Martina’s Test

It all started with Martina’s www.alt.com profile:

"I am a very attractive Domme and seeking a male submissive for a long-term, strict but loving and committed D/s relationship. Only reply if you live close by. I believe in female superiority and dress in a way that always gets the right response. I have a strong fetish for heels and shiny clothing. If you are not gainfully employed, intelligent and very submissive, do not bother yourself with me. I have no interest in switches neither do I engage in play with others. I am seeking a true submissive man for a rewarding relationship. This will be long term, contractual and you will serve only me. You do not need to be experienced but it would be an advantage if you had some prior training. I am very strict and I use bondage and discipline as a lifestyle and not for a bit of fun. Send an e mail address and write something about yourself in your response. I’m looking for an intelligent but also extremely submissive man who wants a long term owned relationship. You will be my property and you will be perfectly happy that way."

The name on her profile seemed quite fitting, "Goddess Martina."

I responded to her ad with:

"Dear Goddess Martina, my name is Nick. I believe I meet all of your qualifications. I am an intelligent man (with a Master’s degree and graduated with honors), and gainfully employed, with a good job in the marketing department of a large corporation. I have some experience with this lifestyle. When I was twenty-one I lived with a Dominant woman for two years. It is the memory of those two years of servitude and joy that brought me here to alt.com. I’ve been hoping very much to find a serious relationship with a woman such as yourself. I’m attaching two photos of myself. One as a man, and one as a woman. In my previous relationship with my Mistress, feminized me, and put me on female hormones. She had such a strong affect on me, that even after we parted, I continued to live as a woman for many years. When I realized that I could never go through with a sex change, I stopped taking hormones and have been living as a man ever since. Naturally, I would live and dress as you prefer. I am for real. I am not seeking a penpal. I am very interested in meeting you, and would do so however you feel comfortable. Submissively yours, Nick."

You can imagine how delighted I was when I received her reply. Short, but my heart leapt when I saw her message in my inbox.

"Slave Nick. Or should I call you Nico? I’ve received a lot of emails in response to my ad, the majority of which are pure garbage. You are the only man that has written to me with any real experience in the lifestyle. I’m impressed that your former Mistress was able to turn you into a woman. Thank you for sending along your photos. I admit, you are attractive, as both a man and a woman. I would like to meet you to see if we have any chemistry. Call me. 215-555-5555. Goddess Martina."

As I read her email my heart began pounding. It took me an hour to calm down enough to be able to pick up the phone. With a lump in my throat, my shaky fingers dialed her number. What if I got her answering machine, what would...

"Hello?" A woman’s voice answered.

"Hello! Martina, this is Nick. Or Nico. Whichever you prefer." Oh God, did I sound lame!?

The voice on the other end of the line chuckled. "Nick. I prefer you as Nick... for the time being. I really don’t have any experience with T-girls. I much prefer dominating a man. But I like the fact that you were so submissive that you changed your whole life for your Mistress. So tell me Nick, if she was so influential, why did you leave her?"

Did I lie, or I did I tell her the truth? Sweat broke out on my brow. Best tell the truth. "Well... after a couple of years on hormones, and living like a woman, a lot of men were coming on to me. I met a black man where I was working at the time, and began having an affair with him. Eventually I left my Mistress to move in with him. It was a big mistake, and I’ve regretted it for many years."

"Why?"

"For a lot of reasons really. For one, I was so pickled on hormones I thought that I wanted a sex change, and that if I lived with a man we could have a normal relationship. I actually went as far as having a consultation with a sexual reassignment surgeon on the west coast, but once I started getting close to the operation, I chickened out, and realized that wasn’t what I wanted at all."

"What did you want?"

"I want a D/s relationship with a woman like my former Mistress."

"Did you trying going back to her?"

"I contacted her. But she’d found a new boy. You and I are the same age, but my former Mistress, was twice my age. She liked pretty young boys, and her new boy was younger and prettier than I."

"What about the man you were with? What happened to him?"

"He turned out to be a jerk. All he wanted to do was fuck me. We had no real connection other than that. I could tell he didn’t love me. He was just using me. Eventually I left him, and I’ve been single ever since."

