You’re so certain you know what you want.

Do you really? Do you have this fantasy all mapped out in your head, every detail of how it should go, every word scripted and movement laid out in predictable patterns? Are you honestly expecting Me, your Mistress, to just… follow a script?

Am I such an automaton to you? A cipher to fill a spot?

I’ll teach you otherwise, my dear. I’m no robot, to rote fill a role for you, act out your prescribed role for me. Oh no. I’m much more than that. And you’ve put yourself into my hands here, you came to me asking for what I can give you. Yet even now, craving submission and release, you still try to retain your so precious control.

I’d be disappointed if it weren’t so common and predictable.

Now that you’re on the brink, facing your fantasy in flesh, of course you want to back down. What if it’s not as good as what’s in your head? What if it doesn’t work, what if it’s embarrassing, what if, what if, what if??? So, go ahead. Try to control me, control your sexual urges, control every single thing you can. Soon enough you’ll exhaust yourself, drive yourself until you must let go. And I’ll be here waiting.

Let it go.

Release every iota of control you’ve been clinging to so desperately. Stop trying to control me, control my actions, control what happens between us. That’s all my job. Stop trying to do both my job and yours. I’m the Mistress, you’re the submissive, what I want, what I decree, what I decide will happen is what will happen. Not you. So let it go.

Submit to me.

You called up your darkest demon of desire, your own precious succubus to seduce you and render you pliant. I’m here. These things you try to bind me with? Control me with? Let them go. Let it all go, and let me be free.

Janice was a very special kind of girl.

She’d known for a very long time that she wasn’t like the other boys in school. When the boys teased the girls and made them cry, poor Jack (she wouldn’t be Janice for another few years) would defend them. She wanted to play house, and cook and clean for fun. The boys would run and play in the dirt, and poor sad Jack would hover at the edges of the circles of girls, wishing he could paint his nails and share lip gloss with them.

In college, Janice learned about human sexuality.

It was, to say the least, an eye opening experience. She discovered trans people, and queer people and found that there were words to describe her inner landscape. And yet she was still too frightened and ashamed to embrace those words for herself. Until one day, in a fit of boredom and curiosity, she signed up for an online community, and found a whole new world.

It was after college, when she was ‘grown’ and ‘responsible’, that Janice discovered who she really was.

She found the strength and courage to start to use those words for herself. Sissy, crossdresser, panty boi and even the dreaded fag. Words that before could make her question herself and her self worth became banners to fly high and proud. And in this community she found someone to help her, to guide her, to bring her to the fullness of herself. She found her Mistress.

Janice found Me.

And like a foundling searching for a home, she nestled into my arms and heart. My sweet Janice, so uncertain and shy, but brimming with such potential! I could see what she would become, how she could bloom and blossom into a confident, assured, sexy woman. So of course, I helped her, guided her, trained her. I provided her with lessons and tests and showed her how to be the perfect sissy.

He knelt down before the stud.

So nervous that his hands were sweating and he had to keep swallowing to breathe. Fine tremors shook his shoulders, sheerest aroused nerves beating against his mind, screaming in his inner ear,  “What do you think you’re doing?” And he looked up.

Up the long lean length of his Mistress’ lover.

His new Master. Standing over him, sneering down at his pathetic kneeling form, lost and small and just waiting for the next command. Unable to create any forward momentum on his own, this poor lost submissive male just kneels and looks up. And then cuts his eyes to the left, seeking the Mistress.

She sprawls across a divan.

Enjoying the show like the Queen she is, she seems content to allow these two to stand in tableaux for now. Waiting for the nervous fidgeting to stop, for the kneeling man to calm down enough to be able hear her voice over the pounding of his heart. It’s alright, she has a lot of practice with patience and the vagaries of submissives.

Eventually, he calms.

And so, she begins to wind up his nerves again with her words. “Touch him. Put your hands on my lover’s knees and slide your palms up toward his waist, over his thighs.” He jumps at her voice, gulps and stares. Hands shaking, he reaches out, so hesitant. Touches, and his hands flutter back to his side as though he’d touched a burning stove top. And again, more slowly, he reaches out to caress his Master.

To earn his freedom, I’m going to have Bill do something extreme.

