The Girl Inside free porn video

Warning: Contains adult material. Not to be read or downloaded by persons considered underage in the jurisdiction in which they live. May be posted to any appropriate newsgroup; may be archived on any not-for-pay Web site. The Girl Inside by Princess Pervette Part 1 "So, why do you want to submit to me?" This was it. I had met her on a femdom newsgroup. I was looking for just that--a woman to submit to. Not to beat me, but to dominate me, to control my life. It was a need I had felt for as long as I could remember. I had read a number of her posts, and she was the one person on the group who lived in the same city as I did and sounded as if she was interested in the same kind of domination I was interested in. I had courted her discreetly for a couple of weeks by responding to her posts in a manner that suggested that we had common interests and might find each another congenial. Then, once I judged that I was no longer an unknown quantity, I sent her an e-mail.. I was concerned to make the proper impression, as someone who seriously wanted to meet her and not just some fool looking for a cheap thrill. I must have gone over that letter a dozen times, checking its tone, changing the wording, altering the emphasis, trying to write something that would elicit a response. Favorable or unfavorable, but a response. To my vast relief, her reply was friendly. So we chatted by e-mail for another couple of weeks, and then she proposed that we get together. We went out for dinner two or three times by way of getting acquainted. I think I was under her spell from the very first time. She was a striking woman. A redhead, slim, with a good body. Not beautiful in any conventional sense, but not plain, either. Attractive. Attractive? ...No, I decided the second time we met; bewitching, with eyes that held yours and seemed to see everything inside you. Over those first dinners, we discovered common interests--early music, fast cars, opera--but every time I tried to bring up the question of submission, she sidestepped the issue. Until to-night. The conversation had been the same as the other times, until we reached dessert and coffee. Then, abruptly, that question: "So, why do you want to submit to me?" I couldn't answer it. Why does a man want to place himself completely under the domination of a woman? These impulses spring from the depths of the unconscious; you just know that, for some reason, that's what you want. I was a take-charge kind of guy in daily life. My supervisors told me I had what they called "leadership potential." And I liked that. But maybe...maybe I wanted to be able to drop the take-charge persona and give it a rest. I fumbled out an answer along these lines, ending with, "I've just always longed for it, that's all." "I won't be an easy Mistress," she said. "I have to warn you about that right away." I felt an adrenaline rush. I tried to laugh it off. "You mean, whips and chains?" "You know perfectly well I don't mean that, Ted. We've already discussed that by e-mail. But I will be demanding. You think you want someone to take control. Well, I will take control, but it may not be entirely to your liking." She went on. "Have you ever done this before?" "No. I've dreamed about it, I've had fantasies about it, but I've never found anybody whose interests were...compatible." We had gone over some of these questions by e-mail, of course, but she must have wanted to observe my responses as we talked about it face-to-face. Then, abruptly, she asked, "What was your mother like?" "Oh...you mean, dominating? No, not at all. Very affectionate and easy- going. And devoted to Dad." "So maybe you're looking for something you didn't get back then. Well... we'll see. "But you mentioned fantasies. You know, our fantasies and realities don't always jibe. You may try something that's always been a hot fantasy and discover that the reality is not fun at all. Not exciting. Maybe even quite disagreeable. How do you know that this won't be the same? I told you that I won't be easy." "Well...perhaps we could, er, set something up on a trial basis...." She cut me off. "No. I'm not interested in fooling around. I want a positive, binding commitment. Anything else is a waste of my time. And yours." I didn't know what to say. She was asking me to step into a relationship blindly. I wasn't sure whether that was wise. On the other hand, this was the first possibility I had ever encountered. I was 23; I had been looking in one way or another since I was a boy and first realized my desires. If I ducked out of this, how long would I have to wait before my next chance? Before I could come up with an answer, she said, "My ideas about control ...they may not be what you're expecting. Tell me...have your fantasies ever included feminization? Forced feminization? Being made to dress up and act like a girl? To live like one?" They hadn't. The idea caught me completely off guard. That hadn't been what I thought of as domination at all. Then I tried to think what I had imagined, what specifics. And I realized that I had never thought of that. Only of some woman taking charge of me. And of my life. Feminization. The idea was vaguely off-putting. I was a man, after all, and I liked being a man. Not a macho stud, but someone with a quiet, unforced masculinity. Or so I liked to think, anyway. But again...what if I let this opportunity slip? She was offering me, or seemed to be offering me, the control I so badly wanted. Mightn't it be worth a dress? She interrupted my thoughts. "That's my kind of domination. Not whips and chains...well, not necessarily, but that's not my preferred thing. I like to make the men in my charge into girls. The more masculine they are, the better I like it. I'm very good at it. I've done it many times, and none of my 'girls' has ever complained. I'm experienced enough to know exactly how to go about it. You'll be in the hands of an expert." I was torn. The idea...it was a little frightening, but maybe that was what made it suddenly interesting. But I was uncertain. "Well...can I think about it? I never thought of submission in those terms before, and I...well, I'd like to think about it." "I insist that you think about it. Even if your answer was an unhesitating Yes, I would insist that you think about it. Because if we do this, if we work together, you and I, there will be no turning back. I will change your life completely. Think about that: You will never be the same again. You must know that and consider it. I'm not interested in any half measures." She continued. "You told me you live with someone." "Yes. Chuck. We share an apartment." "Does he know about your interest in submission?" "Well, yes, he does...." "What does he think about it?" "He doesn't understand it. But he's gay. He's not interested in women at all. I think it's the woman aspect of the thing that strikes him as strange, not the submission business." "Are you gay?" "No. Not at all." "Then why do you live with a gay man?" "Chuck and I were roomies in college. I was one of the few guys who would accept him." I hesitated, then added, "As a roommate, I mean. And when we graduated, we both ended up working here, and so we're roommates again. We get along well together." I fell back on the old cliche: "We're just good friends." "Do you have a girl?" "Yes." "How about her? Does she have any sympathy for your desires?" "I tried sounding her out--well, vaguely--a couple of times. Her reaction wasn't favorable." "What do you mean, 'vaguely'?" "Oh, I said something about reading an article about men who submitted to women. As if I was only idly intellectually curious." "You deceived her, you mean. Ted, I've got to tell you this right now: Don't deceive me. Don't even think about it. I will require absolute honesty from