"It sounds like you learned the hard way. A lot of young women go through the same thing. I went through it myself. You get tired of being taken advantage of by selfish men. That’s why I live the way I live. No man will ever take advantage of me again. Ever."

"Will you see me?"

"Yes. I’ll see you. Come to my house this Friday. I’ll email you the address. Oh, and Nick. When you come here Friday, be prepared to be put through some tests. I think we’ll both know by the end of the evening whether or not we’re compatible."

"Thank you... Goddess."

"Oh, and Nick. Before Friday comes, I want you to write down everything you did with you old Mistress. Everything. Don’t leave anything out. Also I want to do know what you did with your black boyfriend. Send it to me in an email. See you Friday."

The rest of the week I was a nervous wreck, worrying about Friday. I spent two days composing a letter for Martina, detailing my past experiences. Fretting over whether I was saying too much, or not enough... by the time I was done it was 10 pages long! I fretted too over Martina’s reaction. Was I her type? Would she think me TOO submissive? Would the fact that I’d lived with a man totally turn her off? Make her not trust me?

Friday morning I was as nervous as a 16 year old before a driver’s license road test. What did she mean by "tests"? What if she pushed me too far? Beat me too hard? What were my limits? I did have some. I wasn’t going to serve as anyone’s toilet -- my first Mistress had been extremely angry with me when I refused to drink her piss. There are some things that just do not feel safe, so in a way, it’s good to have limits. If only for our own physical well-being.

Fear factor Friday finally came, and I found myself knocking on Martina’s door. She answered dressed as I might have expected. Her profile mentioned a fetish for shiny clothes and high heels. She wore a black and red, skin tight, calf length dress that was sleeveless, with a pair of opera length shiny black gloves. The dress was stitched up both sides with a black lace, revealing her bare legs, hips, and skin all the way up to the sides of her breasts. She also wore a pair of knee high boots with 5" heels, making her taller than I. Her dark hair was cut short, almost in a man’s style, but her eyes were darkly done with mascara and black eyeliner, giving her almost a retro-Annie Lennox sort of a look.

Those eyes glared down at me sternly, but at the same time I saw a slight smirk of a smile flicker across the corners of her mouth.

She held upon the door for me. "Come on in... Nico."

I entered, unable to take my eyes off her. She was stunningly beautiful, with an incredible body, and an awe-inspiring, commanding presence. "W-Why are you calling me that. I told you it’s been years since I lived that way. My last relationship was with a woman. A real woman, er, I mean, a normal woman, oh no... I mean, a submissive woman."

Martina chuckled, "You mean a boring, vanilla woman."

"Yes!"

Martina led me into a finely decorated townhouse in the Society Hill section of Philadelphia. Like her clothes, she had impeccable taste. The hard wood floors were finely polished, as were the silver, white and black art deco couches, coffee table and lamps.

"And you played the role of her ... stud?"

I sank into a deeply cushioned sofa, while Martina took a wooden chair beside me. Or more like above me. She crossed her legs, not missing at all the way my eyes were glued to her every movement.

"I-I made love to her... yes. Just like a regular guy."

"But you’re not a regular guy, are you Nico?" she almost whispered.

I shrugged helplessly. "I don’t know. In some ways I am. I have a good job, the people I work with respect me..."

"The people you work with don’t know you were getting fucked up the ass by a black man for five years, do they?"

I blushed deeply. "No, of course not. They wouldn’t understand. Not that it is any of their business..."

"Take your clothes off."

"What!?"

"Strip. I want to see what you look like naked."

I almost fell off the couch. "Is this one of your tests?"

Martina’s eyes narrowed. "Yes, it’s a test to see how quickly you obey me. If you don’t get out of those clothes within 60 seconds, this is going to be the shortest interview of your life. Mr. Stud."

I practically jumped out of my seat, and began unbuttoning my shirt, and slipping off my shoes. Did she really mean sixty seconds? She put on a stern face, but beneath it all I detected a wry smile of amusement at how quickly I was dropping my pants.

"Let’s see this piece of meat," she said when I finally stood buck naked before her. "Come here. Closer." She squinted at my penis, which had practically withdrawn inside my body in fear. "You’re not exactly well endowed. What were you doing to this girl friend of yours, going down on her. You couldn’t have possibly pleased her with that."

