THEGYM.TXT by Cindy V. femdom, TV, humiliation
I don't usually get into arguments with strangers, and especially not with female strangers. Unfortunately I got into one recently, and I picked the wrong woman to do so, because she turned out to be a professional dominant.
It was about 10 pm, and I went to the gym for a little exercise. There were only a few people there at that hour, and the staff person said they would be closing at 11, and would we mind if he left early - the last person left should just shut off the lights.
I was pretty much minding my own business going from exercise machine to machine. I found myself on the Stairmaster next to a short blonde woman. She was sexy, but not pretty; I prefer women that are pretty, even if they are not sexy. The Stairmasters faced a television set showing the 10 o'clock news, and the newscaster WAS pretty. I was watching the newscaster, not really listening to the news, wondering if her long eyelashes were real or not, wondering how she applied that second darker shade of eye shadow that made her eyes look so deep, admiring her perfectly lined lipstick, and so on.
And suddenly the blonde woman on the Stairmaster next to me hit the remote control, and changed the television station. I was stunned. I asked her, "Why did you change the station?" She answered, "because I wanted to watch something else." So I replied, "but I was watching it. Don't you think you should have asked if I minded if you changed it?" She replied, "No, I was here first, so it is my choice what channel is on." We went back and forth on this way too long, with me suggesting the considerate thing would have been to ask me before changing channels, her telling me I was too sensitive, and so on. Eventually in frustration she threw the remote control at me and told me if it was that important to me that I should change it back.
At this point I had had enough of this argument, and I decided to ignore her and just concentrate on the Stairmaster. She came back with, "Oh, so you didn't really care about the program, you just wanted to start a fight." I admitted that I was more upset about the principle of not being asked, not wanting to admit that I really just wanted to resume gawking at the pretty newscaster.
Well, now she was really angry at me. She jumped off her Stairmaster, went over to mine, and pushed me off it! She started wrestling me on the floor! I am much taller and heavier than she, but I was totally unprepared for this, and I started asking her to cut it out. I guess I did this in kind of a whining way, and it encouraged her even more. "You're such a little girl," she spat at me. And with that she quickly pulled down my shorts, past my feet, and ran with them into the women's locker room.
I looked around the gym. Fortunately, everyone else had gone. I knocked on the door to the women's locker room. "Give me back my shorts," I cried, in less than my normally masculine voice. The voice from inside the locker room replied, "You want them? Then come in and get them. If you're man enough, that is."
So I opened the door to the women's locker room. Just as I did, I saw her put my shorts into her locker, and snap the lock.
"If you want these shorts back, you need to be punished first for the way you talked to me before. You were insulting. And you obviously don't appreciate who you're dealing with."
Now, I was not insulting. I was a perfect gentleman - she was the one who was less than considerate. But she did have my shorts, and I had nothing else to go home in. So I sheepishly agreed.
She pushed me into the shower room, facing me against a wall. She had a huge gym bag on the floor near her. What could she possibly need with such a big bag? I soon found out. She quickly produced two straps that she buckled on my wrists, and she connected the buckles to the wall with a chain. My wrists were about shoulder height, a little further apart than the width of my shoulders. Not uncomfortable, but I was shackled. The wrists were far enough apart that neither hand could unbuckle the other, and the chain was such so that I could not reach the wall to uncouple it. She had me. What kind of woman carried that sort of thing around with her?
She stepped to the side of me to gloat over her captive. I took the time to admire her. She was short, maybe 5'4". She had shoulder length blonde hair, with dark roots. An OK face, but as I said she was sexy more than pretty. Small breasts and a small waist, encased in a colorful tight spandex gym outfit. Good legs. She was obviously in excellent shape, and an imposing figure despite her lack of height.
She said her name was Angel. "You may call me Mistress Angel. You may say, 'Yes, Mistress Angel' or 'No, Mistress Angel', and you will not speak unless I ask you a question. You will also not look me in the face unless I give you permission. Is that clear, little girl?"
"Yes, Mistress Angel," I softly answered.
"You are nothing but a little girl," she told me. "You whine and complain and you argue over nothing. I am going to punish you like a little girl," she scolded me.
