07 Home 2Chapter 13
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Femintensity 2
By Cheryl Alison
My face glowed. Lit by the fire of tension and blood flow, I
projected my image out into the space of the room. She moved a
soft brush to my lips, painting on the rose color carefully and
tenderly. Each small stroke was a kiss. I was enraptured with the
process and my mistress. When she finished my lips, she took a
larger brush and began bringing out the glow in my cheeks.
Circular motions hypnotized me. Every pore in my face was aware
that my gender was changing magically.
Even my hair seemed to have feeling all the way through to the
ends of the curls Mistress placed there with a curling iron. As
she formed each section of curls, the iron burned hot on my
scalp. It tugged relentlessly as she wound the strands of hair
around it, bringing it tight to my head. Mistress knew I liked
the feeling of the iron, so she twisted it slowly and forcefully
on each curl, dwelling on the process and solidifying the
powerlessness of my transition.
As she finished with the curling iron, Mistress took a can of
hairspray and misted it all over my head, stiffening the hair and
defining the unmistakably feminine mass of curls. The spray was
like a magical mist, spreading its aroma throughout the room and
landing in small particles on every curve of my body.
The body shaper gripped my upper body in its satin embrace,
pushing out my upper chest into an approximation of female
breasts. From time to time, Mistress would reach in as she was
performing her ritual and squeeze a nipple between her glossy
fingernails. She provided constant reminders of my powerlessness,
bringing my body to a sensually painful awareness of its
transition away from masculinity.
My legs, shaved smooth, had been shrouded in stockings, the
micro-fibers hugging my legs and ever so slightly shaping them in
feminine form. Turning me on the stool, Mistress graced me with
her loving and powerful gaze. Wordlessly, she reached down and
brought a five-inch high-heeled pump before my face. Knowing my
duty, I began to lick the shoe, tasting its leather and loving it
as a fetish object. After I had licked the shoe clean, Mistress
had me bend over the stool. Rubbing the shoe all over my panty-
clad bottom, she shined it. She allowed me to sit on the stool
once again and placed the shoe on my foot. Placing the other pump
in front of my face, she smiled her almost shy, yet cruel, smile
as I licked it clean. Once again, she motioned for me to bend
over the stool as she wiped the shoe down on the back of my
panties. She traced the heel over the cleavage of my derriere,
pulling me up to sit on the stool. Placing the shoe on my other
stocking-clad foot, she motioned me to stand.
I stood, still and waiting for her next wordless instruction. She
motioned me to twirl around, looking at my panties with a touch
of pity. She motioned me to take them off, so I stood naked at
the waist in front of Mistress, while she inspected my now-
blackened panties. She sensuously dangled them in front of my
face, and I could smell the shoe leather on them. Slowly, she
placed one fingernail on my bottom lip and opened my mouth.
Gradually, she slid the fabric of the panties into my mouth until
no more would fit. My entire being breathed in the smell of the
shoe leather.
Mistress had me stand there for several minutes, taking in the
experience of the smell and taste of shoe leather. Then, she
reached over to the dressing table for a bottle of perfume and
sprayed the scent in my pubic area. Removing the panties from
herself beneath her black skirt, she motioned for me to step into
them. Wearing the article from Mistress?s body was intoxicating.
Our power play was more than denial or deprivation?it was based
on giving me enough to know that I was loved and safe, while
maintaining my powerlessness as I was swept into femininity.
Mistress removed my own panties from my mouth. Then, from a rack
on the wall, she selected a long peignoir set and slipped the
gown over my head, letting the silk fall around me. My body
accepted it in a feminine rush of feelings, and Mistress
performed the final cloaking with the nylon robe. Any remnants of
masculinity washed away in the river of silk and nylon that
flowed around me and through me. The feminine intoxication was
complete.
Myra
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