The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood — Part 6

Ben and I sat on the patio of a nice café on the edge of Chinatown, with its oriental apartment frontages, windows encased in elaborately designed steel cages and sidewalks filled with people sitting in plastic chairs, eating and drinking as the world passed by.

I played with the stem of the wine glass, running my fingers up and down its length, teasing Ben as he tried to talk about his undergraduate degree.

“I studied at Oxford for three years in psychology, philosophy and linguistics…”

“So you are a cunning linguist? I couldn’t tell.”

Ben coughed awkwardly, looking around. There were four guys from Australia on the table beside us, who were looking at Ben with amusement as they chatted amongst themselves.

“Sorry Ben. Do continue.”

“Then I took my Master’s in psychological research at Oxford too, studying, uh…”

I was running my tongue around the rim of the cool glass. The sensation was incredibly pleasant on this forty degree day. A group of tourists ran by, whooping and hollering, shooting their water pistols at a Thai girl, who ran giggling past them. It was Songkran — a three day celebration in Thailand, where people celebrate the Buddhist New Years with street water fights to wash off the bad luck of the previous year. A baptism of sorts, though instead of a fount, buckets of ice water and water cannons.

“Studying… uh?”

“Studying behavioural and cognitive neuroscience, developmental science and abnormal behaviour. That sort of thing.” He looked disgustingly proud of himself. “I graduated with honours, actually.”

I took a big gulp of wine, emphasizing the sound. Ben grinned stupidly. I leaned forward on my hands towards him at the table, pushing my cleavage up with my forearms and staring him down. Ben’s eyes fell predictably to where I’d expected them to.

“Really? You have a surprising amount of qualifications for someone who comes across so unintelligently. Still, there are many things that can’t be learned from a textbook.”

Ben’s grin fell. I leaned forward so I was a few inches from his face.

“And I wonder what Oxford would think about their prize student, kneeling down and sucking cock as you did last night…”

Ben looked desperately at me. The Aussie’s were leaving, laughing and glancing at Ben as they disappeared into the crowds outside.

“Don’t be humble, Ben. That was a performance worthy of an honours, right there. Your dedication to the task, your hunger for that red dildo… I couldn’t feed it to you fast enough…”

“Mistress!”

I frowned at him, grabbing him by the ring of the collar he’d obediently worn as instructed. Good boy.

“Oh Ben, what did I say about not taking yourself so seriously? Good grief — its not as if the mighty Oxford don’t have its share of perverts, especially in a subject as cold and repressive as psychology. Lighten up! I bet a good deal of the faculty there are buggering someone after hours. Or after class. Come to think of it, you seemed more than a novice at taking that cock last night. Something you’re not telling me, Ben?”

Ben gritted his teeth and turned his head away to the side as I laughed. I released my grip on the ring and sat back down as a married couple sat on the table next to us. From the tone of their sparing conversation, they sounded Italian. While the man was lecherously ogling the Thai waitress, the woman had a far away look in her eyes. Probably wondering if she could hasten the “til death do us part” bit.

“So Ben… you’re a shrink… diagnose me.”

“I’m not a shrink… not yet. And I uh… I wouldn’t…”

“Go on.”

“Mistress. I don’t really know…”

“Five years of education and you don’t know how to diagnose someone? What kind of education does Oxford provide? Or perhaps you were too busy in the stock cupboard with your tutor, earning those honours you talked about…”

“Katia! Ugh… oh… Mistress, but I don’t want you to be offended.”

Ben shifted on the bench, the dull jangle of the cock cage only barely audible above the noise of the restaurant.

“I might be offended. But if you’re worried about the keys falling into the Mekong, you don’t need to be. Not today anyway. I have other tools in my bag. You know me pretty intimately by now, surely you’ve made some judgement or other on me, scientifically speaking. I want to hear it.”

Ben hesitated. I glared and kicked his shin under the table.

“Ow! Ok, ok. It’s not my judgement, ok? It’s just the best that I can think of, given the categories I’ve learned.”

