An interview with a new client.

I thought I’d share a little story I had from one of my prospective clients the other day. I interview all my private clients before deciding whether they are worthy of my attention. I have to satisfy myself that they are suitable for my services, that I will feel comfortable working with them, and that my service will indeed improve their life. With this in mind I invited young Mathew, a 23 year old Software developer, to my studio to for an initial appointment. I think you’ll find his interview of interest.

My first question is usually about when the person started crossdressing, and we see where it goes from there.

“I remember it quite clearly,” said Mathew, a quiet confidence in his voise.. He was sitting crosslegged on the floor, and I listened to him in my comfortable chair, enjoying a cup of Early Grey.

“My aunt would baby sit me. I was about 7 at the time. She was an unusual woman, and the previous year her own daughter had got up one day, packed her things and taken off. She disappeared for several years.”

“I see,” I said, “and your aunt liked the company of a child?”

“No. It was more than that,” he said guiltily.

“I think you should tell me all about it, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress. She would make me dress in her daughters clothes. Not at first. It started out as a punishment.  I’d fallen off my bicycle, and when I cried she told me not to be like a little girl. It hurt like hell, and I couldn’t help it. After she’d put a plaster on it she told me I’d have to change clothes. I didn’t know any better.”

“So, what did she make you wear?”

“Well, tht first time there were no other boys clothes, so while she soaked my trousers to get the blood out, she made me wear a skirt.”

“And you liked that?” I asked.

“No! Not at first. But she said I looked rather pretty.  And the next time I came over I found that if I did anything that was against her she’d force me to wear something of her daughters. Of course she told me not to tell anyone. By the time I was 9 I was wearing her daughters clothes most times I went to see her.”

“I see. I guess you really were a very naughty boy.” I murmured as I sipped my tea.

“Not really, Mistress. She’d make up things. Like, she’d say I should water the garden, then later She’d call me to her and say I had missed part of the flower beds. She was very strict about that.  But I know I hadn’t. The punishment would be to wear something she’d laid out in the spare bedroom. .  I didn’t mind though.”

“No, I guess you didn’t. I think your behaviour was well established by then,” I mused.  So many crossdressers have a path established long before they realise it’s going to happen.

“Yes. That was when she’d start to reward me for good behaviour. She’d let me watch as she dressed herself.” His voice was slightly more animated now.  I could hear the excitement in it.

“I see. A little boy watching his aunt.  How very odd.”

“Yes,” said Mathew. “She was a strange woman.”

“When you say ‘was’, whatever happened to her?”

“My aunt died three months ago.” He said sadly. His downcast eyes reflected the loss.

“Well, I’m sorry. Were you very close?”

“I lived with her from the age of 16, Mistress. I miss her.” I could see his eyes tearing up.

“Now, now, Mathew. There’s no need for tears. Don’t you worry.  I’m going help you out.” I spoke soothingly, to comfort him.

“Thank you, Mistress.” He said quietly.

“I’m sure your aunt appreciated you in her own way,” I said to calm him.

“Yes, Mistress. I believe she really did.”

“Very well, I will see you on Friday afternoons at 3 pm.  Alright, Mathew?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said his face a picture of relief and gratitiude. “Thank you!”

“And Mathew,” I added quietly, leaning close to him.  “You may call me ‘Auntie Meg’.”

I am very particular with my personal clients.  However, I’d very much like to see you advance along the Path Of Submission a little further. With this in mind, if you’ve not already done so I’d like you to sign up for my premium program.  I’m sure you’ll appreciate my tender touch.

I hope you’re enjoying these messages. You can show your respect and support by joining my Premium Program HERE for the extremely generous subscription of $29.75 a year.

Mistress Meg.

Can you help me get it up?

Good evening,

I’m really not a vindictive person, however when my new neighbor decided he was going to sue me over my refusal to remove a tree from my back garden, I felt very upset. As a result I suppose my response may have been considered a little harsh.

This neighbor had come crashing in to the neighborhood, having his garden landscaped by a crew with a digger andturf laid down by a team of workers. It was like watching an instant garden being installed. Highly efficient and totally lacking in taste.