you. I'm not normally into whips and chains, as you so charmingly put it, but if I'm crossed, I punish." Then, after a pause, she asked, "What was her reaction?" "At first she thought I meant henpecked husbands. Then when I explained, she said that was sick. That she couldn't understand men who wanted things like that." By this time we had finished our coffee. As we waited for the check, she said, "Ted, think this over. I'll give you a week. You can e-mail me any questions you may want to ask. If I don't hear from you within a week, I'll assume your answer is No. But remember that we will be playing for keeps. You will become my feminized servant. Ultimately, my feminized slave--if you measure up. This isn't going to be just little kids playing dress-up. We're adults, and this is an adult situation you'll be getting into. I will control every aspect of your life. All of it. I will put you into dresses. Panties, dresses, everything. Think about it." **** When I got back home, Chuck was on the computer. I think he was on a gay chat room, as usual. I wondered sometimes whether he ever talked about his strange, straight roommate with the submission fantasy. When he saw me, he logged out of the chat room and turned to me. "Well, did she finally come to the boil?" "She certainly did. She's interested, all right. And very much in charge." I grinned. "I guess I passed muster." "And you're going to go through with it?" "She wants me to think it over for a week. She said there would be no turning back." "Good idea, Ted. But I'll bet you'll say Yes. I've seen enough of you to know. It reminds me of when I came out. First I thought I would, then I thought I wouldn't. But finally, when I was in my first lover's arms, that was it. And she's right: there's no turning back. There never was for me." "Chuck...have you ever worn drag?" "Is that what she's into?" "She says she feminizes the men she controls. It's her thing." "You mean, bra and panties and things like that?" Bra and panties.... She had said panties, dresses and everything. That had been disconcerting. But coming from Chuck, seen through his eyes, it was much more disturbing. Frightening, even. My God, and probably garter belts and stockings. And high heels. And who knew what else? I hesitated. "Well...she didn't go into specifics, but...well, I guess that would be the kind of thing she wants." "And does that appeal to you?" "Chuck, it scares me. I mean, I'm not a drag queen. I'm a man." "You're a man who's going to submit to a woman who's 'very much in charge.' And who wants to feminize you. Make you into a girl. Or a woman." I went and poured myself a drink. When I came back, I said, "Chuck, I just don't know. I've been looking for this--I mean, for a dominant woman, not for drag--for years. Almost as long as I can remember. Even when I was a little boy. Sometimes I'd play with girls, and I always liked the bossy ones the best. And now this is my chance. But being made into a girl...I don't know. Is that the price I have to pay?" "What price would you rather pay? Would you rather have her tie you up and whip you?" "Well...no, I've never dreamed of that. Or not very often." "Ted, it strikes me that you don't know what you want. Other than this vague notion of submitting to a dominant woman. Have you ever thought about just what kind of submission you would expect? What kind you would want?" "I...well, I just thought of the psychological situation, I guess. The thrill of...well, submission. Oh, and sexual servitude. That very definitely. That's a turn on." "You mean eating her out." He made a face. The idea obviously didn't appeal to him. "Well, yes." "So you're going to let her put you into evening gowns just so you can get a taste of her pussy." I didn't know. To change the subject, I repeated my earlier question: "Chuck, you've worn drag, haven't you?" "Ted, it isn't like that. Being gay and being a transvestite are two different things. Oh, yes, there are a few gay guys who go for drag, here and there. But the whole effeminate gay thing...that was back in the thirties and forties. That's history. These days gay guys just aren't into that. We've found ourselves since then, and we know that we're men. Most of us, anyway. Nearly all of us. "And to answer your question, no. I've never felt the least desire to dress up in drag. That's for straight guys like you." **** It was a difficult week. My project at work was a challenging one, adapting software that monitored all the data movement over a local area network and presenting it to a user in a meaningful form. Statistics, traffic analysis, graphical displays, even a simple query language. It had been hard and absorbing, and the project had gone well. But this week progress slowed to a snail's pace. I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking about the things Laura had said. Forcibly feminized...did I really want that? To be put in dresses...the word "petticoated" came to mind. I had read fantasies on the Net about petticoated boys, but they had never excited me. Would she want to petticoat me? But the allure.... "I won't be an easy Mistress," she had said. That one sentence summed up everything that attracted me to her. That was everything I had been looking for. Remembering that one sentence was enough to bring the blood to my face and set my heart racing again. But...feminization? Being put into women's clothes? That was deeply unsettling. There must be, in the male psyche, some deep-rooted aversion to this. A fear of emasculation, I suppose it must be, even if only a figurative, symbolic emasculation. I thought I was fairly secure in my own masculinity. Secure enough that I could share an apartment with a gay guy without feeling threatened. But this was a threat of a different order. Right from the start I had sensed an inherent decency--a delicacy, I would call it--in Chuck's nature, so that I knew, without his having to say anything, that he would keep his hands off me. I was safe from any threat from that quarter. But Laura had no intention of keeping her hands off. She was going to be in control, and if she wanted to put me in women's clothes, she would do it. Not an easy Mistress. A Mistress who would take my cherished masculinity away from me. But the whole idea was to be a *man* dominated by a woman, not a girl dominated by one. But then I thought, Yes--but what more profound domination could you want than to have your very manhood at the mercy of your dominatrix? The whole idea of domination has to involve being made to do things you don't want to do. And this was something I very much didn't want to do. Hmmm.... What might that be like? One afternoon I saw Shirley, the department's secretary, and the thought raced through my mind: What is she wearing under that red dress? I had wondered things like that before, but not in this way. I daydreamed. I imagined the three of us together: Shirley, Laura, and me. I imagined Shirley taking off her clothes for Laura and Laura giving me her underwear to put on. The office suddenly felt very warm. I came back to reality and looked at my code. I discovered that in a distracted moment, I had written, "if (i == girl)." Oh, my God. Hastily, embarrassed, I corrected it. "girl" was supposed to be LASTNODE. What had I been thinking? What if someone had passed by, looked at my monitor, and seen it? My God, I thought, what has she done to me? I haven't even said Yes and I can't control my thoughts. When Shirley passed, she smiled at me. Had she seen my typo? Or--worse yet--had she somehow sensed what I had been thinking? The nights weren't much better. I was normally a sound sleeper, but all that week I had vivid, frightening dreams. In one, I was on the street in nothing but a bra and panties, handcuffed to a lamppost, with passers-by staring at me. That