Jack Jen I Move Marisa
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Training Marisa free porn video
Training Marisa
By Rosemary Flowers
Chapter 1: Her Arrival
I have finally found a wife who is truly submissive. She wasn't
always so. Feminising a man to the point where he is more
feminine than a woman, to the point where he forgets he ever
claimed a life as a man, to the point where she lives the life
of a truly submissive wife and servant, is a long and painful
process. Especially for her. But I digress. Let me start at the
beginning.
When she first replied to my advertisement for a maid I expected
nothing more than an evening's sexual adventure. But from the
moment I answered her timid knock on the door I knew that this
would be something rather more. She stood there, a tall, slender
figure in a short summer coat, with her downcast head showing
off her shoulder length dark brown hair. I invited her in and
she wordlessly entered, heels clicking on the parquet floor. As
I helped her out of her coat I could feel her body trembling. As
she stood there in her thin short sleeved cotton summer dress I
knew she was sacred stiff, which is always an excellent start.
"Let me explain the rules of the house", I began. "Your name is
Marisa and you will stay here for exactly as long as I want you
to. You will never speak to me unless spoken to. You will wear
the clothes I require you to, obey all my orders and submit to
any punishments I deem necessary for your training. From this
moment you are my servant 24 hours a day. If I require you to,
you will provide sexual services for me or my friends. From now
on you have no desires or needs of your own. You exist only to
serve me. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir." she said in a trembling voice. I had been watching
her closely as I dictated the rules. At the mention of sexual
services I had detected the slightest hint of a shudder.
I asked her a number of questions which she answered meekly,
and, as far as I could tell, honestly. I led her by the hand to
her bedroom and told her what she must do.
As I waited downstairs for her to dress I mused over the things
she had told me in our brief conversation. That she was a
submissive transvestite was hardly a surprise. I was rather more
surprised to learn that she was a virgin. Usually guys that
answer adverts like mine have been broken in. Remarkably she
also admitted that nobody would miss her even if she stayed here
for weeks. It struck me that only a total novice would make such
an admission before a complete stranger and a dominant master to
boot. But the thing that most excited me was the very thing that
had drawn her to answer the ad despite her extreme nervousness.
It was my reference to training using plastic bags. Incredibly
she was as excited by the prospect of receiving plastic bag
torture as I was about administering it. I couldn't believe my
luck.
Long experience had taught me that the starting point to
creating a true submissive is to erase every trace of her old
identity. The next step is to make her realise that this is not
a game. It is for real. She can't just get up and leave, she
will receive the punishments I dictate and not just the ones she
fantasises about. And above all I determine the limits. She will
soon wish she had never mentioned the subject of plastic bags...
My reverie was interrupted by the click-clack of her very high
heels as she tottered down the stairs. The apparition before me
nearly made me swoon. The maid's dress fitted her perfectly
revealing the curves of her tall slim body. In black satin
trimmed with white lace its tight fit emphasised her bust. The
lacy hem skimmed her thigh several inches above her knee,
showing off her long slender legs. On her head was the white
maid's cap and her curly blonde wig cascaded over her shoulders.
I observed with satisfaction that she was finding it difficult
to walk in the high heeled black patent shoes I had given her.
For a moment I glimpsed her tied hand and foot to the bed,
plastic bag over her head, struggling violently against her
bonds as she gasped for breath. But that wasn't to be. Not yet.
I ordered her to put all her own belongings and clothes in a
trash bag and put it outside. For an instance I caught a flicker
of manly defiance, but she obediently carried the bag towards
the back door and tried to open it. It was locked.
"All the doors are locked, Marisa", I explained as I opened it
and pointed towards the garbage cans. As I pocketed the key I
set her to work cleaning the house, and sat quietly watching
her, enjoying the glimpses of petticoat or stocking-top each
time she bent down. But it soon became clear to me that she was
not yet fully feminised. That hint of defiance would have to be
suppressed very soon. But that only increased my determination
to complete the task I had set myself and turn her into the
perfect submissive servant.
As I sat drinking my whisky and watching her cleaning the floor
I knew my moment was about to arrive. Something in her manner
suggested that she was getting tired of doing housework. She
still thinks this is a game, I realised. Putting down her duster
she stood up, looked me straight in the eye and said "What do
you take me for?"
