I don't usually get into arguments with strangers, and
especially not with female strangers. Unfortunately I got into
one recently, and I picked the wrong woman to do so, because she
turned out to be a professional dominant.

It was about 10 pm, and I went to the gym for a little
exercise. There were only a few people there at that hour, and
the staff person said they would be closing at 11, and would we
mind if he left early - the last person left should just shut
off the lights.

I was pretty much minding my own business going from
exercise machine to machine. I found myself on the Stairmaster
next to a short blonde woman. She was sexy, but not pretty; I
prefer women that are pretty, even if they are not sexy. The
Stairmasters faced a television set showing the 10 o'clock news,
and the newscaster WAS pretty. I was watching the newscaster,
not really listening to the news, wondering if her long
eyelashes were real or not, wondering how she applied that
second darker shade of eye shadow that made her eyes look so
deep, admiring her perfectly lined lipstick, and so on.

And suddenly the blonde woman on the Stairmaster next to me
hit the remote control, and changed the television station. I
was stunned. I asked her, "Why did you change the station?"
She answered, "because I wanted to watch something else." So I
replied, "but I was watching it. Don't you think you should
have asked if I minded if you changed it?" She replied, "No, I
was here first, so it is my choice what channel is on." We went
back and forth on this way too long, with me suggesting the
considerate thing would have been to ask me before changing
channels, her telling me I was too sensitive, and so on.
Eventually in frustration she threw the remote control at me and
told me if it was that important to me that I should change it
back.

At this point I had had enough of this argument, and I
decided to ignore her and just concentrate on the Stairmaster.
She came back with, "Oh, so you didn't really care about the
program, you just wanted to start a fight." I admitted that I
was more upset about the principle of not being asked, not
wanting to admit that I really just wanted to resume gawking at
the pretty newscaster.

Well, now she was really angry at me. She jumped off her
Stairmaster, went over to mine, and pushed me off it! She
started wrestling me on the floor! I am much taller and heavier
than she, but I was totally unprepared for this, and I started
asking her to cut it out. I guess I did this in kind of a
whining way, and it encouraged her even more. "You're such a
little girl," she spat at me. And with that she quickly pulled
down my shorts, past my feet, and ran with them into the women's
locker room.

I looked around the gym. Fortunately, everyone else had
gone. I knocked on the door to the women's locker room. "Give
me back my shorts," I cried, in less than my normally masculine
voice. The voice from inside the locker room replied, "You want
them? Then come in and get them. If you're man enough, that
is."

So I opened the door to the women's locker room. Just as I
did, I saw her put my shorts into her locker, and snap the lock.

"If you want these shorts back, you need to be punished
first for the way you talked to me before. You were insulting.
And you obviously don't appreciate who you're dealing with."

Now, I was not insulting. I was a perfect gentleman - she
was the one who was less than considerate. But she did have my
shorts, and I had nothing else to go home in. So I sheepishly
agreed.

She pushed me into the shower room, facing me against a
wall. She had a huge gym bag on the floor near her. What could
she possibly need with such a big bag? I soon found out. She
quickly produced two straps that she buckled on my wrists, and
she connected the buckles to the wall with a chain. My wrists
were about shoulder height, a little further apart than the
width of my shoulders. Not uncomfortable, but I was shackled.
The wrists were far enough apart that neither hand could
unbuckle the other, and the chain was such so that I could not
reach the wall to uncouple it. She had me. What kind of woman
carried that sort of thing around with her?

She stepped to the side of me to gloat over her captive. I
took the time to admire her. She was short, maybe 5'4". She
had shoulder length blonde hair, with dark roots. An OK face,
but as I said she was sexy more than pretty. Small breasts and
a small waist, encased in a colorful tight spandex gym outfit.
Good legs. She was obviously in excellent shape, and an
imposing figure despite her lack of height.

She said her name was Angel. "You may call me Mistress
Angel. You may say, 'Yes, Mistress Angel' or 'No, Mistress
Angel', and you will not speak unless I ask you a question. You
will also not look me in the face unless I give you permission.
Is that clear, little girl?"

"Yes, Mistress Angel," I softly answered.

"You are nothing but a little girl," she told me. "You
whine and complain and you argue over nothing. I am going to
punish you like a little girl," she scolded me.

