Mistress Martina's Diary

8

Mistress Martina’s CLIENT 1

Truck-Driving Cross-Dresser

MISTRESS MARTINA WAS FEELING SAD AND HER EMOTIONS LOW after the shock of the unexpected death of Rose’s client the day before. She was soon to be uplifted with a call from a happy client.

Leonard phoned, he’d been to visit Mistress before.

“Hello Mistress, this is Leonard speaking, do you remember me? My other name is Leanne, I’m the tall slim one.”

“Oh yes, how are you Leanne, come over, 11am would suit me,” said Martina.

“Mistress, do you mind if I wear my female clothing to your house?”

“No Leanne, feel free, come to the door fully clothed as a lady, that’s fine.”

At 11 am Martina peeked out of the window. She saw a big black and white Kenworth truck pulling upon the road verge. Alighting from the driver’s side was someone who like an escort lady going on a job – a woman wearing a very sexy dress, long flowing black hair, very high black patent shiny shoes, big breasts protruding, lovely long gloves, tiny handbag and big earrings dangling from her ears. “Gosh,” thought Martina, “this Leanne has tricked me, sending a real working prostitute; what am I going to say to her when she gets to my door?”

Martina watched the woman walk down the narrow brick path, right up to the doorway and ring the doorbell.

On opening the door his first words were, “Hello Mistress, don’t I look marvellous? I’m Leonard – Leanne.”

Martina’s eyes opened wide, she hadn’t seen anything quite like this before. The tarty red clinging dress, long, black, shoulder-length hair and a beautifully made up woman’s face came bouncing in through the doorway, smiling, happy and breezy.

He walked in onto the brown carpet, swinging his little shoulder bag and looking immaculate, tall and gorgeous like a professional model.

“It’s amazing the difference, you look so much like a woman now, your face is so beautifully made up, it’s on better than mine.” The eye liner was perfect, the eye shadow, the eye-brow pencil, and the lipstick matched the dress perfectly. Nail polish and long false fingernails flashed over her hips as she ran her hands over them and down her thighs, parading in front of Mistress with her new female body. Leanne’s likeness to a woman was so good that she’d even fooled Martina, along with the soft voice and the way she carried herself.

“I want you to be my girlfriend and we can be lesbian lovers,” said Leanne.

“I love being dressed up as a woman, as I walk into news agencies and the men look at me when I enter to buy the newspaper. Sometimes I go shopping dressed up but I don’t wear this tight dress. I’d love to be a woman, have a sex change operation and most of all I’d like to have big breasts, just like yours. I love the feeling of being a woman, to wear these woman’s clothes, the feel of this long hair, and the way my face looks so beautiful and my beard line seems to disappear under all the make-up. My red lips look like Brooke Shield’s big red protruding passionate lips.”

Leanne looked like a beautiful woman, a movie star imitating The Woman in Red, magnificent. He removed the bright red sexy dress, revealing a bold tart red corset, scarlet French knickers, glossy satin shiny suspenders, and pop up falsies.

Martina began to dress him again in long flowing dresses, then executive clothing, like a secretary would wear.

“When you go to the news agency next time,” she advised, “wear something a little bit more classy. People won’t take any notice of you, especially if your hemline is a bit longer, you look so gorgeous, you’re very attractive because you’re so tall.” When he wore his high heels, he was taller still.

Later, Martina laid Leanne down on the large soft bed and rested for a while next to her, running her hands up his slim legs, letting Leanne feel the soft nylon stockings tingle while she spoke of lesbians on the beach laying on the warm sand. A nude beach where men would sit and watch Martina rub oil on Leanne over his shapely bottom and around his thighs, slowly as men watched. Then she used the slim vibrator up and down on Leanne’s tight male bottom that Martina often teased her clients calling it ‘the brown vagina.’ She continued talking sexy to him about men watching him down on the beach and finished the session under soft lights, in low voices.

