She
seems to enjoy my distress but I am, nevertheless, under the
impression that she feels a bit of compassion for me. With calm
and assertiveness, she advices me that I should call her by the name
of Mistress Ingrid and she asks me to sit down on a small stool,
in front of her. Then, she explains that I can put an end to the
session, at any time, by the use of a "password". She, also, asks me to show
her the contents of my suitcase. When I bring out the camera,
she seems particularly interested by the way it works.
When
Mistress Ingrid makes me turn around so that I could present to
her both of my wrists, she buckles leather bracelets on each of
them. Then, I hear the familiar click of a padlock. I am now
unable to use my hands anymore and I start to feel that I have
lost control over what could happen to me. My whole body starts
to shake again because I am really scared but the rush of
adrenalin, which is invading me, is so fantastic. And, what a
contrast with my usual behaviour, when I always try to be in
control, in almost every aspects of my life.
During
the following minutes, I am bound in all kinds of positions and
on various pieces of equipment, one of which is a X cross,
supported against one of the walls of the donjon. From time to
time, Mistress Ingrid uses the Polaroid camera to take pictures
of me and she seems to enjoy herself very much.
After
the X cross episode, I must lay on my back, on a strange kind of
bench, with my legs up in the air, stretched to the limit, and
my ankles are bound to a crossbar, which is fixed to one of the
ends of the bench.
While I am maintained in this position, Mistress Ingrid applies
a greasy product into the crack between my buttocks and she
starts a vibrator which she inserts into the opening of my anus.
At
ounce, I am under the impression that my whole body vibrates and, it is so violent that I am afraid to go insane.
But, before I can get time enough to grow accustomed to this
feeling, completely new to me, Ingrid applies another vibrator
to my "little clitty". It is obvious to me that she tries to
make me cum but, after a few minutes of these vibrations, it is
just too much for me and I scream the password.
Fortunately, she stops everything at ounce. While my body starts
to calm down slowly, Ingrid cleans my buttocks and my sex. When
I become a little more relax, she unties my ankles and I can sit
on the bench, with my wrists still bound in front of me.
Sometime later, she opens a closet to bring out a pair of high
heeled sandals and a filmy negligee which I must put on, after
my wrists are untied. When I must parade in front of her, I feel
humiliated. The sandals are too large for me and the negligee is
way too small.
Then,
Ingrid leads me into a bedroom where she makes me sit in
front of a mirror and starts to apply make up to my face and to
put a wig on my head. From a large drawer, she brings out a bra,
a corset and a pair of black lace stockings. As we are going
back to the donjon and as she takes a picture, I ask her if
she would let me remove the sandals in order to replace them by
some of the shoes which I had brought.
As the
last pictures are shot, Ingrid takes the time to start a
conversation with me. She wants to know what I think about our
meeting. She is particularly interested about why I refused to
cum. During our conversation, she also tells me that she was
born in Germany and that her husband, whom she first met as a
client, is currently her slave.
After
the cleaning of my make up and the removal of my ladies'
clothes, we say good-bye and I take the road again to go back to
Montreal. Do I need to tell you that the time spent on my return
trip is not long enough to "digest" my experience of the last
few hours?
Second encounter:
During
the days which follow my first meeting with Ingrid, regularly my
thoughts are devoted to this woman and the new experiments which
she made me live. A chance that I still have pictures with me to
prove that I have not been dreaming. I also realise that I was
lucky to be initiated by such a cordial and understanding woman.
On the
other hand, I am not particularly impressed by the crossdressing
experience. Looking at the pictures, on which I wear the wig and
the ladies' clothes, I think that it makes me look ridiculous
and it is not the kind of humiliation which excites me. But, to
have had to wear my cherished high heels in front of her is
still exciting, everytime I think about it.
Just
like I find particularly exciting to have had to exhibit myself,
completely naked, in front of a stranger. It surprises me and
disturbs me too. What disturbs me also is to feel aroused when I
have a look at the pictures which show me in bondage. It
surprises me because, when I lived these episodes, after having
overcome my initial fear, I only felt relief and wellbeing. The
rush of adrenalin and the fear came back only when I felt the
application of the cold lubricant between my buttocks. But, when
I heard the noise of the vibrator, then I really panicked.
In
relation with this episode, in particular, I, nevertheless, feel
relatively disappointed to have been unable to live it till the
end. And, by looking at the picture which shows me lying on the
bench, legs up in the air and ankles attached to the crossbar, I
feel excited and I feel a strong need to live this kind of
experience again.
