In Her Service

Part 1
Lorena

Chapter 1
The World of Whispers

Lorena was the first openly Dominant woman I ever met.  She called it the “D/s,” Dominant/submissive lifestyle.  She was a stubborn, spoiled, adorable Jewish woman with curly black hair, round glasses, skin that never saw sunlight, and a tongue sharp enough to slice and dice a man’s ego faster than a veg-o-matic.

I met Lorena at a nightclub in Philadelphia on Front Street along the Delaware River.  She was 43 and I was fresh out of college, just 22.  We happened to sit beside one another at the bar.  Amazing how a simple twist of fate like that can have a ripple effect on a person’s entire life.

The initial attraction was not physical.  At first glance, she looked too old.  So I really didn’t take her seriously—at first.  We got to talking, and I immediately enjoyed her conversation. 

She told me she was a college professor, with a high I.Q., and she had a manner of speaking that made me feel like one of her dopey little freshman students.  She had a way of controlling the conversation, of asking questions that put me on the defensive.  Truthfully, at first I wasn’t even sure I liked her.  She seemed too pushy, and she was dressed too provocatively, in tight black leather pants, with a low-cut black lace bustier that revealed a very distracting line of cleavage.

Anyone else would have seen Lorena’s black leather pants and studded bracelets and police sirens and red flashing lights would have been going off in their head:  “Warning!  Danger!  Female Dominatrix ahead!” 

But not me.  I was utterly naive in that department.  To me, she behaved like the Jewish version of cat woman.  Sexy, with very sharp claws.  I knew absolutely nothing about BDSM.  It was as foreign to me as the inner workings of the combustion engine.

Lorena told me a friend had dropped her off at the club, and asked me if I would drive her home.  Honorable lad that I am, I let Lorena know that I had a girlfriend named Beth, and that I was quite happy in my relationship with her. 

“Don’t worry,” Lorena smirked.  “I won’t rape you.  I just want a ride home.”

So I agreed to take her home.  During the drive up Route 95 to her row home in Northeast Philly, Lorena told me she was into the D/s lifestyle, that she was Dominant, and that she had been married to a submissive man for the past dozen years. 

Curious, I asked her what she meant, and she began to describe the D/s relationship, and how she had always known since she was a young girl that she had a Dominant personality.  How she’d been married once before when she was just out of high school, to a man that mentally and physically abused her.

“I will never let a man have that kind of control over me, ever again,” Lorena said firmly.

When we reached her house, part of me thought Lorena was the biggest storyteller that I’d ever met, but another part was intrigued.  She directed me to park my car outside her place and asked me if I wanted to come in for coffee.  I don’t drink coffee, but that wasn’t what made me hesitate.

“What about your husband?  Is he awake?  Won’t he think it’s weird that..?”

“My husband thinks what I tell him to think,” Lorena said loftily.  “Plus, there is absolutely nothing weird about you coming in for a drink.  This is not an invitation for sex.  You know, you are very full of your self.  Just because you’re young and cute, that doesn’t mean every woman in the world wants to get in your pants.”

Once more feeling on the defensive, I parked my car and blushed, too young and too stupid to even know how to respond to a woman like Lorena.

“Let’s teach you some manners,” Lorena said.  “Get out of the car and come around and open my door for me.  Didn’t your parents show you the right way to treat a Lady?”

Jumping out of the car, I ran around the hood to do this crazy Jewish woman’s bidding, thinking, This old woman is out of her mind.  A part of me could not wait to drive off and be rid of her, and yet, there was something about her that had my heart racing, and me running around the car to open her door! 

Lorena smirked up at me as she climbed out onto the curb.  “Come,” she said and smiled like a black widow spider leading me to her web.  I followed her up the walk to a 2-story, stone row home, one of hundreds if not thousands of similar homes in Northeast Philly—only this one contained something quite unique—a truly Dominant woman.

When we got inside Lorena’s house I found it immaculately clean and neat.  They did not have any children.  When I asked her where her husband was, she smiled sweetly and said, “Upstairs in a cage.”

When my eyes bulged out of my head, she laughed, and said, “I’m only joking.  He’s away on business.”  She explained that some Dominant women actually did use cages, but she wasn’t one of them. 

Then she proceeded to take me downstairs, to where she said she’d converted a basement into her “Dungeon.”  Following her down the steps, I expected something out of a Vincent Price movie or Marquis de Sade novel, but instead it seemed like any other row house rec room with musty old furniture and paneled walls.

You would have only known it was a BDSM play room if you knew what to look for.  She pointed out the rows of hooks in the ceilings and on the walls… the wooden cross… the padded massage table.  Using a key she opened a large wooden cabinet that had been handmade by one of her past “slaves.”  Inside were rows and rows of instruments of torture: paddles, whips, riding crops, chains, leather straps, hoods, gags… it was a BDSM smorgasbord of sex toys.  There were even drawers of wigs, panties and *gulp* dildos.

As she led the way back upstairs to her kitchen where she fixed herself a pot of coffee and instructed me to pour my own glass of Coke, I realized Lorena was not bullshitting.  She was completely serious about her ‘alternative’ lifestyle.  She lived in a world that I’d only heard about in whispers.

Sitting on the sofa in her living room she told me how she treated her husband.  How she ruled the roost, and even put him over her knee and spanked him when he misbehaved.  I was fascinated!  Maybe it was the journalist in me, but I asked a million questions, all of which Lorena was quite happy to answer.

Finally she looked at me, smiled slyly over her coffee cup, and said, “You are submissive.”

“What?!” I cried.  “How can you say that?  You don’t even know me.”

“I can just tell,” she said smugly.  “I can spot a submissive man a mile away, and you my dear, are as submissive as they come.”

I forced out a laugh, trying to sound confident.  “Well, you’re quite mistaken.”

“Do you want me to prove it?” she smiled.

I felt a sudden chill of fear.  What if she knew something that about me that I didn’t know?  What if she was right?  I didn’t want to be submissive.  I was a regular, all American boy with a good grade point average, the job of his dreams as a newspaper reporter, an old Mercury, and an absolutely stunning girlfriend.  Please!  Not me!

“I don’t see how…”

“You are so submissive,” Lorena said, highly amused, “I’ll bet you can I can make you do anything I want, just like that,” she said snapping her fingers.

“I-I don’t think so,” I gulped, feeling my confidence wane.

Lorena put down her coffee and looked at me firmly.  It was almost as if she’d flipped a switch and her demeanor had changed from pleasant hostess—to stern-eyed Dominant woman.  "Stand up!” she ordered.  “And off take your clothes!”

“What!?” I cried in surprised.

“You heard me,” she snapped.  “Get up, right now and take off all your clothes—or get out.”

I stood and paused, uncertain what to do.  Lorena looked at me sternly.  Should I just walk out the door?

No.  I didn’t.  Lorena must have had a sixth sense about me—because I did exactly as she commanded.  Feeling shocked, I stood before her, and with trembling fingers, began to undo the buttons on my shirt.

“Take it all off,” she ordered, sitting back, enjoying the show.  “Even your panties.”

“I don’t wear panties,” I grumbled. “They’re boxer shorts.”

"Whatever,” Lorena said with a wave of her hand.  “Take them off.  I want to see you completely naked.  I want to see what your girlfriend sees in you.  What’s her name?  Your girlfriend?”

Utterly mortified to be taking off my underwear before this strange woman and thinking about my sweet, beautiful girlfriend, I winced and said, “Beth.”

Lorena grinned as she viewed my naked body.  “My, my, if only Beth could see you now.  Get yourself hard.”

“What!?”  That was going too far!

“You heard me.  It doesn’t look very big.  Let's see what Beth is getting so steamed up about.  Play with it.  Let’s see how big it gets.”

“This is crazy,” I said flustered, covering myself with my hands, but unwilling to touch myself.  Not like this… fully naked in front of a woman I’d met only hours ago.  For all I knew her husband was upstairs.

“Come here! Get down on your knees,” she said pointing to a spot on the hardwood floor before her.  “Right here.  Right now!”

Shaking slightly, I found myself complying, kneeling naked on the floor before Lorena, shielding my penis with my hands.

“What are you hiding?” she said, batting my wrists aside.  “Let me see it.  Mm.”  She frowned.  “Good Lord, you’re still not hard.  What is wrong with you?  And you said your girlfriend was a fashion model?  I cannot imagine what she sees in you.  You’re not exactly well hung.  Let me tell you, you won’t be keeping her long.  Beautiful women like men with big cocks.”

“I-It gets b-bigger!” I stammered. 

She slipped her heels off, and reclined on her couch, assuming a very imperial position.  “Then come on.  Get to it.  Play with yourself.  Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Unable to resist her will, I obeyed like a trained puppy.  I began stroking myself...  Even though Lorena was scaring me to death, she also had me surprisingly excited!

I felt her eyes on my rising erection, weighing it, measuring it, and I felt like my entire manhood rested in her judgment.  “Oh, it’s very pretty,” Lorena smiled.  “Very nicely shaped.  Rather average in size, but it’s not bad.  Very pretty indeed.”

Blushing, I stopped touching myself.  It was bad enough that I was naked while she was fully clothed.  “I’ve never done this in front of a woman before,” I said nervously.

“Keep playing with yourself,” Lorena ordered and grinned. “If you get to know me, you’ll find yourself doing a lot of things you’ve never done before.  Now get yourself close to cumming, but don’t you dare have an orgasm.  Tell me when you are close.”

It didn’t take long.  When I told her between gritted teeth that I was ready, she smiled wickedly, and said, “All right, now you can stop.  Get dressed.”

Stunned by her command, when I sheepishly asked her if I could cum, she grinned, and said, “No you may not.  My husband slaved all day around this place cleaning it up.  I don’t want you messing on my nice clean floors.  No.  You can just get dressed now—and go.”

Confused, I put my clothes back on, feeling like I’d been tricked and made a fool.  This crazy old woman had been playing with me, like I was just a little Yorkshire Terrier that amused her.

Once I was dressed, and feeling quite grumpy, she finished her coffee, stood and led me to the door.  She could tell that I was rather angry, and said, “Here is my card.  I want you to call me when you get home.”

Her business card read:  “Lorena DuValle, Professor of Mathematics, Philadelphia College, (215) XXX-XXXX.”  Along the side of the card were a bunch of trigonometry symbols.

“Now give me a hug,” she said.  She put her arms around my waist and drew me to her.  She hugged me, while I stood there rather woodenly.  My boner felt like it was going to burn its way through my jeans, and I groaned as she pressed her leather pants up against me. 

When I tried to kiss her, she turned her head, so that my kiss landed on her cheek.  It felt like I was kissing my Aunt.  A very controlling Aunt.

On the drive back to my apartment I considered tossing Lorena’s card out the window.  The nerve of this woman!  To tell me I was submissive, and then to make me jump through hoops like that, like I was some sort of trained poodle.

But I didn’t throw the card away.  I kept it, and when I got inside my apartment, I stripped off all my clothes, jumped into bed and as instructed, dialed Lorena’s number.

“Are you naked?” she purred through the phone line.

What was it about this woman, was she psychic?  “Yes,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “I know you want to touch yourself.  Go ahead.  I want to listen as you masturbate.”

This was all too bizarre.  Phone sex?  Eww!  Phone sex was something crazy, kinky, perverted people did.  Not me!  And yet, here I was playing with myself with the phone jammed in my ear.

Her voice airy and soft as rose petals, Lorena crooned, “I told you that you were submissive.  The way you ran around your car to open my door.  I can spot them a mile away,” she giggled sexily.

As she chatted and I stroked, I heard a buzzing sound in the background.  “What is that noise?” I asked.  It sounded like an electric toothbrush.

For the first time since I’d met Lorena she actually sounded surprised.  “It’s nothing…”

A light went on over my head.  “Are you using a vibrator?”

Even through the phone lines, I could sense her embarrassment.  “Yes,” she admitted.  “Just keep stroking.  Tell me when you’re ready to cum.”

“I’m ready now!” I said.

She chuckled.  “I keep forgetting you’re only 22.  Wait,” she said, her voice filled with pillows and moonbeams.  “Wait, until I’m ready.  I want you to cum with me.  I’m going to teach you something right now.  Keep stroking.  If you want to be a good submissive.  Keep yourself right there on the edge.  You’ve got to learn how to control your orgasm.  Not yet.  Not yet.”

Feeling like a dork, I lay there, glued to the phone, stroking, listening to what I imagined was this Black & Decker sized vibrator that she was using on herself.

Finally, after a while her voice rose, “Almost there.  Almost there…  NOW!”  We both let loose.  A simultaneous, shared orgasm, courtesy of Ma Bell.

Afterwards I felt stupid and guilty, like I’d just cheated on my girlfriend Beth.  And yet, technically, I suppose I hadn’t.  Or had I?

“I want you to call me tomorrow,” Lorena instructed.  “What time do you get done work?  All right.  Call me at seven.”

And so it began…

Chapter Two
A Pawn in the Passion Play

Things with Lorena started slowly.  It’s not like I arrived at her door the next weekend and she striped me naked and hung me upside down from one the ceiling hooks in her basement dungeon. 

“Before you come to my house, I want you to stop at Sears,” she said after we’d arranged to meet the following Friday after work.  “I want you to buy something for me.  This is going to be a little test.”

“Sure,” I said.  What did she have in mind?

“Get a pencil and a piece of paper, because I want you to write this down.  I am going to give you a very specific item I want you to buy.”

“What is it?”

"It’s a woman’s electric vibrator, called the Magic Wand,” she said.  “Here is the exact model and serial number that I want.  We’re going to see if you can follow directions.  And I’m warning you now.  It’s going to cost $50.”

“That’s all right,” I said jotting down the numbers she read off to me, already feeling a bit hot under the collar.  

Buying a woman’s vibrator would be like being sent to the store to buy women’s tampons.  And it was too.  I couldn’t find what I wanted at Sears so found myself forced to wait in a long line to ask a salesperson for help.  They helped me find it, and I paid for it at the register, feeling mildly embarrassed.

When I arrived at her house, Lorena greeted me with a smile.  She was quite pleased that I’d gotten the right product.  “Good,” she purred.  “Now you can take me out to dinner.  There is a place downtown that I want to go.”  And, as I learned, Lorena rather liked having an attractive young man on her arm.

In the beginning as we were getting to know each other we did what Lorena called “vanilla” things.  We went to movies, to a Billy Joel concert, out to dinner.  She was into this group therapy called “EST” that was sort of a cross between Zen and Scientology, and took me to one of their seminars.  We even went bowling. 

Wherever we went, Lorena talked about BDSM and the D/s lifestyle.  On our very first dinner date downtown, she laid down the law.

Her eyes dead serious, she said, “If we are going to spend any time together, there are some things you need to understand.  First and foremost, this is not a democracy. What I say goes.  The first time you disobey me… try to argue with me… talk back to me—our relationship is over.  Over.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I replied meekly.

“When we are out in public you can call me Lorena, but at all other times you are to address me as Mistress,” she said.  

“Yes Mistress,” I whispered.

“If at any time I decide I don’t like your attitude, you are done.  I can replace you, like that,” she said snapping her fingers.  “There are literally hundreds of men out there that would die to be in your shoes… to be my… submissive gentleman.  So I do not tolerate bullshit.  It’s my way or the highway.  If you don’t like it—you mind as well go right now.”

Submissively I bowed my head in agreement.  And so it began.

A few weeks later while we were out at dinner she handed me a little gift bag and told me to “Go into the bathroom and put this on.”

“What is it?” I asked.  I pushed aside the tissue paper to see a lacey red pair of women’s panties.  “What on earth…”

“Just go into a bathroom stall and put it on.”

“What about my own underwear!?” I asked, flustered.

“Just put them in your coat pocket.”

My heart racing, wondering why on earth Lorena would want me to wear women’s underwear, I did as she asked.  At the time, I refused to admit that I was submissive, but as I look back on it, while I was claiming to be “macho” I complied with her every wish.

When I returned from the bathroom, feeling stupid, Lorena had a great big smile on her face.  “How do they feel?” she asked.

“They’re awfully skimpy,” I grumbled.

“Do you have a hardon?” she asked.

“NO!  Of course not.”

The next thing I new, Lorena had her shoe off and out of sight beneath the table her toes were working their way up my calf, between my thighs, and rubbing my crotch.  She chuckled as we ate dinner, feeling my erection throbbing beneath her foot.

Throughout the meal, whenever our waitress would get near the table, Lorena would say something like, “How do you like your new panties darling?”

I have no idea if the waitress overheard her or not, but I nearly died each time Lorena opened her mouth.  I begged her to please lower her voice, but she only laughed.  Embarrassing me was like a game to her, and she loved to see me blush.

At the time, I didn’t understand why Lorena did silly things like that.  I guessed it was to flex her muscles, and to prove that she could get me to do anything.  Which was true.  But in hindsight I realize now she was subtly, slowly, very slowly, taking control, and guiding me toward bigger and better things.

The first six months I knew her, Lorena remained married.  Sometimes when I picked her up, her husband Bob was home—but I didn’t actually meet him for weeks.  When I arrived she made sure he was upstairs in his own bedroom.

During the initial nights that I slept over, Bob slept in his room down the hall, while I shared Lorena’s bed.  Our sexual encounters were nothing like I would have imagined.  There was very little actual touching involved other than kissing and cuddling.  

For one thing, Lorena had a thing about me being naked, while she remained clothed.  I never once saw her naked, ever.  In her bedroom I was not allowed to wear a thing, while she always was in either a black bodysuit or silk pajamas.  As I learned later, much later, when she was my age she’d been extremely heavy, and although now she was 5’7”, 130 pounds, she had stretch marks on her body, and was quite self conscious about them. 

I also quickly discovered, much to my surprise, that Lorena’s primary sex organ—was her feet.  She thought they were the most gorgeous part of her body, and loved having them “worshiped.”

If she was in a sexual mood, while I massaged her feet, ankles and calves, she used her new electric Magic Wand—which turned out to be a white gadget with a round vibrating head and variable speeds.  As I knelt at the foot of the bed rubbing her instep, ankles and toes, she lay back among her pillows, eyes closed, using her power tool to bring herself to a satisfying orgasm.

When I tried suggesting that we make love, she told me quite frankly, “You’d best get that thought right out of your head.  I do not have sexual intercourse.  Ever. Save that for your cutesy little girlfriend, whatever her name is, Beth.”

Holding up a couple of fingers, Lorena told me in all the 12 years she and Bob had been married they’d only made love three times!  Which seemed incredible to me, but it was true.  Once on their wedding night, and some other times where he’d done something wonderful like cured cancer or something.

What was even more incredible, was that Lorena was telling her husband Bob that the two of us were boffing.  She laughed and told me she wanted to keep up this facade that the two of us were making love, and that I was her stud.  

Confused, when I asked why play this charade, she told me that it would drive her husband crazy thinking that I was enjoying nightly what for him was an extremely rare and cherished gift that he begged for constantly—but which Lorena refused to ever give him.

On one occasion while Lorena was sleeping, unable to sleep myself, I crept out of her bed and went downstairs to the kitchen to get something to drink.  And there at the kitchen table I found 45-year old Bob, sitting in front of a plate of leftovers.  He was a somewhat frumpy looking fellow, shorter than me, about 5’8”, with a head of short dark hair and a dark mustache.  Like Lorena he was Jewish, and although she worked as a teacher, I never really knew what Bob did, although I guess he must have made decent money because Lorena never paid for a thing.  All of her money went into savings while Bob paid all the bills.

The man looked at me over his plate of leftover Chinese food with great annoyance.  In the sweep of just one look I knew the man absolutely hated me.  We didn’t say a word to one another, but I knew what he was thinking.  “Enjoying yourself – fucking my wife?”

In truth, all that I was doing with Lorena was masturbating.  Sometimes she did strange things to my penis.  She told me she was a sadist and she enjoyed inflicting pain.  Which was true.  She’d clip different types of clothes pins, wooden, plastic and even metal ones to my nipples or cock.  The more I flinched or showed pain, the happier she looked.  When she was done torturing me thus, either she would stroke me to orgasm, or tell me to do it myself while she watched.

Which might sound mild, but for a 22 year old, to have a woman twice your age watch you touch yourself that way, for me, was strangely embarrassing and at the same time titillating. 

As we were lying in bed one night, Lorena whispered to me, “Do you like having your cock sucked?”

“Of course!” I said enthusiastically, thinking she was going to give me a blow job.  “What man doesn’t?”

“Not by me,” she quickly added. “I want Bob to suck your cock.”

“BOB!?”  Talk about a disappointment.

“Yes.  I want you to do it for me.  If you do… I’ll let you go down on me.  You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Letting Bob suck my cock for the reward of getting to lick her pussy hardly seemed like a fair trade, but after several nights of teasing, torture and heavy petting she could have had me believing the moon was made out of Swiss cheese, and so I agreed.

The next night, wearing a long black nightgown and robe, Lorena had me stand nude in the middle of her bedroom, and put a blindfold over my eyes. Then she left and went to fetch Bob.  She brought him into the room, and as I learned later, he too was blindfolded.

“Down on your knees,” she snapped at her husband.  She ordered him about like a lion tamer putting one of her tame tigers through their paces.

The next thing I knew I felt a warm, wet mouth envelope my cock.  At first I wondered if I would be able to get hard.  A part of me thought, I have no desire to have sex with men, so in theory my body should not get aroused.  If anything, it should be a major turnoff.  Wrong.  A man’s cock has no conscience.  No gender preference.  The more Bob sucked, my penis reacted just as if Lorena herself was down on her knees blowing me.

