A great thing about Thailand market stalls is that their flowing skirts are pretty much one size fits all. Ben and I were around the same height, and I wagered, the same shoe size. Giddy from his trauma with the wax, he needed a little coaxing to release his clench on the panties.
“Mouth open! Drop! Good boy!”
I fetched a towel a wet towel, to wipe the drool from around Ben’s mouth and prepare his skin for the make up application. He was a little short of breath. I got him a bottle of water and knelt down in front of him, taking my make up bag out of my purse. Blue eyes, brown hair. Summer or winter?
“Are you really going to put that stuff on me? I’m not really sure I…”
I leaned back, crossing my arms.
“In or out, Ben? My head is spinning with this indecision of yours.”
I went to stand up.
“It’s just… not too much, OK Mistress?”
“If this is going to work, I can’t have you directing me. In or out, Ben? Otherwise I leave right now and you don’t see me again. But before you make the decision – think. Have you ever experienced what its like to put make up on? The right tone of foundation and blush, the cool thickness of lipstick on your lips and the sweep of the blusher brush? It feels incredible, you really should give it a try. I could transform you, Ben, into a sissy slave, that’s all my own… you’d like to be all mine, wouldn’t you, Ben?”
The last part I said coquettishly, head cocked to or side, tongue between my teeth as I felt him wind slowly around my finger.
“And if you’re a good little sissy for me, we could play with more of my toys later. And maybe I could play with yours. Doesn’t that sound fun? Ben sighed. Hung for a sheep as much as for a lamb. He’d gone this far…
“Yes Mistress, I’d like that very much.”
“I must say you did a very good job earlier, dealing with the wax. It must have been hard for you…”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“Well, the task I mean. Not your… you know, in the cage. That’s too bad.”
Ben smiled weakly.
I set to work with my brushes. First primer, then foundation. I figured he’d look more virginal with pink, rather than red lips. I lined his lips first, then filled them in with pastel gloss. Gloss always looks a lot sluttier than matte. For blue eyes (my own were brown), I’d have to use a different tone – I thought of the colour wheel. Complementary shades for blue eyes were, as I recalled, brown, mauve and dark purple. I rubbed the applicator in purple first, lining the outer crease, then filled in with a gold tone.
“It hurts a bit, Mistress. I think some went in my eye. Could you press a bit softer?”
“Then close your eyes and take a deep breath!”
Good grief. How men complain about stupid little things.
“Now open your eyes, look down. You’re doing very well.”
Ben looked down. I stroked his upper lash with the mascara applicator. The idiot moved and got some in his eye.
“Ow!” He said, waving his arms like a small child, “Its in my eye!”
“Oh for goodness sake, don’t rub it.”
I slapped his hand away.
“I’m being quite patient with you, Ben, but I’m reaching my limit now. So no more talk. If I hear a peep from you again, I’m going to jam this brush so far up your ass that you’d have an easier time finding keys in the Mekong than retrieving it, understood?”
Ben stopped his whining and sat nicely for the rest of the application.
I took the sodden pants from the floor and handed them to him. Ben took them gingerly.
“Now put them on.”
“But they’re wet, Mistress.”
“Well if you will make a meal of it when I gag you, then what do you expect? Do hurry up.”
Ben grimaced as he drew the wet material up his legs. I yanked it up faster – no time for my sissy to be a sissy now. The pants just about fit, his swollen balls peeking coyly out the side of the lace. I handed him the rest of his outfit: a padded black bra, the skirt, a black t-shirt and a long black skirt. Once he had those, it was time for the heels. The heels really completed the look, hiking up his ass and lengthening his calves. I placed the blonde wig on his head, straightening it out, guiding him to the bathroom mirror by the small of his back.
“Look at yourself. How do you feel?”
Ben ran his hands down his new silhouette, turning to admire his ass in the mirror, pouting in his makeup.
“That was actually pretty fun, Mistress. I look good!”
“No Ben,” I cackled wickedly, “You look slutty. But that’s good. I approve very much. Right now, I’m imagining some things I’d like to do with those glossy lips of yours, and that pert, tight little ass.”
