Friday, 27 July 2012

Interview for a sissy

Property of Madame Caramel

“If you want to be considered as my lifestyle slave, you should write me a polite letter explaining what you can offer and what experience you have. If you do that, I will give it some consideration.”

It was a week since one of London’s most celebrated Dommes had explained how I could apply for a place in Her household. It had happened while we’d been celebrating a successful recording session at Femme Fatale Films with a glass of red wine in a small cafĂ© on Bethnal Green Road in East London. That shoot had been my first experience of playing the slave in a femdom movie as well as my initiation to domination at the hands – and under the backside – of the imposing Madame Caramel. It was a position in which I had felt completely at home. I knew that I belonged at Her feet metaphorically and physically.

I wanted more.

I was ready to broaden my experience as a submissive, to have my limits stretched.  I needed a Mistress and, in Madame Caramel, I felt that perhaps I’d found Someone I could serve in ways I’d never done before. Until now my experience as a sub had either been with pro Dommes or in the context of a long-term relationship. I’d had partners (Molly and the Empress, described elsewhere in this blog) where D/s had been an important part of our sexual play but not in a 24/7 context. With both of these long-term ‘Mistresses’, there had been extended periods where we’d pursued a vanilla lifestyle.

In all interactions with Madame Caramel, it was very clear that I would be submissive: as servant, slave or sissy maid.  She would demand things of me that no previous Mistress had asked, including simple domestic service, and would permit no ‘topping from the bottom’. She offered me a space in which I would always have only one function: to obey. I knew there was an emotional connection but that She would always use me for her own purposes and satisfaction. I was hungry for it.

I’d written my letter of application at the weekend while staying in the country at my brother’s house. I’d got up early on the Sunday morning and knelt naked at the end of my bed, still very conscious of my shaved legs and genitals.

And now I was sitting opposite Her in a favourite restaurant in Shoreditch,
under a fortnight since I’d first contacted Her on a quiet Sunday morning to apply to take part in ‘Dommes Gone Wild’. I’d had an initial interview, I’d been invited to the film shoot, I’d made my rather timid enquiry about becoming a full-time slave, I’d written my plea to be accepted as slave as I’d been instructed. Things were moving quickly.

Now I was to hear Her decision.

I’m sure that the Chateabriand that She’d ordered for both of us was good but I was barely aware of what I was eating.  She put down her cutlery and turned to me.

“Francis, I have read your letter and given it careful consideration. I’ve studied your behaviour and observed how you respond when I’ve told you to do things., You can be clumsy and careless…”

I knew she was thinking about the jacket that I’d left behind in the dungeon on the day we’d filmed at Femme Fatale. I was still appalled at that mistake; was it going to ruin my chances of being taken on?

“….but I think you do genuinely want to serve and you don’t seem to be trying to manipulate situations so that you’re in control.”

She looked at me closely, smiling as her lips framed the words I wanted to hear.

“So I have decided to take you on as one of my lifestyle slaves. I think you will make a good sissy maid and from now on you will be known as ‘domestic’, or when you are a maid, Francisca. For the time being you will wear this as a sign that you are my property.”

She reached into her purse and took out a short silver chain and padlock.

“Give me your hand”

She fastened the bracelet to my wrist.

“I will send you the rules that I will expect you to observe tomorrow. They’re based on a protocol for sissy maids that I like and I’ve adapted for my own slaves. You will study it and learn to behave properly.”

“We will make an appointment for a day’s initial training so that I can assess whether you are fit to serve me in public. I will want you to do housework, to serve at dinner and tea when I host parties, to give massages to Me and my lady friends.”

“You may also be required to serve me in the dungeon”.

“Have you sucked cock?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Only once or twice, but I have some experience.”

“Well you will be getting a lot of practice from now on. Have you been used as a toilet?”

“Yes, Ma’am”

“Good. You may now call me Mistress”. 

