Donna Queen

A Special Treat for Donna: Part 3

July 30, 2018 By Donna Queen 6 Comments

Click here for Part 1

Click here for Part 2

As we sat back and languidly sipped our drinks, a series of attractive young men summoned the courage to approach and ask to join us. Madame had the ones she approved sit close to me so I could go to work on them. This was my night to be a bad girl without fear of provoking Madame. I had full permission to flirt and tease to my lascivious heart’s content. I whispered dirty thoughts, nibbled earlobes, softly stroked inner forearms with my nails, unbuttoned shirts, and lay my hand on crotches. I loved exercising the almost magical power to raise erections at will. I found it thrilling and wildly stimulating. Madame fully intended for me to respond as such, of course. She wanted me white hot with lust when it finally came time to beckon Nick into our lair.

I found myself particularly taken with a pint-size cutie pie sporting thick, shiny, black waves, dazzling white teeth, luscious lips, and huge, soulful brown eyes with mile-long lashes. Although I generally preferred big men (being quite a big girl myself), I occasionally found myself fancying a certain muscular, banty rooster type, and he surely fit the bill. He had the body of a flyweight wrestler or maybe a gymnast, and displayed a razor-sharp wit and intellect. He said he was a Harvard junior, and I had no reason to disbelieve him. Not to traffic in stereotypes, but I felt pretty sure he was Jewish. He could have been Greek, I suppose. It hardly mattered.

I started to make out with him (those lips!), but pulled back after Madame cautioned me not to ruin my expensive makeover. We whispered lewdly and openly groped, oblivious to the surrounding mass of people. He slid a hand up my dress and attempted to take hold of my stirring cock. I quickly yanked his hand away, gave it a slap, and said, “Thank you, honey, but we’re done now.”

He regrouped and attempted one more approach, but Madame stepped between us, took tight hold of his upper arm, pulled him up to a standing position, and with her patented, dagger-eyes she said between clenched teeth,“You are dismissed.” The cute boy shook himself loose and vanished into the shadows. Madame and I erupted in peals of raucous, terribly unladylike laughter. We can be such awful bitches!

Shortly before midnight, Madame announced that it was time to go. She phoned Nick, and by the time we retrieved our coats and exited the club, the limo was there waiting. We rode home behind the privacy glass, holding hands, kissing, and giggling just as we had at the beginning of the evening.

Upon arriving home, each of us took an arm and escorted Nick up to our dual-purpose Play/Discipline Room. The Play/Discipline Room was large, opulently furnished, and amply equipped for all sorts of erotic fun, as well as for the administration of the most serious of disciplinary action. Madame had Nick remove his uniform, put on a warm silk robe, and sit down on the comfiest chair in the room. I brought him a cold beer in a frozen mug.

While Nick waited and sipped his beer, Madame took me to an adjacent dressing room where she freshened my makeup, strategically perfumed me, and dressed me in my laciest, frilliest corset, with thong, fully fashioned silk stockings, and strappy sandals with 5” heels, all in a matching deep purple. Madame also took a few minutes to completely lube and stretch my ass in anticipation of the fucking to come.

Madame brought me out and had me model my outfit for Nick. She then instructed me to stretch out seductively on one of the beds. Nick removed his robe and joined me, his cock already fully erect. He gazed at me with his gorgeous brown eyes and began to kiss me passionately. I ran my hands all up and down his smooth, powerfully muscled, young body until I settled on his beautiful straining erection. I took his shaft into my mouth and started sucking. His cock was smooth, sleek, and delicious. As I sucked, Madame gave my ass an occasional hard slap. These slaps were friendly and sensual, not punitive, and gave me a much different sensation. My cock hardened as my pleasure grew.

After several minutes of intense foreplay, Nick was ready and so was I. I rolled a condom over his dick and lay back to take him between my widespread thighs. Before Nick could get himself into position, however, Madame ordered him to stop. She had been sitting in a chair alongside the bed, watching intently and masturbating.

