Gurls membership here. You know how very much I appreciate each and every one of my members, and over the years we’ve overcome hurdles like this plenty of times.
If you’d like to tell Patreon what you think of their decision to throw us off their platform, don’t let me stop you. You can email them here: email@example.com – It won’t change their decision but it might remind them that they’re a bunch of homophobic self righteous dicks.
Don’t worry. This isn’t going to stop us delivering the very best crossdressing content, just as I always have. Now, I have to hide the cooking sherry. I can see Auntie Kittie coming up the drive, and if I don’t she’ll be here all night.
I have an affinity to beautiful birds. I like that the males have such extravagant plumage. And yet there is more that draws me to them.
Consider this. The cage, for most of us a symbol of constrained freedom, for birds is something more. I have opened the door of a cage and watched as they escape and find freedom. Can you imagine that moment, a loved pet fleeing to freedom through the opened cage door. A moment of panic, and then they are gone through an open window. All that fondness and happy memories gone in a flutter of wings.
And two hours later, as I look at the cage, there he is once more. Silently returning to his captivity. A warm sensation of relief in my tummy. Yet, it’s more than relief. It’s a sense of rewarded trust, for I left that door open quite willingly.
I trusted. And aren’t all good relationships based on trust?
Well, this is a story of trust. I think you will enjoy it. Perhaps so much so that you will play along with me. I will ask you to make this an interactive story.
That’s right, you can join in. I wonder if you dare. Well, there’s the opportunity for me to trust you… Let’s see how you do. Are you ready to play? I hope you’ll feel inclined to use the comments section in this post to let me know.
Mistress Katia Thornwood.
The Lovers – By Katia Thornwood.
Those of you who have been following me for a while know about Paulo, the sentimental poet, who got a little too lost in the compelling world of his Mistress. I am, as you know, all about balancing extremes, and so you can imagine my delight when the sorry little fellow finally got himself a girlfriend – Fern. An actual woman.
And it wasn’t his usual thing. Worshiping some completely unattainable woman from afar, and languishing in his own pathetically amusing pain. Such a typical poet. It’s a pity he has so much of the poet’s nature and so little of the poet’s talent. Not to worry though, his role is to suffer. Regardless, Fern is a real flesh and blood woman.
I am so pleased to thank all my lovely Patreon members for their recent kind wishes to Stacey, who has been unwell with Covid. She is now recovering and will be back on her feet soon. In the meantime I can tell you some exciting news.
Katia Thornwood has a new series about to be released for all my members. Now, as you probably know Katia generally writes just for our treasured Seahorse members – those naughty boys and gurls who so desperately need a little extra discipline. However, in line with the Christmas season, she’s asked me to put this new series out to all my Patreon members. Her generosity knows no bounds (particularly when I am paying her wages).
Those of you who know Katia will realise she is quite a strict disciplinarian. She longs for the days of the past when the kindly local policeman, that everybody on the street knows, would give a recalcitrant teenager a clip round the ear as they were hauled off to the gallows. Now, of course, she applies a more impacting version of discipline all of her own. Her new series is called The Lovers and will enthrall all who read it.
What few people know is that Katia is also very keen on her tropical birds. She loves parrots and conures, and has been know to stroke a large cockatoo from time to time as well. Anyway, I know you’ll enjoy the upcoming series, The Lovers. If you’re not already a member just join my Patreon for December at just $1 for the month to enjoy this great collection. What better way is there to make Christmas special? I can’t think of one! http://patreon.com/fionadobson
I will be spending a little more time online this month, so if you’d like to check in with me just go to the site and you might find me there chatting through the site chat system. I love to connect with my gurls.
Well, I thought what Sylvester was saying was that Hannibal, my dachshund had been interred. Wondering if this were some punishment for running wildly about the park, I assumed he meant he’d been taken by the bylaw officer. This is what you get for letting your friend walk your dog.