This struck me as a question of truly spectacular stupidity. I
grabbed her, ordered her to kneel down and commanded "suck my
dick". With trembling hands she undid my fly and released my
erect cock. She oozed fear from every pore of her body, but her
lips, glistening with red lip-gloss, parted slowly. I thrust my
cock into her mouth, but she immediately recoiled.
"You don't like it, eh, Marisa? You'll adore it when I've
finished with you." Pulling a silk scarf from my pocket I
blindfolded her tightly, grabbed her waist, roughly propelled
her up the stairs and pushed he down face up, onto her single
bed. I tied her legs, spread-eagled, to the bottom of the bed,
and her wrists to each of the posts at the top. By now she was
trembling violently, and the sight of her so defenceless was
almost enough to bring me to orgasm. I knelt down and kissed
her. Her red lips parted and in an instant my tongue was probing
her mouth seeking out hers. At that moment I knew she had never
kissed a man before. I could sense her mixture of fear, male
disgust and feminine excitement and I knew she was clay to mould
as I saw fit. As I kissed her I wanked myself to orgasm, then
got up and left the room. A few hours tied like that would give
her the chance to reflect on the meaning of servitude.
Chapter 2: Crime and punishment
It was four days before I introduced her to my dungeon. During
that time she had done a lovely job of cleaning, cooking my
meals and washing my clothes. From time to time I allowed her to
accompany me on shopping expeditions, but always on the
understanding that any attempt to escape would be most severely
dealt with. As it turned out she seemed to be learning fast and
hadn't needed much further punishment beyond the occasional
application of my belt to her outstretched hand. Sexual contact
hadn't gone beyond the occasional forced kiss. I was playing a
long game, she knew full well what was coming to her but she was
going to have to wait. The first rule of sissy training: never
underestimate the power of anticipation.
To my delight she proved to have a talent for dressmaking and
could copy any design from a picture. So she spent many hours
each day bent over the sewing machine, filling her wardrobe with
clothes that matched my desires. She didn't yet know it but one
dress in particular was destined for punishment sessions. I
reasoned that if Pavlov could make dogs salivate in response to
a bell, I could make her tremble with fear from the moment she
zipped herself into that pink gingham frock. All it would take
was conditioning...
And then it happened. I was on my way to bed as I passed her
room. I had sent Marisa to bed half an hour earlier and assumed
she would be asleep. But as I passed her door I heard the sound
of polythene crinkling rhythmically. I opened her door to see
her standing in front of the mirror. She was wearing a short
pale blue see-through nylon nightie over a black bra and
panties, black stockings and suspenders. Over her head was a
clear polythene bag, tied in place with a silk scarf. Under her
silk panties I could see an erection. She stood there frozen in
fear, horrified at having been discovered. The pace of her
breathing suddenly increased, the bag gently inflating and
deflating with each breath.
She moved to untie the bag, but I was too quick for her.
Grabbing her hands I swiftly tied them behind her back with the
scarf I always keep about me for the purpose.
"You are absolutely forbidden to masturbate, you filthy little
slag. Now you're going to experience some real punishment."
At a leisurely pace I sorted through her wardrobe, removing the
clothes that she was to wear and laying them on her bed.
Carefully I selected the gingham dress, a white patent belt,
some net petticoats, and a long golden curly wig. While I was
selecting the shoes I could hear her breathing speeding up, but
I took my time, choosing a pair of white patent shoes with four
inch heels. From the underwear shelf I selected a white "firm
control" corset and a pair of sheer black stockings . As I
placed the last of these things on the bed I glanced across at
her and could see that she was beginning to panic. The sight of
her in that helpless state, eyes wide with fear, body trembling
under that flimsy nightdress, made me want to hurl her onto the
bed and rape her. But that was for another day. I untied her
hands and told her to remove the bag. With indecent haste she
pulled the bag from her head and stood there gasping for air.
Her silk knickers strained under the pressure of her evident
excitement, but the corset would soon keep that under control.
I am the one who has orgasms round here.
While she changed I went downstairs and fixed each of us a
drink, a large one for her and a smaller one for myself. The
solution of amphetamine sulphate would heighten her excitement
and further enhance her frustration. And it would keep me awake
for what I fully expected would be a long night. I picked up the
phone and started to dial.
And then she was standing in front of me looking utterly
ravishing, yet a picture of innocence. The thin pink gingham
clung tightly to her breasts and waist but the skirt, with those
net petticoats, was very full in 1950's style. The sleeves were
long and trimmed with white lace, as was the high neck. Her lips
glistened with deep red lip gloss, and her long golden curls
tumbled past her rouged cheeks and down her back. She radiated
an air of frightened innocence which I found intensely erotic.
