My experience with... Maîtresse Blanche
Maîtresse Blanche is a professional mistress based in the Paris region. Click here to visit her website. I was blessed to have an overnight experience under her control.
I - Introduction
This article is my favorite on this blog so far.
I'm a big fan of Maîtresse Blanche, if not an admirer -no longer a secret one-. I've been trying to fight it for a whole year now, but nothing is working. I don't know what to say to a dream that won't go away.
Spain, Germany, Belgium, The Netherlands, Italy, Romania, Czech Republic, Hungary, Greece, Serbia. So many new countries just in Europe where I had found at least one experience that interested me, but I just preferred to see Maîtresse Blanche Blanche again, even though I already knew her. I didn't anticipate this when I created this blog: to want to see someone again, or even not to move anymore.
I finally gave in and agreed to give preference to the brain located on the left side of my chest over the one higher up. I rarely have that kind of courage, though. I guess that Maîtresse Blanche makes me brave.
I start writing this article in the middle of the night, months before the session. I just woke up from a dream involving Maîtresse Blanche. Another one. The week before I had another dream where Mistress Euryale was also present. We were dining in a house that was unknown to me. More than just serving dinner, I also entertained them, mostly at my expense. I had a constant urge to hide under the table, they never stopped commenting on all my reactions and attitudes, crushed as I was by their presence.
I owe a tribute to Mistress Euryale, who was at the origin of some of my last articles. I wrote why masochism (french language only), inspired by this monologue by Bob Flanagan, which I discovered on her website and shocked me at first listening. My article on Femdom clips was written after I bought one of hers on my favorite fetish (and her video is great). Finally, under this woman's feet (french language only) is a rewritten, fantasized version of the time I spent under her feet last year, which I still think about regularly.
Also, just having read her on her blog last year, and having read other things on her website, gave me more confidence in expressing my sensitivity, which I've always found hard to deal with - I'm not so good at managing cursors. So I started to write just for fun more or less inspired texts, some that are here published and some which are not.
It all started a few days after last year's party with Mistresses Blanche and Euryale, when my article was not enough to get my emotions out of my head. I then found myself imagining a little sung text about Mistress Euryale, an humorous little song. The rhythm and the rhymes had come out of nowhere, I hadn't even tried to create anything at first. But I ended up writing these lyrics, if only not to forget them. After my graduation, I plan to learn to play the guitar, and I'll have fun with it all.
• What has changed since the last time
I was saying in my article about the party with Mistresses Blanche and Euryale that it's been several years since I've been so touched and inspired by someone. Without going into details, I now can say a year later that this encounter (but especially what I did with it) has brought me a little more in line with the expression of my emotions and feelings. I'm not only thinking about what I just wrote above, but also about other things that are less explicit, but just as relevant to me.
Without any role model, without any ties other than those that a woman will put on my wrists, and without any more landmarks than those inked to my body; it is useful for me to observe women greater than me. I let them penetrate me, at least metaphorically, and I build on that. I like it, that is my cruise. And even if I haven't chosen that cruise completely, I accept it.
It is pleasant to note that encounters with pro domme can very well go beyond sexual or sexualized pleasure. At least that's how I experience them and all the interest I see in them. It is also a fact to be taken into account to understand all the emotional involvement that certainly emerges from these articles on my sessions. A refined selection makes me meet women I can be inspired by. I like to see women, even before mistresses. The privileged context of a session gives you access to some intimacy, even to a strong connection, very quickly. It is difficult to find such an intensity in other contexts. This intimacy is nourishing.
An intimacy however combined with a blissful distance, and this is where these relationships are quite unique: the whole dimension of character building in their activity allows you to freely apply your projections to them.
That character lives by herself, but also and above all through your own perceptions. The person I meet has then become more than a woman, at least for the moment spent with her. She becomes, in addition to herself, what I secretly ask for, what I never had or what I am not.
From the tips of their well-groomed fingernails, these women fill my little toolbox, without necessarily noticing it. They give me new parts to work on my little car, which for too long has been damaged on the side of the road.
"Vroom vroom! Honk, honk! Make way for the latecomer, I'm comiiiing!"
Another change that Maîtresse Blanche is partly at the origin of, I was forced to abandon SM accounts on social networks. I only go there to get pictures for my articles and only when I have the courage to do so.
I had, before that, started by hiding the accounts of people who inspired me a little too much. I can't handle the unsolicited view of some of these people's photos or comments, in such a raw and direct way, that will stick in my head. I prefer the website, where the information is more controlled and distant, with no apparent interaction. The major problem here is that I certainly miss opportunities to offer my help or apply for specific things that these women only post on their social networks... Forever excluded!
Everything is cutting right through me, I'm getting tired. If I were a Pokémon card, I'd have negative hit points. Also, I have to face the fact that a few extra pounds of muscle won't make me any less permeable to this world. How disappointing.
I already relive some intense moments several months or years after they have taken place - sometimes against my will - and adding raw material to it just is too much for me. It stimulates me too strongly and I can't handle it.
One of my pitfalls has always been that I give too much credit to what I can imagine, sometimes going so far as to exempt myself from reality. How can I explain to Maîtresse Blanche, who has only seen me twice in the last year, that I have already lived a thousand adventures with her.
I guess that'll at least give her a good reason to bring out the restraints.