Three
long weeks later, I cannot wait any more and I call Ingrid again
to get a new appointment. During the days preceding our meeting
and in order to derive the maximum benefit from it, I decide to
put every chances possible by my side. Thus, in a sexshop of the
city, I buy a corset and a "butt plug". And, from the Sears
catalogue, I order a pair of flat heeled ballerinas.

On the
day of the meeting, before my departure for Ottawa, under my
men's clothes, I don the corset, stockings, ballerinas and I
insert the butt plug. The purpose of the corset is to hide my
protruding belly and, especially, to start to get the feeling of
being bound. Unfortunately, it is a little too large and not
rigid enough.
I also
hope that the butt plug will serve as a sufficient preparation
for the invasion of the vibrator between my buttocks. But, I
have difficulties to insert it inside of my body and it is very
painful. Probably, as a result of my lack of experience, I did not use any
lubricant. I even wonder if I will be able to endure it for the
two hours and half drive to Ingrid.s place. As soon as I get on
the passenger seat of my car, the pain increases. I would like
to get back to my apartment to remove it but the fear of being
seen wearing my ballerinas is stronger.
I know
that it is ridiculous, because at this time of the day, the building seems deserted and the manageress of the
building did not even raise an eyebrow when I left the elevator.
But, since I wear ladies' shoes for the first time in public, it
stresses me a lot. Nevertheless, I believe that my feet look
really good with them on and the feeling of the nylon stockings
under my trousers is so pleasant.
As
soon as she opens her door to let me in, Ingrid notices my new
shoes right away and she compliments me on my choice. And, even
before she makes me remove my clothes, she also notices that I
wear a corset, which brings up a smile on her face. On the other
hand, she seems rather surprised by the sight of the butt plug
between my buttocks and she beckons to me to go to the bathroom
to remove it at ounce.
When I
have to show her the content of my suitcase, she seems very
happy to find that I have brought back my Polaroid camera. But,
what attracts her attention the most is the three pairs of high
heels which I take out one pair at the time. She is just going
crazy about them. And we seems to have exactly the same taste
for shoes. It is probably for this reason that, without losing a
minute, I must put on one pair after another to parade in front
of her. How lucky I am to wear a size larger than her because I
would bet that she would have done the parade by herself.
Unlike
the way I felt during my first visit, I am rather at ease in
front of Ingrid and I even believe that I derive much more
pleasure. I also feel proud to show her that I can walk, without
great difficulties, on heels which are six inches high. On the
other hand, although she allowed me to keep on my stockings and
my corset, I still feel shy to have to show my naked sex which
is starting to become hard.
Still
wearing my red Dorsey
pumps, she leads me into her bedroom and starts to apply make up
on my face. Then, comes the wig and the photo shoot. She seems
to enjoy herself very much and me too.
But,
now, comes the time to move on to the more serious part of my
session and I must turn around to let Ingrid tie my wrists
behind my back. When bound on the X cross, she does not miss the
chance to torture my little clitty but the pain I must endure is
not that great. Actually, I feel much more pleasure than pain.
But,
when she ties me down on the bench, with my speaded legs up in
the air and my ankles fixed to the crossbar, I start to feel an
incredible rush of adrenalin invading me, as the memories, when
I have been kept in bondage like this, come back to my mind. I
am now in the situation which I absolutely wanted to live again
but, at the same time, it is also the one which I apprehended
the most.
When I
start to feel Ingrid's fingers applying the cold lubricant
between my buttocks, my whole body starts to shake in an
uncontrolable way. And, when the vibrator is inserted into the
opening of my anus, there is no way I can relax anymore.
However, I know that I must calm down, if I want to get the
chance to acquire the taste of all the new sensations I came
here for.
Ingrid
must have sensed my feelings because she moves the vibrator away
from me almost immediately. Then, she inserts it back again but
more slowly, this time. Several in and out moves later, I start
to get accustomed to the invasion of my body and I can relax my
muscles. But when, without warning, she applies a second
vibrator to my clitty, I am so taken by surprise that I do not
offer any resistance and I get an orgasm almost immediately.
While
she lets me recover for a few minutes, Ingrid cleans my sex and
my buttocks. I am in a very very good mood and the moves of her
hands onto my body feel like caresses. I am so happy and, each
time I can see Ingrid's face, she is radiant too.