one woke me up in a cold sweat, and I never got back to sleep that night. In another, I and Laura were in some dark place together, and I was begging her to give me a dress. The dress was Shirley's dress, the one I had seen her wearing at work, bright red. And Laura had a cruel smile as she told me to keep on begging. And finally she said, "No. You aren't worthy." And I woke up. But the worst was one in which I was strapped to an operating table, and Laura had a knife.... Twice I logged on to my e-mail program, all set to say No. After the dream about the knife, I drafted an elaborate, apologetic refusal offline, uploaded it, and was all set to click the Send button when I stopped and deleted the message. But on Thursday, I made my decision. I wrote a message: "I have thought it over. Yes. I want to go through with it. This is probably the one chance I'll ever have, and I mustn't let it slip. If I don't do it now, no matter what your terms, I may never have the chance again...." There was more along the same lines, but finally I went back and killed everything after the "Yes." Half an hour later the system told me I had mail. It was Laura with a message. I downloaded it and read it offline. It said, Good Baby. Meet me at Romano's for dinner tomorrow night at seven. Keep the rest of the evening free. L. **** I got to Romano's at five minutes to seven. At seven precisely Laura came in. She sat down and asked, "Are you sure about this?" "Yes." "You've thought it over?" "Yes." "And you're willing to put yourself into my hands completely?" "Yes...." "Will you trust me?" "Yes." "Perfectly?" "Yes." "I will require you to do some things you will not want to do. We're talking here about forcing, after all. If that happens, will you obey me?" I hesitated. Finally, I said, "Yes." "I may have to administer punishment if you do not perform to my satisfaction. Do you consent to that? Will you accept that?" My heart skipped a beat. "Yes." She seemed satisfied with my answers. She beckoned to the waiter and ordered champagne. "This is a celebration, Baby. A new life for you. After dinner we'll go back to my place and start work." Work. My head was spinning. This was it. Working together. A harmless word, and yet it was as intoxicating as the champagne. I hardly heard her as she went on. "This is your commitment. Your dedication." The champagne arrived. She lifted her glass. "Here's to your new life, Baby. To your sacrifice." I felt faint. A sacrifice. Yes, that was it. I drank off the champagne. Sacrificing control over my life for her. Sacrificing my masculine image. She kept talking about working together, about commitment, and about changing me, but I hardly heard her; visions whirled through my head: dresses, makeup, lingerie, maybe even petticoats, cologne...but that, I sensed, was only the beginning. This was to be forced feminization; what else would she have in mind? My imagination failed me. It seemed like only seconds when the dinner was over. She was looking at me with concern. "Relax, Baby. This is going to be a wonderful experience for you. A dream come true. You don't have to be afraid." **** We went out to our cars, and I followed her as she drove to her place. A private house in an ordinary residential neighborhood. She led me into small vestibule and stopped. She looked at me. At this moment she seemed like a priestess. She spoke like one, too, with great emphasis and great solemnity. "In this house, you will never, ever dress like a man. For you, this house is a special place. A temple. A temple of femininity." She was a priestess. Maybe even a goddess. "A space set apart, dedicated to your complete feminization. You are here to give up your manhood to me, and you're always going to stop being a man the moment you enter that door. "Take off your clothes. Right now. Leave them out here; you can pick them up and put them back on when you leave." I stripped, my heart pounding. She opened a parcel on the bench, took out a pair of panties, and handed them to me. Panties, I thought. Just what Chuck had said. What she had said, too. And a bra was probably next. I swallowed hard and stepped into them. I remembered one of the things she had said over dinner. "When you arrive, you will change clothes completely. To mark the occasion. I'll provide what you will change into." And she had provided the panties. A very plain pair, white, not pink, & not sexy, unadorned, not satin but just plain cotton-spandex. But as she handed them to me, a thrill went through me. Plain as they were, these were my first panties. "The first panties for the New Me," I thought. As I drew them on, my head was awhirl. But it wasn't the panties; it was being controlled...finally. That was it; her control was beginning right now. To my embarrassment, I felt myself getting hard. And that thrill...it was as if I had sipped some strange, drugged drink or had inhaled some rare, exotic opiate. As I fought my erection back down, I realized that I would do anything to feel this thrill. Anything she wanted of me. "I'm your girl now," I said. "No. You're just a man in a pair of panties." That made me squirm. "You aren't worthy to be called a girl." With a shock, I remembered that dream in which she had said I wasn't worthy to wear Shirley's dress. "Not yet. You still have a long way to go, Baby. This is only the beginning." I was naked now, except for the panties. We went into the house. She took me upstairs and into a bedroom. It was fitted up like a woman's bedroom, with a bed, a vanity, a huge closet. Everything was ruffles and lace, and the colors were pink and pale blue. "This will be our workplace, Baby," she said. She got a scarf out of the dresser. "I'm going to have to blindfold you at first, Baby. Take the panties back off and lie down on the bed. Face down." I lay down, blindfolded and buck naked. "Stretch your hands over your head. That's right." I felt something being tied to each wrist. They were soft; later I learned that they were more scarves. Then, shortly afterward, she tied another pair of scarves being tied to my ankles. "Stretch out, Baby," she said. I felt my arms and legs being pulled out until I was lying spread-eagle on the bed. She said, "This doesn't need to be a regular feature of our work together, Baby. Not if you cooperate. But I'm going to have to, well, tenderize you at the start. In our work together, you're going to have to submit to me totally. And this will be your first act of submission." Suddenly, I felt a stinging blow on my buttocks. I cried out. I writhed with pain as she hit me. "Relax, Baby. It's only a belt. But don't squirm, or I'll have to use the end with the buckle." I gritted my teeth and struggled to be quiet. Submission. Yes, that was part of being forced, wasn't it? And in the midst of the pain, I felt a sudden excitement. I was getting hard again. Was I really a masochist? I had never had any kind of S&M fantasies, never in my life. Through the haze of pain, I tried to think about it. No; it wasn't the pain. It was that word, submission. She was going to be my Mistress. And this, I realized, was her first real act of control. And the excitement...it didn't make me forget the pain. Nothing could make me ignore it; it was too intense. But it gave the pain a different dimension, a different meaning. It was almost as if the pain were her gift to me. She set the belt aside and released me. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it? But we have to know who's boss here." "Yes, Mistress." The title slipped out automatically. I never called her Laura again, except once when I slipped. Nothing was said, but there was a tacit agreement that from now on that would be her title: Mistress. She she went to a dresser, rummaged around, and handed be a funny triangular piece of cloth, with little straps on it. "This is what's known as a gaff. It hides your nasty male organs. I skipped it when you changed clothes in the vestibule, but from this moment on, you will normally wear whenever you're in this house. Wearing this is going to be the first and most fundamental step in shedding your masculinity." It took me some time to figure out just how to work it. Finally, I pushed my balls up, and they disappeared into the flesh above my scrotum. Then I put on the gaff, pushing my penis back between my legs. Things kept moving back as I struggled with it, and as a matter of fact it was to be a couple of days before I mastered the knack of it. Within a month, it had become automatic. She was right, too. With the gaff properly in place, I had a wonderfully smooth contour down there. "Now, let's start our work together," she said. "We don't want to rush things. We have lots of time ahead of us, Baby. Undies first." She went to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. "The plain whites were all right for a start. You had to be shown that femininity isn't all glamor. But now...let's try out the glamor." She got out another pair of panties. These were a pale blue, with a dark blue floral pattern printed on them. Very brief. I reached for them. "No, Baby. You must ask." "Please, Mistress, may I have them?" "May you have what?" "The panties." "Whose panties?" I understood. "My panties." "That's right, Baby. But ask for them properly." I got on my knees before her. My pulse raced as I realized what I was doing. "Please, Mistress, may I have my panties?" She smiled. "Okay, Baby. Here they are." And she dropped them on my head. Their softness covered my face. They were delicately scented, and the cologne and the softness made my head swim. I reached up, took them off my head, stood up, and stepped into them. "Very good, Baby. You're my little boy in his nice girly panties. Don't they feel nice?" "They feel...funny." "That's because you aren't used to them. Once you're used to them, there's nothing like them in the world. Run your hands over them. Feel how soft and smooth they are. Not like your rough cotton." She was right, and even as early as that first evening I noticed and liked their silky feel. I had never dreamed that underwear could be so soft to the touch, so sensuous. "Now this." She handed me a bra in the same colors. "I hope this fits. It was the largest size I could get at short notice." With fumbling hands I put it around my chest. "No, Baby," she said. "Backwards, so the closure is in front." I turned it around. The hooks were about an inch apart. "Oh, you're big, aren't you? Here...." She rummaged in the dresser and drew out an extender. "Try this." I fumbled with the hooks, figured out how they had to go, and finally snapped it into place. I rotated the bra so the cups were in front. They looked strange, hanging there empty. I guessed at what to say next. "May I have some...er, stuffing, Mistress, please? For my bra?" "Good boy. Wait a minute." More rummaging in the dresser. She found a pair of breast forms and handed them to me. I was surprised at how heavy they were. I held them up to my chest. "No, Baby. These are adhesive. They go on you before they go in the bra. Let me show you...." She pulled the bra a little way down my chest, held up one of the forms, and eyed me, considering. "I think...right here." She put it carefully on my chest and pressed it into place. Then she attached the other one. "Let me see...." She examined me some more. "All right. They're symmetrical. Next time, you're going to learn to attach them yourself." I felt the weight of them on my body. Strange. "Er...how do I get them off, Mistress?" "You won't, until I'm ready for you to take them off. There's a special solvent that softens the adhesive. I'm not going to give it to you. You're going to wear your new boobs all the way home. All weekend, in fact." "All the way home? But what is Chuck going to say? What will he think?" "That's your problem, Baby. We're into forced feminization here. That's what you agreed to. And I told you I would be asking you to do things you might not want to do. This is the first. Your first test of obedience. Girls are supposed to be subservient, you know. You're going to wear these forms all evening, and you're going to wear them home under your men's clothes, and you're going to show them to that roommate of yours. You'll give him a nice look at your red butt, too. And I'll remove the forms when I think it's time. Probably Sunday night." "But Lau...I mean, Mistress...you don't expect me...?" "I'm expecting a great deal of you, Baby. This is only the beginning. You aren't a girl yet, but by the time I'm done, you're going to be much more of a girl than you ever bargained for. And you're going to ask me to do it. You'll beg for it. You'll see. Now, get that bra on over your new boobs and we'll see whether it's You." I raised the bra into position and put the straps on my shoulders. I felt the tightness of the bra about me and the weight of my new breasts on my chest. It was strange. Mercifully--I guess--her dressing stopped with the bra and panties. But before we left her--I mean, my--room, she got out a tape and measured me. All over. "I'm going to have to get you clothes, Baby, and I need to get the right size." She even got out one of those metal things they use to measure feet and measured mine. High heels, I thought. Oh, my God. "Oh, Baby, you have nice measurements! Ideal for what I have in mind. I can't wait to see how you look in all the things I'm going to get for you." She went back to the dresser again. "One more thing. It's customary for a Mistress to collar her slave. You must know about that; it's been discussed on the newsgroup. Usually a heavy, black leather collar, sometimes with metal studs on it. To mark him as her property." But what she held up was a delicate object, a garter, pale blue and covered with ruffles. "I think leather would be a bit too...mannish, don't you? For the girl you're going to become? This is a much prettier thing to wear. And a garter will be so much more appropriate for you than a collar." She handed it to me. "Kiss it," she said. "Kiss the mark of your slavery." I was light-headed as kissed it and then drew it up my leg. "There. You'll wear this all the time from now on, Baby. Every day. This garter on your leg means you're mine. You are going to become my own little girl." We left the room. I walked beside her, conscious of the garter on my bare leg. "No, Baby. You're my servant now. My feminized servant. Walk behind me. Two paces." I dropped back. Naked except for bra and panties--and my garter--I followed her to the kitchen. I was walking on air. She gestured toward the sink. "Here's your first task as my servant: dishes." I came back to earth abruptly. The sink was piled high. They seemed to be from more than one day's meals. Some of the plates and pots were thickly encrusted with solidified grease. Servitude...this wasn't what I had imagined as servitude. Next thing I knew, I'd probably be vacuuming the place and taking out the garbage. My heart sank. There was nothing for it, however. She gave me a little white, ruffled apron to put over my panties and I tackled the dishes. It was a big job. It took me the better part of an hour, and over all that time my Mistress watched me and gave me occasional comments and instructions. When I had finished them, she showed me where they went and had me put them away. Then I had to clean out the sink and scrub off the counter. At the end, she said, "Good. Well done, in fact. All right, that's enough for to-night. You may go back to the vestibule and put on your men's clothes. All but the underwear. You won't be needing that any more." I went and put my regular clothes on over the bra and