“Nick, before I permit you to have Donna, I want you to fuck me for a few minutes.” I looked at her in startled puzzlement. She explained, “Donna, I have allowed you to fuck me and cum inside me on many occasions. That is the ultimate intimacy and it is an indispensable part of our lovemaking. Now I wish to reciprocate. By penetrating my pussy before he fucks you, Nick will serve as a living vessel to place my juices inside you, as you have placed yours inside me. This will complete our circle of intimacy and seal our love as never before.”

“But Madame,” I queried. “Couldn’t you accomplish the same yourself using a dildo?”

“My precious one,” she replied. “A dildo is nothing but cold, inanimate plastic. Nick is a warm, living, breathing human being. I need you to feel the heat and pulsating vitality of living flesh deep inside you as my most, intimate essence is transmitted to your most intimate recesses.” As Madame spoke these words my heart swelled with ever-growing adoration. This special ritual was to remain a constant feature of all our future stud service sessions.

Nick mounted Madame in the missionary posture, thrust his swollen dick into Madame’s dripping cunt, and fucked her vigorously for several minutes, as I watched and enjoyed Madame’s forceful pelvic counterthrusts, rhythmic breathing, and delicate, girlish moans. She ordered Nick to pull out and he turned his full attention to me.

I lay back as I had before and opened my legs to welcome Nick into my warm, moist cave. Nick eagerly accepted my invitation and proceeded to fuck me with the same intensity as he had fucked Madame. Unlike Madame, I am exceptionally noisy during sex, and soon I was letting fly all manner of full-throated vocalizations, including some odd spoken phrases I had never uttered before and will likely never utter again. I can’t recall exactly what I said, but Madame was amused, as always.

Nick took me doggy-style for a time, and then we moved to the spooning position. As Nick continued to drive into me, Madame kissed and licked me, pinched my nipples, and stroked my cock. Within a few minutes I burst forth all over Madame’s belly, which she had strategically positioned for me to cum on. Shortly thereafter, Nick approached a shuddering climax. Following Madame’s instructions, Nick withdraw his cock from me and he, too, rained his thick cum across the full, golden expanse of Madame’s smooth, tanned belly. When it was done, I hungrily licked Madame clean of our blended ejaculate.

Madame and I were too exhausted to escort Nick to the door, so we both kissed him tenderly, and sent him on his way with another cold beer for him to enjoy when he got home. After Nick left, she took me by the hand and silently led me up the stairs and into our bedroom. She picked up a wooden hairbrush from her vanity and sat down in an armless accent chair which she kept in our room for one purpose. I knew what was in store. I had been indulged quite enough tonight, and it was time for me to be forcibly reminded of my place as Madame’s obedient bitch. I knelt and kissed Madame’s feet, then stood and draped my torso over Madame’s warm, ample thighs, where I awaited that which I both feared and craved.

“You are a cheap, dirty little whore, do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What are you, bitch?”

“I’m a cheap, dirty little whore, ma’am.”

“That’s right, you filthy cunt. But you’re my cheap, dirty little whore, you shameless cocksucker, you wanton anal slut, and don’t you ever forget it! I may have allowed you to behave badly tonight, but bad behavior never goes unpunished in my house. There will always be a price to pay, and you are about to pay it. In full”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for all that you do for me.”

Madame began with just a few light slaps with her open hand, and then steadily increased the force of her blows. I yelped and softly moaned as she spanked my well-fucked ass harder and harder, faster and faster. She paused for a moment, gently stroked my flaming cheeks and inspected her handiwork. She pried open my ass cheeks, roughly jammed two fingers inside me, and pulled at and stretched my sore sphincter to remind me of what a nasty anal slut I was. Madame then picked up the hairbrush and resumed paddling me with the flat wooden back of the implement. Each smack hurt more than the last, but left me aching for more. Receiving Madame’s harshest discipline was my greatest joy.

