Submission, Feminine Domination, Transgender and transformation of our hero/one as she is taken through to a future life of academic 'slavery'.
Well, I'm hoping that with this warm weather in the UK that all my readers and potential ones are still finding time to download their femdom needs from Femdomcave or, dare I say the words, Kindle-Amazon.
The news here is that, despite being busy with other ventures and my art commissions, I have found some time to finish my latest offering, as titled above. It's now in the hands of our beloved Editor for him to do his 'Edding' thing and bring it up on-line for you.
Plenty of action for you in this one, a chronicle that explores the rites of submission and transformation of a young man after he, having become a vulnerable feminine-bodied orphan, is brutally raped at the hands of the monks at the school he attends. He finds himself transferred into a sister-convent and placed under the charge of a caring but dominant Sister, who reports to the Abbess, a warm but again dominant character.
From school, the novel winds onto his acceptance and time at University, tracking his development as a submissive and in being transformed by his Tutor. I won't say much more but there then comes some pretty powerful scenes when he/she now becomes part of an arranged affair, perhaps his/her destiny all along, the gorgeous Anaïs coming into her life.
I hope that the book is more than just sex but one that offers a good yarn and descriptive of life at large, something that I strive to do when I sit down to write, also bringing to the fore the emotional side of the characters involved.
It's been fun writing it and I hope this reflects itself when you read it. As ever, I love having feedback from you.
The Gates of Benign Immurement
The car was waiting, an impressive black Mercedes limousine, one of those cars that you see ferrying governmental dignitaries and the rich and famous around in. This one, however, was accompanied by a liveried woman, tall, upright and dressed in brown and cream. Brown boots, cream jodhpur-style pants, and a cream blouse covered by a rich, brown leather jacket. Pearls hung from her neck and she was austere but beautiful, long blond hair cascading down her back as she got out of the car after we emerged from the airport exit.
Luxembourg Findel Airport wasn’t the largest terminal that I had ever been in, about the size of Exeter or Southampton, I guessed. That was good, as we had arrived a little behind scheduled time from London, the chance to pick it up as our baggage had come through quickly and then the rapid expediency over our passports at the immigration desk.
Flight BA418 from London, Club Class, all rather perfunctory, the offering of a couple of glasses of champagne to each of us and a small tray of sandwiches as a snack, not much difference from sitting back in ‘Cattle Class’ bar the wine, the trip not long enough for the cabin crew to excel.
It was the end of a long trip, the transatlantic flight back to the UK with British Airways from Toronto, a much more comfortable flight than this one, a break in London for nearly seventy-two hours at The Connaught Hotel to snap out of the jet-lag, shop, and see friends from University days for dinner, notably Francine and Tim, and Victoria and Fi.
Then we had taken this flight, bringing us to our new career and furthering out life together.
The Connaught Hotel had been ideal for Anaïs and me, facilities such as the Aman Spa available for exquisite pampering by the girls in there and then the noted cuisine of Hélène Darozze, the location proving to be a wonderful base for our shopping and always a favourite.
I could have spent a few more days staying there, gathering my thoughts on what was to come. However, this was not to be, the decision long taken out of my hands. We were returning to Anaïs’s home, a place that I had never visited and, also, I had never met her mother.
Dining as a guest with Hélène was perfect, the emphasis in my life now on being a woman – with women – avoiding men as much as possible except for one special man, my life oriented in this direction now, the long training in being a submissive woman to strong Dommes, to meet their needs in whatever way they so dictated.
It was a life that I had never dreamt of, not even in my wildest sexual thoughts when I was but a male teenager, a teenager lost in his ways as to his sexuality and personality.
«Bonsoir, Madamoiselles, bienvenue à Luxembourg, Mlle Catherine et il est bon de vous revoir, Mlle Anaïs.»
«Merci Joëlle, en effet, il est bon d'être de retour au Grand-Duché.»
Anaïs, my travelling partner and mentor, absolutely fluent in French; well, it was her native language albeit changed slightly after all her time in Paris and Canada, speaking five other languages as well. She was returning home to an impressive house that I had only seen pictures of, bringing me to work with her and for her mother, the Comtesse de Miratey van Nyvelt van Schoenberg, apparently ‘une dame formidable’ as they say.
Anaïs was also my lover and now my Domme – and also the Freiin of Miratey, her hereditary title as her mother’s daughter and reflecting her German familial linkage, Deutsch just one of her languages.
We got into the back seat of the car, Joelle taking care of our not inconsiderable pile of luggage, packing it into the trunk of the car as well as the passenger seat.
“Catherine, it’s a family tradition that all submissives, be they girls or gurls, who visit the family château are chained or cuffed for the first time they enter the gates.”
She rustled around in her voluminous over-the-shoulder travelling bag,
Here we are. Got them.”
What airport security must have thought when Anaïs had gone through the screening process, who knew?
But then, Anaïs was pretty immune to such embarrassment, as I had learned in the time that I had been with her, some of the humiliation that I had to undergo, notably being led around the streets of London from bar to bar in a state of considerable nudity, crocodile clamps and a long silver chain serving as my leash attached to my nipples, pussy clamps visibly holding lead weights to distend my relatively new labia, anonymous men and women being invited by her to feel or even tongue me.
The shame of all this, the feeling that I was a cheap prostitute in the making.
She enjoyed my discomfiture though.
Anaïs helped me into a pair of heavy-duty wrist cuffs, a pair that I was familiar with as she had used them on me before when we had been out, rather than the sleeker Talena ones that she often liked to keep me in.
Each cuff weighed in at close to a pound, a short chain between the two rings and padlocked off at each end, giving me little room to manoeuvre other than moving both wrists at the same time.
I didn’t object – the time for that had long past and how my rear and thighs had suffered when I had objected. Abject servility was the name of the game with her; loving and caring, yes, but any dissension was swiftly and ruthlessly handled. To do it in public and shame her, then I really suffered.
One learns quickly.