“I told you before,” said Samantha, “You’re going to wear this lovely hoodie I just got from Amazon. Look, it’s the perfect size!”
“But I don’t want to wear it,” replied Darren.
“Yes, you do,” retorted his wife, as she looked for a summer dress in the bedroom closet. A nice pink one might be just the ticket.
“It’s a company function, I can’t possibly wear that!” he said in frustration.
Samantha adopted her most patient demeanor, and repeated, “You’re going to wear it. Think of it like this, you can pretend to be the wife. You’ll like that.”
With that she slipped her jeans off, and started to go through some of the summer dresses in her wardrobe. The heat of the summer was dissipating, but she could still get away with something revealing her perfectly tanned shoulders. She also like the soft materials, and gentle colors.
Trying a slightly different tack she added, “Besides, look how well these colors go with my dress?”
“Darling, it makes me look soft. It’s not manly,” said Darren. “Everyone is going to be wearing the tee shirts with pictures of cars, or motorcycles. Did you see that thing Steve wore last year? It had the picture of an F22 jet on it. He said something about it being ‘power dressing’.”
“No self-respecting teenager would wear that, as you well know,” responded his wife. “Think of it as just being your true self. Gurly dressing. After all, that’s what you like, isn’t it? Besides, they’ll just assume you’re striking a blow for trans rights.”
“I don’t want to blow anything,” said Darren, an air of dejection in his voice. He knew there was little point arguing with his wife when she had set her mind to something.
Samantha sat on the bed thinking about which summer dress would be best, her full breasts gently rising and falling with her breath. The summer afternoon light caught her beautiful honey colored hair just perfectly and her beauty almost made Darren catch his breath.
At length she said, “That’s not what you said last night.”
Darren shuddered. He hated it when she brought up things like this outside of their sexual activities.
“Don’t say that, darling,” he muttered awkwardly.
“Oh, come on. Own it, Darren. You told me you wanted to suck cock, and at the time you were wearing the panties I’d bought you. Do I really have to remind you?”
“That was different.,” he replied feeling embarrassed.
“Oh? And you seemed quite happy to wear my robe, and those heels,” said Samantha. “No, missy, you’ll wear what you’re told to wear. Besides, you practically begged me for anal last night. I’m likely to be more forthcoming if you do me the favor of wearing something appropriate. Who knows, perhaps tonight is your lucky night.”
“You’re going to make me wear this… this… flaming gay hoodie to a company function?” protested Darren.
“Yes, darling,” said Samantha, pulling on a summer dress that complimented the hoodie. “If you want me to accept your dressing up then I expect you to dress in a nice way. Besides I picked this one out specially. I think it’s very feminine, without being too obvious.”
“Look at those colors! It makes me look like I am some sort of dick hungry whore!” said Darren.
“But darling, when you were inside me last night, and I told you to say ‘I need to suck dick!’ that’s precisely what you were. I only want you to dress the part. Is that really so bad?”
Samantha would not be moved, and eventually Darren did pull on the hoodie. It was just the company picnic, after all. No one would be wearing work clothes. All the same, he felt he was taking a terrible risk.
“There you are!” said Samantha. “Now, if you are really good I may let you be naughty tonight. I’ll even call you Darlene while I take you.”
Darren smiled. He knew that every cloud had a silver lining. And he really liked the hoodie.
As he walked to the car he forced his ass out a little, and swayed his hips. Yes, he had the best wife ever!
I am sending this as I hurry off to my optician for some replacement glasses. Just this morning I noticed Sebastian, my personal trainer, has some new frames and how good they looked on him.
“Sebastian,” I said while working on some core exercises, “I must say those new glasses do look good on you.”
“Oh thank you, Fiona,” he replied standing over me.
“Yes,” I said breathlessly, “I do like it when a man splashes out on a nice pair.”
But that’s not the main reason I’m writing. For those of you following Andrea’s adventures in Clothes Maketh The Man, you’ll be thrilled to know that Part 54 is now out. Andrea finds herself slipping deeper into trouble all the time. And now she’s mucking out a stable with a pair of trannies and a pitchfork. Enjoy part 54 of Clothes Maketh The Man HERE.
All work and no play does make a person dull. And in my work, I need to always have an edge, or many, preferably sharp, pointed or at the very least, hard.
So I’m travelling to South East Asia for research, and of course a little respite. First stop, Cambodia, a little resort just outside of Seam Reap. Then Thailand – that heady mix of dirt, excitement, and mystery that I’ve always found so intoxicating a prospect.
Siem Reap is a harsh Mistress in herself. The heat is hard to explain, inescapable, it invades every pore and the only way to survive it is to surrender to it. My dewy skin breathes in temporary relief as the tuk tuk turns and the mildest hint of a breeze ripples through my cotton shirt, over my bare décolletage, sensually brushing bare skin and bringing me to life in a way I haven’t felt in a long while.
The road is an ordered chaos of interweaving tuk tuks, mopeds and cattle. The smell is a heady mix of boiling refuse and floral fragrance from the vegetation of the fields and forests beyond.
I contemplate being a stranger in a foreign land must be somewhat similar to how my submissives feel at times. At the mercy of many things that are beyond their control, trusting that things will work out because they have to, yet knowing around every turn is something that may just push them completely out of their comfort zone, at best, or completely destroy them, at worse.
To say Amelia is a voyeur is a little simplistic. Amelia is downright perverted, and that comes out in many ways, ranging from the delightful to the distasteful.
I hold none of this against her, however I am very much aware that when she arrives at my rooms dressed smartly, fresh from her office, and clutching a notebook in her hand I can be sure she’s going to ask me to do something complicated, not to mention enjoyable, to her long suffering husband.
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 am so pleased to see that my personal trainer, Sebastian, is finally calming down. In isolation, along with his sister, Rainbow, he’s been struggling a little with the stress of the process. Here in lovely Vancouver people have been observing the lockdown very well, and as a result we had just one new death yesterday. Of course, even one is one too many, however the process does appear to be working.
He does help me online each morning as I work out, but I can hear the stress in his voice. I mentioned this very thing to Mistress Meg just yesterday.
“He does seem to be a little on edge,” I said. “It makes it hard to relax as I am doing yoga. He is rather highly strung.”
“Yes,” replied Meg. “He probably should be.”
Sympathy is not the primary emotion that springs to mind when chatting with Mistress Meg. Many of you will know her from her writing in the Seahorse level. Never one to stifle her opinions, I think she thinks of Sebastian rather like a puppy that continually looks for approval. She seems unsure whether she should laugh at it, pet it, or give in to the inevitable urge to give it a hefty kick over the nearest fence while no one is looking.
I am thrilled to be offering content from my naughty friend, Mistress Meg to my Seahorses. Anyone joining at Seahorse level of above gets a collection of her messages, stories and quite explicit content, and of course regular updates.
I generally keep content of that nature off the website and in the Patreon platform, as it’s much better suited to that type of material. I’d love you to be able to enjoy some of these adult oriented offerings. Be sure to check out Patreon HERE.