panties. And over the garter. As I was about to leave for my car, she gave me a little kiss on the cheek. "You're off to a good start, Baby. Phone me to-morrow morning at ten and keep the afternoon free. "Here are your assignments for to-night and to-morrow morning. First, throw out all your shorts. You will never wear them again. From now on, you'll wear panties. All the time, even under your business clothes at work. Those and your pretty blue garter." She handed me another pair of panties. "Here's a fresh pair for to-morrow. "Second, I want you to shave your legs. I'll have nylons for you when you get here to-morrow, and I don't want to see nasty, hairy legs under your stockings. Shave your underarms while you're at it. "Finally, call that girlfriend of yours and dump her." I stared at her. "Look, Baby. There's going to be no room for any woman in your life except me. Me and the woman you are going to become." Part 2 I drove home in a daze, overwhelmed at the way Laura had taken control. By the time I got home, the dazzlement must have been visible in my eyes. I know my face was flushed. When I entered our apartment, Chuck stared at me. "Ted, you look as if you had been hypnotized. Are you all right? And what's happened to your shirt? It looks...." "I'm.... Chuck, I've been through the most amazing experience." "Why? What happened?" "Chuck, she...turned me into a girl. For two hours. At her place.... It was strange...and wonderful." I told him about my first visit to Laura's place. About the panties, about the garter, about the beating, about the breast forms. I stripped down and showed him the garter and my boobs. And my butt, which was still red. "Ted, I didn't know you went for that kind of thing at all. Are you sure you're going to want to go on with this?" "I...I don't know, Chuck. Part of me was horrified and part of me was fascinated. I've been looking for domination all my life, and now that I've found it.... Chuck, it's exciting. Frightening, but exciting." He looked at me with concern. "Is she going to be beating you all the time? That sounds like S&M, not just dominance." "She said only this first time. She wanted to make clear who's in charge. As if I didn't know." "I don't know, Ted. She sounds like a dangerous woman." "I don't know, either. My head's still in a whirl. I...I think maybe... maybe I'm going to fall in love." "With her or with what she's doing to you?" I said, softly, "I don't know." **** That night I slept with the panties and garter on. My sleep was restless; Chuck said the next morning that I had tossed in my bed and babbled in my sleep. The only word he could make out was "servant." I didn't take the garter off at all, in fact, except when I showered the next morning and carefully shaved my armpits and then my legs. My legs aren't especially hairy, but the difference was enough that they felt strange shaved. Then I put on the new pair of panties she had given me, and replaced the garter. The sign that I belonged to my Mistress. That morning I called Marjorie. That call is still painful to remember. After the usual preliminaries, I took my courage in my hands and began, "Marge, there's something I have to tell you. You know we talked once about the kind of man who wants to submit to a dominant woman? Well... I was sounding you out. Marjorie, I'm that kind of man. I never told you that. But now...I don't know how to say this, but I think I've met a woman who's just that type...." I didn't get any further. Marjorie interrupted me. She screamed at me. She called me a pervert. She said I was sick. She said she didn't want to have anything more to do with me. Finally, she said, "I want a normal boyfriend, Ted, not a freak. Go back to that bitch from hell, whoever she is. I wish you joy of her!" So she had done my job for me. I didn't have to dump her; she dumped me. **** At ten on the dot, I called Laura. She told me to be at her place for lunch. I got there at noon. Laura was waiting for me in the vestibule. "Pantie check, Baby. Strip." I stripped, and she took note of the new panties, the garter, and my shaved legs. She smiled. "Did you take that off when you went to bed?" "The garter? No, Mistress. I slept in it. And in the panties. And I only took the garter off when I showered and shaved." She gave me a little smile. "That's very good, Baby. Very good indeed. I think, in time, I'm going to love you." She looked me in the eye. "And you're going to love me. Believe me, Baby, you are. And you're going to do all these nice things out of your love for me." She gave me a bra to match the new panties I was wearing. When I had gotten it on, she said, "Now, come on in. We have a lot to get through." We went up to what I had begun to think of as my room. I had forgotten how feminine it was--the colors and decorations. She showed me the things she had gotten for me. "Okay, Baby, here's your first lesson for to-day. Garter belt and nylons. Pantyhose are more practical a lot of the time, but the garter belt is more feminine. And I want to train you to it." The garter belt seemed to be made entirely of lace. I was familiar enough with garter belts, but only on the women I had known. I had handled them, but only in the process of undressing my girlfriends. Holding one, feeling the lace and the garters, and knowing I was about to put it on myself was a completely different matter. All the anxieties that had plagued me last week when I had been making up my mind came back. Something inside me started screaming that this wasn't the kind of thing a man should be doing. But Laura was waiting, and I shut the inner voice off, or rather, refused to listen to it, as I put the belt on. Then came the stockings. I had seen enough girlfriends putting them on at one point or another. But my hands were trembling so hard I was afraid I would damage them. Fighting to keep calm, I rolled one up into a doughnut, slipped it onto my foot, and unrolled it up my leg. I smoothed it out and clipped it to the garter clips. Then I did the other one. "Very good, Baby. Now put your garter back on. You remember that you have to wear that all the time, don't you?" I put it back on: the emblem of my servitude. Then she gave me a pair of slippers. Pink with little white fuzzies on top. "Er...do I wear a dress, too, Mistress?" I was afraid she would say Yes and afraid she would say No. She said, "No. You aren't ready yet." Not ready.... She had prepared lunch already, but she had me serve it wearing only what I had on. I wondered whether she was going to have me eat my lunch in the kitchen, like a servant, but she had set two places at the table. My chair was lower than hers, however, by a couple of inches, so she looked down at me all the time we were at table. Over lunch, she asked me what Chuck had said when he had seen me. When I told her he had said she was dangerous, she smiled. "He's right, Baby. I'm a mighty wicked woman. And if he knew what I was going to do with you...well, what you and I are going to do with you, working together...." She asked me about Marjorie, and I gave her a brief summary of my phone call. I thought she would be angry when I told her what Marjorie had said, but she laughed. "'A bitch from hell'? What a great girl! I'd like to meet her some time. Well, you're quit of her now." I could see she was deeply pleased. But then she turned serious again. "You've been very good, Baby. I'm proud of you. You've done everything I asked you to do. Just perfectly. I won't have to punish you at all." When we finished lunch, I took the dishes out to the kitchen. I was getting ready to wash them when she said, "No, don't bother. Just put them in the dishwasher." "In the dishwa...?" "Oh, the dishes last night were just a test of your submission. Like the business with the belt. You won't be doing that again." She