When Madame finally finished, she had me stand up and display my stinging bottom to her. She rubbed some cooling lotion into my inflamed skin. I examined my ass in the mirror and admired the beautiful pink color she had lovingly brought forth, along with just a touch of purple bruising on each cheek. I was proud to bear my Mistress’s marks and wished I could show them to the world so all would know I belonged to Madame and no one else.

Now thoroughly spent, we barely managed to grope our way to our bed before we collapsed into a tangled, snoring heap. Another perfect night together.

About the Author

In the early to mid-2000s, Donna Queen enjoyed a brief, unexpected, but memorable career as an amateur transgender porn star, with a devoted worldwide following. She is now fully transitioned and happily married to a wonderful woman, and is no longer active in the porn scene, although her pictures and videos remain widely distributed and she often receives fan requests for new material. While she no longer makes visual porn, Donna is a gifted writer of fiction in multiple genres, including BDSM erotica. While Donna writes primarily from her own perspective as a lifelong submissive, she also demonstrates a sure grasp of the dominant’s point of view. Although her work is first and foremost powerfully erotic, Donna strives to create fully realized and authentically human characters, and her stories always reflect her loving, generous spirit and delightfully wicked sense of humor.

A Special Treat for Donna: Part 2

July 23, 2018 By Donna Queen 6 Comments

Click here to read Part 1

Madame went to her email to comb through the dozens of responses she had received. The large majority were complete duds, of course. Some with no pics at all, some offering nothing but tiresome dick pics, or worst of all, those hairy waist-down panty boys. Yuck. There were also the usual functional illiterates for whom spelling and punctuation appear to be irrelevancies.

Among the first cut we noted several who were very cute and wrote charming introductions, but one in particular stopped us dead in our tracks. It was Nick, a limousine driver whom Madame had fired for behaving inappropriately with me (it wasn’t his fault, as I had initiated the contact and aggressively pressed the issue). He was more gorgeous than ever, and even Madame could not fail to have been moved by the heartfelt apology and plea for forgiveness in his accompanying email. And Madame was indeed moved. “You want him, don’t you, baby?” I nodded my affirmation. “Then we shall have him.” Madame stroked my cheek and kissed my forehead. I tingled from head to toe.

In a flurry of emails, instant messages, and cell phone calls, Madame made all the arrangements for a Friday night assignation with Nick. He was to arrive in his limo, in uniform, and drive the two of us to the restaurants and clubs we’d selected for that evening, just like on a regular job. We wanted to make him wait an excruciatingly long time before he’d get to lay a finger on us.

The wait through the week was excruciatingly long for me as well. In my excitement I became even more absent-minded than usual, which is saying a lot. I have more than a touch of ADHD and it is only through Madame’s discipline that I have learned to manage it with any consistent degree of success. Madame was kind and indulgent through much of the week, but by Thursday afternoon I was bouncing off the walls, and Madame, who was working at home that day, decided it was time to reel me back in before I went utterly bonkers.

The breaking point came when I suddenly burst into her study, unannounced, dumped a heap of dresses on a sofa and loudly announced, “Madame, I just cannot decide what to wear tomorrow evening! Why can’t I ever make up my mind? Will you please help me choose?” The juvenile Hayley Mills could have played Donna in this movie. A split second after the last word exited my lips I knew I’d crossed the Rubicon. The skies darkened and I heard the not-so-distant rumbling.

“Donna, dear,” she said with ominous impassivity. Her volume and projection rose steadily as she spoke. “Do you see what I’m doing here? Do you see? Look and think about it for a moment. That’s right, Donna. I AM WORKING!!!!! I have been working ALL DAY on a project that I have been working on ALL FUCKING WEEK! I am not finished with it and I have to meet a FUCKING DEADLINE tomorrow morning so I can be free to give my spoiled, little brat a special gift that I’m beginning to think she doesn’t deserve and NEVER WILL!” I wanted to burrow under a rock and curl up like a potato bug.

