Yes, hello, good morning…
…
– Yes, with pleasure
…
– When?
–…
– Next Friday? The 6th, right?
–…
– Oh no, I'm really sorry, I really can't
–…
– No, I'm on vacation, I'm really sorry. If there's another date I can arrange something
–…
– No? Sorry, if another date becomes available, please don't hesitate to call me back. Goodbye, Madam.
… crazy, I just turned down an invitation from a top CEO all because in a week at the same time I'm planning to get whipped in a cellar dressed as a woman in front of people I don't know….
…10 minutes later I was offered a new appointment for Wednesday the 11th 😉
7 days to go: I confess I'm not yet 100% sure I have the courage to show up at the door, but the experience is so tempting… and I don't dare back out anymore. Madame kindly reminded me by email. It's decided, I can't back out now, the die is cast…
H-6: I took the afternoon off, my bag with my things is packed, I'm having trouble concentrating on my work, a mix of fears, anxiety, curiosity, and also a contradictory desire to overcome all of this
H-1: I drove by to check out the entrance I'd previously seen on Google Street View, a small recessed door with no distinguishing features. Is this the right one? I feel my heart racing… really fast. In my head, two little voices are calling to each other
– “You'll see, it's going to be an incredible feeling! You're so lucky, you won't find better for a first time. She's really kind, sweet, and absolutely beautiful! I assure you, I'm sure you can trust her, it'll be fine. Besides, she said there's no one there in the afternoon, so you're worrying for nothing. Plus, she's already prepared everything. The hostess who's supposed to greet me is very friendly, apparently.”
and the other little voice:
“No, don’t go, there’s still time to turn back. Go for a walk, the weather’s nice. You don’t realize, you’ve always set yourself a rule: never in a club, never in public. Now you’re combining everything: submission, public, etc…”
I park my car under the nearby town hall, I have an hour to wait, too much stress, I take my PC and go to work in the bar opposite the town hall, I don't think I've ever dealt with so many emails in one hour!!
It's time, my heart is racing again, I head back to my car to exchange my bags. I walk slowly towards the address; normally a charming hostess is waiting for me. I'm supposed to introduce myself as Camille; she has instructions… what instructions???
“Hello Stephanie, I’m Camille, I believe you have instructions concerning me.” “Hello Camille, I’m Stephanie, I believe you have instructions concerning me,” no, that’s not it, the words are tumbling through my head, a little too flooded with adrenaline. I don’t know if I’m walking too fast or if the door is approaching me on its own, but suddenly I find myself in front of the much-anticipated and dreaded door. I don’t even remember if I rang the bell or knocked. Remember, “Hello Stephanie, I’m Camille, you must have instructions concerning me…”
The door opens, I am about to recite the few words mechanically when a giant with a Merlin-like beard opens, all of a sudden Stephanie is closer to the Canadian lumberjack than to the imagined Barbie doll.
A brief mental short circuit stops me for two seconds…
– “Uh… hello,… I’m Camille and…”
– “Yes, hello, we know, Stéphanie will come and take care of you, come in…”
Ultimately, the big, bearded fellow is closer to a kindly Santa Claus than a gruff lumberjack.
I spot Stéphanie ringing up a customer. Good heavens, I thought there was no one here… Was I lied to? Was she trying to reassure me by downplaying the number of people?
– “Hello Camille, I'm aware of the situation. I have a few instructions. Where would you prefer to change? Here in the entrance hall? Or there are the restrooms.”
I really can't imagine changing in this entrance hall where there's already a lot of coming and going, which is far too much for my liking.
– “I prefer the restrooms.”
– “Perfect, go ahead, then I'll give you your instructions.”
I go into the bathroom and close the latch, a flimsy protection against what's to come, like a final suspended moment.
I change, difficult in this dim light; the pale red emanating asthmatically from the lamp doesn't make it any easier.
The latch drops several times as if to hurry me on, I hear new visitors, there is talking and laughing in the vestibule, I have the impression that all of Paris is rushing into this small entrance, each accessory put on corresponds to the arrival of a new group of people and to think that Madame had assured me that there was no one on Friday afternoon, did I finally listen to the advice of the bad little voice that guided me here?
There, I adjust my wig, my "civilian" clothes are at the bottom of my bag, I look at the latch, the last protective barrier against my immediate future, the sharp click releases the door, Camille faces the crowd gathered in the entrance, I feel a few glances from the men and women waiting, coats in hand, the conversations continue. I lower my eyes, I see no one, trying to convince myself that there's no one around me, no, no, there's no one.