• The interview with Maîtresse Blanche
You can read it here.
God, I was so proud to interview her! It was also a big first for my blog. I had come on foot in January, because of the public transport strike in Paris. It took me more than an hour to walk to get here. It was raining on the way back. Never had an hour's walk in the rain seemed so pleasant to me. I was even stopped in the street by a driver, congratulating me for my smile. I never thought such a thing could happen, not to me.
Something that indicates how much Maîtresse Blanche touches me: I remember feeling so flattered when I understood that she had placed a pillow on the floor just for me before my arrival. It was my place to sit and conduct the interview. The mere fact that she thought of me - even for only three seconds - before I arrived, made me so happy!
Then it was not just a pillow, but a little cloud, my cloud. Plus, I was wearing my favorite sweater.
She's a passionate and smart woman, I was happy to have brought back quality content for my beloved blog, that was the purpose of this interview. She also taught me a new word: tropism (but I pretended I understood it!). I'm going to try to put it back in this article, but it's not easy, I'm not sure I know how to use it. One thing is sure though, new vocabulary is not the only thing I would have to learn from Maîtresse Blanche.
It was sometimes hard to keep quiet, so much I wanted to interact with her in response to what she was saying. At times, I felt that my interventions were taking her out of her mind. Damn it, I regretted it every time.
When I got home, I looked for hand-kissing guides or video tutorials, but I couldn't find anything. Being ignorant on the subject, I didn't know that you shouldn't really kiss the hand, or even look into the eyes! Maîtresse Blanche had not failed to point this out to me.
There was no better first experience possible for me and these interviews of pro dommes that I would like to continue doing. They are sometimes limited by the boundaries of their characters in their public expression and they hold a lot of interesting insights.
• Not knowing what experience awaits me
I wrote this introduction and the part below about Maîtresse Blanche several months before my experience. A particularly exciting first for me in these encounters with professional mistresses: I don't know what awaits me, I don't know exactly how long the experience will last.
Maîtresse Blanche simply told me to block 24 hours of my time, but that doesn't mean it will be a 24-hour experience. It's intellectually very exciting for me to travel to unknown lands. I sign without knowing exactly what I'm signing up for. I throw myself headfirst, not knowing when I'll get it back.
This blind set-up was obvious to me. I cannot imagine myself facing Maîtresse Blanche without giving her as much leeway as possible, both in content and in form. She will be the painter, and I will be her canvas.
So that's it, the emails have been exchanged, my approach and my limitations explained, and I find myself several months before my punishment, impatient and dreamy. My experiences narrated here feed my intellectual and sexual life several weeks before and after the date in question. I could even speak in months, sometimes.
The preparatory period also allows me to find myself, to think about my path, my shortcomings and my prospects. Like the boxer before entering the ring, I assess myself in the mirror. Of course, the fight is rigged: I will fold in the first round, Maîtresse Blanche winning by K.O. This fixed confrontation, I will come out of it defeated, but not losing. I'm a fighter, being beaten only gives me more meaning.
I think sometimes it's our own responsibility to make a moment special. I do what it takes to, with this anticipation. I don't hide the fact that I want to experience something special with Maîtresse Blanche, at least once. I will then comfort myself afterwards by telling me that she looked at me, at least once.
II - Maîtresse Blanche
I have already presented my general feelings about her in my article where I met her for the first time, in a private party with two other subs.
The world she has built for herself is rather tinted with mystery. At least, it is much more in suggestion than in demonstration. Suggestion in the sobriety of her current website, in the rarity of her words to talk about herself, as well as in the pictures she shows. In all her communication, she generally likes to imply more than she tries to show. Thus, the only thing she lets me appropriate about her is my own vulnerability.
I really like the way she talks about herself on her website. It's very succinct and yet complete, a skill that is unknown to me. You can also guess that she would have done well without all these elements of communication if she could.
Also, it's hard not to notice her appetite for black and white. As a highly visual person, I wonder to what extent it hasn't prompted me - even unconsciously - to project more gravity on his character. Like Isaac Newton, I feel relentlessly attracted to gravity.
She inspires me with things I don't have and will never have, or things I can't understand. Also, she seems so strong, stable. If she were a lioness, I'd be a quarter lion cub. I am then naturally attracted to this profile and seek shelter there when it rains, or settle down near her when it is sunny.
I see her with a back so strong that I'd have enough space for go-kart laps. I put on a helmet because I'm much less of a rebel than I like to look like one, but I wouldn't even need it, as she also inspires a sense of security.
I feel something in contact with Maîtresse Blanche that I don't necessarily feel for other people. It actually goes beyond her character. She frightens me, she impresses me, in the sense that I can't read her at all. If a lot of people were to be horizontal or vertical, she would be a diagonal. But the worst thing is that it looks as if it doesn't even try to be one! My GPS then displays an unfamiliar language, and I just feel overwhelmed on my four little wheels.
Maîtresse Blanche leaves me with a huge question mark in the helmet, when I try to understand her circuit and make my usual guesses.
This blur about her tends to submit me completely to the woman, even before the dominatrix, in a very natural way. She really evokes in me a strong feeling of inferiority. This is one of the reasons why I want to live a long and intense experience in her hands, like a forced and constrained pit stop, attracted by the force of her gravity.
