Finding you crossdressing, and ripping your blouse open I can only say I reveal you as you are. It’s time for you to stop pretending to be a man and to discover the real you. The ‘you’ that talks inside your head. Mistress Meg
There are voices in your head. They tell you how you want to wear panties and feel the softness of feminine clothes. And they’re getting stronger.
In this powerful self hypnosis exercise you will learn to accept the voices in your head. You will learn to comply with them. This brief hypnosis file should be used every night, and then loaded to your phone for use at intervals during the day.
Soon your feminization will be complete. Try the hypnosis file below and listen to it nightly for a week. Then let me know how you’re enjoying it.
I hope you’ve been having a wonderful week as this glorious summer moves from inferno and forest fire toward another Covid surge. What curious times we live in! As we enter a little stifled Pride week, as few outdoor events are allowed, we are all making the best of the situation here in Vancouver.
Surprising as it may seem, I am quite well known in Huckleberry close, not only as a transgendered person, but also as an account executive in a very successful advertising firm. It was no surprise then when Mistress Meg came to me with an idea for advertising campaign.
I took the printed sheet that she held out to me and looked at the image.
“Hmmmm…” I said, sagely rubbing my chin. I find it’s always a good idea to at least look like you know what you’re talking about in these situations. “’Don’t be a dick, get the prick.” It might be construed as being just the tiniest bit in bad taste,” I said thoughtfully.
“I don’t see why,” said Meg.
“Well, it implies that people who have not had the vaccine are, well, somehow deficient,” I said as diplomatically as I could.
“They are,” replied Mistress Meg with her usual certainty.
“Be that as it may,” I continued, “why would you want to place an advertisement like this?”
“To help your wife’s friend,” said Meg.
“My wife’s friend,” I said, a chill running through me.
“You know, the one that looks like a pig,” replied Meg.
“Amanda. Yes, you know she’s in film and theatre. Mostly advertising parts, but she does occasionally get a decent role.”
“I don’t follow,” I said sounding confused.
“Amanda told me her parts were drying up,” continued Meg.
“I’m sorry…” I muttered.
“Her acting parts. She’s hardly done any lately,” continued Meg. “And until the Covid numbers drop down there’s going to be no filming and no theatre.”
“So you thought you’d help by placing an ad in the local paper,” I said, “telling people not to be a dick. Yes, I suppose there is a sort of logic to it.”
“We should all do our bit,” said Meg. “It’s a good job Amanda has that job editing Pig And Pig Farmer Monthly, otherwise she’d be in real trouble.”
“Yes,” I mused. “I met the publisher once. He seemed very fond of Amanda, though I can’t think why. He said that she was the apple of his eye. I think that’s a good thing. Mind you he did have a sty in it. Rather apt, really when you think about it.”
Meg gave me a stern look. I didn’t care much for that.
“It’s a good ad, but they might kick it out because of the wording,” I said and handed it back to her. “It might do better as a social media campaign.”
I want to say thank you to all the wonderful members who have helped me transition over from Patreon to an improved membership model. If you’re interested in joining one of the programs and becoming a member you can do so for as little as $1 a month here – http://FionaDobson.com/my-programs. For those who don’t wish to join as a member but do wish to help me along a little, using the advertising links on my site does help me as well. So, if you’re looking at buying a few little presents for yourself be sure to click through on some of the links on my site from time to time. You can browse a few things here – https://fionadobson.com/fionas-shopping-list/
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.
As you probably know, Mistress Meg looks after my Seahorses. These are members who require a little encouragement to dress. There’s no knowing just how compelling a good spanking can be – but some of my more reluctant members require this form of gently applied discipline.
She’ll lead you, while you’re unable to resist, deeper and deeper into a state of compliance and subjugation. You’ll enjoy her softness and the powerlessness you experience as she toys with you. Mistress Meg now has a special page HERE.
You possibly know Stacey, she helps out Mistress Meg. Get better acquainted with her by joining my Seahorse level for just $10 a month. If you need a little encouragement, you’re going to find it’s the best dollar you spend this month!
I felt I should share this weeks events with you. I’m sure you’ll find them of interest. Those of you who are Seahorse members on my Patreon will appreciate some of the events more than others, being familiar with my work. However, for those of you who have not yet joined me at that level, think of this as an introduction.
