Author's Note: I am thrilled to have a new Mistress, who for me is a penthouse-story-class "no way that would ever happen" level of wonderful good chance. The story itself is fictional so as not to boringly recount an event, nor predictive, as we play by ear.

That being said, it is an otherwise honest introduction to the characters and the fun we're getting up to.

It is just Chapter 1, the introduction. Suggestions for the flow of the story are welcome! If it fits, I'll add it...and may well suffer the consequences in the near future.


Chapter 1

I leave Mistress Amanda outside the door. In public, She is "Mandy", but in private, even a shared whisper, and She is Mistress Amanda. Instead of a special "mistress" name, the only time I am permitted to use Her full name is when we are intimate, and I am serving Her, like I will today.

We are in a lock-in facility, reminiscent of a storage unit, but for illicit lovers. Each has a steel gate, locking in and hiding the vehicle and occupants in their own private apartment. To escape, we would need to call reception and pay the fare, in cash, after they've checked that we haven't done too much damage to the room (or each-other). A casual humiliation, but well worth the price of privacy and anonymity. For the moment, Mistress Amanda stays outside, in the small entry room off of the garage. It has two doors, one out and one into the main room. A small table, mirror, chair. As I leave Her there, She sits. To text friends, to prepare, to await me. She is in Her usual work garb: flat sandals, conservative skirt, short-sleeve top, company badge around Her neck. I am similarly attired, having come directly from my office to pick Her up from Hers.

The room is dark. Clean, but worn. A new TV is on the wall, but it likely had seen little use, being connected to local cable and not to anything that occupants of such a place would consider interesting in the moment. A clean sheet covers the vinyl mattress, with new towels, soap, and tissues. Nothing fancy. The bathroom is less savory, having suffered the indignity of hard water for years. Functional, but unappealing.

The first step is to light three scented candles and place them on the dresser. She likes the mood-lighting, the access to hot wax, and the fact that it masks the musty smell of the room. It feels a little girly, creating a candle-lit love nest. I'm Her sub, and it is my job to act this way, and I do so with pride, knowing that she will repay my attention to detail with gifts beyond value.

I move the towels and such onto the side-table and open my kitbag. First to come out is the rope. I form a loop of rope around the top and bottom of the bed, each loop with several smaller loops as bondage attachment points, knotted into the length.

That done, I strip. Naked except for my chastity cage, which has now gone unopened for two weeks. The cage is at least the tenth in a series of attempts to find one that works for both long-term wear and play. I'm not large, but have some girth, so I need the largest-sized ring. I hate to think of how unfortunate anyone truly large must be in one of these things. The ring is a simple, seamless stainless steel circle with an attachment post. No seams, no irritation, no excuse to get out.

The cage is a stainless metal bar design, not unlike the original CB-1000, but dramatically more durable. The design has the sole flaws of being a little more visible under clothes, and more easy to self-stimulate. That being said, I can easily cum in a Kali bracelet, so it isn't a great loss. The benefits include ease of cleaning, conductivity (ouch!), and the fact that I can be easily teased and tortured through the bars. At this point, I feel naked without it.

I attach cuffs to my ankles, wrist and neck. Purple leatherette with fake fur lining. Mistress Amanda chose the color to stand out from either of our skin tones. Myself pale, She dark from Her Asian heritage and the effects of Her love for the sun and the beach. Each cuff was locked in place with a padlock to which I did not have a key. Roller locks are a wonderful thing.

I ease the plug out of my ass. It has been there all day, hopefully pre-habituating me to the assault that is to come. I can accommodate Mistress Amanda's attentions, but a sudden increase and I cramp intensely. A problem that is solvable generally, but in my anticipated helplessly bound state, it will likely prove massively problematic. Mistress Amanda can be a bit...forceful...and wonderfully so.

The plug comes out with a little cramping, and I work it in and out to relieve it. I wash it and put it into the kit bag, and take out my prep kit. First is a quick enema. I did several this morning, but it always helps to be thorough. I fill the medicine syringe to the top with lube and ease it past my sphincter. I push it deeper and slowly depress the plunger, filling my ass with 30mls of water-based smoothness. It is critical after the multiple enemas I had this morning, ensuring that Mistress Amanda won't have to re-lubricate me for at least an hour or two.

I check my cage, pulling my balls and aligning my PA to minimize the risk of pinching. Per Mistress Amanda's instructions, I've taken a Viagra, and my cock is already beginning to swell against the bars. At this point, even were I to remove the cage, the swelling in my shaft would make the ring impossible to remove.

I slip the blindfold around my neck. I need to be able to see Mistress Amanda's entrance, by Her rule, but She needs to be able to choose whether I can see what She is doing to me without searching for gear. The ball gag goes into my mouth. Just a small whiffle ball, but enough to guarantee my feelings of vulnerability. I lay the flogger on the side of the bed, along with some small coils of rope in case She wants to adjust my position.