I don't have to set up the loss of control as I sometimes have to do at the beginning of a session. With her, this state imposes itself on me. It's a rather special feeling that I hadn't experienced in such an intensity before her. I felt this effect on me even before I met her, and I realize today that it fits perfectly with some of the things I wrote about her last year.
In short, my brain completely disconnects when I'm within five meters of her, for better or worse. For worse, I think of my elocution during her interview. Or to try to open a washing machine that I thought was a fridge. In any case, she gives a new depth to my submission. I think it sounds exaggerated written like that, but I can't do better than that: that's how I feel.
I would certainly be able to break these mental constructs if I wanted to and readjust this relationship that I have experienced within me, but I have no desire to do so. I'm the boy who loves basketball with a giant poster of Michael Jordan in his room, there's no point in tearing out this photograph. I still need magic in my life, and why not to the end. Otherwise, what's the point?
I want to be the porcelain doll she dusted, made her own and locked in her showcase. I wouldn't be able to run away, any more than I'd like to. She would look at me with satisfied eyes. Punishment or protection, I leave that to her.
Gosh, I reckon Maîtresse Blanche is my favorite magician.
• Maîtresse Blanche, characters and personalities
Everything that follows from now on will have been written after my experience.
I will come back to this later: Maîtresse Blanche has explicitly put on two different roles in this session: Nurse Blanche (or Nanny Blanche), and the one I will call the reeducator. I saw that she had changed the metal plate on her blouse compared to the day before, but very quickly I was blindfolded and I couldn't read it.
I had the feeling that Maîtresse Blanche uses these characters to express different parts of her personality. The result is a spontaneity, an unfiltered presence, which contrasts with the usual conception of a character in this kind of scenario where the said character is often acted out, and where the person tries to fill the costume as it is drawn. But here, it is not Maîtresse Blanche who matches a character, it is the character who adapts to her. So you should almost talk about personality, rather than character. At least that's the feeling she left me.
Spontaneous, direct and without complex, I saw her as Nanny, dancing for a few seconds to the rhythm of a nursery rhyme when she was taking care of me. I saw her as a much more rigid reeducator, allowing herself to simply ignore some of my reactions.
While she will obviously make the effort to make the character she has chosen coincide with the situation, I have the impression that she will always remain herself in all circumstances, and that this character will then only be a vector allowing her to express herself as she is in the most coherent of ways. All of this combined with her creativity and the spontaneity she takes care to cultivate, means that a similar situation with her will never be the same as the previous time.
I find Maîtresse Blanche very talented, her spontaneity in action and her ability to bounce back on the unexpected makes her untouchable for a submissive of my profile. She leaves me nothing to interpret by myself, nothing to analyze in spite of myself. She keeps me reclusive, a mental prisoner, at a distance and at the same time so close to her. She finds a way to be in permanent control of the situation precisely by sometimes assuming that she no longer has it, she then eliminates any breach I could get into. It's neither a pleasure nor voluntary, but I too often tend to notice small details that can take me away from my position where I have to let go of control. Maîtresse Blanche makes this impossible, so I feel more submissive than ever to her contact, and I love it.
Once again, she impresses both as pro domme and a woman. Her way of doing things reveals a person who is passionate about what she does, who has thought and worked a lot on her stuff.
III - Beginning of the stay at GNC : Gynarchic Nurse Clinic
I start writing after spending a full 24 hours in bed at home. I slept, but also spent many hours reliving certain moments while dozing, purely out of gluttony. But there always comes the moment when you have to get back to living, and get out of your head. I won't be able to develop everything to the last detail, the article would be far too long.
Very quickly, I described this overnight experience as the most authentic experience I have had so far. Notably because Maîtresse Blanche, who became Nurse, or Nanny, made me for the first time a real Adult Baby. I reached a pleasant shame, so much so that it was only a raw pleasure, that of regression and transgression. Even if I used to say that I was only Diaper Lover, and not Adult Baby, a part of me felt that it was mostly a question of letting go, and of the right person in front of me.
I've completely let it go with Nurse Blanche.
• Blind discovery
-The road to Nurse Blanche
The beginning of my stay somehow started in public transport. I received a message from Maîtresse Blanche telling me, among other things, that I would be totally deprived of speech for the duration of our encounter. I didn't expect this, so I loved it. Sometimes I annoy myself for always trying to anticipate things, especially since I sometimes manage to do so. Being surprised in this way really made me thrilled. I was so excited. I'd been waiting for this moment for so long that already feeling her control over me brought tears to my eyes. There was so so much emotion.
I'm on my way to her place, it's late night. I'm quickly redoing my hair. I care about the validation of Maîtresse Blanche as if I was born just the day before. I even care a little too much. In her reply emails, the shadow of a word would be enough to hurt me. Porcelain. On the other hand, I love it when she writes to me: "Perfect". Gentle reflections of myself in her showcase.
I apply the instructions that I had just received by message: put off my shoes and clothes, blindfold myself, before knocking on the door behind which Maîtresse Blanche is waiting. In addition to my clothes, I also abandon the best of myself, the fruit of my courage. I will then present myself before Maîtresse Blanche, blind, naked, wounded and raw, accompanied only by the worst of who I am, all those things that I did not choose.
For the next few hours, Maîtresse Blanche will love that worst of me far better than I am able to. That's also why her activity is so valuable.
