DOMestic Bdsm and Female Domination

When we stepped off the elevator in the basement, we were met by
a tall woman with a great body wearing a white top that exposed
her bare midriff, black capris, and black ballet flats. She
looked at me with disgust, and said, "I see we have our work cut
out for us. Get on the treadmill, and we'll get started."

I run on a regular basis, so I figured this would be easy.
Wrong! The first 10 minutes or so weren't too bad. Then she
increased the slope on the treadmill and, at the same time,
increased the speed. I lagged somewhat and got jolted. I soon
learned that would happen every time I got a little out of
position on the treadmill. Damn, she isn't zapping me manually,
this thing has got sensors that detect when I fall behind
slightly, and automatically give me a jolt. I tried moving
forward or off to one side with the same result. This machine
wasn't cutting me any slack.

After an hour of running, I was given a drink, allowed to sit
down for a few minutes, then directed to remove my shoes and
anklets. Then we started Pilates. After a warm up, we started
what she called bridging, Starting on my back I had to raise my
midsection while supporting myself on my feet and shoulders. Of
course, my skirt fell towards my head, exposing my crotch. She
caressed my balls, which produced an erection.

"My goodness, you are horny. Are you finding all this to be
sexually frustrating?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"That's good. That's part of the training" and she zapped me,
which removed the erection.

We continued Pilates for an exhausting hour. Every time she
wasn't satisfied I got a jolt. When we finally quit, and I got
another short break and a drink, my abdomen definitely felt it.
While resting, I couldn't help looking at her body with a
completely flat midriff. She noticed I was looking at her, and
said, "You've noticed my flat stomach. When I'm through with
you, you'll have one too, and be able to wear bare midriff
fashions. Would you like that?"

I responded with the only allowable answer, "Yes, Mistress."

Her prediction turned out to be accurate. After two weeks, the
workouts, coupled with a greatly decreased food intake, and
helped by the waist cincher, resulted in a more attractive
stomach. Not six pack abs, but a flatter, more feminine waist.

I was handed a pair of pink ballet flats and told to put them
on. They fit perfectly. Just another example of how well
organized this operation was. As much as I hated being here, I
was impressed with their planning and logistics. Everything ran
like clockwork.

I practiced ballet for another hour. She started with the basic
positions. There were frequent electronic corrections, when she
wasn't satisfied. My toes had to be turned out the proper
amount, which, to me, was a completely unnatural position.
However, she kept insisting, until I finally got it right. We
moved to the barre for more exercises. Eventually she took me
back to my room, and left me with. "You may thank me by kissing
my shoes."

I knelt and kissed her black ballet flats. I don't know much
about ballet, but I understand that, traditionally, men wore
black ballet shoes and clothing, while women wore pink or white.
This was definitely a role reversal, with me clad in pink, and
her in black.

My wife opened the door while I was kissing the trainer's shoes.
"Well, I see your training is progressing." Then to the trainer,
"Thank you."

"My pleasure. We're making progress, but she still has a long
way to go. See you tomorrow, sweety."

I was allowed to relax for a few minutes, then given a salad to
eat. Luncheon salads, a glass of juice for breakfast, and a
supply of vitamins, dietary supplements, and appetite depression
pills prior to evening serving duties, were the extent of my
food.

After that all too skimpy lunch, my wife had me strip, and led
me into the bathroom for a shower and full body shave from the
neck down, which she closely supervised.

Back in the bedroom, I was strapped into a waist-cincher, which
was tightened too tight. I put on the black bra, hose, and the
maid's dress with petticoats. A new pair of black patent heels,
3 inches high, came out of my suitcase and onto my feet.

During the course of my stay, the height of the heels gradually
increased from the original 2 inches through 3" to 4" and I even
had one session serving drinks to the ladies wearing 5 inch
heels. I eventually got to the point where I could handle most
heel heights, but the 5 inch heels were difficult to move and
maintain my balance in.

My wife redid my makeup and took me downstairs to the dining
room where she turned me over to the head trainer. She
instructed me in the proper way to set the table, serve food,
take away dishes, serve drinks, and everything else a waitress
needed to know. I was also taught the proper position to take
when not busy, standing with hands folded, and eyes downcast,
not looking directly at the women being served, but still able
to see if one of them signalled that she needed something. I was
made to practice all of this repeatedly with, of course,
frequent jolts for mistakes.

Eventually, my wife returned, and led me back to the room.