Tuesday, 24 July 2012

Serving Madame Caramel: Part 2

I become 'domestic' for the first time

Clutching a yellow shoulder bag containing rubber hood, collar and CB-6000, I listened carefully while Madame Caramel told me what she expected. We were making slow progress through heavy traffic in south London, on our way to Red Spot Studios.

“This shoot is about Me. I am the focus, not you. When we arrive, I want you to lay out my clothes carefully, to help me with my shoes and anything else I may need. At other times, you will kneel in the corner and wait until you’re told what to do. You’re there to be used in whatever way Mistress Eleise or I need for the camera”.

I felt myself blushing slightly: the minicab driver could hear everything that was said. Madame had glanced at him and spoken sotto voce when She first broached kinky topics but now She didn’t seem to care what he heard.

“Did you bring your cage?”

I squirmed. “Yes, Ma’am”

“Well, I don’t want you getting an erection when I put it on, do you understand? I don’t have time to waste”

My cock was already hard. I tried to compress it with the hand that was under my yellow bag but that just made it worse. I could only hope that when the moment arrived, with other people in the studio, I would find the situation more mundane and detumesce accordingly. If it remained stubbornly erect, not only would I be humiliated and embarrassed as Madame tried to squeeze me into the sheath of transparent plastic, but I also ran the risk of annoying Her for the second time that day. I was very anxious to avoid incurring her wrath again: I wanted to please.

Madame Caramel was taking something of a risk in inviting me, almost a complete stranger, to participate in the day’s shoot for Femme Fatale Films. I was desperate, not just to be a good slave (obedient, attentive, anticipating Her needs and making no demands) but to perform well in the scenes.

I had seen an email in which Mistress Eleise had said that She would like to re-create the artwork of Namio Harukawa  so I knew that I would be spending much of the afternoon with my face pinned under Madame Caramel’s voluptuous buttocks. Apart from that, (which I was looking forward to enormously), I didn’t know what to expect. When I’d asked what She had in mind, Madame had told me that it was better if I didn’t know. Would there be pain? Would I be awkward and clumsy on camera?

I checked the navigation app on my phone: we would arrive at the studio in 8 minutes. I wasn’t sure whether I was feeling excited anticipation or nervous dread: whatever it was, the adrenaline was pumping.

“Make sure the seams are straight and don’t you dare ladder them”. I was kneeling at Madame’s feet in the dressing rooms of Red Spot Studios. It was the first time I had seen Her in anything but street clothes and I was beginning to understand what BBW can mean. Madame is a beauty of Rubensesque proportions: curvaceous, powerful and strong.

“But I’m not soft,” she said while I carefully rolled her stockings up her legs.


My breathing was shallow and fast as I slowly reached up and touched the firm brown flesh of Madame’s thigh: I felt muscle, not fat. My deepening sense of submission was reinforced as I realized that, psychological domination aside, She was quite capable of overpowering me physically.  As I fumbled with the stockings, my hands were impatiently brushed aside.

“If you are to serve me permanently, you will have to do better than that. Get  undressed and kneel in the corner. Don’t get in the way”

Very conscious of my persistent erection, I kept still and watched as Madame Caramel sat on a high stool in front of mirrors surrounded by light bulbs while Mistress Eleise of Femme Fatale Films applied make up in preparation for the shoot. I might as well have been part of the furniture for all the attention they paid me. My role was clear to be of service when required, otherwise to be invisible. I did my best to fulfill it.

It is often these in these quiet moments when there is no obvious domination, no verbal or physical interaction, that I am most conscious of joy in submission. The two Dommes chatted about make-up, maids and other matters as if I was not in the room. I felt completely at ease, content that my only responsibility was to do as I was told.

“Come here and bring your cage with you”. 