He got himself locked up because he’d complained about being bored. So, if he wants to be free, he needs to prove to me that he’s not bored anymore. I think he should also show me exactly how creative and grateful he really is. I’ve put a lot of time and effort into alleviating his boredom, after all. I need to know that he appreciates me.

I’m going to have Bill prove that he’s worthy of being unlocked.

First, he’s going to have to show me some skill and creative thinking. I’ll have him perform for me, with my lover. I want to see Bill make my lover cum. He can use anything he can think of to get my lover off. His hands, his mouth… his tight little hole. The key here is that there needs to be cum, and Bill needs to cause it.

Next, I’ll have Bill write me an essay about masturbation. I want to know what he’s learned about masturbation during his period of denied chastity. What did he learn about the nature of desire, about the privilege of stroking his cock, about the joy and ecstasy of orgasm? I want to know. In detail. Again, grammar, spelling and the sheer poetry of words together count.

Finally, to earn his freedom, I think I’ll have Bill jerk off for me. While still locked. Oh, yes, you can cum while in chastity. I don’t think I’ll tell Bill how to do it, but for you I’ll share a hint: creative imagery, prostate massage and a lot of built up sexual frustration. Delicious!

I’d trained Janice to be the perfect cocktease.

Weeks of preparation had all come down to this moment; her debut party, at the shining center of attention, everyone’s eyes upon her. Dancing and moving, seducing the entire room while focused on just one man. Brad the bartender with his soulful eyes, strong masculine arms and nine inch cock.

Janice went down on her knees with the grace of a consummate courtesan.

Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at Brad through her lashes. She smiled a vixens’ smile as she reached out for him, touched him. Her slim white hand on his hip, the red of her nails like a beacon. And her pink tongue crept out to lick her upper lip. Brad, poor guy, looked breathless.

This was the moment we’d all been waiting for.

“Go on, Janice. Show us how well you’ve learned all your lessons,” I purred. Her training had been my responsibility, and how well she performed now would reflect on my reputation. I was not worried. Janice was an excellent student, she’d learned all her lessons well.

With a toss of her hair, she reached for the button on his slacks. And then the zipper, with a small sound was pulled down. She tucked her hands around his hips and ass, pushing the slacks downward. I stepped behind Brad, to reach around his arms and chest to undo the buttons on his shirt, revealing his toned abs. Janice looked up, to see me looking past his shoulder at her. Such a sweetly intimate moment between Mistress and slut, one that I knew I’d treasure always.

Tim was shaking.

He knew it was silly to be so nervous, but his nerves weren’t listening to logic just at the moment. With a quick swipe of his palms over his pants to clear away the worst of the nervous sweat he steeled himself. Big deep breath, and just ring the bell, Tim, just ring it. Push that little round button, let them know you’re here, just…

The door opened before he could bring himself to press the buzzer. She was perfect; smiling eyes and a gently mocking smirk, that one eyebrow arched as if to ask him what he was doing just standing on the porch. Tim blushed; he could feel that blush, too, how it started low and built and built until it felt like his whole head was going to burst into embarrassed flames, and he thought he’d rather burst into flames on the spot than stand here being smirked at and blushing. Oh god, she’s perfect, he thought.

Poised and composed, she invited Tim in.

It was cool and dark inside, after the harsh heat of midday. Tim could smell the lingering scent of incense in the air, and could feel the sweet energy of the house melting some of his stress away. This place felt calm, felt like a good place to Tim’s subconscious. Another deep breath, trying to blow the nerves away and he turned to her. He had to swallow against sudden lust at the sight of her, backlit in the doorway, her silhouette was… a dream.

Tim knew this wasn’t a dream.

He’d answered an ad online, someone looking for a submissive male to play games with. He’d put himself in this situation. It was as safe as something like this could possibly be. His best friend knew where he’d gone, who he was with, how long he thought he’d be there. He knew his phone would be ringing in an hour to check on him. His… hostess… knew he’d be getting that call. And yet still, the unknown gaped before him, and Tim was. Was nervous.

Bill called me up one night, complaining of boredom.

It seems he’d finally run out of ways to touch his dick that brought him satisfaction. Poor thing, to be so burdened. Tsk, tsk. Imagine, if you will, a man so jaded at the thought of masturbation that he just can’t find the interest needed to get it up. How sad, how pathetic, how incredibly funny!

Think of all the ways you know to touch your cock.

