Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
He is my sissy. My apprentice. The canvas on which I will paint obedience. But he doesn’t quite know it yet. He stands in the hallway, trembling, clutching the thin, pastel cardigan I chose for him. His hair is slicked back in an artificial bob with the ends dyed a pastel pink that catches the light like bruised roses. He looks at me with a mixture of awe and terror, before his eyes dart to the leather cuffs hanging on the coat rack and the polished wooden bench where I will have him sit.
“Welcome, Alex,” I say, edged with authority. I watch the subtle shiver that ripples through his shoulders. He nods and whispers, “Yes, Mistress.” I guide him inside my apartment. The bench is already prepared. An ornate iron frame draped with a black silk sheet and a small brass bowl bearing a single, polished ruby at its center. I instruct him to strip. His hands trembled as he removes each piece of clothing until he stands there completely naked. I hand him a pair of thin lace panties and he looks at me, puzzled. “Put them on,” I say, calmly. “You’re a girl now.”
The canvas on which I will paint obedience.
He nods and does as he’s told. “Now, kneel,” I command. He obeys, as the soft thud of his knees against the wood echoes in the dim room. I pull the pair of leather cuffs from the rack. I wrap them around his wrists, as the leather bites into his skin. The metal lock snaps shut with a decisive click.
“Bend over,” I command. He folds himself in half and I bend down to push his panties to the side, before sliding a lubed plug into his ass pussy. I stand up and circle him. The heels of my boots click against the hardwood. Each step is a reminder of the hierarchy that governs this space. “Look at me,” I say. His head lifts and his eyes lock onto mine with a mixture of reverence and dread swirling in his gaze. It’s almost endearing.
I begin the lesson with simple commands. “Sit,” “Stay,” “Speak.” Each word is a thread I pull, weaving him tighter into the web of my control. His voice soft, his tone is laced with the femininity I’ve coaxed out of him. I reward compliance with a gentle caress of his cheek. “Good girl.”
When he falters, I correct him with a firm hand upon his chin, forcing his gaze upward. “Remember, you belong to me,” I whisper against his ear as his shoulders slump. The training intensifies as I introduce the delicate fabric of lace and the soft whisper of silk. Each garment is a layer of surrender. He learns to move with grace and to speak with a voice that trembles between humility and desire. I watch his transformation carefully. The way his eyes soften, the way his posture bends to my will…I am the keeper of his obedience. What he doesn’t realize is that the training has only just begun.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
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