This is a partially true story, with some embellishments and enhancements out of my own fantasy. I'll allow you, dear readers, to wonder what is true, and what is contrived, where truth ends and fantasy begins. Enjoy. ;)
Mistress Margo was waiting for me in the reception hall of Saint Petersburg Airport. I had been there a couple of times before, but this time was a bit tense. I was anxious about the week that awaited me with her. After Passport Control and Customs, and a cursory search of my baggage (thank God it was not more intense, given what was in my bag), I exited arrivals into the reception hall to search for Miss Margo. I recognized her immediately. This was not our first meeting. Our first, in fact, had been a year ago, and had not gone well. She was too kind to me, and should have been more insistent. But now I was ready. And so was she, if I knew her, from our conversations up to this point.
She gave me a cursory look, a gratuitous greeting and motioned me to follow her. I did so, out into the cold Saint Petersburg air and towards the car waiting for us. The driver helped me load my bags into the trunk and Ms. Margo motioned me to take a seat on the back seat from the opposite side of the car.
"So, Peter, are you ready?" she asked, somewhat accusitorially, somewhat skeptically.
"Yes Ma'am," I said. "I'm ready to submit." Ms. Margo had agreed to see me again and fulfill my secret fantasy of sucking cock. But true to her character, she refused any detailed components of it on my part. While I was allowed to name the theme, it was up to her to orchestrate and execute.
She waited a bit before she replied. "I hope so," she said slowly. "I won't tolerate any bullshit this time, and there is no fail-safe for you, no safe-word. It's all or none, and in a moment, it's all, do you understand me?"
"Yes Ma'am."
"Good. Then hand over your cash, wallet, credit cards, your passport, all your identification and other documents. And your phone, too. You won't need that for now. You know what I mean, we talked about this. You agreed in principle already, so hand them over."
I already had everything in hand, in a central location. I took them out of my inside pocket of my jacket and handed them over to her. She placed it in her purse and spoke to the driver. Although I speak Russian tolerably well, it seemed she was speaking something else, something I only vaguely understood, if at all. But certainly not completely. Far from it. I wondered if it were Polish. Or maybe a Baltic language. No matter. Whatever she had planned, she had no intention of sharing it immediately with me.
As I recalled, Ms. Margo had her play apartment out a good distance on the outskirts of town. But short of that the driver took us to a central location, where there were shops and stores. I became nervous, realizing that she truly was going to do everything we had talked about. Whether I wanted it or not. And with my money and passport in her possession, I didn't have much choice at this point.
She said something else to the driver in Polish, or whatever, and then motioned to me with her long, sharp nails.
"Let's go, slave."
Ms. Margo led me towards a set of stores and shopfronts where we had stopped. Her direction took us to a salon. She walked directly in, not waiting for me.
By the time I caught up with her, she had already begun speaking with a stylist there, a lady about 45, and they continued to talk in quiet tones out of my earshot, as Ms. Margo made me take a seat away from them while she discussed matters with the stylist. In a moment Ms. Margo approached me and told me to stand.
"Oksana has all my instructions and you are to do whatever she says," she told me forcefully. "I want no bullshit or whining from you. You do what she says, when she says, or I promise you, you will pay dearly for your mistakes. Now, go to her, I have other things to do in preparation for your time here. Do NOT disappoint me! Do you understand?"
"Yes Ma'am," I said humbly.
She turned and walked out of the salon. I looked at Oksana and walked slowly to her.
"So, Petra," she said with a gloating smile on her face, "are you ready for your salon treatment?"
"Yes Ma'am," I answered nervously.
"Well, first things first, we need to get you slick and clean, so I'm going to take you back and get you hairless, as Margo requested. Let's go."
Oksana took me to the back of the salon. There, she told me to strip and put my clothes in a plastic bag. She was all business about it, not tolerating any hesitation. I stood before her, naked, embarrassed, and she took the opportunity to enjoy the circumstances at my expenses.
"Well, I can certainly see why we're feminizing you, Dear," she commented harshly.
I didn't reply, not that one was expected or wanted.
"Get in the shower."
She stripped down herself and joined me in the shower. Her body was voluptuous, with large breasts and a large round ass. She had a thick, dark, unkempt bush between her legs, in complete contrast to the blonde hair on her head. She turned on the water and waited for a warm flow of water before she began washing me and applying a depilatory to my entire body, from the neck down. She applied the solution twice, ensuring that there was not a hair from the neckline down on my body, paying particular attention to the crack between my ass and my crotch. She was not gentle in the process, either. She was all business.
When I was completely hairless and she turned off the shower, she handed me a towel to dry off before taking one herself to dry off and redress. Rather than hand me my clothes when I was dry, she handed me a robe, a very silky feminine one, and gave me some slippers to put on my feet. She led me to a booth away from the main salon area, fortunately. She sat me in the chair at her booth and took a look at me before she began.
"Margo would prefer you have a feminine hairstyle without a wig, for obvious reasons," she explained. "And it seems you've done just what she said, not cutting your hair since you began planning your meeting with her. I think I might have enough to work with here to give you a very nice, sexy, feminine pixie cut. So we'll begin with that. It shouldn't take too long. While I'm doing that, Ilona will come back to do your nails and then we'll work on your makeup. Lord knows you have no clue for now on how to do that, do you?"
"No Ma'am," I said. Everything Ms. Margo had promised -- threatened? - was coming to fruition.
