As a cross dresser and she male, Michaela loved feminine clothing—something quite natural for cross dressers—though many in the community dressed in a highly provocative manner that made them stand out in public.
Michel, by contrast, never wanted to draw attention and preferred to blend into the crowd; while Michaela shed her inhibitions; provocative attire suited submissive cross dressers, whereas she was dominant and preferred strictly professional, elegant, and formal clothing.
She admired the way German ladies dressed—at least in her view—and that style appealed to her. Michaela loved pleated skirts—both long and short—and was very fond of satin and silk. She also enjoyed wearing glossy nylons, with or without back seams, though she had no interest in fishnets.
The spanking scene allowed her to wear such outfits while indulging her dominant side, yet there were few potential clients in this niche within the Netherlands. Still, there were a few men interested in a “Lady” dressed in satin or silk—her preferred clientele.
These men, usually highly educated, wanted to serve a Lady rather than a Mistress wielding whips and the like. In essence, they were just as submissive as pain slaves—and indeed, some of them were pain slaves.
One of her slaves in this niche was Oscar; not a pain slave, but a man with a strong preference—a mild fetish, really—for glossy, seamed nylons. He was also skilled at oral sex, capable of kneeling before his Mistress for extended periods and taking her penis deep into his throat.
Michaela had known Oscar for a long time; she had met him once in person, after which their contact was limited to email—largely because Oscar feared discovery and the potential loss of his family. After years of hesitation, he re-established contact and dared to visit her again, though only once a month for fear that his wife might spot the expense in their finances.
Somehow, Michaela looked forward to these visits; after all, she had managed to keep this slave in her orbit for ten years and bring him back into the fold. He satisfied her deeply—so much so that she would have preferred him to visit weekly—and, of course, she could wear her preferred attire.
Today—the Monday following the weekend with Peter and Madelon—Oscar was due at 11:00 a.m. for a ninety-minute session. Michaela rose at nine and had Herman help her get dressed. Naturally, she wore seamed, glossy nylon stockings and a garter belt, topped with gold silk panties; a gold bra under a gold satin blouse; and a truly stunning gold pleated skirt that fell below the knee.
Her stiletto pumps were gold as well. The outfit was new, so Oscar had never seen her in it before; she was curious to see his reaction, though she was very pleased with her own reflection. She carried a small riding crop with this outfit too, though Oscar knew that, in his case, it was used solely for correction and that he would never go home with welts or bruises.
The sessions usually took place in her study, where they would have lunch and discuss business matters; Oscar offered her plenty of advice regarding her BDSM practice—as well as moral issues—while always maintaining the proper distance between slave and Mistress.
Furthermore, like any slave, he naturally had to serve and satisfy his Mistress. She reviewed his file once more and also reread what he had written in the guestbook on her website about six months ago.
I had an appointment with Mistress Michaela.
I had finally yielded to her command to become her slave—a personal oral slave, tasked with bringing her to soaring, endless orgasms time and time again. The Mistress had given me many sexy photos of herself, as well as pictures of other women wearing those delicious, glossy nylons—the kind with that incredibly arousing seam running up from a reinforced heel.
The Mistress’s own legs were by far the most arousing; she has such wonderfully firm, sexy nylon-clad legs that simply looking at them compels you to worship them. I arrived at the house for which the Mistress had given me the address. I was incredibly nervous, yet I also felt a delicious sense of sexual excitement at the prospect of meeting my Mistress again after so many wasted years—years during which I could have served her, had I not been such a coward.
I pictured her vividly: dressed in a tight outfit with a strict pleated skirt, wearing those smooth, glossy nylons with that heavenly, arousing seam, and high-heeled pumps. With that image in mind, I put my fear aside and rang the doorbell with a trembling hand. At the sound of the bell, fear took my breath away and I felt the urge to run off, but the image in my mind of my delicious, sexy, yet very strict Mistress kept me rooted to the spot.
I found myself unable to take another step, held fast by an overwhelming desire to submit to this Mistress and become her personal property. I heard some shuffling behind the door and footsteps approaching it. I held my breath, feeling intense sexual arousal and the realization that there was no turning back—nor did I want to.
