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Babysitting My Little Friend – Part One
Mistress Morrigan

“Now you be a good girl for Auntie Morrigan and I’ll bring you a treat.”

I couldn’t believe that I had agreed to babysit.  I have nothing against children; I’ve just never been a particularly maternal person.  This was a different situation however.  I wasn’t babysitting someone who was a child chronologically speaking.  I was keeping an eye on a new friend of mine, an adult woman who happens to enjoy the kink of being a “little” to her husband’s “Daddy” role.

Now not every kink is for everyone.  There are whole lists of kinks that just aren’t my thing and I’d rather not participate in them.  That doesn’t mean that I won’t help someone live out an aspect of theirs.  That’s how I found myself playing the role of Auntie to my friend the little while her Daddy went out to meet some work colleagues for a drink.

With those parting words from her Daddy I turned to see big brown eyes filling with tears and a trembling bottom lip.  For a moment I was completely out of my comfort zone.  I had no idea what to do.  For all intents and purposes this was a little girl standing in front of me.  I couldn’t take out my flogger and cuffs and tie her up like a misbehaving submissive.  That wasn’t the role I agreed to play this evening.  I wasn’t Mistress Morrigan, Dominatrix.  I was Auntie Morrigan, and this little who was about to throw a tantrum in my living room had to be distracted some other way.

My eyes fell on the bag that had been left for her.  It was pink and covered with pictures of hearts and what looked like teddy bears.  I quickly snatched it up and in my most comforting voice asked her if she would like to show me what toys she brought to play with.  I was rewarded with one of the sweetest smiles I had ever seen.

We sat on the sofa side by side and she began to remove one stuffed animal after another.  In a soft lisping voice that couldn’t have belonged to anyone over the age of six she told me each animal’s name and insisted that I pat them on the head as she introduced them.  We arranged them on the coffee table facing us so they could see what else was going to be brought out of the bag.

I don’t know how all of the things she brought out could have fit in that one bag.  There were coloring books and crayons, three story books, two board puzzles with large pieces and even some modeling clay.  It was with these items that we hit our first snag.  As she took each item from the bag she showed them to me proudly and then promptly dropped them on the floor.  I remembered from my own childhood that this was not something that I could allow.  I told her in a gentle but firm voice to pick up her toys and stack them neatly on the table.

Well, she crossed her arms over her chest stuck out her bottom lip and told me that she didn’t want to, although it sounded something like “dun’wanna” to me.  For a second I felt my normal level of control slip, I really didn’t know how to deal with this kind of rebellion.  But I am nothing if not adaptable.  I told her that if she didn’t pick up her toys then she was going to get spinach for dinner and no dessert.  Apparently spinach is high on her yucky list because she hopped right down on the floor and picked her things up. She made two neat stacks of coloring books and story books and set the tubs of clay between them, with her row of stuffies standing guard.

Then she looked up at me from the floor and in her sweet little voice asked her “Auntie” to play.  I slipped down beside her and we spent the next twenty minutes or so coloring and making funny shapes out of clay.  I felt myself getting into my role.  I told her silly stories and tickled her to make her giggle.  It was almost as if there was a transformation and she became the tiny girl she was portraying.  I was curious to see just how far this would go.

To be continued… see part 2

The Brush Off
Mistress Morrigan

One of my closest friends, a woman who knows of my private lifestyle but has never been involved in it herself, came to me the other day with a request.  She had been watching a movie and in one of the scenes the heroine was taken over the knee of another character and given a spanking with the back of a hairbrush.  My friend couldn’t even remember the context of the spanking in the movie, what transgression had led to this form of corporal punishment of an adult woman.  All she could remember from that scene on was the sound of the brush connecting with bare skin…and the way it had made her feel as she watched.

It started out as an innocent seeming question, but I know enough about people in general and her in particular that I knew there was something more behind it.  As we sat at my kitchen table having coffee and catching up on our lives she was having trouble maintaining eye contact.  She fiddled with her cup and she toyed with the plate of cookies I had set out for us to nibble on.  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and I asked what was on her mind.  I had never seen her turn such a lovely shade of red.  It took her several tries but she was eventually able to get it out.  She told me about the movie scene, she told me that she had been dreaming about it and thinking about it constantly for nearly two weeks and then she asked for my help.  My friend, who had never really been interested in my lifestyle as more than a curious bystander, wanted me to spank her.

Not much in my life surprises me anymore, but this did.  I won’t say that the idea didn’t appeal to me, or that I hadn’t actually thought about it before.  She has a very spankable ass.  But I had to weigh the consequences of saying yes.  On one hand I was flattered that she trusted me with this; on the other I knew that it would change the dynamics of our relationship.  Then she looked at me with her big blue eyes so full of confusion and trust and I couldn’t refuse her.  She was my friend after all.

I knew that if I took her to my playroom it would scare the curiosity right out of her.  I gave her a safe word to use in case she changed her mind at any time and then I took her to my bedroom.

