Chapter 38
I fire up my laptop and load up kinklife. Sure enough, there’s a message from Cass. I click the link.
‘A Tale of Submission.’ Real original. Holy shit, that’s a lot of posts. Like, a lot. Apparently this boy has been blogging since blogs were you know, relevant. I wonder if I should ask for his pager number. I scroll through the mountain of text. Yeah, my eyes are going to cross. I click on a link for ‘My Story.’ I figure that’s as good of a place as any. Part 1.
“I suppose it would be wise to start at the beginning. I think that most submissives have a key event, individual, or a series of overlapping events that steered them down their path. In my case, her name was Polly. The road that I lived on was a bit off the beaten path. While it wasn’t rural, most of the land in the area hadn’t been developed yet. I lived 8 miles away from my closest friend. Too far to bike and my parents worked a lot so I didn’t have access to rides unless it was a weekend. Polly was a year older than me and the only child even close to my age for miles. Her family was rich and she lived off of a nearby private road that contained a number of large homes and estates. Since Polly’s mother didn’t drive and her father worked long hours, she was just as stuck as I was.
Our friendship began as one of convenience. She would get bored. I was always bored and alone. Polly was an odd girl. She was equal parts sweet little princess and fascist dictator. While she often had a lot of friends at school, the fact that she rarely spent time with them outside of school leads me to believe that she really wasn’t very close to many of them. I was her secret friend. She didn’t want anyone to know about us. I didn’t mind. At that age no boy wanted to mostly play with a girl.
Polly’s father spoiled her. He was never around so that was his way of showing parental love. When she would summon me over it was like stepping into a different world. She had everything that she wanted. Toys, video games, a pool, a trampoline, you name it. She was always bored. I realize looking back that what she really wanted to was company. I don’t think either of us realized it back then.
For almost ten years we would play together. When I was 6, I made the mistake of telling Polly that I loved her and that I wanted to marry her when we grew up. She didn’t tell me yes or no… but I think she realized then that she had all of the power. I’ll never forget what she said to me next: ‘from now on you’ll do exactly as I say or I’ll never speak to you ever again.’ I fought back the tears and simply nodded.
The next game she wanted to play she called ‘Queen and servant.’ She put on her tiny fur coat and a crown and sat in a chair barking orders. I wasn’t allowed to speak unless it was one of two phrases: ‘yes, your highness,’ or ‘no, your highness.’ When I managed to spill her imaginary tea from an empty teapot she took me over her lap and spanked me with a hairbrush until I bawled. This was the new Polly.
As she got older, the cruelty of her games increased. As the years passed, her arsenal of tools grew as well. I can only imagine that she badgered her mother and father to buy her things. I doubt they questioned why and I doubt she gave them a reason other than that she wanted them. By the time she was 10, she had a pair of steel handcuffs and a riding crop as well as a number of leather belts she would use as both restraints and floggers. Oh yeah, she also had a straight jacket. Who gets their kid a straight jacket?
In their basement they had a dog kennel for a dog that had died years ago. They had another one under their deck. These became Polly’s jail cells. She would lock me in them when I defied her. One time, she wanted to play dress-up, which meant she wanted to dress me up like a girl. When I refused she threatened to kick me out and never speak to me again. I agreed to go along with her wishes but to teach me a lesson, she stripped me naked, handcuffed my hands behind my back, locked me in the outdoor kennel and sprayed me with the garden hose for a half an hour. By this time Polly’s mother had become quite the alcoholic and spent the day getting drunk and watching soaps. I doubt she heard or cared about my screams.
As time went on, Polly grew to be very beautiful. I loved her even though I didn’t know what love was. When my sexual awakening happened, it was to fantasies of Polly. Her favorite game became ‘Queen and slave,’ which was an evolved version of Queen and servant. At some point she even started putting a dog collar around my neck. I pictured her sitting over me in her fur coat (apparently she got a new one every year) with me kneeling before her, ready to obey her every command. I wanted to badly to be with her. Before I knew it, the fantasies had made me a sexual submissive.