“Spit it out.”

“Um… maybe borderline?”

Sounded exciting. I hadn’t heard that term before. Though I did pride myself on dancing around boundaries — it sounded strangely fitting.

“Tell me more…”

Ben sat up, straight, clearing his throat in that self-important manner that overeducated people often do before they regale you with their brilliance.

“Um yes… borderline personality disorder. It’s characterized by rapid shifts in mood, addictive tendencies — you know, alcohol, sex…”

“Everything in moderation — especially moderation, Ben.”

“Impulsive behaviour.”

“I prefer spontaneous.”

“Hypersexuality.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing!”

“And did you… did you have an eating disorder when you were younger? Like as a teenager?”

I grinned. He was good.

“Yes, I was bulimic, as a matter of fact.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Pfft. Don’t be.”

My insensitive gag reflex had become more of a blessing than a curse, long after I stopped that destructive cycle and learned my own power. My perfectionism was a strength in my work. My daddy issues — well, that was another story altogether, but nothing that concerned Ben.

Ben was looking more confident now, head held high, obviously feeling quite proud of himself.

“Explosive anger?”

“When merited.”

“Fear of abandonment?”

I took the last gulp of wine and slammed the glass down on the table. Ben trembled.

“Very interesting. All garbage of course,” I hissed, “but what else would I expect from a book smart little cocksucker like you?”

Ben deflated, grabbing his beer and downing the remainder, eyes closed, as if to shut out the world. I’ve read that small children do this and think they are invisible — you can’t see them if they can’t see you. Of course, not only did I see Ben, but I had seen him — multiple times — naked and degraded and begging for more. For all of his education and bravado, he knew as I did, exactly what a hungry little cumslut he was under the surface.

“So Ben… what are you planning to study next? Or are you going to go into practise?”

Ben opened his eyes, warily, placing his glass down on the table with a shaking hand, utterly humiliated.

“I want… uh… I want to specialize in CBT, Mistress.”

“CBT?” I bit my lip and grinned. “Oh, that’s definitely something I could teach you…”

*

We walked back down the road to the skytrain. Every few steps I’d ‘accidentally’ bump Ben with a shoulder, watching in amusement as he tumbled sideways into people, apologizing frantically. At one point, a skinny Thai man in short shorts and pole dancer shoes grabbed Ben’s arm and locked him against his tanned body.

“I be your new girlfriennn… OK?”

Ben tried to wriggle out of the ladyboy’s arm, but her meagre frame hid a persistent strength. Ben shot me a desperate glance, the ladyboy nuzzling her hair against his shoulder, a garish green wig wobbling on top of her shaved head.

“Very pretty, yes?” She cooed, batting her heavily mascarad lashes at him, her smile wicked, knowing — as I did — that Ben was weak at the core. “You liiiike?”

She ground provocatively against his side, with incredible balance on her pink heels.

“Very pretty, but I have to… Katia…!

I frowned.

“Sorry Ben, I don’t have time to wait around with you while you flirt with your new girlfriend. I’ll see you at six at the hotel reception. Have fun!”

“Katia… wait….”

The Thai flashed Ben a gruesome smile, a row of yellow-brown teeth between her coral lips. I left him to figure it out and wandered down the tightly packed stalls to peruse souvenirs. On one of them, I saw a teak ashtray with a carving of a naked man lying spread eagled against the sides, penis erect. I wondered what kind of sadist would enjoy the experience of putting a cigarette out on a man’s cock. Not my thing. Besides, smoking is bad for the health.

There was a stall at the corner which sold wigs. Row after row of blonde, black and brunette, short and curly, wavy and straight.

“Something for you?”

A man with a cotton shirt stretched over his Buddha belly came sweating from around the corner. He picked up a black wig, the shiny hair poker straight.

“For you, very nice. Only 500 baht.”

It was nice, I’d give him that.

“Not for me — for a man I know.”

“Oooh…” the stall holder’s eyes widened. “Same same…”

“How much is this one?”

