A theft, a disguise and a horsebox. What could be more Jensen! Enjoy the continuing adventures of Jensen and Mrs. Sinclair.
Another great crossdressing story form Jules Sanderson
Accept yourself as you are – create yourself as you desire.
A theft, a disguise and a horsebox. What could be more Jensen! Enjoy the continuing adventures of Jensen and Mrs. Sinclair.
Another great crossdressing story form Jules Sanderson
Jensen and Mrs. Sinclair are getting in deep.
Get all the Jensen episodes HERE.
As Jensen tries to deflect the attentions of a diligent police woman, attention settles where it’s least wanted. Can Mrs. Sinclair help him out of some hot water? You can find all the Jensen episodes HERE.
Note from Fiona…
So, Jules Sandison writes this. It’s a great story. They also insist that I make sure that when it’s posted it has relevant associated advertising. I totally get that! I’m having so much fun researching Hornby train sets on Amazon. I’ve also come across some wonderful videos of train layouts. I hope you appreciate all the things we do here! LOL. FD
The second part of this series finds Jensen slipping deeper into Mrs Sinclair’s intrigue. Jensen’s unusual punishment becomes evident. Ms. Katia Thornwood’s list is available in it’s entirety here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/ten-tasks-for-of-37281389
You can find the first episode here – https://fionadobson.com/jensen-and-the-lady-of-the-manor/
You can find all the Jensen episodes 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 Iâm 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 â that heady mix of dirt, excitement, and mystery that Iâve 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 dĂ©colletage, sensually brushing bare skin and bringing me to life in a way I havenât 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.
Continue reading “”I sat in the ships dark store room space with my head in my hands. The dull throb of the engine filled the air and became the background music of the dark drama playing out before me. Here I was, shunned by Devina, on a cargo vessel moving through the dark night, on a black river headed who knows where.
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Mistress Meg
I cut across the square and walked into the bar after work. I usually only come here at lunchtimes, the fish always being fresh and the salad light. I can come in here, have a quick lunch and be back at my desk within an hour easily.
In the evenings there’s a lot of people in from out of town, there being a large hotel next door. And there’s a fair crop of locals too. It’s quite busy after six. It’s surprising how crowded this lonely city can be when all the commuters go home.
I don’t think I’d seen this one before. Maybe I had but it didn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I go out looking for romance. But he looked interesting. He told me a name, and I just let him freestyle his way into my evening.
He bought me a few drinks, and started to get a little touchy feely. Well, it was ok. The bar was closing soon anyway.
I decided Iâd walk home with him, his place wasnât far from mine, and weâd part and heâd never know how different I am.
But thatâs not quite how it went down. Sometimes it doesnât. Sometimes it just gets more interesting.
We decided stopping at my place for a nightcap might be ok. Why not? He leaned close as I fumbled for my keys, his breath heavy against my cheek. By the time I found my keys he was running his hands inside my jacket searching for my breasts
Continue reading “I guess he didn’t know what sort of gurl I am.”Part 10.
Sitting in the garden, just by where Ali had completed a rather unusual example of topiary depicting Cleopatraâs Needle and two of the Elgin Marbles, not to scale, I poured my wife a glass of wine.
âDarling,â I said. âhave you ever had a boyfriend who liked to crossdress?â
âWell, I really donât know,â she replied nonchalantly. âWhat they get up to in their spare time is a mystery to me.â
âYes, but surely,â I persisted, âthere must have been one who showed interest. I mean, so many men talk about it these days. I can only think there must be some women who find it, I donât know, exciting?â
âWell, Iâve always thought men look rather odd in dresses. Not to mention heels.â
âIâm sure,â I replied.
âOn the other hand,â she went on, her voice dropping a little, âit does give me a feeling of power.â At that point she paused and corrected herself. âThatâs to say Iâm sure it would. If someone were to, you know.â
I looked at her sideways.
âAre you quite sure youâve neverâŠâ
âWell, there was this one young man in college. A very unusual chap, but certainly very liberated. Exciting even,â she murmured.
I could see she was leaving a great deal unsaid, her mind wandering through what seemed to be some happy memories. I decided it might be best to let it hang for a moment.
âI think it wonderful how much energy women put into their look, and itâs always seemed a little unfair. A man shows up to a date with a clean shirt and heâs considered well dressed. A woman spends two hours putting on corset and suspender belt and god knows what, and sheâs not even remotely satisfied how she looks.â
âAnd ten minutes after youâve left the restaurant theyâre trying to get the damned stuff off! You have no idea.â
I kept my desire to say âI know exactly what you meanâ in check.