“I want you in the kitchen in five minutes. Naked, except for those pink strappy pumps of yours. The ones with the 6” heels you hate because they hurt your toes and make you feel awkward and clumsy. Go. Now. But not without putting those stupid dresses away and OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

In a hair under five minutes I arrived in the kitchen, naked and tottering on those outlandish pumps. Madame ordered me to lean on the cold granite of the center island and spread my legs apart. She went to the refrigerator and filled a small dish with ice wedges from the automatic dispenser. She pried my ass cheeks open and without any preliminary stretching she inserted a wedge into my anus. Another. Then another. Five in all. I had never felt anything quite like it. I quickly developed what I could only describe as a sort of anal brain freeze. The dull ache soon radiated throughout my pelvic region. Madame forced my legs back together and spanked me for a minute or so with a steel spatula. When the spanking was done she dug her nails into both cheeks, leaving behind her trademark ten of those familiar pink concave crescents.

“Down on your knees, cunt.” I complied. Madame turned her back to me, lifted up her skirt, and presented her wide ass to my face. “You know what to do.” I thrust my face into the deep crevice dividing Madame’s glorious rump and started licking enthusiastically. Steadying herself with one hand on the island, Madame picked up her favorite vibrator with a clitoral stimulator, and began to masturbate with it as I licked. Madame must have been extremely aroused, as she came quickly and very noisily. I could feel the spasms coursing through her whole body, her ass cheeks contracting and squeezing my face. When her shaking and shuddering finally subsided, Madame handed the vibrator to me to be thoroughly washed and put away.

“Donna, you are to remain naked and wearing those shoes for the rest of the day. You will not sit unless and until I grant you leave to do so. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I spent the remainder of the afternoon dusting, vacuuming, scrubbing the kitchen and bathrooms, and preparing the evening meal. Madame periodically checked my work. If satisfied, she would give me a sweet smile and a kiss on the lips. If not, then a slap, a bite, and/or a pinch. I had the feeling she’d turned down the heat to keep me acutely aware of my nakedness. I rubbed my arms and shivered. My nipples contracted and stayed shriveled and taut for hours. By nightfall I was frozen stiff and my toes were crushed and numb. Madame wrapped me in a blanket, lay me down on the bed, took my shoes off, and kissed and massaged my aching toes. She filled the master bathroom with scented candles, drew a hot bubble bath, and left me to luxuriate for a full hour. She returned to towel me off, apply moisturizer, and put me in my coziest pajamas and robe. A cup of hot chamomile and half a chick flick later, I was comfortably asleep in Madame’s arms.

Having completed her project Thursday night without further Donna-related disturbances, Madame was free to take Friday off and give me a full “day of beauty” in preparation for the evening’s fun. All spankings, paddlings, whippings, etc. were suspended for the day, to ensure that my bottom remained smooth and inviting for Nick. Before we left the house, Madame filled a small flask with her strong, bright yellow morning pee, which she carried in her purse through the day. Anytime I embarrassed or irritated her, she would have me take a sip as a pungent symbol of her firm possession and unyielding control. She pee-spiked all my drinks that day as well, from my morning orange juice through the evening’s cocktails. I confess that I rather liked receiving these reminders. I had to suppress the occasional urge to misbehave just so I could enjoy another taste of Madame’s delightful essence.

Manicure, pedicure, massage, facial, waxing, hairstyling, and makeover – Madame treated us to the works, and when we were done I felt positively gorgeous. Male heads practically spun off their heads as we two beauties sauntered by. More than a few women registered comparable reactions. Nick didn’t stand a chance. No one did.

