Date: Sat, 7 Dec 2019 21:59:36 +0100 From: cdme@workmail.com Subject: Grooming a Sissy to service dogs Part 1 (bestiality) This is a story - it is fiction, a work of fantasy. It is not meant to encourage or condone illegal activity. Learn how a young CD is groomed by a dominant woman to become the bitch for a pack of dogs ~~ Diane, the Mistress ~~ My husband Al and I had enjoyed a close friendship and an adventurous sex life, which ultimately involved him having our pack of dogs mount and knot with me frequently. I have to admit that I started down that avenue only to please him, but I had my doubts. Surprisingly I found it to be extremely erotic. Over the years I formed a special feeling towards my boys and them with me. They owned me. Sadly, Al passed away a few years back and it's just me and the dogs out on our 10 acre hobby farm. I was honestly getting to old and stiff to get down and service my boys, and most of them are too big and powerful for me to make love with. But my heart would weep when they would whine and yelp, their red tips exposed from their sheaths...they needed release, they needed a new bitch. Of course I would use my hands to stroke them and relieve them, which itself can be special bond, but it's not what they really need. They need to thrust and spray their seed into a submissive bitch and own her. They deserve that. I wanted to find a bitch for them, but I needed to be careful and find the right one. So I joined a kink website and setup a basic profile as a 62 year old Mistress seeking a female sub. I didn't think it would work, but it was worth a shot. I posted some pics of myself, a few facts about me and my interest and outlook in developing a submissive. I didn't mention dogs or bestiality or even allude to it. Aside from being illegal and a violation of the website's policies, I didn't want to advertise that and attract of the many chronic kink adventurers and voyeurs (and the baggage they often carry) that plagued the site. I wanted to find a "nice girl" to service my boys. ~~ Tina, the CrossDresser ~~ At 27, I was in a pretty good place in my life - but I was secretly tormented. I was married to a beautiful woman and friend, we both worked and made good money, we rented a nice townhouse, we had a good life. We had great sex - but I was tormented because I couldn't stop thinking about cock. After college I started to experiment with guys, on the downlow. It was just hit and run stuff, online hookups, rushed blowjobs in parks or rest stops. None of it was great, but it gave me what I needed, which was the inner glow, the satisfaction of pleasing "a real man". I had a thin body, a slight build and a very tiny dick. Privately I always considered myself as something less than a man in the virility sense. At work in the accounting department I got along fine with men and women, talked sports with the guys, went to the occasional lunch or happy hour. All normal. But inside I felt like I was so slight and diminutive. This was often confirmed during happy hours - when women with their flirty chat at the bar would talk past me to the other guys. So I stumbled through life and tried to discreetly manage my need to hookup and service men from time to time. It took a lot of work - in an anonymous online setting guys were such jerks and soooo obtuse! It was exhausting just trying to find a clean, discreet, non-creepy guy to suck off with no reciprocation required. It was awful. About a year ago I decided to give cross dressing a try. When I watched porn I preferred watching men and women together, and I'd feel the excitement of the woman. I am so jealous of their curvy bodies and sexy clothes and their ability to make men hard with just being in their presence. I wanted to be like them - and I knew that I had the body for it. My flat stomach, thin arms and long legs would look perfect in panties and high heels. I could shave all my body hair in 5 minutes and my flat chest could be enhanced with a padded bra. I thought I might attract a better grade of man if I presented as a thin, sexy woman. So I started cross dressing as a hobby. I had been cross dressing in private for about a year when I met Mistress Diane. ~~ Diane, the Mistress ~~ I met Tina on the kink website - she visited my profile, probably based on a location search, we had the same geographic area in our profiles. She left a nice comment on one of my pics. I thanked her - just to be polite because I really had no interest in men or CDs. We ended up exchanging a few pleasant emails, which was a wonderful change of pace. The email exchanges on the website tended to be brief, blunt and calculating, but this was far from that. After a few days we switched to kik so we could chat more easily and a sort of friendship blossomed. We talked about a lot of things, which started with cross dressing, kink and sex but then expanded into men, online