The door swung open, slowly revealing the figure of a TV slave—beautiful, slender legs clad in nylons and high-heeled pumps. “I understand you have an appointment with Mistress Michaela to be evaluated as her new slave,” the TV slave said.
I stammered something like, “Yes, that’s right.” “So, I’ve come to the right place, I gather.”
“You understood correctly, slave; come on in.” I was led into a small room that felt like a large walk-in closet.
“Strip here, slave; one only appears before the Mistress stark naked, unless she orders otherwise.” I did as I was told, undressing completely and hanging my clothes on the rack provided in the room.
“There—you won’t be seeing this room again, slave; that’s to prevent you from suddenly trying to run off. From now on, you are entirely dependent on the Mistress, and she alone decides what you will and won’t do. You’d better get used to the idea.”
For a brief moment, I felt very lonely and unsettled, but that quickly gave way to a sense of intense satisfaction at finally having become my Mistress’s true slave. A truly wonderful and fulfilling feeling.
“Right, slave, enough fantasizing for now; we’re going to see your Mistress, whom you will serve completely as her slave and property for the rest of your life. Naturally, that’s only if she approves of you, since she doesn’t accept just anyone as her slave. To prevent you from panicking and doing something rash, I have to bind your hands behind your back with these cuffs.
To ensure you don’t have any freedom of movement left, I’m tethering your cuffs to your cock with this strap.” The TV slave had attached the strap before I could protest. I was completely trapped.
Attached to that strap was a longer one, connected at the end near my cock. The TV slave grabbed this longer strap and led me forward. Feeling utterly powerless and humiliated, I was forced to follow the transvestite slave. We walked down a hallway and arrived at a large door.
The transvestite slave opened it, and there I saw my Mistress sitting in a comfortable armchair. She looked dazzlingly beautiful and dominant in a tight blouse and an incredibly sexy pleated skirt, revealing legs clad in stunning, glossy nylons—complete with that incredibly arousing back seam and held up by garters—a combination one could only dream of.
I felt every ounce of resistance vanish; all I wanted was to serve this exquisite Mistress completely. In any case, I had no other choice; every part of me was paralyzed. I never imagined that the sight of her would have such an overwhelming effect on me. The transvestite slave dropped to her knees and ordered me to kneel as well.
The Mistress scrutinized us and then commanded me to crawl toward her on my knees. What else could I do but obey her? Every fiber of my being wanted to serve her completely. It was such a deliciously overwhelming feeling.
I crawled on my knees toward my Mistress. Every movement caused pain in my cock because of the strap, but I relished every moment. When I was right in front of my Mistress, she ordered me to kiss her nylon-clad foot, which I naturally did.
“You see,” she said, “according to all our email correspondence, you don’t like being whipped, and I promised to spare you that as much as possible. Your greatest desire is to be utterly humiliated and rendered powerless beneath my nylon-clad Mistress-feet. Lie on your back with your head at my feet, slave. ”
I could—and would—do nothing but obey my exquisite Mistress, so I lay on my back at her feet. I watched as she slipped off her pumps. Then I felt her right nylon-clad foot press against my slave-throat. Next, I felt her left nylon-clad foot slide beneath my slave-neck. My hands were bound behind my back, and my slave-throat was completely pinned between my Mistress’s heavenly nylon-clad feet.
She now held total dominion over my wretched slave-life. If she were to increase the pressure on my slave-throat—or, in a worst-case scenario, stand on it with her full weight—I might not survive. A magnificent way to die, though.
I would have to endure it in a state of utter powerlessness. But fortunately for me, that is not her intention at all. She doesn’t want a dead slave, but one who is utterly submissive to her—one who wants to, and must, serve her down to the very last detail.
The pressure of her nylon-clad Mistress’s foot against my slave’s throat would bring me into total submission—something I had intensely longed for over the past ten years. To tease me a little, she gradually increased the pressure on my throat, ordering me to beg for mercy and to acknowledge that I was her absolute property—hers to command and do with exactly as she pleased.
I obeyed her instantly the moment I felt the pressure of her nylon foot on my throat and began to struggle for breath. I fervently declared that I was her total property and would obey her every command; I had absolutely no choice if I didn’t want to suffocate. After playing with me for a while, she lifted her nylon-clad foot from my throat, stood up, and straddled my face.
