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We are going to be closed until further notice due to the current worldwide health crisis.

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Date Night

A story from one of our clients! Feel free to send us stories to post.

I so enjoyed shaving Mads’ ball sac, just before one of his and Claire’s date nights. Of course I dressed the part: mauve woman’s tee, black slacks, shiny mauve lipstick and matching eyeshadow, heavy mascara, earrings, open-toed mules with a 2-inch wedge heel. I put a light coating of foam over those little darlings, then did a gentle scrape-scrape-scrape with the razor, pinching the sac gently with two fingers to pull the skin tight in order to get the hair out of every sluice and cranny.

As they settled down to watch a chick flick of her choosing, I was in the kitchen preparing yummy snacks. As the movie progressed, I sat at Mads’ feet and gave him a foot rub so that he didn’t fall asleep. Then back to the kitchen to browse the latest issue of “Good Housekeeping” (Mumsy bought me a subscription), while waiting for either of them to beckon for another drink.

As the flick entered its final act, I went to the bedroom to prepare it for their lovemaking. I imagined them joined in carnal bliss, and images came to mind of gods on Mount Olympus—such beauty, such nobility, such heights of passion and depths of pleasure. I reviewed the checklist Claire had given me and made the adjustments per her exact specifications. I especially enjoyed preparing the bowl of condoms with cute sayings: “Hang in there, baby, Friday’s coming”; “My girlfriend went to Florida and all I got was this lousy condom”; and the classic “I’m with stupid” (arrow pointing back toward the boy). Having lit the candles, I quietly padded back to my kitchen niche.

When I heard they had retired to the bedroom, I made my way to the living room and tidied up. Electronica powered down, dishes and glasses washed, room dusted, floor swept. Then I made my way down to their bedroom door, where Mads left his underpants for me to tend to.

As I filled the sink with warm soapy water, I held the briefs up to my nose and inhaled the male scents Mads imprinted onto the fabric, his meaty boy smell ringed by the tang of urine. I set to work cleaning the fabric that had encased his sex, and would do so again.

Boy briefs hung up to dry, I returned to the kitchen and “Good Housekeeping”. While engrossed in the cover story on Julie Walters, I heard Claire softly call, “Stessie?” I nervously jumped up and grabbed my tube of Binaca. Taking two blasts, I made my way to the bedroom for my next duty. 

Swirling the Binaca spray around my mouth so that my tongue was all a-tingle, I padded on nylon-stockinged feet to the lovers’ bedroom. Claire was standing in the doorway in a gorgeous robe, lit from behind by the glow of candles. The robe was discreetly tied at the waist—she was always scrupulously modest around me, and I so admired her for that.

“Stessie, Mads is a bit tired, would you help him out? I’ll be right here checking my phone.”

I nodded nervously and entered the room. Mads was on the bed, lying on his back with his hands behind his head. He was stunning, with the face of a schoolboy, supple skin, a tall slim body curved in the right places, and an exquisite physical beauty. His sex hung down between his thighs long and thick, framed on each side by big round testicles. I amused myself by thinking there should be a sign on the door: “Vegans Not Welcome”.

“My fluffernutter,” he said, his voice dripping with entitlement. Claire went to a corner chair, crossed her legs at the thigh, and started checking her phone. Her face illuminated by its light, she looked to have zero interest in what would transpire between Mads and me.

I gently lowered myself onto the bed, moving my heavily made-up face towards Mads’ sex. I purred “meow,” since I felt like a cat moving toward a pot of warm cream.

I put my face close to Mads’ manhood, lit by flickering candlelight, and marveled again at its formidable size. How difficult it must be for him to go through life with such a package between his legs. Poor Mads! My heart swelled in sympathy and I planted a light kiss at the base of his cock. I gave a prayer of thanks for being born a girl, everything down there tucked in nicely. Of course I had had to deal with periods in my pre-menopausal life, and boobs were a hassle, but I was blessed to be on the flat-chested side, more streamlined than most women.