At 6 p.m. sharp Nick’s limousine pulled into the driveway. Madame and I had each put away several glasses of white wine while we were dressing. I chose a scandalously short, sparkly cocktail dress in teal, cut on the bias to emphasize my long , perfectly shaped, tanned, smooth legs. With my tan I needed no hose, and I love the feeling of my legs being freshly shaved and bare, so I selected my favorite open-toed, 3 1/2 inch strappy sandals. Madame went for a more understated mature look, selecting a tight, sequined, low-cut number in French blue, emphasizing her ample curves and deep cleavage. Primped and perfumed, decked out in some of Madame’s most expensive bling, we two girls were locked and loaded for bear.We were the hottest thing going and we both knew it. We entered the limo and Madame brusquely gave Nick our first destination. She ordered him to raise the privacy glass. Nick was to be just another generic limo driver until Madame was good and ready to relieve him of his duties. We rode to the restaurant kissing, holding hands, and giggling all the way. As long as no one else was close enough to hear, tonight I was free to address Madame by her real name. This was a rare privilege, and each utterance gave me the sweetest frisson. Truly a night to remember.

Dinner was lovely, as always. I’m a hopeless shellfish addict, and as she has done many times before, Madame filled me with all the clams, oysters, shrimp, and lobster I could stuff into my greedy mouth. I was allowed to get mildly tiddly on two Scotches and half a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, with each glass receiving but a single, teensy droplet of Madame’s precious golden cordial.

On the way to the dance club we let poor, famished Nick hit the Wendy’s drive-thru for a burger and large fries. He was going to need plenty of fuel to get him through the night we had planned for him. Nick dropped us at the dance club and went off to park and await Madame’s call for him to return.

The dance club was loud, cavernous, and crammed full of milling, young people – some openly ebullient, others standing about, diffidently nursing their drinks and feigning deep boredom. As far as we could see, Madame and I were the eldest patrons there, by a significant margin. It proved no disadvantage.

The imposingly beautiful, middle-aged, blonde BBW bombshell, and her leggy, lissome, equally middle-aged, tranny companion with red, bee-stung lips and big, brown eyes were magnets for attention. While the men hovered from a safe distance trying not to be obvious, the women had no compunctions about showing their interest. The girls repeatedly pulled us both out onto the dance floor, and we all slithered and swayed seductively to the subwoofers’ rumbling pulse. Several bold young women openly suggested that we “get together” after hours. Alas, Madame and I had other plans.

Whenever we overheated from dancing we would retire to the bar, where Madame had a reserved table. Madame ordered oysters for us both, and I was granted the privilege of two more generously poured scotches on crushed ice, each, of course, enhanced with the barest hint of Madame’s well-guarded, secret flavoring agent. I was having a perfectly fabulous time.

Click here for Part 3

About the Author

A Special Treat for Donna: Part 1

July 16, 2018 By Donna Queen 4 Comments

I’d been a tad naughty during our evening on the town. I drank too much Scotch and allowed my libido to slip its leash – sidling up to good-looking men, breathily whispering coy suggestions into their ears, brushing my fingers across their bulging crotches. I eventually depleted Madame’s store of tolerance and she brought things to an abrupt halt, employing one of her preferred and rather effective control techniques – slipping her hand up my dress and under my panties and digging her well-honed fingernails deep into my vulnerable cheeks. She snatched my glass of high-end blended Scotch on the rocks, brought it under her skirt, discreetly topped it off with a generous splash of her pungent pee, and handed it back to me with a stony stare.

“Drink up, you trashy little cunt. Why do you persist in publicly embarrassing me like this? Does anything I teach you ever take hold in your cluttered brain? Yet another disgraceful performance, Donna.” Madame sighed and shook her head in disgust. I lowered my eyes abjectly and drank up as ordered.

Following a long, icily silent ride home, I received a sound over-the-knee paddling and, a rough session with the strapon, wrists tightly bound, clothespins on my nipples, and a large butt plug crammed in my mouth. I gagged and let it pop out once. For this lapse in control I was administered several sharp swats with the flogger on my legs and back. Madame presently emptied her reservoir of anger and frustration, and all was well again. She hugged me tight, kissed away my tears, and we settled in for another sweet night of cuddling and tender lovemaking. Madame loves me boundlessly, and it is from her abiding love that she provides me with the rigid structure and heavy discipline so essential to my well-being. She is harsh, sometimes even cruel, and she does not hesitate to unleash the full physical and emotional force of her anger on me when duly provoked. Nevertheless, Madame’s volcanic wrath is always carefully channeled towards maximizing my happiness and personal fulfillment. I am a better, more successful person for having unreservedly yielded to my beautiful Mistress’s superior wisdom and unique power.

