Male-Creature Feminization

Fess up, little man:

Like most normal lads suffering through puberty, for a while you turned into a crypto cross dresser.

Alone at home you’d dally for hours in front of a mirror, teetering on mom’s only-for-best six-inch heels, enthralled by how damn’ hot you looked in your big sister’s silk panties and bursting-with-oranges bra.

Remember?

Of course you do.

That feminizing urge came to you as naturally as nightly wet dreams or abusing your pee-pee under the bed covers.

That was long ago.


Now you’re a rugged grownup with a bold crop of peach fuzz crowning your regal crotch.

But nothing has changed.

As a Pro Domme I learned that grown men are mostly very big boys. Big boys repressing their dainty inner girlish yearnings.

I love to scratch that itch.

It’s just so much damn’ fun!

Imagine the magic:

This swashbuckling, jutt-jawed Captain of Industry/Legal Eagle/Political Power Broker strides into My dungeon.

A half-hour later, Your Ladyship (Me) has morphed him into Her grovelling high-heeled She-slave, staggering around like a drunken trannie. Finally the creature figures out how (without falling on its rouged face) to hunker down and smear a sloppy lipsticked kiss across the Goddess’s bare butt-cheeks.

I love it.

Male-creature feminization is the equalizer, the tranquilizer, the world’s most lethal testosterone killer.

And there’s nothing more joyful (except collecting some cash for it) than ramming a stiff, fat strapon up a tight virgin manhole.

While I’m pounding away with My strapon jackhammer, revenge pulses through My blood.

I’m thinking: Here’s one more anal tribute to every Female who’s had to go bottoms up for Her man’s forced rear entry.


In My personal life that’s the first lesson male-creatures learn.

If you want to be My man, you have to take it like a Woman.

I wear the pants, you wear the panties.

Literally.

Consider My hubby bob.

Within a year of our rocky marriage, I owned both bob’s ass and all his assets.

His options were obey or be punished.

Or else walk one-way out the door carrying only the clothes on his back.

(On one of those rare occasions when I’d allowed him to wear any.)

Life turned less stormy.

But every so often bob would revert to his old self, messing up My kitchen or contesting My financial decisions.

It was time to turn surly slave-hubby robert into docile sissy-maid roberta.

The transformation began the morning he opened his underwear drawer and found a half-dozen colorful lacy panties (all with lockable cock slits) glowing among his drab white Jockeys.

“How did these get here?” he said, brandishing a fistful of pretty pink and black.

An intense “conflict resolution” session followed, mostly with bob on his knees with his ass in the air and Me flailing away with My cat-o-nine-tails.

The logic and energy of My arguments soon persuaded him.

He pulled on a pair silky black panties. I made him prance around the room for a while.

Then I led bob (wearing the panties under his jeans) on a shopping tour at our local mall.

My first stop was a kitchen store, where I purchased a knee-length white cotton apron, open sexily at the back.

bob was a recently-retired CEO with too much time on his hands.

He played golf every day, then got bombed at the clubhouse with his drinking buddies.

At the time, My maid came five days a week. I would cut her back to two.

The other three days My sissy-maid Miss roberta (aka hubby robert) would save Me money, performing the household chores I hated: ironing and mopping and cleaning toilets.

(Generously, to reduce Miss roberta’s workload in the bathrooms, later I would order her to cease splattering her pee all round from a messy male standing position. Nowadays she sits on the toilet to pee, like a true Woman.)


We completed roberta’s new wardrobe courtesy of a couple of department stores and a wig shop:

Thigh-high nylon stockings, a pair of shiny, patent-leather shoes with stiletto heels, a floor-length blue dress for everyday chores like ironing, a pretty red dress for the days Miss roberta served tea or cocktails for the entertainment of My friends. And finally, a cute, curly blonde wig.

From that day forward, slave-hubby bob had to share his closet with his feminine alter ego.

The gender-blending has done wonders.

Over time, bob’s seethiing anger has given way to resignation.

(Helped, I should add, by several dozen more furiously-physical “conflict resolution” sessions.)


bob still plays golf and gets drunk with his buddies.

Miss roberta is available the rest of the week for household chores plus whatever other playful humiliations I contrive.

The funny thing is, I think she’s beginning to enjoy it.

So I’ve saved some money off the maid.

And maybe saved My marriage.

What's New?

My hectic travel schedule the past three months (including trips across the U.S. to reintroduce several long-time clients to My whip) has left this blog a virtual orphan.

But Mommy is home now.

I promise to fatten this blog baby at a faster pace, starting later this week with a lengthy post on one of My favorite FemDom sports: Feminizing male-creatures.

Meanwhile, here’s a bonus:

Visit My site Mistress Leesa’s FemDom Links and click “Family Album” in the top navigation bar.

Every Tuesday I post a new, exclusive free “Family album” of personal pics from My real-life training sessions with slave-hubby bob.

This week’s “Family Album” reveals what happened when I was invited to a Fetish costume party, but slave-hubby bob refused to wear the costume I’d chosen for him.

I mean, it wasn’t as if I was being unreasonable, like asking him to prance around the party naked.

In fact, his outfit of pecker-nose glasses, blonde curly wig, 13-inch strapon dildo and high heels was perfectly modest, if (admittedly) not exactly manly.

Predictably, as you’ll see, bob changed his mind after I tattooed his bare butt for a while with My trusty carcass beater.

You’ll also see a photo set from the morning I singed two fingers (My vengeance hand) cooking bob’s breakfast. I told bob I couldn’t give him the punishment he’d earned the previous day. bob was elated, until I ordered him to march directly to his bedroom and punish himself.

(I confess, to my amazement and amusement, that bob did a surprisingly professional job.)

Visit Mistress Leesa’s FemDom Links and click “Family Album” in the navigation bar.

And while you’re at the site, check out this week’s edition of “Free Pics” featuring top Dominas strutting their stuff. Every Friday I update “Free Pics” with a fresh gallery.

Cheers!