What
is particularly sensational about her is that she never gives me
any signs that her time is limited with me. Even after she
untied me and I donned back my clothes, we discuss about our
feelings and about what we did together.
Today,
on my way back to Montreal, I even feel better than the last
time. And, this is not because I no longer have the butt plug
inserted between my buttocks, believe you me. I really enjoyed
my time spent with Ingrid. What a pity it could have been, had I
not taken the bull by the horn and missed the opportunity to
meet her again.
Third encounter:
During
the
following weeks, while looking at the pictures taken during my meetings with Ingrid, I frequently revive the pleasure which she
made me discover. I now have the conviction that each time I
will have the opportunity to submit to a woman, in whom I have
confidence, I will feel the same kind of excitation that I felt while
watching the scene of the movie, which led me to meet that
dominatrix.
But,
as surprising as it may appear, the thought which comes back to
my mind all the time and which still gives me shivers of pleasure is
the one related to my exhibition on high-heeled shoes, in front
of her. And, I am now under the impression that, one of these
days, I will have to do it again because this fantasy is
becoming stronger and stronger everyday. But, at first sight, I
really do not see how I could carry it out, on a regular basis.
As the
days go by and as I have a look at the pictures on which I wear
wig and make-up, I become more and more convinced that I could
do a much better job than Ingrid did. With that thought in my
mind, it becomes easy to imagine that, as a consequence, I might
perhaps dare, one day, to go out on the street "en femme"
wearing my favorite stilts.
A few
weeks later, I have an opportunity to attend a congress in New
York City. I just cannot miss such a chance to visit a shop I
have heard of and who cares to the needs of
the transvestite community (Lee's Mardis Gras boutique closed
down a few years later, after the death of its owner, a
notorious transvestite).
On the
day of my arrival in the American metropolis, I am so scared to
be seen in this kind of establishment that I ask the cab driver
to drive me up one street away from the boutique and, several
times, I walk in front of it without even daring to enter.
The
next day, I come back but, this time, I get into the store and
visit every rooms of this Ali Baba cave lookalike. I end up
choosing a magazine and a video. But, when comes the time to pay
for these items, I realise that I do not have sufficient cash
with me. The cashier directs me to a nearby ATM machine, which
allows me to get some cash, with the use of my credit card and I
came back to the store to pay for my purchases. On this
beautiful fall day, in New York City, the weather is hot and I
am sweating. But, is it the hot weather or is it the excitation of the whole situation
which cause it? Maybe the latter is
more accurate?
Back
in Montreal, I nevertheless regret to have missed the wonderful
opportunity to try on some of the high heeled shoes, which were
on display into the shop. But, two weeks later, my luck comes
back, when another opportunity arises to go back to New York
City and I grab it right away, fearing it would never come back
again.
By the end of the
afternoon, on the day
of my arrival, I have a couple of hours of free time, and I go back to the transvestite store. As
soon as I enter, I can see two or three men trying on high
heels. It seems so normal to them that I do not hesitate to do
the same. My first purchases are a pair of four inches heeled
pumps
and another one with six inches heels
.
What a rush of adrenaline I have and how wonderful it is to
parade in front of peoples perched so high on heels.
But,
as I still have room for additional spending (during these days,
money was not my main concern), I move to the wig section. As I
start to have a look at the ones on display, I find enough
courage to ask for assistance from a clerk.
A few
moments later, I am seated in front of a large mirror, trying on
some of the wigs. I have great difficulties to believe that, one
day, I could dare to go out wearing something like that on my
head. But, I am so scared that such an opportunity could not
arise again that I choose the one which is recommended by the
clerk, even if it gives me the appearance of a scarecrow.
Moreover, the clerk is so skilful at making me decrease my level
of stress that I push the envelop further and I ask his help to
select a complete set of make-up products and accessories.
Back
in my Montreal apartment, as it was foreseeable, I spend the
next two or three evenings trying to feminize my face. In the
beginnings, I am not too successful. The make-up of my eyes and
the contour of my lips proves to be much more difficult to do than I
could have anticipated. Moreover, the Max Factor's make-up
foundation, praised so much by the clerk at Lee's Mardis Gras,
does not seem to hide the shade of my facial hair as much as I
would have wished it.
