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From Hendrik T:

 

Dear Ms. Sutton, when reading your website one wonders why there are so many seeking to submit to a woman and what it is that makes a male feel so. Maybe my story helps (also me) to understand.

 

I came to realise about my submissive trait quite late in my life at a university abroad where I met a woman who influenced my life. She was a post-doc and already gave lectures whereas I was a freshman attending his first term. Our relation began quite ordinary with no one being too much into anything bizarre. Sometimes she pinched my nipples a bit (never strong) or playfully squeezed my testicles but otherwise nothing unusual happened. However, she touched me less and less and over time our intercourse changed and I pleased her more and more often orally than by penetration. She simply ignored my member and guided my head between her legs instead. After a while, I not only complied, but it felt absolutely right for me to bow and kiss her innermost when she spread her thighs. I was eager and she accepted my ardent tongue gracefully.

 

She didn't talk much nor instructed me on how to arouse her since in our mutual understanding of pleasure given I learned to interpret any of her stirs and sighs. It still amazes me how composed she was, sighing (lovely) silently and trembling ever so slightly when she climaxed. She always came like a lady. Afterwards, I could rest my head at her bosom and she let me masturbate.

 

Once, she admitted that she loved my availability and the certainty of climaxing that it brought along. Maybe I'm foolish, but it made me proud that my tongue could give her such feelings. I spent more and more time waiting for her to come home, spent more and more time massaging her feet after a long day and waited even more for any indication whether she was in the mood to let me serve her orally.

 

One day she handed me an envelope and told me to follow the instructions to the letter. I went out and opened the envelope where I found that she had made an appointment for me with a professional Dominatrix. Her instructions were very specific and the Dominatrix was committed to the task. I came home late and my bottom was red and sore. She asked me to undress and contemplated silently for several minutes the welts on my behind. She even made me bend over and spread my cheeks so she could see that the Domina had indeed taken full advantage of my vulnerability when I was in a pillory. She raised me up and began to stroke my member; something she hadn't done for long. Needless to say that I came within a nick.

 

When I was dressed again she told me that this had been our last meeting. She was going to another university and would leave soon. Than she dismissed me. I had been fulfilled, by her, by her juices and even by her permission to invade my anus, and now I felt deserted. It took days until I regained myself. But life went on as it always does. She was gone and my term ended and so I went back to Amsterdam. I haven't seen her in years but I still think of her. I miss the serenity my servitude had given me and I miss the taste of her juices. My very best regards.

 

 

 

From Sean D:

 

The following is an actual experience that I have written in story form. It came about in unusual circumstances. I wrote about the above experience to a fairly low circulation fem/dom and bondage magazine. A sub innocently showed the piece to one of the London mistresses. Despite the fact I'd changed the mistress's name, (Velda's wasn't her name) the sub recognized the scene and sent the magazine off to Velda! Incredibly, Velda got in touch with me. I hope you will enjoy this true experience:

 

Thank goodness I've actually found the place and I'm on time as well! The photocopier in the library had been broken, so I'd just made a sketch map of this particular town's roads. The trouble was that when I got here, I picked up all sorts of one way streets and had got completely lost. It was pure luck I'd found the place. A good omen? I approach the front door carrying my huge bag full of submissive gear. A movement behind the curtains and the door opens as I reach for the bell.

 

A vision appears before me. Gosh! Mistress Velda is just like her photo, very attractive and wearing all the fantasy mistress's gear: the black leatherwear, the black high heeled boots, the long leather gloves  matched with long dark hair and perfect make-up. Wonderful  what a start!

 

Now I am reasonably clear as to the set-up here, as I'd had a conversation with her on the phone and so I'd devised a simple two act 'fantasy play' the text of which I'd sent her by post so as not to waste time explaining my needs when I arrived. It was nothing too complicated, I made sure of that in the light of previous experiences.

 

Here we go  Act one: the bedroom scene. I've stripped naked and I'm ordered to start dressing in my 'wife's underwear', which is actually the lingerie I've brought along myself and is now laid out on the bed. With my foundation garments and nylons donned, I reach for my satin slip. She grabs it and the negligee before I can put them on.

 

"Oh what lovely undies I must show them to my TV." So saying, she dashes off out of the room.

 

Damn! That wasn't in the script. I hear them chattering in the next room.