I lifted up a dirty blonde coloured wig, with ribbon tied pigtails. With Ben’s blue eyes, the colour would go very well. Tonight I was going to turn him from man, to sissy. Rouge his cheeks, paint his lips and make sure the next time he cried, that his tears would be black. There is something about mascara stained tears, when you’re violating a sub with a strap-on, that is utterly glorious to behold.

Inspecting the wig, the hair net underneath showed through as I ran my fingers along the hair. It was cheaply made. Cheap. It would suit Ben’s new persona when I had finished with him.

*

On the 11th floor, I warmed the wax strips under the taps in Ben’s bathroom. I had gotten them from Boots earlier, that renowned English pharmacy that so many English people in Thailand rave about. It’s expensive, but it was the only place I knew would carry wax strips. That’s the funny thing about Bangkok, there are so many things here you wouldn’t expect to see. Boots, Tescos, street vendors selling fried scorpions on sticks. An Oxford graduate lying prone on the hardwood floor of a room in an upscale Bangkok hotel, waiting patiently for his Mistress to abuse him.

I turned the hot water off, kneading my fingers down the large, shiny paper sandwiching the wedge of wax. I’d remove his back hair first, then roll him over and tackle the chest. For a man of 27, his hair was fairly meagre. He shot me nervous glances as I slowly split the papers in two, hot wax separating between them in thick strings.

I strode towards Ben in my heels, clicking across the floor dramatically, wielding the two strips. Ben averted his eyes as I crouched down and sat over his bottom, adjusting myself by rocking hard on his hips, his body arching with arousal and the pressure of the cock cage below.

“Ben, poor Ben. Your all caged up and nowhere to blow, mm? Don’t worry, my dear, I’m going to take you out tonight. You’re going to love it. But first, I am going to transform you. Change you into the sissy I know you really are, underneath all of those words. The sissy I know you want to be. The one who loves cock and dreams about being used terribly — that sounds about the right diagnosis, doesn’t it?”

I applied the strips to Ben’s back, rubbing them up and down until they were firmly adhered to his skin. Ben took a deep breath and held it, his body trembling.

“It will hurt more if you do that. Trust me, I know. Relax now, breath into it…”

Ben stubbornly continued to hold his breath.

“Suit yourself.”

I ripped both wax pads up at once, roughly.

“ARRRGHHH!”

“I did try to tell you. Now, hold still.”

A few stray patches of wax covered hair remained. I placed the backs of the used papers back on the skin, rubbing them into the redness and ripping up on them again.

“Ow! ARGHH!”

I got up to warm another strip of wax, taking my time. Enjoying the effect that the anticipation of fresh pain had on my subject, at the same time as the anticipation of having my warm ass pressed against his bottom aroused him.

More strips. More cries. I was almost tempted to gag him, but no one knocked on the door. I suppose Bangkok being Bangkok, the hotel staff had heard more than their share of strange things happening after dark.

“Instability of mood, hmm?”

RIP!

“I’m sor… ow! Mistress, you asked… I…”

“Abandonment issues?”

“I’m so sorry… so… sorr… OWWWW!”

RIP!

“Pain is beauty, Ben. Take it like a man. Oh — I forgot. You gave your balls to me. You’re not a man anymore, are you? Just a little sissy, hungry for humiliation, lying helpless between Mistresses’ thighs…”

RIP!

“Katia… Mistress…!”

I dug my fingernails into both of his shoulders and he quivered. Lying down over him, I hissed into his ear, his head jerking away from the assault of hot breath.

“Quiet! If you want more of that cock you were so hungry for last night, I’m going to have to pretty you up. Make you into a good little slut. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Y… yes Mistress.”

I sit back up and slap his red flesh.

“Say it.”

“I want to be a good little slut, Mistress.”

SLAP!

“What else?”

“Mistress…”

SLAP!

“I want to kneel down and have you feed me cock… Mistress… I want to… I want you to…”

SLAP!

“I want you to take me… to rape me in the ass!”