Something changed when Polly hit high school. She was pretty and drew the attention of older kids. Older kids meant cars. Cars meant freedom. With freedom, she didn’t need me anymore. After Christmas break of her freshman year in high school, we never spent time together ever again.
I wonder if our time together made as big of an impression on her as it did on me. Sometimes I’m tempted to look her up and see how she’s doing. I never do, though. The slave knows better than to summon the Queen. It doesn’t work that way.”
I finish reading with a smirk. Pathetic boy. Unless her mother continuously sends her photos from that era like mine does, I’m pretty sure that she has forgotten all about you. Please don’t tell me that you are still carrying the torch for the past 30 years. I move onto Part 2.
“For most of my teens and into my early 20’s I hid from my submissive desires. I hoped it would go away. I thought that the right chance would ‘cure’ me of this illness. It was through this that I made the first great financial mistake of my life. I got married.
I met Amanda my freshman year of college. She was cute in a girl next door kind of way. I made her laugh. She was interested in a lot of things, many of which were interests of mine, too. We watched movies together. We went out to concerts together. I was stuck in the friend zone and condemned to platonic hell. After another boyfriend broke her heart her senior year, she again turned to my shoulder to cry on. I was tired of it being my shoulder and I finally made my move. I asked her to marry me. She said, yes.
Proposing to someone on the rebound probably wasn’t a great idea, but I enjoyed her company and I saw her as someone I could happily spend the rest of my life with. What I hadn’t really realized is that as time went on, Amanda got more and more driven. She was motivated. She knew the life that she wanted to have. She knew the career she wanted to have. It was almost like I tagged along for the ride. Things were good. They were never great, but they were good.
We were never all that sexually intimate. At first she delayed my advances citing that she needed to heal and find herself again. I accepted that and let things go at her pace. After the honeymoon was when everything changed. She became so career-oriented that it began to consume her. She was always occupied with an upcoming meeting, presentation, or client that there wasn’t a lot of time left for me. I let this continue for years but eventually I got lonely. She began staying at work until late. In the meantime I began spending too much time on the internet.
Feeling lonely, my submissive desires returned with a vengeance. I spent my evenings visiting Femdom sites, forums, and blogs. I became convinced that this was something I could not live without (I was an idiot, I could never really be happy without it, I had just believed that I could). Over the course of several months I began to work up the courage to see if Amanda was interested in trying out D/s. I read up on techniques and ideas. I tried to find the best way that I could propose it to her in a way that wouldn’t freak her out.
I finally worked up the courage and one night we sat down and had a talk about it. Her eyes glazed over as I made my case. She simply nodded without speaking. When I finished, she asked if I would sleep in the guest room while she thought about it. I agreed.
Three days later she served me with divorce papers. When I asked her if we could talk about it she called me a liar and told me I had tricked her into thinking that I wasn’t a pervert.
The terms of the divorce were awful. It gave her everything. It transferred all of our credit card debt onto me. It called for $2,000 a month in alimony payments for the next 5 years. I looked at her in tears. She calmly stated that if I fought her that she would tell everyone we knew that I was a pervert sex offender and ruin me in any and every way that she could. The alimony was to ensure that she could live the life that I had duped her into believing that she would have and five years should be enough time to find a suitable replacement for me.
Looking back, I probably should have fought her. Back then, I gave up. She took it all, including our friends. She told them all about me. None of them would speak to me after the split. This crippled me. I barely scraped by. I thought about killing myself. I buried my hopes of D/s until I could stand on my own two feet without worrying if I could make ends meet.
This was my mistake. I let my desperation for companionship override my better judgment.”
I can’t tell if I should be disturbed by this or not. Should I appreciate the candor and honesty? Onto Part 3.
“Six years after Amanda I met Catelyn. She was my dream come true. Looking back I know that she wasn’t perfect but when I met her, all I could see was perfection in every way. I somehow managed to impress her with my words and my desire. It was a chance meeting on the internet that started as a friendship and grew into more. We didn’t even meet through kinky channels, it was true random chance.