All the while, Lorena stood besides us, whispering things like, “That’s right Bobbie.  Suck my lovers cock.  Neither of you are gay.  You are doing this for me.  For my amusement.”  Which I discovered was true.  Later after she’d dismissed her husband and sent him back to his room, as I lay face down between her legs, lapping at her crotch, there was no mistaking the fact that humiliating her husband got her extremely excited.  She was soaked, and came like gangbusters.

Just as she did everything else, slowly over time, Lorena progressed things with Bob.  The next time she had Bob blow me, she removed our blindfolds.  I actually liked the having the blindfold on better, because then I didn’t have to look at the dumpy man slurping my cock.

Although it only happened once, Lorena also had me fuck her husband.  I had no interest in fucking a man up the ass, but Lorena promised me that she’d let me screw her if I agreed.  At that point I’d been seeing Lorena for over six months, and probably would have done just about anything to have been allowed to stick my dick in her.  I did too.  I fucked her husband for the privilege. 

“I won’t be able to get hard,” I whined.

“Close your eyes and imagine you are making love to me,” Lorena suggested.

I did too.  While Bob knelt on her bed, his face in Lorena’s pussy, I took up a position behind him, wearing a condom (of course), and stuck my cock inside the man’s ass.  There was something disgusting about the entire thing.  Bob had a hairy ass for one.  Gross. For another, even though Lorena swore she gave him an enema, I kept thinking that this is where the man shat.  Just plain gross. 

That said, the man had a tight ass.  With a condom on, to a great degree it didn’t feel all that much different from a woman’s pussy.  I closed my eyes and thrust my hips, imagining that I was finally making love to Lorena.  The poor man whimpered and moaned as I fucked him. 

As I did so, Lorena slapped her husband in the face as he lapped at her pussy. “Do you like my lover’s cock up your ass?” she said to him.  “I want you to feel what I feel.  I want you to know what it’s like to get fucked by a real man… not some pathetic wimp like you.”

At the time I was both awed, disgusted, and aroused by what Lorena was doing to the poor fellow.  If I had been older and wiser, I might have realized that any woman who would treat her husband that way—had the potential to do the same to me.  But at that point, the thought never even crossed my mind.

Later, when it was all over and I was home at my own apartment, I swore to myself I’d never go back to Lorena’s again.  I must have showered and washed my penis a hundred times trying to get the stink of Bob’s ass off my pubic hair.  This had gone too far.  Things were out of control.  I’d let a disgusting dumpy dork suck my cock, and now I was fucking him.  What the hell was I doing?  Had I lost my mind?

No, I hadn’t lost my mind, I was under the spell of a very seductive Dominant woman.  The lure of forbidden fruit… the curiosity of not knowing what on earth this wild, intelligent, imaginative, free-spirited woman was going to have me do next… kept me going back again and again.  No matter how guilty I might feel later, Lorena was like a sexual drug addiction, and I couldn’t kick the habit.

Lorena was good to her word about letting me make love to her—and yet, just like everything else with Lorena it wasn’t quite what I had imagined.  I’d thought it would be a chance to engage in a romantic evening of “normal” sexual intercourse, but nothing with Lorena was ever even close to the norm.

When I arrived at her house on the appointed evening that the consummation of the long-awaited deed arrived, I found Lorena downstairs in the “dungeon,” with a naked Bob dangling from a hook in the ceiling.  She had a paddle in her hand, and was working over her husband’s backside good.  The poor man’s butt looked the color of a bruised and pitted strawberry.

When I entered the room, Lorena approached me and out of range of Bob’s hearing, whispered, “You understand about role-playing, don’t you?”

“Yes, sure,” I replied excitedly.

“Tonight you are playing the role of my lover.  I want him to think we’ve been making love for months.  You’re playing the role of my young stud.  Got it?”

“Sure,” I said.  While Lorena continued to torture the man, putting metal clothes pins on his balls, I stood fully clothed beside her, caressing her body. 

She shot me a warning look.  Normally I was not allowed to touch her without permission.  Her breasts were especially off limits.  I grinned at her mischievously.  If she wanted me to play the role of her stud, I was going to get away with some liberties that were traditionally out of bounds.

As she tortured, beat, and slapped Bob around, I caressed her hips, stroked her breasts through her camisole top, ran my fingers through her hair, and kissed the back of her neck.

She chuckled, so that only I could hear, “You are getting carried away.”

I whispered back, “You said you wanted me to play the role of your lover.”

She replied softly, “You will pay for this later.”

Out of the corner of my eye I glanced at Bob.  His hands were cuffed over his head and attached to a ceiling hook, leaving him uncomfortably on tip-toe.  As I kissed his wife, right there in front of him, he looked at me, sweat dripping from his face and underarms, a look of pure hatred in his eyes.

Lorena beat his ass, his thighs, and even his cock for some time.  Finally she told me to strip, and right there on the carpet in front of her husband, she instructed me to lay on my back, while she mounted my cock.

For a woman that claimed that she’d never had an orgasm through intercourse, Lorena put on an Oscar-award winning performance that night.  The way she was riding my cock, screaming, shaking, and carrying on, you’d have thought she’d experienced multiple orgasms again and again.

While she rode me, she leaned forward, kissed me passionately, and whispered,
“Don’t you dare cum until I tell you you’re allowed.”  Nor did I.  Lorena had such power over me, that I was able to withhold my orgasm until she gave me permission to release the flood gates.

By the time she was done riding me, when I looked up at poor Bobbie, he was hanging there from his hook, crying.  Tears rolled down his blubbery cheeks, wetting his mustache.  And yet, at the same time, the twisted fuck had a hardon.

Still, looking at him, I felt awful.  This was just too cruel.

Not to Lorena.  She gloried in his misery.  She jumped up, and grabbing one of her riding crops from her open wooden cabinet, she began flailing at the man.  The more she beat him, the more he whimpered and wept, the hotter her eyes blazed.

Eventually she untied him from the ceiling hook, and threw him on the floor.  Using a length of rope, she bound the man like she was a cowboy in a rodeo hogtying a calf.  When she was done he was completely immobilized.  He lay there on the ground looking up at us, sniffling.

“Come here,” Lorena said to me.  She took up a position on all fours with her shaven pussy right over her husband’s face, and directed me to get behind her. 

With the poor man laying their wide-eyed, unable to move, I fucked his wife doggie style, right over his nose.  He had a front row seat, a bird’s eye view, with his pupils literally inches away of my cock as it slammed in out of Lorena’s snatch.

He tried several times to lift his head, to stick out his tongue and just lick Lorena’s wet pussy, but he couldn’t.  He was wrapped so tight, no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t even touch her with his tongue… which only seemed to further increase his frustration and agony.

However, that all said, even though I thought what we were doing to the man was absolutely despicable, I couldn’t help but notice that through the entire ordeal—the man still had a raging erection.

After Lorena had faked a couple dozen more orgasms and we were done, she untied her submissive husband.  As she did so, I felt so sorry for the man, so mortified by my part as a pawn in this little passion play, that I did something I’d never done before in my life.  I actually took his disgusting cock in my hand, wanting to get him off.

As soon as I touched him, now that he was semi-free, he lashed out at me.  In complete anger and hatred he tried to hit me with a fist.  Fortunately he was an uncoordinated oaf, and he was still partially bound, so he missed.

Lorena saw what he tried to do, and freaked out.  She grabbed the man by his hair, threw him face down on the ground, retied his hands, and using one of her most vicious instruments of torture, her cane, she beat her husband’s ass till he was screaming for mercy.  Mercy?  The word wasn’t in Lorena’s vocabulary.

All the while she berated him as a loser… telling him that he would never fuck her… that he could never please her… and that I was her lover now.  If the beating didn’t break him down, her words certainly did.  At Lornea’s direction the poor man blubbered and begged me for forgiveness.

When all of this was done, and we were all dressed, Lorena dropped her final bombshell.  She looked at Bob and said, “I want a divorce.  Now pack up your shit—and get the fuck out.”

This wasn’t a complete surprise.  Lorena had told me she wanted out of the relationship.  But I was shocked by the way she went about it.

After Bob packed a suitcase, Lorena led him to the door.  All the way he pleaded with her, begged to stay, swearing how much he loved her, that he’d do anything for her.

All Lorena had to say was, “Trust me, you’re going to pay for everything.” She told him to get an apartment, and that he was going to continue to pay her mortgage and her other bills, and that she was basically taking everything. 

With that, she slammed the door in his face, and the two of us went out to the local diner to get something to eat.  Lorena celebrated.  She seemed intensely gleeful about the entire evening.

As we ate, my head still spinning over all that had transpired, young fool that I was, thinking that I really was her stud, and that I had just given her dozens of orgasms, all I could think about was that I had finally made love to this unattainable, extremely desirable Dominant woman.

“You have to admit, you really liked it when we made love tonight,” I said.  “Doesn’t this change everything?  Don’t you want to make love now, just like normal couples do?” 

Lorena laughed, like I’d made an extremely good joke.  "Don’t flatter yourself,” Lorena said stabbing a piece of egg with her fork.  “That was all an act.  Tonight was a once in a lifetime opportunity.  So don’t get used to that kind of treatment.  If anything, you owe me big time for all the liberties you were taking.”

She looked at me, eyes narrowing.  Little did I realize what life had in store for me… 

Chapter Three
Beaten and Collared

When I erred in any way, Lorena’s retribution was swift.  All I had to do was show up late… forget to do something she’d asked… show any hesitation about fulfilling one of her requests… or if I disagreed with her about anything, later on I would find myself over Lorena’s knee, hanging from a hook in her dungeon, or bound tied spread-eagled across her bed.

When Lorena gave me my first over-the-knee spanking it was with her bare palm.  She said, “There are two kinds of spankings.  One is very sensual,” she said, caressing the cleft between my ass cheeks lightly.  “It’s very teasing.”  Her fingernails lingered in the space between anus and testicles.  “It’s meant to get you aroused,” she said, and then suddenly slapped me on the bottom sharply.

I yelped and squirmed on her lap, completely red-faced.  My parents are extremely old fashioned, the religious type that lives by the maxim, “Spare the rod, and you’ll spoil the child.”  So I had been spanked plenty by both my parents.  But never like this!

Lorena caressed the spot she’d just slapped. “The other kind of spanking, is purely for punishment.”  She cracked my ass a little harder.  “For when you’re a bad boy.”

By way of giving me a taste of what lay in store for misbehavior, she rained a dozen quick, stinging slaps across my tightly clenched derriere. 

When she heard me breathing heavily and moaning in pain, she laughed.  “You do not have a very high tolerance for pain, do you?”

I had thought I did, till now.  But as I would quickly learn, no, I did not have a very high tolerance for pain.  Much to my embarrassment, I found Lorena could break me down to begging and tears quite easily.

After each of her slaps with her bare palm, Lorena returned to gently caressing the now tenderized area.  Her fingernails grazed lightly across my burning flesh till I began to relax and sigh. 

“You’ll find that a good beating sensitizes your skin,” she said, her fingers lingering soft as a feather between the cleft of my ass cheeks.  “And makes the pleasure all the more enjoyable—after a few good spanks.”

Once more her hand rose and fell, delivering a dozen additional solid slaps.

“Please no more!” I cried.

“What, you’ve had enough already,” she laughed.  “The fun is just starting.”  Her fingers once more grazed lightly over my red buns. “Spread your legs!” she ordered with another sudden surprise crack.

Immediately I did as bid, granting her access to my most private parts.  I cooed as she stroked, played, and jiggled my penis till I was throbbing at her slightest touch.

Once I was fully aroused, she ordered me to shift on her lap, so that my erection was directly between her thighs—then clamped them shut.  Once more she took up spanking—and caressing—all the while my penis throbbed between her silky smooth legs.

“Since this is your first time, I’m going to give you just ten more.  But they’re going to be hard.  So prepare yourself.  Next time, it will be more.”

As she meted out her last 10 swats, her hand cracked on my flesh like a rifle shot.  I nearly leapt a foot off her lap.  As she delivered each one, she explained her philosophy on corporal punishment, how it was meant to guide, arouse, and punish.

She also explained that each discipline session would become increasingly more difficult.  “I’ll start you out with thirty.  The next time it will be forty.  Up until we reach fifty.  Once we reach fifty, I’ll start using a paddle.”

Lorena’s theory was that people built up a tolerance to pain, so she had to continually keep upping the ante.  Which she did. 

After she’d built up to 50 swats from her open palm on my derriere, and she judged that I was no longer squirming and begging for mercy—she began using her lightest paddle, one that looked like a wooden ping pong paddle.  

“Please no more!” I cried, tears streaming down my face.

“You can take five more!”

“No please! I can’t,” I blubbered.  Lorena liked taking me right to my limits, and then pushing past them.  Breaking me down.  Till I was nothing more than a crying, sniveling, blubbering little boy.

“You can do it.  Come on now.  Stop being such a baby.  Deep breaths.  You can do it.  Get ready.  Here it…”  She liked taking me by surprise, and swatting me just before I expected it.  When I relaxed and thought I was safe—was the time she loved best to inflict her hardest blows.  My wailing, crying and begging were pure music to her ears.

“You are such a baby!” she said when she finally put her paddle away.  “Now come here.”  Thankfully, Lorena was not a complete and utter sadist.  She gave what she termed “after care” once the discipline session was over.  Still naked and on my knees, she would enfold me in her arms, and still crying, my shoulders shaking, trying to control myself, trying to regain my dignity, I would feel myself wrapped in her warm embrace.  Her hands would caress my hair.  Her lips kissed away my tears. 

Although I felt quite miserable, there was also something maternal and nurturing about the way that she held me afterwards that almost made the entire ordeal worth the pain and the humiliation.  There was nothing sweeter than to nuzzle her neck with my tear stained cheeks, and feel her fingers running through my hair as she kissed my forehead.

“There, see, you could take it after all,” she soothed.  The truly nice part about enduring Lorena’s spankings was that made her quite horny, which meant that I got to lick her pussy, or massage her feet while she played with her Magic Wand.  And, if I was extremely lucky, it meant being allowed to masturbate.

More than anything else, corporeal punishment set the tone of our relationship.  It placed Lorena firmly in control, and nothing could make me submit to her faster than the threat of a punishment beating.  Even after her playful spankings, the ones she used more as foreplay, I found myself feeling completely and utterly submissive to her slightest desire.

“I should spank you every day,” she said, as we snuggled in bed.  “After a good beating, you’re much more compliant.  So much more mannerly.  More communicative.  More loving.  More sensitive to my needs.”  

Which was true.  I found that Lorena’s use of corporal punishment not only ensured I obeyed her wishes, it was also doing something to my soul.  Shaping me.  Molding me.  For once she’d broken down my walls with her paddle, I became more emotional, more honest, more giving of myself—all of which Lorena was quick to point out.

Once she’d built me up to 50 from the wooden paddle, Lorena had another paddle coated with gritty sandpaper… then one coated with pointed studs… then another… and another.  After she went through her paddles and floggers, she started using crops… then the cane.  The cane was absolutely brutal.  Just 5-10 from that, and I was a mess.  Over time I learned to truly fear her wrath and the cane. 

All of which kept me agreeable for the most part—although I must admit, at times, deep down inside, it irked me that Lorena got her way all the time.  At that stage of my life, I did not accept the fact that I was submissive.  I looked at our entire relationship as an exciting side trip down the wild side with this very intelligent, imaginative, kinky Jewish lady.

One night not long after Bob was gone, when the two of us were alone in her house, Lorena had me strip naked, restrained my wrists behind my back, and led me to the center of her living room. 

“Get down on your knees,” she ordered.  When I did, she wrapped a blindfold over my eyes.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked nervously.

“Be patient.  You’ll see,” she said cheerily.

With me positioned thus, naked, kneeling and blindfolded in the middle of the main room of the house, she sat on the sofa and we chatted.  I really don’t recall about what.  What I do recall, quite clearly, is the doorbell ringing.

I nearly had a heart attack as Lorena got up to answer the door.

“Who’s here!?” I cried.  I struggled to rise.

Lorena shot me a warning.  “Don’t you dare go any where!  Stay right where you are.”

As Lorena opened the door, my ears strained as I tried to listen.  I heard whispered greetings… a voice.  Male or female?  Who was here?!  Was it someone I knew?  A neighbor?  One of her girlfriends?  The black woman Debbie that had been by for dinner last week?  One of her co-workers?  One of my co-workers?!?

Sweat poured from my underarms as I knelt there naked, sightless, and vulnerable.  My ears attuned to every sound, every footstep, every whisper, every breath, I listened as the two of them (where there more?) approached and circled me.  More soft whispers.

“… mszhehp… so mrphue… so eifmit…”

I couldn’t make out the voice… I sniffed the air… was that a new perfume?  I sensed that it was a female.  Some strange woman was feasting her eyes on my nude body. 

Different faces kept flashing before my eyes… Jennifer, the cute photographer at work… my Aunt Louise… my sister Carla… my girlfriend Beth!  It would be just like Lorena to find Beth, and humiliate me in front of her like this.

My heart beat so rapidly I thought I might have a heart attack.  I pulled at the ropes binding my wrists behind my back.  Lorena was quite efficient.  There was no getting loose.  Although I remained motionless, staring blindfolded at the floor, my entire body poured sweat.  My knees scratched on the hardwood floor. My ankles burned.

Finally I heard Lorena directly over me and in front of me say, “Do you promise to obey me always?  Do you?”

“Y-Yes Mistress,” I whispered.

“Do you swear to be my slave always?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Do you accept my collar?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Do you understand what wearing my collar symbolizes?”

“Yes Mistress.”

She had discussed all this with me previously.  Wearing her collar meant that my body belonged to her.  “When you wear my collar, you become my property.  I can do anything I like with you… that is, unless you use your safe word.  I promise to respect that.  And you, will promise to respect and obey me in all things, for as long you wear my collar.  Do you understand?”

“Yes Mistress.”

With that I felt her fitting a heavy, silver chain choker around my neck, the type you put around a dog that fastens to a leash.

More whispers.  I listened as the footsteps headed away… heard the front door open and shut.  Lorena returned and removed the blindfold and the wrist restraints.

“Who was here!?” I asked frantically.

Lorena chuckled, greatly amused by the look of fear in my eyes.  “Just a friend.”

“Who?!  Is it someone I know?”

“Just a girlfriend of mine.”  A witness to my collaring.

I felt the steel chain around my neck.  Lorena did not expect me to wear it 24/7.  I didn’t have to wear it to work.  Just when we were together.  But there was no mistaking what it symbolized and what had just occurred.  I was now her property.  To be used as she saw fit. 

At the time, it was just a silly chain collar.  I wasn’t even fully aware what I had agreed to.  But in time, all would be made clear…

Chapter 4
A Dangerous Game

Through everything that I was going through with Lorena, I still maintained a relationship with a girl I’d met in college named Beth. 

Beth was a year older than me, and a fashion model.  Not exactly a Ford agency model, but a classic beauty.  From the first moment I met her on a college ski trip, I thought she looked just like Cheryl Tiegs.  

When we first met she already had a boyfriend, and so we started just as friends.  But her boyfriend was a Campus Crusader for Christ. and ultimately his leaders told him he loved Beth more than God.  And that he’d have to make a choice—either Christ or Beth.  The guy chose Christ.  And went on to become a preacher.

And Beth, bless her heart, chose me.  A week after her breakup she came by my dorm room, to say she was doing her laundry, and did I have any things I wanted to throw in with hers?  The next thing I knew we were going out, holding hands, watching college football together, studying together, and making out.

Beth was one a Christian too, from a good, wealthy family—but she wasn’t quite as radical as her old boyfriend.  She didn’t drink or smoke or do drugs, and sex before marriage was completely out of the question.  So all we ever did was smooch.

But that was plenty.  Kissing Beth was like kissing Christie Brinkley or Stephanie Seymour.  She was that attractive.  The kind of woman that looks good in anything.  Whether she was wearing a dress or jeans and a blouse, whenever I was out with her I couldn’t help but notice head’s turn to watch her every moment.  Especially in a bathing suit.  

Once when she arrived at my dorm room at 8:00 a.m. looking exceptionally perky, one of my roommates, a South Philly Italian named Joe that looked like Rocky, growled to me in the hallway on his way to the showers, “Your girlfriend is so sweet … I’ll bet you that she shits vanilla ice cream.  It’s hard to imagine anything else coming out of her,” he laughed.

After graduation, Beth got a job working for a modeling agency in Philadelphia and did a lot of newspaper ads for clothes sold for department stores like Macys, Sears and Lord & Taylors.  She waited tables at a fancy restaurant over looking the Delaware River, and said she was waiting for her big break.  She took her portfolio to New York City to one of the big agencies, and came home in tears.  She was 5’6” tall and they told her she was too short to make it in the big leagues.  Supermodels are all in the 5’10” to 6’1” range.  Which is ridiculous if you knew how attractive she was. 

Which was a shame.  But, modeling’s loss was psychology’s gain.  In college she had been torn between modeling and counseling women.  When the modeling door closed, she got serious about becoming a therapist and took a job working a hotline for a battered women’s shelter, and started taking classes for her Master’s degree.

If you stood Beth and Lorena side by side, physically there was no comparison.  Beth was 24, Lorena was 44.  Beth was all perky, and Lorena was into her sagging years.  