I lifted her skirt to check that she was correctly attired
underneath and noticed her flinch slightly at this invasion of
what had once been her personal space. I noted with satisfaction
that her cock was still stiff under the corset. She had been a
good girl.
We drank our bitter drinks and I directed her to follow me down
the stairs into the cellar. Her eyes widened as she surveyed the
various items of equipment down there. I ordered her to sit down
in a high-backed wooden chair. Passing her some ropes I told her
to tie her ankles to the chair legs, giving her precise
instructions as to how to tie them. "Lay your arms on the arms
of the chair" I ordered, as I tightly bound her wrists. I
fastened a leather strap around her waist; the strap was
attached to the chair back. She was firmly restrained, but not
so firmly that I wouldn't later have the pleasure of watching
her fruitlessly trying to wriggle free. I placed a plastic bag
and a roll of duct tape on her lap, just so she could be in no
doubt as to what was going to happen. I then unveiled the mirror
on the wall in front of her and watched as Marisa took in the
tantalising image of the gorgeous, helplessly bound girl with
the instrument of her torment on her lap. She shivered in
fearful anticipation. To her evident surprise I took a pair of
earplugs from my pocket and put them in her ears.
Finally I blindfolded her with a black silk scarf, turned on the
stereo and walked upstairs, turning off the light as I did so.
As my smaller dose of amphetamine started to take effect I knew
exactly how she would be feeling. In pitch darkness, unable to
hear anything except the muffled insistent beat of the music,
she would have no idea what was going on around her, whether she
was alone or whether the room was full of people watching. The
speed would accentuate her sense of disorientation making each
minute seem like an hour. Her world would encompass no more than
the pressure of her bonds, the strong floral odour of her scent,
and the smell of her fear. I waited an hour, fantasising wildly
about what was to follow. And then the doorbell rang. It was my
friend John, who I was sure would love to join in the fun.
Quietly I returned to the basement, with John following. When I
put my hand on her leg she started and gave a little cry of
surprise. I could feel her body trembling as I ran my hands over
her, caressing her breasts, waist and legs. Slowly I ran my hand
up her leg, under the frilly petticoats. She flinched as my hand
reached her cock; it was still hard under the firm restraint of
the corset. I glanced at John, and could see that he was
incredibly excited by the vision before him. I signalled him to
kiss her, knowing this would give Marisa a heck of a shock: John
has a moustache whereas I am clean-shaven. I watched Marisa
wriggle and squirm as John's tongue probed her mouth and his
hands wandered all over her helpless body. By now I knew she
would be feeling like the tarty little girl that she is and
wondering just how many men were in the room, waiting their
turn.
John unbuttoned his trousers and got out his erect cock. Untying
Marisa's right hand he put it on his cock. She held it timidly
as one might hold a hamster or a gerbil. "She's not up to much
is she." he said. "She will be", I replied grabbing a clear
polythene sheet. I pulled it taut across her face forcing her
head against the high chair back. As she tried to draw breath
the plastic clung tightly to her face and sucked into her open
mouth. She was getting no air at all, and quickly started to
wank John off. All the while I watched in the mirror her poor
blindfolded face gasping and sucking against the thin plastic
film, her right hand working away feverishly. From time to time
I released the pressure on the plastic to give her a little air,
but soon pulled it tight the moment she seemed to lose
enthusiasm for her task. Suddenly with a groan John came,
pumping sticky love juice all over Marisa's hand. She shuddered
again. I pulled the plastic away from her face. As she gasped
for air I grabbed her hand and put it to her mouth. With obvious
reluctance and revulsion she licked up every drop. John then put
his cock to her mouth. Obediently she complied, licking it
clean. As I carefully re-tied her wrist I thought "she's
learning". We returned upstairs for a drink, leaving her to
contemplate her predicament.