âWell, I must say I canât help thinking that now and then a man should have to try doing that. Just to remind themselves how much trouble you girls go to.â
I topped up my wifeâs wine.
âI think you may have something there. I think it would be a great idea to help men understand.â
I sipped my wine quietly.
âWell,â I murmured. âIf you really insist. I suppose I could try.â
Part 8.
Iâd had it in mind to tell my wife that I was a crossdresser for several months before I actually said the words. By the time I did Iâd shown a more gentle side of myself on numerous occasions and in many ways.
I was already taking her for regular shared nail appointments and had a wardrobe of increasingly androgynous clothing. It can hardly have been a surprise when one day I said I was going to start wearing a kilt to the office now and then. There was a drama series showing at the time that she enjoyed. When a brightly colored kilt arrived from Amazon one day I put it on, and her first words were, âOh god, you look like that guy in that show.â
âI do?â
âHey, big boy, whereâs your sword?â
I looked a little nonplussed.
âI donât think I have a âŠ. Oh, I see where youâre going with this.â
I didnât expect the kilt to have quite that effect. The first day I wore it to the office I got a combination of admiring glances, and one or two interesting comments. By day three it was accepted and normal. Admittedly I wanted to wear heels and panties with it, but that wasnât on the cards yet.
Before long my dress sense was being complimented, and my kilt was both âso very masculineâ and also considered daring. I loved it. As for my wife, she was in highland heaven every time I wandered in with it on.
It suppose it had been three months since Iâd made the decision to start adopting these changes, before I eventually spoke a word to my wife about it. Iâd been wearing the kilt every now and then for at least a month before I broached the subject. I decided that when I did so it would have to be somewhat obliquely. I like being married. I have children. Iâve been divorced before and itâs no fun.
This would have to be done carefully.
Part 7
Get all parts of this series here.
I gradually moved from a very masculine and Alpha style of clothes, to really looking at the feminine clothing I enjoyed and looking for first ways to move more toward the centre of the gender spectrum, and then becoming more overt about the clothes I was choosing.
It started with the colors. Then the cut. A more fitted pair of jeans. A slightly more tailored cut to my shirts, and then the complete exclusion of shirts. I would choose soft lambswool sweaters that could easily be mistaken for womenâs clothing. Gradually some of my sweaters were being bought from womenâs clothes stores and became more overtly feminine.
Up until this time Iâd not mentioned the shifts to my wife. There was simply no need.
Then one day we had a conversation that moved into how we felt about something or other.
âI donât really feel very strongly about it, darling,â I said. âI donât know, I feel a little more sensitive these days. I feel more inclined to accept a softer approach. What do you think?â
At first she looked at me a little strangely. After all, I was usually the forthright one of us.
âWell, I think youâre probably right.â
In that moment I was aware sheâd seen a shift, not in my clothes but in my nature. And there had indeed been one. I was accepting so many things ina less aggressive and Alpha manner. I was allowing the softer sides of myself to emerge. It seems a small thing, but really itâs not.
Gradually I started allowing myself to think differently and be more gentle in my approach to life. It so happened that I replaced my vehicle around this time. Instead of looking for the fast muscle car that perhaps was more expected from a middle aged advertising executive, I opted for a powerful â but understated vehicle. That raised more eyebrows than my gradual shift to less gender binary clothing.
One day my wife said to me, âI like that youâre being more thoughtful these days. Itâs like youâre maturing.â
I smiled and let it go. It was lovely comment.
Then one day I suggested, âHey, when was the last time you had a pedicure?â
âI donât know. Months I guess.â
âWell, why donât you have one this week. Iâd like to go with you.â
âYou?â
âSure,â I said. âThereâs a couple of guys in my office do, and I wondered what it might be like. Besides, we have a new client who wantâs us to start promoting their chain of nail salons. I might as well know what Iâm talking about.â
âWell, I guess,â she said.
Of course, I paid. And made a follow up appointment. And got spectacular nails as well.
Over the coming months we went several times and before long my wife was booking appoints for us both, aware I enjoyed it. If she didnât travel so much Iâve no doubt weâd go even more often.
Part 6.
Get all parts of this series here.
Ali, my gardener, is a Syrian refugee. He arrived in Canada a few years ago after fleeing Syria with his wife and two little girls.
After being in the country a week, he found himself on a bus travelling to northern Alberta, with over a hundred other Syrians who went up to Fort McMurray to help fight the forest fires that had encroach on the town and were burning it to the ground. A group of Syrian refugees had seen that the forest fires were devasting the area and volunteered to go and help the country that had offered them a home.
Like all refugees he had a story. In his case he was a professor at Damascus University and taught Botany. It would be hard to find a more educated gardener. He also speaks excellent English when he chooses to, but doesnât allow this to stand in the way of his random comments about my neighbours garden.