And with that she stood behind me, and started spanking me with her bare hand, through my undershorts. At first the spanks didn't hurt, but they got harder and harder and they were having an effect on me. Suddenly she pulled down my undershorts, and started spanking me on my bare skin. The spanks were really hard now. But she would alternate gently fondling my ass or my balls, and then spanking me hard. Her fondling was making me moan, but each was short-lived and followed by a spank. She reached into her bag and pulled something out. Now she was spanking me with some sort of paddle from her bag. I was determined not to cry out, but tears were forming in my eyes.
Then she stopped. "Would you like to feel your Mistress's breasts on your ass, little girl?" This was an unexpected question, but I decided I might as well enjoy it. "Yes, Mistress Angel," I said. "Then don't you dare turn your head, little girl," she warned. I could hear her removing her clothes. Then she was rubbing herself on me. She rubbed her soft breasts against my red ass, and she rubbed her crotch against it too. "How does that feel, little girl," she asked me. "Wonderful, Mistress," I answered. "Then thank your mistress," she commanded, and I did.
She tired of that and asked me, "Would you like to look at your Mistress's body? Do you think you are worthy? Are you a worthy little girl, or a worthy slut?" Now there was a tough question. This reminded me of "Have you stopped beating your wife?" - there is no good answer. But I was really starting to hate this 'little girl' stuff, so I decided to go with, "I am a worthy slut, Mistress."
"I thought so," she sneered at me. I am going to unhook you from the wall. But don't turn around until I tell you."
She unhooked me, and I shook my wrists to get a little of the blood circulating in them again. Meanwhile she took a wrist, jerked it behind my back, and snapped a handcuff on it. She repeated the process on my other hand. I tested the handcuffs, and once again, she had me. Then she said, "OK, my little slut, you may look at my body now."
I turned around. She had a perfect pair of breasts. Small, but wonderfully firm and round. A tiny waist, as I had known when she was clothed. And a shaved pussy. She was extremely sexy. And she had a light coating of perspiration from her earlier exercise, and from spanking me.
"Do you like what you see, my little slut?" she asked me. "Oh yes, Mistress," I replied, certainly being truthful. "Then thank your mistress," she commanded, and I did.
"But you don't look like my little slut," she smiled. She made me sit down on a chair near the sink. She produced a pair of scissors, and she cut off my tee-shirt. She untied my sneakers, and removed them and my socks. Then she slid a pair of white lacy, thigh high stockings up my legs. "Do they feel nice, my little slut?" I admitted they did. "You know, I make most of my little sluts shave their legs. Maybe I should do that to you."
I shuddered at the thought, wondering how I would explain that at home. She smiled, understanding how easily she could scare me.
She made me stand, put a white lacy garter belt around my waist, and attached the tabs to the stockings. She knelt down to do that, and her face was near my cock, but obviously she was not going to pleasure me like that. She put a bra around my chest. It was not padded and it gave me no bust, but she liked the look and humiliation of it anyway. She squeezed one of my nipples.
I let out a scream. That really hurt! She smiled, pleased she had found one of my weak spots and recognizing the tremendous power she had over me.
"You are looking more and more like my little slut, aren't you?" she humiliated me. "Yes, Mistress Angel," was all I could reply. She pulled out a pair of high heels, obviously not her size, and made me step into them. A little too small, but I managed to cram my feet into them somehow.
She pushed me back into the chair. She reached into her gym bag and pulled out a smaller bag. She opened that up and started pouring things out on the sink. This was her makeup bag, and the intended use was pretty obvious.
She pulled my chair, with me still in it and handcuffed behind me, close to the sink. Then she sat on my lap, as she began applying a liquid makeup all over my face with a sponge. "Don't you love how this feels, my little slut?" she asked me. The sponge did feel soft and relaxing, I admitted. She smiled, all knowing. I was totally in her erotic power.
She examined my face and ran her fingers over my eyebrows. "You know, I make most of my sluts pluck their eyebrows." I winced, both at the pain that must involve, and at the thought of how I would explain that one at home.