She pulled her incredibly beautiful, sexy cock out of her panties and thrust it deep into my slave throat.
“Suck it, slave,” she commanded, “and make sure you do it right if you don’t want to be severely punished.”
I tried my absolute best, but it took a good twenty minutes for the Mistress to climax. She shot her load deep into the back of my throat and ordered me to swallow it all, which I did. It tasted delicious, by the way. The Mistress climaxed with shuddering intensity and was visibly enjoying herself. She withdrew her magnificent cock from my throat and ordered me to go back with the TV slave.
She led me back to the small room. I was still naked, my hands still cuffed behind my back, with the strap still around my cock. The TV slave ordered me to kneel before her.
She said, “If you want me to untie you, you have to do something for me first,” and proceeded to pull her cock from her panties and shove it into my mouth. I had to obey her if I ever wanted to be freed from my restraints. She pushed her wonderfully large cock deep into my throat and ordered me to give her a good blowjob.
I had no choice but to obey. She let me suck her for about ten minutes before she, too, climaxed intensely. She ordered me to swallow everything, which I did out of fear that she wouldn’t set me free otherwise. I felt completely humiliated. She undid my restraints and ordered me to get dressed quickly; she was afraid Mistress Michaela might notice something and punish her severely.
“Right, you can go for now, slave; you’ll hear via email whether you’ve been accepted.”
I eventually left the house in a state of bliss, fervently hoping to become Mistress Michaela’s slave.
Michaela smiled again as she read it; this story had actually been the catalyst for the departure of that particular TV slave—who, incidentally, now ran a thriving practice as a Mistress herself.
They still ran into each other occasionally at fetish and BDSM parties. At the stroke of eleven, there was a knock on her study door.
“Come in,” Michaela said. Oscar entered and knelt before the desk where his Mistress sat. “Undress and kneel before me.” He quickly obeyed the orders, moving on his knees toward his Mistress, who had turned her desk chair a quarter-turn. He was instructed to massage her legs—something he always loved doing; he knew that while he was one of the Mistress’s blowjob slaves, he was number one when it came to massage.
He knew he was a paying slave, yet he received a discount and was, in effect, a private slave. He could count himself lucky; the Mistress’s rates had risen significantly because her practice was fully booked—allowing her to be selective based on preference and economics—yet he was allowed to stay.
After massaging both her legs, he soon found his Mistress’s magnificent cock in his mouth and had to perform a long, lingering blowjob; he knew her divine seed would be his lunch that morning. He felt the rhythm of her riding crop on his back as he knelt with his head completely beneath her pleated skirt. After twenty minutes of service, he felt her convulsive climax deep in his throat—always a glorious moment for him—having maintained an erection the entire time.
As always, he ensured not a single drop was spilled; using special tissues, he cleaned her still-rock-hard member before returning to his position kneeling before her desk. Next, the Mistress showed him photos projected from the laptop onto a white screen; these photos depicted a slave in typical slave poses, both with and without his Mistress.
Michaela told Oscar that this slave—whom he did not know—had informed her that he had a new girlfriend who knew everything, that she would be coming along next time, and that he wanted to stop serving as Michaela’s slave. She asked Oscar for advice on how to handle the situation; he thought briefly, understood why he needed to see the photos, and offered his opinion in a manner befitting a slave.
In his view, the photos should serve as leverage against that slave. The girlfriend would have to be either dumped or turned into a slave; a middle ground did not seem feasible to Oscar. The photos could also be used to show the girlfriend who he truly was now, though Oscar saw risks in that, as love makes people blind.
Michaela nodded, sat at the table, called Herman for her lunch, and ordered Oscar to massage her legs under the table—keeping him completely out of sight. Michaela finished her lunch with a cup of coffee; while Herman was pouring it, Oscar was already performing oral sex on his Mistress. He got an erection again; the fact that this still worked for him made him feel years younger. Oscar did his utmost, as always, to pleasure his Mistress—and succeeded once more.
Although it took her about thirty-five minutes this time, she climaxed deeply while she was inside of him, and the usual ritual followed—except that he had to leave immediately afterward. He took his leave of his Mistress properly, gathered his clothes, and stepped outside to dress quickly and head home.