Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
I must have hesitated for a moment for a sharp jolt of electricity on my nipples left me in no doubt that my immediate compliance was required. So, heart in mouth, I obeyed the male voice in my earpiece and started to walk slowly the entire length of the crowded station platform. It was packed with others waiting for the train, mainly couples out shopping and youngsters heading for a day in town, and I had to thread my way through them while doing my best not to attract attention. With my shoulder length curly blonde wig, flimsy floral summer minidress and white heels this wasn’t easy: the way I’d been made to dress and apply my makeup was designed to attract attention and you didn’t have to get too close to see me for what I was. A man in a dress. One who’d taken trouble to look as feminine as possible, and then ruined the effect by wearing entirely the wrong clothes and accessories. Most people seemed not to notice me but as I passed a group of teenage girls I heard whispering followed by loud jeers and catcalls. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I found a seat near the far end of the platform. Mercifully the voice in my earpiece, which had issued regular instructions since I left my house, fell silent.
At that moment it dawned on me that, far from being given the chance to experience my own fantasy, I was playing the lead role in someone else’s. That of a man – or men – I hadn’t even met. Alarmingly they had gone to extraordinary lengths to set this up. So what did they expect in return? One drunken evening with Mary I’d confessed that I dreamed of being forced to comply with a man’s wishes, being dressed as a girl and simply having to do what I was told. She’d agreed to arrange it for me, telling me she’d done it and loved the experience. First I’d be taught how to dress and act like a woman. Then I’d have a day to remember, entirely under a man’s control. I’d emerge a changed girl. Beyond that, she gave nothing away. My fantasies had been the t-girl classics of dressing and acting the part of a French maid for a fundamentally nice guy who’d pretend to be dominant and “make” me clean his house. I’d never really explored what might happen next. My sexuality was somewhat moot: perhaps owing to an education in a strict religious boarding school sex seemed complex and hedged about with guilt. I’d always been more attracted to men than to women but lacked the confidence or decisiveness to do more than entertain vague romantic fantasies. My one joy and certainty was my secret life as a girl, a shy creature called Bernadette.
My adventure started in the nicest possible way, with over a week living as a girl under the regular tutelage of a friendly but domineering middle aged woman called Janet. To this day I believe she didn’t appreciate just how extreme an experience lay in store for me; I certainly had no clue until the very last. Though, with hindsight, her first visit offered a hint when she promptly told me to strip off and locked me into a chastity belt telling me I was to stay in chastity until the end of my adventure. She pierced my ears fitting little gold studs. Then began the first of a series of daily lessons. I learnt how to choose clothes and accessories to pass as a woman. I learnt to walk in heels, and to move, sit and talk like a girl. I had acting lessons playing roles like waitress, servant and showgirl before an imagined audience. I learnt to do makeup in styles ranging from subtle to street-hooker. I learnt to do my nails, pluck my eyebrows and how to keep my body free of all trace of hair: my skin was soon as smooth as a baby’s. I loved the gradual transformation of my appearance and manner and by the end of my lessons I felt confident enough to go shopping as Bernadette, buying some lovely new outfits. On Friday’s final lesson she left strict instructions that I was to look my very best when she returned next morning.
Waiting for her arrival I wondered, with growing anxiety, what the day held in store for me. It was just as well I was clueless. I’d have run a mile. By the time she turned up I was in such a state of arousal that all thought of flight had passed. In any event, I reflected, if I didn’t go through with it how ever would I get out of this locked steel contraption? She glued little pads to my nipples with what appeared to be fine wires leading out. Over them fitted a pair of remarkably convincing bust forms, also glued in place. She dressed me in a white bra and panties, knee length pale blue cotton summer frock and a dark brown wig in a “bob” style. She gave me a handbag containing no money, credit cards or ID of any kind: only toiletries, a cinema ticket and a single train ticket to an unfamiliar town some distance away. Not even my house key. Then she led me out of the house – my house – locking the door behind us telling me to walk to a nearby address.
With my new found confidence the walk to the house should have been easy but the prospect of a day of utter powerlessness was turning my state of mind from anticipation to a fear threatening to spiral out of control. I brooded about Göztepe travesti my lack of phone, money or ID and especially about the purpose of those pads on my nipples. So, by the time I arrived, my nerves were jangling. The door was ajar. Timidly I knocked – a voice told me to enter. I was greeted by two large, tough looking men who seemed amused by me and by my situation. I quickly grasped that they were merely paid hands, and that my task was simply to do as I was told.