 

I look at myself in the large mirror. I'm recycling my fantasies again. A couple of recent unpleasant and unsatisfactory sessions with my bound naked and torture fantasies have propelled me into my rather less painful 'humiliation' fantasies. However, as often what a mistress regards as humiliation is not what I have in mind, I usually request a scene something like this one. Initially, I don't feel particularly submissive or in that particular frame of mind in the presence of a mistress. But even with the least authoritative dominatrix, being 'compelled' by her to dress up as a female certainly helps change my mental attitude very rapidly. Now in her presence, dressed in woman's underwear, I instinctively and emotionally become very docile and compliant and I really do feel submissive and in a very humiliating situation - how could a male feel otherwise dressed in that fashion? Being a bit of a perfectionist though, I do try to get the end result looking as aesthetically pleasing as possible, hence the expensive lingerie. Most mistresses assume I 'm a TV. I'm not sure if I am or not. It never occurs to me to dress up in female clothes outside of a 'forced into' fantasy with a mistress, so I always imagined that humiliation was my motivation; but just to visualize the scene must make me a bit that way inclined I suppose.

 

Velda comes back, "They're gorgeous, we'd both like to wear them," She becomes Velda the mistress again  "Now let's see what you look like in your wife's frillys!" I soon realize I'd made a mistake sending her a fantasy longer than a few lines. She'd obviously received it, but as she probably gets dozens like it, must have given it a mere cursory inspection and then discarded it. She's remembered enough though, to get it somewhat mixed up and turn my carefully reasoned drama into a fantasy I have difficulty relating to. Fair enough, that happens a lot. I'm not that disappointed, my expectations are always low, but one does lives in hope.

 

But whatever she gets up to, nothing can ruin Act Two I figure, as by now, I am fully dressed up in the lingerie, with high heels, seamed nylons, wig and make up. My wrists have been handcuffed and thumbcuffed together in front, with a leather strap pinioning my elbows tightly together at the back and my ankles are manacled together with a short chain My own suggestion and equipment, I'm secure in the knowledge I can't wriggle out of these bonds. I also asked for, and Velda has inserted, a butt plug.

 

I thought long and hard about a 'butt plug'. I occasionally fantasize about being raped by a female, but it's never been the major factor in the fantasy, only as part and parcel of a long series of humiliations in that scene. I've sometimes had sessions with a mistress where rape might have been appropriate, but I never really had the time to explore that area further. I decided to ask for the plug in this scene today for an additional discomfort later on and it also seemed the sort of final act of indignity to my 'manhood' my fantasy cruel lesbian would perform on me.

 

However when I requested the device, I had in mind a little itty-bitty thing. It seems Velda's clients are more seriously involved in that area as she's forced up a quite sizeable rubber dildo with straps on it connecting to a waist strap to keep it in. To my weak protests, she brusquely tells me to stop being a cry-baby, this is the smallest one she's got anyway. Ouch! Gay-guys get turned on by this? Still, it'll only be in there a short time, and it will add to the misery I'm hoping to experience down below. At last, I'm ready to go, lets get down to the dungeon quickly. There's a noise in the yard outside.

 

"Those bloody builders  I want to have a word with them!"

 

Velda dashes off and I can hear her berating the builders. Hell, she must really be genuinely dominant, I'm not sure I would dare talk to builders like that and it's having an effect as well because they sound very compliant. What on earth do they make of her attire? Surely it must be obvious as to what she is  or is it to non scene people? Maybe they just think she dresses eccentrically. Where exactly are they? I'm suddenly a bit worried I know in the script that Velda is to compel me to hobble from this bedroom down to the basement where in the story, I was in for a rude awakening. Could I be seen in a window? I suspect Velda wouldn't bother too much, but heavens  the embarrassment  I'm not into that sort of humiliation.

 

As it happens, I make my very clumsy and inelegant journey to the dungeon without any outside observation. I thought I would have trouble with the short chained ankle manacles and the high heels, but actually it's the very tight long satin slip I'm wearing and the irritating and very uncomfortable movement of the dildo that causes most of the problem getting down the stairs. I finally arrive and look around in some admiration. It's one of the largest and best equipped dungeons I've ever seen, in actual fact, far too good for this fantasy.

 

Velda forgets we're supposed to be in the middle of that fantasy. Obviously proud of her workplace, instead of opening the curtains on 'Act Two', she now proceeds to take me, I don't believe this, on a guided tour of the dungeon! She seems quite unconscious of the grotesque absurdity of the situation as I hobble from one item to the next, unsteady on my high heels and my shackled ankles, trying to seem keen and interested as the enthusiastic Velda points out the gruesome torments that can be developed with the various bits of equipment. She's chatting away as if I'm a colleague or a close friend and I'm still desperately still trying to view her as my fantasy cruel, man-hating lesbian!