You see, Victor is a lawyer. I would say he was ‘born a lawyer’ but it was more like he came out fully formed – or was issued or something.

I could try to fight him in court, but it would be expensive and time consuming, and I would have to retain a lawyer to do the legal side of it. The business would cost me a fortune. Besides, I can’t loose my apple tree. I have some bees, and they love that tree. I often sit in the shade of the tree, and while it probably did use more water than my neighbour appreciated, I really don’t think it was, as he said ‘starving his garden of water’.

Victor is quite a bully, you see. His wife, bless her, is very cowed. And his son lives in fear of him. He’s a nice boy. Slim, bright, but not so very confident. In fact, it was in him that I saw my opportunity for retribution.

I tentatively agreed that in the fall I would cut down the tree, and in so doing I slowed my neighbors legal action. In the meantime, I quietly invited young Vincent, Victors son, to tea. It didn’t take me long to notice the way he watched me move about the room. His eyes followed as I leaned over and picked up some shoes carelessly left on the floor. As I served him tea, and leaned over him my cleavage was quite lasciviously exposed. Hormones really do turn the brightest young man into a gibbering imbecile.

I admit to being something of an exhibitionist. I enjoyed the way his eyes lingered there. Of course, I was playing with him and yet he so easily followed along as I subtly led him into my web. Several times he came over to my place, and each time I found an excuse to wear slightly more revealing and exciting clothes. And then, that fateful morning, just as young Vincent was feeling nice and comfortable with being in my house, I asked him to come upstairs to help me with something.

“You can help me with my zipper, can’t you?” I asked.

“Err… yes. Sure.”

“I just can’t reach around and get it up,” I said suggestively. “I feel sure you could help me get it up, can’t you?”
He followed me, an obedient puppy, as I stepped up the stairs, and then paused allowing him to bump into me.

“Oh, Vincent. Do be careful. I’m only small, you know. And you’re so…big!” I bent down in front of him pretending to wipe a little dust from the bannister. My bottom was almost aligned with his face as I did so, and I could feel his eyes penetrating me as much as he wished other parts of his body could.

“I must tell that cleaner to do her job properly!” I said and continued up the stairs to my bedroom, where I’d laid out a dress to try on.

One evening a week later, after Vincent had returned to college, I asked his father to look in for a little chat about removing the tree. As he stepped into my living room he saw the two martini’s on the coffee table, and my computer.

I sat, legs crossed and feeling quite calm and satisfied.  He sat down opposite me looking very professional, and I moved on of the drinks in front of him. He took it and looked a little suspicious.

“I don’t think we have to worry about removing that tree, do we?” I said as I turned on the laptop.

A series of images of Vincent dressed quite delightfully in my lingerie began to cycle across the screen.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t let these pictures go anywhere, but who can tell who hacks computers these days!” I said. “I should probably delete them, but with all this worry about that tree I just don’t seem to get the time! Now, if I were to find that my friendship with your son – which is entirely plutonic – were to indicate you’d told him about these pictures, or perhaps got angry at him even… well who knows how long it may take me to remove these images.”

Victor sat ashen faced opposite me as I sipped my martini.

“What do you want?” he said quite plainly.

“Nothing. Merely to have my apple tree. I’m sure it’s not really affecting your garden, and I love the shade. You even get a little of the shade yourselves. I’m sure you and Mrs. Vincent can learn to live with it. And besides, that way these images sit quietly on a USB drive far from anyone and never get accidentally leaked onto Instagram. I think that’s better for all of us, don’t you?”

“Yes, Meg,” said my new neighbor, almost choking on the words, and swiftly finished his martini.

I do so like it when we can all agree!

I hope you’re enjoying these messages. You can show your respect and support by joining my Premium Program HERE for the extremely generous subscription of $29.75 a year.

Mistress Meg.

Resistance is futile.

As Jessica and her friend pushed me back into the chair, I tried to twist free, but it was no use. My wrists were firmly strapped to the chair and Jessica held my head back as her friend Julie applied lipstick to my face.

“It’s simple, Simon,” said Julie. “You’re going to do as you’re told or else I’m sending the pictures to your wife.”

“But why would you do this,” I stammered.

Continue reading “Resistance is futile.”