When we returned I once again ran my hand up her leg, just for
the pleasure of startling her again. I untied her blindfold and
removed her earplugs. From now on I wanted her to see and hear
exactly what was happening to her. Meanwhile John set up the
video camera on its tripod. The action replays would cheer us up
on long winter evenings. Marisa couldn't take her eyes off the
vulnerable frightened girl who stared back at her from the
mirror. I gathered up her golden hair and tied it up away from
her neck: I wanted a good seal between bag and neck. Taking the
roll of duct tape from her lap I cut off a length. I opened out
the bag so that it contained plenty of air and gently pulled it
over her head. She drew in a huge breath of air. Quickly I
gathered the bag round her delicate white throat and taped it
tightly round her neck with two full turns of tape. Suddenly she
exhaled. The bag, which was of quite thin polythene, inflated
hard and I knew her ears would be popping. I was glad she'd
breathed in, the more air she had the more time we'd get to
watch her suffer.
She evidently knew from her own experiments that the key is not
to waste oxygen by struggling. So she sat there passively,
breathing slowly and gently, head bowed submissively. We watched
entranced as the bag alternately filled taut and then
contracted, crinkling gently with that tell-tale sound that gave
her little game away earlier in the evening. As John and I went
back upstairs, I stole a glance behind me. She was transfixed
with fear. Was she about to star in a snuff movie?
But there was no way we were going to miss the fun. We returned
shortly with fresh drinks. Her breathing was quicker now, and
the inside of the bag was starting to steam up. But still she
wasn't struggling. We sipped our drinks, John occasionally
zooming the camera in to get a close-up of her red lips and wide
frightened eyes. She was starting to breathe quite hard now, her
breast heaving with each gasped breath, the bag and the thin
cotton fabric taking turns to stretch tight. The condensation
was running down the inside of the bag in tiny rivers. I ran my
hand up the inside of her thigh, past her stocking tops... she
was still hard under the tight corset. Suddenly she started to
panic, panting desperately for breath and struggling under her
bonds. Her poor face was hardly visible behind all the
condensation but her slender body wriggled violently,
pointlessly, but so, so erotically. Her breathing was wild and
manic, the bag pulsing crazily. But she didn't cry out. She was
starting to learn the joy of discipline. At last John and I
freed her hands; she grabbed at the bag ripping a hole in it.
Her face glistened with moisture as she gasped frenziedly for
air, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. At that moment I
found her utterly irresistible; I ripped the bag wide open and
moved to kiss her. Her little hands shyly linked behind my head
drawing my lips onto hers. As my tongue penetrated her mouth and
found hers I knew she would soon be mine.
Chapter 3: Consummation
A month had gone by. Marisa had become utterly compliant and
quite skilled in her domestic duties. As the days went by I
never saw a hint of that male defiance that had so troubled me
in the early days. She had learned to serve drinks to my friends
when they came to visit and to suck off the winner of the poker
games. The latter lesson had been more of a struggle. It had
needed quite a few sessions with plastic bags in the basement
before she learned that it had to be done, and done well. The
pink gingham dress with its frilly petticoats was an unqualified
success, reducing her to a state of supine terror each time she
had to put it on.
However her tendency to masturbate was a problem. I became
convinced she was doing it at night when I was asleep. This was
going to have to stop. I was longing to take her from behind and
use her as a girl, but I wanted her in a state of complete
sexual frustration when I did so. My plan was that then, for the
first time I would bring her to orgasm. And so I bought a
chastity belt. It was expensive but beautifully designed. It
could be worn 24/7. She would be able to use the bathroom, but
would have to sit as a girl. It also had a delightful attachment
which I decided she would have to wear at night: a butt plug
which could be locked in place with a separate key. I bided my
time.
Then I caught her at it. One night I was wakened in the night by
slight rhythmic noises from her room. I crept out silently and
flung her door open. She was standing in front of the mirror in
a full length white satin bridal gown with a veil over her face.
She looked fabulous but her guilty look told me exactly what she
had been doing. I ordered her to take off the dress.
Reaching behind her, she drew down the zip and stepped out of
the dress. Then she took off her bridal petticoats and stood
before me, head bowed, in white satin bra and knickers, white
suspenders and sheer stockings. She was erect. I stood there
wordlessly waiting for her erection to subside. At last I told
her to remove her panties. Shyly she did so. I fitted the
chastity belt, locking it in place and pocketing the key. Giving
her the butt plug and a tube of lubricating jelly, I told her to
go to the bathroom and fit it. She returned after a few minutes
walking with evident discomfort. I locked it in place and told
her to dress for punishment and to come down to the basement,
where I awaited her arrival.
She tottered down the stairs even more awkwardly than normal.