Mortified, I felt like my entire body was blushing from my head down to my toes. "It... it well, it gets bigger."

"Then get it bigger! I want to see."

"What ... like...?"

"Yes, go ahead, touch yourself. You don’t think I’m going to touch it, do you? I want to see what I’m getting myself in for here. If you can’t even get it up, and it’s that small," she laughed loudly, "maybe you really are a woman. Or at least should live like one."

Embarrassed to the core, I jiggled my member, praying that it wouldn’t let me down, not now of all times. Martina’s sexy dress, coupled with her utterly Dominant attitude, served as a spark that ignited the flame, and my penis grew quickly between my fingers.

"Closer," she commanded. She pinched the head of my cock between her gloved fingers and twisted it side to side, and up and down, like a doctor checking me for the clap. "Mmm... average in size. This girlfriend of yours must have been mighty desperate. I will say this though, it’s very pretty. Very nicely shaped, with hardly any hair. Do you trim your bush?"

Barely able to speak, the way she was twisting me up and down, in a high pitched squeak, I said, "Yes... a little."

She noticed the way my face was contorted and my breathing becoming labored, and snapped, "You’re not going to cum are you? You don’t lose control this easily, do you?"

"No, no, I’m fine! I have complete control. It’s just the way you’re touching me... you’re getting me excited!"

"How much complete control? If I," she snapped her fingers, "do that, can you come? On command?"

"No, no! Not that quickly. I mean, if we were to make love, I can control my orgasm."

"HA!" She slapped my penis sharply, making it sting. "IF were to make love. IF. That’s a might big if, Nico. More than likely, I would be the one making love to you, and that’s a big IF as well. Turn around."

"What? You heard me, turn around, and be quick about it! I don’t like having to repeat myself to you all the time. I thought you said you were intelligent."

I spun around quickly, so that my bottom was facing her.

"Now spread your ass cheeks."

I bit my tongue, to stop myself from questioning her, and grabbed my ass cheeks.

"Spread them!"

Glancing over my shoulder at her, I watched as she picked up a tube of gel from beside her chair, and was coating her middle finger with gel. When she saw that I was watching, she slapped my bottom savagely. "Don’t watch. Just hold those pretty white cheeks apart. Wider! I’m just going to give you a quick examination. I want to make sure I’m not getting any damaged goods here." A cold gooey gloved finger dabbed at my nether opening. "For all I know that black boy could have plowed you so many times you could be as wide as the Lincoln Tunnel or filled with hemorrhoids." In one quick stab her finger plunged all the way to the knuckle inside me.

I arched my back and gasped.

"Grab your ankles! Don’t look at me. I told you not to look at me." Her finger began moving in and out, stroking my sensitive prostate. It had been years since anyone had touched me there, and my knees trembled and bucked as I held onto my ankles for dear life.

"You like that, don’t you?" Her finger massaged my prostate, quickly bringing me to the edge of orgasm, and then withdrew.

"Okay, you passed the test," she chuckled. "Now turn around to face me, and come here."

Not understanding what she wanted, I stooped down before her, and she motioned for me to bend across her lap.

"I’m going to give you a quick little spanking. I want to see how much pain you can bear."

As my bare chest touched the shiny vinyl of her black and red dress, I saw her reach again beside her chair, this time picking up a wooden paddle.

"What, you thought I was going to use my bare hand?" she grinned. "That would hardly be much of a test, now, would it?"

I nodded glumly. This was one of the parts of my prior relationship with my Mistress that I hadn’t really missed. Others might be excited by pain, but I am not. It just plain hurts and terrifies me!

"You said that your former Mistress disciplined you, did she not?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"With paddles, I’m sure. Did she ever use a riding crop on you? Or a cane?"

"A riding crop when I was especially bad. Never a cane."

She rested a gloved hand on my bare derriere, that was not draped across her lap. "So you know what the cane can do to you?" She rubbed my bottom slightly, quite gently.

"Yes. I’ve never seen one used, but I have heard they are very bad."

"Very bad isn’t the word for it. If I were to use my cane on you, you wouldn’t be able to sit for days."

With that, she gave me a surprise crack with the paddle. I wasn’t expecting it, and jumped an inch off her lap.

