Elegance tinged with perversity

I always have so much pleasure meeting you at each new session. I also have great pleasure in bringing Marthe to life, session after session.

I have always more or less lived with a female alter ego. It's quite difficult to explain but from a very young age, I started to imagine experiencing situations as a woman.

My biggest fantasy is being able to switch from one gender to another with a simple snap of my fingers..

At nine years old I imagined myself as a dancer, after seeing a ballet.

At twelve years old I imagined myself a prisoner tied to the mast after seeing a pirate film.

At fifteen I imagined myself obliged to transform myself into a woman to escape I don’t know who.

At eighteen I imagined myself confused with a woman in the hospital and forced to conform to what a perverse doctor wanted of me.

The years have passed, fantasies too, always with this close feminine alter ego.

At first simply disguised as a dancer, the fantasy of the prisoner led me to add the bonds and chains and to discover self-bondage then masochism.

My solo discoveries were followed by discoveries as a couple. Many years later, all this led me to take the step of meeting you.

I don't think I've ever suffered from this condition. “double”. I am a man and I like to imagine experiencing certain things as a woman. I don't feel the need to look any further.

For two years it has been Marthe who has been this alter ego.

At first a little taken by surprise by the arrival of this character, I brought him to life in my dreams.

Martha, man hired as female maid due to lack of candidate, vivant, under the rule of a severe Mistress who does not hesitate to punish in the event of deviation. She lives in a large house hidden under a feminine appearance so as not to appear different from the rest of the staff..

Martha, his buttocks on fire, his nonsense with the gardener's son, ses retards, his stutters, his inability to rhyme in -ette.

Martha, her chastity cage and her collar to clearly mark her lack of freedom.

It often happens to me now, in the days preceding one of our meetings, to imagine myself summoned to answer for an error, a delay or other rule violation.

This was the case during our last session.

During this, I discovered your new cross. You were worried that it would distort the atmosphere of your boudoir.

This bourgeois boudoir, lit by candle, muffled and then behind the red curtains, the other side, the pump collection, of links, whips and this cross !

Initial codes are hijacked. The prie-dieu and the ropes, the shelf and the cocks, varnished wood (and smooth !) of the cross and the leather bracelets attached to the metal rings.

I felt a perfect harmony between the elegance tinged with perversity of your boudoir and your character that you embody so well during the sessions..

The heat of wax, the cold of steel, the embrace of the ropes, the tingles of roulette, spasms caused by the electrodes, headband, the gag, the slaps, caresses.

Your orders and but also your whispers, your laughter and your smiles, your breathing quickens, which slows down, your flirtatious then mocking tone.

And then the wood, still rough against my skin. The trial and error to fix the bracelets in the right place. Vulnerable.

When the swifts started dancing on my skin, I left. If you could have seen my face you would surely have said that I had my look… that one !

Other instruments followed one another. More or less heavy, scathing, stinging. Pain that mixes with pleasure. A circle as vicious as Marthe and the gardener's son combined.

That I was comfortable in the skin of Marthe punished.

I still shudder thinking about it.