Finding a Mistress

You have inspired me to become a woman’s CFNM slave locally!!

I got this message from a man in New York city, who has been writing to me, wanting to be a slave. Naturally I was curious, so I pressed him on the details. After giving me a fictionalised slave-fantasy account of his first meeting with his new Mistress at a cocktail party, which I rejected, he offered this.

I was at a vanilla cocktail party when I noticed a woman wearing a long, ankle length dress with a high neck. It was sexy because it was artfully draped. She sat down and when she crossed her legs a high slit in the dress opened. I could not help staring at her feet and shoes from across the room. She noticed me looking at them, met my eyes, and I looked down and away. Later she was sitting down talking to another man. I could not keep from staring at her feet and shoes again. She caught me looking again and I turned away. Later I was at the bar and she came up to me and said hello. I suppose I blushed. I could not say anything. She said she saw me looking at her feet and shoes twice. I said yes I was looking because they were so beautiful.

She said that she has found an alpha man looks into her eyes. A submissive man looks at her chest. And a slave looks at her feet.

She said she dressed the way she did to separate men into those three categories. She then asked me what category was I. I did not say anything.

“Tell me.” she said in a commanding voice.

“I am a slave.” I answered.

“Self knowledge is a good thing.” she replied.

Then she asked me if I had a small cock. I was pretty shocked. I did not know what to say. She then slapped me with her gloved hand. Not hard, but enough to make people stare. I was very embarassed and humiliated but also felt myself getting aroused.

“Tell me.” she said. ”

“Yes.” I replied.

She looked down at my pants and said, “Clearly you get off on being humiliated. I don’t date small cocked masochists but if you want to clean my apartment while I am out with a real man I might let you if you beg. Here is my card.”

I called her later.

“Hi this is Brian. Is this Laura?”

“Did I meet you at the party yesterday?”

‘Yes Ma’am.”

“You are the small cocked sissy faggot who wants to clean my apartment while I am out.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“And why do you want to do that?”

I was not expecting that question. I had to think how to express how I felt.

“Because it excites me sexually to serve you.”

“Why does it excite you? Do you like being humiliated by a woman who will never fuck you?”

“Yes”

“Have you masturbated about me?”

“Yes.”

“To orgasm?”

“Yes.”

“That was rude to do without my permission. The next time I see you I want you to be wearing a Mature Metal Jail Bird. Find it on the Internet. Put it on, lock it, and call me again.”

She hung up.

When it arrived I called her again.

“Hello, this is Laura.”

“Hi Laura. This is Brian.”

“Hello slave. Are you wearing the Jail Bird?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Good boy. I have a hot date on Thursday. I want you to arrive at 7pm so that I may instruct you in your tasks before I leave. My address is [address]. Do you have it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Goodbye.”

I went to see her at the appointed time and things went from there.

Public transport fantasy

Do you ever sit on the tram and wonder how your fellow passengers like to have sex?

What about him, the meek looking balding guy reading the paper, spectacles on his nose? Does he like to be dominated by a woman with big strong thighs as he kneels naked and vulnerable on the floor? Or is he a secret sadist who pinches his wife’s nipples just a bit harder than she likes, as he gets a kick out of hearing her cry out in pain? He never admits this to her because he can’t admit it to himself.

Or him, the man with the broad face and hooded eyelids. Caramel coloured smooth skin and an army green cap over his short hair. Does he love his wife? Is he faithful to her? Or is he on his way to see his mistress while her kids are at school and her husband at work. Will he go to her place and they’ll steal an hour fucking in the marital bed or will they meet at some cheap motel that smells of stale sweat and carpet deodoriser?

The young guy, tall and lanky, his curls a wild mess. He’s a man, yes, but there is still much boyishness in his smile. Is he aware of his appeal to girls who are drawn to his awkwardness and cherubic looks? Does he take them home and fuck them up the arse? Or is he shy, stealing glances out of the corner of his eye when he is sure she is not looking? At night he sneaks into her garden to watch through her living room window as she kisses another and takes off her white cotton bra in the warm glow of the imitation Tiffany lamp.

This one is standing, holding onto the pole. A business man is my guess. Confident bright eyes, short clipped blonde beard and hair. He looks straight at me. I don’t smile back, but return the stare. Does he like to be in charge? Does he know how? Or is he only after a quickie in missionary position before rolling over and going to sleep? Who knows, perhaps he is a secret romantic who likes candlelit dinners and giving gifts of expensive handmade chocolates.

The next stop is mine. I get off and merge with the business of the crowd. Losing myself.