By the time they sent me on my way to the station I was a quivering wreck. I’d been stripped, fitted with a metal buttplug locked to my chastity belt and dressed in a tight basque corset and sheer black stockings. My wig had been discarded for the shoulder length curly blonde one I was wearing now. I wore abundant cheap jewellery: big hoop earrings, rings on my fingers and metal bangles which jangled whenever I moved. And I was fitted with an earpiece and an array of electrical devices including wires to the electrodes on my nipples, wires leading to my cock and buttplug all powered (I assumed) from a slender unit attached to the rear of my chastity belt. A shiny black patent choker round my neck, adorned with a brooch at the front, was also wired up. At the time its purpose eluded me.
Finally they produced a pink floral dress which they buttoned up from behind. It was sleeveless and tight fitting around my slender corseted waist with a neckline revealing a little of my newly acquired cleavage. Its flared skirt soared high above the knee. My image in the mirror at once excited and alarmed me: the dress was too short to wear with stockings and it would be all I could do to avoid showing my stocking tops. The sheer dark stockings and shiny black choker looked incongruous with the flimsy floral dress. My black shoes had heels too high for easy walking and my musky perfume was too strong. The makeup I’d been ordered to apply made me look a tart with rouged cheeks, heavy eyeliner and deep red glossy lipstick. I figured that the whole aim was to unsettle me. At that, they’d succeeded in spades: I was terrified.
“You get your orders through that earpiece. You’ll find out what will happen if you disobey.” one of the guys explained, propelling me out of the door.
My guess on this subject was to prove correct. As I headed towards the station my earpiece burst into life with a stern male voice.
“I’m Mike, your controller. You’re a little sissy slut called Amanda. You’ll do exactly what you’re told immediately and without question. There are other players in this game, but to add spice you won’t know who they are. You’ll obey the players at all times and speak only when spoken to. If a player asks you ‘Do you like sucking cock?’ you say ‘Yes sir’. Always ‘sir’. And always ‘yes’ whatever they require. Any hesitation following orders will be punished like this.” A sharp jolt of electricity hit my nipples. “And disobedience will get this.” I squealed with pain as my anus and penis received a bigger jolt. “And just to make clear, this thing goes up to number ten. I’ve only given you number three.”
Walking towards the station – far too close to my home dressed like this – I felt utterly vulnerable. The insistent pressure of the butt plug, the unfamiliar tightness of the corset crushing my waist, the height of my heels and the flimsiness of my dress – not to mention the shocks – constantly reminded me of my status as someone completely under another’s control. A feeling both frightening and arousing. As for the thought of ‘sucking cock’ I was aghast.
Waiting on my seat at the platform end I realised Mary had been the one who led the conversation to ideas of domination and control. She’d set this up from the start, for reasons of her own. I’d been mad to trust her, after all I hadn’t known her long. Had she really undergone it herself or had these people simply paid her to supply a docile subject? My worries were interrupted by another order.
“Stand up and turn to the other end of the platform. There’s a man down there who’s hardly stopped staring at you since you passed him before. He’s middle aged, wearing a suit and carrying a raincoat. Walk slowly by, passing in front of him as close as possible.”
Heart in mouth I wended my way through the crowd, heels clicking loudly on concrete, hem of dress flicking my thighs revealing – I feared – too much. I felt as if everyone was staring at me, but in reality most were wrapped up in their own affairs. But there was no denying that the guy in the suit did keep furtively looking at me. I was shaking like a leaf yet trying to appear unfazed. I quickened my pace.
“Too fast!” Mike ordered accompanied by an ominous tingle on my tits. It struck me that Mike, wherever he was, could see what I could see, and began to speculate about the choker, its wiring and its brooch.
“Walk very slowly and smile at him as you pass by.”
I complied. The man stepped back to let me pass but I felt the intensity of his gaze as I passed within inches of his face. Then he began to follow Göztepe travestileri me. Just as I was wondering where this would lead the train arrived. I found a seat and was engaged in trying to arrange my dress so my stocking tops weren’t showing when he sat down opposite me.