“Tonight you’re not going to be Ben anymore. Tonight you’ll be… Britney, my sissy slave.”
“Yes, Mistress! Britney. I like it!”
The streets around the club were abuzz with sounds from Patpong night market. A multicoloured spectacle of tarps, under which sequinned bags and hippy skirts danced in the light breeze, next to touts on stalls, waving photographic evidence from the local “ping pong” bars and making obscene popping noises with their mouth.
Britney stumbled behind me on her heels.
“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” he said, before turning his ankle again on the ill fitting shoes.
“Takes practise, but you’ll get it.”
As seedy as the place was, it was filled with small children and families, all stopping to peruse the goods on sale.
“A few words before we go into the club – just a reminder. Eyes down, do not speak unless I tell you to and…”
“Obey your commands, Mistress?”
“Well yes. That goes without saying, but I also have to warn you, some of the things I have planned for you tonight may be a shock for you. Regardless, I’m going to expect you to listen and obey, however unsure you may be about them.”
Britney looked concerned.
“What kinds of plans, Mistress?”
“I need to know before we go in, that you are in. If not, you can head back to the hotel and our work is over. If you are in, then I expect perfect adherence to my commands. If you renege on being in, I have the keys in my bag and will take the first motorbike taxi to the Mekong river to deposit them. And if at any point the sensations get too much – if you are afraid – I will give you a safeword to use. Say it, an all activities will cease, at least for a while.
“What’s the safeword?”
“Ill tell you when were inside. Are you in, or out?”
Britney looked back at the road to the skytrain behind us. We turned a corner, then another, into the street where BARBAR’s neon sign fizzled against the black night sky.
“I’m in, Mistress.”
The club was even darker than the electric night outside. We passed a Asian couple on the steps – the man pulling his protesting girlfriend up the stairs as she shrieked at him in some unintelligible language and tried to let go of his hands. At the front desk, the Mamasan took our fee, handed us masks and then signalled to Britney to wait, as she fetched something from under the counter. A schoolgirl outfit. I had no idea they gave out those sorts of outfits here, I’d heard the usual offering was a t-shirt. Still, he was going to look very good in it.
As the Mamasan helped Britney with her skirt, putting the new one over her skirt then pulling down the other one, she leaned in close to fasten the last button, clucking maternally in Thai. Ben being an idiot, misjudged what she was trying to do. He wrapped her in a tight hug, slapping her back.
“Aiiiieeee!” Yelled the Mamasan.
“Britney, down! Don’t you know its rude to touch Thai’s you don’t know?”
The club was relatively full, predominantly with English men of a certain age. One Dutchman, drunk and jolly, licking his fingertips and fiddling with the nipples of an indulgent, rope bound submissive, between sips of whisky. On one of the couches, a man with glasses cowed, clenched jaw chewing at nothing as two of the girls put on a show for him. A rubinesque sub spread-eagled over a low table, completely naked and red breasts bulging out of of rope the same colour, as a Mistress lapped the inside of her thighs with leather tassels. There was a couple, and a very extroverted Asian lady, who was throwing herself into several submissive activities with gusto.
I found a leather couch to sit on, patted the floor just in front of me.
“Kneel. Eyes in front.”
Britney came and kneeled in front of me as a Mistress and her sub approached and began setting up in the black steel birdcage in front of me. A candle was lit, the towering mistress weaving the rope around the back, the breasts and under the crotch of the sub, her arms and legs spread, hands gripping the bars and head held high.
“I want you to watch, Britney,”
The Mistress picked up the candle, and tossed wax forward in small spurts, at the sub’s ample buttocks. All credit to the sub, who made no sound and didn’t move. I admired the pair’s dynamic. The Mistress then took a tasselled whip, and rubbed the handle teasingly between the sub’s stiffening legs.
“Shh. Britney. Watch with you eyes.”
