I don’t mean it needs to be all hot and slobbery. It needn’t go on at extended length about the particulars that thrill her or him.

A concise summation of the enjoyment that an intelligent and interesting person takes in making someone they find worth knowing hurt and suffer is plenty. Not that a few extra bits that captures the cheerful cruelty his willing suspension of autonomy isn’t welcome.

A good profile by a top can keep me from getting a good night’s sleep.

A very fair trade.

Related posts:

1. Of Profiles & Porn
2. Why Alternative Profiles?

More Of Profiles & Porn
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy

“A strong arm and a stinging paddle are the best training tools.”

This isn’t erotica. I wrote it many years ago to give dominant women that I met online a picture of my perception of Femdom relationships. Presented as such the responses – much to my surprise – were favorable. If you aren’t comfortable with erotic power exchange (or heterosexuality) you shouldn’t read it.

My First Mistress – Part 1

When I came to her house I was a little surprised by the size. She lived alone but it was large enough for a largish family. Big yard too. Otherwise it was a plain suburban west Durham house.

When I got to the door I tightened my stomach muscles trying to tame the partying butterflies that had moved in there. As instructed I knocked three times. About half a minute later the door opened. For a split second I thought I’d faint.

She was wearing sunglasses. I couldn’t see her eyes and my feelings of intimidation took another jump. Not wanting to look like a gawking fool (probably already too late) I started to introduce yourself.

“I -.”

“I know who you are.” She sounded impatient but out of habit than actually annoyed. “Don’t speak, just nod. You saw my car as you came in.” It was under a carport. I nodded. “Go wash it. If you aren’t going to do a good job you might as well leave now. When you’re done come back and knock at the door.” She shut the door.

She’d told me I’d have to pass a few tests. I’d been expecting something more exciting. It was probably proof of my desperate need that without hesitating I went over to the car.

There was a hose, clothes car wash and wax. I don’t own a car so I was a little lost at first. But my father used to make me wash his car when I was a teen. I hated doing that with a passion. I could almost believe that, Joan – that was her name, had read my memories when she picked this chore.

I scrubbed the car twice, including the hubcaps and tag areas. It was hot and it was tiring. But waxing was even worse. I was so afraid it wouldn’t look right I kept buffing and buffing until my arms ached. Finally it was as good as I could do and I hoped good enough.

Back at the door I waited a couple of minutes until she answered my knock. She wasn’t wearing the shades so I could see her very intelligent intense looking dark eyes. She had a few worry lines etched into her forehead but they only added to her look of smart competence. She was tall probably about five inches less than my 6’3″. She was skinny, almost boney but I don’t know that her body could’ve matter I was so sucked in by her eyes.

But she was only there for a moment. “Come back tomorrow at the same time.” The door shut.

I felt like I should be disappointed but I wasn’t. But I sure hoped tomorrows test would be less strenuous.

My First Mistress – Part 2

She opened the door and put her fingers to her lips to indicate that I wasn’t to speak.

“Follow me.”

We went through mildly snazzy but pretty conventional living room to a side room that I suspected had been a breakfast room. It was completely empty.

She looked me in the eye and I felt a mild shiver pass up my spine.

“Go in the corner,” she pointed, “and get on your knees facing the corner and keep your hands at your sides.”

I complied getting very exciting wonder what she was going to do to me.

“You will stay there until told otherwise. Keep your eyes facing the corner, your arms where they are and your mouth shut. If you decide to stop before told you just leave the house and do not come back.”

I heard her leave the room.

A few minutes passed. Then several. Then I couldn’t guess how long I’d been there. Minutes started to seem awfully long. Sometimes I thought I saw the wall move. My knees were hurting and my ankles were sore.

I started to get mad. This was awfully boring. But I didn’t dare move. I’d hungered to be trained for a long time and she was the first who ever offered to do so.

I might as well have been chained there even if the chains were only in my mind and of my own making.

Finally after an eternity that I later was told was only 90 minutes she was back in the room.