âMarjoryâs chlamydia is out early this year,â he might quip. âThe vulvodynia is coming along nicely!â
Currently he is on his hands and knees head to the flower bed pointing east. Heâs either praying or carrying out the jihad heâs declared on the weeds in the garden.
I like Ali very much. He is wise beyond his years, and I often listen to his advice. He is something of a fundamentalist, in a botanical sense rather than an Islamic one.
âAli,â I said when heâd finished what he was doing, âhow would you go about telling your wife you were into crossdressing?â
Continue reading “The Crossdresserâs Guide To Marital Bliss â Part 6.”Part 5.
Get all parts of this series here.
Just as the yin yoga helps my body find that impossible position after a gentle and gradual approach to the objective, so I can see my members finding a solution to how they approach their partners.
Amanda is my wifeâs best friend, and a woman of particular personality. She has an association with tweed that few crossdressers will understand. I certainly donât. I suspect even her underwear is made of the coarse material, she seems to wear it with such frequency.
For all Amandaâs faults, and they are many, she also has some interesting views on things. The fact that she has known my wife for so many years is a point in her favour. Sheâs been a good friend to her. And then thereâs her journalism. She is editor of Pig and Pig Farmer, a publication that shot to prominence under her editorial guidance when it came out and endorsed Donald Trump for president in 2016. Thereâs just too much there to go into, so I shanât be drawn.
âHow would you feel,â I asked her, âif you learned that your partner was interested in dressing as another gender.â
âWhat,â she said in panic. âHas Marjory told you something?â
Continue reading “The Crossdresserâs Guide To Marital Bliss â Part 5.”Part 4.
I am wearing some lovely patterned leggings. I do yoga in them with my personal trainer, Sebastian. Heâs a very good sport and I know he likes the way my body moves. He looks at me at times with a sort of lustful hunger, and I have to say I enjoy it.
But before I go too far telling you about Sebastian, letâs go back to Rose â so much older than myself and a woman who knew very decisively what she wanted. She would dress me up, make me up and then use me like I was some sort of toy for her amusement. In every respect I was bought and paid for. The degradation and the humiliation came right along with the discomfort of allowing her to do things to my body that certainly werenât covered in my biology studies in high school. It was disgustingly wonderful.
Continue reading “The Crossdresserâs Guide To Marital Bliss â Part 4.”Introduction.
The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss is a series of episodes taking a hilarious look at how one crossdresser brought his wife to a place of understanding and acceptance. It’s also instructive and full of good advice to those of us who wish to introduce our dressing to the principal relationship in our life. I hope you enjoy it. Get all episodes here.
Fiona
Part 1.
I sat in the garden enjoying the cool spring breeze. Sylvester crossed the lawn carrying a tray of tea and ginger biscuits.
âIâve just had yet another experience with one of my members that leaves me feeling quite sad,â I said as Sylvesterâs ham like fist gripped my delicate tea pot and poured.
âWhat was that, then?â he asked.
âWell, I had this chat with another member who just felt he couldnât talk to his wife about crossdressing. I mean, really, itâs awful. So many of my lovely gurls are out there and barely even able to talk to anyone.â
âBut thatâs what youâre here for,â said Sylvester.
âWell, yes,â I replied. âBut there are certain things that a wife can do that even I may struggle to!â
Continue reading “The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 1.”The first time it happened I think I was about seven. Iâd recently been sent away to boarding school and was still in that confused state of not being sure of what I had done wrong to deserve this most terrible of fates.
As was normal every day I had got up with the wake up bell at 7 am. Iâd stumbled bleary eyed and mussy haired toward the bathrooms at the end of the dormitory. There the cream colored paint, still peeling today in my memory as it was then those many years ago, caught the fresh cold morning sunshine, leaving irregular shadows on the walls. There were other children stirring, all young and as lost looking as I was myself making their way toward their morning ablutions.
I went into one of the stalls and peed onto the frozen surface of the water lying inside the toilet. It would unfreeze soon, and the heavy galvanized iron mechanism of the flush would clunk unsatisfied, until it did. Probably the spent waste of three children would be enough to generate the heat that would unfreeze the water.
Continue reading “My Mother In The Mirror.”The Visitor from OuterâŠPlace. Part 2
(Part 1 of The Dating Game can be found here).