I picked up the CB6000 and its middle-sized securing ring.  My cock had wilted a little under the scathing gaze of the two Dommes but it was still a struggle to squeeze on the transparent case and fix it on to the three white stalks which locked it into place. I handed Madame the padlock.  I’d never been in chastity while shaved: if you are going to be denied access to your cock, the experience is greatly improved by not getting hairs trapped in hinges or snagged elsewhere in the device.

We were both ready: Madame elegant in black seethrough dress and corset, Her slave naked except for his cage. I picked up my rubber hood and followed Her into the studio.

We enacted three scenes. The first, for Femme Fatale, involved facesitting.

I drowned in Madame’s voluptuous backside, slipping between ecstasy as my whole face was enveloped between the capacious cheeks of Her ass, and moments of panic as I reached the limit of my capacity to hold my breath. With Madame astride my head, I was trapped: even if I had wanted to, I could not have thrown her off,  I writhed, slapped my hands and beat my feet on the floor until She lifted for a moment allowing me a few seconds to gasp for air and then settling her weight on me again. If you do watch the film, you will see that I was completely at Her mercy: had she wanted to suffocate me, there was nothing that I could have done.

If you want to know what happened next, you can see for yourself at Femme Fatale Films - search for 'In The Zone"

The other two scenes were for Madame Caramel’s own site. In the first of these, a scenario in which I played an incompetent servant punished for failing to clean the floor of Her boudoir properly, I acquired a name that has subsequently become a continuing fixture.

“What shall I call you? Something which describes your status as a slave….I know: ‘domestic’”.

And ‘domestic’ I have remained: it’s stayed with me longer than the nick on my cock inflicted when Madame kicked me as I was removing the offending wax  with my mouth.

To my surprise and delight, Madame Caramel permitted me to hold her hand in the cab back to Hoxton.

“Yes, domestic,” She said. “I think we’ll get on very well”.

Monday, 16 July 2012

Application for domestic, sissy and slave training

Dear Madame Caramel,

There are two reasons why i am compelled to write to You, Ma’am.

Firstly, i have to thank you for a wonderful week that has transformed my life. Last Sunday i faced the prospect of another rather dull and lonely day mostly at home: i would browse the web, watch some femdom clips, get up late, visit my daughter, spend the evening in front of the telly. get ready to go back to work.

Then i found the Dommes Gone Wild page and contacted You. i have not been able to think of anything else since You summoned me to interview. As i told you in the taxi, i was Yours from the moment You told me to kiss your feet. Kneeling before You, on the floor in Your flat, with my mouth pressed to Your naked foot, i felt a blissful sense of belonging.

Writing to Madame Caramel
 Which brings me to my second reason for writing: to submit a humble but sincere application for consideration as Your trainee servant or slave.  

If You will give me the opportunity, Ma’am, i long to learn to please You: to offer You my body and mind as Your playthings to command, to control, to submit to your bidding, for you to tease and torment, to punish or even reward as You see fit.

i realize that i do not have all the qualifications necessary to be Your slave but i do have some experience. i believe that with Your guidance and mentoring, i could learn to serve you well. i have been collared by two Mistresses in the past and have been trained to walk on a leash, to serve at table, to act as furniture, to do housework including hoovering, dusting and kitchen duties. i do not have much experience as a sissy maid but i would be very happy to learn more.

i know i have many faults. i can be forgetful and clumsy sometimes, as You discovered this week when i left Your jacket behind. Occasionally i will think of my own needs before Yours as, for example, when i started to pack my things before Yours after filming. i hope to prove to You that with correction and chastisement, i can overcome these failings.

i know that males become inattentive to the needs of Females when they come and that if You accept my application for training, my cock would become Your property. i would no longer have the right to masturbate or have orgasms without your explicit permission. i would anticipate spending prolonged periods in chastity.

As you know i have a full time job and, while i live on my own and am unattached, i do have family commitments which i will occasionally have to prioritise. Apart from this, i offer myself wholly to You, to use as you please, whenever you may have a use for me.

i am literally on my knees as i write this to You, Ma’am: i beg You to look favourably on this application.