“Get up and face me.” I almost fell and legs were wobbly but I was up in a flash.

Her expression was unreadable. It couldn’t decide if she looked grim, amused or maybe even mildly approving.

“Go but you may come back tomorrow at the same time.”

I left softly shutting her front door.

I’d washed her car. I’d been bored almost to tears. None of it had been even faitly erotic. I could not guess what tomorrow would bring. But looking inside myself I knew that having been forced to conform to another’s arbitrary commands had given me some satisfaction.

But I did wonder how many more tests I’d have to pass.

My First Mistress – Part 3

As I went up the walkway I wondered how she’d test me today. And what the tests proved. And when they’d end. We actually exchanged a fair amount of email before she’d agreed to see me. We shared complimentary appetites: she like to do to men what I wanted done to me (or at least I thought: since I’d never done any of it I didn’t really know).

The door opened for the third time.

“Go to the back yard and wait for me.”

As I did so I wondered if she was going to have me mow or lawn. The fear of something like that dampened my enthusiasm but I couldn’t brind myself to stop now.

She walked out. Dressed in a pullover top, cut-off jeans, and cheap rubber sandals, “flip flops” my mother used to call them. She’d always been dressed casually before but I’d been too hyped up to really notice the actual clothes.

She went over to a pick-nick table made of greenish wood.

“Sit here. Put your right hand’s palm down on the table.”

As I complied I noticed a wooden ruler in her hand.

“You are to keep your hand flat. I’m going to give you ten strokes. If that is too much for you leave and don’t come back.”

I barely had time to steel myself before the first slap hit. But it wasn’t that bad. At first. By the fifth stroke it really stung. My fingers felt like I might not be doing much with them tomorrow but it was almost over. I thought. An eleventh stroke hit me. A twelfth. With the thirteenth she turned the ruler so the edge cut into my fingers.

I yanked my hand away.

When I realized what I’d done I wanted to cry. I’d failed and would have to leave. But when I looked at her she looked pretty pleased.

“Don’t worry, you weren’t supposed to be able to take the last one. Once you got past the first ten you’d passed the test. The others were to teach you that no matter what I say I’m going to do I can still do whatever I want.”

“You have one last test. Come with me.” Shortly we were back in the room whose corner I’d knelt in. This time there was a big wicker plantation style chain in the center. She sat in it.

“Come here, may kneel in front of me. Remember you still aren’t to speak.”

So excited I was trembling I did.

“You have no idea how many men want to be where you are now. But they don’t really want it badly enough. They don’t really want to serve.

“The first day you proved you were willing to work for you place in my service. Yesterday you showed enough determination to withstand boredom which was a much harder test. Today you had your first taste of pain. I like hurting men. If you hadn’t been able to take it you wouldn’t be suitable for me. This is your last test.

“You won’t think it hard when I tell you but it will take all of your willingness work work and to keep on even if you get bored or tired.

“I am very, very slow to orgasm. Your last test is to satisfy me with your tongue. You probably think this is a big treat.” She was right about that.

“But it will take longer than you think. If you manage it we’ll do all the things we wrote to each other about. Otherwise, you won’t have made the grade.”

Standing up she pulled off her top and dropped her shorts. She sat back down. Gesturing at her cunt she said “Get to work, slave.”

She was right. It was long. It was wonderful at first. Then it took all my determination to keep going. At the end it was wonderful again. And then I was hers.

No related posts.

Earning My Mistress
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy

When I first started making the acquaintance of gay men who wear pretty dresses I was startled by the undercurrent of masochism. Not that I have anything against masochism. But the transvestites’ craving for humiliation seemed to emerge from their image of womanhood.

Crossdresser sexism troubled me. Happy satisfaction in crossdressing often involves pleasure in recreating traditional gender roles as much as flouting the norms. That they guys wanted to express their femininity by being spanked was off-putting. No condemnation is meant; it is an axiom of urbanity that sexuality simply is. Sex is evil only without consent.