I toss the last hair coated strip to the side, admiring my handiwork and running a cool hand down his angry skin.

“Rape you… in the ass?”

Ben was breathing faster now, a circle of condensation under his mouth on the floor, growing and shrinking with every breath. His face was red and sweaty.

“Yes Mistress.”

I stood up and kicked him in the side until he turned over onto his back. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He looked quite magnificent, but the best was yet to come. I placed my hands on his hips, drinking in his shame.

“What a vulgar thing to say, Ben.”

“Sorry Mistress. But I thought you wanted me to…”

“Shh!”

Ben looked abashed. I hiked my dress slowly up one smooth, tanned leg, black silk sliding luxuriously up my thigh, until my fingers touched the elastic of my black lace pants. Slipping a thumb under the side of them, I coaxed one side down my thigh, watching in amusement as Ben’s tongue stuck stupidly out of his mouth, watching me.

“Dirty little boys ought to have their mouths washed out with soap, mmm? And you are a dirty, filthy little boy aren’t you, Ben?”

Ben could barely speak. I repeated the process on the other side, Ben making strange clucking noises with his tongue as he watched me lower the black lace past my knees, my calves and gently easing them from around my stilettos.

“Though I imagine you’d rather have your mouth washed out with something other than soap, wouldn’t you? I imagine cum is far more to your taste.”

Ben wriggled on his back, his straining cock cage padlock jingling as he writhed about in hopeless arousal. I rolled the panties up in a ball. It had been a hot day, we had walked a lot, and seeing my man slave this helpless under my control, had made me a little aroused. The fabric was warm and wet with the moisture of my sex. Something told me he wouldn’t mind in the slightest.

“Open.”

Ben opened his mouth and I shoved the fabric in between his teeth. He chewed ravenously on the fabric, moaning and wriggling his hips. Gulping repeatedly as he tasted his Mistress on the black fabric, looking at me with pained ecstasy.

“You like that, don’t you? Dirty little reprobate. Sucking and chewing on my panties like a dog. You’re a dirty little dog, aren’t you, Ben?”

“Mmm…”

Ben jangled madly on the floor underneath me. His balls bulged tight and shiny under the metal. Hopeless.

“Well, chew on that for a while. I have work to do.”

I walked back to the bathroom to warm up another wax strip. Ben moaned and jangled on the hardwood, overwhelmed with frustrated arousal. I waxed his chest with the same merciless vigour as I had his back, sitting at the base of his pelvis, just in front of his cock cage, teasing him with the warm wetness of my bare sex on his skin — so close, but so far from his bound and useless cock. I had to slap his hands down repeatedly to the floor as his excitement grew, which was rather challenging when applying the wax.

When I had finished, I sat back to admire my work. One scarlet and perfectly smooth chest. Not enough strips for under his arms. That could wait.

“Mmmm…mmmmm…”

Ben groaned as I traced a finger around one of his nipples, his fingers wriggling helplessly by his sides as his body shook this way and that. I checked the bedside clock. 7:30pm. Barbar, a Dungeon Club in seedy Patpong, had opened at 6pm. Time to get our skates on. I grabbed his nipple hard between my fingers, digging my black nails deep into the pilled flesh there and pulling up.

“MMMmmmMMmm?!”

Ben looked at me beseechingly with glossy eyes, thrusting his hips.

“Time to get up. Sit on the chair over there. I have more excitement planned for you tonight!”

“MMMRGHH. Mmmm?”

Drool ran down the edges of Ben’s mouth as he masticated on the black lace. I probably wouldn’t wear that pair again. They were his now. I wondered what he’d look like in them, in a pair of heels, pushing his ass up. Ben in a skimpy dress, make up and pigtails. My sissy. I’d have to think of a name…

“Don’t worry, Ben. It wont hurt. You can relax now. Sit over there. I’m going to pamper you — make you look pretty. I think you’re going to like it very much when I’m done with you.

Be sure to join me on Medium — https://fionadobson22.medium.com/membership