I placed another kiss on Mads’ cock, this one more ardent, and exhaled fully so that a current of warm air enveloped his sex. “Check the window, I feel a draft,” said Lord Mads. I giggled lightly and wished I could plant a big open-mouthed kiss on his sensual mouth, but that was a no-no. I wanted to peel off my mauve tee and slacks to show him my dusty, frilly thrift store finds, but that was a no-no too. Too bad, because I was sporting a “flesh”-colored bra and satiny gold Vanity Fairs I had picked up yesterday; the thrift store had given them to me for free, probably out of pity. Those Vanity Fairs were now very damp with excitement, and I wished I could hover my pantied crotch over Mads’ face as I sucked his cock. Alas, the dreams of a submissive little house slave are far different from her realities.

I began work on Mads’ scrotum, gently lifting it and licking the underside of that salty nutsack in long, slow upward strokes, starting down at the perineum. The groove between the two balls was like the crevice between labia majora, and Mads’ pole began to quiver. “Looks like Stessie found the sweet spot,” said His Majesty, and I felt so happy at having pleased him that I lapped deeper, increasing the length of my licks starting further down toward his anus. At this he said no words, but emitted a moan of pleasure, which made my heart flutter and my thrift store panties wetter. 

I then decided to teabag him, slipping the big sac into my mouth and sucking on it gently. “Tea time,” said Mads in a mock British accent, his pole now at quarter-mast and fencing with my nose. En garde! It was Mads’ jian sword vs. my gweilo nose, in a fencing match to the death. Of course there was no competition, the match was over as soon as it started, but instead of waving my gold panties on a stick as a flag of surrender, I sucked harder on his balls and tongued them more vigorously. “Is Stess gonna make a mess?” he asked, and I thought I could feel Claire look over. I was supposed to get Mads hard, not bring him off. But he was still at half-mast, not yet close to a full extension.

I let the balls fall out of my mouth, and saw them glisten with my saliva in the candlelight. I swallowed the juices in my mouth and wished I could freshen up my lipstick. I thought of the power of lipstick, and how it emboldened and imparted glamour. I remembered the excerpt I had memorized from the diary of British Lieut. Col. Mervyn Willett Gonin, Royal Army Medical Corps, who was assigned to Bergen-Belsen concentration camp after the end of WWII:

“It was shortly after the British Red Cross arrived, though it may have no connection, that a very large quantity of lipstick arrived. This was not at all what we men wanted, we were screaming for hundreds and thousands of other things and I don’t know who asked for lipstick. I wish so much that I could discover who did it, it was the action of genius, sheer unadulterated brilliance. I believe nothing did more for those internees than the lipstick. Women lay in bed with no sheets and no nightie but with scarlet red lips, you saw them wandering about with nothing but a blanket over their shoulders, but with scarlet red lips. I saw a woman dead on the post mortem table and clutched in her hand was a piece of lipstick. At last someone had done something to make them individuals again, they were someone, no longer merely the number tattooed on the arm. At last they could take an interest in their appearance. That lipstick started to give them back their humanity.”

Alas, I had no lipstick to give me back my humanity, so I pulled up my big girl panties and took his cock into my mouth. Well— part of his cock. It was so huge and thick that only the top one-third or so could get in comfortably. So I worked with what I had in my mouth, moving my tongue around, gently slurping, and trying to bob down further.

Mads was responding, his sex getting thicker and longer, and I was now very horny too. My panties were soaked with vaginal juices, and I was sweating under my clothes. I wanted so badly to take them all off and ride Mads’ beautiful cock myself, but Claire was just a few feet away.

Now I was pushing my head down further so that Mads’ cock was thrusting into my throat, and I started to make some gagging sounds. “Choking on the chicken?” said Mr. Sensitivity, and started making clucking noises. I heard Claire rise, and felt her tap me lightly on the shoulder..

“Thanks, treasure,” she said, “I’ll take it from here.”

I hesitated a second, not wanting to go, and continued trying to get Mads’ entire length into my throat without gagging.

“Out! Get back to the kitchen and await your next command!” I released the erect cock from my mouth, and Mads laughed at my plight, saying, “See ya!”