After a while, the two of us got to know each other very closely… well, as closely as you can get when limited to the internet and phone. About a year in, both of us had developed feelings for each other. Cate was a veteran of the BDSM world and encouraged me to learn as much as I could. I scoured the resources that she sent me and soaked up as much as I could. We made plans.
At her insistence, I uprooted my life and moved across the country to be with her. When I got there, her life was more complicated than she had led me to believe. We didn’t live together and I only got to see her on weekends. The thought of her was enough to keep me going. In our time together she began training me to be her sub in a 24/7 setting. We planned to marry.
In time she revealed to me the holdups that were keeping us from being together full time. They were numerous and complicated. I don’t blame her from keeping them from me until I got there. I was patient and willing to wait for it all to get taken care of.
Let me just say that our two days a week together were intense. She was strict. She was demanding. She loved to press my limits and take my submission to dark places. I was so very happy being with her. It made me so happy to serve her and love her. I couldn’t wait for our new life to begin.
Four months shy of our plans to finally move in together was when the illness swooped in. Pneumonia. The rest is all a blur. I never got all of the details. She didn’t tell her family or friends about me. I wasn’t allowed to visit her in the hospital. She died. I was never allowed to say goodbye. I wasn’t welcome at the funeral.
I was devastated. I was broken. I just wanted to curl up and die. There I was in this strange town with no friends, waiting for my life to begin when it crumbled before my eyes.
I can’t really say anymore about this. It hurts too much to write about it. I feel like I wasn’t able to properly grieve her passing. I hope by writing this it will help me move on from her ghost.”
I wipe the tear from the corner of my eye and put my head down. This boy. How is this the boy that sent me all of those messages? Is it because he’s been through this?
I don’t want to read anymore. I fidget and click links randomly on Fcsie’s blog. He writes a lot. I mean, a lot. I keep clicking. I visit every page. Drawings? I arch my brow and click the link.
What the? This drawing is like fs. Like, I mean, it’s like what fs wears. But it’s dated six years ago. I pick up my phone and type out a text to Cass.
“How long have you been with fs?”
“About 8 years. Why?”
“Just curious. When did you start dressing him like that?”
“A little over 4 years ago. Why?”
“Where did that design come from?”
“Kimmy. An ex of mine.”
“Did she come up with it on her own?”
“She said that she did, why?”
“How well do you know Fcsie?”
“I know him from his comments and from his blog.”
“What about his drawings?”
“I’ve never seen those.”
“Thanks. I will send you a link.”
“Okay. I’m confused.”
I continue to scroll through his drawings. Oh wow, that drawing looks like Cass in her siren outfit. Six years ago?
“When did you design the siren outfit?”
“About 4 years ago. Why?”
“I will explain later. Thanks.”
I keep scrolling through the drawings. There’s dozens of them, most of which are between 5 and 10 years old. What the hell, Fcsie? It’s almost like Cass, Dominique, fs, and all of us were born from your fantasies. It kind of creeps me out a little. Certain details… like fs being locked into his uniform, his bunny tail plug, and everything. It’s all here in these drawings.
He has drawings of a number of sirens. The teddy is almost identical to the real one, even down to the removable crotch? Seriously? Each of them have different color schemes and different hair and eyes. They don’t match up perfectly to the actual people, but still, this is sort of creeping me out.
I grab a link and send it to Cass on kinklife.
I scan through the rest of the drawings. There’s lots of chastity, lots of pegging, lots of humiliation, cunnilingus, service, cages, punishments, and more. The artistic quality is amateurish at best but the themes are uniquely crafted and full of intricate fantasies. The ‘victim’ in each of the fantasies looks like fs, complete with the dress, earmuffs, hat, boots, and stockings.
I feel the beast roar within me. I’m intrigued. Beyond intrigued. I want to grill this boy.
I whip up a message to Fcsie on kinklife.
“Do you use Skape?”
I click send and close the laptop. I need to take a shower. I need Pikky’s warm embrace.
Femdom, Fur Fetish, and Forced Feminization 