How Convenient!

How very fortunate. I’ve caught you at just the most convenient time! I’d like you to take a seat and relax, and I’ll tell you what I’m going to do with you.

In about 45 minutes I will be seeing Geoffrey. He’s a very nice young man. He’s quite the body builder. Not that bright, but I use him for activities that aren’t very cerebral. I thought I’d let you know because this evening I have a very special treat for you.

As Geoffrey is stepping from the shower in a bout an hour, I’d like you to be listening to a very special hypnosis file I’ve prepared for you. The hypnosis file will help you join in with us. Isn’t that the most fun thing you ever did hear?

Well, when I say ‘join in’, that’s not exactly what I mean. It will tell you all about what I’m going to be doing, but you will be hypnotized to be able only to watch. Yes, this is a delightful cuckolding session. You’ve always wanted to be the subjugated voyeur, haven’t you? Well, the good news is that neither Geoffrey nor I mind you watching as he gives me exactly what I need in about an hour. In fact, watching you struggle with your own desires while Geoffrey drive deeply into my moistness will really help me enjoy the process still more.

You see, those feelings of intense pleasure inside me are heightened still further by the certainl knowledge that you would love to be doing exactly what he is doing. And that you can’t. All you can do is watch and feel a burning, almost overpowering desire that simply isn’t going to be met. The thought of it is already turning me on.

So, if you’d like to join in, you can enjoy it by using the sound file below.

I’ll be thinking of you!

You can show your respect and support by joining my Premium Program HERE for the extremely generous subscription of $29.75 a year.

Mistress Meg.

It’s been a shocking week!


Things have been unseasonably busy in my studio this month. If you’ve been missing my emails I do apologise.

The fact is we had what can best be described as `an unfortunate incident` a couple of weeks ago, involving my assistant, Stacey, one of my clients who has some rather extravagant piercings and a defibrillator.

I have told Stacey not to mess around with the defibrillator, and that it’s only for use on clients who have suffered a heart attack. Fortunately, these are few and far between. However, Stacey will let her enthusiasm run away with her at times.

As I explained to Stacey while we waited in the Casualty Department, applying several thousand volts to a clients pierced nipples would have an effect similar to applying a welding torch to the nipple. Only the most dedicated of clients would consider this a form of foreplay.

Needless to say, Stacey is pouting a little at present, which is more than can be said for our client. The surgical team tell me they hope to revive him soon.

Be sure to sign up for my free program, and remember I offer a free copy of Mistress Meg’s Guide To Perfect Pegging to all members who sign up. You’ll love it.

My Premium Program is very popular. If you`re not already a Premium Memberyou may like to think about joining.  I`m adding new content to it all the time, and I`d love to have you along for the ride.

Now, I have to go. I think Stacey may have found where I`d hidden my Tazer, judging from the noises coming from the studio.

Mistress Meg

Enjoy this video and get ready for some new and exciting material from me in the coming weeks.

If you’re already walking the Path To Submission, be sure to get onto the website and comment on the content.

Mistress Meg’s Guide To Perfect Pegging.

As I attached the straps and fitted them snuggly to Stacy’s slim hips I said to her, “It’s important to remember that just because you wear the strapon, it’s not all about the physical sensation.”

I was on my knees, and as I knelt close to Stacy I could sense she was very turned on by this partof her training. She’s a very physical young thing. It’s hardly surprising she sometimes gets excited.

“It’s about making sure he feels diminished. He needs to feel a lesser person.”
Stacy grinned. She was tall, statuesque in fact, and in her heels she towered over most of my clients.

To get your copy of Mistress Meg’s Guide To Perfect Pegging sign up for the free program HERE.

Roland arrives late.

Now, if you are a regular reader of mine, you’ll remember my guest Roland, who heads the local Chamber of Commerce. A very self absorbed individual. I remarked to Stacy not so long ago, that if one left him unfettered too long he would be too ‘up himself’ to be of much use to anyone or for anything.

Well, as perhaps you can imagine, I do not like to be kept waiting when a guest is visiting my studio. Appointments are very strictly timed. So, when he recently made the cardinal error of arriving late for his appointment, I was not best pleased. Even after changing, and entering the studio with just a small towel around his waist he was still out of breath.