I rose to go, and as I did, Claire moved on top of the bed and dropped the robe from her body in one deft motion. In a fleeting glance, I saw her beautiful naked back and buttocks as she mounted Mads’ erect cock.

I returned to the kitchen and my issue of “Good Housekeeping”, trying to read the article about Julie Walters’ success in finding late-life romance, but I couldn’t get the thought of Mads’ glorious cock out of my mind. As I heard Claire’s cries of passion coming from their bedroom, I did the only thing a frustrated little submissive house slave could do: I cried, weeping copious drops of salty self-pity onto the glossy pages of the magazine.

Different Strokes

A Short Story from Mistress Nina

Do you know why I summoned you into my office today? No? Well, that’s rather interesting because I have here on my desk your quarterly review. I have to say I’m less than pleased with your performance. We had this conversation before, I was under the impression you learned your lesson the first time. What kind of business do you think I’m running here? How am I supposed to make money when I have lazy slackers like you scrolling through social media and watching cat videos all day? There are also rumours circulating that you spend a lot of time rubbing yourself under your desk. There’s no use in denying it. I wedge a hidden camera under your desk. Would you like to see? I would offer you a chance to confess for your poor performance and inappropriate behavior, but unfortunately, that opportunity is long gone. 

I did a little research and discovered that you desperately need this job. You have a family to support and a mortgage to pay. Although I am known for my cruel tendencies I wouldn’t want to see a family live in destitution. There, in my hand, I have two envelopes. Here, I’ll slide them across the table. One envelope is your letter of termination, the other is an opportunity for you to keep your job and livelihood. However, I must warn you, if you choose option 2 you are going to be subjected to painful and humiliating punishment. But there is some good news if I’m pleased with your ability to take the pain you can keep your job. The other good news is that you will become intimately familiar with my sadistic side which will keep you in line.

That was very brave of you to choose the envelope of opportunity. Now stand up and remove your trousers to expose your buttocks.  Excuse me? You forgot to say yes Mistress. Much better. Now get over my lap. You should be thanking me for this warm-up because it’s only going to get worse. You are to count to 50 and if you lose count we start over. Start counting now. Good, your ass is getting nice red. The warm-up will be over soon and the real punishment shall begin. Stand up and lean over my desk. I don’t want the other employees to hear, open your mouth so I can stuff my panties in your mouth. Now, let’s recap why you’re being punished. You’ve been wasting time on social media affecting production. You’re also being punished for touching yourself at the office. You deserve to be punished don’t you?. If I don’t punish you you’re never going to learn how to behave appropriately in the office.

Now, are you going to behave or am I going to have to restrain you? Good boy, I have faith that you will be able to hold still for this. Stay in this position while I get my cane. Now, the question is, how many strokes do you think you deserve? Unfortunately, you don’t get to decide. I make the decisions here. For each infraction, you’re getting 50 strokes.

My Crossdressing Fetish-Got the OK from My Wife

Crossdressing fetish at nyc dungeon
My Crossdressing Fetish.

I dream all day about my crossdressing fetish and always can’t wait t get home from work to get it on so you can imagine my surprise when I walked into the bedroom and immediately saw a pair of pink satin panties and a matching pink camisole neatly laid out on the bed. There was a note next to them, my wife’s beautiful handwriting obvious from across the room.

“Trevor My Love,

I finally feel like I know my husband. You’ve kept your secret from me for far too long, but now I know your kinky fetish. I’ve seen the stories and websites on your computer. I know you yearn to be feminine, to dress in girl’s clothes, to feel soft and loved like a girl does. I love you and want to help you. If you want that too then please put on the camisole and panties and join me in the living room. If it’s too scary or you’re not sure this is what you want, simply put them back in the drawer and throw this note away and we’ll never talk about your crossdressing fetish again.

This is your chance to embrace your true desires,

Your loving wife,


As I put the note down and my fingers gently caressed the soft pink satin of the lingerie she had left out for me, my heart pumped hard in my chest. My mind raced with questions as my loins stirred to life at the thought of dressing like a girl for my wife and to fully realize my crossdressing fetish. I had made quite an effort to cover his tracks, so how had she found all that stuff on my computer? Was she being (more…)

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