dating, work, family and other mundane things. I was glad to have real "conversations" with someone that wasn't trying to "get" something from me and she seemed happy to just have a woman friend that wasn't judgmental about her situation and desires. Although I had no sexual interest in cross dressers, I also had nothing against them - she was a real person that was sharing a side of me that she couldn't share with her wife, parents or friends. I was glad to be her confidant and talk about men, and makeup and other things. I was glad to have a younger "sister" to give advice to. And I have to say, she had a hot, sexy look. She was very thin, which always helps, but wasn't bony or sinewy like a man. She had a soft-looking booty, long legs and a narrow waist which helped give her some curves. She appeared to be hairless and naturally very smooth. But I also felt sorry for the poor thing. She was living a double life, keeping secrets from her wife, and only dealing with cross dressing as a hobby. Her makeup was basic but nice, her cheap wig wasn't helping her much and I knew from chatting with her that EVERYTHING else would be a real problem for her. Her voice and speech patterns, her mannerisms, the fact that she couldn't walk in high heels - all of those thing mess with the fantasy that every man that wants a CD has. Men want the "Hollywood perfect" CD. Putting all of the elements together would take time and practice which she couldn't manage easily at home. I felt sorry for the poor thing, she lamented about how she just enjoyed pleasing men, even if they were old, ugly or out of shape. She just loved to be used but couldn't connect with an understanding guy. I began to wonder about her... ~~ Tina, the CrossDresser ~~ I lucked into finding a friend in Mistress Diane on the website. She was obviously intelligent, she wrote well and thoughtfully. Even when we were chatting it was clear that she was engaged and focused on me and whatever we were discussing. She seemed to sympathize, perhaps pity, my situation. Since I wasn't approaching her as a potential Domme or FWB for myself, our conversation was easy, and we didn't jump into or dwell on sex-talk. She understood how I connected my internal desires to provide sexual relief for "a real man", with my inner femininity. She understood how happy and even proud I was that my tiny dick and balls fit inside a woman's thong and would clearly demonstrate to any man that HE was Tarzan and I was the Jane. She understood my utter frustration with the fact the 80, 90 percent - perhaps All - of the men that had an interest in CDs were themselves gay (despite their claims of being st8/top-only). Most of them wanted to see, fondle and suck MY dick, which I found to be infuriating! I wanted to be seen as a female, taken and roughly used. Instead I had to deal with an inbox filled with requests for pics of my dick. Yuk. And Diane was easy to talk/chat with. I felt a sense of respect for her - her age, her experience, her willingness to listen and share with me. And I sensed that she saw me as a protege, or a pet project in some way. That feeling of a connection we were building seemed special. I found myself seeking out her opinion on mundane things, and basked in her attention, and the normalcy of it. One day when we were chatting she offered her advice on a particular nail polish for me to try. I replied to her in an agreeable way, probably something like "OK, I'll look for that one and give it a try". Her response, for the first time, seemed curt and it cut right through me: "I would appreciate it if you reply 'Yes Mistress' when I tell you to do something, you should show me that modicum of respect, shouldn't you?" The words stared at me on the screen. Had I offended her? I didn't want to be disrespectful or take her friendship for granted. I gulped and typed my reply. "Yes Mistress, forgive me for being careless like that, I'm grateful for your help and advice" Our conversation continued, but I was aware that we had just stepped through a door of sorts, our relationship had changed. Over the next few days I found myself being more responsive and obedient to her when we chatted. She started to, without preamble, send me a directive or assignment. They were mostly little things, which seemed like a sort of test. She would text me and say that she'd like a picture of me in a certain pose, or my toe nails painted a certain way. I always replied "Yes Mistress" and then asked any clarifications I might need, and I confirmed if it was something I could do immediately or, due to work, family, and other obligations was something I would need to do in the evening or the following day. Some assignments were simple tasks. Some were explicitly sexual - such as purchasing a specific dildo and inserting it for a certain period of time. Butt play was all new to me, but she insisted that I must be prepared