I was once Reverend Zigfield Quinn, but then I had an awareness of my true role, and I decided to give it up to be a male Master. I have some interesting clients, that is to be sure.
I keep telling Hollander that he can't stop being a natural submissive. Hollander is due to wed a sweet girl, a nice little creature with a flower shop or something, and he's told me time and again that he has to stop visiting me for sexual domination.
It's true, I'm a man, and as Hollander keeps telling me, he's not gay. Why, then does he go to work with a huge butt plug up his hidey hole? And why is he always showing up at my place?
Sometimes it's just for a quickie enema, but that's usually not the case.
Just the other night, after he'd told me that he was done with the weirdness and his pastoral counselor or some shit had gotten him to change, and I can't believe he's getting all this counseling and hasn't told Stacy or Tracy or whoever he's marrying about his perversion...
He shows up at my apartment. Hollander has a nice big house, and it used to be fun to go over there. Before he met Stacy, Hollander had a big St.Andrew's cross in his basement and a wonderful carpenter's horse that I'd bend him over before giving him thirty with the cane.
Hollander would cry bitter tears, but then he'd happily drop to his knees and begin slurping at my cock, and I'd cum several times. Then I'd grind my Doc Marten boot against his stiff one until he came, too.
But of course Stacy is living there, now, and it's been transformed into a nice, hygienic rec room with a Wii and that sort of thing.
So Hollander drops by my house, and when I open the door, he's snarling, Furious that he's given in again.
"I thought you were going to stay away this time." No one seeing us together would ever suspect that Hollander is the submissive. He's six foot three and quite athletic, and I am kind of dumpy and have Coke bottle glasses and somewhat yellow teeth.
But Hollander is fascinated. "I'm just coming this one more time, Ziggy." He pauses. "I've got to get decent therapy, and frankly, you should, too."
And that's when I slapped him, right in the doorway, and he fell to his knees. I walked back into my apartment and he followed me.
Within ten minutes I had Hollander stripped and in a pretty jumper and high knee socks and Mary Janes. Now he's Holly, my nice little schoolgirl.
"See, what would Stacy say if she could see you now, Holly? Not much of the macho man there, right?"
Holly begins weeping, because she knows that she's just a sad little tranny. And Holly's desire to be a pink frocked schoolgirl is just too exquisite, I think.
"Aren't you sorry you are abusing your Daddy's time, pretending to be a big shot, being engaged to that silly little thing when you know you just want to jump rope and have tea parties and play with dolls?"
In an effort to make peace, Holly waves the little white envelope with my munificent tribute in it. I snatch this from him, but of course I'll never be mollified.