Beth had that classic, Nordic beauty that comes with blue eyes, high cheekbones and healthy bones.  Lorena was as plain as pumpkin pie with no whipped cream, with a body she was embarrassed to even let me see.  

In a swimsuit, Beth looked like one of the Sports Illustrated girls.  Beth had gorgeous dirty blonde hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial.  By comparison, Lorena had permed her hair to give it some life.  But it still hung around her face in limp, mousey curls.  

Lorena wore glasses and had problems with her thyroid.  Beth had perfect eyesight, perfect teeth, and breasts the size of ice cream scoops, the kind that would make your mouth water.  Lorena had a breast reduction before I met her, and had scars around her nipples where they’d moved them.

Not that everything is about looks.  It’s not.

Both women were incredibly intelligent, and I knew both cared about me.  And both brought out an entirely different side of me.

With Beth I played the role of the eager, budding young reporter.  At her family’s functions I played volleyball with her brothers, and laughed politely at her father’s jokes.  I went to church with them every Sunday, and on fishing trips with them on their 30’ Crestliner out of Ocean City, New Jersey.  

With Lorena I felt like an entirely different person.  I cleaned her house, mowed her lawn, trimmed her bushes, and did the dishes when she was done cooking.  I ran errands for her, bought her raspberries because she loved them, and spent many an evening giving her back rubs and foot massages while she either read or watched T.V. For all intents and purposes I was her slave.  I did whatever she asked, because I knew if I didn’t, I’d end up over her knee with my bottom in the air.

I was playing a dangerous game.  Lorena knew about Beth, but Beth had no idea that I was also seeing Lorena.  Which became nerve wracking for a lot of reasons.  I was constantly running back and forth between the two, trying to juggle my schedule and my weekends so that I could spend time with both.

I felt like I was constantly making excuses to poor Beth as to why I couldn’t see her as much as we used to.  I was a lying little shit.  Nor could I continue to play this game forever.  There were times when Lorena dripped wax on me or used nipple clamps, and I lived in fear that Beth would notice the marks.

This became the number one reason Lorena would punish me with her paddles and instruments of torture.  I dreaded her bringing up Beth’s name.  Which she invariably would do.  “How is your cutesy little girlfriend doing?” she would ask.  And inevitably it would cost me a trip to the dungeon.

Once while Lorena was beating my ass, she chuckle and said, “I really should call Beth and thank her sometime.  She’s given me such an excellent reason to punish you.”

Lorena gave my bottom a swat with a paddle covered with black leather.

“When are you going to stop lying to that poor woman?”

SWAT!

“When are you going to stop being such a runaround?”

SWAT!

“Aren’t I enough for you?”

SWAT!

For the most part Lorena liked me a lot, and we got along fine.  Except for the fact that she said I was two-timing her with Beth.

The thing was, I adored Beth.  I couldn’t let her go.  Even if sex with Beth was non-existent, she was every man’s dream girl.  She was the kind of woman you married, raised 2.5 kids with, and spent the rest of your days growing old with.  Beth was destined for sainthood.  She loved growing things in her garden, she sewed, she baked me a cake on my birthday, and cooked me chicken soup when I was sick.  My family loved Beth, and was praying that I’d ask her to marry me.  On the other hand, my folks didn’t even knew of Lorena’s existence.

“When are you going to start being honest with yourself?” Lorena said grimly.

SWAT!

Sooner or later I would have to make a choice.  But for months I did nothing.  I could not choose.  I endured Lorena’s paddlings and her ire, and did my best to hold on to Beth.

Then, one Saturday night when I was with Beth down at her parents New Jersey beach house, something unexpected happened.  As I lay sleeping in the bed beside her brother Randy, I thought I heard the door open.  In the dark, I sensed someone climbing onto the foot of the single bed with me.  They slipped beneath the sheets… and began to tug down my jockey shorts.

It was Beth!  With her brother right there snoring in the next bed, without a word, Beth took my soft cock in her mouth, and began giving me a blow job.

Considering I never got this kind of treatment from Lorena, naturally my body responded.  I wanted to cum, but at the same time I was terrified that I’d moan too loudly and Randy would hear and we’d be in a hell of a pickle.  

But Beth was not to be denied.  She surprised me by continuing to suck and lick and bob her head up and down beneath the sheets, until finally my body just erupted into her warm, sweet mouth.

Without a word, she silently slipped out of the foot of the bed.  Nor was a word was spoken.  The next morning at the breakfast table, she just gave me a secret smile.

After that our relationship slowly changed.  We still didn’t have intercourse, but Beth began to allow me more liberties with her body.  I’d felt her breasts before, but she’d never allowed me to put my hand inside her pants.  Now, as we sat in my Mercury overlooking the ocean in the spot where we usually sat and necked all night—now for the first time she actually unbuttoned her Capri pants and unzipped her own fly.  An open invitation. 

From having spent plenty of time licking and fingering Lorena’s pussy, and from having listened to her very specific instructions, I knew how to touch a woman.  All of which shocked and delighted Beth.  She gasped and cooed as my fingers slid along the edge of the little thong that just barely covered her sex.  

As I teased and gently ran my fingers between her legs, without actually touching her there, she began to moan and squirm in my arms.  The next thing I knew her hand frantically tugged at my belt and tore open my jeans.  Rather roughly, she grasped my penis and began yanking on it like she was trying to rip it from my body.

“Not so hard,” I gasped.  After so many months with Lorena I was used to her gentle, teasing touch.  There was no question that Beth just didn’t have her experience, especially when it came to sex.  She might have given a surprisingly good surprise blowjob on that one occasion, but I later came to feel it had been an inspired moment on her part.  Because Beth had been cloistered away most of her life by an overly religious, protective family and two older brothers.

Her ministrations in my shorts were so clumsy, I began to wish that she didn’t even try to please me.  So much so, that I slid my fingers inside her thong, and along the lips of her creamy wet pussy.  She gasped loudly as my finger lightly grazed along her tender nether lips.

“Why do you keep teasing me?” she gasped.

Eventually when I’d deemed that she was quite wet and excited, I finally slid my fingers over the button of her clitoris and began playing with it, slowly.  Very slowly.  Till she was arching her back, lifting her hips off the car seat, seeking more pressure from my fingers.

All of which served to distract her from trying to please me.  Thankfully she forgot all about my penis, and withdrew her hand.  We kissed passionately as I diddled, and fingered her silky wet flower petals till she cried out loudly with the very first orgasm I’d ever given her.

After she’d recovered, and she’d fixed her clothes (never once thinking to continue to try to please me), she looked at me with awe, and said, “Where did you learn how to do that?”

What did I tell her?  From my 44 year old Mistress?   That I’d been trained to please a Jewish mathematics professor—and that I also gave excellent foot massages?

No.  I just smiled and shrugged, started the car, and drove us back to her parent’s house.

That night as I lay in bed, I wondered if Beth would attempt a repeat performance of the previous night’s nocturnal visit.  But she didn’t, nor did she ever again.  I guess it was just her way of saying she wanted us to become more intimate.  Nor did we ever even speak about it.  

As I lay there listening to her brother Randy snoring, I wondered what this all meant.  Now that things were becoming more sexual with Beth, would I summon up the courage to leave Lorena?  Beth’s family was hinting around, wondering when I was going to “make an honest woman” out of their daughter and ask her to marry me.  As was my family.

Should I?  But if I did, I’d have to give up Lorena.  And I just wasn’t ready.  Not yet.

But what if things became more intimate with Beth, and she spotted the bruises on my bottom from Lorena’s paddle?  A telltale trace of wax in my pubic hair?  What if she somehow caught me wearing one of the pair of women’s panties under my men’s clothes that Lorena so loved for me to wear?

Yes, I was playing a dangerous game.  A game I was afraid to lose…

Chapter 5
Upside Down World

One Wednesday night while we were in bed, Lorena told me to lay on my tummy. 

From her night stand I watched her take a rubber glove, the kind doctor’s use.  She pulled it on her hand with a snap, then proceeded to jab one of her fingers into a jar of Vaseline.

“What are you doing?” I asked fearfully.  As usual, I was naked, while she wore a long black negligee.

“Just shut up and lay there.”

The next thing I knew she was swirling her greasy finger around my puckered, virgin rosebud.  I winced as she slowly worked her finger inside me.

Good Lord.  Was this another one of her methods of torturing me and humiliating me?

And then her finger found my prostate.  I gasped, and found myself squirming, unable to keep still.

“You like that, don’t you?” she chuckled.

“It feels weird!” I squealed.

Weird isn’t the word.  It felt intense.  Like she’d found a pleasurable button inside me that I didn’t even know existed.

“Has anyone ever given you a prostate massage before?” she asked.

“No,” I gasped.  Until I met Lorena, I never even knew I had a prostate.  If I’d ever heard the word it was because some old man was suffering from prostate cancer.  For all I knew, the prostate was like your gall bladder.

“If you’re like most men, you’re going to like this,” she said rubbing my most sensitive gland gently with the tips of her fingers.  “Are you hard?” she asked, feeling beneath me with her free hand. 

Her fingers closed around my erection. 

“Mm… told you, you’d like it.  I’ll bet you didn’t know you had a pussy, did you?”

I was too mortified to say a word. 

Using a combination of prostate massage and masturbation she brought me to a screaming orgasm.  One of the most intense I’d ever experienced.  When she was done, and pulling off the rubber glove, she looked at me, her eyes crinkling merrily.

“You are so cute when you’re embarrassed like that,” she grinned.

“I never felt anything like that before,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

“Well, you obviously liked it,” she said tossing the rubber glove in the trash and climbing into bed.  I snuggled up beside her beneath the covers.  She wrapped her arm around my shoulders, pulling me to her side.

We kissed for a while, and then Lorena took my hand and placed it over her panties.  I slowly began to finger her pussy.  She was soaked.  As I touched her, she guided me.  “Slower.  Not so fast.  Yes, that’s it.  Down a little.  Up just a little.  Ah yes.  Right there.”

If I’m good at masturbating women, it’s because Lorena taught me how to have a slow hand.  A gentle touch.  How to vary the rhythm.  How to listen to a woman’s breathing to be able to tell if I was pleasing her.  I also learned to keep my fingernails trimmed, as there is nothing worse than scratching a woman down there.

After Lorena came and had drifted off to sleep, I thought about what she’d done to me.  I couldn’t believe she’d touched my anus.  Yuk!  What a disgusting part of the anatomy.  Like most men, I suppose, I considered that part of my body off limits, dirty and disgusting. 

I didn’t want to admit to myself that a woman had invaded my most private space.  That she’d just finger fucked me and it had brought me to an orgasm.  The implications of what this all meant were just too mind-boggling, too life changing to even want to think about it.  And so I blocked it out of my mind and tried to forget about it.

A few days later, on a week night, before I left Lorena’s house to go back to my apartment, she took me down to the dungeon, opened one of the drawers in her wooden cabinet and selected a black 3” butt plug.

“Take down your pants,” she said as she coated it with lubricant.

“What are you doing!?” I asked fearfully, unbuttoning my jeans.

“What does it look like,” she grinned.  “Bend over.”

I gritted my teeth and winced as she began forcing this pointy shaped plastic plug inside my rectum.  I yelped and tried to pull away.

“Stand still!” she ordered.  Holding me around the waist, she worked the thick middle of the plug past my sphincter till it popped inside.

I whimpered as I waited for my insides to relax and loosen to accommodate the intruder.  I felt like I’d sat on a cucumber, like my very core was being stretched to the max.

“Now you can pull your pants back up.”  When I did, she gave me a playful swat on the bottom.  “I want you to wear that on the way home.  You can take it out when you have to go to the bathroom, but I want you to keep it in when you go to work tomorrow.”

“Why!?” I asked. 

“You’ll find out,” was all she said.

Admittedly, I cheated.  As soon as I was outside in my car, and a mile or two down the road, I pulled over, unloosened my pants and pulled the damn thing out.  Nor did I wear it to work the next day.  When we spoke on the phone, of course I told her that I had it inside me, but there was no way in hell I could go about my job wearing a freaking butt plug up my ass.  The woman had to be insane.

Instead I took some Vaseline with me in the car, and inserted it back inside me before I visited her again.

“Do you know why I made you wear this?” she asked, as I disrobed in the bathroom, and she removed the plug.

I sighed gratefully.  “Because you like torturing me?”

“Well, yes, but there’s another reason.”

“What?”

“Tonight,” she said, with her fingers in my hair, drawing my face to hers and giving me a kiss on the lips, “I’m going to introduce you to my friend Jonathan.”

I gulped.  “Jonathan?  Who is he?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she smiled, as she greased up an even larger butt plug.  “Now stick your ass up in the air.” 

As I gritted my teeth she spread my O-ring as wide as it would go, till I was squealing in pain.  Just when I thought it would rip my insides apart, it popped inside. 

Lorena could not resist swatting my bare fanny.  “Now pull your pants up.”

The rest of the evening, through dinner and through the movie we went to see, I just couldn’t seem to find a comfortable way to sit.  The more I squirmed and looked miserable, the happier Lorena seemed to become. 

All night long, she whispered things in my ear like, “Later we are going to go meet Jonathan.  I promise you’re really going to like him.  He’s got a really nice penis.”

All I could do was blush in reply.  Who was this Jonathan character, and what on earth did Lorena have planned for me!?

As we drove back to her row house, she had me going out of my mind.  “Why do you think I started training you with butt plugs?  I want you to be ready.”

“Look Lorena, I really am not ready for this!”

“Of course you are darling.  Tonight is the night you lose your virginity…”

I blushed in reply.  “Lorena!  I’m not gay!  I’m not interested in guys!”

Lorena laughed at me.  “How do you know until you’ve tried?  The way you went off when I massaged your prostate.   Trust me.  You are going to love Jonathan.”  She grinned.  “Jonathan is a dildo, you silly boy.”

I didn’t say a word.  What could I say?

That night when we got back to Lorena’s house, she told me to strip and thankfully removed the plug.  “Get into bed.  I’ll be right back,” she said and disappeared into the bathroom.

I lay there waiting nervous as a bride on her wedding night.  A dildo?  I knew women played with them, and there was that electric vibrator Lorena sometimes used… but a dildo was shaped like a penis.  The thought of her putting something like that inside me smacked of something very gay and very forbidden… and yet at the same time had my heart quivering with excitement.

Lorena soon returned, wearing her long, black silk robe.  She let it drop dramatically by the side of the bed, revealing underneath a short black camisole, with garter belts, black stockings, and a leather harness around her waist. And there over her crotch hung a lifelike looking phallus.  Jonathan.

“Come here darling,” she said gently.  “To the edge of the mattress.”  She positioned me on my back, with my ankles up over her shoulders, while she stood at the side of the bed.

She smiled down at me, obviously enjoying the look of terror on my face.  She rubbed clear, cold gel over her cock and around my virginal opening. I was scared, nervous, humiliated, and yet at the same time was extremely aroused. 

Maybe it was the whole power thing.  Maybe it was how she had teased my prostate with the rubber glove.  Maybe it was the sense that this was the ultimate submission—to give my virginity to a woman—to play the passive role while she played the role of the aggressor.

As she slowly worked the head of her dildo inside me, I squirmed beneath her.  It hurt like hell at first, but in some respects the butt plug had prepared me. 

She took her time, and eased her hips back and forth.  She stroked my thighs and spoke softly, “Relax, don’t try to fight it.  Or it will just hurt more.”  Carefully she moved her pelvis in and out, feeding me more and more of Jonathan’s seven inches. 

I gripped the sheets of the bed, and gritted my teeth.  Oh my God!  Is this what women went through?  It was horrible!  I could feel the hard plastic moving like a wedge, separating my insides. The ring of my sphincter felt stretched to the breaking point.

“It hurts,” I whimpered.

“There, there, it’s almost all in,” she said, looking down to the space between us.

With a final shove the dildo was fully imbedded and her plastic balls lay flush up against my body.  I gasped, and tried to move away, to climb off her cock.  Gripping my hips firmly, grinning broadly, she held me in place.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere!  Just stay there.  Don’t move.  Give it a minute.  And your body will adjust.”

“Please take it out!”

“No,” Lorena said simply, and stroked my hair, while I tried to catch my breath.

Each time I struggled to move away, she held my body tightly, keeping her phallus imbedded within me to the hilt.  Eventually after a few minutes the searing pain began to dull and go away.

“There, that isn’t so bad now, is it?  You must like it.  Your little penis is standing straight up.”

Which was true.  Even though it hurt like hell, for some strange reason I had a pounding erection.  Maybe it was the way Lorena stood there between my outstretched thighs looking down at me.  A look of pure amused delight on her face.  She derived the greatest enjoyment out of my most abject humiliation… and for some insane reason giving up control to her excited me terribly.

As I lay there whimpering and groaning beneath her, Lorena began thrusting her hips back and forth, taking me in a way I’d never been taken before.  If my prostate had liked Lorena’s fingers… it absolutely loved Jonathan.  As she slid all seven inches back and forth against my most sensitive gland, fireworks went off in my groin.

She only went in and out a dozen times, when my prostate went off like her finger had pressed a button.  Without even touching myself, with no absolutely contact with my penis, my erection began to squirt and shoot, spewing semen all over my abdomen all the way up to my chest. 

I cried out in pain, embarrassment and yes, pleasure. 

Even Lorena was surprised.  Her eyes wide, she laughed.  Neither of us could believe how fast I had cum.  Or that I’d shot without any manual stimulation.  Normally I had incredible control.  But not this time.  It was as if the head of her phallus had pulled the trigger of my release valve – and I just exploded.

I felt mortified, not only because of what Lorena had just done to me, but also at how incredibly excited my body had been.  I’d never felt anything even remotely that intense in my entire life.  It was as if she’d packed an hour’s worth of love-making into one 30 second exercise.  I’d had absolutely no control over my body.  It was like she’d found an erogenous zone within me that I never even knew existed.

Later, after I’d satisfied her with my tongue, and she drifted off to sleep, I lay there for the longest time staring at the ceiling.  I felt changed.  Different.  As if I’d crossed some sort of line.  I wondered if this is the way a woman felt after she’d been taken for the first time.  I wondered if this meant that I was gay.  First she’d had Bob suck my cock, and now this… she was fucking me with a penis-shaped dildo named Jonathan.  It fucked with my head.

I knew that I had no attraction what-so-ever to men.  So why had Lorena’s strapon excited me?  Why had she been able to bring me to orgasm without even touching myself?  My body had loved the experience, but my mind was swirling in a daze of confusion. 

The next day at work I felt like I was in a fog.  I wanted to tell Lorena that I didn’t want to do it anymore.  That we were finished.  That I wanted to go back to my old, boring vanilla life.  I had to stand up to her.  If I didn’t, what might I become?  Being used like that made me feel like I was less of a man.  Like there was something wrong with me.  And yet… deep down inside, I knew that I’d enjoyed it, that Lorena had tapped some here-to-for untouched part of me that I didn’t even know existed.  And it scared me half to death.

Before the day was over, Lorena called me at work.  “Are you okay?” she asked.  “You didn’t say a word this morning.”

I wanted to tell her it was over.  But I couldn’t.  And I cursed myself for being a weakling.  “I was just tired,” I lied.

She chuckled.  She saw right through me.  “What did you think of last night?  Was Jonathan too big?  Are you sore?”

I blushed deep red.  “I’m okay,” I whispered.  I just felt like my whole world had been turned upside down.

“You’re not okay.  I can hear it in your voice.  You’re upset.  What, do you think this makes you gay or something?”

“Look, I can’t talk about this at work.”

“Then just listen,” Lorena said.  “Everything is okay.  There is nothing wrong with what we did.  You are not gay.  You’re just extremely submissive, and you’ve got a highly sensitive prostate.  That’s all.  It’s not a big deal.  I’ve fucked plenty of men over the years, and all of them loved it, just like you did.  There’s nothing to be ashamed of.  Of course, if you’d don’t want me to screw your tight little ass anymore, just use our safe word, and I’ll stop.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I said hesitantly.  That was it.  I could use our safe word.  Of course, I never did.

After that night, Lorena’s strapon became a regular feature of our relationship.  She did not use it every night.  Maybe once every few weeks.  I’m embarrassed to admit, that I looked forward to those evenings.  Lorena knew it too.  In some ways, her use of the strapon became her way of rewarding me for being a “good boy.”

Lorena didn’t care about normal sexual intercourse.  She said she would never submit to being penetrated by a man—that it gave her no pleasure.  “I have to be in control,” she said, “Or I can’t enjoy it.”  She liked being on top.  And she liked how using the strapon made me completely and utterly submissive to her.  So the only actual intercourse we ever had in our relationship was when Lorena wore her strapon.

At times she was too rough.  She was not always gentle.  Or a particularly good lover.  At the time I could not help but wish she was more loving, more rhythmic.  No.  She just rammed away.  Maybe my cries of pain excited her.  Knowing Lorena, they would.

She had almost as many different sized dildos as she did paddles. There were certain sizes there were too small, that she used to loosen me.  There were those that felt just right. And there were those that were just too big.  Naturally she preferred using the bigger ones, anything that made me cry out in pain.  

I don’t know if all women are like this, but Lorena had different names for her dildos.  The biggest in her collection was Big Ike, a thick, black, cock… there was Benjamin with his fat head… my pal, Jonathan… the red One-Eyed Jack… the vibrating Spock. 

