|
Don't hate me. Your men would find someone else to cause and relieve their torment, even if I didn't exist. Don't take it personally. It's not you, it's him. He won't ask you to do these things for him. You'd never understand this side of him. Could you ever stomach brutally whipping him as he leans over a counter with his arms tied up, then shoving the handle of the whip into his anus? Could you make him walk around with a studded leather collar, chained to your leg so to make him follow and beg like a slave, kissing your boots and telling him he is worthless while slapping his cock? That's why he comes to me. To maintain normalcy in Real Life, to avoid complications or potential criticisms of his preferences by someone he loves. It's the only escape he can attain from the crushing weight of their unconventional appetites.
It takes a particular brand of woman to slip through the cracks of society only to fall into such a unique, covert way of life. As you'll see throughout the following pages, I've always harbored an interest in anything strange or different, and my personal sexual experiences have honed my skills and reinforced my passion to completely commit myself to this trade. Here it is, for the first time. This is my story.
THE DIARY OF MISTRESS PENELOPE
My femininity blossomed early. I bought my first training bra at ten years old and grew too big for it not six months later. At eleven, I physically resembled a teenager, making pre-pubescent boys everywhere hot under the collar. Originally, I was self-conscious of my development until I realized how much attention males gave me, professors and my girlfriends' fathers and older brothers included. Soon, their conspicuously lewd gazes were feeding my ever-expanding ego, and I lacked the maturity or self-control to find the off switch before my head exploded. I realized I could get anything I wanted, just by asking for it, simply because I was attractive. This is a terrible thing for a girl to learn. When I first found copies of Playboy and Penthouse beneath my older brother Nick's bed, I secreted myself away in my bedroom to peruse them. Everywhere, naked models stared lewdly into the camera, posing their bodies to show off their privates, touching themselves. I was twelve but I had never seen a naked woman before, not even my mother. Right away I compared their sex organs with my own and decided I was well on my way to becoming a real woman. I examined my pussy in the mirror and started to touch myself. That day, at thirteen years old, I discovered my clit, lying on the floor amid the pile of opened smut magazines with my hand between my legs.
I needed to experiment. I convinced my neighbor Steve, two years my senior, to meet me in his tree house, where we had our first kiss years ago. I easily convinced the horny fifteen year-old him to pull down his pants. I played around for awhile, testing the machinery, and he came quickly, shaking and spraying his white juices all over my hand an arm. I swore him to secrecy as we cleaned up. Before I even left the tree house, I knew there was much more to learn, and Steve was the first of many. Not long after, Steve and I had sex, the first time for both of us. It didn't take long for it to be over, and it was certainly not as pleasurable as I'd seen in the porn videos.
If I wore my sexuality on my school uniform sleeve, my friends and family were oblivious-- I was a straight-A student with talents in music, art and writing. It seemed men everywhere ogled me indiscreetly while standing in line at the video store or at the bank; several of the less timid ones asked how old I was. I always lied and said I was sixteen. For some men this was old enough, and I would pleasure them in exchange for a pack of cigarettes, the occasional bottle of peach schnapps. I learned that sex was like a business transaction. I loved the rush I would get, from the start of the seduction until the point when he would tell me how much of a dirty little goddess I was.
|