had me stack the dishes in the dishwasher, and when I had turned it on, she took me by the hand. "You've been *very* good, Baby. I'm pleased. Sleeping in your garter...! I was going to tell you you had to do that, but I forgot, and you did it anyway, of your own free will." She looked at me. "Baby, I'm going to have so much fun with you." She took me back up to my bedroom. "Now you get your reward for being such an obedient servant." She had me lie down on the bed. Then she lay down next to me and started kissing me. I thought I had been kissed by experts, but Laura was in another league entirely. Her tongue was all over my mouth; then she was kissing and licking my cheeks, my eyes, my ears. I began to get hard. She looked at my panties, tented out by my growing erection. "We seem to have a problem here." She flicked it gently through my panties with her finger. Then she started kissing my legs, the calf of one, up to the thigh, then down the other thigh to the calf. I had never known I could be as hot as she was getting me. Then she drew down my panties. My erection sprang free. "Oh, Baby, you're so cute!" Cute...the word was bothersome. Vaguely offensive. A man's erection could be big, handsome, splendid, awe-inspiring, frightful, maybe --even ugly. But not "cute." It made me feel diminished. Like a pet. Like a lap dog. She went on: "I've been wondering what that would taste like." And she licked it along the bottom, from the base to the tip. I thought I was going to come right then. But instead of following up with my cock, she started to lick my balls. Then she put her mouth around me, sucked one of my balls into her mouth, and started gently popping it in and out. I was in heaven. Finally--it seemed like an age later--she took my cock into her mouth. I've had girls to that before, but no girl was ever like Laura. Her lips and tongue never stopped moving for a moment. I wondered whether there was a special university that gave degrees in cocksucking. If they had taught Laura, she would have graduated with honors. I wouldn't have expected a Mistress to give her slave a blow job. But this was a different kind of cocksucking: controlling, not subservient. She may have been sucking me, but she was still in charge. The way she did it, sucking my cock was just another form of control, and I lay there helpless as she toyed with me. Once when I bucked my hips, she gently but firmly pressed them down. She knew how to bring me to a peak, to the verge of coming, so I could feel the first sensations deep in my loins, and then how to ease off and keep me in suspense. Up to the edge, and then back. Again and again. I was in agony. Finally, I begged her, sobbing. "Please, Mistress. I can't stand it any longer. Please, let me come!" After what seemed like an age, she did. She cupped my balls in the palm of her her hand, massaging them gently, and reached down to my asshole with one free finger. That was it; I exploded. I could feel some muscle down in my prostate twitch with each pulse of my ejaculation. And Laura took it all in her mouth. Then she kissed me. I could taste my semen as she pushed it into my mouth with her tongue. "Take it from me and swallow it, Baby. Have you ever tasted that before?" she asked. "A new experience, is it? You'll learn to like it. Girls do, you know." She eyed me thoughtfully. "You're fun to play with, Baby. I think next time we'll tie you up. That can be a hot experience." Later, after I had recovered, she said, "Dominance uses the carrot and the stick, Baby. You tasted the stick last night. But I know from experience that if you really want control, the carrot works better." She looked at me. "Now it's my turn. Panties back on. Now." Sex had made me forget about them. It had made me feel almost like a man again. But it was clear that she didn't mean that feeling to last. With a sigh, I put them back on. She heard the sigh. "Why did you sigh? Don't you like them, Baby? Even after the reward I gave you for wearing them? Well...no matter. Sooner or later, you're going to love them. Probably sooner. You'll beg for them. "Now, back onto that bed. On your back." I lay back down on the bed. Laura slipped her panties off, then climbed onto the bed and straddled me. "My turn, Baby. If you're going to love me, you're going to have to love me like a lesbian. Girls don't fuck women." And she lowered herself onto my face. I was buried under her slip and her skirt. Her feminine odors assailed me, setting my heart racing. I had given girls oral sex in the past. I enjoyed it, and I liked to think that I was good at it. But never like this. Never having a girl ride my face the way Laura did. Whatever she wanted licked, she presented to my mouth and tongue to be licked. Whatever she wanted kissed, she presented to me the same way. Except for her hissed instructions--"Kiss it. Lick it. Reach with your tongue. Deeper"--I might as well have been nothing but a convenient fixture. Reduced to a fixture. A woman's masturbatory fixture. Nothing more than that. This was domination, all right! She could dominate me on these terms any time she wanted to! My mind reeled at the thought, and began to get hard again. "Stop that!" I felt a slap on my penis. Hard. "You're my servant. I haven't given you permission to get hard." She slapped me again. "This is for my pleasure, not yours. Control yourself." I fought to control my penis. I thought...what does one think of? "The income tax," someone had once written in something I read. I tried it. Taxes. Audits! That did it. I lapped and kissed and probed with my tongue, following her whispered instructions, while I ridiculously thought about the Internal Revenue Service. Laura rocked on my face, washing me in her juices. She was having orgasms, I could tell. Multiple orgasms. There was no telling how long this would last. Back and forth. First her clitoris, then her labia. "Lick. Lick right there! Now use that tongue. More! Ohh...deeper, Baby!" The flavor, the scent of an aroused woman, were all around me. Think about the IRS...! Finally she climbed off me. "Good, Baby. Very satisfactory performance." I caught my breath. "Permission to speak, Mistress?" "Yes, Baby. What?" "If it was satisfactory for you, it was more than satisfactory for me...I mean, for your servant. I felt as if I could happily spend the rest of my life under you, serving you. Am I out of line saying that?" "You make it sound as if you had more fun doing me than when I was doing you." "Well...nobody would ever complain about your performance, that's certain. But yes, it was a near thing." Her face hardened. "Look, Baby. There are professional dominants in this city who are well paid to feminize men who are keen on it. Hard cash. "I'm not a professional. But I get paid, too. My payment is the satisfaction I get from reducing guys like you to mincing, simpering girls. Guys who aren't keen on it. That's my pay. Turning you gradually into girls and seeing you get to the point where you beg me for the next stage in your feminization. "You'll do this out of love for me. But before love comes service. And that means my pleasure, not yours. Yes, I'm going to use your lips, your tongue, your mouth for my pleasure. But it's my pleasure, not yours, and if you like it too much, I'll have to save it for a reward for special obedience and find other ways to get my fun. And there are other ways, believe me." "I'm sorry if I've offended you, Mistress." She bent over and kissed me. "No, Baby. Not at all. That was a very constructive attitude on your part." She looked at me. "Well. There you were, wearing your panties and breast forms and bra, making love to me like a woman. You're almost there, Baby. You're almost worthy to be called a girl." After a pause, she added, "I think maybe we can complete the process