I’d have walked Hannibal myself, were it not for the fact that I need my legs waxed. Rainbow has been kind enough to come over to help, and after we’ve finished we’ll be enjoying an eggplant yoghurt facial she has concocted. As you can imagine I am using the term ‘enjoying’ advisedly. I’m sure you understand there’s a certain amount of scheduled maintenance has to happen to keep up appearances, as a crossdressing account executive at the advertising agency. Much as one would care for a beautiful object, or as Bernard, my photographer, put it rather unkindly a large public building.
Sylvester thinks Hannibal, who is extremely sweet particularly when he snarls at Amanda, is a chick magnet. Whenever he walks Hannibal young women who ought to know better come up to Sylvester and start fawning over him. I mean, Hannibal, not Sylvester. Fawning over Sylvester would be like fawning over a Caterpillar Tractor. As a result Sylvester enjoys walking Hannibal some days, usually after the local yummy mummies have dropped there screaming charges off at the Huckleberry Montessori Daycare Centre For Spoiled Brats.
He wanders around the park looking sombre and brooding like a poet or a man recently widowed who needs the loving embrace of a dissatisfied young mother. Preferably blonde, a former gymnast, and quite possibly with poor English skills.
“What do you mean, Sylvester,’ I said into the phone. “They can’t inter my dog!’
“No, he’s been ‘interred’. It’s a fancy way of saying he’s got very dirty.”
I paused. I think Sylvester has been spending too much time with Ali, my Syrian gardener.
“I don’t think that’s what that means,” I said. “If you mean he’s dirty I suggest you bring him back here and give him a good wash. And I don’t mean like last time.”
I could tell Sylvester was about to protest and quickly added, “Sylvester, throwing Hannibal’s ball through Mr. Singh’s car wash does not count as cleaning my dog. I’m still getting abusive phone calls from him from the last time.”
I hung up the phone and returned to the business at hand, Katia having recently arrived and was presently sitting with Rainbow and myself contemplating the yoghurt facial.
“Do you plan to eat it or fix the grouting with it?” she asked.
As you likely know, Katia Thornwood is what I can best be described as a disciplinarian, working with some of my Seahorse members. These are those special members who require that extra little helping hand in their dressing. Katia and Mistress Meg look after them and can be found on my Patreon. However, Katia was visiting my house to discuss some minor business matters and was looking forward to seeing Sylvester.
“He’s a very useful sort of chump,” observed Katia. “He leant me some of that very fine oil for a pair of nipple clamps I use on my visitors. I’ve been using them a while now, and I hardly hear a squeak out of them.”
“The clamps or the visitors,” I asked.
“Both,” she replied. “I have these rather frightening surgical shears I’d like him to oil. They’re most intimidating. They look perfect for castration.”
I winced a little and then said, “Well you can be sure your clients would speak highly of you after that.”
Katia sniggered and replied that they’re really just for show and insisted it’s good to maintain her tools.
I am always interested in the private lives of my
clients. While not wishing to be a part
of them, I am interested in the process of observing them. Understanding what makes them tick makes it
so much easier to help them.
I see myself as something of a therapist, albeit in an unusual
manner. As I was tightening a nipple clamp on Ian’s chest, I remarked that I am
here to help him, after all. A couple more turns, after the whimpering and the
wincing has subsided, when observed closely I can enjoy the process and help my
Dressed in a suspender belt, stockings, and heels I do
deliver considerable help – relief even – to my clients. I suppose at some
level that does make me a therapist.
“So, Ian,” I asked while adding a further turn to the clamp,
“why is it you’re looking so down in the mouth today?”
I have been cooped up in this St. James’s apartment for the last two months, and have been enjoying catching up on correspondence and doing a few of the administration tasks I should have addressed months ago. It’s not exactly thrilling work, but to be honest I don’t mind it.
The apartment overlooks London’s beautiful St. James’ Park and the lake within. The location is made all the more poignant by the fact that the park is named after a hospital that once stood nearby, for the treatment of leprosy. Imagine, putting a hospital for a highly infectious disease in the centre of what was at that time the most populous city on earth. That sounds almost as sensible as holding a rally in Tulsa and expecting it to be a roaring success.