And with that she stood behind me, and started spanking me
with her bare hand, through my undershorts. At first the spanks
didn't hurt, but they got harder and harder and they were having
an effect on me. Suddenly she pulled down my undershorts, and
started spanking me on my bare skin. The spanks were really
hard now. But she would alternate gently fondling my ass or my
balls, and then spanking me hard. Her fondling was making me
moan, but each was short-lived and followed by a spank. She
reached into her bag and pulled something out. Now she was
spanking me with some sort of paddle from her bag. I was
determined not to cry out, but tears were forming in my eyes

Then she stopped. "Would you like to feel your Mistress's
breasts on your ass, little girl?" This was an unexpected
question, but I decided I might as well enjoy it. "Yes, Mistress
Angel," I said. "Then don't you dare turn your head, little
girl," she warned. I could hear her removing her clothes. Then
she was rubbing herself on me. She rubbed her soft breasts
against my red ass, and she rubbed her crotch against it too.
"How does that feel, little girl," she asked me. "Wonderful,
Mistress," I answered. "Then thank your mistress," she
commanded, and I did.

She tired of that and asked me, "Would you like to look at
your Mistress's body? Do you think you are worthy? Are you a
worthy little girl, or a worthy slut?" Now there was a tough
question. This reminded me of "Have you stopped beating your
wife?" - there is no good answer. But I was really starting to
hate this 'little girl' stuff, so I decided to go with, "I am a
worthy slut, Mistress."

"I thought so," she sneered at me. I am going to unhook
you from the wall. But don't turn around until I tell you."

She unhooked me, and I shook my wrists to get a little of
the blood circulating in them again. Meanwhile she took a
wrist, jerked it behind my back, and snapped a handcuff on it.
She repeated the process on my other hand. I tested the
handcuffs, and once again, she had me. Then she said, "OK, my
little slut, you may look at my body now."

I turned around. She had a perfect pair of breasts.
Small, but wonderfully firm and round. A tiny waist, as I had
known when she was clothed. And a shaved pussy. She was
extremely sexy. And she had a light coating of perspiration
from her earlier exercise, and from spanking me.

"Do you like what you see, my little slut?" she asked me.
"Oh yes, Mistress," I replied, certainly being truthful. "Then
thank your mistress," she commanded, and I did.

"But you don't look like my little slut," she smiled. She
made me sit down on a chair near the sink. She produced a pair
of scissors, and she cut off my tee-shirt. She untied my
sneakers, and removed them and my socks. Then she slid a pair
of white lacy, thigh high stockings up my legs. "Do they feel
nice, my little slut?" I admitted they did. "You know, I make
most of my little sluts shave their legs. Maybe I should do
that to you."

I shuddered at the thought, wondering how I would explain
that at home. She smiled, understanding how easily she could
scare me.

She made me stand, put a white lacy garter belt around my
waist, and attached the tabs to the stockings. She knelt down
to do that, and her face was near my cock, but obviously she was
not going to pleasure me like that. She put a bra around my
chest. It was not padded and it gave me no bust, but she liked
the look and humiliation of it anyway. She squeezed one of my
nipples.

I let out a scream. That really hurt! She smiled, pleased
she had found one of my weak spots and recognizing the
tremendous power she had over me.

"You are looking more and more like my little slut, aren't
you?" she humiliated me. "Yes, Mistress Angel," was all I could
reply. She pulled out a pair of high heels, obviously not her
size, and made me step into them. A little too small, but I
managed to cram my feet into them somehow.

She pushed me back into the chair. She reached into her
gym bag and pulled out a smaller bag. She opened that up and
started pouring things out on the sink. This was her makeup
bag, and the intended use was pretty obvious.

She pulled my chair, with me still in it and handcuffed
behind me, close to the sink. Then she sat on my lap, as she
began applying a liquid makeup all over my face with a sponge.
"Don't you love how this feels, my little slut?" she asked me.
The sponge did feel soft and relaxing, I admitted. She smiled,
all knowing. I was totally in her erotic power.

She examined my face and ran her fingers over my eyebrows.
"You know, I make most of my sluts pluck their eyebrows." I
winced, both at the pain that must involve, and at the thought
of how I would explain that one at home.