Yours respectfully,

Friday, 13 July 2012

Serving Madame Caramel Pt 1

I could barely believe what I was doing. Four days previously I'd been idly browsing fetish sites on a wet Sunday morning, now I was taking a day off work to play the part of a slave in a FemDom movie with a Mistress I had met only once.

For the second time that week I was on the 149 bus bearing breakfast: a carton of Tropicana (smooth with no bits) and croissants. Madame Caramel had asked for ham and cheese but I couldn't find any on Church Street. Faced with the choice of either failing to deliver what She had ordered or being late for my 9:15 appointment, I'd bought strawberries in the hope of appeasing and pleasing Her.

It hadn't been my most productive few days at work; I'd barely been able to think about anything else since my interview. Apart from trying to imagine how it would be to recreate the artwork of Namio Harukawa under the majestic frame of Madame Caramel, I'd been preoccupied with complying with Her instruction to shave - completely. Sitting nervous on the bus, it felt strange (and slightly erotic) to be wearing trousers over legs now naked as a plucked chicken.

I arrived at Her apartment in good time and, to my relief although She asked about the ham and cheese croissant, She did not seem too annoyed at my failure to deliver it. Instead after serving breakfast, Madame Caramel permitted me to worship her feet for the first time.

Morning Service
It's hard to explain the intensity of the excitement and joy, the blissful sense of completion I feel kneeling before a powerful Woman, slowly pressing my lips to shoe leather or, if I'm lucky, to skin. When I first came out to myself as kinky, this kind of role play was just that: a performance. Over time it has become real and heartfelt, 'the outward sign of an inward state' as the Catholics say. This fundamental position of the slave has become more than external expression of submission: it's a gateway to joyful, willing immersion in the service of a Goddess.

Several hours later, on our way back from the studio I was to tell Madame Caramel: "You owned me from the moment You told me to kiss your feet".

Unfortunately there was no time to extend my descent into subspace. Ms Caramel had a schedule and I had been summoned early to be useful, not to indulge myself. Guests were about to arrive from Canada at her other apartment, the Hoxton Dungeon Suite, and She had an appointment with a client at around the same time. A receptionist was needed for the visitors. After I'd tidied her lounge, done the washing up and helped Her on with her shoes, we set out to walk the short distance to the dungeon. Mistress lead the way while I followed a few paces behind, carrying Her jacket.

The dungeon was a revelation: a luxurious bedroom, kitchen and bathroom complemented two contrasting studios equipped with every conceivable instrument of discipline, torture and delight. I tried not to reveal my curiosity and excitement as I was given my instructions. I was to wait for Mistress Michelle and her boy to arrive, greet them politely, help with their luggage and show them round. Mistress left me her phone in case they called for directions. I put on my collar, hung my jacket and Hers in the hall cupboard and started to explore discreetly.

I had barely entered the main dungeon room when I heard a taxi pull up outside, followed by negotiations with the driver and a knock on the door.

If Mistress Michelle was surprised to find me there, she did not show it. I explained Madame Caramel’s absence while helping the boy (in his mid forties, bespectacled and bearded) with what seemed like an endless stream of bags. While he started to unpack, I made Mistress a coffee, we talked about Toronto, where She lived and Her plans for a week in London. She was very happy with what she had found in the apartment.

“You can’t really tell from what you see on the internet”, she said. “But this place is great. Why stay in a hotel when you can be somewhere you can have so much more fun?” She cast an imperious glance at her boy and smiled.

Realising that I was now superfluous, I wished them a pleasant stay and left, remembering to take Madame Caramel’s phone with me. I decided to walk back towards Her other flat and wait by the main entrance; if She had a client I didn’t want to disturb her. That was my second mistake. I had yet to realize my first.

After waiting for half an hour Madame’s Blackberry rang. I saw that the incoming call was from an American number and answered it.

