Finding My Femdom Fantasy - Part 2

By Thimble

Michael's adventure with Mistress Bianca continues in Thailand, where he serves as her slave for a month. At first it's paradise, but soon, Michael learns how difficult it can be to sacrifice his will for her own. Can their relationship survive? Will Michael get the chance to be her full-time slave, and i

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boy Howdy Productions
• Release date: Jan 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088173879

Book preview

1

She licked her lips and smiled down at him.

Do you want to fuck me?

Michael barely remembered bringing her home. He’d been drinking at a bar when she sat next to him. She was at least a decade younger, and sexy with her big eyes and full lips. She reminded him of Honey, and he worried he was staring in an obvious way. He hadn’t planned on hitting on her, but her knee knocked against his and she apologized and they started talking. The next thing he knew, they were naked in his bed and she was looking down at him through her long straight hair.

Michael ran his hands over her breasts. She leaned her head back and ground her pelvis into his. His erection pressed against her.

Yes.

He rolled her over and took her right nipple into his mouth. She moaned and clutched his hair.

Fuck me.

He brought the head of his cock against her opening. She lifted her hips, and he pressed lightly—enough that she could feel it, but not enough to enter her.

Please!

Beg me.

Please fuck me, Michael! Fuck me! Please!

He thrust into her and stayed buried deep, feeling her muscles grip him. She closed her eyes and arched her back. He pulled out until he was just slightly inside of her, then thrust back in. He mimicked Sebastian’s movements with his Mistress, fucking her in long, slow strokes.

Oh God!

He could feel the sensations building deep in his balls. He pulled out and flipped her over, then brought her to her knees and entered her from behind. She moaned, turning her head to the side. Her hair splayed out over his pillow. He held her waist as he pounded her: skin slapping against skin, their breath in unison.

Let me get on top.

She kept her hands on his chest as she rode him, her slight body undulating. God, she was pretty! What was she doing with him? Those thoughts disappeared as her vagina massaged his cock. Jesus! She was going to make him come if she kept it up. He inhaled and exhaled quickly through his mouth to bring his energy down. She increased her speed, trying to push him over the edge.

Come for me! Come!

He woke up, sweaty and confused. He was on a plane on the way to Zurich, then Bangkok, then Chiang Mai. He’d almost had a wet dream, and he was erect. He pulled his shirt down over his crotch, then looked quickly at the elderly woman next to him. She was awake and looking straight ahead. Judging by her reaction, he hadn’t made any weird sounds, thank God. This relief was short lived, however, as it struck him that perhaps she was staring straight ahead because he’d been making weird sounds or—even worse—moving his pelvis in real life as he’d done in his dream. He blushed furiously. He tried to read her face. Was she looking straight ahead because she wanted to look straight ahead or because she desperately wanted to avoid looking at him? He had to go the bathroom, but not until his erection went down. He exhaled deeply. He felt like he’d narrowly avoided a horrible accident.

Other than that small hiccup, the trip to Bangkok was wonderful. Michael moved through JFK airport with a joy and ease diametrically opposed to his normal mode of travel. He smiled at everyone and they smiled back. At security, he watched with amusement as a woman stood at the front of the line and leisurely took off her rings and bracelets. That she didn’t think to get out of the way and that no one asked her to step aside would have infuriated him at any other time. He would have abandoned his place in line to walk up and tell her himself, doing his best to let her know she was a horrible person. Now he just smiled. People were strange. There was no need to get upset: he had plenty of time.

The flight attendants seemed genuinely happy he was on their flight, and he was genuinely happy they were on his flight, too. What friendly people the Thai were!

Michael had smartly planned a one-day layover in Bangkok before heading to Chiang Mai. He didn’t travel well, usually, and he thought it best to take a day to rest and recuperate from his 20-hour flight instead of showing up bleary and smelling bad. He had 30 days with her: 30 days to convince Mistress Bianca that he was worthy of being her full-time slave. He wasn’t going to waste one minute of it. Besides, what if she wanted something from him right away? He would show up locked, cocked, and ready to serve.

Bangkok was hot, and even though the sun had set, it still felt around 90. Michael showered, shaved, and ordered a masseuse to his hotel room. He had strict orders not to come, so he did his best to communicate to her, without being overly obvious or insulting, that he was not interested in a happy ending. This resulted in him repeating that he just wanted a regular massage three different times.

Thai massage is a combination of acupressure and assisted stretching, which was exactly what Michael needed after his flight. The masseuse was on the older side, which Michael liked, and she was complimentary of his strength and flexibility.