She stood just inside the door, eyes on her feet, looking shy and a bit guilty and I knew exactly how to handle her.  I went to my dressing table and picked up my favorite hairbrush.  It is sturdy and has some weight to it.  It also has a long enough handle to get a firm grip on, which makes it excellent for spanking.

At the foot of my bed is a padded bench.  This is where I sat.  I didn’t say a word, I just lightly smacked the brush against the palm of my hand and watched her.  Each time the wooden brush came in contact with my skin she twitched, just a little. When I finally told her to come to me she nearly jumped out of her shoes at the sound of my voice.  I could feel the energy vibrating off of her when she stood in front of me.

I asked her if she deserved what was about to happen and when she just nodded I made her say it aloud.  I made her tell me that she had been bad and that she needed to be punished, she needed to be spanked.  I made her say please. Then I took her over my knee.

I don’t know if she had chosen to wear a skirt that day in the hopes that this would happen or if it was something unconscious, but it was a good choice.  As she lay there across my knees I flipped the back of her skirt up and exposed her panty covered bottom; cotton in the palest pink.  I think my heart actually did a flip-flop in my chest and I had to remind myself this was my friend and I was helping her.  To warm her up I left her panties in place and smacked her bottom with the back of the brush six times, three on each butt cheek.  I made her count each one.  I could feel her heart beat against my thighs and her breath was already coming in short gasps.

I asked her how bad she had been and she stammered when she replied that she had been very bad.  At that I jerked her panties down over the curve of her ass and, telling her to count out loud, began to apply the wooden hairbrush to her bare skin with a little more force.  First one cheek and then the other until her skin began to turn a perfect rosy hue.  By the time she reached the count of twelve she was crying softly, by twenty she was sobbing and barely able to speak.  I knew it was time to stop.

I gently tugged her panties back into place and helped her to stand up.  Her hair hung around her face in messy curls and tears dripped from her chin.  I took tissues from my dressing table and led her over to the bed.  Fully dressed, shoes and all, we curled up together on top of the covers and I dried her tears.  I held her until her breathing slowed and I held her as she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Are You Gonna Be My Girl?
Submitted by sub mike

The first package was delivered to my cubicle around mid day.  There was no return address or the name of the sender anywhere to be found on or in it, but there was a note.  All it said was to take the item inside the box into the restroom and put them on.  My hands had trembled as I pushed the tissue paper aside and looked at a pair of sapphire blue panties, my favorite color, with a cute little bow front and center on the waistband.  All I could do was to stare at them; I didn’t know if I was excited or terrified…or both.  I knew what this was about, I had asked for help and it had come.

There was no way that I could say Mistress Morrigan was a friend, we barely knew each other.  She was more like a mentor, someone that I could ask any question and get an honest answer from, and help when needed.  Especially when I was having trouble pushing my own boundaries, and this was a big one.

I am quite at ease with my submissive side.  I’m proud to be a man serving under a strong woman, and I love exploring my sexuality and the extent of my kinky nature.  Lately one thing had been playing on my mind.  Dressing in women’s clothing.  No, not just dressing in them, but being made to dress in them.  It’s what I would think of when I masturbated at night, or even during the day when the need got too strong to control.  Because thinking about it could make me so hard it hurt, a feeling I love.

As I sat contemplating the big step I was being faced with a text message came through.  All it said was “Do it now.”  I wasn’t surprised that she knew the package had already been delivered.

I slipped the panties into my pocket and walked as casually as I could down the hall to the restroom.  I locked myself into the small room that held a toilet and a sink and wondered how I was going to manage my task.  I kicked off my shoes and hastily stepped out of my trousers and boxers.  It felt so strange to be standing in the office bathroom half naked.

I wasn’t even sure how to go about putting the panties on.  I mean, how difficult could it be?  But on the other hand it wasn’t like putting on a pair of boxer shorts.  The material itself made for difficulties.  In the end I had to put the lid down on the toilet, cover it with some paper towels and sit down.  Already I was starting to feel more feminine.  I put one foot after the other into the proper holes and pulled them up to my knees.

Let me tell you, I’ve felt satin on my skin before but not like this.  As I stood and pulled the panties slowly up my thighs and over my hips and ass I could barely breathe.  Then came the real problem:  How do you fit a cock into a pair of women’s panties, especially one that was harder than it had ever been before?  You can’t tuck it away, and there’s no room to dress to the left or right.  I had no choice but to let it point straight up my belly.  That’s when I discovered that panties fit snugly, at least these did.  The head peeked out over the cute little bow, but the elastic waistband held me in place nicely.

When I looked in the mirror the sound I made could have been mistaken for pain.  It was just that good.  I didn’t want to go back to my desk, I wanted to stay in the bathroom and play.  That’s when the second text came in.  I swear sometimes she’s psychic.  The text said, “Get your pants on and get back to work.”  I don’t know how I managed it, but I got back into my trousers and made it through the rest of the work day.

The second package arrived in my cubicle just before quitting time…the note said to put on the enclosed item and wear it home. It was a lovely satin bra that matched the panties I was wearing.