I wrap two sets of rope, one around each thigh, and tie them off. I then clip them to the ankle cuffs, creating an instant frog-tie. I thread one of the 25 foot tie-down-straps through the D-rings on the ankle cuffs, and through the loop-knots on the lower rope attached to the bed, creating a c-shaped attachment of doubled webbing. I thread the webbing strap through the ratchet. Tightening it, the "C" shortens, and pulls each bound ankle and thigh apart and closer to the edge of the bed.

Adequately spread, I take two more locks from the kitbag, and toss the bag on the floor, out of Mistress Amanda's way.

Collared, caged, lubed, locked, gagged, almost completely vulnerable. Time to complete it.

I reach up and thread two locks through the loops on either side of the bed, and then through the D-rings on my cuffs. It is awkward, and I use larger locks for this since the small locks are ungainly at this angle. The first one is easy with the extra hand, the second not so much, but a "click" sends it home.

I'm now spread-eagled / frog-tied. There is some slack in the system, so I can wiggle, but not much else. It is time to wait.

I wait.

My eagerness is getting the better of me, and the cage is becoming less comfortable.

And I wait.

Finally the door opens slowly. There is a long pause, as I see a shape standing in the darkened entryway. She has shut off the light so that I cannot see Her until she enters, but she can gaze upon me.

With clicking of Her heels on the tile floor She walks directly in, then starts to circle, looking me over.

Mistress Amanda is wearing a red catsuit, black panties, black waist cincher, black heels. For some reason, Her hair is in pig-tails for the first time ever, sprouting from the side of Her head and held together by multiple rubber bands. She is otherwise unadorned except for Her Sarah Palin glasses. She looks tall, very tall. In the heels She may be close to my height; from my bound position, She is towering; when She is dressed to dominate, She feels taller than me regardless. My cock surges in its cage with need.

She turns to the dresser and removes Her earrings, giving me a view of Her perfectly rounded ass. She pauses there, knowing that I'm looking.

Mistress Amanda comes back around and doesn't look at me at all. The ropes, the cuffs, She tests them. Tightening most of them. Removing all of that wiggle room that I had until so very recently. She pushes and pulls my body to see how much slack there is, giving me the once over.

"Good enough, for now," She says. And then pulls up my blindfold.

The room goes dark. I hear the tapping of Her shoes. Shuffling in the kitbag. More walking. The sound of a swish through the air. Pain on the inside of my thigh. My cock. My balls. My feet.

Mistress Amanda's flogger is light, for a purpose. She doesn't want to hurt, per se. She wants to dominate. She can swing very hard without doing a lot of damage. Additionally, the thin fronds can penetrate between the bars of my cage the way a paddle never could. She loves to whip my shaft. It stiffens rapidly, even under intense abuse.

She continues with the flogger with abandon. Under my arms. My chest. My feet. Circling from the mild strikes on my chest, to the painful inside my thighs, to the violation of my cock. She has a field day. It is like a reset of our absence from each other. The online domination, the control, it only goes so far. She needs to re-assert Her permission to do with my body as She pleases. Some of it feels good, some not so much. But all of it is emotionally rewarding.

Quiet reasserts itself. Clicking of heels then my blindfold is removed. Pigtails. A smiling, glowing face, warm from Her exertions. She smiles down at me, beaming with joy, unbridled affection. She pulls the catsuit away from Her neck, and fishes out a chain. At the end of it is the key to my lock; the key I am not allowed to touch. Beaming even more brightly. No words, just twirling the key above my face.

She doesn't ask. She crawls lower on my body and unlocks the cage...the first time in what seems like forever. The cage doesn't come off easily, so swollen I am, pushing the cage away from the ring, as my cock inflates as fast as it can. She tugs the cage off, then unscrews my PA, threading it through the hole, carefully replacing the ball, and setting it aside.

She blows on my cock, and it twitches with desire.

"Do you like the pigtails? They're just for you!" Giggling like a schoolgirl. "I know you want to put it in my mouth. That's what the pigtails are for. Don't you want to just grab them and shove that cock down my throat? Make me your bitch for a change?"

My cock, Hers really, is standing at attention. She grasps it at the base, opens Her mouth wide, and takes it in....but doesn't touch. Hot breath. Moving up and down, but feeling just the tease of the warm, moist radiation from Her . She moves around the cock, teasing. Occasionally brushing, but never firm contact. "Do you have some precum for me, baby? Are you leaking? If your hands were free, you could grab these pigtails and skull-fuck me into submission. Would my boy like that?"

She deep-throats me. Sort of. Still keeping Her mouth wide, She goes all the way down, not touching, just surrounding. In and out, faster and faster, letting out guttural moans of ecstasy vibrating my shaft with the sound, until the tip of my cock starts hitting the back of Her throat. Now for real, She is making the choke-swallow sound of a true deep-throat blowjob. A few seconds, then She pulls back.