One-Eyed Jack felt good too, only about 5” long, about the same size as my own endowment, and quite comfortable.  Sometimes Lorena used him, when she wanted to tease my prostate, or when she wanted to loosen me up for one of Jonathan’s bigger brothers like Ike or Benny.

No matter what we did, she never failed to remind me that first and foremost our love-making centered around her pleasure.  And because she never experienced an orgasm while using the strapon, she primarily used it to either humble me, reward me, or to inflict embarrassment and pain.

“You were awfully good today,” Lorena said in a sultry voice. “Get on all fours on the bed.  That’s it.  Now pull your panties down to your knees.  That’s it.  Now just wait there while …”  She opened a drawer.  

“Who should I fuck you with tonight?  I used Jonathan last time.  Maybe Benny this time.  We should go out and buy you a new one.  Something bigger than Big Ike.  I was looking in this catalog the other day.  Vac-u-lock makes a very nice looking 10” cock…”

“Please just Jonathan tonight,” I rasped, red-faced.  The bigger ones hurt…

“I told you that you would fall in love with Jonathan,” she laughed, picking up the big, black one.  Nine inches, and thick  She fit him into the silver ring on her harness, and climbed behind me on the bed, slapping my bottom.  “You’ve been ignoring Big Ike for weeks.  He’s getting jealous.”

In the beginning, when Lorena found the right angle, and stroked her strapon against my prostate, my body would just erupt.  And she noticed, that the bigger, tighter the fit, I was even more likely to just spontaneously erupt—a phenomena that fascinated her, and gave her something to beat me over.  For not waiting until she gave “permission.”  For her, it was all a delightful game.

But after a few times, no matter how hard Lorena fucked me or with which of Jonathan’s growing family of brothers, I would leak like crazy, but to actually achieve an orgasm, I needed some sort of manual stimulation.  Sometimes it would take just a squeeze or a few strokes, but I came the easiest when I played with myself as she pounded away at me. 

Which added a whole new dimension to the fun for Lorena.  She loved putting me into bondage and screwing me till I was begging for her to please untie me.  She could play with me like that for an hour, till I was begging her to please touch me or let me touch myself.  

She’d get me so worked up I’d promise to do anything if she’d just let me cum.  

Lorena laughed, delightfully amused as I begged and pleaded with her to either please free my hands—or please stop fucking me.  It was maddening to be caught in an intensely pleasurable world, where there was no closure, no climatic scene.  

Instead I just hung there in space, drifting in a world of submission, as my Mistress slapped her pelvis against my backside … or threw my legs up over my head … or tied me face first over a chair.

She paused, leaving her strapon buried deep within me, and cupped my drippy erection in her palm.  Very slightly she stroked it, amused by the way my entire body was shaking on the edge of release.

“I’m going to cum!” I warned her.

“Don’t you dare,” she chuckled. “Not till I say so.  I might just quit,” she said rubbing me lightly.  “I might just pull it out and take it off, and tell you to go to sleep.”

“Please no Mistress!” I squealed.  “Please let me cum!  I’ll do anything!  ANYTHING!”

She chuckled into my ear, gently undulating her strapon back and forth as just her fingertips grazed my twitching red cock.   “You’ll do anything I ask, anyway…  Maybe I should stop.  I’ve been spoiling you way too much.”  

“Please Mistress, please,” I said in tears.  

“CUM then!” Lorena said suddenly, jamming her hips into me hard.  Feeding me all nine black inches.  At the same time her hand gripped my erection tightly.   “Cum right now or you’ll never…”

As if on cue, my body erupted.  She laughed as she felt my penis jerk and shoot in her hand covering the sheets with a week’s worth of pent up energy.  

“That’s my good little boy...”

Nature Takes its Course
Chapter 6

Eventually Beth and I finally made love.  We’d been dating for a year, and much to Lorena’s displeasure Beth and I went off for a weekend together to Wildwood, New Jersey.  Her parents thought we were staying with friends, but instead, we rented a motel room.

Up to that point all we’d done was pleasure one another with our hands.  Quite truthfully, for all her beauty, turn out the lights, and Beth was just not in Lorena’s league.  She didn’t know how to touch me or to excite me the way Lorena did. 

And yet, with Lorena now using her strapon on me—a part of me was deathly afraid that I’d somehow lose my masculinity.  That I was becoming a complete and utter submissive wimp.  So I wanted very desperately to make love with Beth, if only to prove to myself I was still a man.

We spent the day on the beach, then went out to the boardwalk and ate seafood.  Beth truly was wonderful company.  She had an intensely active, inquisitive mind, and I was incredibly happy whenever we were together.  During those moments, I blocked my life with Lorena out of my mind, and went back to being me.  A regular, all-America boy.

That night in the motel room, the two of us were like a pair of nervous teenage virgins.  At that point Beth was 24, and told me she’d lost her virginity to a boy her freshman year of college, but that it hadn’t meant very much.  Nor was it something she’d ever repeated.  Like a lot of women, she said she was saving herself, for someone special.  For someone she truly cared about, and that cared about her.

I wore my boxer shorts to bed, and she came from the bathroom wearing a short, sexy little, transparent nightie that just faintly revealed the curve of her breasts and the dimple of belly button on her flat tummy.

We lay kissing and touching one another for the longest time, working each other up into a frenzy.  Finally Beth broke away, and gasped, “I want you!  I want you inside me!”

As crazed as we were, I wasn’t too crazy not to use a condom.  Climbing on top of her, her knees parted and her legs came up.  With her hair fanned out around her head on the pillow, she looked like Aphrodite herself, the goddess of love.

Slowly, wanting her to ache for me, I lowered myself, feeling her envelope my throbbing pointer like a warm, tight glove.  Once I was fully inside her, we lay there for a few minutes, kissing passionately.  In my mind I knew I had to marry this woman.  Enough of my wild ways with Lorena.  This was the woman of my dreams.  This was the real deal.  This was true love.

Lorena’s teachings about holding back my orgasm stood me in good stead.  I waited patiently till Beth was rocking and rolling beneath me, thrashing her head side to side, her voice growing louder and louder.  When finally she screamed out in the throes of orgasm, her body convulsing and shaking beneath me, I stopped holding back and let go, filling the protective sheath with my milky fluids.

Afterwards Beth cried.  She lay there in my arms, feeling so soft and slender.  “Why are you crying?” I asked, kissing her head.  Her hair smelled like lavender.  

“I don’t know,” she said kissing me.  Her lips tasted salty.  “This is very emotional for me.  This is not something I’m taking lightly.  And I hope you feel the same way.”

“Of course,” I whispered.  My thoughts flickered to Lorena.  Here, the moment I’d always dreamed about, the night I’d finally made love to the most beautiful woman in the world—and for some strange, insane reason, I felt a touch of dread.  That if I did marry Beth, I’d lose Lorena.

For the rest of the weekend the two of us were like a young married couple.  We did not make love again for some weeks, but unquestionably our relationship changed.  Having crossed that final barrier shifted everything up a notch.  Things were serious.

And yet, whenever the word marriage came up, I found myself growing uncomfortable and avoiding the subject.  Thankfully Beth was too good a sport to press the issue.  She simply seemed to be content to let things happen naturally.

When we got home, I dreaded calling Lorena.  I told myself the honorable thing to do was to break it off with her.  I was in love with Beth.  I had to put an end to this crazy D/s relationship.

When I finally did pick up the phone, Lorena was not happy.  She knew where I’d been, and she was pissed.  Immediately she put me on the defensive, and demanded I come to her house that night.  Of course I agreed.

As I drove over to Lorena’s place I practice over and over again in my mind what I was going to say.  Lorena, it’s time we each move on…. Lorena, you’ve always known about Beth…  Lorena, I’m not as submissive as you think I am…

Not that my practicing mattered.  As soon as I stepped in the door, Lorena ordered me to strip naked, and marched me down to the dungeon.  In a matter of minutes she had me bound to two of her ceiling hooks and was beating my ass viciously with a paddle.

“Did you fuck her!?” Lorena demanded.  Her arm was a blur as she paddled my poor defenseless backside.

“NO!  NO!  I swear it!” I lied.

“You’re a liar!” she cried, beating me harder still.  “Admit it! Damn it!  Tell the truth for once in your life.  You finally fucked her, didn’t you!?”

Eventually Lorena beat it out of me.  There was just no standing up to her.  And when I finally did admit it, she beat me harder still.  Till I sobbed, completely broken.

“I’m through with you,” Lorena said finally.  “I’m tired of this.  Tired of playing second fiddle to Miss Cutsie.  I cannot believe that we’ve even lasted this long.”

Here I’d come to Lorena’s house with every intention of breaking up with her, and here she was breaking up with me!  Fool that I am, I found myself begging with her, pleading with her not to cast me aside.

Lorena rolled the paddle over in her hand.  “Do you love her?”

“Yes,” I said miserably.

“At least you are honest for once,” Lorena grunted.

“But I love you too,” I said softly, tears gliding down my face.  “How could we share all that we’ve shared, and I not?  I don’t want to lose you.”

Lorena looked at me, and her eyes softened.  She began to untie me, and she sat on the old musty couch in her dungeon, while I knelt naked in front of her—as she hugged me and held me and stroked my hair.

"What am I going to do with you?” she asked.  “You’re nothing but a runaround.  I should throw you out.  You are going to bring me nothing but heart ache, I know it.  You’re going to leave me.  If not for Beth, you’ll leave me for someone else.”

“No, I won’t,” I promised, nuzzling against her neck.  “I’ll never leave you.”

Lorena turned my head, and kissed me on the lips.  “You’re a lying piece of shit.  But you are cute.  And you are a very good slave.  With a very cute ass.  Come on.  Let’s go to bed.  You’re not done making it up to me.  I am going to make you pay for this past weekend, for a very, long time.”

In her bed, I did my best to give my Mistress the deluxe treatment.  I paid special attention to all her nooks and crannies.  All the places that if caressed or kissed just wrote, could illicit a sweet sigh from her.  I massaged her back, rubbed her feet, and licked her pussy, until she’d finally had enough and pushed me away.

As she lay sleeping beside me, I realized Lorena was right.  I was a lying piece of sheet.  Only the night before I had been sleeping in Beth’s arms.  Now look where I was.

Did I love Lorena?  Did I love Beth?  And if I did, how could I have gotten myself into such a predicament?  What would I do?  How would I ever resolve things?  To leave either woman was unthinkable.  

And yet, nature had a way of taking its course.

Amazingly, it was not her beatings that eventually made me leave Beth and become exclusively Lorena’s—it was something else…

A week later, Lorena came to bed looking incredibly sexy.  Wearing a black merry widow, garter belts and stockings (something she rarely ever wore) and her strapon harness.  I admit, seeing her that way, wearing such sexy lingerie, and with her plastic phallus swaying from side to side as she climbed into bed, made my heart race with both fear and excitement.

Climbing into bed she held out her hand.  “Put this on,” she said, giving me a very feminine, which lace teddy.

I gulped, and did as I was told.

As much as I liked it when Lorena took me with her strapon, now that I had made love to Beth … I was afraid.  Afraid that Lorena would completely unman me.  

“Lay on your tummy,” she said.

Face down in the cool pillow, my face felt red and hot.  I was addicted to the pleasurable sensations that went rippling through my prostate when Lorena made love to me.  It brought me to orgasm much faster than anything else in this world – including making love to Beth.  With Beth I had total control of my orgasm.  

With Lorena—I had no control whatsoever.  She controlled quite literally everything.  Even my orgasms.

Lorena climbed on top of me.  Her fingers pulled aside the sheer bottom of my garment.  Spread cold gel on my rosebud.

I lay there trembling.  Waiting for the initial stab of pain.

As she lowered her body on top of mine, Jonathan’s hard plastic head leading the charge, I gasped and whispered, “Please go slow!”

Her round knobby top found my anus and pressed—making me shriek.

“You don’t like it when I put it in too fast.”

“Slow,” I whimpered.  “Please go slow.”

“We’ve got all night,” Lorena said, laying her chest against my back.  Her fingers unsnapped the crotch of my teddy.  “Maybe we should loosen you up a bit first.”  A long finger slid up my rectum.  She went right for my prostate, pressing it, and delighted by the way she made me squirm and squeal.

Two fingers. 

Three fingers.

“That should help baby,” Lorena whispered behind my ear. 

Still, I cried out shrilly in pain when she entered me.

“I love the noises you make,” she chuckled as she slid the entire length inside me in one strong shove.  “When I fuck you.”

I am not a quiet lover.  Each flick of her hips brought an immediate, passionate reaction from me.  She laughed and slapped my hips as she bounced up and down, amazed at how high my voice went when she aimed her thrusts at my prostate.

“The next time you are making love to little cutsie girlfriend, Beth.  I want you to remember this moment.  I want you to think about tonight.  About how I was fucking you.” 

She reached her hand beneath the bed and found my erection throbbing against the bed.

“And how much you loved it.”

She masturbated me quickly to the point that I was ready to explode.  And moved her hand away.  Instead she fucked me harder.  Her pelvis slapped against my backside as she slammed me.  

“Go ahead baby.  Cum.  Cum right now while I’m fucking you.”

I did too.  Right on command.  My hard penis rubbed against the sheets and erupted.  I cried out in pure ecstasy as she fucked me across the finish line.

Then pulled her cock out of my ass.  Slapped it.

And said, “You think about that the next time you’re fucking her.”

The power of suggestion is a powerful thing.  

The next time I was with Beth at my apartment and she hinted that she did not have to work the next morning.  And we could have some “quality” time, I knew what she had on her mind.  My heart pounded as I smiled and said, “Great!”  

But the more I thought about it, the I began to get nervous.  After we’d taken showers and we had collapsed in our robes on my sofa, I found myself saying, “I really have to get up early tomorrow.”

Beth’s smile drooped.  “Oh.  You didn’t tell me.  Well, if you just want to go to sleep.  That’s fine.  There will always be another time.”

“Thank you for understanding,” I said wrapping her in my arms and hugging her.  I kissed her cheek, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but also no wanting to have sex with her. 

What, was I insane.  Not wanting to have sex with a stunningly attractive fashion model?  Was I out of my mind?

And yet, I felt relieved   I’d been afraid to have sex with her.

In the morning, when I forced myself to pull Beth’s warm arms from around my waist, as I tried to crawl out of bed … suddenly her hand snaked through the covers and grabbed me by my penis.

Which always is a powerful way of getting a man’s attention.  She curled up along side my sleepy body, her arms and legs entwining around me like vines amidst the warm sheets.

Without a word, Beth drew me back into bed.  Her arms and legs intertwined around mine closely as strands of wire.  She kissed me passionately, and I pretty much swooned.  I fell into her arms. 

Beth did have the sweetest kisses.  Like eating a fresh peach.  Warm, moist and alive with natural, wholesome energy.  

Her hand had never released my penis.  Instead she’d actually been gently stroking me, constantly, patiently massage my entire circulatory system to start pumping the blood in this direction.  My penis quite happily rose to the challenge.

Without even thinking about condoms, the next thing I knew I was on top of Beth, inside of Beth … making love to dear, sweet Beth.

Things were going great … until Lorena’s words sounded my ears …  “I want you to remember me .. fucking you.”  Her words.  The memory haunted me like a banshee.  It crept up on me like a vampire in the early dawn.  And bit me in the crotch.

Suddenly I lost my erection.  

Beth was in a rhythm beneath me, her knees up at her chest, her toes dangling over my head … and her eyes rolled back in her head.  Breathing hard.  A bubbly line of spittal hanging from the corner of her mouth.

Opening my eyes I saw the look of complete and utter disappointment and rage cross her features.  Her own eyes were closed, so I watched every twitch and eye brow motion that signaled clear as a foghorn:  AARGH!  Not now!

“What’s the matter?” she moaned.  “You’re slipping out.”  Aren’t you enjoying it?

How could I, when my mind fogged over with images of Lorena fucking me like a vampire of the morning.  Invading my head.  Sapping away my blood and my manhood.  My very essence.  And all my sperm.

Like an idiot, knowing nothing I could say would be right, I mumbled, “It’s been great, but I’ve really got to get to work now.  I’m going to be late.”

"You can’t be late just once!?” Beth said shaking her head, truly annoyed.

Not giving up, Beth grabbed my penis and tried stroking it back to life.  Oh no, I thought.  The harder she tried.  The more frantically she pulled on my shaft and tugged at my scrotum, instead of becoming aroused, it shrank.  My testicles crawled back inside my body – on their own.

“Sorry,” I said kissing her.  “But I’ve got to go.”

The next night, when I was at Lorena’s for dinner, she did something new.  “Take your clothes off,” she said as she placed a steaming plate of pasta on the table.

“At the dinner table!?” I said.  I’d just gotten done work at the newspaper, and I’d had a long, hard day.  On top of that I had two girlfriends.  Which suddenly felt like a liability rather than an asset.  Two increasingly demanding girlfriends who expected a lot from me.  

Lorena stood at the oven, pouring gravy into a bowl, lowering an eyebrow at me.  She didn’t even have to say a word.  One look.  That’s all it took.  I got up and started to get undressed.

During dinner, she had to turn the conversation to Beth.  “I know you were over her place on Tuesday night,” she said, chewing.  “So?”

“So what? I said playing with my salad.

“So did you try to fuck her?”

"What do you mean?”

“Were you able to?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“You didn’t,” she grinned.  “You couldn’t.”

My face broiled as hot as the steam coming off the green beans.

Lorena chuckled, looking quite pleased.

That night, before we got into bed, Lorena sat on the edge of the bed, and gave me another one of her patented looks.  The one that said, with nod of her head, Get over my lap.  You’re going to get spanked.

Stifling a groan in my throat, naked and none too happy, I crawled up to her feet and draped my body over her thighs.

“You know what this is for, don’t you?”

“No,” I groaned.  “What Mistress?”

Her bare hand landed sharply right down the middle across both buns.  “This is for trying to make love to your other woman.”

Her palm continued to go up and down, punishing, as she spoke.  “This is for … putting your penis in another woman … when you are my property.”

After about 10, she stopped.  Her warm hand pried apart my legs, and began fondling my balls.  Delighted to find me throbbing hard, she placed my erection between the silky folds of her pajama bottom, and closed her legs tightly.

“The next time you try to fuck her …”  Lorena’s fingertips caressed the tender flesh she’d just been beating.  “… you’re not going to be able to get hard.”

Her legs moved side to side, rubbing shimmery satin around my poor pulsating penis.

“See how hard you are right now?  You’re going to wish you could get this hard when you’re with her.  But you’re not going to be able to.  Not when you think about tonight.  About what I did to you.  And what I’m going to do to you.  You’ll never get this kind of treatment from her.  And the really funny part … is that you’d rather I fuck you with my strapon … than fuck some gorgeous, young, teeny bopper.  Do you know why that is?”

“No Mistress,” I gasped.  I was on the edge of cumming, and scared to death that I wouldn’t be able to maintain control.

“It’s because you’re submissive, and I know just what you like,” she chuckled. 

Reaching over and taking a jar of lube from the night stand, she opened it, and scooped out a glob, then rubbing it around the tiny puckered opening within my crack.

“It’s because you’d much rather get fucked by me,” she said happily, “than fuck her.  I know you.  You could marry that woman, and I’ll still know tou better than she’ll ever know you.  I know you better than you know yourself.”

Her finger worked its way knuckle by knuckle inside me, till it found and shook hands with my prostate. 

I groaned and she laughed.  “You sound just like a girl.”

Withdrawing her finger from my bottom, she gave it a sharp slap. 

“Now let’s go to bed.”

She pushed me to the floor.

“But Mistress,” I whimpered.

“What?”

“I’m about to cum.  I was right on the edge.”

“So?” Lorena frowned.  “You don’t get to cum tonight.  That’s your reak punishment.  You keep seeing her.  Lying to her.  And you’ll never cum again.”

I gulped, knees weak, as I got up, and climbed in bed after her.  Where she pushed my head down under the sheets and had me spend the next thirty minutes licking her pussy.  I don’t even think she was really in the mood.  She didn’t even try to have an orgasm.  

She said, “You just calm down.”  When she saw that I was still hard, and trying to touch myself, she kicked my hand with her foot.  “Stop that!  I told you.  No cumming for you tonight.”

As I groaned and continued lapping away between her legs, she lay back among her pillows, watched me and smiled.

“The only way you are going to cum.  Is when I am fucking you with my strapon.  And I don’t feel like fucking you tonight.”

Her eyes narrowed, quite delighted by the look of terror in my eyes.

“Think about that the next time your cutsie little girlfriend wants to go to bed with you.  You won’t be able to have an orgasm … unless I’m fucking you.” 

She grinned, quite happy with the way I’d begun to frantically lick her pussy.

Her words scared me to death.  I didn’t want it to be true.  I tried to block her words out of my head, afraid it would become a self-fulfilling prophesy.  

The next couple of times Beth tried to find alone time with me, I had an excuse all ready and prepared.  

“I’ve got a dentist appointment.”

“We can still watch T.V. together.”

“I’m going to be all doped up.  I’m not going to be in the mood for anything.  Sorry,” I said.

The next week or so, Lorena was delighted to learn that I was making every effort to avoid Beth—and consequently spending a lot more time with her.  During which time she did not abuse me without just cause.

Finally Beth actually turned up on my doorstep one night, unannounced. 

“Why didn’t you call first?” I said, surprised, letting her in.

“Because you keep finding all these other things to do.  You’ve got to see your parents.  You’re taking a night class.  You’ve joined the gym.  There seems to be time for everything in your life .. but me.”

