Games

Why expend effort to torment my slave when I can force him to torment himself, instead?

A few nights ago my slave asked very nicely if there was any chance he might cum in the morning when he arrived home from work.

My slave knows that I’m not a morning person. At 7 am I want bacon, tea, and a hot shower. I do not want to pay attention to my slave’s puny cock. Nor do I want him just cumming without me, gaining pleasure without thoughts of me at the front of his mind.

Still, I was feeling benevolent, and I wanted to try out some ideas inspired by the internet. As you may have deduced from “Choices,” I’m a fan of letting my slave cum but tormenting him in the process.

“Yes, you may cum tomorrow,” I said, “Here are your rules: You may not cum until leave for work. If you start jerking before then, you must keep going, non-stop, until I’m gone. If you cum too soon, or if you stop jerking once you’ve started, you will not cum for at least one week.

“Finally, you must cum in your pink panties, and you will put them on as soon as you get home.”

I knew that sissy wouldn’t be able to resist stroking himself as soon as those satiny panties went on. I knew he would get home a good hour before I left for work. In other words, I knew I would go about my morning routine undisturbed while my slave lay on the bed whimpering and gingerly stroking my property, trying not to explode until I was gone.

I was hoping he’d hold out, but I admit I did not make it easy. I paraded my dripping body in front of him after my shower. Whenever I passed by the bed I trailed my fingers along the panties, listening to him gasp and groan as I tweaked his nipples.

Finally, when his whole body was shaking and he was barely moving his hand for fear of cumming, I was ready to go. “You may cum now, sissy,” I said as I strolled from the room. I paused and glanced back, deciding I rather wanted to watch him cum in his panties for the first time.

Noticing that I was still there, he gasped, “Now?!” his eyes widening in panic.

“Yes, now. You won’t be penalized for cumming before I go.”

“Ahhhhhh!” I watched as he finally let himself go, moaning as hot cum spurted into his panties. Being a spur-of-the-moment kind of gal, I snatched up his phone and snapped a close-up picture.

“Do what you want with that,” I said, tossing the phone back on the bed. “Have a nice day, love.”

Mistress K

His First Pink Panties

When my husband (then fiance) admitted years ago—after lengthy interrogation—that he liked the idea of sissification, the big reveal was pretty anticlimactic. For one thing, I had no idea what sissification was at the time! Then, once he’d explained it some, I wrinkled my nose and said I didn’t see myself ever particularly wanting him to wear girls 'undies.

Oh, how suddenly things can change.

One evening home alone, my slave and I decided to read through a list of activities and behaviors to rank how willing he’d be to try them on a scale of 1-5. The list came from She’s in Control, a book being sold by Sarah Jameson which I’ll review once I get a chance to finish reading it.

When we came to the line for "Forced dressing (opposite sexual identity - private)," slave said that he ranked it a three in the diffident tone I know to mean, "I am lying to you a little bit because I don’t want to admit how much I desire this embarrassing thing."

Luckily, my slave can’t lie to me. I always know, and if he doesn’t admit it immediately, he will be punished.

"Three?" I said archly. "I would’ve thought this would be a five. Didn’t you mention to me once that you wanted sissification?"

"Yes..." he conceded in the slightly whimpering tone that says he thinks he’s about to get himself in trouble. "But you said you weren’t interested."

His head tilted downward, his eyes fixed on the sheets. His hips pressed down into the bed slightly. I knew his cock was hard and leaking against the sheets and his eyes would be wide and dilated if I forced them up to mine.

I told you, I know my slave.

"True, but you are very interested, aren’t you?" His head ducked further down toward the sheets. "Aren’t you, slave? You will answer me."

"Yes," he finally said in a small voice.

Was I particularly eager to see pink panties on my husband? No, not particularly. But our bodies are programmed to respond to our lovers' arousal with arousal. He was horny as hell and dripping precum, ready to lick my feet if I asked. And the idea of pink panties had done it. Well, hell. Why not?

I hopped off the bed and went straight to my dresser, rummaging around in the top drawer.

"What are you doing?" he asked warily.

"Looking for those one-size-fits-all panties that are huge on me, of course." I pulled out the lacy pink things and held them up. "Well? Here you go. Put them on now."

He stood up slowly but hung back, giving me a petulant pout. I stalked up to him, gripped his balls, shoved the lace into his hand and whispered against his ear, "You will put those panties on."

The next morning, after twelve hours of watching my slave walk around in panties, I can’t say I really knew why it aroused me. I suppose it aroused me because it aroused him.

In any case, the effect was undeniable: as he licked my clit and thrust his fingers against my g-spot, I found myself gasping threats and promises: "Soon I’m going to buy you more panties, sissy. You’ll be wearing them all the time, under your uniform, no one else will know but you will, lacy panties with a wet spot on the front from your little clitty, just like a woman, my sissy slave.…" With every word my slave squirmed more, my pussy got wetter, my clit got tighter, until I finally exploded.

That afternoon I went to the store and bought some more XL pink panties.

Mistress K       

Community

Before sitting down to write this post I cropped my slave. I bent him over the bed in his light pink panties and I smacked his ass hard and fast without counting. I didn’t crop him because he needed to be punished. I cropped him because I was anxious. I cropped him to relieve my own tension. I cropped him because I can, and because he reminded me that I can.

As I cropped my slave, my reasons for starting this blog multiplied exponentially in my mind. Five days ago I’d barely ever considered the extent of the online femdom community. I figured we would be lucky if anyone at all ever read my posts. I had read books of encouraging advice about becoming a Mistress, but I never imagined actually personally interacting with other women like me or other couples like us.

Suddenly I have followers. People literally around the world have read about my intimate relationship with my husband. It seems like that should scare me. My sense of self-worth as a wife, as a Mistress, and as a writer is now tied to what I’ve posted here. People will have expectations of me, will be disappointed in some of my thoughts and feelings, in what I do and do not write or tweet or comment about. More importantly, my husband is now interacting with this community as he has never done before, and I am seeing a different side of him. We have always moved slowly, growing into our roles of Domme and sub at my pace. Now he has nameless faces encouraging him, cheering him, and handing him suggestions and photos and links.

This is a bit overwhelming, but my excitement outweighs my nerves. As I channeled all my worry into cropping my sissy slave, I realized: I would write about this cropping. And people would understand it. With complete nonchalance and approval they would accept that my husband and I both desired that little exchange of pain—something I still struggle with. Many of them would also empathize with my conflicted feelings. They might comment and tell me that they’d been through the same thing as novice Mistresses, or that they still feel that way now, or that they (as slaves themselves) can reassure me that my slave enjoys it as much as he claims.

In any case, this blog is clearly accomplishing one of its primary goals already: to help us explore this facet of our relationship more deeply. To keep him from bombarding me with new ideas too quickly, I have ordered my slave to keep a notebook of thoughts and desires inspired by his online interactions. I can look at them at leisure when I’m ready and indulge his desires in my own time. I have no doubt we’ll both be emboldened to try new things on a regular basis. Furthermore, I will feel more fulfilled as an individual using my writing talent in an honest and passionate medium; my slave will have an outlet and a support community for the desires he’s always experienced alone; and we will learn to trust each other more implicitly than ever.

I thank you, very sincerely, for reading and for sharing.

Mistress K