“Francis, where are you?” Somehow I'd missed her.

I explained and was told to head back to the dungeon quickly. Before I reached it, I met Madame coming the other way. She wasn't happy. She was now behind schedule and walking at a very brisk pace. As we headed up the stairs of her apartment block, she turned to me.

“Where’s my jacket?”

Oh shit.

I felt a stab of anxiety. Things had been going so well. I thought I’d been making a favourable impression. 

Now this.
“Er…I left it at the dungeon, Ma’am”

There was a slight break in Her stride; then an ominous silence. We turned a corner and arrived at her front door. She went to the living room and sat in a tall chair.

“Francis, come here.” Her voice was calm but icy; she pointed at the floor by her feet and I knelt.

“Closer”. Head bowed, I shuffled forward.

“Look at me”.

She took my chin firmly in her left hand, lifted my face and slapped me. Hard.

 I felt tears pricking but held them back.

“If you are to be of any use to me, learn to look after my things” Another stinging blow.

She didn’t need to say anything more by way of chastisement; Her look was enough.

“Now go upstairs and fetch the suitcase on my bed, we’re late. I don’t think I’ll risk another jacket. You’ll probably lose it.”

A few minutes later, ashamed and seething with annoyance at myself for my stupidity, I followed Madame downstairs to wait for a taxi.

We were on our way to Red Spot Studios and my initiation as Madame Caramel’s slave for Femme Fatale Films.

To be continued

Tuesday, 10 July 2012

Meeting Madame Caramel

Things have got interesting in the past few days.

Last Saturday morning I was idly browsing fetish sites pursuing my two primary interests at the moment: crossdressing and femdom when I found something that looked very interesting: "Dommes Gone Wild". Well...I haven't been to a club or a party for quite a while (to be honest, I haven't done anything much actively to indulge my inner pervert for a few months), so I thought I'd write and make an application to participate.

To my surprise I had a reply from Madame Caramel in just a few minutes. After we'd exchanged emails for half an hour, I found myself getting dressed and leaving the house to go for an interview in Her flat in Hoxton, pausing only to pick up bring the orange juice and croissants that I'd been instructed to bring.

I was very nervous as I climbed the stairs to Her apartment and admitted to Her living room. Madame is a strong, imposing, feminine presence and my immediate instinct was to kneel at Her feet but I knew it would have been presumptuous to do so.  I was sent to the kitchen to find a plate and a glass for the juice and pastries. After I had served them, I was permitted to sit and offered a cup of tea. And then we talked for nearly three hours.

Madame was warm, gracious and understanding, I found myself longing to serve her in whatever way I could and, before I left, she gave me the opportunity. Just a little domestic service, shopping and washing up, but it was a start.

The exciting thing is that not only had I been accepted for Dommes Gone Wild but Madame invited me to be her plaything in a film shoot with Femme Fatale Films later this week. It would mean missing a day's work but I didn't hesitate in accepting: I knew I would regret it for ever if I let the opportunity pass.

The next day Madame sent me more information about the shoot. The scene for Femme Fatale will involve clothed face sitting and body worship, inspired by the art of Namio Harukawa. There were also some very clear instructions for me:

"Slaves in my presence are completely naked and collared fully shaved! Bring a rubber hood and ID"

It's a long time since I've removed all my body hair. The last time was years ago, early in my journey into kink: when I was still married I'd spent a night and a day being feminised at Mrs Silk's. I'd made a complete mess of shaving my legs for the first time, bleeding all over her bathroom and subsequently my stockings. It was very embarrassing.

I was determined to get it right this time, so yesterday I went to Boots at lunchtime and bought a 'Venus' lady's razor, enough wax strips to pluck a polar bear, a jar of Veet oriental wax and new blades for my own shaver. Hard to concentrate on my meetings in the afternoon: I just wanted to get home and  depilate.