to offer my pussy to any real man that needs relief. One fun assignment was to make a collage of pictures and words describe what being a submissive female was to me. I took these assignments seriously, trusting that she had a reason for them. I also knew that it must give her pleasure to have such control over me - that from her kitchen or porch she could pull out her cell phone and command me to write three pages about my thoughts on a particular topic and that I would deliver her an earnest response in a timely fashion. Over the weeks she used these assignments to learn about me as well as, I imagine, to condition me to respond to her appropriately. One day she texted saying that she had a new assignment for me. I replied that I was happy to serve her and couldn't wait to see what she had in mind. Her next message concerned me: "Before you reply, I want you to consider everything very carefully - I do not like to have people tell me NO" "Yes Mistress, I will", I replied I stared at the screen, dreading something unknown. After a few long moments a paragraph appeared - she wanted us to meet for coffee or a cocktail in a safe public space, with me dressed en femme for her. My mind screamed that there was no such thing as a "safe public space"! I had never gone "out" dressed, I was only passable in a stylized selfie pic, I couldn't walk, or talk or act like a woman in public!! My heart pounded out of my chest - I wasn't ready for this! I closed my eyes, squinting hard and hoping that when I opened them that the message would be gone, or that'd she'd have added "just kidding". That didn't happen. I thought carefully, as she instructed, the blinking of the cursor on my screen ticking like a time-bomb. I was afraid of saying the wrong thing, so I typed what I knew to be the right thing: "Yes Mistress, I would like doing that for you - but please choose a place far away where I hopefully won't encounter anyone I know" She seemed pleased with my response and assured me that the location could be wherever I was comfortable, and we segued into a planning discussion. I have to admit that I was as excited as much as I was terrified. I wanted to meet her in person, I wanted to be seen in public as a woman. To ease all my concerns, we agreed to meet in a public park two whole counties away. We would meet a 3pm on a weekday which should be a quiet time. To hep take my mind off things, and to ensure that I remembered that this meeting was about "her", I was instructed to bring hot tea for her and something for myself to drink. She gave me a very specific order - a certain herbal tea, a specific type of honey, a twist of orange peel. And...I couldn't have some barista at Starbucks whip this up, I need to assemble the ingredients and prepare it in front of her. She said this simple act would mean a lot to her. Her own little tea slave I guessed, lol. I loved the idea. I also loved the image of being out in public, two beautiful women on a park bench sharing tea and enjoying each other's company on a nice sunny day. She proceeded to discuss clothing options and in the end she dictated that I would wear certain items she had seen in the various pics I had sent her: a cream colored sleeveless satin blouse, a maroon skirt, a thin black leather belt and nude or suntan pantyhose. She knew that I didn't have high heels so she instructed me to purchase simple flats to match the outfit - graciously saying that I would look like a woman taking a break from the office to meet a friend, and that no woman would want to wear heels to the park. I loved her for being so compassionate. She also offered, insisted, that she would reimburse me for the shoes, which left me speechless. Of course I replied thanking her for the gesture, but that it wasn't necessary, I was happy to have her encouragement and knew it was time for me to buy shoes. Her reply sent a chill up my spine: "Don't tell me what you think is necessary. I know what you need, and right now you need to learn to obey me" I backpedalled and gushed my apology, which was accepted in a lighthearted way. On the day of our meet, I took the day off from work and waited for my wife to leave for the office before I swung into action. I would dress completely at home and leave unseen by climbing into my car which was in our garage. I had a complete change of male clothes plus makeup removal wipes and a hair brush in a gym bag in my car - purely in case of emergency. I got dressed quickly, leaving my makeup and wig for last. I had accumulated the tea making supplies - including porcelain tea cups, a thermos of hot water, two teaspoons from our sterling silver service, two cloth napkins, and a small serving tray. I loaded everything into a canvas beach bag of my wife's, ready to take to the park. It took three attempts to get my makeup perfect: my lip liner pencil kept crumbling and my eye shadow wasn't