A Mansion Weekend Pt1: Femdom Fiction

Mistress T, Goddess Snow & Mistress Sidonia

A Mansion Weekend Pt1

The gates of the Mansion slid silently back and I entered. They closed behind me, sealing off the rest of the world. I had been entrusted into the care of Mistress Sidonia by Mistress Valkyrie to whom I belong, for further and more intensive training than my own Mistress had the time to undertake.

After the customary greetings, joyous and effusive as ever, Mistress Sidonia led me out across the yard to the guest quarters which would be my home for the next few days. I made myself comfortable and read the letter which had been placed on the bed, inwardly digesting the instructions which it contained.

I took a long and relaxing shower, shaved and preened and once dry, presented myself on the bed in the slave position, face down, bottom up, just as instructed. Time passed; perhaps it was only a few minutes, but maybe more? It matters not as the time was filled with anticipation. The door opened, I breathed in deeply, held my breath for a few moments …and relaxed, ready for what was expected.

Mistress Sidonia spoke quietly. I was aware that there were others in the room but my face was buried in a pillow, my eyes shut. Whilst a slave may, and often does, insert his own buttplug, in my mind the act of surrender is so much more acute when the plug is inserted by the dominant Mistress. It is then she who has the choice of implement, the degree to which it is prepared and the pace at which it is embedded.

Mistress Sidonia explained that she had a choice of many plugs, ranging from the size of a small finger to the theatrically huge, the sort that would challenge an elephant. She would not start with the smallest, but one of a decent size that would stay put and not be easily or accidentally ejected. She went on to say that over the course of the days I would spend at the Mansion I could remove the plug at any time of my choosing, providing that I was unplugged for no more than 30 minutes in any two hour period during daylight hours. Most importantly though, every time I removed the plug it would always need to be replaced with the next size up – so that, if I chose to remove it too many times, by the end of my stay the plugs might become quite challenging. She, or indeed any other Mistress that I might encounter, could of course remove the plug at any time and for any length of time when they might desire the use of my anus but again, it would always be replaced with a bigger plug. It was desirable, she said, that I was stretched and ready for use whilst I was at the Mansion.

The door closed and I was left to wait, contemplating my stretching and breathing slowly but deliberately. The letter had told me broadly what I should expect next.

She was a tall, elegantly dressed woman, younger rather than older and of course, perfectly presented. She told me that she was here to prepare me and that I would enjoy the transformation – but she didn’t tell me her name, and I didn’t ask. It wasn’t I felt, in the scheme of things, that important.

We started with a shaving, from top to toe so that only my hair and eyebrows remaining untouched – they would come later. There was waxing for the more critical areas and eventually she considered me to be suitably smooth. I did fear how long that would remain the case. That was just the preparation, it would be the makeup that would take the time.

First there was a lot of foundation work to do and brows to pluck.  I chose eyelashes, and learned how to apply them so that they looked more natural. Lastly I chose red nails and painted my toenails to match.

Finally my mentor attached a net to my hair, carefully making sure that it was well anchored and would not come free. To this, the selected wig was attached and I was assured that it would not slip or move whatever I chose to do. It would be my hair, for as long as I was at the Mansion. The wig, Mistress Sidonia’s choice I was informed, was thick, layered, straight, shoulderlength and, naturally, blonde.

The makeover complete, the elegant lady pronounced herself happy with her work and I could not disagree. It seemed remarkable but definitely a look more suited to the English Mansion than the High Street. Before she left she gave me another envelope and then I was alone again. The letter told me what I should select from the wardrobe. Stockings of course  and suspenders now with the benefit of legs now shaved as smooth as glass. There were beautiful lace knickers, albeit with a rigid triangular and slightly cupped pad sewn into the front so as to prevent any unwanted erection from spoiling my profile, and a well filled bra to match. It appeared that the choice of footwear was to be mine. There were four pairs; long black lace up boots; an elegant but incredibly high court shoe with polished stiletto heel, a comparatively modest pair of Victorian pixie boots; and a pair of pornstar heels. I chose the court shoes, not knowing exactly what was to be expected of me in the coming hours. With my feet clad the transformation was essentially complete and I expected it to remain so until I left the Mansion.

I noticed that my watch was gone, and also that there were no clocks to be seen. It was not yet dark but I needed to remove the butt plug. I set a timer that had been provided and assumed that it would chime when the 30 minutes respite was up – and probably ring an alarm somewhere in the Mansion that others would hear. My letter of instructions said that I would find fresh butt plugs in a frosted glass cupboard to the left of the bed. There were five, numbered five to nine. I imagined I was wearing a number four. Five looked only marginally bigger and I could barely tell any difference as, when the time came, it slipped easily home. I had little time to contemplate the rest and to wonder if number nine was the largest – I doubted it as it wasn’t significantly greater in girth than the one I was now wearing. How many plugs to could there be? Would number ten be a stepchange in scale?