I can hear the door opening in front of me. Eyes blindfolded, I feel my body getting stiff, I bend over, I'm so scared. Not being able to see is very confusing, I can't analyse anything and I have nothing to hold on to. There are sounds, but she can control them as well without me noticing. The feeling of powerlessness is all the more important as I know nothing about where I am.
Maîtresse Blanche let me in, then quickly got to know my body. She then puts a leather collar around my neck, exactly the way I've been dreaming about it for over a year. I love the symbolism of this omnipresent bond on my skin.
I never address a professional dominatrix during a session by saying "Mistress," except when I am directly asked to do so. I find it exaggerated, I don't believe it myself. This word is too strong to be used in such a context. I feel that I lack consideration for myself when I use it with a woman I don't really know.
It's different with Maîtresse Blanche. I would have served her "Mistress" in all the languages I know if I had the right to speak. I wanted to be hers, totally and to the end. In any case, I wanted to feel hers, and to believe in it even more than in myself. I do not care if it was only a complete simulation, because that would have been the best I have had. After all, what is a complete simulation, if not a partial reality. A partial reality is good enough.
In addition to the collar, I am also equipped with a strong erection, the apprehension felt in front of her is enough for my pleasure. For a few minutes, she will make fun of my vulnerability and slap my sex, swollen with fear, at more or less regular intervals. No words are yet pronounced on her side. All I hear is the whispering of her discreet smiles. I really like this game with her, in the sense that it bothers me a lot! I had already guessed, last year, that she was very fond of these slaps: it was her first reflex when she discovered my erect sex.
From that slap, the blow itself doesn't really hurt, but it's the anticipation of it that turns me on completely. The details drive me crazy: a creaking from the parquet floor; the feeling of a body moving in front of me, of a hand cutting through the air; and here I am, so afraid of the shock that awaits. Then I moan, I whine, because I am rather vocal as a submissive. Not being able to escape a blow that you know approaching, what a nightmare.
In these rounds of slaps came some quiet caresses on my parts which, in the end, made me fear even more the next slamming batch.
More than knowing that she enjoys my distress, my pleasure in these first moments also came from the intensity of this reunion. For more than a year I wanted to be in the hands of this particular woman. The beginning is immediate and so strong: without words, I am already submitted to her. Without sight, I am already hers. My erection only betrayed the state of intellectual and emotional amazement I was in. This moment I was experiencing was like in my dreams, with the difference that this time it was not. I could perceived the vibrations of her body through my blindfolded eyes, I could feel her fresh breath on my face.
I was lost and I love that, I was lost in Maîtresse Blanche and I dreamt about that. She filled my mouth with what I would later understand to be a pacifier that squeaks when bitten. It will then be my only means of communication in the future, if needed.
-The agitated Maîtresse Blanche's little thing
Still blindfolded, and after many more little slaps to my genitals, my favorite torturer lays me down on what I guess is like a hospital bed. It doesn't take long before she straps my upper body. I love straps, they have a strong erotic power over me. Same goes for anything that is capable of physically restraining me. Thus lying down, Maîtresse Blanche continues to inflict some slaps intended for my most precious part.
My sweet torture was just beginning: my one stay-Mistress now decides to have fun with my feet. With the help of what I guess is a metal stick, my feet are tickled. I am very ticklish! Maîtresse Blanche seems to be delighted with my uncontrolled reactions. I go up in the high pitches, it's the only way I have to express my distress. It was hardly bearable and yet I would ask for more, if I could. Even in tickling, Maîtresse Blanche cannot hide the methodical approach she has in the tortures she inflicts. Although blinded, I could guess that she was having fun assessing my reactions according to the area of my foot and the gesture used, like a scientist in a test phase.
I gesticulate, I get agitated and I squeak. I even try to put my feet in certain positions, in the vain hope of making it harder for her, but it doesn't last. There's nothing I can do to stop her, and in those moments I really feel like a vulnerable little thing. A nuance of importance: here I was not just a little thing, but the little thing of Maîtresse Blanche. This distinction applies to everything she wants to do with me, and that is why everything seems so special, so magical, when it comes from her.
I intellectualise enormously, not to say completely, my attraction for someone, for a profile, and that intellectualisation is everything. This applies to all things, including the fear she inspires in me, and it even extends to objects. While a chair will not make a big impression on me, I will look differently at a chair belonging to Maîtresse Blanche. This chair will be special and will arouse my interest, it will even be able to impress me if I look at it for too long.
Anyway, it wasn't the first time I've been tickled, but it's good to be tickled by Maîtresse Blanche. Perhaps I'm clearer that way.
Sometimes I wish I could lose myself in her and never be recovered. I have the vanity to believe I've already lived too much for such a young life. Luckily for me, I have also always had the arrogance to think that I deserve the best there is on this earth. That has kept me moving, though at times stumbling.
-Hydration through all ports
Because Maîtresse Blanche is experienced, she does not neglect the hydration of her subjects during a long experience. She stuffs my mouth with what I believe to be two sponges, and passes a pipe through the center. The liquid makes its way in, but it was not water, it was Maîtresse Blanche's urine! I have to swallow permanently if I don't want to choke. I'm not very good at this, and I get quickly overwhelmed. Maîtresse Blanche was certainly expecting it, she had placed a towel so as to absorb the overflow of urine.