Stéphanie compliments me on my outfit and asks me to follow her. She's charming, with long, slender legs accentuated by stiletto heels. She asks me to go down the stairs. I descend slowly, too slowly. Quickly, quickly, let's go downstairs; there must be fewer people. With each step down, the view of the basement slowly unfolds before my eyes.
My God, there are people at the bar, and sitting at all the tables. My heart races again; I barely have time to grasp the trap I've fallen into before Stephanie asks me to kneel on the floor at the foot of the stairs, right next to a group of three people, a man and two women. I obey. I'm on my knees, sitting on my stilettos, lowering my head so I don't see the guests and to hide myself at the same time.
I see Stephanie's legs going back up the stairs, and I feel abandoned. How long do I have to wait? Is this already a punishment? Madame asked me to be on time; I hope she won't be long. From the fear of meeting Madame, I now long for her to come and rescue me, to do anything to get me out of everyone's sight. The worst part is the snippets of conversation from the group behind me. I catch a word now and then. The women are asking a lot of questions, while the man seems completely at ease.
blah blah…nice legs for a transvestite…blah blah…why on your knees…blah blah…it's like a ritual…blah blah…showing submission…blah blah…waiting position…blah blah…respect…blah blah…
the words tumble out, I know they're talking about me, my eyes are downcast, I can only see my thighs. I notice that the garters of my stockings aren't quite aligned, I hope Madame won't see it… I don't know how long I've been waiting, it feels like an eternity…when will she arrive to save me??? A face, a voice I've heard before, I suddenly miss it.
My knees are starting to hurt, and kneeling on my stilettos isn't helping.
The conversation continues behind the scenes…blah blah…chastity cage…blah blah…
More people continue to descend the stairs, more and more of them, will it ever stop? I can still hear others, all I can see are shoes, passing before my eyes, men's shoes, high heels…
Suddenly, I feel two hands cup my face like one would affectionately cup a child's face. A soft voice asks me to stand up. I don't even remember the words, but they feel like a liberation. I'm happy, finally saved, even though it hasn't even begun. The woman is still as beautiful as ever. She introduces me to her two friends, who seem charming. I must now help her transform; I become the agent of my own submission.
Here I am now in a very welcoming and less crowded alcove, despite a few curious glances. Madame begins to undress and I participate in this striptease. She takes out her stockings, garter belt, shoes. It is dark, I love this subdued atmosphere which allows us to guess the shapes without revealing them completely.
I crouch down to better free Madame from her clothes; her legs are revealed, slender and magnificent, the last barrier of modesty falling to the floor.
She sits and extends her legs towards me so I can put on her stockings. I feel a swelling between my legs, and while I'm in my favorite erotic realm, surprisingly, the awakening of my masculine side is only brief. My concentration on properly putting on the stockings is so intense that my masculine mind isn't able to manage both.
I had to take off my gloves to be more precise in my movements. I gently pulled the stockings up Madame's long legs, feeling both the nylon I adore and her incredibly soft skin. Both stockings were on, and she stood up. My face was now level with her crotch, and I had an irresistible urge to kiss that triangle within reach of my lips. But it wasn't right; I didn't want to embarrass Madame. I pulled her stockings up high, and my fingers gently touched her crotch. She said nothing and watched my every move.
Now I have to fasten her garter belt. It's dark, I can't see a thing. My fingers are trying to find the tiny hooks. Madame's plump buttocks are magnificent; I'd love to kiss them, but that's not done. I'm so focused that I'm not even aroused anymore. I don't even have time to think about it. I just want Madame to be proud of my work.
Whoops, a small mistake, we have to start again. I'm both sorry for the error and delighted to have to start over and thus prolong the pleasure. I slip her heels on; I feel like I'm in a dream. I help her into her dress, which accentuates her firm breasts and which she wears with pride. I want to kiss her nipples, to play with them with the tip of my tongue, but that's not done…
It's time to get down to business, what will happen now? I am Madame in her long dress, she is as beautiful and desirable as she is inaccessible and impressive.
We arrive in this room, which seems immense compared to the alcove we just left. The lady removes her dress; she has a truly magnificent bosom. I have the honor of tying her wrists. Her Master asks me to caress her, and I don't need to be asked twice. I take the opportunity to caress her breasts, which I so desire. I regret not wearing gloves; I can't savor this all-too-brief moment, as if suspended in time. I am invited to sit opposite her. Spectators begin to form a semicircle to enjoy the show; there is another transvestite watching the scene.
I am now sitting directly opposite Madame, who has gone in an instant from Mistress to Submissive. She now has a blindfold over her eyes, her arms in the air, her chest exposed. The dim red light diffuses behind her and outlines the perfect silhouette of Madame, who is now only the shadow of the one who asked me to dress her.