She sort of giggled. "Oh what a big baby you are. I didn’t even hit you hard."

"I wasn’t ready!"

She laughed loudly, and swatted me again, and again, five times in quick succession. When she paused to let me catch my breath, she said determinedly, "Come on. You know the drill. I want you to count them out." She pulled her arm back farther than before, paddling me harder.

"Seven!" I shouted.

"Seven? That wasn’t seven. Those other’s don’t count, because you didn’t count them out loud We start again. I’m going to give you 25. You can take 25, can’t you?"

"Yes Mistress."

"And you will thank me properly when I am through. Won’t you?" With that she gave me another crack.

"Yes Mistress. One!"

"No, that doesn’t count. Start again. Just count out the numbers. No other idle chit-chat. Again!" She hit me again, what felt harder, but possibly it was the same force, it was just that my bottom was already tenderized by her uncounted practice swings.

"ONE!"

Crack!

"TWO!"

So it went, till we reached 20. "Only five more to go," she said. "You’re sweating all over me." Which was true. My body wanted to writhe in pain, but I was forcing myself to try to be calm, take deep breaths, and try not to break down.

"I’m sorry Mistress," I gasped.

"What did you say?

"I said I’m sorry Mistress!"

"Didn’t I tell you there would be no other idle chit-chat? That you were only supposed to count. I didn’t ask for any commentary. WE START OVER!"

"NO MISTRESS! Please no!"

"WHAT!?" She began swinging the paddle wildly, swatting me over, and over again, until she had me bawling like a baby for her to please stop. My begging only seemed to excite her further, driving her onward, wailing on my bottom harder and harder till tears were streaming down my face, and my body began to lose control. In an insane moment, I tried to scramble away, to escape from her lap and the wooden paddle that blistered my bottom. She gasped at my impudence, that I would dare try to scramble away from her, causing her to hold me down with her right arm, while she continued to paddle me viciously. I don’t know how many times she hit me, but it must have been over 50, by which time her arm seemed to tire, and she slowed.

By that time I was a mess, crying miserably.

She finally stopped, and seemed to take ahold of herself. Then I realized she was breathing as hard as I was.

"Come here," she said softly. "Come here. On your knees in front of me."

At that point I was sticking to her shiny dress, and had to peal myself off her lap. On my knees, still sobbing, she drew me to her breast, holding me tenderly, and kissed the top of my head.

"There, there, now, it’s over. You did quite good."

Still hugging me to her bosom, she pulled off her gloves and threw them aside on the couch. Taking my head, with my wet hair, between her hands, she lifted my face, and kissed me full on the mouth.

After the beating she had just given me, her kiss surprised me, and brought even more emotions flooding out of me. I continued to weep, now, out of joy, and relief. I had passed Martina’s test. Perhaps she would yet find me worthy.

Nor did she just peck me on the lips and draw away. She kept her lips to me. Her tongue darted inside me, parting my lips, dancing with my tongue. She kiss went on and on, growing in heat, passion and intensity. I had not been kissed like that ever, not by my old Mistress, not by my black lover, never. It was as if she were sucking the very soul from out of me, and taking it for her own.

Finally she broke away. Still holding my head in her bare hands, her nose only an inch from mine, looking deep into my eyes, she seemed to be looking inside of me. Her brown eyes held strength and determination, the likes of which I’d never seen before. My green eyes, still glistened with wetness and emotion.

Her face broke into a warm smile, the type that told me she had a tender, compassionate side. She continued kissing me, loving me, doing with me as she pleased. As we kissed, her hands began to run over my nude body, exploring my shoulders, my back, all the way down to my burning bottom.

At first when she touched me there, I winced and whimpered. Playfully, she raked her manicured nails across my red butt, making me cry out shrilly against her mouth. She chuckled, enjoying her power over me.

She withdrew her claws, and continued to soothingly, caress my tender flesh, touching me as gently as if her fingers were feathers, till I cooed in her arms turtle dove.

"I want to make love," she whispered. "But there is something I must do first."

"Yes my Mistress," I replied. "Anything."

"Anything?" she chuckled. "Be careful what you agree to."

"Anything!" I said more loudly. "I am yours."

Martina broke away, sitting up straight, and nodded. "All right then. Stand up for a minute."