I clearly did not expect such a device, which is why I really liked this moment, although demanding, even unpleasant (it's tiring!). The fact that I was still blindfolded made it even more impressive. I quickly feel overwhelmed when I can't rely on my visual analysis, the main support of my thoughts.
Also, I must admit that I too often like to do my fragile little thing to get caring attention. At the first discharges of urine that I could not swallow, I thought that Maîtresse Blanche would interfere and put an end to my discomfort. How naive I was! She didn't move a nail.
Maîtresse Blanche also shaved my pubic region. I barely dared to breathe! I was afraid she'd cut me. I don't shave in that area anymore, I only clip. No matter what I do, I always come out with rashes. My skin is very fragile and very annoying. Just like me, I think!
An enema will follow. I don't have much to say about it, except that it was an enema. It was a precursor to an important turning point in the evening...
IV-Nurse Blanche's baby
• Diaper on and first tears out
Twice before this experience, I tried Adult Baby's experiences, but nothing came of it. I couldn't get into the spirit of that particular game. I was almost embarrassed and it completely dampened my excitement. However, I was in the hands of quality dominatrixes, that's not the point. The question is more about myself, and how much I accept -or manage- to surrender myself.
Staying on the harbour, I watch my ego turning its back to me and embarking on a beautiful cruise. As the ship sets sail, I see my ego drifting away from myself. It turns around, looks at me, pauses. It aims at me with a middle finger and disappears on the horizon.
I have totally surrendered myself to Maîtresse Blanche, without any shame, without any complex, without thinking about anything. I let myself be carried away by her. Sailor, I've found my captain here. ABDL games are quite special, even in the BDSM world. Accepting such a regression is not insignificant and requires a certain connivance between the parties. Never a practice, never a playful spirit, had asked me to abandon my ego so much. Yet I did so without even realizing that I had a choice.
I'm still strapped to the electric hospital bed (I love it when Maîtresse Blanche operates the remote control to change the position of the backrest!), and I'm still blindfolded. I haven't seen Maîtresse Blanche yet at the moment.
Nurse Blanche plays a lullaby. The soul of the room then takes charge of a new, calmer, more intimate atmosphere. It is only at this moment that I understand the spirit in which this session is going to take place under her control: ABDL games. It then seems so simple that I wonder if this is not, in fact, precisely what I hoped to experience with her that evening. I'm writing it again with tears in my eyes when I write this part (always under the emotion of the experience): I had never let myself go so far. Yet it seemed so natural to me.
Maîtresse Blanche places in my hands what I guess to be a cuddly toy, which I then hold against me. She begins to put me into a diaper. Everything is so soft, so calm, so comfortable; much more than anything I have ever known. The trivial tragedy of such an observation makes me cry, and a few tears reach my ears, while the others just kiss the blindfold over my eyes. I think that Maîtresse Blanche did not notice anything, and that's good. I don't know exactly why I cried. That's the kind of mystery I can bear.
As for the physical sensations of the diaper on me, I refer to the very first lines of my article about Nanny Alice. But, again, with Maîtresse Blanche, it was different. It was better, just because it was her.
I was then transformed into a little baby, the one in Nurse Blanche's charge. I feel this soft thickness at the joint of my two thighs. I hear then listen to the lullaby that my Nanny has launched especially for me. I hug my cuddly toy as if it had been mine for three years already. I can't say I feel good, it's a state that goes beyond even feeling good. I feel like I've touched a new life experience.
Nurse Blanche is gentle, attentive, delicate, reassuring. This person seems almost too unreal for me to be able to miss her. And it's better that way, otherwise reality would seem far too cruel in comparison. Moreover, as I feel things as I write these lines, I don't feel able to return to that state with a dominatrix whom I would come to see specifically for these games. I am not able to "play Adult Baby" on command. I feel it as an expression of a relationship, a connection, much more than an aim in itself. This is different from my only fetish for diapers, which is independent of any emotional dimension.
• Apparition of Nurse Blanche
This moment is very special, it's one of the moments I can most recall. While I'm lying on my back in bed, Nurse Blanche stimulates the bump under my diaper with a vibrator, the physical pleasure is then increased tenfold. But I have to admit that this pleasure is nothing compared to what follows.
My Nanny takes my blindfold off in a careless gesture. The first few seconds are very difficult, I am completely dazzled by this light that I had lost for almost two hours. Once the sight is regained, my first reflex is to look at my benefactress. That's all she was waiting for.
Nurse Blanche smiles at me, absolutely radiant, prepared with great care for that evening. I can't hold her glance for more than a second, yet I keep coming back to it, torn between greed and the feeling of completely losing my grip. I end up settling permanently in her eyes, while she doesn't move an eyelash and keeps her gaze straight towards my soul, as if she understood to what extent she represented an enchanting painting at that very moment.
I also savour, in retrospect, the symbolism of having regained my sight only when I had just been completely transformed into a baby. Maîtresse Blanche had made sure I got on the train before she made it whistle.
The half-second that our eyes first met that night is worth so much. I had never seen her like that, perhaps also because I myself had never been like that. It was a very intense moment. It is one of those moments that I have been replaying over and over again in the last few days. It is one of those moments that I would not want to exchange for anything in the world, and that will make Maîtresse Blanche stay in me, no matter what happens next.