“Donna, I sense that you’re getting one of your periodic itches for male attention. It couldn’t have been more obvious last night,” Madame said over breakfast the next morning, her head cocked and eyebrows raised. “We need to address this with prompt and decisive action.” I began to sweat and tremble in anticipation of the fearsome array of disciplinary measures that lay ahead. It seemed to me that I’d been more than adequately punished the night before. But who was I to challenge Madame’s judgment in these matters? I recalled my inferior station and kept mute.

Madame tossed her head back and whooped with laughter at her successful jest. “You are too funny, Donna! You thought I was going to put you through another series of punishments, didn’t you? Relax, honey. You weren’t that naughty last night. You certainly pissed me off, but I’m long past it by now,” she said, her warm eyes twinkling with love. “I’ve elected to pursue a softer approach to the problem that I know you’re going to like. There’s no denying that you derive great pleasure from being taken by handsome men, and it hasn’t escaped my notice that you’re much easier to manage when you’ve had a recent healthy dose of cock. From now on I’d like to keep you regularly serviced by quality studs. I think it will make both of our lives easier by preventing future recurrences of last night’s fiasco. You already give me more than enough reasons to spank you. I’d like to keep it down to no more than two or three good thrashings daily so I don’t wear out my right arm and lose all the feeling in my hand,” Madame said with a chuckle and a sly wink. “But don’t get the idea that you’re going to dodge the open palm, lash, and paddle altogether, Missy! You need constant reinforcement and the occasional bite. A dig in the ass or a swig of my piss (I happen to know you love Madame’s tasty tinkle, anyway) will be nowhere near enough to keep a spirited little bitch like you in line.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! My beloved Madame was going to bring me all the choice studs I could ever want! I felt more loved than ever before. She really would do anything to keep me happy. What a wonderful gift!

“By the way,” she added, in a conspiratorial sotto voce. “I’ve been known to partake of the opposite sex myself on occasion. This is going to be great fun for both of us.”

Could it get any better than this? I could have done the happy dance right then and there, but Madame would have frowned upon such an undignified display. This wasn’t the time to push my luck.

“I have an important meeting at my office this morning, so I’ll be going now. I expect this house to be spotless and in perfect order when I return tonight,” said Madame, abruptly shifting conversational gears. Dressed for business, leather briefcase in hand, my loving Mistress whisked herself out the door, got into her cherry red BMW M3 convertible with camel top and interior, and roared out of the driveway. Taking careful note of the time, I quickly set to my chores. One day I’ll finally get it completely right and maybe just once the storm clouds won’t gather the instant I greet Madame at the door.

By 7 p.m. I had completed my long list of household tasks to what I dearly hoped would be to Madame’s satisfaction, and had a scrumptious dinner on the table, hot and ready for her imminent return. Madame had the uncanny ability to arrive home on the hour and this night her record remained intact. I rushed to open the front door for her, giddy with excitement, for I had missed her terribly all day. Madame entered, scanned the foyer, then turned to face me. My broad smile collapsed and my heart sank. The black clouds rolled in and a cold wind whipped up.

“I’m beginning to think you’re hopeless, Donna. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that you couldn’t be bothered to dust the tops of the paintings? I’ve been patiently watching and waiting since Monday and here it is, the end of my hard work week and the place still looks like hell. Is that a greasy fingerprint I see in the corner of that mirror over there? I’m growing weary of living in this pigsty.” Madame threw her jacket and briefcase on the floor before my feet. I squatted down to pick them up and put them where they belong, but before doing so I kissed and licked the toes of Madame’s black leather, daytime pumps. I removed her things to their proper places, and returned to the foyer where Madame stood waiting with furrowed brow and folded arms.