He was in bed early that night, exhausted from his minimal sleep the night before. He’d brought sleeping pills if he needed them, but he was out before he knew it.

His seat-mate on his flight to Chiang Mai was an older German woman who talked almost the entire time about a trip she took to New Zealand the year before. It was endearing and exhausting, and Michael was grateful it was a short flight.

Outside the airport in Chiang Mai, as promised, Michael saw a large, serious-looking man holding a sign that read ‘Michael’ in big block letters. He’d informed Mistress Bianca it was fine to let her inner circle know his real name.

Hi, I’m Michael.

Brian.

Brian wore Ray-bans and looked like an ex-football player turned secret service agent. He took Michael’s bag before Michael realized what he was doing and walked to his Mitsubishi SUV. Michael got in the passenger seat. He couldn’t figure out why Brian looked confused, until he realized he was supposed to sit in back.

Do you mind if I sit up front? I like to talk.

This wasn’t at all true, and as soon as he said it, he knew it was a mistake. Brian was clearly not a talker, and Michael was not the type to draw someone out.

Fuck it, he thought. I can fake it for the trip.

Did you play football?

Why?

You look like you played football.

I did.

Michael waited, but that was it. They rode the rest of the way in silence. Michael felt he should try again at conversation but couldn’t think of anything to say. He wondered just how large a breach of chauffeur-passenger etiquette he’d made by sitting in front. He decided after a lengthy back-and-forth in his brain that he could blame it on being from New York, which worked for most crimes of over-familiarity, as long as the other person wasn’t also from New York.

The drive took 40 minutes along small country roads. Michael admired the intense greenery of the forest, especially the bamboo and palms. Brian, his massive frame filling up the driver’s seat, was unfazed by the small white buses that came up fast behind the SUV and passed it around curves and up hills. During the last ten minutes, as they turned and twisted on smaller backroads, Michael bounced his knee in excitement.

Brian finally pulled into a driveway and up to a locked gate. He entered a code and the gate swung open, painfully slowly in Michael’s opinion. They rode along a short dirt road before finally coming to Mistress Bianca’s home. Michael had imagined the type of house a rich and infatuated slave would buy his Mistress, and he wasn’t far off. It was, as far as he could see, open and airy, large but not humungous. There was a lot of tropical vegetation in front and no neighbors within eyesight. Brian took his bag out of the trunk and gave him a surprisingly friendly smile.

Clarissa will meet you inside. Go on in.

Michael carried his suitcase up to the front doors, feeling light and happy. He was finally here, in Thailand, at the home of his Mistress. He imagined stepping inside and seeing her at the end of a long hallway. She would turn her head swiftly, her hair fanning out around her. They’d walk swiftly toward each and embrace, her lush body warm against his. He knew it was ridiculous, but it was a nice thought. He was neither surprised nor overly disappointed that it didn’t come to pass.

Hi Michael!

A tall, curvy, attractive woman in her early thirties was striding up the hall toward him. She was wearing heels, which clacked on the tile floor. She had blondish-brown hair that came down to her mid-back and an air of crisp efficiency.

Hi! I’m guessing you’re Clarissa.

I am. It’s nice to meet you!

She seemed to mean it. She was wearing a white top with a red skirt just on the edge of business-casual. Around her neck was a red-leather collar, the only clue to her relationship with Mistress Bianca.

You look well rested for such a long trip.

I booked a day layover in Bangkok. I don’t sleep well on planes, and I didn’t want to show up feeling awful.

Smart. Let me show you your room. Are you hungry?

No. I had a big breakfast.

They passed through a large open area with a modern kitchen, dining area, and living room. It seemed especially airy, and Michael realized after a moment there were no walls. He thought he must be missing something, but when he looked closer, the walls stopped around three feet up. Above that were only screens. In his near-giddy happiness it seemed exotic and wonderful.

Mistress Bianca will be back soon. She’s having breakfast with a friend.

Great!

Clarissa led him through a door to the walled-in area of the house, down a hallway and into a moderately-sized bedroom with a full-sized bed, a bookshelf and a desk. In one corner was a padded spanking bench. In another, about chest height, was a small shrine to Mistress Bianca, including a large framed picture of her face and some medium-sized pictures of her in different poses, including one of just her feet. There were round, cylindrical candles on each end.

This is for your daily mantra. Mistress likes you to kneel and look at her pictures as you say it.