Now think about how it’ll feel, that day when you finally run out of new and entertaining things to do with your dick. Well, Bill had finally reached that point, which would be why he now finds himself in the predicament he’s in. You don’t come to a Mistress and complain about touching yourself; that’s like tempting fate way too much. Or possibly waving a red flag in the face of a pissed off bull. Not that I’m a bull, just that I can’t resist temptation.

Poor Bill, so bored with jerking off.

So I locked up his cock in a nice shiny new CB6000. Snick, locked. And I’ve got the key on a chain around my neck, nestled right between my breasts. I never take it off. Ever. Not even when I’ve got my lover over for a fun game of ‘fuck the Mistress.’ Of course, Bill gets to watch. In fact, since he was so bored with his sex life, I demand that he watch. He can even take notes. Legible notes. In full sentences, grammatically correct, and yes, I grade his notes when play time is over.

For every misplaced comma, every sentence fragment and every single time his penmanship wavers, he gets a forfeit.

I like to be creative with poor Bill, since his original complaint was a lack of creativity on his part. Sometimes, I’ll copy the notes he took onto his own skin, with a black Sharpie marker. Sometimes I’ll put him over my knee and spank him, one swat for each mistake. Sometimes, but only when I’m feeling very very sweet, I’ll take the chastity device off and let him re-read his notes, one stroke per letter, minus a stroke for every mistake. But he still doesn’t get to cum for me.

Let’s face it: masturbation happens.

Anyone who tries to tell you they don’t jerk off is a bald faced liar. Everyone does it. You sneak your hand into your pants and give yourself a quick rub and tug; in the restroom at work, over your lunch break, when you wake up in the morning, when you get off (heh) work, when you want to go to sleep at night.

And lest you think women don’t like to touch themselves, think again.

Females masturbate too. Just because we do it differently from men doesn’t mean we don’t like to have a good rub session. Fingers slide between the sweet folds of our pussies, flicking over the clit and dipping into our hot inner depths… I may not get an obvious erection like men do, but trust me, I get a little hot in the panties and need to relieve pressure.

The main difference between male and female masturbation is:

Males tend to jerk off to visual and auditory stimuli, while females touch themselves to really steamy stories. Now, that’s in general and applied across a wide spectrum of humanity, so, dudes, if you like to read bodice rippers and visit my blog for the stories, it’s all good. And goodness knows there are times when all I want is to watch porn and just skip to the sex scenes.

So, in honor of the fact that all people jerk off…

I’m announcing another month long fiction extravaganza. The Merry Month of Masturbation, as I like to call it, happens in the Merry Month of May. The goal: post a new bit of fiction every day. At this point, I’ll be happy if I post something new every other day, because did you realize how exhausting writing smut is? It really is.

Since all people jerk off, let me open up my arms to my readers.

Write me a 300 word fiction story. Keep it PG13 and accept that I’ll be editing it. I’ll share it with all your fellow perverts under your pen name. If you don’t tell me a pen name, I’ll make one up for you. How does Cock Sucker No. 69 sound?

Send your stories to me at harper @enchantrixempire dot com. You may or may not be published, but at the very least you’ll amuse me!

I’ve thought long and hard about how to end my alphabet series.

I wanted to go out on a nice high note, possibly with something about utter ownership or long term slavery or exactly how to train a cum eating sissy. But, I don’t think those are what I want to finish up on. I mean, that’s not how I like to end my days, it’s not how I want to end a series. So instead, I want to talk about that indefinable thing that makes fetish sex so much fun. The Zing.

What’s the Zing?

Zing is that thrill you get when you see the object of your fantasies. You get a little zing when you find a girl in sexy sling back shoes, dangling that shoe from her toe just so and flirting with you from the corner of her eye. You get a little zing when your Mistress tells you to kneel. That zing pops up again when you find out what your dear cuckold wife has been up to.

The Zing is the feeling of anticipation and fulfillment when you know your needs are being met.

I get a happy little zing when you gaze up at me in adoration. I thrill each and every time I hear you gasp and pant for me. I love it to the depths of my soul when you beg for me. Zing. Right there, right there, that’s what gets me every time. You, broken and pleading and just. Yep.

So, Z is for Zing, the happy tingle of a fetish well and truly scratched.

Wanna come scratch my fetish?