As I fastened the final leather cuffs to Mr. Barton’s forearms, I turned to Stacy and said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, Stacy, but if I’m not mistaken I can’t help thinking Mr. Barton is not a completely happy man.”
For those of you who have been reading my posts you regularly, you will know I am a very perceptive and sensitive person. I’m very generous by nature and I pick up on these things.
“What makes you think that?” said Stacy, as she selected a pair of shiny heavy steel nipple clamps.
“Mostly it’s the sobbing. The whimpering, too. The squirming is also something that does give him away a little.” I paused for a moment and then, addressing Mr. Barton, added, “What on earth is the matter?”
Mr. Barton’s muffled replay came between sobs. “Nothing, Mistress Meg.”
“Well, you wouldn’t think so, the way you’re carrying on. Stacy, bring the ball gag,” I said sharply. “And let’s get those nipple clamps on you!”
I looked at the young pastor and offered him another cup of tea. He sat in my room with a look of hopeful expectation.
“I would love to contribute to your fund, and I must say that, in principle I am of course an avid supporter of anything that helps disadvantaged inner city youth,” and with that I paused and leaned a little closer, my cleavage spilling into his eyeline.
I continued, “But, I wonder, Pastor. What can you do for me?”
The young man looked a little surprised, then replied, “Naturally, I’d like to help my benefactor in any way I can.” I couldn’t help noticing the struggle he was having averting his eyes from my breasts.
As summer gently shimmys toward the exit door, and fall gets in the queue to get into the club of the passing year, we’re slowly seeing the weather change. Even Auntie Kittie has started wearing a sweater now and then, a matter of considerable relief to Max, who types up her material.
“Max is such a dear,” she said the other day. “I’m so grateful he’s so good at putting it in. He’s so thorough.” and then added as an after thought,”… and so quick.”
The poor 20 year old lamb goes the color of a beetroot when he’s embarrassed, and Auntie Kittie will say such things in front of Sylvester and Mistress Meg. And it was Sylvester and Meg who were sitting at my kitchen table this very morning. Sylvester was telling us how in these troubled times we should all be finding ways to lift our spirits. Instead of worrying about the Corona Virus we should be reaching deeply within ourselves and fostering our creativity. Meg was a little skeptical.
I’ve been doing that very thing myself. I’ve been doing a little embroidery, making some of my jeans look a little more feminine by adding a few little designs. It’s really very simple and gives even the most masculine of trousers a nice feminine touch. If you’d like to change your favorite dungarees from the farm yard, or even the ones you wear when cleaning out the slag from the iron foundry this will do just the trick. Even your most stylish denim pants can be personalised and uplifted – and we could all use a personalised uplifting of our denim clad butts, I’m sure you’ll agree.
I leaned over the kitchen table and turned to Sylvester and said, “What do you think of this?”
Sylvester looked at my jeans as I did so, and said, “That’s really very impressive. I think I should enter you.”
“Sylvester, I…” but before I could speak he went on, as Meg looked on, arms folded and unimpressed.
“I should enter you in the embroidery competition. It’s part of the end of summer cultural fair at the recreation center.”
“Oh, really I don’t think so,” I said. “Most of the people entering are really rather older than I am. They’re quite a conservative lot. I’m really not sure what they’d make of me. I can imagine it would be like that poor South African athlete who they didn’t believe was a woman.”
Sylvester looked a little doubtful. “No, I don’t think it would be like that.”
Anyway that’s what I’m doing. Sylvester tells me he’s working on a book. The Complete Idiot’s Guide To Being A Complete Idiot. A catchy title.
“Are you writing it or reading it?” muttered Meg, ever the acerbic wit.
It turns out that half the people in this competition I’m now entered in are young arts students. I thought they’d all be doddery old buffers like Auntie Kittie’s father, who’s staying with her rather than going into a care home. These days that seems a rather good idea. The old fellow is about 150 years old and sits smiling looking into the far horizon. He seems a kindly old fellow, though the dementia is quite complete and he has little idea of what’s going on. He seems cheerful, though.
I said to Auntie Kittie, the other day when I was round there, “He looks like he’s fondly remembering the things he used to do when he was a young man.”
She frowned and agreed.
“Yes, you’re probably right. He’s remembering flying aeroplanes and bombing Germany. He’s always been a belligerent old bugger.”
I suppose we all have our own journeys.
Have a safe, socially distanced week. The Republican convention should provide a few laughs this week… urgh, I can hardly wait.