Leanne left in the late afternoon as the sky was greying. Getting into the big Kenworth truck he carefully positioned his bottom on the seat, lifting his skirt up even higher.

“I love winking at the men in their cars,” he said flashing his earring and black hair. “I love flirting with them and once when I walked down the street a man gave me a wolf-whistle.” He laughed and then was gone.

The next client was a very well-dressed Englishman of about sixty-five, wearing a heavy tweed coat, the likes of which you’d never see in Perth, but England. The sort of coat you’d keep locked up in your cupboard all summer long and pull out in winter.

He wore nice brown shoes and came in carrying a little white bag.

“I bought a slipper to spank me with Mistress. Could you tie me up on the ground, grovelling at your feet and spank me very hard with it?”

“Yes of course,” said Mistress, writing down in detail what he wanted and what he didn’t want.

After a short time, he was tied up with all the rope that the rope man had bought – the sort stained with bits of grease that are used to tie tarpaulins down. Wrapped around the snow-white flesh of the Englishman, the prickly rope bit into his milky white skin. Martina twirled it round and round, then secured his hands with the black cuffs around his wrists. He started wriggling his hands and this annoyed her, then he started playing games saying, “I can get out of this,” so Mistress reached for a spiked leather paddle.

She placed a chair right in front of him as he sat on the floor tied his ankles to it, then she made him lick her shoes and her feet. Martina remained fully clothed all the time and was one of the few girls who made money by staying fully clothed, working with bondage and discipline fantasies or role playing.

Out came the slipper, with the rope twined all around him, Martina was battling to get him over her knee but with a long hard pull she lifted him from the ground and thrust him over her knee, then whacked him repeatedly with the soft slipper, flopping around on his floppy, white meaty bottom. His well-manicured body lay there, tortured, twisted and mottled from the red marks she was inflicting on his wobbling flesh.

She got fed up with his twisting and twirling, all he really wanted to do was get away from her, which she knew was impossible because the more he twisted and twirled, the more rope was cast around him and the more powerful she got with him.

Eventually she laid the senior gentleman on the bondage bed. “You’re not moving from here one inch.” Mistress trussed his hands to the top of the bed. Held down by handcuffs, she threw the black straps across his body and cuffed his legs tightly with the heavy chains and a new gadget she’d found in a second-hand shop. The man’s legs did not move as he tried to turn again wriggling to roll.

“I’ll smack you with a slipper if you don’t stop jiggling around, keep still,” she ordered.

“I need to be disciplined, I need to be disciplined,” he whined and she continued to smack him quite hard on top of the ropes, over his belly, particularly his legs, thighs, shin-bones and the soles of his feet. She hit him very hard and even got the cane out when he wiggled too much and struck him harshly with the cane on the soles of his feet. She liked doing that, it was extremely painful and of course the marks on the bottom of the feet couldn’t be easily seen.

Martina placed her bottom right up by his nose, fully clothed, wearing black, panties, trimmed with heavy lace around the edges. All he could see was her bottom as she whacked him hard and fast. Before long he came, squealing with delight.

Slowly he got dressed, talking the whole time about a conference which he was going to attend and how he was taking his wife who still wouldn’t sleep with him year after year.

The next gentleman that called was an old army officer. “They’re all queer,” he said, “they’re all queer.” Listening to what Martina had said about the man with the slipper and the man who came in the truck. “They’re all queer.”

He was behaving like he was in the army, marching up and down and asked for the cane on top of his trousers as he bent, fully clothed, over the chair.

“Harder,” he ordered, as Martina changed to the heavy English cane made of willow. It too had a voice, like a loud humming as it flashed fast through the air mercilessly.

“Ouch! Ouch!” he began to soften and asked for a towel, having unzipped and pleasured himself quickly.

She was relieved to see him go because it had been a busy, very strenuous day. Outside the sun shone through the new raindrops, heavy rain had fallen, leaving sparkling little diamantes on the pine tree. The birds and ducks were making delightful sounds, grazing on the grass next to...