Ben was shifting about on the floor, jangling and licking his lips. I imagined he hadn’t seen anything quite like this before. Perhaps some porn – but real life is so different to porn. To be surrounded by the sound of leather on flesh, the smell of sexual arousal and so much visual stimulation that you cant turn your head away from it. Every surface, every colour, every song played from the speakers adds another level to the experience. Immersed in desire – yours and others. Its an experience.
The sub turned round to face us, her complicatedly bound breasts hanging down gloriously, her head to the ceiling. A thong that barely covered her being rubbed and struck by the tassel of a, quite honestly, rather lacklustre but gorgeous Mistress. Mistress poured wax over the sub’s breasts, after securing a peg to each. The sub remained still.
“I want you to be as still, as quiet, as her, Britney.”
Ben twirled one of the pigtails around a finger. His breathy yes almost inaudible as he got lost in the show.
Now the Mistress moved the clips to the sub’s labia. The whipping got harder now. Something under Britney’s skirt tried to too. The girls spoke in Thai to each other, as the Mistress blew out the candle and approached us with the whip.
“You want to try?” The Mistress said.
“Buy her a drink, Britney. You’re going to have a go now – isn’t that exciting?”
Ben was still processing what he had just seen. He clicked off to the bar to buy some drinks – two shots for himself and a cocktail for the Mistress. A soft whispered dance track played. The club was filling up, a few couples in front of the red silk curtains framing the bar, behind which masquerade masks peered out from a wall of melted wax.
Ben gave money to the Mistress, who started peeling off his schoolgirl outfit. When the skirt fell, some of the girls gasped and giggled at the rather unladylike bulge in his black panties. Ben looked at me as though he wanted to say something.
“Um… what’s the safeword, Mistress?”
I clapped my hands together.
“Ah yes, I almost forgot. How remiss of me. The safeword is ‘antidissastablishmentarianism’.”
“Legs spread, arms spread, Britney. Do as she directs you to do. No sound, no movement.”
Ben stepped into the birdcage, lifting his hands to the side of the cage as the Dominatrix lit the candle. The sub from the performance crawled into the cage in front of Ben as the Mistress fastened the ropes around him. Ben looked from one to the other, excited and terrified. He was surrounded.
“Head up, Britney! Atta girl!”
The Mamasan rushed over to us, speaking animatedly in Thai. One of the girls translated. Apparently there had been a mistake. The school girl outfit was meant for someone else – a member of the landlord’s family. Apparently Britney had looked so similar to her, that they had mistakenly passed her the clothes. Now Mamasan wanted them back. Shame. He had looked wonderfully tarty in them.
I folded up the clothes and handed them back to the Mamasan, as Ben stood spread eagled over the lit candle, the Mistress tracing her paddle over the skin of his back as her sub slid her body up him and began lapping at one of his nipples. Ben was trying to stand still, but his body arched and trembled at every touch, overwhelmed by the sources of sensation that he couldn’t see and so felt five times stronger.
I got up to explore the facility. Some of the girls were checking their phones in the background. A girl was talking to a willow like bartender. There was a medical themed “inspection room”, a stage – under which some red gauze curtains hung. I pulled them back to explore the backlit cave. Red circular cushions sat like lily pads over the wax stained carpet. A quiet, if not quite private, place for exploration. The vacant showers were open, with only bars for a door. Upstairs, in the private room, the vicious snap of a whip being applied hard between someone crying for Mommy.
“Mommy’s here…” came a deep woman’s voice from the top of the stairs.
I gazed back to see Britney being turned around in the cage. She was doing well, no cries of pain or gasps. The pleading for mommy from upstairs made me feel a little more competitive. I walked over the bar and purchased another drink for the Mistress working with Britney, intimating for her to go harder. She grinned and nodded. The whip cracked down over his thighs – he gasped and fell forward into the sub’s hands, pushing him back into position. Much better.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I turned to the source of the voice. An English man, perhaps in his late forties, sat at the bar with a near empty beer. He looked intelligent, if a little drunk. Harmless. Britney would be occupied for a while. I accepted his offer, sitting down at the bar next to him, leaning back to watch the show.