I read little erotica (although I did read a recent femsub novel in the shop last week, title forgotten, it was remarkably well-written). I’ve written a half dozen fragments of erotica. I don’t have a narrative gift and am deaf to idiomatic dialogue. They were written to help me explore some facet of my sexuality. Below is my attempt to come to grips with transvestite humiliation. If sexual power exchange repels you don’t read any further.

The penultimate paragraph is the key.

Alex – Alexia

At 5’8″ and 125 lbs. he’d never be called manly. Very very pale rather blank blue eyes and a weak chin made him look like the kind of guy who’d been picked on as a kid. Which he was. Treated nastily by his father as well.

Which is probably why he needed what I was able to give him. Anyone who meets me sees someone invincibly self-assured. I sometimes tell people that I could sell my surplus self-esteem but foreign dictators. It is a bit of a front but sometimes advertising is everything. I could also give him unconditional affection and complete fidelity. While I think of monogamy as pretty silly I’ve always been so. And I could give him the experiences you, gentle reader, will get a sample of as this narrative continues.

Alex gave me the most cursory brush against my lips and headed straight for the bathroom. Right now his mind was focused on remaking himself. Anybody who meets him can tell he’s a “nancy boy,” “jane girl,” that is, a femme gay male. What you can’t tell on sight is that he’s a transvestite. Dressing as a woman is his supreme pleasure in life. Probably more than I am, I’m not stupid enough to ask.

I grabbed a kitchen chair and parked myself outside the bathroom where I could watch. This was ‘his’ bathroom. It was my house but we did not live together. I had a second, smaller bathroom downstairs leaving this one a place he could keep a bewildering array of makeup pencils, creams, brushes and ointments.

He was nude except for hosiery and heels that he’d stepped into as soon as he could discard his office clothes. It slowed him down but he knew how much I enjoyed watching how the heels made his ass checks move while he was working on his face.

I can’t give you an intelligible description of what he did to his face. To me it just looked like he put stuff on, then wiped it off. Drew invisibly on his face with some sort of pencil. Even though his art only baffled me it was always very sexy to watch him work.

It took him about twenty minutes. When he was done his eyes had somehow become bright, beautiful and very womanly. His chin mysteriously looked much stronger. And in my mind was becoming a girl. A girl named Alexis.

Putting on a simple short black skirt and top took moments. She did struggle briefly to get his wig on. The hair wasn’t very long and was thick, black and straight. It had cost her more than I cared to think.

Finished she turned around for my approval. I always felt a glow of pride that my pretty guy was also a handsome woman. Since we were going out I could look but not touch.

Ready to leave he slung a handbag over her shoulder. Casual is very polite description of how I dress so I’m always ready. We got in her car for the very good reason that I don’t know how to drive (a long story of no interest here). I always call her my ‘chaufferette’ when we drive anywhere.

The restaurant was middling. I don’t care much about eating out. But Alexis does and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the time to make her happy. Besides we weren’t really here to eat.

After we were seated out waiter asked the inevitable would we like anything to drink.

I ordered a scotch and soda. Alexis said she wanted a glass of wine. This was my cue.

“You silly bitch, I told you that I wouldn’t allow you any alcohol. How dare you defy me.”

She crimsoned instantly. “I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry.” Turning to the waiter, “I’ll have a coke.”

“The bitch will have a diet coke.” She softly whimpered agreement.

The waiter who’d been focusing on an empty point in the middle of the air quickly withdrew.

Alexis’s expression was unreadable: maybe kind of drunken, or something animal. Doubtlessly really humiliated the humiliation satisfied a deep hunger.

In a way the meal was already over before we’d eaten anything. We agreed we couldn’t take this too far. Someone might try to rescue the ‘little lady.’

So we quickly ate a bit of the food and left. The waiter was rewarded with a very generous tip.

Still flush with excitement from scene in the restaurant the kiss she gave me before we got in the car assured me I’d have a hot and passionate slut when we got home.

[ ]

The next afternoon Alexis and I were each in our own chair reading.