Continue reading “Roland arrives late.”

You May Call Me Auntie Meg!

I thought I’d share a little story I had from one of my prospective clients the other day. I interview all my private clients before deciding whether they are worthy of my attention. I have to satisfy myself that they are suitable for my services, that I will feel comfortable working with them, and that my service will indeed improve their life. With this in mind I invited young Mathew, a 23 year old Software developer, to my studio to for an initial appointment. I think you’ll find his interview of interest.

Continue reading “You May Call Me Auntie Meg!”

An invitation written in blood.

This morning I found myself deep in conversation with Stacy, as we prepared to receive our first guest of the day, none other than her college professor, Professor Longstaff. I explained to her that I am not feeling at my best today.

“Last night was quite extraordinary, I was awake half the night.” I explained. “In the early hours of the morning I was woken by a terrific banging!”

Stacy smiled and giggled. Honestly, some people seem genetically disposed to take the wrong end of the stick at every opportunity and poke themselves in the eye with it.

Stacy’s youthful looks and seemingly innocent demeanor often lead people to think she is almost innocent, or possibly recovering from a recent lobotomy.

“It was that new garage door,” I explained. “It was opening and closing automatically, the sensor having gone on the fritz yet again. I need to have it serviced. And the warranty has just expired.”

I was particularly annoyed as it would cost a pretty penny to service and I hadn’t budgeted anything for the maintenance of the system.

“Not to worry,” said Stacy, as the doorbell rang. “We should have a little party for some of the clients. We can charge them something, and cover it that way.”

Stacy is not just a pretty face. Her idea was quite inspired and I gave it some thought. As she buckled the hapless Professor Longstaff to the wall and fitted a hood over his head, I resolved to invite several of my favorite clients and charge them a nominal fee to attend.

As Stacy and I readied ourselves, in the room adjacent to the studio, I mentioned it to my young assistant.

“How nominal a fee?” Stacy asked, drawing out some rubber gloves from a supply cabinet.

“A hundred and fifty dollars seems reasonable. That way we’ll only need a few,” I replied.

“It’s practically a gift!” she replied, pulling on her long black boots.

As we returned to the studio, I said to Stacy, “I think a nice touch might be to send invitations written in blood.”

“That would be dramatic!” agreed Stacy. “Tasteful.”

I noticed Professor Longstaff, his hooded head looking this way and that in curiosity. He had heard and was obviously intrigued.

“Yes, an invitation written in blood and hand delivered by a school child. How wonderfully perverse.” I mused. “Perhaps we can get some of the boyscouts to deliver the invitations. They’re always asking to do a few errands to raise money.”

I drew a few sheets of the finest vellum notepaper from my writing desk in the corner of the studio and located my favorite fountain pen. I could not help noticing Stacy standing by the cabinet in which we keep various tools of persuation, picking up a pair of sharp scissors. She opened and closed them, and they gave a satisfying snick, snicksound. Stacy picked up a small glass bowl usually used for the collection of more fertile bodily emmissions.

She walked over to Professor Longstaff, working the scissors as he shifted nervously, unable to see what she was doing, but clearly very agitated by the unfolding events.

“Writing the invitations in blood is truly inspired,” said Stacy. “Very artistic. Would you like me to cut

something off?” she said, prodding the professor.

Professor Longstaff stiffened in fear. “No, No,” he gasped. “I’ll give you a better mark. Anything you want… Please, Mistress!”

“I thought, just a little prick would do,” I replied absently to Stacy, whilst preoccupied, looking through my desk for some matching envelopes. I knew I had some in there somewhere.

I looked up slowly, a moment later. To my surprise Professor Longstaff was hanging in his bonds unconscious, having feinted, and Stacy was removing his underwear, and muttering, “That really does seem a little extreme, mistress….”

Sometimes Stacy really is the limit.

I hope you enjoy the weekend and that you are practicing the standards of subservience that I demand. After all, we wouldn’t like anything untoward to happen to you. And remember, don’t run with scissors.

By the way, if you have not yet signed up for my Premium Program be sure to soon.


Mistress Meg