She applied mascara to my lashes, commenting that sluts
like me always seem to have long eyelashes, and that mascara
would make them even prettier. She had me look right at the
midpoint between her breasts as she did this, so that she got
just the right angle on my lashes, and so that I was aroused
even more. She did my eyeshadow and eye liner in what truly was
a slutty blue, something no woman would really wear - unless she
was a slut!

She must have used several shades of blush, but the feel
of the brush was quite erotic. She casually turned my face from
left to right to check that she had colored my cheeks evenly, as
if I were simply her plaything. Which I was.

She examined several lipsticks, looking at the names on the
tubes, unscrewing them and considering the shades, and then
repeating the process until she had examined her entire lipstick
collection. She settled on a deep purple. She made me open my
lips seductively as she slowly stroked the bold color on my
lips, over and over until my lips were coated with the color.
She told me that sluts always have big lips, and that she was
making mine bigger than my normal size. I was looking deeply
into her eyes as she did this, seeing the obviously gleam. There
was no doubt that she was enjoying this, enjoying my
humiliation. I found this particular moment deeply arousing,
bound by the handcuffs and with Mistress Angel sitting on my lap
as she calmly applied lipstick to me. I shifted slightly, as
she had been sitting on my growing erection, and she laughed
when she realized the effect she was having on me.

She finished my makeup with some lip gloss, and reached
once again in the gym bag and pulled out a long flowing red wig.
She combed the wig with a brush and placed it on my head.
Then, still handcuffed, she invited me to stand up and look at
myself in the mirror. "NOW, you look like my little slut," she
informed me. "Do you feel like my little slut?"

I examined the image, and SHE WAS RIGHT! A mane of long,
straight, bright red hair. Too much of every kind of makeup,
from eyelashes that were over-mascaraed, too bright eyeshadow
and too thick eye liner, blusher that was way too obvious, and
some garish, glossy purple lips. My body was unshaven, but it
sported a bra, a garter belt, stockings and heels. My erection
stood out in contrast to the feminine touches, as Mistress had
not given me panties.

She would not move on until I admitted, "Yes, Mistress, I
feel like your little slut." How humiliating!

Then Mistress Angel reached into her gym bag and pulled out
a double dildo. She slowly inserted one end into herself, and
wiggled around until it was where she wanted it. I tensed up
immediately. I have a tremendous fear of being penetrated
anally, and, being still handcuffed behind me, I would have no
ability to resist if that were Mistress's plan.

But Mistress sat down on the chair, spread her legs, and
told me to get on my knees and kneel between her legs, facing
her. And, facing the part of her dildo that was extending
outward - right at my face.

"Is my little slut worthy of sucking this dildo, like a
good little slut?" she asked me. I was tempted to say "No", but
I was afraid that might lead to a worse result. So I
reluctantly shook my head "Yes". Mistress pushed my head to the
dildo, and I took a tiny bit into my mouth.

It was made of a smooth rubber and didn't feel half bad.
The humiliation of the experience was very erotic, and I took a
little more, and started sucking in and out. Meanwhile, the
half of the dildo that had been inside Mistress was also moving
in and out of her from my movements. I increased my tempo, and
Mistress guided my head to the rhythm and the length of movement
that she wanted. She kept reminding me that there I was, her
little slut, doing what little sluts are supposed to be doing.
After what seemed like many minutes of my sucking, she started
to shudder, and she obviously came. As she quieted her
movements down, she allowed me to remove my mouth from the
dildo. She then removed the portion from herself, and examined
my half for the lipstick prints. And she made a big deal of
showing me MY lipstick marks that were all over the dildo.

"You may thank your mistress," she said. Of course, I did.

Then for the first time in quite a while, she removed my
handcuffs. She gave me a bottle of hand lotion, and told me
that she wanted to see me play with myself. She explained that
this was for her pleasure not mine, and we sat opposite each
other. She lazily inserted her dildo inside her some more, as
she watched me stroke myself. I got myself good and slippery
from the lotion, watched her gorgeous body, remembered some of
the humiliating things she had put me through, and I came.

She invited me to take a shower to wash the makeup off.
She took the wig and the female clothes she had given me. I
stepped in one shower stall while she stepped in another. I
took my time, thinking I had better do a good job on my face.
When I was done, I stepped out of the shower, and there were my
gym shorts. But Mistress Angel was gone.

It's a shame you didn't leave behind any permanent reminders. How long as it before you went back to the gym?