Without chance to contemplate such matters a buzzer sounded and I knew that was my signal to open the door to the right of the bed and enter into the room beyond. It was time to complete my dressing.

I stood before the assembled Mistresses and a spotlight shone on me. In the dim light of the room I recognised Mistress Sidonia of course; another Mistress whom I knew; the lady who, wearing elegant street clothes, had orchestrated and educated my transformation but was now uniformed in thigh boots and a corset as a Mistress amongst her peers; two Mistresses I recognised from The Mansion but had not previously met; and two who, like the transforming Mistress, were unknown to me.

It was the taller of the latter who stepped forward and prodded me with her crop. She made it clear that I should turn and even I understood the unspoken command. What were they to make of me? Broadly satisfied I deduced, especially with the results of the makeover conducted by their colleague – it was only the base material that they were inclined to criticise, but as I have said, there is only so much that even the most skilful artist could achieve. What was missing however were the final touches. The tall Mistress was holding a corset.

The Mistress indicated that I should turn away and she held the corset open for me. Unseen hands held me whilst the laces were tightened and retightened in succession. Each tightening left me more and more constricted. The Mistress seemed to have endless strength pulling me ever more tightly in. I wondered if I would faint from lack of breath before she stopped but eventually she seemed satisfied that I now had a possibly credible figure. She assured me that it was both good for me, that I would remain corseted whilst I was at the Mansion and that indeed I would become used to, and crave, the constrictions it created. I was not likely, or in any way inclined, to doubt her wisdom.

A grey satin fitted blouse allowed the spotlight to play off my newly found and wholly false shape together with a soft leather skirt falling modestly a little above the knee, black and with a zip up the front. As one of the Mistresses observed, perhaps more to me than to her colleagues: we are entitled to access to her clitoris at any time of our choosing…

I was turned to face the ensemble. Overall the Mistresses again appeared to approve of their work and I was relieved that my choice of footwear seemed appropriate to the occasion. It seemed that the Mistresses now wished to enjoy their own pleasures.

One of the Mistresses I recognised approached me and unzipping the skirt half way, deftly hooked down my knickers just far enough to allow her hand to cradle my balls. She twisted sharply and I winced as her nails dug into me. I held my balance and held my breath, my teeth gritted. She squeezed my cock which stood readily to attention. She observed that a severe beating would banish such excitement.

I was turned and ordered to spread my ankles. An ankle bar was fitted to hold me in position and the back of my skirt raised. Hands smacked my cheeks, then flexible paddles followed by hard wooden equivalents. A hand felt between my legs and found the butt plug. It pulled gently and my anus yielded its content. I heard Mistress Sidonia say that the plug was size five – not the one she started me with. A voice whispered in my ear that I was a good girl, nice and clean. Another said that she hoped I was ready.

The crops rained down hard on my arse. I gritted my teeth and remembered to breathe slowly and deeply. I knew I could deal with this, and remain balanced on my heels. The blows ceased and two Mistresses set to with floggers beating me alternately – the stokes taken through the corset hurting just as much as those that caught my exposed shoulderblades.

When the beating ceased I felt fingers circle my anus, cool and sticky with lubrication. The tool entered me, the unseen Mistress pushing it slowly in as far as it would go until I felt the full weight of her body pressing against mine. She pumped three or four strokes and withdrew. I felt a hot breath on my neck. Teeth bit my ear lobe. You should be pierced whispered a voice in my ear – I hoped she meant my ears and not anything more intimate…The tool re-entered me. It took but a stroke to realise that it was a different strapon. A different Mistress, shorter than the first, the angle different. Then it changed again. Fingernails dug into my cock and balls. Hands caressed my breasts. A voice wondered if I could take both cocks at once as I was such a slut? It was Mistress Sidonia who said that my training had only just begun – the Mistresses should be patient.

The cocks were withdrawn. Each Mistress took turns with a cane, each blow being counted in chorus by the other Mistresses until finally they decided that they were satisfied, or tired or bored…or perhaps all three. I knelt at the feet of each in turn and thanked them for their pleasure and for the opportunity they had granted me to serve as their slut.

Mistress Sidonia explained that she had one last treat. Even though it was now after dark, as I had enjoyed two cocks my next butt plug should be number seven. I might remove it after an hour, before sleep, but in the morning it would be time for number eight. Number seven slipped in very easily, I kissed Mistress Sidonia’s hand and slipped away through the door whence I had first entered the Mistresses’ presence.

On waking to an alarm, which seemed to stop as soon as I got out of bed, I noticed another envelope that had been posted under the door in the night. It contained some useful instructions for the day which it suggested I should memorise.

After a shower and a head to foot shave I knelt to insert number eight. I took a deep breath and released it slowly so as to relax. Number eight was beginning to be as large as I felt I could comfortably accommodate and it seemed so much larger than the plugs of yesterday after a night of relaxation.

To be continued…

by slave sova