Walking naturally while wearing a butt plug, tight corset and
four inch heels was an art she still had to acquire. But she
looked divine in her punishment clothes, the lovely long blonde
wig and that 50's style frock and petticoats. The very full
skirt swung from side to side provocatively with every awkward
step. I ordered her to mop the floor and watched entranced as
she set to work. As she did so, I marked a big red cross on the
calendar on a day exactly four weeks ahead. Christmas Day. I
explained the new situation.
"On Christmas Day you will be mine. Until then you wear the
chastity belt continuously. You sleep in it, work in it, bath in
it, come shopping in it. Every night at bed time you come to me
in your nightie with the butt plug fitted. I'll lock it in
place. Each morning before you dress you will come to me and I
will unlock it. That way your love hole will be ready for my
lovely Christmas present to you." Wordlessly she carried on
cleaning. When she had finished I tied her into the punishment
chair. The pressure of the hard wooden chair against her butt
plug made her look even more compliant than usual as I tied her
hair up and slipped the bag over her gorgeous flushed face...
Christmas seemed to take longer than usual to arrive that year.
The air was electric with sexual tension. Secretly I had fitted
a video camera to her room. From time to time I would check what
she was up to at bedtime; she would dress up in all sorts of
clothes from the wardrobe and admire herself, but the chastity
belt ensured that this was a frustrating experience for her. It
took her a while before she learnt to get much sleep with the
butt plug in place but eventually weariness overcame discomfort
and anticipation. Some evenings after I locked the butt plug in
place I ordered her to suck me off; this she now evidently
enjoyed, and had become a skilled oral lover. Her humility and
air of submissive servitude was now so total it was hard to find
reasons to punish her. But I did, and she took her punishment
like a woman.
At last Christmas day dawned. As I waited in my bedroom I could
hear Marisa as she moved around the house obeying my
instructions. I had left the key for the butt plug (but not for
the chastity belt) in the bathroom. Soon she would be with me,
I thought as I lay in bed.
There was a timid knock on my door, and she came in. As
instructed she was wearing the short, pale blue see-through
nylon nightie she had been wearing when I caught her misbehaving
that first night. Under it she was wearing a white satin bra and
panties. She looked delicate and vulnerable as she stood before
me with head bowed and her own dark hair neatly brushed in a
"bob" style. I gestured to her to get into bed. Shyly she
climbed in beside me. I put my arms round her clutching her
slender body. My mouth found her cherry red lips and I started
to kiss her passionately, feeling the frail slenderness of her
body through the flimsy nylon, smelling the sleepy bed smell of
her hair. My god I wanted her, and I could tell that after the
weeks of frustration she wanted me, in any way that I chose.
Still kissing her I drew her panties down her legs and I could
feel her trembling with anticipation.
I turned her face down on the bed and bound her wrists and
ankles to the bedposts in spread eagled fashion. As I did so,
Marisa gazed into the mirror on the wall observing the lovely
image of a truly submissive girl waiting to be taken. Grasping
her hips through the film of blue nylon I penetrated her. As I
thrust deep inside her she gave little gasps of pain but her
face was a picture of joyous compliant acceptance. My hands were
all over her body as I thrust repeatedly watching in the mirrors
as her hands and legs were pulled against the bonds. And then in
an instant of momentous joy I came, pumping and thrusting
against her milky white buttocks.
After a while I withdrew. Untying her I unlocked the chastity
belt, then re-tied her in the same spread-eagled position, but
this time face up. Her cock, after four weeks of sheer
frustration, was erect, clearly visible under the thin
nightdress. I took it into my mouth, slowly and carefully
teasing it with my tongue, all the while watching her in the
mirror. Whenever I felt her about to come I withdrew for a
while, instead stroking her body and breasts, then kissing her
deeply.
As I took her cock into my mouth again she said "I love you,
please, I want you now." Even now she must obey the rules, so I
withdrew. Reaching under the pillow I pulled out a plastic bag
and a silk scarf. I carefully pulled the bag over her head and
tied it firmly in place, fondling her body everywhere except the
one place that cried out for attention. Her breathing quickened
and the bag started to mist up. Taking her bursting cock into my
mouth for one last time I again started to tease it with my
tongue. Suddenly the plastic started clinging to her face
sucking into her mouth with each intake of breath. She started
to struggle against her bonds. And then she came, writhing,
panting pumping love juice into my mouth seemingly forever.
I freed her and she lay beside me, still panting, face
glistening with sweat, clinging to my body. She was mine.
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