Beth took a step closer, trying to look into my eyes, but I was avoiding hers.

“We haven’t made love in weeks.”

“It hasn’t been weeks!” I exploded, turning my back and walking into the kitchen.  “Do you want something to drink?”

“Don’t try changing the subject.  You’re the master at avoiding a straight answer.  You’re such a typical guy!”

“Whoa!” I cried, opening the fridge and getting some iced tea for myself.  “Calm down.  We can talk about anything you want to talk about.”

“Good!  Because I want to know why you’re avoiding sleeping with me.”

For extra dramatic effect, I spit a mouthful of iced tea out in the sink.  “Beth!  That’s not fair.  We can sleep together tonight … if it’s that important to you.”

“It is important to me,” Beth said.  “For as long as I’ve known you, it’s been great.  It’s just that lately.  I feel like your head isn’t into it.”

“It was only that one time,” I sputtered.

“Yeah well, girls notice those sorts of things.  It made me feel unwanted.  Like I don’t’ even turn you on anymore.”

I gulped, and put down my ice tea.  Wrapping my arms around the beautiful, sweet smelling woman’s shoulders, I gave her a heartfelt hug.  “Don’t say that.  How can you say things like that?  I’ve been a little stressed lately.  That’s all.  It has nothing to do with you.”

Tears rolled from her blue eyes, like mint jewels.  “I try!  I know I’m not very experienced.  But I do try. I really try.”

“You’re wonderful,” I soothed, kissing her wet cheeks.  “How could any man in the world not want to be with you?  You’re incredible.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem to want me. And I haven’t been feeling all that incredible lately,” Beth cried.

Later, as we prepared for bed, my heart pounded.  I steeled my mind NOT to think about Lorena.  She would not invade my thoughts tonight.  I had to keep her far from my mind, or…

Too late!

As we climbed into bed, each of smiling at each other, I was petrified. 

We kissed, and that was great.  Good.  This is good.  Beth is an incredible kisser.  I always loved that about her.  That will turn me on.  That will get me raging.  That will make me want to …

Beth’s hand went right to my underwear.  Damn it!  What is wrong with women these days!  They’re so aggressive!  She grabbed my limp junk and began squeezing it.  Trying to resuscitate it.  Breathe into it some life.  But no.  It remained lifeless and clammy as one of Perdue’s uncooked, slimy drum sticks.

Beth’s kisses became desperate.  Think of something.  Distract her!  Till can come up with a plan to get out of this…

I pushed her hand away and made my own attack on her underwear.  She moaned as I began tugging down her panties and pulled her legs apart.

Although I ate Lorena’s pussy several times a week, I’d never once so much as even thought about going down on Beth.  Tonight was the night.  I extricated myself from her arms and lips, and pushing the sheet back, kissed my way down her breasts and belly to her neatly shaven little patch of hair.  

Beth looked at me with a mixture of confusion and disappointment.  

Pressing her knees as far apart as they would go, I made camp down between thighs, and began to kiss, lick and make out with her pussy lips.  It seemed a lot smaller than Lorena’s.  More compact.  My tongue didn’t have to drill down between the folds … Beth’s little button was in an entirely different spot, almost on the surface.  And although she got wet, and I could feel her clit swell like a baby penis, still, she grabbed at my hair, and pulled me back into her arms.

“You didn’t like it?”

“I loved it,” Beth said, “and I want you to do that again for me sometime.  But right now, I need you to make love to me.”

Shit.  I should have been trying to get myself hard while I was …

Looking nervous, like she was expecting bad news, Beth once more grabbed at my crotch, and began trying to stroke, squeeze, pump life back into our sex life.

Closing my eyes, I tore down the walls that forbid me thinking about Lorena.  No, instead I’d use Lorena.  I’d use her to get hard. 

Across the black canvas of my mind, I pictured a B&W porno movie consisting of Lorena, Jonathan and I…  I imagined her the way she’d looked the last night she’d made love to me.  How stunning she’d looked when she let that robe fall, and there she was in that black merry widow, with garter belts, stockings and with that well-viened piece of life-like plastic dangling between her legs. 

Beth sighed in my ear.  My mind’s eye had been so intent on Lorena, I’d almost forget I was in bed with her!  She cooed and snuggled closer to me, as my penis swelled upwards in her frantically fumbling fingers.

This was going to work.  Just mustn’t let Beth distract.  I kept my eyes closed, and continued to picture that night … that glorious night last week, when Lorena had handed me that frilly little teddy, told me to put it on, and then “Get on your tummy.” 

I rolled on top of Beth, imaging Lorena rolling on top of me.

I slid my cock inside of her … imagining I was the one on the bottom.  I was the one being filled.  I was the one getting fucked.

It worked.  It worked for a night.  

Nor did I ever tell Lorena that I made love to Beth that one last time.  I couldn’t.  It was better just to find a way to end it, rather than talk about any of this.

Whenever Beth called, I dodged her.  The next time she came banging on my door.  I didn’t answer it.

After avoiding her completely for three days, I finally called her.

“What’s wrong?” Beth asked.  From the sound of her voice, I knew she’d been crying.  “Why are you doing this?”

“There’s nothing wrong!” I cried into the phone.  No, I didn’t kill anyone!  No, I didn’t want to break up with you.  “I’ve just been busy.”

“Too busy to call the woman you’ve been going out with the past year.  The woman you were up till recently sleeping with?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said.  “I’ve just got a lot on my plate right now.  That’s all,” I lied.

Keeping her at arm’s distance, not allowing the conversation ever to turn to anything serious—like a discussion about us, I avoided the relationship to death.

Beth noticed the change.  But we never talked about it.  Never officially broke up.  We just faded apart.  

I couldn’t talk about.  What was I going to say?  I’d rather get fucked by the math teacher over at Philly College?  I was too young.  Too afraid to admit anything. 

I couldn’t even admit to myself that I was submissive. I was just exploring the boundaries … or some other rationalization.

Beth never knew the truth.  Knowing her, good soul that she is, she probably blamed the entire breakup on herself. 

At least it was over. With minimum fuss.

I’d just broken up with one of the most desirable women on the planet in favor of a Dominant woman twice my age.  What was wrong with me?  Or so I wondered.  

God, I was such an ass.  Maybe Lorena’s fucking me in the ass was God’s ironic justice for the way I’d treated Beth.

Much later, years later, a part of me ached over what I’d given up in Beth.  I’d thrown aside many a man’s dream girl.  I’d bypassed a very safe, secure future, in favor of spending my days and nights doing chores and rubbing the ankles of a woman my mother’s age.

And yet, another part of me felt relieved.  At least I would no longer have to lie to Beth.  And hopefully Lorena would now have no reason to punish me.

Yeah, right.

Chapter 7
Fairy Godmother

When I was young, about 12 years old, I had a dream one night that shook me to the core, and in a way, changed my life.

I dreamt that I was a girl. 

Not a boy dressed as a girl, but a real girl.

In the dream my family was having a reunion and picnic at our local park.  Everyone was there, Aunt Eunice and Uncle Bill.  My cousins Jake and Ginny ran around between the adults playing tag. It was so real you could smell the hamburgers sizzling on the grill.

And there I was, walking among everyone wearing a dress.  A pretty, Sunday dress with a puffy skirt pushed up by a layer of crinolines, patent leather shoes, white gloves and a little bonnet just like the ones my sister wore to church on Easter Sunday.

The strangest thing about the dream was that no one looked at me funny.  As I walked around the picnic, I expected everyone to laugh and make fun of me.  But no one did.  Friends, parents, relatives, all treated me as if I truly was a girl, and everyone knew it.  Except me.

Even though I had this dream 24 years ago, the nervousness and fear of wearing girl’s clothes, while surrounded by all the people that meant something to me in the world—is as clear to me as if I dreamt it last night.  

And it is a dream that has repeated itself many times over the years in different forms.  Half the time I dreamt that I was a boy.  And the other half, I dreamt that I was a girl.  

As I went through adolescence and my teen years, the dreams became more sexual.  I dreamt that I was in school dressed as a girl, and swooning with the other girls over Michael Bates, the captain of the football team.  Or I dreamt that I was a girl making out with different boys I knew from school, Kenny Wilkins or Ricky Brown.  

Sometimes they were accompanied by embarrassing “nocturnal emissions.”  I’d wake up with a hardon and gooey mess in my underwear.

All of which confused the hell out of me growing up.  Nor did I ever tell a soul about my dreams.  They were just too embarrassing.  I didn’t understand them.  Everyone has masculine and feminine characteristics.  Was my subconscious simply trying to express my feminine side through my dreams?  Or was it a symptom of something more serious—was I really a woman trapped inside a man’s body?  Or were these latent homosexual fears working their way to the surface?

I didn’t have a clue.  So all my life I’d had these strange dreams, kept them to myself, suppressed them, and prayed they’d go away.  But they never did.

One night as Lorena and I ate dinner at her kitchen table, she said to me, “Do you have any fantasies?  I feel like we’re always doing what I want to do.  Which is how it should be,” she said taking a bite of green beans.  “But you’ve never really expressed any fantasies of your own.”

“I don’t really have any fantasies.”

Lorena looked at me like I was hiding something.  “Everyone has fantasies.  What do you think about the nights you’re at your apartment and you jerk off?  Because I know you do.  Every man does.  What do you do?  Do you look at porn?  What kind?”

Now that Lorena had brought the strapon into our bed, I fantasized about what it would be like to be dressed like a woman, and …  

I shuddered.  Unable to speak it.  It was all just too embarrassing to admit.  “Why would I look at porn?”  A lie.  “When I have you.”

"Really?”

“If I want to get excited, all I have to do is think about the different things we’ve done together.  Who needs fantasies when all I have to do is remember you blindfolding me and stripping me down in front of your girlfriend, or making love to me with your strapon.”

“That’s it? That’s what gets you hard?”

“Yes.  I think about you.”  Which was true.

"Nothing else?  You’re not keeping any secrets from me?  Because if you are, now is your chance to tell me.  Otherwise…”

“Well, I would like to make love to you again.”  We’d been together for nine months, and we’d only had actual intercourse once.  In front of her husband Bob.  That was it.  And ever since I’d been pleading with her for us to also have a “normal” intimate relationship.  At least occasionally.  At first it was because I really did want to make love to her—now I begged for it, mostly because I was afraid I was losing something.  My male ego.  My sense of masculinity.  My mojo.

Lorena laughed.  “Sorry honey, that was a once in a lifetime performance,” she said reaching across the table and patting my cheek.  “That’s one fantasy that will not be repeated.  But at least you did get to do it once.  Be happy about that.”

I grumbled and played with my mashed potatoes.  Now that Beth was entirely out of the picture, I feared more than ever that I’d lose all ability to function as a man with a woman.

"There isn’t anything else you day dream about?  Something kinky that turns you on?  Something you’ve dreamt about and never gotten a chance to explore?  Because if there is, now’s your chance to tell me.  I may not ask again.” 

“Mm…” I thought. Did I dare tell her about my dreams?

“There must be something you’re curious about. Maybe you’d like to suck a man’s cock while I watch.  Or maybe you’d like to know what it’s like to get fucked by a real man …”

“Stop!” I cried.  I remembered how she’d made her husband suck my cock, and me fuck him. “Those sound more like your fantasies.”

Lorena shrugged. “Well, the way you like the strapon, sometimes I wonder if maybe you’ll leave me for a man one day.”

“Lorena!  You know I’m not gay!”

“Well, there must be something you fantasize about,” Lorena said eyeing me shrewdly.  “I know you.  I know when you’re keeping something from me.  What is it?  You don’t have to be afraid.  You can tell me.  Look at all the things I tell you!  I tell you everything!”

“Well, there is one thing,” I found myself saying.  Oh no.

“I knew it,” she grinned.  “Go on.  Tell me.”

I winced and found my heart racing.  “I’ve never told anyone this before …”

“You want to have sex with a man.  I knew it!” she cried.

“No!  That’s not it!”  

“Well, what is it then?”

How did I tell her?  How did I admit to her something that I had a hard time admitting to myself?  

“If you don’t tell me, you know me, I’ll paddle it out of you.”

“All my life I’ve been had these dreams,” I blurted out. 

“What kind of dreams?” Lorena asked with genuine interest. “Wet dreams?”

Squirming uncomfortably, I replied, “Well, I don’t have wet dreams any more.  But I had them when I was younger—dreaming about this.”

“What happened in the dreams?  Tell me everything.”

"W-Well,” I stammered, and told her about the first dream I’d had when I was 12 years old, of being at a family picnic dressed like a girl.

“And you still have dreams like this?  That you’re dressed as a woman?”

“It’s not only that I’m dressed as a woman,” I said helplessly, “In my dreams, I am a woman! It’s like a nightmare!” I cried.  “And I’ve been having dreams like that since I was a kid.  I don’t understand it. Do you have dreams that you’re a man?”

“No, can’t say that I do.”

So this wasn’t a common phenomena.  There was something wrong with me.  I was sick.  I bowed my head and rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

“So that’s it?”

“Yes.  You don’t know how I’ve agonized over this for year.  I’ve always been so afraid to tell anyone…”

“So that’s your fantasy?  You want to dress like a woman?”

“I don’t know,” I said nervously.  “I guess I’ve always wondered what it would be like…” to be the girl in my dreams.  “But I’m afraid.”  Afraid I might like it.  I squinted and looked at her, expecting her to laugh at me.  “So what do you think?”

My Mistress grinned gleefully.  “I think we need to go shopping!”

“Lorena!  It’s not that easy!”

“Of course it is!  I know just where to take you.  We’ll buy you a dress.”

I was both delighted by Lorena’s supportive response, but at the same time, felt a goosebumps of fear ripple up my spine at the thought of going out in public with Lorena to a woman’s clothing store.  Talk about nightmares!  My heart pounded in my chest like a bass drum.  Here was the moment of truth.  I’d just blurted out my most private thoughts.  Did I have the courage to go through with it?

“I-I don’t know…” I stammered.  “Maybe some things are better left as fantasy.”

Lorena reached across the table and took my hand. “It’s all right. There’s nothing wrong with this.  You think you’re the first man in the world that ever fantasized about putting on a dress?  I’ve met plenty of crossdressers before.  Plenty.  Did I ever tell you about Carl?  Or should I say Katie.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“We grew up together.  He was an annoying kid.  Whenever he got on my nerves I would push him around.  He’s the first person I ever slapped in the face.  When I think about it, those were probably my first really dominant experiences.  Well, when we got older he started dating this girlfriend of mine, Connie, and she liked all sorts of kinky stuff.  She told me she had him wearing panties and negligees to bed, and the next thing you know he’s going out in public that way—wearing dresses and high heels.  And the funny thing is, he didn’t look bad!  Certainly better than Connie did, because she was as big as a blimp, and he was a skinny little thing…”

“So what happened?” I asked curiously.

“Well, eventually he wanted to dress like a woman all the time.  They’d go out to these gay bars in center city, and the next thing you know Katie wants to start performing in drag shows … men are hitting on him … and naturally they ended up divorced.”

“Oh,” I said tonelessly.  Not exactly a happy ending.

“I haven’t spoken to them in years, but the last I heard Katie was living with some guy named Victor, and supposedly very happy.”

“Look, forget it,” I blurted out.  “This is sounding worse and worse.”

“It’s all right!” Lorena cried.  “I think you should try it.  Especially if you’ve been dreaming about it for all these years.  Who knows, maybe you’ll find out that you’re really a beautiful woman … and you’ll run off and join a drag show … or become one of those Las Vegas showgirls … you’ll run into Wayne Newton at the bar at Caesar’s Palace … the two of you will fall head over heels in love with one another, and you’ll live happily ever after—as his wife.”

“Lorena!  I only wanted to try it once,” I blurted out.  “To see what I would look like.  I have no intentions of …”  I didn’t even like Wayne Newton!

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Lorena beamed. “I was only teasing.”

“I would probably look ridiculous.”

“Well, we’re going to find out.  We’re going to have fun with this.”

“It doesn’t mean I want to sex with a man!” 

“Of course you don’t honey,” Lorena grinned, taking my hands and patting them.  “Here is what we are going to do.  Saturday I am going to take you to this little boutique in New Jersey called Flirt.  It’s a young woman’s shop.  We’ll pick you out a few things.  Bring them back here.  And you can get dressed.  How does that sound?”

Feeling slightly light-headed, I whispered, “Fine.”  What if I did end up with Wayne Newton?

“We’ll buy you a dress … and some heels … and maybe a bra and some pantyhose of your own.”

A lump grew in my throat.  “Couldn’t I just wear some of your things..?”

“No!” Lorena snapped.  “Beside your not my size.”  Plus, this way Lorena got to tease the shit out of me by taking me to a woman’s store.  Was I insane?

“I-I don’t know about this…”

“Stop it!  It’s going to be so much fun,” she said grinning, really warming up to the idea.  “If we have time, we can even go over to Fredericks of Hollywood and buy you some lingerie to wear to bed.  You’re so slender.  You’ll probably look adorable.  Of course you’re going to have to shave your legs …”

“What?  Who said anything about shaving my legs?!” I cried, standing, wanting to run and hide, but instead beginning to clear the table.

“You don’t want to look ridiculous do you?  With hairy legs in a dress.  Look.  If you want to do this, you’ve got to do it right.  You just leave everything to me.”

“I suppose,” I said glumly, collecting our dirty glasses, already regretting ever opening my mouth.

“Fix me some tea, will you?” she said handing me her dirty plate and silverware. “And don’t look so glum!  Trust me.  You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” I said fearfully.  Did I?  “I just don’t want to buy anything ridiculous.  I’m not interested in running around in fetish clothing, or anything kinky like that.  I just want to wear everyday girl’s clothes.  Nothing weird.”

“You don’t want to dress up like my little French maid … or in a cheerleader’s outfit … or maybe as my little whore?  In a really short skirt cut up to your ass with some garter belts showing and 5” stiletto heels?”

“Nothing like that!  I just want to see what I look like … as a normal girl.  That’s all.”

My Mistress patted my bottom affectionately as I began to fill the sink with suds.  “All right, all right.  But you are wearing a dress.  Your very first dress.”

"First?”  How about my last?  “I just want to try this once.  That’s all!  So I don’t see why we have to spend a lot of money.  Seems like a bit of a waste…”

Lorena laughed at me like I was a child.  “Sweetie.  If you’re like most crossdressers I’ve ever met—this will not be the last dress you ever wear.”

I blushed.  “I’m not Katie!”

“I didn’t say you were,” she smiled, enjoying my discomfort immensely.

“I don’t know about all this.”  My heart beat double-time.  This was all new to me, and already I was wondering at the wisdom of sharing my deepest darkest secret with Lorena.  God only knew where all of this was heading.  But the thought of actually taking a step toward living a dream, had my pulse racing.

That Saturday afternoon, true to her word, Lorena directed as I drove us over the Tacony Palmyra Bridge into New Jersey.  To a young woman’s clothing store on Route 73 called Flirt.

Inside a young 13 year old girl and her mother were shopping for the girl’s first training bra.  The woman blurted it out to Lorena, and the poor young girl got so flustered, she turned around and fled through the clothing racks to hide.  Lorena and the mother laughed.

“Well, we’re on a similar mission,” Lorena said not bothering to lower her voice in the slightest, “To buy my boyfriend his first dress.”

I felt my face reddening.  My cheeks felt like they were positively glowing.

The woman looked a bit confused at first and then nodded and smiled, like maybe we were buying it for a Halloween party or the school play.  Then the woman looked at the way I was ready to run and hide just like her daughter, and her eyes seemed to widen.  But instead of screaming for security, she only nodded and the two women exchanged glances as if they were old friends sharing a secret joke.

Surveying the aisles nervously, I couldn’t help but notice I was the only male in the store.  Everywhere the eye could see were summer blouses, hand bags, dresses, lingerie … and female shoppers.  Many of them my own age.  What if we ran into someone I knew?  Someone from college?  From the newspaper?

Without a care in the world, Lorena led me briskly to the Young Woman’s section and began flipping through dresses and coat hangers like she was flipping through a magazine.  A slinky looking red dress with a slit up the thigh … a pink with white polka dots summer dress that looked like something Donna Reed wore in the 50’s … a black velvet cocktail dress.  

I glanced around, hoping people would just think that Lorena was shopping for herself, and I was just along for the ride.

Lorena lifted the little black cocktail dress up off the rack—and held it up against me.  “I don’t know…  This is a size 8.  It looks a bit small.  But the material is stretchy.  It’s got nylon in it,” she said examining the tag.  “What do you think?”

I think I’d been insane to ever to confide in her my dreams, and wanted to die.  I pushed the dress away.  “You’re embarrassing me.”

Lorena’s smiled disappeared and her eyes hardened like glittering diamonds.  “Don’t you dare slap my hands away!”  Once more she held the dress hanger up against my chest, pulling the sleeves out over my arms, trying to see if it would fit.  

Unable to stand up to her, I just stood there, arms at my sides, embarrassed to the core.

“Do you want long sleeve or short sleeve? Or no sleeve? Do you want something backless?  Do you like the spaghetti straps?  Lace?  How about this shrug? It goes with the dress.”  She paused and laughed at my expression.

I wanted her to lower her voice, but didn’t dare say so.  A woman my age in the next aisle glanced over at us, but kept on walking.  

“Honey, you should see the look on your face.  Priceless.  You look like that poor little teenage girl that just ran off and hid.”