After these few tens of seconds of emotion, I then feel more and more the vibrations of the sextoy over my diaper. Nurse Blanche gave me a countdown to come, but I knew it wasn't going to happen in the expected time. I even wonder if it would be technically possible for me to reach orgasm with such stimulation. I have the impression that in my case, it would have to be very long-lasting and above all very well placed. Nevertheless, it is still very exciting, and I feel a delicious frustration, which is what this evil tool has always evoked to me; even more so when it is practiced through a diaper. The feeling of powerlessness is strong.
• Preparing for bedtime
-A few more tears
Game over for tonight, Nurse Blanche is getting the bed ready for me. I loved that moment. She was so sweet. I remember vividly the few times she would gently run her hand over my face. It's one of the things, yet so simple, that shakes me up the most. I find that gesture both very humiliating and yet so thoughtful. I feel like a little thing possessed, totally taken for granted.
In order to be able to prepare the bed properly and to put the Segufix on it, Nanny Blanche tells me to get off it. I then wait on the floor, in a corner, with my cuddly toy and a huge plush toy, which I hold tightly against me. I don't play the baby, I've become one. I let him enter me like a new car in a worn-out garage. My Nanny then hands me a little book of Sophie the giraffe. I discover it with attention. This famous giraffe reminds me of some distant memories, and I start crying again, even more than the first time, even though I try to hold it back. Maîtresse Blanche is not facing me so she doesn't notice it, unless she has heard me snorting at some point. But perhaps she may have noticed my still wet cheeks a few seconds later, when she approached me to tell me something I don't remember.
So I've had one highlight after another. I still wonder why I cried there, too. Maybe I was overwhelmed with comfort. Everything was so intense, I was overflowing emotionally. I feel so grateful to Maîtresse Blanche.
Allowed to return to the bed, I drink my small baby bottle of milk while Nurse Blanche continues to put the Segufix straps in place. These straps have a great erotic power on me, I love them. Always known in video until now, it was the first time I was confronted with them. I am going to spend the night totally restrained by these straps with a magnetic locking system. And even though this may not be true for the whole night, it doesn't matter, because the moment I prefer is precisely the setting up.
Nurse Blanche did not neglect that setting up part. She talks to me, she talks to me a lot, as one would talk to a baby to help him develop and listen. She talks to me about straps, about a baby who needs a structure, about a baby who needs to be deprived of any possibility of touching himself through his diaper. One by one, she puts the straps on and locks them up. Each new pose seems like a new attention to me, a little strawberry to be tasted. I am very lucky, this moment lasted a few minutes.
This sequence is one more that will stay in my mind for a long time. There was such a strong intimacy coming out of it. Also, I still remember the very particular way she used to say "baaabbyyy" to address me in a regressive way. A few days after that evening, replaying this sound brought a slight smile back to my face. It makes me think that just before going to bed, Nurse Blanche even brushed my teeth. I wanted the blue toothbrush, but she forced the orange one on me! Grumpy little baby I was.
Bedtime is approaching as the last of the Segufix is locked. I feel good, it's so reassuring. I'm now completely immobilized from head to toe. I am now free of my carnal envelope.
As if the mind was not already enough of a burden, you have to carry around a body that will bear the scars. I don't say a word, but thank her. My body is leaving me, along with its scars. Deprived of my physical limits, my mind seems lighter. If I can still try to run away from myself, I can no longer run away from Nanny Blanche's attention and control over me. I am condemned to keep her constraining security with me, and it is a sentence I do not intend to object to.
The scheme is then more than complete when the caring nurse tucks me in a white sheet. Covered and packed from all sides -starting from under the belt- I nevertheless feel more fulfilled than ever. It is thus brooded by Maîtresse Blanche that I take off; and if I shiver, it is not from insecurity, but from passion for her.
Nurse Blanche wishes me a good night, shuts the light, leaves the room.
• The agitated night of a baby lulled by the attention of Nurse Blanche
-Bladder issue It was a difficult night, characterized by a major unforeseen event. Spending a night heavily tied up is always tricky, and there are some things you can't really predict. Also, the weight of the hours has to be taken into account. Here, nothing serious, and nothing that Maîtresse Blanche could have avoided. I may have drunk too much water during the day without urinating, and I realize now in retrospect that the problem comes from the fact that I am permanently erect, or almost erect, in a diaper.
Right from the beginning, the discomfort exists but I have trouble really identifying it. I just feel a painful tension in the inside of my upper thigh (and Google tells me it's a possible symptom of an overfilled bladder). This discomfort will still have made falling asleep very, very difficult. I didn't try to call my Nanny, because I didn't understand why I had this discomfort in my thigh, and it couldn't have been caused by a strap. Muscle pain, I thought.
I had still only released my head from the Segufix device by means of contortion and flexibility, trying to gain comfort and finally be able to fall asleep. It broke my heart to undo what my Nanny had left me, but I preferred that to bothering her for a discomfort that I couldn't even explain to her!
I wake up after maybe an hour of sleep, this time with a very important pain, very localized, on the right side of my belly. I realize then that it is certainly my bladder. The pain was similar to the one I mentioned in my article about Nanny Alice. So I think that the lying down position is the first cause, in addition to an erection certainly blocking a certain canal.
This pain is disturbing and from now on it becomes irresponsible and dangerous not to disturb Maîtresse Blanche. I contort myself to put my squeaky pacifier back in my mouth without the help of my hands, and I make noise. Help!