From Part 1
David closed his eyes and wanted nothing more than to escape to his bedroom and feel the cool silk of his new negligĂ©e next to his skin. It would look perfect with those slippers. He began to feel clammy. âI need a drink.â
Sandrine looked around and spied the kitchen. She handed the slippers to David. âWhy donât Lucy and I get the drinks while you go and make yourself more comfortable?â
David hesitated a moment. âAre you FtM?â …
Wait. He of all people should know better than to ask such a personal question to a woman he barely knew. And she was a work colleague. What the hell was he thinking?
He was about to apologise when Sandrine replied.
âI like to be fluide. I donât put myself in just one âole. Is that âow you English say it?â Sandrine flashed her eyes at David before fixing them on Lucy.
Uncharacteristically Lucy had been silent for the past minute and a half, her nerves possibly still reverberating from asking Sandrine if she was a lesbian. Now her eyes were on David, and he couldnât help thinking she was worried for him. Well let her be!
He needed space to breathe. âI think you mean âboxâ but âholeâ works too. Help yourselves.â
âOh, come on,â said Lucy, heading to the kitchen, never one to hide her impatience, or linger at the back of the queue when there was a glass of wine to be had.
Continue reading “The Dating Game â Part 5 â by Mollie Blake”
The Visitor from OuterâŠPlace. Part 1
(You can find Part 1 of The Dating Game here.)
âWhy canât Professor Daniels take her to lunch? Itâs his department sheâs come to visit. I know bugger all about 17th century French poets!â David heard his secretaryâs long sigh on the other end of the phone.
âProfessor Daniels has to complete his paper on âHorses in the Middle Ageââ
âHas to complete his paper? Heâs been writing that thing for the last five years.â
âWell, he says itâs urgent now.â
It was Davidâs turn to sigh. After catching a brief glimpse of Madame Lafayette with Daniels, he could understand why the professor may well wish to finish the paper he wished heâd never started. At five foot two and almost as round as he was tall, the professor was in his early sixties, wore a bow tie and waistcoat daily, and regarded anyone who didnât know the French poet, Jean Chapelain, as something you might have the misfortune to find on the bottom of your shoe. The universityâs guest from Paris, on the other hand, was tall and skinny with poker straight, raven black hair, and he guessed, in her mid-thirties. Her black tailored trouser suit accentuated her ghoulishly pale skin, and David couldnât help thinking she resembled a teacher of the dark arts in a Harry Potter novel. No doubt she knew all there was to know about Jean C, but Daniels was probably scared stiff of her.
Continue reading “The Dating Game â Part 4 â By Mollie Blake.”
A Singapore Sling
In the third part of Mollieâs story we continue to follow David, or âDianaâ and Lucy. Part 1 can be found here.
âYouâve got a free trip to Singapore? You lucky sod!â
Davidâs best friend, Lucy, had him chuckling into his phone. âYeah, but hey! I have to work for it.â
âWork, my arse! Youâre just gonna chat about your precious topic on some quantum physics shite, and then have a ball with whoeverâll fondle yours for you.â
âFat chance of that with Singaporeâs lack of LGBT rights. Anyway, Iâm scheduled to give three lectures with Professor Amanda Lo. Iâll be flying home before I know it.”
David cast a quick glance at the sleek turquoise gown hanging on the back of the door. At the very least he planned on having an evening out, just for himself, with the chance to be who he wanted to be.
âYouâre just jealous.â He laughed, relaxed now that he was almost ready to leave his apartment for five days. âI promise Iâll bring you something back.â
âIt had better not be chlamydia.â
âHa bloody ha.â
Continue reading “The Dating Game – Part 3 – By Mollie Blake.”
In the second part of Mollie’s story we continue to follow David, or ‘Diana’ and Lucy. Part 1 can be found here.
Wax Lyrical
David ripped the last length of wax from his leg, wincing only slightly and pressing his hand against the newly smoothed skin to relieve the sting.
A broad smile smile stretched across his face as he remembered his first encounter with a spatula of wax and strip of tape.
000
David shot bolt upright on the makeshift massage table. âFucking hell! That hurt!â
There was no compassion from the sadist already applying another strip of hot waxâwas Lucy sure it had to be this hot?âto the next stretch of hair on his leg.
This was a bad idea. Why didnât he just stick to the black leggings? They felt good on him, beneath the grey chiffon dress.
âCome on, donât be a wuss. Are you gonnaâ man up to be the woman of your dreams?â
âArgh!â Wince, wince. Maybe heâd just have one leg done today, the other next week?
But Lucyâs torture was relentless. âKeep still, or Iâll have to go over that bit again.â
David could hear the taunting in her voice. For a petite five foot nothing slip of a lass she was a formidable character. It would make her day to keep him here all afternoon, subjected to burning pain, followed by everlasting smarting.
Continue reading “The Dating Game – Part 2 – By Mollie Blake.”