“Lorena,” I hissed, pushing her arms away as she tried to hold a long pink gown up against me for size.  “Please don’t do that!  People will know!”

My Mistress laughed gaily.  “Darling!  If you want to dress like a girl, you’re going to have to get over worrying about what other people think.”  She pushed my arms aside, and held the pink dress up against me—examining it much longer than was necessary, just to see me squirm.

“I didn’t say I wanted to go out in public dressed this way!  I’m just curious to see what I would look like.”  This had been a horrible idea.  “Why can’t we just go home, and buy a few things mail order?  You know, shop through the Sear’s catalog or something?” 

“Because you get a much better fit this way,” Lorena chuckled.  Because it gave her an opportunity to embarrass and humiliate me to the core.  She put the pink dress back on the rack.  “Pink is your color, but I don’t like that particular style.  Will you just relax!  You’re so uptight.  Try to have fun.  This is your fantasy.”  

She pinched my cheek as she passed me, leading the way on an attack of another rack of dresses, size 10’s.  “Hold on to these,” she said, handing me a red, beige and another black dress.

She held another dress up to me, this one ankle length, orange with white stripes across the bodice.  “I can’t tell if this will fit,” she said, “without knowing your size.  The only way to make sure it fits right and looks good on you—is for you to try it on.”

I wanted to dive over “3 for $5” bargain priced panty table and start running for the door. “Lorena!  I’m not trying anything on,” I whispered, panic stricken that she might actually be serious.  “Let’s just take the black dress.  That looks fine.”  Who cared if it fit at that point.  Let’s just get out of here!  I felt like a stranger in a strange land, like a man in the women’s bathroom or locker room—and I was terrified that I would be discovered.

Giggling, wiggling her finger playfully, Lorena beckoned me to follow her to the two sales women at the cash register.  Both were dressed impeccably, in blazers, white blouses, and tight fitting, calf length skirts that matched their jackets. The one with a nametag “Ruth” was about Lorena’s age, in her 40’s, with a pair of glasses hanging across her voluminous bosom, while the one named “Karla,” appeared about 35, was young and pretty, with her hair pulled back tightly in a bun revealing a set of simple pearl earrings.

Lorena waved a gaggle of dresses in her hand at the two women and at the things I carried.  “He’d like to try a few things on,” Lorena announced to the older woman, Ruth.

The woman picked up her glasses, put them on, and looked us over.  Then said, without the slightest hint of anything derogatory in her tone, she said, “Of course.  Karla?”

Looking very professional in her business suit, Karla led us to a row of booths at the back of the store.  She unlocked a door, showed us inside and closed it behind us.

Lorena sighed and smiled.  “See?  No big deal.  Now take off everything except for your panties.”  

My heart racing, certain that the older one was calling the cops at that very minute, hands shaking, and blushing from head to toe, I did as told, pushing the buttons through the loops in my shirt.  I gulped as I heard doors opening and closing, and Karla lead the mother and her 13 year old daughter into the booth beside us. 

Lorena smiled at me delightedly as I stripped down to my underwear and stood there, rubbing my arms, trembling and vulnerable.

“Here,” my Mistress said, handing me the red dress.  “Try this on.  It’s an 8.  It might be a little small.”

How exactly did one put a dress on?  Awkwardly, I tried pulling the dress over my head like it was a t-shirt.  It wasn’t fitting, and got caught on my nose.

“No, no,” Lorena said.  “Not like that.  Unzip the back, and step into it.”

Following her instructions, I undid the zipper, stepped into the silky material, and felt an odd tingle shiver up my legs, over my ass, and up my spine.  Lorena grabbed the shoulder straps, and helped pull them up over my arms.

As we both gazed at my reflection in a full length mirror, Lorena stood behind me, fighting with the zipper.  With my short hair and my unshaven legs, I looked ridiculous.  “I look awful!”

“Don’t worry.  I have a wig at home I want you to try on.  Once you shave your legs, and I do your makeup and your hair—you’ll look entirely different.  All we want to do right now, is figure out your size.  This one’s too small.  Take it off.  Try this blue one.  It’s a 10.”

Lorena put me through my paces like I was a show horse.  I dressed and undressed a half dozen times, modeling a blue party dress … a red and yellow summer dress … a two-piece yellow skirt and matching blouse …

“No the shoulders are too tight,” Lorena mused as she twisted and turned me back and forth like I was a mannequin.  “No, the hips are too loose … I don’t like the neckline on this one.  The sleeves are too short.”

After she’d helped me out of the last dress, she said flatly: “I’m going to take these back.  You stay put.  No.  Put your pants down.  You don’t need to get dressed.  Stay just the way you are … in your panties.  I’ll be right back with some more things for you to try on.”  Her eyes crinkled merrily as she waved goodbye.  “Don’t go anywhere.  I’ll be right back.”

My cheeks glowed as red as my skimpy, sheer panties.  I shivered and rubbed my hands up and down my arms nervously, listening to the mother putting her 13 year old daughter through the same hoops that Lorena had me jumping through.

Terrified that a shopper would walk into the booth, I stood in the corner with my back turned, hiding my face.  I have a good imagination, and images of my sister … my Aunt Grace … or one of the female reporters at the newspaper suddenly pushing open the door finding me here, kept invading my mind, leaving me trembling in sheer terror.

After fifteen minutes, Lorena finally returned.  With Karla!  The attractive saleswoman filed in behind my Mistress with a tape measure slung around her neck.

“I want to get your measurements,” Lorena announced.  “So we can figure out your size.”

Horrified, using both hands to hide my crotch I stood there with my mouth open, and no words coming out.  

Lorena’s eyes crinkled merrily, delighted that she’d taken me completely by surprise.  “The 8’s were too small,” she explained.  “So was the 10.  But the 12 was too big.” 

Karla stood there staring at my nude form critically.  “Like most men, his shoulders are wider than his hips…” she mused.

I stood there absolutely stung, as if shot up with adrenalin.  My heart felt like it was going to burst through my chest and my knees felt so weak, I needed to sit down. Something sounding like a cross between a squeak and a baby gurgle came out of my mouth.  

“Move your hands out of the way!” Lorena snapped.  The same way my mom did when she wanted to motivate me in a hurry, she gave me an angry look that brooked no rebellion.  “So she can use the tape.”

Shaking, I forced myself to pry my hands away from the front of my red lace panties … a pair so sheer I was completely on display.

Acting quite the professional, Karla did not even seem to look at my penis.  She stepped right up close, her face only inches from my own, and reached around my back with her measuring tool.

She pulled the line taught over my nipples, lining up the ends and examining the numbers.  “Thirty-eight inch chest,” Karla announced.  “You probably want to go with a 38B cup, if you’re looking for a bra.”

She lowered the cloth tape to around my waist.  The material slithered across my skin sending goosebumps rippling up my spine. 

There I stood, practically naked, before two fully clothed older women, horrified about what this strange woman must think about me.

“I feel so embarrassed,” I managed to whisper.

Without even looking at me, studying the digits on her tape, Karla said, “It’s all right honey.  We get men in here all the time buying women’s clothes.  They’re some of our best customers.  We really don’t care who wears them.  We’re here to sell clothes—not to judge you.”

I tried to smile, though I still wanted to hide under my pile of male clothes in the corner of the floor.  “Thank you,” was about all I could manage.

“Twenty-nine inch waist.  Wow.  What a lot of women wouldn’t give to have your waistline,” the saleswoman grinned.  

I looked over Karla’s shoulder at my Mistresses’ smiling face. Her eyes caught and held mine.  Her root beer brown pupils danced happily, as she positively got wet over embarrassing me in front of other women.

“Don’t faint,” Lorena added, enjoying my discomfort immensely.  “You’re moving your hands again.  Lift them up.  So she can measure your hips.”

My hands had instinctively went back to covering my crotch, trying to hide my poor shriveled manhood.  I was horrified about the thought of suddenly springing a spontaneous hardon … and at the same time terrified … that I wouldn't, and my penis would continue to remain soft and feminine in my gauzy red lingerie.

The attractive saleswoman knelt eye level with my crotch, and wrapped the measuring line around my hips … holding it right over the bulge in my skimpy French bikinis—without touching me.

I swallowed, unsure what my wayward penis might do—praying it did not embarrass me further.  Lorena’s eyes met mine.  Her’s were glistening, like her sopping wet pussy, as she basked in my shame.

“Thirty-four inch hips,” Karla said standing.  “38-29-34.  Just like I said.  You’re broad in the shoulders.  No wonder an 8 is too small.  A size 10 will fit you in the hips and the waist, but it’ll be too small in the shoulders…”

“Unless we go with something strapless,” Lorena interjected.

“Yes, that would work,” Karla said, completely businesslike.  “But if you want something with sleeves, I’d go with a 12.”

“But then it’s going to be big in the hips.”

“You could always try a padded girdle,” Karla shrugged.

I stood there speechless as they discussed my dress size.

“You know women’s sizes,” Karla said. “Sometimes a 10 is a 12 and a 12 is an 10.  You just never know.  Your best bet is always to try it on.”

“You have no idea what we’re talking about?” Lorena asked me, grinning.

“You know,” Karla said studying my half naked form.  “With his chest size and those narrow hips, you might even want to consider a 2-piece.  Blouse and skirt.”

“That’s an good idea,” Lorena said, “but I really do want to get him his first dress.  I’m going to go out and look at some strapless 10’s and have him try a few more things on.  This is a big help. Where are you manners?” she snapped at me.  “Can’t you say thank you?”

“Thank you,” I whispered, awkwardly, my hands once more hiding my limp dick.

With a shrug, as if she saw men in panties all the time, Karla said, “You’re quite welcome.  Call me if you need anything,” and closed the door behind her.

Grinning devilishly, Lorena moved in close, wrapped and arm around my waist with one hand, and felt the crotch of my panties with the other.  “I’m surprised you didn’t get hard.  I wanted to see you poking right out of the tops of those panties.  But you didn’t!  When I don’t want you to get hard—you’re hard all the time. But when I want you to get hard—you’re a softie.”

“You had me scared to death,” I gasped, as her hand stroked my member through the sheer material.  I went up on tip-toes as my body quickly responded.

She looked down, chuckling as my penis poked through the front of the waistband.  “There he is,” she chuckled.  She patted my balls sharply, swatting my testicles so hard that it nearly knocked the wind out of me.

“Now don’t you go anywhere,” she laughed, and pecked me on the lips.  “And keep your clothes off!  I’ll be right back with some more things for you to try on.”

“Yes Mistress,” I whispered, once more hiding my crotch with my hands.

Grinned merrily, she left once more, leaving me trembling in fear and excitement.

I stood there, listening to the doors opening and closing around me, as mother’s and their daughters … and young women my age … banged in and out of the booths everywhere.  

Fully aroused in my panties, feeling like a complete fool, terrified that some 13 year old was going to come stumbling into my booth by mistake, I cursed the day I ever opened my mouth to Lorena about my fantasy.  Look where it had led?  I should have known.

Around me female voices chattered, laughed and argued … doors opened and closed … and I stood there cursing Lorena for taking so long.  Who would she bring back this time?  Ruth?  My sister?  Beth?

Lorena eventually returned with an armload of sleeveless size 10 dresses of every shape and style, from a black and white A-line dress, to an ankle length beaded gown, to a puffy party dress with crinolines under the skirts.

“Let me look at you,” Lorena said, studying my body in a mid-thigh length rhinestone studded party dress.  “You would wear something like this out to the clubs,” she said.  “Not really at home.  It’s actually very cute on you.”

I looked down at the glittering sparkles swaying around my hips.  The material was so different from men’s clothes.  It shimmered around me like a waterfall.  Moving.  Alive.  Screaming with personality, and even sexuality. 

So different from boy clothes.

“I like this one,” I venured.

“You would.  It doesn’t even come down to your knees.  You slut.”

I blushed.  “I just think it’s … pretty, that’s all.  Don’t I get a say in this?”

“No, you don’t,” Lorena said simply.  “Take it off.  You are not getting that dress. I can see it already.  You’ll be wanting to wear it to the gay bars just like Katie.  And the next thing you’ll I know, you’ll be leaving me for some guy named Victor.”

“Lorena!” I said, quickly stripping the dress off. “That’s not fair!  I don’t want to go to any bars!”  Which was the truth.  The thought of just wearing the dress was enough.  Wearing it in public … struck me as frightening as streaking naked down Broad Street at rush hour.

Lorena just nodded her head, collected this batch of dresses, and went back out into the store looking for more.  She came back grumbling, “I’m not so sure I like this anymore.  I’m doing all the work.  But I think I found something.  This could be the one.  But I want you to try these other ones on first.”

She handed me brightly colored summer dress, the kind of thing you’d wear to a swanky picnic.  

“A-Alright,” I sighed, stepping into the dress and pulling it up. 

I wanted to look at myself in the full length mirror, but was afraid.  I glancing at myself nervously and winced.  With my short hair and hairy legs, I looked a bit ridiculous.  “My hair,” I said, running my fingers through my bangs.

“Take that off,” Lorena said, helping me out of the dress, “Just wait till we get home.  I’ll fix your hair.  Try this one.”

After trying on three more dresses, we finally came to the last, the one Lorena liked best—a simple black velvet evening dress that came down to just below the knee and left my arms and shoulders bare.”

"Perfect,” Lorena sighed. “This is the one. Do you like it?”

“Sure,” I said.  And I did.  But I also wanted to get out of there too.

“A woman can never have too many black dresses,” she said helping slid the spaghetti straps down over my shoulders.  “Plus, it comes down below the knee.  I want you to be a lady.  Not some slut—wearing that short, sequin party dress you were drooling over.”

“I was not drooling!” I whined, suddenly feeling thankful for Lorena’s help. After I got dressed back in my boy clothes, I hugged her close, and kissed her face a dozen times, surprising her.

She smiled happily.  “All right, all right.  Let’s pay for this and go.  See, it wasn’t so bad after all, was it?”

Before the day was through, we also stopped at the mall where we went into Frederick’s of Hollywood and bought a cream colored bra and panties, and a package of pantyhose.  I was scared to death that Lorena would ask the young saleswomen to fit me for a bra—but thankfully she stated that Karla had declared I was a 38B.  

Then she took me into a busy shoe store, where Lorena insisted that I try on several pairs of women’s shoes for size.  Again, I wanted to just buy anything, but with an amused grin, my Mistress sat me down right beside two college age young women, and ordered me to remove my shoes and socks and try on several pairs of heels.

My face blushed scarlet as I sensed the two girls staring and exchanging glances.

“It fits fine,” I whispered, quickly pulling a black open-toed 3” heel off my foot.

“Not so fast,” Lorena chuckled.  “Put the other one on as well, and let me see you walk in it.”

“Lorena!” I hissed.

“Just do it!” she snapped.  “Or I will embarrass  you even worse.  You know I can do it too.”

For me, that was probably the absolute most mortifying part of the day.  Even more humiliating than standing in my panties in front of Karla as she took my measurements.  At least Karla had said she was used to having men in her store. 

There I was, dressed in a man’s jeans and t-shirt, teetering on a pair of 3” heels—with two girls my age looking at me like I was a pedophile … like I was a complete and utter wimp … a drag queen … transvestite … a sissy.  Or so they made me feel.  My first bitter taste of what really being a woman is all about.

I wanted to shrink and hide as Lorena sat imperiously watching critically as she made me walk back and forth.  My first steps in heels.  In a woman’s shoe store.  Thank goodness only Lorena spotted it when my ankles buckled and I nearly toppled.  Once Lorena was satisfied, I could not get them off my feet fast enough.

“At least we got something that fits,” Lorena said as we exited the store with me carrying a bag containing the shoe box.

I didn’t say a word.  I was still shell shocked by what had just happened.

At home that night after dinner, when I had finished doing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen, Lorena bid me go upstairs and take a shower. “Shave everything.  Your armpits, your chest, your legs.”

“Why do I have to…?” I protested.

Holding up her hand, Lorena cut me off.  “Just do as I say.  Upstairs and in the shower.  I want your body completely hairless.”

“But..!”

“No buts!  Just wait till you try on your pantyhose for the first time.  Trust me.  You’ll enjoy it a lot more with nice smooth legs.  Now just go do it!”

When I was finished, and Lorena satisfied, she handed me my new bra and panties, and bid me put them on.  I did so, awkwardly, with Lorena showing me how to fix the bra snaps.

Feeling ridiculous, but enjoying the sight of my smooth, sleek body, and feeling strangely sexy, I followed Lorena into the bathroom, where she sat me on the lid of the toilet. 

Opening her makeup kit, she ordered:  “Close your eyes.”  She brushed crimson eye shadow around the crease over my eye … eyeliner on my lids … mascara on my lashes … blush on my cheekbones … and powder across my face.

“Pucker,” she said, doing my lipstick with a shade of mauve.

“Can I look?!” I asked.  I was dying to see myself in the mirror.

“Not yet!  You have to get the full effect.  Come into the bedroom and let’s get you dressed.  Then I want try a few wigs on you and fix your hair.”

Feeling like a model at a fashion show, wondering if this is what Beth used to go through when people took care of her hair and makeup and told her what to wear, I followed Lorena’s every instruction.  Sitting on the edge of her bed, I pointed my toes, and worked a pair of nude Leggs stockings up my freshly shaven calves.

Lorena was right!  The T.V. commercials don’t lie!  The sensations rippling like goosebumps up my thighs were sheer energy!

My Mistress grinned and pointed at the indentation in my panties.  “Look at you.   You’re obviously enjoying your fantasy come true.”

Embarrassing as it was to admit, she was right.  For some reason, just putting on my first pair of pantyhose had a certain appendage rigid as a tent peg!

“Here,” Lorena said taking my dress off the hanger and handing it to me.

Balancing on one leg, I stepped into my little black velvet dress, and pulled the spaghetti straps up and over my shoulders.

Lorena smoothed down the material over my velvet flanks.  “It fits you nice.”  Then her hand strayed across the noticeable bulge in the front of my crotch.  “Except for right here.  That’s hardly very ladylike.”

“I-I can’t help it,” I blushed.

“Lift your dress!” she snapped.  “I’ll show you what to do.  You’re going to need to learn how to tuck.”

As I stood there, with my dress hiked up, Lorena pulled open my pantyhose and panties, and reaching inside, grabbed my erection, and twisted it down and back between my legs.

I howled in agony.  “That hurts!”

“Then make it go down.”

“I can’t!”  

“If you want to look like a woman, you cannot have any unsightly bulges.”

In the battle of wills between Lorena and my penis, Lorena always won.  She stood there, forcing my penis back between my legs.  Once it finally surrendered and softened, she pulled my panties up tightly, holding it in place.

When she withdrew her hand and replaced my pantyhose my crotch now appeared flat and smooth.  “There,” she said smiling.  “That’s much better.  Next time, remember to tuck first.”

I smoothed down my dress.  With the bra, and my narrow waist, without the wayward ridge giving my true gender away, the way the dress hugged my hips, with my smooth legs, I looked down at a truly feminine figure.

“Now the heels,” she said, and watched as I stepped into my first pair of 3” heels. “How do they feel?”

Women’s heels are like walking on stilts.  I felt taller, like I’d experienced a sudden growth spurt.  They weren’t stilettos, but I only had ¾” of surface under each heel, so that my ankles wobbled as I took my first steps.  My memory shifted back to earlier in the afternoon, and the two college girls giving me attitude, and blushed.

“You’re just going to have to get used to them.  Because when you wear a dress, you have to wear heels.  Come here.”

She bid me pull a black-striped box down from the top shelf of her bedroom closet.  Removing the lid, from inside she withdrew a brunette, shoulder-length wig.  When she fit it on my head, I felt silky long tresses cascading around my ears and down my back.  Wispy bangs brushed my forehead.

“Can I look in the mirror?” I asked eagerly.

“In a minute, in a minute,” Lorena smiled, delighted by the anticipation on my face.

Making me sit on the edge of her bed she fussed with the hair with a brush, comb and hair spray.  “There are two kinds of wigs.  Synthetic.  And real human hair.  This is a real human hair wig.  They’re more expensive, but they’re much more natural looking.”

Just sitting there, as she did my hair, I suddenly got this strange sensation that the two of us were girlfriends.  Strange tingles crept up my neck.  My entire body shook with excitement of a 12 year old going to their first county fair.

Once she was satisfied with my hair, Lorena opened a jewelry box on her dresser and fished among the braclets, rings, necklaces and earrings.  “I always save accessorizing till last.  The thing is, my ears are pierced, so I don’t have that many clip-ons.  Try these,” she said handing me a pair of dangly silver cearrings.  When I couldn’t do it myself, she did it for me.  

“Can I look at myself now?” I pleaded.

“Put this bracelet on.”

“NOW?” I said hurriedly slipping the silver bangle over my wrist.

“All right, all right.  Now, you can look at yourself.” 

She opened her closet, so that I could get the maximum effect in the full length mirror behind the door.

My heart flip-flopped.  My soul cracked like a butterfly breaking through a cocoon.  I felt reborn.

There in my reflection, beside my smiling Mistress, stood a cute, shapely young brunette, wearing a curvy black velvet cocktail dress.  My shaven legs looked incredible in hose, especially in heels.  They gave my legs a whole new shape.  