“He so fancies you. Smile and wink at him.”
This was too much. Surely Mike couldn’t see what I was doing here on the train. But a sudden jolt of pain in my arse told me otherwise. Was Mike on the train too, watching the scene on his smartphone? I smiled and winked. He averted his gaze.
“He’s shy. You’ll have to encourage him.”
As the train gathered pace he arranged his raincoat over his knees and slid his right hand under it. It didn’t take a genius to guess what he was doing as he kept taking surreptitious glances in my direction. The thought that just looking at me was turning him on was intensely arousing and spontaneously I smiled at him again. But it wasn’t to end there. As the train slowed for a station the woman on my right got up to leave.
“Smile at him, pat the seat, then slowly stroke your leg!”
To my alarm he responded, sitting next to me, rearranging his coat and his right hand. Other people settled in seats opposite and the train began to move off.
“He’s enjoying this. Take his left hand and put it on your right knee.”
Trembling I did as I was told. He started gently fondling my leg, as the people opposite pretended not to watch.
“Snuggle up close to him. Slip your hand under his raincoat. Give him a good time.”
Gingerly I put my hand on his leg, under his raincoat. He took it, gave it a little squeeze, and guided it into his open fly. I’d never felt another man’s cock before but it was rock hard so I clasped it and started to wank him off while keeping my movements subtle in the hope that the other passengers wouldn’t notice. Doing this in public to a complete stranger made me feel like the tarty girl I seemed to be becoming. Ignoring the glances from the other passengers he continued to fondle my leg, squeezing it as his excitement grew. Suddenly I felt him cum, his cock pulsing in my hand. Moments later he walked away with a brief backward leer treating me like the cheap slut I was. The train slowed for my destination.
“You might like to know. He wasn’t a player. Just a passer-by.”
Outside on the street I took orders to walk to a nearby cinema and sit in the back row of the stalls. The lights were up. The film was to be a comedy, but evidently not a popular one so early in the afternoon as the auditorium was almost empty. Obediently I sat in the back row, choosing the seat next to the aisle. As I smoothed my dress a lone man in the middle of the row glanced briefly across before looking back to the screen.
“Get up and sit next to that guy!” Mike commanded.
This was too much. The man was large and heavily built, probably in his late thirties, a tough looking customer in hooded top and jeans. I wasn’t at all sure he’d welcome a tranny sitting next to him. But my hesitation earned me another warning shock big enough to make me wince. I stood up, shuffled along the row, and sat down next to him. To my relief he moved slightly to the far side of his seat. He just wanted to watch the movie. I was in the clear this time. The lights went down.
I was just starting to get complacent, even ignoring the pressure of the butt plug and beginning to enjoy the film, when the order came.
“Put your hand on his knee.” This was going too far, I thought. It could earn me a beating. I started to entertain thoughts of making a run for it when another shock came. The guy surely must have noticed me flinch. Screwing my eyes shut I put my hand on his knee, as gently as possible. Still he ignored me.
“Slowly move your hand up his leg, turn to face him and smile.” As I complied my trembling was surely apparent.
“Come with me!” the man commanded, in an unpleasant voice. Grabbing my hand he pulled me out of the cinema and into the street, thronged with Saturday shoppers. Despite my heels he towered over me: I’m of slender build and five foot seven. He was well over six foot and built like a rugby forward. The grip on my hand was strong: not the gesture of affection it appeared to onlookers but one of control by force. He led me off the busy street and down a narrow deserted alley. Disused and derelict mill buildings loomed above us and I was certain I was in for a beating. Mike had been silent since this man took control and I wondered if somehow he’d lost contact – the thought that nobody could see what was happening to me scared me all the more. The alley emerged onto a canal towpath. It struck me as remarkable how in many northern towns so short a distance separated busy streets from deserted, eerie places like this with dark stagnant water hemmed between towering Victorian factories, all broken windows and graffiti. There was one solitary moored boat, a narrowboat looking in urgent need of care and attention. Unlocking it led led me aboard, sitting Travesti Göztepe me on the vessel’s narrow double bed.