“Turn around and pull up your skirt.” I obeyed. Madame reached into the drawer of a table that sat against the wall, and pulled out a highly polished, old wooden paddleball racket, which had been drilled with dozens of small holes to reduce wind resistance. Neither of us played the game; Madame had found a better use for the implement. She yanked down my panties and let loose with twenty forceful smacks. Madame meant business; she set my compact little ass aflame in a blast of unmitigated ire. I bit my lip and stifled my pitiful cries, but nothing could hold back my tearful deluge.

Under other circumstances Madame would undoubtedly have punished me further, but corporal discipline is hard physical work, and she’d had a long, exhausting day. I was sufficiently contrite, anyhow, so it wouldn’t have been worth the extra effort. Madame willed away her seething displeasure and we enjoyed a cheerfully animated meal together. We fell asleep in one another’s arms watching mindless, forgettable reality shows.

We awoke to a glorious October Saturday, both of us overflowing with productive energy. Madame and I began the day cruising the yard sales and just plain joyriding in the M3 with the top down. Once I relaxed too much, let my attention flag and my wig flew off in the wind, bounced off the windshield of a trailing vehicle and landed atop a roadside rhododendron. For a moment, I expected Madame to march me into the woods, cut a switch, and whip my still tender bottom for having almost ruined such a fine and costly gift. Instead she simply howled with laughter at my comical dishevelment. Madame had a weakness for cute slapstick (No, she did not like the Three Stooges). I restyled my hair, this time tightly tied it down with a scarf, and off we sped, unable to contain our hilarity for more than a few minutes at a time. Throughout the afternoon we’d look at each other and suddenly erupt in giggly fits in front of puzzled onlookers. We were like a couple of 12-year-old girls trying desperately not to blurt out a riotous secret about a classmate.

Back home, we plunged into yard work – trimming, digging, planting, mowing, etc. It was a sweaty, gratifying afternoon. Madame relaxes her disciplinary regime somewhat on nice weekends, and this day was no exception. She never lets me off the hook altogether, however. At one point, I took an overlong bathroom break, and upon my belated return Madame gave me the “look.” Needing no spoken order, I dropped my dirty jeans and accepted several cursory swats with the back of a garden trowel. I was glad it didn’t happen on a weekday.

We dined on lobster and littlenecks, drank two bottles of wine, revisited the high points of our idyllic day, and retired to our favorite plush sofa. Madame opened her laptop, rubbed her palms together, and said, “Let’s find us a hottie!”

Madame had already laid the groundwork by advertising the two of us in a Craigslist personal. The posting was accompanied by several enticing photos with our privates concealed by black bars, so as to comply with CL terms of service. Madame respected the rules of others to the same strict degree that she expected others to observe hers. The ad offered the promise of unredacted images for those who responded with face pictures of their own.

I was a good cheesecake model and Madame, a naturally skilled photographer who also loved and understood my body, had created a nice portfolio of me in a variety of “come hither” poses prominently displaying my long, shapely legs, sweet cock, and irresistible, pink anus. We’d posted many of these pictures on adult photo sharing sites, and they’d proven remarkably effective at drawing in hordes of panting males begging for a chance to fuck my tight, little hole, and slide their rigid dicks through my soft, full, red lips. I became an overnight transgender porn star, to my everlasting astonishment. Madame had her own extensive fan base, of course. There are women who assume the “BBW” designation who, while indisputably big and indisputably a woman, don’t truly merit the “B” that stands for “beautiful.” No one, however, had a stronger claim to that all-important second “B” than Madame. She was flat-out, eye-poppingly gorgeous, and had devoted admirers all over the world furiously wanking to her images and hoping against hope for even a fleeting moment in her stunning presence. We had a surprising amount of fan overlap, as well. There’s a certain breed of man that loves sexy tgirls and BBWs with equal ardor. A fascinating phenomenon that defies adequate explanation, but we saw no need to overanalyze. Together we formed an extraordinary, compelling, erotic team. They couldn’t get enough of us and oh, how we loved it!

Click here for Part 2

About the Author

Donna Queen

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