And the face.  I stepped closer to the mirror.  The face. She’s my twin. My long lost twin sister.  With expressive green eyes rimmed in mascara, full red lips, high cheekbones, and long, luxurious, intoxicating waves of hair … 

I looked and felt pretty!  I felt like Alice in Wonderland.  As if I had stepped through the Looking Glass into a whole new world where boys were girls and the older women were Fairy Godmothers.

“This is what I would have looked like, if I’d been born a girl,” I whispered.  I felt like I was seen the female half of my soul.

Lorena rolled her eyes and shook her head.  “I can see it already,” she groaned.  “You are going to want to wear women’s clothes all the time now.  I’ve open Pandora’s box.  I’ve created a monster.” 

“No,” I lied.  “Once is enough.”

“Once is never enough,” Lorena growled.

Chapter 8
Out of the Closet

“That’s not true,” I pooh poohed, finding myself waving my hand at her in a feminine manner.  “I told you I just wanted to see what it would be like.  We don’t have to ever do this again.  I mean it.”

My Mistress burst out laughing.  “We’ll see.  Come on.  Let’s go out.”

“Go out?!  Where?”

“Out.  Outside.”

“Of the house?”

“Of course,” Lorena smiled.  “You’re all dressed up.  We mind as well go somewhere.  It’s Saturday night.  We can go down to the diner … or we can try the Irish pub down on the corner … or maybe …”

“Are you…!?” Crazy? I almost slipped and said something I would have regretted.

“You’ll be fine,” she said taking my hand, leading me toward the stairs.

“I-I can’t go anywhere!  Not dressed like this! I don’t want anyone to see me!”  I just wanted to stand here and stare at myself in the mirror for a few more hours.

Lorena wiped tears of mirth from her eyes.  “What’s the point of getting all dressed up, if nobody sees you.  Come on.  Let’s just go for a ride.  We’ll drive around the block.  I’ll drive.   The way you’re behaving, you’re going to spending all of your time staring at yourself in the rear view mirror, and I don’t want to have an accident.”

“Why do we have to go out!?” I asked, horrified.

“Because I’m your Mistress, and I say so, that’s why,” Lorena snapped.  “You’re going, and that’s final!”

Thankfully it was dark.  We walked down to the garage basement of her Philadelphia row house and out the back door to her car outside in the ally.  

I took a hesitant step out the back door, looking up at the windows, decks and fire escapes of the houses rising all around us.  Thankfully no one seemed to be watching.

On shaky legs I moved as quickly as I could from the back door to the passenger door of Lorena’s Volvo.  I wanted to run, but I couldn’t.  There was no way I was going anywhere in a hurry, not in a pair of 3” heels.  

“Don’t walk heels first.  Try walking on your tippy toes,” Lorena suggested.  “Get off the heel.  There you go.  That’s better.”

Feeling like I was mincing along, I glanced nervously up and down the ally way as I stood waiting impatiently for Lorena to unlock the passenger side door for me.

“You should be opening my door for me,” she said grimly. “I should not be opening your door for you.”

“You said you wanted to drive,” I said, glancing left and right, terrified that someone might exit their house at any minute.

“So?” she said unlocking my door.  “You should still be opening my door for me.  Dress you up like a woman once, and already you’re behaving like a spoiled princess.”

“Please Lorena!  Just this once!” I pleaded, desperately wanting to get into the car as quickly as possible.  As soon as she unlocked it, I opened the door and slid inside.  Whew!  I’d made it.  There still wasn’t a soul in sight.

Lorena opened her own door, and got behind the wheel shaking her head.  “That’s all right.  You’ll pay for it later.”

"What?!  Pay for what?” I cried, feigning dumb.

“You know what,” she said putting the key in the ignition and starting the engine.  “I don’t know about this.  Already you’re getting into bad habits.  I thought I’d trained you better than this.  You’ll receive a little reminder when we get home.”

Putting the vehicle into drive, she glanced over at me, at the way I hunched down in my seat and tried to hide, and shook her head.  “What are you doing?  Sit up straight.  No one can see you.  Stop acting ridiculous.”

As she pulled the car out of the alley way onto Castor Avenue, even though it was nine o’clock at night, in the city, with the street lamps, it felt like noon.  Like a vampire, I felt myself shrinking from the light.

“Why do you keep slouching down?  Don’t be so silly.  Even if someone does see you, so what?  They’re just going to think you’re a woman.”

Would they?  They wouldn’t see some weirdo?  Some guy in a dress?  Some kinky young man prancing around in women’s pantyhose and heels?  Why had I ever wanted to do this?  Was I out of my mind?

At the traffic light at Rhawn Street a blue and white Philadelphia police car pulled up along side of us.  I dropped to the floor.

“Stop it!” Lorena hissed.  “If you act like you’re trying to hide, and they see you, they’re going to be suspicious.  Just act natural.”

Act natural?  Nervously, I sat up straight, and glanced at the two men in the vehicle only a few feet away.  They chatted and glanced around, paying me no more attention than the mail box on the corner.  And yet, my imagination ran wild, with us being pulled over for a bad tail light, and me being strip searched and hauled downtown to be thrown into the drunk tank in my 3” heels with a bunch of well-hung black studs...

“I think I’m having a heart attack,” I groaned.

Lorena laughed.  Par for the course, my vulnerability amused her to no end.

“Stop it.  Now sit up straight.  Like a good girl.  Very nice.  You look very pretty.  Are you sure you don’t want to stop at the Irish Pub?  We could go inside and have a drink.  I’ll bet you those nice big construction workers will just love your new dress.”

“Stop it!” I cried. “No way!  I’m not getting out of this car.  You couldn’t pry me out of this seat with a crowbar.”

Lorena laughed gaily.  Then, just as I began to breath normally and relax, she pulled her Volvo off Castor and into the parking lot of a McDonald’s.  “I’m in the mood for some drive-through,” she announced.  “Would you like something?”  She stopped the car at the menu board and order speaker.

“Lorena!  What are you doing!?” I whispered, plastering myself against the far side of the car.

“Relax,” Lorena chided me.  “You really are such a girl.  A complete sissy.  Now stop it,” she said, putting in her order for a diet Coke.  

“You may drive up to the window,” came a scratchy female voice from the intercom.

With a wicked grin, Lorena pulled the car forward.  A young Latino girl wearing a red baseball cap exchanged money and a single Coke.

I kept waiting for the girl to point at me, laugh, and yell to all her co-workers to come take a look at the crossdresser wearing a wig and a dress out in the Volvo.  But the girl just glanced at me, her eyes rolling over me only casually, no hint of my true gender causing her to pause.

Lorena glanced and me and grinned.  She loved scaring me to death like this.  “See,” she said rolling up the window and driving away.  “There’s nothing to be afraid of. She didn’t say a thing.”

"Do you think she knew?” I asked.  

“Who cares?  I mean, really.  Even if she did guess the truth, it’s not like she’s going to go running to Action News.  Oh, I just saw a man in a dress.  Nobody cares what you wear.  You’re just a submissive sissy.  You're not hurting anybody,” she laughed.

No, we’re the ones getting beaten up, I thought.  “But do you think she thought I was a girl?  A real girl?” I asked, my imagination running.

Lorena shrugged and took a sip from her straw.  “What, you put on a dress once, and now suddenly the whole world is supposed to think you’re a real woman?”

“I just don’t want people to make fun of me.”

“No one is going to make fun of you.  You look fine.  Thousands of gay men go out at Halloween every year in drag, and no one bothers them.  Hey.   It’s dark.  You don’t know what that girl at the window thought.  She might have thought you were some hot babe.” 

“Out with her fairy godmother mother,” I added.

Lorena shot me a glance, and I knew I was in trouble.  “I can’t believe you just said that.  You are really going to get it this time!”

“I was just joking around!” I said cried defensively.

Lorena growled at me, shook her head, and laughed. “Your fairy godmother.  You’re are so going to get it when we get home.”

As she drove us back to her house, I tried taking deep breaths, trying to calm down my pulse rate.  Maybe Lorena was right.  After all, they were just clothes.  It wasn’t that big a deal.  Was it?

When we got back to Lorena’s house, what little bit of confidence I’d mustered completely disappeared as I ran from the car to her back door.

Lorena purposely took her time opening the door, just to drive up my blood pressure.  She got a kick out of little things like that.  

Once inside, I finally started to relax.  “I did it,” I said, amazed.  Not only had I dressed completely as a woman for the first time in my life, I’d also been out in public.  It wasn’t like I’d just planted a flag on the moon or crossed the Himalayas, but for little me, this was a major step.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Lorena said, leading me upstairs to her bedroom.  

“My feet are starting to hurt,” I complained, following her.

“Now you are starting to sound like a real woman.  Sit,” she ordered pointing to the bed.  “No, not like that.  With your legs crossed femininely at the knee. That’s it.  Much better.  Now you can take off your heels.”

I did as I was told, thinking that I hadn’t stumbled once in the house. I’d already made great strides in learning how to walk in women’s pumps.  I sat, legs folded like a girl, very concious of the way my legs rubbed together in pantyhose.  I watched Lorena open one of her drawers and pull out a sheer white negligee.  “I want you to wear this to bed tonight,” she said, eyes dancing playfully.  “You mind as well—go all the way.”

I gulped, and nodded.  She helped me out of my dress, and feeling extremely appreciative of all of her efforts to help me live out my “fantasy,” I stood there in bra, panties and pantyhose hugging Lorena tightly.

“Thank you,” I whispered.  “Thank you for making my dream come true.”

Lorena beamed at me.  “Get down on your knees,” she said. “Pull off my boots.  And then I want you to help me take my clothes off.”

“Yes Mistress!” I said.  Lorena usually did not want me anywhere near her when she undressed.  She let me help her out of her out of her socks, pants and blouse, all the way down to a long-line black bra and black panties.  At that point she slipped into the bathroom and began to shut the door.

Putting my hand in the door, I said softly, “Why won’t you let me see you naked?”

She stood there in the crack of the doorway, showing a rare moment of embarrassment.  “I told you why.  No one sees my body.  Ever.”

She'd been heavy when she was young, and it had left her with stretch marks.  And she'd been through a breast reduction that left her with scars.

“I want to see your body.  I would love to worship your body.  All of it.  Not just your feet.”

“You have no power here,” Lorena said sadly.  

Overcome with feelings for her, I boldly pushed the door open, and hugged Lorena, and began kissing her.  I kissed her lips.  Her face.  Her chin.  Her nose, her cheeks, her earlobe.  Gently I pulled her bra strap down over her shoulder, kissing my way down her neck over her collar bone and down her chest.

“Don’t,” she said weakly.

Pulling her bra down, I kissed across the vast expanse of her sagging breast to where the nipple had been picked up and moved.  Kissing them, suckling her, I looked up at her… at the distressed look in her eyes.

“They don’t feel anything,” she said plainly.

Gently, lovingly, I kissed the scar around her nipple.

“Don’t,” she gasped.

This needed to be done.  This part of her body needed healing.  “You are beautiful," I whispered.  "Every inch of you, is beautiful."

She sighed and her body relaxed as if a load had been lifted from her shoulders.

“But they really don’t feel anything,” she said.  “I could care less if you ever play with my tits.”

“What about this?” I asked, gently biting her areola.

Lorena slapped my face, playfully.  Shaking her head, she looked at me with great affection.  “You are bad.  Now march yourself out of here young lady.  Take your bra and panties off and put on your nightie.  Then go sit your ass down on that bed.  I am going to wash up… and then you are going to get your ass beat for some of your smart behavior this evening.”

Grimacing, drawing my lips away from her body, I rose and bowed my head.  “Would you rather I be stupid?”

“That just bought you another 10 from the paddle Missy.”

I gulped and turned and fled back into the bedroom, where I changed into the short silky white chemise, and sat on the edge of the bed with my legs crossed at the knee, hoping that would buy me points.  

She came out of the bathroom wearing her black silk pajamas smelling of mouthwash and Dove soap, and ordered me to, “Take off the wig, and get in there and wash off that makeup.  Then get your skinny ass back out here.”

Quickly I jumped up and did as I was told, returning to find Mistress Lorena seat n the edge of her bed, paddling in hand, waiting.

“Get over here.”

Knowing better than to try to argue, I got down on my knees and crawled across the floor to a place before her, where I knelt and clasped my hands before her in a suppliant position.

“Please Mistress!  I did not mean to misbehave tonight.  I was just nervous and scared.”

"Save it,” she said, pointing to her lap.  “You’re not going to talk your way out of this one.  I told you when we were in the car I was going to give you a beating when we got home, and you’re going to get it.  Now if you keep trying to play your little games with me, and don’t get over my lap this instant, it is only going to get worse.”

I practically dove over her lap, in a hurry to please her and avoid further pain.

As I balanced on my fingers and toes over her thighs, I twisted my head and cried, “I’m sorry Mistress!”

“You’re going to be very sorry, when I'm through with you,” she said drawing back her arm.  "I am going to give you fifty.  And I want you to count them.  If you screw up.  You start over.  Got it?”

“Yes Mistress,” I whispered, then flinched, as the first blow from her hard wooden paddle landed across my bare derriere with a crack.   Every muscle in my body tensed.  “One!” I croaked.

Her hand rose and fell again.  Surprisingly, not as hard as I would have imagined if she was truly angry.

“Two!”

“What did you think about tonight?” she asked.  Her hand rose and fell again with a crack. 

“Three!”

“You enjoyed it didn’t you?”  The arm went up again.

“Four!” I gasped.  Good Lord, only four, and already I was ready to throw in the towel and beg for mercy.

“How did it feel?”  The paddle landed again.

“Five!” I said between gritted teeth.

“To dress up, and go outside like a woman?”  Crack!

“Six!” I said wincing.  

“Answer me!” she said cracking me harder.

“I was scared!” I sputtered.  “But I liked it.”

Her paddle fell again.  “So, are you going to want to do it again?”

"Seven, er, eight."  What was the right answer?  Which would make her happy?  Which would lead to sterner punishment.  My mind raced.   “I-I don’t know.  No.  Once is enough.”

This time her paddle landed with extra force.  “Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not lying!” I cried.  “I just wanted to see what it would be like!  We don’t have to do it anymore!”

“I don’t believe you,” Lorena said, her paddle descending several times rapidly.  “I know when you’re lying to me.  And you know I don’t like it.”

“I’m not!” I squealed, squirming on her lap.

“How many is that?” she asked.

“I don’t know.  Twenty… I think,” I gasped.

“That’s not right,” she said, swatting my poor red backside three times in quick succession, completely throwing me off balance.  “You’ll just have to start all over.  Now start at the beginning.  And you’re getting 50, remember.”

“One, two, three!” I shrieked.

“One at a time!” she shouted hitting me harder still.

“ONE!” I cried, real tears forming in the corners of my eyes.

“See what happens when you lie.”  Swat!  “Now I’m going to ask you again.”  Swat  “Do you want to get dressed like a woman again?”

“Yes!” I cried. 

“Yes what?” SWAT!

“Yes, I want to get dressed again.  As a woman.  Five.  Six!”

“That’s not right.  Now how many is that?”

“Five,” I guessed, whimpering.

SWAT!  “Start again.”

Although it seemed like it took forever, eventually we got through it.  When she was done, I had the wettest face in town.  And when I got off her lap, moving gingerly, wincing as I pulled up my panties, Lorena actually looked at me with some sympathy.

“Come here baby,” Lorena said opening her arms to me.  “Come to me.”

I nearly dove into her arms.  She had an extremely affectionate hug, and I could tell that she absolutely loved it when I squeezed her tight and nuzzled my wet face against her neck.

“Tonight was a very special night, wasn’t it?” Lorena said to me, smiling.  Then she surprised me by moving her hand between my legs and using my silky panties to fondle my penis.  Within seconds she had me utterly aroused and trembling in her grasp.

“I want you on your knees in front of me,” she whispered in my ear.  “And I want you to masturbate for me.  Go ahead.  You know you want to.”

Before letting her go, I hugged my arms around her and kissed her lips passionately.  Smiling, she pushed me away.  “Come on now.  On your knees.”

Feeling somewhat silly, kneeling in my short, filly, silky white chemise, I fondled myself in front of my Mistress. 

“Don’t look down,” she said. “Look at me,” she said reaching for her Magic Wand and flipping the switch.

Feeling horribly embarrassed, and at the same time more aroused than I’d ever been in my life, I stroked my penis and stared back into the eyes of my beautiful Mistress.

Chapter 9
The Vault

After my night out in drag, the following weekend, Lorena announced we were going to visit her sister Julia in New York City.  Julia was younger than Lorena, about 34, worked as a legal secretary, and was very pretty in a Barbara Streisand, What’s Up Doc? sort of way.  She lived in a high rise on Staten Island, and was completely the opposite of her older sister. 

When Lorena and I arrived the three of us sat around Julia’s kitchen table chatting.  The bulk of the conversation centered around Julia’s most recent boyfriend Frank, who had just dumped her.  From what I gathered, Julia was a regular dumpee.  It sounded like men took regular advantage of Julia, treated her like shit, and then left.

“You need to learn how to become more dominant!” Lorena cried.  She hated seeing her sister being treated this way by men.  “If you could just grow a backbone, you could have 100’s of submissive men begging to go out with you.  You could have your choice of doctors… lawyers… dentists.  They would be on their knees begging to go out with you.  You’ve just got to learn how to walk all over them.”

It irritated Lorena to no end that her sister was submissive.

The plan for the night was for the three of us to go to a BDSM club in Manhattan called the Vault.  After chatting for a bit the two women retired to Julia’s bedroom to get ready.  I was instructed to wait patiently.  Which I did, for over an hour.  After which point I started getting rammy.  What was taking them so long?

I stood outside the bedroom door, ear pressed to the surface, trying to listen in on their conversation.  All I could hear was muffled voices and occasional giggles.

I knocked politely.  "Are you almost ready?" I asked.

"Go away!" Lorena yelled.  "I'll call you when we're ready."

After about 90 minutes, I could take it no longer, and with the impetuous stupidity of youth, I opened Julia’s bedroom door and barged in, demanding to know what was taking so long.

As soon as I took one step inside, I knew that I had erred gravely.  For there were both women half naked trying on different outfits.  I caught a glimpse of Julia’s bra and panties and Lorena’s bare breasts before she covered them.  For an over-sexed, modern woman, Lorena was still extremely uptight about letting me see her nude. 

The look of surprise in Lorena’s face quickly flipped to anger.  Lightning bolts flashed from her eyes.  “You bastard!  You are going to get it for this!” she cried.

I quickly retreated, slamming the door shut.  Uh oh.  Now I’d done it.

About 30 minutes later, I heard Lorena calling me from the bedroom.  When I meekly entered I found both the women dressed as leather clad Dominatrix’s.  Lorena in her skin tight black leather pants, thigh high black leather boots, a black silk camisole and black leather jacket.  Julia wore a cute black leather dress, and sat cross-legged on her bed.

“Get in here!” Lorena snapped.  “Take off your clothes!”

Julia started to rise, saying, “I’d better go.”

“NO!” Lorena said.  “I want you to watch this.”  She wanted her sister to see a little demonstration of her power.

Utterly humiliated, realizing Lorena was in no mood for arguments, I stripped naked in front of Julia, a woman I’d only met hours before.  She looked as red-faced and as embarrassed as I.

Once I was naked, Lorena sat on a chair, and threw me down over her lap.  It was bad enough to be on the receiving end of one of Lorena’s spankings, but even worse to have her attractive sister witness my punishment.

Of Lorena’s two types of discipline, this was not one of her “sensual” spankings.  This time it was pure punishment.  For one, it was done in anger.  And unlike her sensual spankings, which were done to arouse us both—her punishment beatings were quite simply to reprimand me for some perceived error and to ensure that I would not commit the same offense again.

This was the first time someone would actually witness my receiving such a beating,  all of which added to my shame.

Through it all, I tried to control myself and take the pain.  I didn’t want to break down in front of Julia.  Not sweet, adorable Julia.

“How dare you barge in on us like that!” Lorena growled, as she wailed away on my poor defenseless backside with a wooden paddle.

If she had just used her bare palm, I probably would have been able to bear it.  But not with a paddle.  Each stinging slap jolted my entire body, till my eyes watered and I was begging her for mercy.

“I’m sorry!” I cried.  “I won’t do it again!  I promise!”

Continuing to rain down a hail of blows on my bright red bottom, she grunted, “I have no doubt.”

Lorena was truly angry and pushed me to my limits.  Plus, I think she wanted to demonstrate for her sister the correct way for a woman to deal with any errant behavior from her boyfriend.

Balancing as I was on Lorena’s lap on tip toes and fingertips, with my head down, although I was afraid to make eye contact, I could not help but glance over at Julia.  She sat there on the edge of her bed, covering her mouth with one hand in wide-eyed shock, watching her sister go to town on my backside with a mixture of fear and admiration.

When my Mistress was finally done, I was a shuddering, weepy mess.  “There!  That should get my point across,” Lorena said.  She pushed me off her lap onto the floor where I knelt on my hands and knees trying to catch my breath and control myself.

“Get up you big baby,” Lorena snapped.  “I was going easy on you.  So my poor sister doesn’t have a heart attack.”

“The poor thing,” Julia said, looking at me with pity as I staggered to my feet.  She admitted to me later when we were alone that she knew Lorena treated her husband that way - but had never actually witnessed her spanking him.

“If you want a man to respect you,” Lorena said grabbing my penis roughly, “you have to show him who’s boss.”  As I stood shakily before her, her slightest touch had me instantly aroused in her grasp.  She slapped my penis roughly.  I winced, barely able to keep from doubling over.