"I almost lost it there! I could have taken you in so deeply. Oh, and look. You are all shiny and wet and lubricated. Maybe you're ready to go inside?"

"Mef! Mef! Mpweef!" I try to beg through my gag. I really want that blowjob. To get up in her. Anything.

"First let's see how eager you really are, Boy." She stands up next to the bed. Still in Her heels, She is towering over me. Her panties, full when She entered the room, are positively straining. Her cock is still tucked away, but the tight underwear can now barely contain Her shaft. How do I know She loves me? She is always hard when we are together, constantly aroused. It annoys Her at times to be tucked and throbbing under Her conservative skirt when we are out in public.

She pulls down on Her panties, and Her wonderfully stiff cock comes into view. As the panties pull away, a tether of pre-cum that has been pooling in black nylon momentarily connects the tip of Her cock to the retreating underwear, and then breaks, leaving a glistening bead on Her knob.

We have never compared, at least I haven't, as I am always either bound or locked in Her presence when my Mistress's cock is revealed. I would guess that She is bigger, maybe just over six inches to my just-under-six average cock. The two notable differences between us are that, first, how incredibly hard She is. As I mentioned, She is always hard in my presence, but hard doesn't do Her justice as a description. Rock-like. Rigid. Steel. While I will ebb and flow, Her cock is tireless.

The second difference is Her crowning glory. My glans tapers, barely wider than my shaft. Hers mushrooms, huge and soft and sensitive. Like me, She is cut, a result of our shared Christian heritage and a parental obsession with male genital mutilation. But, oh, that beautiful knob. It is like a cushion when it hits the back of my throat. It is like a ball on the end of a prostate-milking dildo when She is inside of me. When I am worshipping her, I am supposed to maintain eye contact at all times. It is difficult, when my eyes want to stray back to that beautiful knob an wrap my tongue around it before plunging it back into my mouth.

Mistress Amanda is a self-described ladyboy. We had the discussion early on. It came as a question, the kind of question that all men hate, like "how do I look in this dress?" She asked, "do you think I look like a woman?"

Mistress Amanda is very much not a woman. In America, land of the alphabet soup of sexuality definitions, She might be called a gay transvestite top, or a switch-dominant trans-queer, or any of a million attempts to explain the complexity of human intimacy.

She doesn't do hormones, no surgery, no tits, no attempts to look like a woman, which She very adamantly doesn't want. She isn't even slightly attracted to women, and is offended when She thinks a guy has mistaken Her for one. She is a full time, en-femme, ladyboy. Proud of Her position as a member of the Third Gender. And, while She will switch, She is a natural top; emotionally, physically, and sexually dominant.

While I am twice the weight of Her tight, willowy frame, and often over-power her, holding Her down, spanking Her perfect (as in it looks airbrushed it is so smooth and round) ass. When She has pushed me over the edge with Her teasing, She will release me (still caged, of course), and bask in the attention of my fury. It is like bear-baiting; almost obscenely so. I'm a big guy, and hairy, like a teddy-bear. When She has maddened me with lust, and releases me from my bondage (physical or emotional), it is like She is jumping into a pit with maddened, yet muzzled dogs. Yearning to tear into her, overpowering her, yet impotent. She'll let the anger of frustration and need wash over her, bathing in the glory of having driven Her pet to madness, until the clarity re-asserts itself in Her pet's addled brain that She is the Mistress, and as the rage subsides with exhaustion, submission naturally reasserts itself and the balance of Mistress and Boy is restored.

Her cock is now standing free of encumbrance. Naturally almost hairless, Her tight sack hangs just underneath, making me think of all the cum that is stored in her. The sweet pre-cum leading to the creamy, bitter load that will follow. My eyes are transfixed on the little mouth, the slit at tip, the source of the cum that is like a primal need to me. Seeing that, all I can now think of is how to get that cum into me.

We role-play a little, like foreplay. We say the words, but we might not be there at the moment. Coming off of a long shift at work, tired, brains and emotions in other places, our interactions may be more script than felt for the first few moments. Just moments. When I look into Her eyes, my submission takes hold, and it is no longer play. She has been careful to not give in to Her desire to see other aspects of our potential. All of Her efforts have been focused on keeping me chaste for her. Submissive for her. Subservient to her. And they have paid off. By the time we hit the motel, I had goose bumps of desire and yearning. Now, looking at that cock, which is the source of almost all of the orgasms in our relationship, my mouth fills with saliva. My sphincter clenches. My cock doesn't know whether to shit or go blind it is so confused.

So, perhaps it is role-play. The dominatrix garb. The cage. The bondage. But She is an animal tamer and I am Her pet. Behind our masks, there is a deep reality that the theater is reflecting.

Mistress Amanda reaches behind my head, leaning over me, Her stiff Ladyboy-hood brushing against my tightly bound arm, leaving a glossy trail of precum. She un-buckles my gag, and looks into my eyes.

"Let's see if you can be a good Boy, shall we?"