Despite all these difficulties, I am, more and more, convinced
that I can do, by myself, a better job than what Ingrid achieved
and I,
nevertheless,
start to dream that transforming myself into a passable woman is
not an
unattainable
goal.
It is
in this state of mind that, during the following weeks, my main
concern is to take the necessary steps to acquire what is
missing to complete my transformation "en femme". The Sears
catalogue is again put to good use as I order from it a long
black skirt and a matching flowered top. And, I find the guts to
go shopping on St-Hubert street and to the nearby drug store. I
even buy a red divided skirt which I bring to the seamstress, at
my usual cleaner, to alter it and to transform it into a micro
miniskirt.
After repeated
attempts at trying on all these new accessories, I start to
convince myself that it could be possible for me to pay a new
visit to Ingrid and to surprise her under the borrowed identity
of a woman. But, there are still many things left to bother me.
Among
those, I am afraid to venture out on the staircases of my
apartment building and on the sidewalks, while perched on the
vertiginous heels which I usually wear inside my apartment. I
have difficulties to accept that I should reduce the height of
these heels by a couple of inches because the main purpose of my
transformation "en femme" is precisely to develop opportunities
to wear those high heels on the street. But, being so close to
my goal and realizing that a visit to Ottawa is just a onetime
experience make that concession much more appealing. So, a few
days later, I buy a pair of black pumps, whose heels do not
exceed an inch and a half in height (quite a concession for me but I
could not find anything better on such short notice).

Late
that night (without taking into consideration the dangers to
which I expose myself), I put them on and I go to the nearest
park to take a walk on the sidewalk surrounding it. As my shoes
were not made with high grade material, my heels make a hellish
noise. I am under the impression that I will awake one and every
inhabitants of the district. But, despite the stress which
invades me, it does not alter the intense pleasure of my first
long walk on the street, while wearing "high" heels. The
following day, I call Ingrid to make an appointment with her and
I make plans to take a leave from work.
On the
day of my meeting with Ingrid, everything goes uneventful until I knock at
her door. I can feel that she
hesitates before opening to me. But, as soon as I identify
myself and when she hears my voice, she starts again to become
the "little girl" for whom I had so much fascination on the two
previous occasions we met. She seems genuinely astonished and,
instead of letting me in, she makes me turn around in order to
have a better look at me. And, to my great surprise, she takes
my hand to lead me to her neighbor's place, right beside her own
home, where I am presented.
There
is no need to tell you that I feel shy but, at the same time, so
much flattered by this unexpected reception. I also consider
myself lucky to have worn low heels because the path to the
neighbor's backyard was a little rough.
Back
to Ingrid's place, I feel light as a feather and I easily agree
to parade again in front of her, just like she made me do it in
front of her neighbor, a few minutes ago. While having a look at
the content of the suitcase I brought with me, we drink a glass
wine, which Ingrid served, making me believe we are celebrating
an important event.
The
remainder of the afternoon goes on very quickly, as I try on the
clothes and shoes I had brought with me. But, Ingrid is not the
kind of dominatrix to let me go before she could let me be
known, ounce again, the joys of her vibrators. As it happenned
during our previous meetings, I must take off most of my clothes
and she binds my legs way up in the air, on the bench which I
now know so well. I imagine that I will not surprise you, if I
tell you that, in this position, pretty soon, I enjoy one of
best orgasm of my life. My life which might
never be the same again.
Epilogue:
The last
time we met, Ingrid told me that, someday, she might have the
opporunity to come to Montreal, so
that we could go out, together, as two girlfriends. The weeks
went by but she could not do it. In the mean time, my needs to
live that kind of experience became stronger and stronger. In
addition, I ended up realizing that my visits to Ottawa were
expensive and time consuming.
So, I
started to watch the ads in the specialized
magazines and I made contact with a transexual, living in
Montreal,
who advertised herself as a professional dominatrix. A few weeks
later, I met another one who was born a woman. And, a few months later,
it was time for a transvestite who lived on the South Shore, near Montreal
(have a look at
).
All
these experiments were rather frustrating and expensive, taking
into account the pleasure which I could derive from them. But,
one day, I saw the ad of a woman who was looking for a
transvestite who might become her slave. I wrote to her and she answered me back
asking me to send her a pair of my panties. Then, we exchanged
our telephone numbers and, after several long telephone
converstions, which spread out over several weeks, I finally met
Liz
(have a look at
).
My
life as a partime submissive woman was then taking a new turn.