coming together as I had hoped. Thankfully the third time was a charm - foundation, a hint of blush, eyeshadow, rose lipstick and a practiced brush of mascara made me into the woman I felt like. My wig went on without a problem...I'd need to spend serious money for a great looking wig some day, but this short bob brushed nicely and looked ok. I was moving quickly and with intent through the house. I checked myself in the mirror one last time, happy with the woman I saw, and headed to the garage with the beach bag. I arrived at the designated park 30 minutes early - because I knew she wouldn't tolerate me being late. There were literally only 3 other people in sight, each enjoying the day to themselves. I surveyed the area and chose the best - most remote - park bench and walked over to it. I held my arm through the straps on the bag, wrist up, as women do, and walked purposefully along the path, leaving the safety of my car behind me. I walked as I had practiced, heel to toe, a careful sway of the hips, a carefree look to the left and right...just a pretty woman walking in the park. I smiled and was happy. I approached the bench and sat down, placing the bag beside me to warn away anyone else who might happen by. I had women's sunglasses on - an overly large catseye design - and I watched the parking lot with a tightness in my chest. Then, I saw a car driving up, it fit the description she gave me and it parked next to my car. As she stepped out of her car we waved broadly over the distance and I smiled as she walked along the path to me. I removed my sunglasses so she could see my full face. A cool breeze swept across my satin blouse, my thin arms exposed and chilled. My padded bra gave me a shape that I was happy to display. It was time for me to make a good first impression. Still sitting I pivoted in her direction - back straight, chin up, knees together, ankles crossed demurely, hands together in my lap. My posture was poised, my smile was genuine. I admired her look. Perfectly and pressed tailored white slacks, a long sleeved striped blouse, a gold necklace with diamond drop. She had a pocketbook over he shoulder and draped over one arm was a shawl or a pashmina of some sort. She appeared older than her online pics, but she was still quite beautiful. Her body was curvy like a pinup model from the 50's, her hair full and stylish and (likely) expensively colored. I rose to meet her and practically giggled like a schoolgirl as we hugged. I fell into her hug and closed my eyes, enjoying the moment - the first time someone had seen me, and touched me, while dressed as a woman. I removed the bag from the bench and we sat down knees practically touching. As I wiped a small tear from my eye she rubbed my back affectionately and said quietly that she was so happy to finally meet me, and how perfect I looked. I was very nervous and found myself jabbering about the weather and the traffic and she smiled lovingly and listened as I went on. As I wound down my monologue she reached out and held my hand. "You made it here, and that it what counts dear. I would have been crestfallen if you backed out". We talked a little more, about our outfits and accessories, she gave me a few pointers. She looked over the flats I had chosen and complimented them. They were purchased a few days prior at a large discount shoe outlet. I knew what size I should buy and of course I hadn't tried them on in the store, the selection was made within 10 minutes of scanning the shelves. The whole time I was self conscious and worried that someone I knew would see me buying women's shoes. She asked how much money did she owe me for the shoes but I carefully demurred, saying that wasn't necessary. Her gaze turned steely and she took her hand away from mine and said "if I want my pet to have pretty things, then she will have pretty things and I will pay. You will say thank you and not be an insolent little bitch!" I flushed, I stammered, my head swirled. The words "my pet" echoed in my head, and in my heart...I quickly replied "Yes Mistress, thank you very much". She reached into her bag and produced a purse, and from it a crisp $100 bill, which she handed over nonchalantly. I thanked her and she smiled and, quizzically held her hand out to me, palm up. I stared at it and she grinned at my confusion and she whispered "kiss the palm of your Mistress, My Pet". I swooned. I held her hand and pressed my lips to her palm and then she lovingly stroked my cheek, and sensually caressed my earlobe. I blushed at the tenderness of it, aware that it was a blatant public display of affection between two women, and not caring in the slightest. Her Pet... Her hand trailed away and with that announced that we should have some tea now. "Yes Mistress, right away ma'm" I shifted along the bench and made space between us and brought up the canvas bag with everything in it. As I