Aside from his original terse order he hadn’t said a word, or given the slightest hint of what was in store for me. Following orders I stayed mute, with head bowed while he took off his jacket revealing a tight white teeshirt. To my astonishment he sat next to me, pulled me roughly to him and kissed me hard forcing his tongue into my mouth. I’d never kissed a guy before but the sense of his strong arms around me, his stubble on my face and his tongue probing mine was intense: I felt like the meek submissive girl I’d become. Surely this guy was a player and the display of disinterest in the cinema was just a mind fuck. I guessed I wasn’t going to get a beating but I still feared what might be in store. His hands were over me like a rash, one feeling my stocking tops and chastity belt, the other fondling my body through the thin fabric of my dress.
“You are a kinky wee girlie, aren’t you?” he declared, “Bondage collar, corset, chastity belt. What shall we do with you, I wonder? Do you like bondage?”
“Yes, sir.” I meekly replied, remembering Mike’s orders, although the thought of being even more helpless scared me silly. He led me into a small cabin accessed through a sliding door. The walls were adorned with various scary looking devices and the back of the sliding door comprised a full length mirror. I noticed that the walls and thickly carpeted floor boasted an assortment of steel hooks and rings.
“Kneel there facing the mirror. Spread your knees wide apart.”
I watched as with skilful dexterity he tied my knees and ankles to the steel rings, then bound each wrist tightly to rings set wide apart on the ceiling: the ropes were so tight I could barely move my arms. He fitted a metal collar around my neck and chained it to four hooks in the walls: my neck was fixed in place so rigidly I could barely move my head. At most I could turn my head and wriggle my body pointlessly. Then he made me open my mouth and gagged me with a ring gag. The intensely arousing image before me revealed a helplessly spread-eagled sissy girl with mouth open, legs apart and fear in her eyes. Finally he removed my earpiece, fitting earplugs and blindfolding me with a silk scarf. At this my panic level went through the roof: if Mike gave me orders I’d be unable to hear them, let alone carry them out. Not that there was much I could actually do in this position. Was I about to experience extreme punishment? The feeling of sensory deprivation was new and strange serving to heighten my sense of helplessness.
He must have knelt down before me because he started kissing me again through the ring gag. I couldn’t help but feel thrilled by my helplessness and reciprocated, loving the feeling of his tongue probing my mouth. The boat seemed to rock and I heard the muffled sound of footsteps: at least one person had boarded. As he withdrew I heard a murmur of voices but I couldn’t make out the words. Someone lifted my skirt and started feeling my thighs and chastity belt. Once again a tongue probed my mouth but his aftershave told me this was someone else. Now I really was a tart I thought as I settled into enjoying the kiss. But once again things were set to move up a notch: the kiss came to an end and I guessed the first man was back. My nostrils were assailed with the unmistakeable aroma of a cock. Then it was in my mouth, thrusting towards my throat and making me gag. As he withdrew slightly I started to lick it, teasing the tip with my tongue. If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be sucking a stranger’s cock and enjoying it I’d have considered them mad but on this strange day new rules applied. I closed my lips round its shaft and licked, sucked and teased for all I was worth. At last he thrust hard against the back of my throat and came in a seemingly endless series of hard thrusts. Feeling the sticky cum sliding down my throat I now knew exactly what I’d become. And loved it.
For a while it seemed that I was left alone, but then the guy removed my blindfold followed by the earplugs, chains and neck collar. My arms and legs remained tightly bound, the whore in the mirror looking rather more dishevelled than before but no less vulnerable. Somewhere on the boat an electric generator hummed. Momentarily the mirror slid to one side and a man in his mid thirties entered, one altogether less frightening than the first. Of slender build, clean shaven and with long hair his face had a kindly aspect. His aftershave was familiar: he was the other guy who’d kissed me, a thought I found appealing. But the bulge in his chinos left me in no doubt that he was turned on by the sight of the bound sissy before him.
“So what’s next for the lovely Amanda, Jake?” He asked the bondage master.
“We’re making a bagging vid for Mike. Get your camera, Steve.” Steve left for a moment returning with a professional looking movie camera. Flicking a switch I was bathed in glaring light from lamps mounted around the room. Jake produced a clear plastic bag from his pocket and began to unfold it. My mind turned cartwheels: was I to star in my own snuff video? Forcing myself to think clearly I recalled my swimming tuition and started to take deep breaths to oxygenate my blood – all the time terrified and shaking like a leaf.