For a moment I’d forgotten that she was clothed and I was naked, kneeling in the middle of her living room. Rising unsteadily to my feet, I became more shamefully aware of my nakedness, especially when I looked down at my crotch, to where my poor little penis had shriveled up down to the size of a gum drop. Bashfully, I hid myself with my hands.

"No, keep your arms at your sides," Martina said, once more reaching down to something she had stored by her seat. "I’ve got something for your little ... thing." This time she picked up something I’d never seen before. It looked like silver sheath made of metal with several rings attached to it - at the top of which was a lock.

I was too afraid to speak, but my wide eyes must have spoke volumes.

"What is it?" she asked for me. "It’s a chastity device that I want you to wear. You did say, anything."

"But how will we make love, if I’m wearing..."

Martina’s eyes narrowed sharply and I saw her eyes dart to the floor looking for her paddle.

Panicking, over what she was holding in her hands, but even more afraid of the paddle, I said quickly: "It’s okay, it’s okay! I’ll wear whatever you want." It wouldn’t stay on forever. Would it?

"I never said that you would make love to me," Martina said, grabbing my penis, and giving it a yank, forcing me to step closer. "I said that I would make love to you." She looked up at me, her hard eyes locking on mine. "I’ll do the fucking around here, not you." She gave my penis a painful squeeze. "So you won’t be needing this."

With that she began fitting the rings of the chastity belt around the base of my cock and around the shaft. A hood fit over the top, snugly, making me wince as she tried to force closed the snaps. I was starting to get aroused, my penis swelling, spilling out of the device.

"It’s too small!"

"It’s not too small, your randy little cock just doesn’t want to cooperate. Stay here," she said rising. She went to the kitchen, and returned with a clear plastic bag filled with ice - which she pressed firmly up against my penis and balls. I could not help but cry out in a high pitched voice.

"This will only take a minute," she said, and she was right. My poor little manhood shrunk back down to a gum drop, allowing her to quite easily fit the device around my member. She snapped the last clasp tight.

"The key is here," she said, showing me a silver necklace about her neck. From it dangled a tiny little key.

"You’ll take it off, right? When I go home?"

Martina grinned, but did not reply.

"But, but, but, how will I masturbate?"

She laughed, partially at my impudence, and partially at my question. "How often do you play with yourself?"

I blushed hotly.

"Oh come on, how can you have any modesty left. Tell me, or I will beat it out of you."

"Usually every day," I blurted out. "Most every day."

Martina shook her head. "Your vanilla girlfriend must not have been doing a very good job. Letting you jerk off like that. The true way to a man’s heart, a man like yourself -- is to control his penis. Once a woman has a man under lock and key, you truly become my slave. You’d do just about anything to take this off, wouldn’t you? Lick my floors clean... scrub my bathroom... paint my house... anything. Wouldn’t you?"

I felt a sudden rising panic. I looked down at the chastity device now imprisoning my cold but thawing cock. I could get it off when I got home. Couldn’t I?

"I know what you’re thinking," Martina said. "No, it doesn’t come off. You would have to hurt yourself to get it off -- and if you did, I’m telling you right now, I would never see you again. Got that? Take it off, or let me discover that you’ve tried to tamper with it, and I’ll know, and that is the last time you will ever see me again. Understood?"

"Yes Mistress," I said nodding my head dejectedly. Martina was right! Entrapped this way, she now held complete and utter mastery over my body, as well as my life.

"Now come with me," she said taking my hand. She lead me up a flight of stairs to her bedroom. She had a gorgeous canopy bed draped with black shiny silk. There were black silk sheets and piles of black silk pillows.

"Climb up upon my bed, and lay on your tummy. With your face in a pillow. Don’t watch me."

I wanted very much to turn my head, to see what she was doing. I heard a closet door open as well as drawers and rustling sounds, like she might be undressing, changing her clothes. Instead, I lay there obediently, face in a cool silk pillow. She said that she would make love to me. The thought of which, excited me terribly. My poor penis swelled at the thought. Trapped within it’s tight little sheath, it became quite painful, cutting off the circulating, not allowing me to have an erection. I moaned into the pillow at my predicament. I wanted very badly to be intimate with Martina. I knew full well what was about to happen, and yet I would not be allowed to enjoy it fully. Talk about sheer torture!