to-morrow. Or early next week." I spent the rest of the afternoon learning to walk in heels. She unpacked a brand new pair of pumps. "These are only two-inch heels, Baby. Don't worry, we'll get you into something sexier later on. But I don't want you to break your pretty little neck learning to walk." I sat down to put them on. My God, I thought, what's happening to me? A week ago I was a normal man...well, almost normal, just hoping Laura would be the dominatrix of my dreams. And now here I was in nothing but a bra, panties, garter belt, and nylons--and, of course, the inevitable garter-- and trying to get into a pair of high-heeled shoes. They didn't fit. I told her so. "Oh, they fit all right, Baby. But they're brand new and are going to have to be broken in." She paused and looked at me. "I guess that applies to you, too, doesn't it?" She wasn't smiling. "New and needing to be broken in. Well, I'll break you soon enough, Baby, never fear. Oh, yes, it's what you always wanted, I know; but now I'm leading you into experiences you never expected. And you're going to go with me out of love, aren't you?" She had me get up and stand in them. I had worn them for less than a minute, and already my feet were killing me. "Just sit down again and get up again. Keep doing that until you're used to standing in them." Then she had me take a few steps. I teetered, and I was afraid I was going to fall down. "You're walking like a man. Taking steps that are too big." She found a scarf and tied my ankles together, so that I could just barely put one foot in front of the other. "That's better, Baby. But you're coming down with your full weight on the heel. You've got to take little steps, and you've got to point your foot so the heel and toe land almost together. And put one foot right in front of the other, as if you were walking a tightrope. Use your hips to keep your balance." I tried this. I managed to walk a little more steadily, but I was uncomfortably aware that I was mincing now. Mincing, and wiggling my hips. I remembered what she had said in the bedroom--"mincing, simpering girls." When was I going to start to simper? After an hour, I had had it. "I'm sorry, Mistress, I just can't take any more. My feet feel like they're on fire. Can't we please stop?" "All right. I won't ask you to walk in them any more to-night. But you're going to have to keep them on for just a few minutes more. We need pictures." I was horrified. Pictures. Photographs. Of me wearing nothing but bra, panties, garter belt, nylons, and high heels. And that ruffled garter on my thigh. "No. That's out of the question. Absolutely." "But you see, Baby, we're going to want a record of your progress. Right now you look like a man in bra and panties and the rest of it. And with funny lumpy things stuck on your chest. You look like a fool, in fact. But as time goes on, and our work together continues, you're going to improve. You're going to look like a real girl." "But I can't have photographs of me dressed like this floating around. If they fell into the wrong hands, they could ruin me. Pictures are out." "Oh, I don't think they are. You're in too deep already. Tell me...if I tell you that either we take pictures or else you leave this house and never see me again...which would you choose? Where are you going to find another woman like me? There aren't too many of us, you know. Unless you would rather go to a professional. And don't think they don't keep records that could be just as damning. When they don't use concealed cameras, that is." She paused and looked at me. "So which is it to be? More of that control you've been wishing for, and photographs, or neither?" I was torn. I should have said, Neither. I chose both. She gave me an icy smile. "That's very good, Baby. A month from now you'll look at these pictures we'll take to-day, and you'll laugh. No; you won't laugh. You'll look at yourself in the mirror, at the pretty girl you will be then, and you'll smile. You'll be overjoyed at the improvement." She must have taken two dozen pictures. I stood, I sat, I walked, and she kept snapping away, from the front, the side, and the back. By the time she was finished, it was nearing dinner time. "Okay, Baby, we've had a good afternoon together. I'm sending you home now." "Er...the breast forms...?" "...Will come off to-morrow. Good night, Baby. Don't forget your garter when you change in the vestibule. And be prepared to spend all day with me to-morrow." **** I arrived home shortly before dinner time with a package of bras and panties Laura had given me to replace my boy underwear. Chuck eyed me as I came in. "Your drag?" he asked, indicating the package. "Bras and panties." "My God, she's doing a number on you, isn't she? I suppose the next thing will be to toss all your shorts and T-shirts." "I did that already. This morning." His eyes widened. "And I thought that was the garbage you were taking out." "Well...it was garbage, sort of, I guess you could say. I saved out a couple of sets in case I ever have to go to a doctor. But I'm not supposed to wear men's underwear ever again." "I suppose you're going to throw out all your shoes and wear heels next. Do you still have that silly blue garter on?" "Yes. She was very pleased when I told her I slept in it last night." "I thought you still had reservations about this feminizing business." "Well...wearing a garter on your leg doesn't make you feminine." "Yeah, right. And giving guys blowjobs doesn't make you gay. How far do you have to go before she's really made you a girl?" "Not much further, she said." "Teddy, you've changed. You're not the guy I roomed with all through college and now here. I thought I knew you. Maybe not Mr Macho, but a man through and through. And now look at you. After only two days. I'll bet you have a bra and panties on right now, haven't you?" I gave him a sheepish grin. "I don't know." He sighed. "I'll never understand you het guys. Get involved with a woman and she can wrap you right around her little finger." "Chuck, I know; I'm going crazy. Nothing like this has ever happened before. But I've never met a woman like Laura before. If I had run into someone like this in college, I'd have done the same thing back then. The chance to service..." I stumbled. "I mean, to serve someone like this ...you know, she's pretty magnificent." "'Chance to service,' eh?" He leered at me. "I'd better not smell your breath...." I blushed furiously. "You DID!" he exclaimed. "You ate her out dressed in...God knows what. My God. I've got a dike for a roommate! A male dike!" **** After the events of Friday night and Saturday, most of Sunday was an anticlimax. She kept me in my underwear all day, and I had to practise walking in heels. In the evening, to my relief, she finally took off my breast forms. The skin under them was damp and clammy, and the solvent irritated it, but she said that would pass off overnight. But the big event of the evening was the enema. It was a new humiliation. She was firm and not about to take No for an answer; but she was gentle as she administered it. Once I had resigned myself to the indignity, I found I enjoyed the feeling of fullness and the eventual release. This, I thought, was the kind of experience I had been looking for. But then she got out a funny looking object: a little pink plastic cone with a rounded point and a sort of flange at the big end. I looked at her. questioning. "This is a butt plug. It goes just where you think it goes." Oh, my God. "Down on the bed, Baby. On your back. Lift up your legs." "Mistress, is this really necessary? I mean, how can I...?" "Shut up!" she snapped. "Girls get fucked. You know that. You aren't a child. What did you expect? Get on the bed. We've got to open you up." "No, Laura, this is too much; I...." She gave me a stinging