My training as a she-male servant began when I rang the doorbell of my lady’s home. She greeted me wearing along, tight fitting red leather gown, which covered her from neck to foot except that it exposed her prominent and luscious breasts; her long auburn hair flowed over her shoulders. She was also wearing 6″ spike heels and black stockings. The dress had a slit from her thigh to her ankles, which showed off her stocking clad legs when she walked. She demanded that I call her nothing but Mistress Dominique and
that I would speak only when she allowed me to do so. She informed me that from now on my name would be “Rachael” and that she would transform me into a totally subservient she male handmaiden.
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Sure, Mr. Jones, I’d be happy to tell what I know. I don’t want anything to stand between me and graduating. All of this happened this academic year. I was in Miss Presley’s honors English class, and for reasons I couldn’t figure out at the time, I seemed to be her pet. She was always glancing my way — not with one of those sinister expressions, not like a teacher watching a problem student, but with very pleasant expressions and smiles.

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I would never call myself a slut. But, I would call myself sexually adventurous. Hell, why not. I’ve done just about everything that you can imagine. Trust me, I’ve even done some things that you can’t imagine. Sex has always been an escape for me. Some people use drugs or alcohol, sex has been my escape. I’ve been pretty lucky so far. I’ve had lots of fun and kept myself clean. If you know what I mean.

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