rummaged through the bag busily I didn't notice her take the small laprobe she had brought and fold it into a neat little square about 2 feet square, which she placed on the ground just to her left. Her finger snap drew my attention to her, her finger pointing down to mat on the ground. "I want my pet on her knees, I want to watch you prepare our tea". That caught me off guard but I knew that I needed to obey. I must have seemed to hesitate because she snapped her finger a second time and pointed to the mat. Without a word I was being commanded and I knew my place. I deliberately stood and smoothed my skirt out and took my place before her, kneeling on the folded cloth she thoughtfully provided for me. She crossed her legs, dangling a her heeled foot near me and looked down at me with a sly smile. I blushed of course and she responded by smoothing a hand over my hair, soothing me with "Good girl" which lifted my heart. I was enjoying her gaze for probably moment too long when I remembered my task and I moved to set up the tea for her. I laid the serving tray in front of me, and proceeded to make the tea as she instructed. She coached me by whispering "Don't rush it my pet, this is your gift to me, and your obedience right now is making me verrry happy". I was blushing like a schoolgirl, as I kept sneaking glances between her adorable face and the task in front of me. Once the hot water was poured I focused intensely on the task, not wanting to upset the tray and make a mess. As her tea steeped I stirred in the honey and gently twisted a small piece of orange zest into it with my manicured fingers. When it was ready, I offered the porcelain cup up to her reverently, with two hands. She sipped and murmured her appreciation as I finished making my own cup. She smiled down at me and once again brushed her hand through my hair, caressing my cheek, tickling one earlobe. "You're a very good girl" she said and I knew that I should just stay where I was, on my knees, at her feet. As she finished her tea she set the cup down on the bench and scooted closer to me. I was instructed to shift slightly so my butt was now on the ground, knees together. She guided my head lovingly to her lap. I closed my eyes as she stroked my head and whispered "what a good pet you are". I was so happy to hear those words her. As I felt her hand moving away I opened my eyes to look up at her. Her palm was open and I kissed it and held it to my cheek. Again there was a tear in my eye and now she held my face in her two hands and told me how happy I made her, and this was just the start of many good things for us. I beamed up at her, at a loss for words but bubbling with joy. Then she asked if I like honey, I did, and then she reached into my bag for the small container of goldenrod honey I had brought. She held it out and said "then I have a test for you..." She dipped her pointer finger in the small jar just slightly and held it down to me with a one-word command, "Lick" I gratefully opened my mouth and licked the tip of her finger while looking up at her and was rewarded with her whispered assurance, "Good girl". She smiled and withdrew her hand. I watched as she plunged her pinkie finger deep into the jar and pulled it out, rolling her wrist upward, the honey dripping along her delicate finger and into her palm. She presented her hand to me as if she were giving a dog a treat and commanded, "Suck" I took her pinkie into my mouth and rolled my tongue around it, my lips closed and nursing the sweetness from her. I proceeded to lick and kiss her palm as she cooed affectionately that I was a good girl, and a wonderful pet. Her affection was like honey to me. My heart was racing and I was unbelievably excited. As she stroked my hair and called me her pet I was genuinely happy. I noticed that my little dick remained soft - although I was at the foot of a beautiful woman and I was being affectionately stroked, my desire was 'within' me, radiating from my belly and my heart, not my loins. I was happy with that, I felt like I belonged there. She broke the moment by patting my head and saying in a teasing manner "We should go, you have a wife coming home to see you and you may want to change - or perhaps not". I blushed at the tease and packed up my things. She put her arm through mine and pulled me close as we walked down the path to our cars. She was a little taller than me in her heels and leaning against her as we walked just felt right. At my car she hugged me close and we held each other. I remember her lips on my cheek, her caressing my back, the light scent of her perfume. I was in a trance, not wanting the moment to end as she whispered in my ear "I have several dogs at home but YOU my darling are going to be my favorite pet". If you enjoyed reading this story please support Nifty by making a donation which helps all of us learn about and share these stories.