"All right. You can look now. But stay on your belly."

I twisted my head around to see that Martina had indeed changed. Out of her tight shiny black and red dress into a garter belt and stockings with a sheer black teddy that showed off her full and gorgeous breasts, narrow waist, and flaring hips. There, encircling her waist a strap-on dildo bobbed up and down like it had a mind of its own. Thankfully she had not chosen a freakishly large one. It was big, as big as my black lover, a good 9", with a smallish head, but with a fat shaft.

She smiled like a bridegroom on his wedding knight, looking into the eyes of his fearful bride. As she moved closer to the bed I couldn’t take my eyes from it. It waved up and down, like it was happy to see me. As she got closer, I noticed it was the double-ended kind -- a portion, how long, I couldn’t be sure, extending inside of her, filling her pussy.

She climbed up the foot of the bed, and ordered me to get up on my knees, doggie style. "With your face in the pillow. Just lift your ass in the air. That’s it. What a pretty round ass you have. Any woman would be happy to have an ass as round and voluptuous as yours."

My face burned hotly against the silk pillow, as she assumed a position between my parted knees. Her hands gripped my hips, and the knob of the strapon probed at my upturned rear. I felt something gooey on the head of her cock. I felt almost thankful that she had probed me earlier with her finger, lubricating my insides for what was about to come.

I thought that she might be a brutal, rough lover. But she was not. She was patient, and slow, giving my body a chance to relax, and adapt, and open up for her 9" intruder. I let out a deep sigh when she had penetrated me fully, and I could feel the straps of her garters flush against the back of my thighs. Nor did she withdraw it savagely, instead she stopped, and gave me a moment to catch my breath.

Softly, she cooed, "Don’t worry my little Nico. I will be gentle with you... this time. I know it has been a long time for you."

Slowly she began a cadence, withdrawing, and filling, back and forth, making love to me in a way that no one ever had before, with compassion, and heat. As she thrust forward, deep within me, I could feel the other end of her knob pushing inside of her as well, rubbing and arousing her swollen clit.

After a few minutes of careful loving, she began to move more quickly, faster and faster, until her pelvis slapped against my sore bottom. It became like the beating I had experienced earlier, she seemed to become lost in what she was doing, going with the moment, frigging herself with each thrust of her hips, and at the same time pushing her thick phallus across my prostate, driving me mad with pleasure. As she rammed in and out of me, I tilted my face out of the pillow, looking down, between my legs, to see my poor belted manhood waving wildly back and forth. The pressure against my prostate had my insides aroused to the bursting point, but without being able to achieve an erection it was like I was kept on the edge of cumming forever, and forever.

Well, at least until Martina cried out, screaming with the release of her orgasm. In the throes of her cumming, something completely unexpected occurred. I realized that I was cumming too. Not from my penis being touched, but from the stroking of my prostate -- something errupted from deep inside of me, and even though my penis was still soft and bound, semen began to dribble and spew from the head, wetting her clean black silk sheets.

Afraid that I might be in trouble, I collapsed on the bed, right in my own messy puddle. Exhausted from her efforts, Martina collapsed too, with her strapon still in place, and landing deeply inside me, making me cry out in both pain and ecstacy.

It took several minutes for us both to catch our breath and collect ourselves. Finally she lifted her hips, withdrawing her anal intruder from my bowels. She collapsed beside me. Once she had sufficiently recovered, she swept me up into her arms and pulled me close to her chest, so that her strong arm was around my neck, and my face resting on her heaving bosom.

"I heard you cry out... did you cum?" she asked simply.

"Yes," I whispered. I felt both shamed and grateful. "I wouldn’t have thought it would be possible... wearing this thing."

"Yes," she explained. "It’s an internal orgasm. Much like a womans." She lifted my chin with her hand, and kissed me on the mouth. "Get used to them. That’s the only kind you’ll ever have with me."

I smiled faintly, and sighed, hugging her, snuggling against her. I didn’t have to say a thing. She knew. She knew that she had me, and that I loved her, and that’s all she needed to know.

We slept together that night, and I pray that we will sleep together many more.

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Page last updated 04-Aug-07 by: Altairboy@aol.com