 

Eventually, thank goodness, Velda runs out of items to display, and becomes a mistress again. Velda not at all bad in her mistress mode and I can see why she is said to be very popular in this business. I go though the routine of begging for mercy and acting as if I'm genuinely terrified of her as she comes out with the usual mistress patter. Apart from the difficulty of actually performing various pleading for mercy acts the way I'm bound up, I'm a bit distracted by the way my lingerie is being soiled by the dungeon floor as I'm grovelling to Velda. Will I be able to get it clean again? Oh, for Heavens sake! What a bloody daft thing to be thinking about at this stage of the session. When I could during all this, I've been eyeing Velda's cage. I wish she'd get on with it and get me into it. She'd described the cage on the phone and I had decided it would be the major item in my fantasy. It was an evil looking contraption, with thick steel bars. It was designed, so Velda told me, not to be too comfortable for a normal sized male imprisoned in it.

 

Velda finally finishes with what for me had become totally unnecessary 'foreplay' and motions me to the cage. Good I think, clear my mind, start the ball rolling, all the ingredients are in place, I can still get into the mood and get something out of this session. I'm about to enter the cage, whenRing, Ring, RingVelda has switched the phone extension down to here. She walks over to the phone on a corner table. I try to block everything from my mind but the fantasy, but I can't shut out Velda's shrieks.

 

"Are you on your knees? Why not! Get on your knees before your mistress this moment you pathetic, miserable worm!"

 

I look over and catch Velda's eye. She grins and gives me a conspiratorial wink. Oh God, I'm starting to lose the scene again. I stand, patiently waiting for Velda to finish her tirade.

 

"Two o'clock tomorrow then and you'll really feel my whip this time."

 

Velda slams the receiver down and strides back to me, "Right now, you helpless, pathetic apology of a man - get into that cage!"

 

She's back in her mistress mode, I struggle to get back into the mood. Hold on a minute though, she's forgotten the gag! Absolutely essential to this fantasy.

 

"I'll scream," I feebly whine. I hope she takes the hint, I am still trying to hang on to my battered fantasy and it wouldn't help it to actually ask right now to be gagged.

 

The hint works as Velda suddenly remembers  but she's left my pristine, disinfected gag upstairs and she's not going to bother going back up for it.

 

She searches around and finds one amongst the large pile of miscellaneous bits and pieces lying around. A large penis shaped gag is forced into my mouth. Ugh  it tastes horrible  how many mouths has it been in? Could I catch something vile? Oh well, nothing much I can do about that now. I try to say something but I can't form any words or make much of a sound at all. The gag may not be that clean, but it's remarkably effective.

 

I'm forced into the cage and then Velda suddenly does something on her own initiative, that I hadn't thought to request. She eases up my slip above my knees and very efficiently straps my nyloned knees together with one of the many leather straps hanging from the wall, taking several tight turns and fastening it securely. I'm feeling a lot better now, being gagged and further bound  that's just the sort of additional torment my fantasy lesbian would inflict on me.

 

Velda closes the cage door and padlocks it. She was certainly right about the lack of comfort. It's too low to be able to stand upright, so one is awkwardly crouched and the rest is so tight for space that even if one wasn't bound up, a relaxed position would be difficult to attain. Being bound in the way I am now adds considerably to the misery as any natural movement to ease the discomfort is just not possible. This is absolutely great, just what I'd envisioned in my fantasy.

 

Velda does some ritual jeering and mocking me in the cage, but eventually, thankfully, leaves, slamming the dungeon door and now I'm alone in here. Now at last, free of distraction, my vivid imagination can take over and looking at my excitingly pitiable predicament in the mirror opposite and struggling helplessly in the cage, I can really begin to believe that some beautiful lesbian has tricked me into this frightening situation; and I know that knowledge combined with the torment of my bonds, will produce maybe more than one ecstatic orgasm.

 

I'm just getting into my act when I hear the doorbell ring. I hear Velda's footsteps walk along the hall to open it.

 

"Hello Velda, I must tell you, I've had a great game at Cortonwood. Got around in eighty nine."

 

Albeit that he has a loud voice, I'm still surprised I can hear quite so clearly from down here, I would have thought this place was virtually soundproof.

 

They walk along the hall and exasperatingly settle in the room above me. Damn, damn, damnI can barely hear Velda's voice, but although I can't make out his words, blabbermouth is noisy enough to really distract me from getting into the necessary mood. I simply can't fantasise with that background. I've no alternative but to put my fantasy on hold until the noisy sod goes.

 

As time ticks by, I begin to realise that I'm probably passing the point of no return in this session, it really isn't going to work today  for Christ's sake Velda, come down here and release me!

 

After what seems ages, I finally here some movement up top. But then to my sudden alarm, I hear both them coming down the steps to the dungeon.

 

"I've brought one of your workmates down to see you!" announces Velda, sounding very pleased with herself."

 

  

  

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