Tuesday, March 18, 2008

mildred

I love mildred. I know. It might be a crush. But I've learned to enjoy these things for what they are.

mildred happened upon My line last night. I wasn't fishing. The lure was simply there, dangling, waiting, and then, mildred bit and really quite outdid herself. That sweet, tender voice, the yearning edge, at least to start, though her agonized whimpers of frustration were.... Hmm. I seem to be getting ahead of myself.

Briefly, the caller introduced himself as milton, presented himself as a sub, and chatted quite rationally through the first drink I had him consume. Along the way, I asked him a few questions - the research and development phase, as I think of it. My fave pieces of equipment - naturally - are the body and the voice. Ask a question, get a response. Ask another, get another response. The little telling clue, and the key to his undoing, or her doing, was the question about what color panties would look best clading his crotch. Milton, apparently, had never been into feminization, or so he said, but when I asked, his cockometer ran a fever and became infected and engorged.

I proposed a deal: that I guide him for part of an evening, and at the end, if he didn't say thank You, I would give him ten free calls. Mind you, I didn't mention that the ten free calls would come in his next life, but I was confident in what the end result would be.

The silly thing agreed, and we reconvened half an hour later, after he'd gone off and bought a pair of stockings and some lovely pink lipstick. I'm a fan of Revlon for my callers, in case you were wondering.

Tucking doesn't come easily to everyone. The first problem, especially for newbies, is tumescence. They find the feel of the tight, clingy material just a little too interesting. My experience, however, is that after half an hour to 45 minutes of having their crotches encased in the restrictive control top, things have quieted down. At that point, the testes are quite warm and things have softened up quite a bit. millie, as s/he was now known, was still slightly feverish and, I must say, still quite game. A bit of trancing and relaxation will help with these things. Down went the inflate-a-clit, up went the testes, and before millie could cry 'Mommy!' s/he was sporting a new streamlined look.

So, I thought, let the fun begin.

Oh dear. My student is here. (He's learning photomanipulation.)

To cut to the chase, compression worked wonders, and within an hour s/he didn't know which end was up and telling me that s/he'd never felt quite so alive, even as that lovely crotch felt like it was on fire and s/he'd confessed to a number of things s/he didn't initially even know s/he had to confess to. Now s/he'll have to live with the shame of knowing exactly how s/he debased humanity with her vile thoughts and actions. But we can talk about those later. To put it simply, s/he made Gus look like the silly winged fairy that he is.




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