He had been begging me since we met to take him out, dressed as a woman. At 6'3", it was going to be a challenge to make him look like any kind of a lady.
She told him to lie on the bed, where she tied his arms and his legs to the bedposts. Her favorite position for him, face-up. He never knew what to expect when she did this to him. He couldn't help but get an erection, his cock always got hard when he was around her, it was involuntary, uncontrollable. He did as told, spread his arms and legs and felt pure bliss and joy as the cuffs went on. He was going into her space, his space, subspace. Heaven on earth, is how he described it.
She didn't crawl on top of him, placing her crotch or her ass over his face. She didn't move over his cock, she slapped it, telling him to relax, this wasn't about sex. She pulled a chair over to the edge of the bed and began painting his fingernails.
"Hold still," she ordered him. "I am doing this once and once only. If you mess the polish, tough shit. This is all you get."
"Yes, Mistress," he closed his eyes and enjoyed the moments, each of them. Every minute spent in her presence meant another moment of happiness for him.
The light touches of the nail polish brush on this fingernails was strange. He could just barely feel it, he was accustomed to something stronger, harsher from her. No matter, he waited for something greater. A stronger touch, another swat on his cock or a slap across his face. These were his favorites. She was expert at delivering them and she knew how much he enjoyed her touch - in any form.
"Don't move your fingers, they are perfect." He stayed very still as she blew on his hands, his fingers, one by one, moving on both sides of the bed, climbing over his body, as if he were not there, naked, erect and excited.
She moved the chair to the end of the bed and began painting his toenails, occasionally using the crop against the bottom of his feet.
"Don't fuck up the polish," she screamed as his feet flinched each time they were hit.
She blew on his toenails, alternating breath with slaps on the bridge of his feet.
"Those will take awhile to dry. I'll be back," she yelled over her shoulder as she shut the bedroom door behind her. He laid there, naked, erect, and wondering what was next. He couldn't help but wonder why she had picked now to paint his nails.
He waited and watched the sky grow dark. He didn't fall asleep, but this was a meditative place for him. It was truly the only time in his life when he could completely clear his mind, turn it all off and just live in the moment. He was responsible for no one, only responsible for providing Mistress' pleasure when she desired. That was the only reprieve he had in his life, the only break he got. She understood that and she made the most of it.
He didn't know how long it had been when she reentered the room but she looked different than she had previously. She was dressed to go out - stockings, makeup and her hair was up and back, away from her face. This was how he liked her best, the lines of her jaw and her high cheekbones clearly visible. He still couldn't quite believe what they had managed to work out between them, how well this worked for them both. He knew what he needed, he knew, in his heart, that he was a sub...he was a man who needed to serve a woman, a woman greater and stronger than himself but finding her had been a challenge. He had all but given up hope when they met. He had made a joke about spanking in one of their earlier conversations, and she had picked right up on it. At that point she had only received spanking, she had been dominated by a ruthless, selfish, arrogant man and she had shied away, not only from the D/s world but from men as a whole. He had jumped at the chance to bring it up, to discuss it, to see if he could interest her in switching sides, so to speak.
She had taken to it naturally, remarkable, really. Nothing about their relationship was simple or convenient but they both felt that it was what truly worked for them - anything else at this point would be a cheap alternative, filler, second best. They'd both had enough other relationships to know the bond they shared was real, vital, substantive.
"Are you going out, Mistress?," he asked, wondering if he might have the chance to lick her pussy or suck her nipples before she left him there, wondering when she would come back, if she would come back. She liked that, to leave him. She liked the mystery and the power that it brought. He never knew when she returned if she would want to fuck him, be fucked or have him lick her clean of another man's cum. That was an amazing experience and one that he relished. They had come so far together that she could ask nothing of him that would be too much, over the top. She was perfect for him, in every way. To the outside world, he was a macho, alpha male and she was the only person who knew what he truly needed and wanted. A woman he could worship, treat like a queen and who would not judge him. Their bond was exquisite and they both cherished it.
"Yes, I am going out and you are coming with me," she replied. He looked surprised as she had just painted his nails. Where could they be going, he wondered.
She began to untie the restraints, instructing him to get up, get moving, it was late. He did as he was told. She lead him, by his cock, into the bathroom where she sat him on top of the toilet. Then she started to wrap his hair around a very hot curling iron. He flinched unsure that she was watching what she was doing. He hated burns and she had never taken that route with him.