Her legs are slightly parted, straight, magnificent. I have an irresistible urge to kneel before her and kiss her legs, slowly moving up towards her crotch to taste that forbidden fruit. Just as my masculine side begins to feel constricted between my crossed legs, her Master delivers a first blow, which instantly quells my masculine ardor.
My heart nearly leaps from my chest after three beats. Madame's breasts heave with each blow. God, it's beautiful to see her surrender. The blows intensify, and I can't tear my gaze away from her heaving breasts. The sound of the blows overwhelms me. I haven't yet grasped that I'm about to be in her place. Now her Master is caressing her between her legs. I long to help her again, but surprisingly, I don't even want to make love to her, just to feel my tongue gently slide in for her pleasure. The blows rain down harder and faster, even on her breasts. You can feel the violence of the blows approaching Madame's limit, but she's confident. You can sense it. She's putting on a show, and she has an audience. I know she enjoys this theater. The passive spectators seem hypnotized by the scene, and now they can hear Madame's pleasure being unleashed. The woman can barely stand and looks exhausted. They untie her, and I want to take her in my arms to comfort her and tell her how much I admire her. But it seems it's my turn; I go from being an anonymous spectator to a passive participant. There are far too many people around for my liking, far too many. Camille is very shy.
But I am also here to experience this new sensation so I let myself go, I have complete trust in Madame and I let her tie my wrists, there is starting to be noise around me, conversations, movement.
The woman uses a stocking to blindfold me; I love it. I'm now in complete darkness, my favorite sense is numb. She whispers words in my ear, her voice both soft and firm, a strange emotional feeling.
I now feel small, unpleasant blows on my buttocks and upper thighs. I was expecting a whip, but it must be a riding crop. Several quick, light blows. I admit I don't like it at all. Then silence. I wait. What will happen next? The same thing, but harder? I couldn't bear that sensation.
Then suddenly I feel straps gently caressing my back, as if to make me understand that I should enjoy a few seconds of this false tenderness.
The first blow is to my buttocks; I feel it lift my skirt. The second is harder; I clench my hands, gripping the handles hanging from the ceiling. I can't free myself and remain a prisoner. The third blow is even harder, this time on my back. I feel an electric shock throughout my legs—incredible sensations I've never experienced. My legs feel like cotton. I grip the handles tighter and tighter, yet I arch my back, presenting my buttocks to the torture again and again. The straps are now caressing my back.
Madame comes to whisper in my ear, I feel her breath on my lobe, her words are dense like a liquid that would enter the ear and go directly to irrigate the brain, there is no longer a filter, my sensations are directly connected to Madame's voice and the blows she inflicts on me, suddenly there is no one around me, my brain has emptied itself, there is Camille, Madame and her whip.
Now I feel his hand slide between my thighs from behind, gripping my balls tightly, just to remind me of my submissive male condition. I can't get an erection, but I feel the pleasure. The thrusting resumes; I can't hear anything around me. I feel hands caressing my legs. Someone is at my feet, taking advantage of my body without me being able or willing to do anything. My surrender is complete. I've come, without actually coming—a first for me.
They untied me, it couldn't have taken very long but I'm exhausted, my legs can barely hold me up, my forced breathing must have over-oxygenated my brain because my mind is completely foggy, I'm exhausted but happy to have taken the plunge into this new world for me.
The woman was perfect, reassuring yet firm; she was a great help to me, and I hope she also enjoyed guiding me through this initiatory journey. It takes me several minutes to collect myself. There, I've done it.
We go down to the bar, a surreal scene unfolds: a woman naked under her dress, which is wide open, revealing her private parts; two men chatting; two transvestites around the same table… nothing seems to surprise the other guests. As if that weren't enough, a charming young woman joins us before being stripped naked, tied up, and suspended from the ceiling…
I take leave, the butterfly transforms back into a caterpillar in the same toilet, I go home, it seems I am alone for another half hour, I cannot resist caressing myself while replaying the scene in my head as if I had left my body and witnessed my own flagellation, I see again the shadow of Madame, her long legs sheathed in nylon, her proud breasts heaving, everything accelerates in my head, I come, surprisingly my pleasure is slightly painful, is it due to this unfulfilled pleasure earlier… my back suddenly burns, so much so that I have to go and see in a mirror if there are any marks on my back, I am reassured, no marks, Madame had promised me that.
There we go, there are people in the house now, I'm coming back down to earth, Madame took me out of my daily routine to accompany me to another planet, far, far away… and I loved it…
Thank you, Madam 😉
Yours truly, Camille