Nurse Blanche quickly arrives and manages to understand, in the end, the concern. I'm untied from my straps, and I get into a crawling position on my bed to urinate more easily. The relief is almost immediate, I have no more pain within a minute after I empty my bladder, although it was only partially emptied. Urinating with a "semi-chub" is very difficult, very annoying and requires a great deal of concentration.
-Nurse Blanche rescuing baby
Because of this night agitation that I have caused, my night will end with me free to move. No more Segufix, no more materialized control of Maîtresse Blanche over me. But I still had a strap on my left ankle, I was happy. Besides, I still felt as good - if not better - that layer compressing my most intimate self. A forced and imposed hug, a deep comfort, straight from her.
Despite the difficult night and the unexpected need to get rid of my physical constraints, I have no regrets about this episode. Of course I did not voluntarily disturb Nurse Blanche in her night, but seeing her thus flying to my rescue, worrying about me, trying to understand my discomfort and remedy it; always with her gentleness, her kindness, has largely made up for the loss of my beloved straps.
That's why I felt so good after that episode. The physical relief had certainly been there, but I had also just been spoiled by the sudden and very concentrated attention of my Nanny, and that had filled me with happiness. Now free to move around, I held the huge stuffed animal that had remained in my bed against me and tried to fall asleep in my favourite position - on my side.
I spend one night under the control of Maîtresse Blanche, who I value so highly. I feel good now, and she didn't seem to feel any worse than I did the day before. I am then faced with an incredible observation, still a bit too new for me in this life: sometimes things do work out.
On this observation, a few joy tears washed down my cheeks, I fell asleep.
That night I dreamt of Maîtresse Blanche - again.
• Waking up with Nurse Blanche's tenderness
I sometimes hesitated to use the term "tenderness" on this blog, before I changed my mind: other terms were more appropriate, and it is too much of a loaded word to me.But here, I can't find a better word, and that's also why I'm talking about this stay as my most authentic experience in the context of a session with a professional dominatrix (or even just experience, professional or not - and that's a new thing).
I no longer felt any barrier with Maîtresse Blanche, no distance. No matter what are the reasons, no matter even if this feeling was reciprocal or just a personal fiction: it would not change anything to everything I experienced that morning and the previous night with her. So I use the word tenderness, because I do feel that I shared moments of tenderness with Maîtresse Blanche.
-Breakfast in song
I wake up with a question: had I covered myself before going to sleep? I wonder if Maîtresse Blanche came to visit me discreetly during the night to place my covers back on. This possibility is enough to touch me, so I prefer not even to know and just let it be a possibility.
My Nanny comes into the room with the energy of a World Cup opening ceremony and charms me with her presence. I am so happy to see her again, so happy also to have nothing to do but wait passively and to receive her full attention. I am no longer asked for anything from me, I don't have to meet any more expectations. Whatever I do, or don't do, Nanny Blanche will be there to take care of me. Also, even if I am sometimes punished with a nice little slap for my mistakes (or hers!), I have the feeling that in this configuration, I can't disappoint her. How could I? I'm just an irresponsible baby. From then on, everything is so easy.
I feel privileged to have seen Maîtresse Blanche like this in the early morning, with her natural look, with her silky dressing gown over a burgundy nightie.
It is still gently and delicately -yet with a slightly humiliating fantasy- that she addresses me. I was delighted that Nurse Blanche fastened me up with a few straps, not forgetting to notice my diaper swollen by the urine of the night. She put big unicorn booties on my feet, the same ones I had worn the night before. I like them, they are comfortable. Then she makes me watch an educational cartoon while she prepares my breakfast. I focus on this cartoon. After all, I'm a baby, and that's not the position I'm in that would disagree with that. The nursery rhymes are catchy, and my Nanny even wiggled a little at their pace. My Nanny's so sweet.
I drink my chocolate milk through the pipe of a liquid pouch, still watching my cartoons. Then comes the moment for Nurse Blanche to sit down next to me, and give me my little carrot baby food. The first spoon is swallowed without a hitch, but I miss the second one and put some on my face! It's only when I also miss the third spoon that I realise that it's not because of me, but that my Nanny is having fun bothering me! The whole jar will then be a little calvary of humiliation for me, where I end up with food up to my ears. I become the mistress of the house's little vegetable garden. I was happy to see Maîtresse Blanche enjoying herself at my own expense.
A small banana will conclude my morning meal. Nurse Blanche moved even closer to me to make me eat it, she actually was on me. One of her legs is resting on my diaper, and I confess that I rubbed myself very discreetly, I couldn't resist the privilege of feeling the weight of her body on me.
First of all, she takes a malicious pleasure in making me eat the strings of the banana, those things we all hate! It's this sense of detail, a little practical sadism that I like so much about her. Ugh. Then she makes me suck the banana for a long time, thus making an obvious analogy. I admit I really enjoyed this rather perverse moment.
-Changing my diaper: a clean baby!
Once fed by the caring hands of Nurse Blanche, it was time to change my diaper. It's always a wonderful moment to feel my penis regain vigorous air, before very quickly finding it enclosed, compressed again by these thick walls so soft, at the same time fresh and warm, comforting and constraining.