“I really do think I should go,” Julia said starting to rise.

“Stay right there!” Lorena ordered.  “I want you to watch this.”

Red-faced, in agony, I hopped from foot to foot, as Lorena slapped my balls sharply.  My penis stood stiffly, but after repeated blows to my testicles, it finally began to wilt and shrivel in pain.  

“They say men rule the world.  Control the penis, and you rule the world," Lorena said smiling grimly.  "Most certainly the man.”

“I can’t believe he’s letting you do this.”

“He’s submissive,” Lorena said grimly, taking a length of cord from a bag at her feet, winding it tightly around my soft penis and balls.  “He loves it.”  Once the shaft and testicles were trussed up, she took the ends, pulled my cock back between my ass cheeks and tied the rope tightly around my waist.  “You don’t hear him complaining, do you.  Now what do you say!”

I was in utter agony.  “Thank you Mistress,” I whispered.

I glanced at Julia.  She sat there watching all of this in both horror and amazement. 

Next from her bag of tricks Lorena pulled a pair of women’s panties, along with a matching red garter belt and a pair of nude thigh-high stockings.  Leaning on her shoulder for balance, she bid me point my toes, and she worked the nylon up my leg.  As I watched in red-faced humiliation Lorena fit the garters to the stockings.

Julia looked at me and shook her head.  “You're putting him in panties?  A man wearing panties?”

"You are so naive," Lorena said handing me the panties.  As I pulled them up over my poor restrained member, she said, “Trust me, he loves it.”

"Wearing women’s lingerie?” Julia asked horrified.

“Tell her what you did last weekend,” Lorena said to me.

I stood there shame faced, unable to speak.

My Mistress gave my bright red bottom a sharp slap, making me jump.  

She looked at me and knew I was completely unable to admit what I’d done, so naturally she proceeded to tell beautiful, sweet Julia about my deepest, most private fantasy.  How we’d gone clothes shopping, how I’d dressed me completely as a woman for the first time, and how we’d gone out for a drive around the block.

“So he ought to love this,” Lorena said chuckling.  “I thought about dressing him fully as a girl tonight, but it might be a bit too soon to take him out in public.  Although, who knows, he might just love it.  Now put on your boy clothes over top.  And we’ll get ready to go.”

Once I was dressed in my regular street clothes, no one would have known that underneath I was wearing women’s underwear, a garter belt and stockings, and my poor penis was bound tightly and pulled back between my legs.  The look of agony on my face made Lorena smile.  “I have a feeling that’s the last time you’ll burst in on me uninvited.  Isn’t it?”

“Yes Mistress,” I said sadly.

While the two women went to the kitchen to collect their purses so we could leave, I slid outside onto the balcony overlooking the city skyline.  The rope around my penis had me in agony.  I could barely stand up, much less walk.  In her anger, she'd tied it much too tightly.

Glancing through the sliding glass door, seeing the women occupied in the kitchen, I quickly opened my pants and untied the cord from around my poor manhood.  To maintain appearances, I retained it around my waist in case Lorena should try to check on me.  Which she did too. 

Later as we were driving across the Staten Island Expressway, Lorena placed her hand on my abdomen to make sure the cord was still there.  She felt the garter belt under my pants, smiled at me, and I smiled back.  Later there would be hell to pay, but it would be worth it, rather than having my poor penis turn purple and fall off. 

The Vault was in the basement of a warehouse.  Women entered free.  I had to pay the ridiculous coverage charge of $20.

Inside, it immediately became worth the cost of admission.  The coat check girl was a beautiful young pixie about my age.  With a page boy haircut, pink pillbox hat, short pink hot pants, white suspenders, lace-up platform boots—and no top!  Her beautiful breasts were completely on display, her nipples hidden only by the thin line of suspenders.  Which was only a taste of what lay inside the Vault.

It was just around midnight and the club was still fairly quiet.  There were two main rooms, with stages, and lots of side rooms and little cubby holes.  It was really an after hours club.  No alcohol.  Strictly soda and juice.  Which according to Lorena, permitted them to have public nudity.  Supposedly it was against the law to allow alcohol and complete nudity together.

Around 1:00 a.m., several attractive semi-clad young men and women took the two main stages and began acting out little BDSM scenarios.  A slender red-headed woman tied a nude young man to a cross and pretended to beat his ass, and a mustachioed, leather clad man restrained a short woman with a ponytail to a table and began applying clothes pins to her large breasts, but it was all for show.  They were the “warm up” act.

At 2:00 a.m. the young actors left the stage, and the real show began.  By that time the club was filling up rapidly.  Dominant Masters led their naked, submissive females, wives or girlfriends, around on leashes … leather clad Dominatrix’s strutted around in thigh high boots and policeman’s caps … nude submissive males strolled around in the shadows, gently stroking their boners as they observed the action … and voyeurs like me watched it all in wide-eyed, slack jawed fascination.

Slowly the people in the audience began occupying the stages, acting out their own little scenarios in public.  A man in a leather vest and chaps took center stage, and cuffed a skinny, submissive woman with limp blonde hair to the wall and began to work over his back and shoulders with a flogger.  A plump, middle-aged woman put a hood over her husband’s head and began tying him to a chair in the back room.  Naked male slaves crawled about the floor on all floors, begging anyone and everyone to kick them in the ass, slap them in the face, or squash their testicles into silly putty … it was a regular BDSM amusement park for kinky adults.

As we’d gotten there early, Lorena had chosen our seats with care.  She’d selected a raised dais where we could watch all the action, from a sagging sofa that probably had spent the last 10 years in someone’s damp basement.

I sat there beside Lorena and Julia, mouth agape, in awe of all the activity going on around us.  “I want to do something,” Lorena purred beside me.  Wearing her black leather outfit, with her thigh high boots, surrounded by all manner of submissive men who were oogling every flick of her hair, there was a super-charged glint in her brown eyes.  “Let’s go up on the stage.”

“I need a drink,” I said.  “Do you want something?”

Fortunately I was able to temporarily distract Lorena, as she always had a craving for a diet soda.  By the time I got back to our spring-dead sofa, I found a line of a half dozen men had formed before Lorena.  All of them were down on their hands and knees, crawling up to her, begging for permission to kiss her boots. 

"You should be down there on your knees,” Lorena said to me sternly when I sat beside her, handing her a diet Sprite.  She was normally quite Domme to begin with, but with all of these submissive men paying homage to her, she was like an S&M goddess on steroids.

I gulped. I was overawed just being in a club like the Vault.  My senses were already on overload with all that was going on around us.  It was one thing for Lorena to humiliate me or treat me as her submissive in private, but another thing entirely to be treated that way out in public.  Too, I could accept wearing her garter belt and nylons under my clothes—it was something else to be forced to disrobe in public and for the whole world to see what I was wearing. 

“Come on,” Lorena urged me.  “I want to go up on the main stage … strip you down to your little garter belt and stockings … and then I’m going to put you over my knee … and give you a good paddling … right in front of everybody.”  Everybody in this case being over 100 freaks, pervs, and voyeurs.

The thought of what she proposed had me hyperventilating with fear.  Our safe word was “red.”  I used it now.  For the very first time in our relationship.

Lorena frowned, her eyes flashing angrily.  “You can’t pull that shit now.  Not now.”

"Please Mistress,” I begged.  For dramatic effect, I dropped to my knees on the sofa in front of her.  Her sister Julia stopped chatting with a naked grey-haired man long enough to check out what I was doing.

Folding my hands in front of her, in a gesture of pure supplication, I said, “Do what ever you want to me behind closed doors, but please don’t humiliate me like that in front of all these people.  I’m not ready,” I said making total eye contact.

Not in public.  Not in front of Julia or the adorable coat check girl.  It was too much.  Well beyond the limits of a 22 year old boy new to the entire scene.  I’d submitted to quite a lot under Lorena’s tutelage, and reached a boundary limit.

Lorena looked utterly incensed and about to drag me by my ear up to the stage, when I bent down in front of her and kissed the top of her boots, pleading, “You have an entire line of men here.  Begging you to do whatever you want to them.  Take one of them.  Take someone who will appreciate it.  And I’ll gladly make it up to you when we get home.  Please.” 

I even batted my lashes at her, doing my absolute best to appeal to her sense of mercy. 

This wasn’t the best time to deny Lorena—not in the Vault.  She looked ready to claw my heart out.  But she did respect the use of our safe word.

“Your timing really stinks,” she snarled, and snagged a submissive man that knelt by a table at her feet.  The man—a Hasidic Jew—dressed all in black, with long hair, beard and a hat called a Yeshivish.  He looked about as out of place in the Vault as a Catholic priest or a Baptist minister.

“Take it out on him,” I said smiling, trying to make a joke out of it, keep her smiling.

“If I do, I might put him in the hospital,” Lorena said, yanking the man to his feet, and dragging him by the elbow off in the direction of the main stage.

Sighing with relief, now that I was alone for a few minutes, I excused myself from Julia, saying I was going to look for the bathroom, and instead went off to look for the coat check girl. I found her in the coat room.  I smiled at her, and she smiled back.  We were probably among the only 22 year olds in the club.  Everyone else was older, so we had an immediate bond.

“Come on in,” she said, looking around to see if the coast was clear, and then opening the door to the coat room. She led me to the back of the coat room, where we both sat on the floor in a corner.  "Do you smoke?" she asked. She pulled out a joint, and the two of us proceeded to get high together.  The next thing I knew our arms were around one another, and the two of us were making out.  God, she was hot!  Adorable, angelic features, with a firm, athletic body, perky breasts that made my mouth water.

We really didn’t do anything more than kiss.  That’s all we really needed to do to have a good time.  For ten heart-stopping minutes I sit in the back corner behind a row of jackets, arms wrapped around her bare back, as she kissed me passionately.  Her bare breasts pressed against my chest, and her hand touched my thigh—feeling the garter belts under my pants.

She looked at me.  “You’re a crossdresser?”

I gulped, prepared to be thrown out of paradise, thinking I’d absolutely blown it.  “S-She … my Mistress … she made me do.”

The girl lowered her chin and gazed at me hard.  “She made you?”

Flashing a smile, I stammered. “W-Well, she didn’t exactly have to beat me to do it.”

“You liked it?” she smiled back.

I sighed in relief.  Then it hit me.  Why would a topless coat check girl in a BDSM club located under a meat packing plant down near the docks even care what I wore?

“Yeah, kinda,” I said lowering my eyes.  “I haven’t figured it all out yet.”

This nameless topless girl caressed my cheek gently as a kitten, and said, “You come back.  Dressed like a girl sometime.  Lots of drag queens come here.  Heda Lettuce.  Miss Understood.  You should see them  They’re fabulous!”

When she smiled, she had set of teeth that should have been up their on a billboard on Times Square selling Arm & Hammer toothpaste. 

“Flash bulbs go off whenever you smile,” I said to her.

“Really?” 

“Yes, you should be a movie star.”

“You’re just stoned,” the girl said, pushing my shoulder.  “Oh shit!  I’ve got to get back to work.”

With a parting hug, she hurried off with a sexy shake of her hot pants and curvaceous bottom, to take someone’s coat. 

I slipped out of the coat room, and back into the Vault. 

Good Lord … I’d forgotten about Lorena.  What if she was done working that poor submissive man over?  She’d be wondering what I was up to…

As I hurried through a dark hallway between the two main rooms a woman in her 30’s wearing black leather pants, with her hair pulled back in a bun, came right up to me, cupped her palm and reached in and grabbed my crotch!  Without ever once looking me in the eyes she gave my penis a squeeze!  And kept on walking.

I gulped.  All these Dominant people were just buck wild with power in a place like this.  As I exited the tunnel a bottomless man wearing a NY Giants t-shirt walked by me holding his erection in his hand, stroking it. 

Running back to the dias, fortunately I returned to our seats 10 seconds before Lorena did.  Her face looked flushed and there was a sheen of sweat on her forehead.  She’d been giving that poor Hasidic man the blues.  He’d lost his hat, his shirt unbuttoned all wrong, and his face was soaked with either sweat or tears.

“Have a fun time?” I asked him cheerily.

The man mopped his forehead with an old fashioned monogrammed handkerchief and fingered a row of beads handing from his belt.

Lorena sat imperiously on our old sofa like it was her throne, and glared at me.

“And where have you been?”

“Just ran to the bathroom,” I said.  “Did you get it all out of your system?”

“Stop trying to change the subject.  I’ll ask the questions around here, thank you very much,” Lorena snapped.  Good Lord, she was fired up.  In the Vault she was a Goddess, and she knew it.  She’d hit the Female Supremacy mother lode, and was having the time of her life, if it wasn’t for me.

“You are my boy,” she said to me, lowering her voice.  “I wanted you up on that stage with me.  Not him.  Why do you think I made you wear your pantyhose and garter belts?  I intended on stripping you down in front of the whole room.  Right down to your little panties.  What?  Do you think I would have made you keep that restraint around your little wee wee all night?  I’m not that cruel.  Does it hurt?  You haven’t taken it off, have you?”

“Are you kidding?” I said.  “You know I wouldn’t dare.”

Lorena glared at me. 

My heart pounded, wondering if she would grab my crotch or strip my pants off of me.

“Do you want a diet Coke?” I asked.  “I’ll get you one.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you think you can get one of these men to find us some beer?” I asked. 

Julia’s ears perked up.  “Yes.  They don’t sell alcohol.  But you’re allowed to bring your own beer.  Lorena, these guys over here can get us whatever you want.  They’ll do anything for me,” she laughed.

“A beer would be nice.”

“Tell them to go out and get us a 6-pack of beer and a bottle of wine,” Lorena said.

And, they did too.

Somehow I’d managed to keep Lorena out of my pants in public, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to go along dancing this tightrope.  At some point I'd have to retie it. But when?

We sat, drank, and chatted with the people around us in the club.  Like the rest of New York, it was a melting pot of cultures, races, and sexual persuasions.  Gays, lesbians, and yes, even a couple of married crossdressers with their wives. 

“See that person standing near the bathrooms?” Julia asked.  “Is that a man?  Or is that a woman?”

“Looks like a woman to me,” I said peering at an attractive, slender young Asian girl.

“We’ll this naked guy standing next to me,” Julia said into my ear.  “Says she’s really a guy.  An Korean transsexual named Sunshine.”

I looked again.  I looked for any clue that Sunshine could have been a man.  Adams apple.  Big hands.  Muscular arms.  Body language.  Nope.  Not a thing identified her as a he.

“She looks flawless,” I said.

Julia held her hand to her cheek, and admitted bashfully, “I wish I could look that good.”

“You look great,” I said smiling. 

“You look great,” Lorena repeated.  I thought she was talking to a wild looking Dominatrix, with platinum blonde hair, leopard skin dress and puffing away on a cigarette holder.  But instead she'd been listening to us. “What about me?  Don’t I look great?”

I gulped.  I could do nothing right tonight.  Now she was going to accuse me of flirting with her sister. I could see it in her eyes.

“Of course you look wonderful,” I stammered.  “You’re the best.  We were just chatting.”

“She does look great,” Lorena said glumly. 

Fortunately Julia was back talking to the naked man, and wasn’t paying attention to any of this.

“Julia was always the pretty one.  And I was always the fat one.”

“Do you want to walk around?” I asked.  “Move around a little.”

Lorena nodded and stood.  As we worked our way through the crowd, I reached out and took her hand.  She gave mine a squeeze, and for a moment I relaxed.

We paused to watch a sexily clad middle aged-woman tie a hooded, naked man to a wooden table.

“See that man?” Lorena asked, pointing out a well built, naked man wearing a leather saddle on his back and shoulders.  “That’s Danny the horse boy.  He’s famous.  He loves to give people rides.  He even made the saddle himself.”

“Did he ever give you a ride?” I asked.

“No!” Lorena giggled.  “But I have to admit, I always wanted to.”

“It might be fun.”  And it would put her on center stage.  Which is where she liked to be.  Getting all the attention.

“You’re right,” she said nodding enthusiastically.  “Let’s go talk to him.” 

Which we did.  He sounded like a normal enough fellow, and looked like some clean cut college prep boy headed for Wall Street.  Only he stood completely naked except for a strange looking saddle on his shoulders and lots of homemade leather ropes strapping it under his arms and across his chest.  Burned into the leather was a silhouette of a cowboy riding a bucking bronco and the words “Horse Boy.”

He got down on his hands and knees, and Lorena sat on his shoulders with her legs dangling over the front of his chest.  Then he stood.  No wonder he had such broad shoulders.  He lifted her rather easily.  Once he had her up, he fit a leather bit into his mouth, and handed her his reins.

Lorena looked as fleeful as a school kid on one of those .25 cent rides outside the grocery store. As Julia and I stood there watching, he walked through the crowd with my Mistress on his shoulders.  She loved every minute of it.

As did Danny.  When he brought her back and set her down, just how much he’d enjoyed it was quite visible.  Julia covered her mouth with a hand, and tried not to stare at his … stallion.  “I’m working on a new saddle,” he said excitedly.  “An English saddle.  So you’ll have the choice of riding me Western or English style.”

“Giving rides excites you,” I said and blushed.

Feeling frisky from her ride, Lorena, cried out, “Doh!”

“Well, what I was wondering,” I asked.  “Is if you’ve ever … had a … you know."

“An orgasm, while prancing around?” Danny said grinning broadly.  “Oh yeah.”

Julia grabbed my arm.  “I think we should go home now.”

Which we did, with Lorena driving, Julia in the passenger seat, and me in the back.

Once we got back to her sister’s apartment, all I could think about was getting out to the balcony, and putting the restraint back around me before Lorena realized what I’d escaped.

They kept me pinned in the living room chatting for a few minutes, and then when I tried to slip out onto the balcony, Lorena snapped at me, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I said following her into the spare bedroom.  I would make my move when she went to the bathroom.  If I survived that long.

“You were trying to get into my sister’s room, weren’t you?” Lorena said, eyes hardening.

“NO!  Of course not!  That’s not it at all!"

“Then what were you doing!?”

Going to get my restraint?  I bit my lip, unable to say a word.

All of which Lorena took utterly wrong, and went completely hysterical. “You jackass!  You’ve played me all night!  You’ve been making goo goo eyes at my sister every time I turn my back.  You wouldn’t go up on the stage with me like I asked.  You’ve been trying to sneak off with her all night!  I’m not stupid!  Do I look like I was born yesterday?  I’ve got eyes!  I know what you’re up to!” she screamed.

“Lorena, please no!” I pleaded, dropping down to my knees in front of her.

Pointing at the door, she shrieked, “Well go ahead!  You want her.  Go ahead and fuck her!”

“Lorena, that’s not it at all,” I cried.

“Then tell me what you were doing sneaking through the living room … if you weren’t heading for her door?”

I hung my head.  Busted.

“I didn’t want you to see something.”

“What?” she said tapping her foot.

“I-I took off the restraint,” I said wincing, "and was going to put it back on."

Wide-eyed, she grasped me by the hair, jerked my head up, and slapped me across the face.  “You bitch!”

“It was too tight!” I whined helplessly.  “It was cutting off the circulation!”

She slapped me again on the other cheek.  “You fucking bitch!  You could have told me. I could have loosened it.”

All I could do was hang my head and groan.  “I’m sorry!”

Lorena laughed.  “Ohhh!  You are going to get it this time Mister.  Get your clothes off!”

As I began ripping off my shirt and shoes, Lorena changed into one of her black lace bodysuits.

“You are really going to get it tonight.  You took off your restraint.  You refused me at the club.  You flirted with my sister!”

“I didn’t..!”  She pointed a finger at me, and I knew to shut my mouth.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, without a word, I draped myself across her lap.

“If you thought I was sadistic before, you haven’t seen nothing yet,” she said grimly, tapping my bare bottom with her black leather paddle—the one studded with metal spikes. “I’ve been saving this paddle for a special occasion.  And tonight looks like its the night.”

By the time she was done with me, the sun was coming up outside, and I was one miserable, sorry subbie with the wettest face in town.

She pulled me to her bosum, caressed my hair, kissed away my tears, and sighed contentedly.  For some odd reason, beating me always put her in a much better frame of mine.

Still, she wasn’t done with me.  “I want you to rub my feet,” she said reaching for her Magic Wand.

I glanced at the clock it was 7:14 a.m.

It was eight, by the time Lorena had her orgasm.  By which time I was exhausted and wanted only to fall into the pillows.

“Do you want to cum?” she asked as I snuggled up beside her in the bed.

The birds chirped outside.

“Well…”

“You either do, or you don’t,” she said simply.  “Do you?”

“Well, of course. I always do.” 

“Then go ahead.  Start playing with yourself,” she said throwing off our sheet, so she could watch.

Tired, and half spent, I started masturbating and my body slowly responded.

“Roll over on your side, facing the wall.  That’s it.”

“What are you doing?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.  She lubed up Big Ike, her biggest, blackest dildo. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?  I’m going to fuck you with this.  I was going to put on my harness, but I’m too tired.  So I’m just going to fuck you with it.”

My hand flew faster as she placed the thick black plastic head at my tightly clenched little opening and began to ...

Such is a night in the life of a leather clad, paddle-wielding Dominant woman’s submissive boy toy.  Nor is it a night that I will ever forget.

To be continued ...

To avoid criticism, do nothing, say nothing, be nothing.

Elbert Hubbard

Kiss the tear from her lip
You'll find the rose
The sweeter for the dew

D. Webster