Eventually I got away. As soon as my front door closed behind me, I got naked and set to work with the wax strips: not only did they seem remarkably effective but the ripping sensation as they came off was a thrill for my inner painslut.

After a while I retired to the bathroom and went to work with my razors. I loved slathering my cock and balls with lather and then running the blade over them.

I think I'm ready. I hope Madame will find the result acceptable:

"Ready for my close up, Mr De Mille"

Monday, 9 July 2012

A walk on the beach

Between April 2010 and the summer of 2011, I traveled frequently to Denmark to visit the Empress. Here's an account of one of our weekends together:

i traveled to Copenhagen to visit Her last weekend and, having stopped at her favourite S&M shop ( and a pet shop to buy me a leash, we drove over the amazing bridge separating Denmark from Sweden for some training. This in part as preparation for next week's Cruel Huntress event in Kent where i will be her prey.

Highest of The Empress' priorities was to walk me on the leash in public; she decided to do this in Sweden, judging that the Swede's reserve would mean there would be little overt reaction. Once over the bridge (through a customs point which featured in a recent episode of Wallander) we drove some 20 kilometres down the coast to a small, upscale resort called Skanor.

As i stepped out of Her car, the Empress told me to kneel, She buckled on my collar and attached the leash. What then followed felt to me one of the most extreme D/s scenes i have ever experienced. The Empress was enjoying Herself hugely, behaved as if having a 50 something man on a lead was entirely natural and proceeded to take me on a tour of the harbour and along the beach which was populated mostly by kite surfers. i kept my eyes fixed on her boots for the most part; certain that the laughter i could hear as we passed the surfers was directed at me. To my great discomfort she stopped to pat a passing dog (which had been allowed off the leash), and chat to its owner. The fact that i couldn't understand a word of what was being said just reinforced my sense of helplessness.

After this initiation as Her pet, we found a nearby hotel which had just one room left; the whole of the rest of the place had been booked by a wedding party, many of whom were wearing traditional costume. Our room had a balcony overlooking the reception in the garden below; Empress insisted that i wear a skirt, stockings, suspenders and high heeled boots as we sat outside and drank a glass of wine.

The following morning we took another walk around the town. I was only allowed off the leash when we saw children; unfortunately for me there were none in the supermarket where every holiday maker in the place seemed to be buying ingredients for a picnic. The queue for the checkout was particularly excruciating.

i had a fantastic weekend. Thank the lord for Swedish reserve.

A fresh start

I'd almost forgotten that I ever started this blog. It's been such a long time since I wrote anything here and so much has happened in the three or four years since I last posted: three relationships started and finished, a further re-assessment of my sexuality and, in the past few days, what looks as if it may be the beginning of the next phase.

My relationship with Mistress Molly finally ended a couple of years ago. I had flown out to Australia where we were going to do some work together; she had already been there for a few weeks. She told me when we met at my hotel for lunch that she was no longer my Mistress. We continued to work together for another year or so but, at the end, we became incapable of having any kind of discussion without an argument. Eventually, after a period of bitter negotiation, I sold her my shares in our joint business and moved on.

I was, by then, in another D/s relationship. A couple of months after I returned from Oz, I met the Empress at a conference and market in Cannes. We were at a reception and sat together over dinner. The Empress is Danish. She told me that I looked as if I needed a hug and came back to my apartment with me; she told me that she was particularly interested in anal sex. I thought she just meant receiving but within a week I had learnt that she was as interested in fucking me.

It was supposed to be a 'conference' fling but I had not counted on the intervention of Eyjafjallajokull. The volcano erupted on the day we were due to fly home. Our flights were canceled and we decided to travel together. It was an epic journey that involved a flight to Germany, trains to Brussels and Paris, a motor cycle taxi from Paris to Caen, a ferry across the channel and, finally, a cab home from Portsmouth.

The Empress stayed with me in N16 for ten days. In that time I became her pet: collared, feminised, chastised.