Her hair was of a cut that looked good on men or women and she didn’t have a wig on. At my request she was wearing her PVC thigh boots, hot pants and a tank top. She looked like a new wave hooker on her day off. I’d asked her to dress that way. She thought I just wanted her looking slutty. That was true enough but I had a special surprise for her.

“Make me a pot of coffee, sweet one.” She readily obliged feeling that minor domestic tasks made her more feminine.

She brought a cup in and sat it down beside me.

I raised my head and gave her what I hoped was a poisonously cold look. “What the fuck is this?”

“C-coffee.” I’d caught her off guard. She couldn’t imagine anything could be wrong.

“You are such a stupid slut. I told you to bring me a coke.”

“But- “

“Are you arguing with me, bitch-boy?” Mixing gender in my insults is always a warning she understands. There’s the hidden threat that I can wipe off the make up and take off the women’s clothing. That I can force Alexis to be Alex.

“No, no, please don’t be mad.” Absolutely meek and by now realizing something was about to happen.

“Get down on your hands and knees in front of me. Now, bitch.” It had actually taken a lot of effort at first for me to call her nasty names but that only excited her alot. “And keep your mouth shut.”

“You know where your collar is, bring it over. In your mouth.”

The collar was near so that was quickly done. I put it on and locked it.

“I should never let you take this off. You need it to remind you of who and what you are. Climb over my lap.”

She did. She felt very good there. So frail, completely mine.

“I think you deserve about fifty licks for your impudence. What do you think you deserve?”

She had started to drift towards subspace. “Whatever my Master demands, Sir.”

“You said that too easily. I think you are getting to used to your spankings. Get off my lap, I have a special treat for you.”

“Crawl over and bring me your leash.”

I think she was a little worried that I was going to spank her with it. We set hand spanking as a limit. I’d sometimes threaten to use the leash as a belt. If she’d been able to think clearly she’d know that I’d never violate our contract.

“Come on, we’re going walk downstairs. You know the way, stay on your hands and knees and go ahead of me.”

Crawling down stairs looked very awkward but she made it without mishap.

“Now we’re going out the back door, stay down and crawl out.”

She looked up at me wide-eyed. Outside the house, like this, would I really make her.

“I didn’t give you permission to look at me pussy-boy. Do you want worse than you are about to get.”

Too cowed to ask or say anything she just put her head back down and crawled out the door as I held it open.

When we were out on the grass I stopped and gave her leash a gentle tug, her signal to sit up on her knees and look me in the face.

“You’ve started to forget that you are mine to do with as I want. You are my pet. To remind you I’m going to take you on a walk around the edge of the yard. We are going to walk along all four sides of the yard. If you are lucky nobody will she you. If you aren’t …” I just shrugged.

The chances were vanishingly small that either of the people living at the side or rear would come out and se anything. There were trees and bushes long two of the fences blocking off lots of view. But in the small residual chance that they might lay the thrill.

Alexis was appalled. “Please, please … ” was all she said and it was pathetic.

I was heartless. “I could just lock you up here on the back porch for the evening. You are going to do exactly what I tell you and do it now. Make me wait and I’ll make it worse.”

I pulled on the leash and she followed.

“Walk in front of me. Don’t go too fast or I’ll make you crawl this route twice.”

She went at a moderate pace and I enjoyed watching her buns move back and forth as she crawled.

It seemed to take much longer than it could’ve as we went along one fence, another, yet another and eventually were back at the back door.

I opened the door and led her inside.

I removed the leash and pulled her up. She was limp so I picked her up in my arms and carried her upstairs.

Sitting in a chair I held her in my lap. She murmured something, I hadn’t any idea what but it was probably thanks. She was still recovering from the huge mental orgasm that only a satisfied sub feels and understands.

I knew she’d be incredibly loving for the rest of the day

No related posts.

Transvestite Humiliation
BDSM Romance - Notes on Power Exchange and S&M by an Erotically Electic Guy