She applied mascara to my lashes, commenting that sluts like me always seem to have long eyelashes, and that mascara would make them even prettier. She had me look right at the midpoint between her breasts as she did this, so that she got just the right angle on my lashes, and so that I was aroused even more. She did my eyeshadow and eye liner in what truly was a slutty blue, something no woman would really wear - unless she was a slut!
She must have used several shades of blush, but the feel of the brush was quite erotic. She casually turned my face from left to right to check that she had colored my cheeks evenly, as if I were simply her plaything. Which I was.
She examined several lipsticks, looking at the names on the tubes, unscrewing them and considering the shades, and then repeating the process until she had examined her entire lipstick collection. She settled on a deep purple. She made me open my lips seductively as she slowly stroked the bold color on my lips, over and over until my lips were coated with the color. She told me that sluts always have big lips, and that she was making mine bigger than my normal size. I was looking deeply into her eyes as she did this, seeing the obviously gleam. There was no doubt that she was enjoying this, enjoying my humiliation. I found this particular moment deeply arousing, bound by the handcuffs and with Mistress Angel sitting on my lap as she calmly applied lipstick to me. I shifted slightly, as she had been sitting on my growing erection, and she laughed when she realized the effect she was having on me.
She finished my makeup with some lip gloss, and reached once again in the gym bag and pulled out a long flowing red wig. She combed the wig with a brush and placed it on my head. Then, still handcuffed, she invited me to stand up and look at myself in the mirror. "NOW, you look like my little slut," she informed me. "Do you feel like my little slut?"
I examined the image, and SHE WAS RIGHT! A mane of long, straight, bright red hair. Too much of every kind of makeup, from eyelashes that were over-mascaraed, too bright eyeshadow and too thick eye liner, blusher that was way too obvious, and some garish, glossy purple lips. My body was unshaven, but it sported a bra, a garter belt, stockings and heels. My erection stood out in contrast to the feminine touches, as Mistress had not given me panties.
She would not move on until I admitted, "Yes, Mistress, I feel like your little slut." How humiliating!
Then Mistress Angel reached into her gym bag and pulled out a double dildo. She slowly inserted one end into herself, and wiggled around until it was where she wanted it. I tensed up immediately. I have a tremendous fear of being penetrated anally, and, being still handcuffed behind me, I would have no ability to resist if that were Mistress's plan.
But Mistress sat down on the chair, spread her legs, and told me to get on my knees and kneel between her legs, facing her. And, facing the part of her dildo that was extending outward - right at my face.
"Is my little slut worthy of sucking this dildo, like a good little slut?" she asked me. I was tempted to say "No", but I was afraid that might lead to a worse result. So I reluctantly shook my head "Yes". Mistress pushed my head to the dildo, and I took a tiny bit into my mouth.
It was made of a smooth rubber and didn't feel half bad. The humiliation of the experience was very erotic, and I took a little more, and started sucking in and out. Meanwhile, the half of the dildo that had been inside Mistress was also moving in and out of her from my movements. I increased my tempo, and Mistress guided my head to the rhythm and the length of movement that she wanted. She kept reminding me that there I was, her little slut, doing what little sluts are supposed to be doing. After what seemed like many minutes of my sucking, she started to shudder, and she obviously came. As she quieted her movements down, she allowed me to remove my mouth from the dildo. She then removed the portion from herself, and examined my half for the lipstick prints. And she made a big deal of showing me MY lipstick marks that were all over the dildo.
"You may thank your mistress," she said. Of course, I did.
Then for the first time in quite a while, she removed my handcuffs. She gave me a bottle of hand lotion, and told me that she wanted to see me play with myself. She explained that this was for her pleasure not mine, and we sat opposite each other. She lazily inserted her dildo inside her some more, as she watched me stroke myself. I got myself good and slippery from the lotion, watched her gorgeous body, remembered some of the humiliating things she had put me through, and I came.
She invited me to take a shower to wash the makeup off. She took the wig and the female clothes she had given me. I stepped in one shower stall while she stepped in another. I took my time, thinking I had better do a good job on my face. When I was done, I stepped out of the shower, and there were my gym shorts. But Mistress Angel was gone.