slap on the face. "How dare you call me Laura? You're going to be in bad trouble if you do that again. In fact, you're in bad trouble already. Now get on your back or I'll knock you on your back." I'll give her this: she was very careful. I felt only the smallest twinge of pain; mostly it was a sensation of being opened up. Stretched beyond all reason. Insanely violated where no man should be violated. "Don't worry, Baby. It's not going to do you any harm. That's the smallest size." They came in different sizes...? "You've passed turds that were bigger than this is. Now get up." She handed me a box of tissues. "Here. Wipe yourself." It was a weird sensation. It seemed bigger when I was standing than when I had been lying down. "Okay, here are your instructions, Baby. You're going to wear this all week. Night and day. Take it out for your bowel movements, but once you're done, put it back in. Oh...here...." She handed me the fat tube of K-Y lubricant she had used on me when she inserted it. "You'll need this." She gave me a little kiss as I went to the vestibule to put on my regular clothes. "You've been a good baby. Except for calling me Laura. We'll have to see about that. But otherwise good. Once I've gone back into the house, you can change. I never want to see you dressed as a man again. "Come back to-morrow night. At eight." "La...Mistress, I can't come over here every evening." "You can and you're going to. Baby, this is for real. I own you now. That's what your garter means. See you to-morrow." And before I could say anything more, she closed the door and was gone. **** Monday night wasn't nice. I arrived promptly at eight. There was a note on the inner door of the vestibule. "Take off your boy clothes, then knock on the door." I shed my clothes and knocked. Laura greeted me with a smile. "That's my baby," she said, looking at my panties. "No boy clothes." She gestured to me to come in, and we went up to my room. There was an open bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. "You've come along very nicely, Baby," she said. "Here." She poured me a glass of champagne. "To your continued progress." I took a couple of sips, and we talked. Then everything went black. When I came to, I was on my back on the bed. As my head gradually cleared, I realized that my arms were tied to the bedposts, and my legs were tied, too, so they were pulled up around my shoulders. There was a bolster of some kind under my butt, raising it off the bed. I felt vulnerable and exposed. The panties were gone, and I could feel that the butt plug was gone, too. And there was some kind of cloth in my mouth. Balled-up panties, I learned later. "We're going to have a little expiation, Baby. You called me Laura last night." I looked with horror at the implement she was holding. Black leather, about a foot and a half long. Nasty looking. She drew it gently across my butt. Then I saw her draw back, and she hit me across the butt with all her force. I cried out into the gag: "MMMMMMMPH!" "I told you we wouldn't do this regularly. But you've been arrogant..." Crack! A second blow. "...and you have to be punished." A third blow. This was nothing like the mild beating she had given me on Friday. My ass was on fire. After the fourth blow, there were tears in my eyes. After the fifth, I screamed into the panties. I could feel the tears trickling down my cheeks. I screamed on each of the remaining five blows. Then she stopped. "Ten strokes should be enough. Next time, there'll be twenty. If there is a next time." I silently resolved there wouldn't. "We aren't done yet, Baby. To-night we're going to make a woman of you." She went to the dresser and pulled out another of her mysterious objects. "This is what is commonly known as a strap-on." She showed me by strapping it on. A big, frightening dildo now stuck out from her loins. "I was going to wait until we had opened you up a little more. After we went to the next bigger plug. But it's time you were properly humbled, and for that..." she climbed onto the bed "...there's nothing like a thorough fucking." I looked at her imploringly. She ignored me. She swabbed more K-Y onto my butt and got into position. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. If you don't fight it, that will be the easy way. Fight it and you'll get fucked just the same, and it's going to hurt like hell. Worse than the beating." I didn't want to fight it. But I was terrified and couldn't help myself. Instinctively, I fought it anyway. I felt her pressing on my asshole, and involuntarily I tightened up. "If you don't relax, Baby, you're going to suffer." Being told to relax...knowing you've GOT to relax: there's nothing more calculated to tense you up. She pressed harder and began to get the dildo in. I felt as if I was being split in two. This was nothing like the gentle way she had inserted the plug, or even like the somewhat less gentle way in which I had struggled to get it back in that morning. She was right. It was worse than the beating. I cried out into the gag, but she was relentless. Every fraction of an inch brought fresh pain. I never knew the rectum had so many barriers to penetration, and as each barrier was assaulted and gave way, I felt a fresh, firey stab of pain. And once it was in, I knew, she would be fucking me: back and forth into my violated ass. I didn't think I would be able to stand it. With one final thrust that seemed to tear my insides apart, she got all the way in. I think I passed out, because the next thing I knew, she was hard at work, fucking me. "Fucking you, you arrogant little slut. This will cut you down to size." She thrust in and out. "Fucked like a girl. Not even fucked by a man. Fucked by a woman. Your precious masculine ego...how does it feel now?" I couldn't worry about how my ego felt. All I could think of was how my butt felt. It was on fire. And her assault was unrelenting. She rode me for what must have been a quarter of an hour. It felt like an eternity. But as she continued fucking me, I started to relax in spite of myself, and the pain began to ease up. Then, just as I began to enjoy the experience, she stopped and slowly withdrew. She removed the panty gag. "Thank me, Baby. Thank me for fucking you." I had to clear my throat a couple of times, and to swallow. She waited patiently, watching me. Finally, I got it out. "Thank you, Mistress, for making me into a woman." "A woman? Not yet. But soon. Now thank me for the beating. I would have had you thank me while I was beating you if you hadn't been gagged. Start by thanking me for the first blow." I thanked her" "Thank you, Mistress, for the first one." She made me thank her ten times: for the first stroke, then for the second, calling out each one by number, up through the tenth blow. She put the butt plug back in. It seemed very small now. Then she wiped off my ass and untied me. I was stiff from being trussed up. With an effort, I sat up. She wiped the dildo clean with a moist tissue. There were brown stains on the tissue. Brown...and red. She had drawn blood. She wiped it dry with a second tissue. Then she poured me a fresh glass of champagne. "Don't worry, this glass is all right. No more knockout drops." She lifted her glass. "To our adventures together," she said. I lifted my glass. "To your new girl," I answered. "No. Not quite yet. Be patient, Baby. As we sipped our champagne, she said, "The first couple of times being fucked are always a little rough. But after that you'll get to like it. By the time we're done working togther, you'll love it. You'll love it so much that you'll relax automatically. You'll be happy to invite your guest in." I suddenly felt an unexpected surge of emotion. Tears came to my eyes. "I love you, Mistress," I said. My voice broke. "Of course you do," she said calml