Michou's Secret Garden 

Ingrid

 
 

(Other pictures, taken during that event, can be seen by clicking on this sentence)

My initiation as a submissive and as a transvestite by Ingrid:

What led me to meet her :

"On the corner of "X" and "Y" streets, there is a public phone booth on the ground of the gas station. Call me then and I will tell you the direction to my donjon".

It has all begun a few months earlier, when watching a XXX movie in a theater, located on St-Laurent St, in Montreal. Then, I felt very aroused by a scene showing a beautiful dominatrix, wearing leather clothes and thigh high boots with vertiginous heels, whipping a man, on all four, in front of her. I truly believed that this was the first time in my life when I could see that kind of thing.

We are about in the middle of the Eighties and, a few months earlier, I had just been hired as a manager of a Montreal based subsidiary of a group of companies. I felt depressed because, as soon as my employment contract had been signed, I had been advised that the company would be put on sale. Moreover, the president, whom had seemed very happy to hire me, was now doing everything he could to make my life difficult. Since I had no idea on how to get out of that difficult situation, I had decided to take some time of reflexion before making any move whatsoever.

Meanwhile, my wife and children were still living in Quebec City. I had settled in a small apartment, in the western part of the city and I was trying to explore the distractions which could be found in Montreal. This is how I happenned to watch such a movie, on St-Laurent street, in that movie theater (closed out since).

The scene of the movie, not only turned me on a lot, but it also created an obsession so strong that I could not even suspect the strength, at the time. As of that day, I did not even know that this kind of thing existed. So, I could not imagine that the sight of a man, tortured by a beautiful woman, wearing even extreem  heels, could make such an impact on me.

During my teenage years, I had found out that high heels, whether worn by a beautiful woman or by myself, excited me a lot. I even had pushed the envelop to the point of wearing nylon stockings and garter belts too, during my solitary business trips in my car.

A few years earlier, I had tried to interest my wife to wear these kind of accessories again. I had even bought her a garter belt and two pairs of five inches high heeled shoes. But, the experiment proved to be a disaster. I must admit that, trying to please me, she put them on a couple of times. But she seemed so unhappy doing so that I started to feel very bad about myself, everytime she did it.

Moreover, the physical pain, endured by myself or by anyone else, always displeased me very much. This is why I just could not understand my excitement at the sight of the torture scene, in the movie. But, probably because I am a gemini, I just could not refrain from pushing my exploration further, in order to try to understand what was happening to me.

During the following months, I paid a visit to almost every sexshops in town, in order to have a look at specialized magazines and to rent videos. In the end, I had to come to the conclusion that I would never feel satisfied unless I would meet a dominatrix to live, by myself, that kind of experiment. Then, one day, I discovered an ad, into a specialized magazine, coming from that kind of woman, who disclosed that she lives in the Ottawa region. After several days of hesitation, I ended up finding sufficient courage to call her.

During our first telephone conversation, I asked her a lot of questions about the type of session she offered and about the cost of her services. She appeared to be a sympathetic and understanding woman. But, I felt so afraid that I ended up our conversation under the pretence that I needed more time to think about it. During the following weeks, I called her, at least another time, before I felt secure enough to make an appointment with her.

During the days prior to our meeting, several times, it came to my mind to cancel everything. Then, on the  very day of the meeting, I took a leave from work, put into a suitcase two or three pairs of high heels and a Polaroid camera, before taking the road for the two and a half hours drive to Ottawa. In relation with the camera and the high heels, my intention was that, if I felt unable to submit to that woman, I would, at least, try to derive some pleasure, while parading on these stilts, in front of a stranger and by engraving the event on film.

First encounter:

I am now knocking at the front door of a rather anonymous bungalow, just outside of Ottawa. A rather statuesque woman come to open the door. She is beautiful and wears a long black dress, very chic, which she probably acquired when she was thinner. After checking my identity, she makes me close the door behind me and orders that I kneel in front of her to kiss her feet. Doing so, I do not fail to notice that she wears very high heeled splendid black patent leather sandals and bright red polish on her toenails.

Ordering me back on my feet, she directs me to the room, located on the right hand side, by the end of a long corridor. The atmosphere is rather lugubrious there. The walls and ceiling are painted black. Even the single window is draped of black fabric and lighting is minimal. The room is full of odd pieces of furniture, while leather straps hang on the walls.

The lady orders me to remove my clothes. When only my undergarments are left on me, I hesitate but she beckons to me to remove everything. I am, suddenly, under the impression that the lighting in the room is much more intense than I had initially believed. Bare naked, in front of this fully clothed woman, I feel humiliated. My body is shaking and I feel scared. I must admit here that my education as a roman-catholic country girl did not prepare me very well to live such a situation.

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.

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Last update: February 4, 2005

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