There was a dresser for his clothes, the top shelf of which was filled with bondage gear. On the bed were wrist and ankle cuffs and a collar, all black leather.

Mistress Bianca prefers you naked when you’re in the house or yard. She’ll put on your collar and cuffs when she returns.

Michael nodded. Clarissa stared at him.

She asked me to watch you get undressed.

Oh. Ok…why?

I don’t know. I didn’t ask.

Maybe to make sure I’m not smuggling in contraband.

Maybe…are you?

What kind of smuggler would I be if I told you?

A bad one, I suppose.

She smiled, and Michael had the impression that like Kiara and unlike Alex, Clarissa didn’t see him as competition. He folded his clothes neatly while she stood with her hands behind her back and a pleasant look on her face. She was so clearly unphased by his nudity that his slight embarrassment felt out of place, childish even.

I guess you watch a lot of men undress.

And women.

Right. What fraction of Mistress Bianca’s clients that come here are women?

Clients? Not many. But she has female slaves who come for short stays, and every so often she’ll pick up a woman from town and it’ll turn into a short fling.

It hit Michael again that Mistress Bianca lived in a different universe from him sexually. He felt like a poor person visiting an obscenely wealthy person’s house and realizing they have their own golf course in the backyard.

Your schedule is on the desk.

There were five pages stapled together. The first had his name across the top in pen. Underneath it read:

6am - Wake up. Stretch for half an hour.

6:30 am - Meditate for half an hour.

7am – Clean.

8am - Mistress’ bedroom.

Shower, shave.

8:45am - make breakfast.

That was the end of the schedule. Michael assumed, correctly, that each afternoon and evening would present different activities and just the mornings were regimented. The second-through-fifth pages contained his cleaning schedule: detailed instructions of what to clean each day and how to clean it to Mistress Bianca’s exacting standards.

As he unpacked, Michael pictured his Mistress at a swank, dimly lit bar, seducing some college-aged beauty, stroking her finger along her cheek, hypnotizing her with her smoldering sexuality. Clarissa’s voice brought him back to the present.

Come, she should be here soon. When you meet her, bow and kiss each of her feet one time, then put your forehead on the floor and wait until she says up. Is that clear?

Yes…how should I address you?

Clarissa is fine. I’m Mistress Bianca’s slave, too, so while you have to respect me, as you do everyone, you don’t have to treat me as you would a dominant woman.

Got it…How do I treat a dominant woman other than Mistress Bianca?

Bow. Don’t stare. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Follow their commands unless they contradict one of Mistress Bianca's rules or go past one of your hard limits.

Ok. Are there any other rules I should know?

Yes, and Mistress Bianca will tell you. I hear her car; let’s go.

Michael hadn’t heard anything, but he followed Clarissa down the hall toward the front door.

Stand as I do.

She stood straight, her feet a little wider than shoulder width, her hands clasped behind her back.

Michael.

Yes?

Relax your face.

Thank you.

Of course. We’re on the same team.

The door opened and Mistress Bianca walked in and slid off her shoes. She was wearing a white, v-neck dress that showed off her lush figure. It seemed incredible, but he’d forgotten how beautiful she was and the magnetic pull of her sexuality. Her thick brown hair fell past her tan, bare shoulders. Michael stared at her almond shaped eyes and full lips and felt a burst of joy. He was a logical man by nature, but he couldn’t deny that he was in love, and that he felt that love all though him. He wanted to rush and embrace her, but he knew better, and for a moment his self-doubt returned. She was simply too perfect to like someone like him. But then their eyes met, and her face lit up. Incredibly, she was happy to see him, and she was walking toward him. He knew there was a way he was supposed to greet her, but his mind went blank. He searched for what he’d just learned but there was nothing there. He was on the edge of panic, but then Clarissa dropped to her knees next to him, and he came to and knelt, as well. Clarissa kissed her feet, then waited with her forehead on the floor.

Thank you, Clarissa. You may go.

Thank you, Mistress.

Michael stared at Mistress Bianca’s slender feet. Her toenails were dark red and freshly painted. He placed a slow kiss on the top of each foot, savoring the feel of her skin against his lips. His body radiated with excitement.

Stand up, Michael.

She was almost as tall as he was. She walked around him slowly, trailing her finger across his chest, then over his arm and around his back. His cock got hard, which she noticed.

It’s good to see you, Michael. I’m glad you’re here.

She smiled, and he felt for that moment that only they existed, and that all the anger and disappointment he’d felt in his entire life had been unnecessary.

Me too, Mistress.

He could barely