Before putting me in a new diaper, Nanny Blanche inserts a suppository, the effect of which will be felt very quickly. I actually had the great pleasure to know two different diapers superimposed, this time plain white (while the previous day's one had a little baby pattern!). It's so exciting, even more than one diaper. Gags, adhesives, scarves, diapers, I realize that I'm a fan of layering in general. Each new layer seems to be an extra attention to me.
There followed a rather singular moment: Nanny Blanche pretended to have forgotten something, and approached me. She lowers her nightie a little bit, revealing her pretty naked breast. She talks about having to breastfeed her baby. Very gently, she brings her breast close to my face. Just as gently, I bring my face to her breast. I'm both hesitant and confused, I certainly didn't want to initiate contact without being sure that this was what she was trying to do. While her nipple is within reach of her mouth, she steps away in a mocking attitude.
I admit it: she played me well...
-Not clean for long
Trapped in my double diaper, Nurse Blanche announces me that she has to sneak away for a while. By then, I had already understood that the suppository she had inserted in my base was supposed to make me want to "go potty". But as it had remained rather enigmatic (or, as I sometimes find it hard to understand certain evident things), I thought I was supposed to hold myself back, and not to defecate in my diaper! This, especially since one of the nursery rhymes during my breakfast was about going to the potty. I realized a little later that I had made a mistake, and that I was supposed to dirty my diaper.
Pretty soon, I actually feel something going on in my gut. But it's not really painful, it's just a matter of making the effort to hold back. These minutes spent alone will be pleasant, I take the time to measure my luck, that morning, after that evening the night before.
She comes back, probably thinking I'd done my business. Maîtresse Blanche, cream in hand, massaged my belly to relieve my aches. Her soft hand passes and passes again on my belly, delicately. It was a very intimate moment, very delicate, that I will not forget. I feel lucky to have lived this moment with her.
She then realized that I hadn't yet soiled my diaper, and only then did I realize that I was supposed to let myself go, not hold myself back as I had tried to do. It was quite peculiar, never as an adult I had done "that" on myself. I remember then that my ego went on a cruise, so I don't even think, I get down on all fours, and I let myself go in the rudest of ways in the presence of Maîtresse Blanche. Mission accomplished.
My Nanny will then punish me with a few rounds of spanking addressed to the upper part of my thighs. I can't hide the fact that it was actually quite pleasant.
Two weeks ago, even after I peed in a diaper for the first time in my adult life, I wouldn't have thought that soiling a diaper in this way would have been a positive experience. But, that's Maîtresse Blanche, what more can I say. It was a total abandonment of myself at the feet of Maîtresse Blanche, more so than any other experience I can think of.
I'm amused that pooping on me in her presence evokes no shame, no embarrassment. On the contrary, I feel more comfortable than ever, helped by the feeling that I have no more appearances to save with her.
No puns, no metaphors. Everything went well, it just turns out I had to take a cold shower! It was quite pleasant in the end to see that Nurse Blanche didn't react the least to my passive protests against the water which was way too cold. I really liked that she took care of me to the point where she dried me off herself. I enjoyed every moment of my great passivity in her presence.
V - The transition phase: goodbye baby
I believe the term "transition" was used by Maîtresse Blanche herself. Once I went through the cold shower, she filled me with a rosebud. I confess that I appreciate feeling this little presence in me, especially since it reminds me of the authority of my Mistress over me.
Maîtresse Blanche then leads me to another room, and locks me in a cage made of dark wood. I am not alone, as she leaves beside me the diaper that I had just soiled before my shower.
• Skillful Maîtresse Blanche
-Skillful in her mind
As I am behind bars, my jailer informs me that she's going to have to leave me to my fate for a while, she has to get ready. She remains rather enigmatic about what awaits me, but insists that Nanny Blanche will be gone, so as baby.
If Nanny Blanche is leaving, it's because she's going to make way for the reeducator, whom I'll introduce when the time comes. If baby is leaving, it's because it's time to grow up, and this mystery educator is going to help me do it.
I liked so much that Maîtresse Blanche left me a decompression chamber between these two phases, and that she informed me in advance of this turn. Since the day before, everything was so soft, so calm, so comfortable for me, that this change was indeed not insignificant, and I have to adjust my own energy.
Thus, Maîtresse Blanche is already no longer Nanny when she tells me, in a more neutral and settled voice than before, that I will not see her again but that it does not mean that she would have abandoned baby. I then begin to make the preventive mourning of this attentive, tender, reassuring nanny. She existed, so she will never really disappear, not as long as I remember her.
-Skillful with her feet
Maîtresse Blanche herself will help me with my little mourning. Sitting on a chair in front of my cage, her leg goes through the bars, her foot reaches my erect penis. There follows a moment that would make the idea of eternity almost bearable. Slowly, she caresses my member with her dark red varnished toes.
Prisoner of my cage, this presence of Maîtresse Blanche still manages to make me travel. She accelerates the movement and then starts to move back, but not forth! Her movements from bottom to top are pressed just as they should be, what a great frustration it is not to know the opposite way. She restarts at the bottom of my genitals each time, while I do nothing but suffer my rising excitement.
Now more dog than baby, I take pleasure in letting Maîtresse Blanche do what she wants with me, my sensations, my emotions. Let her frustrate me, wear me out and mistreat me, because I don't want to answer for anything anymore, except for her.
I dream of being her small pet, receiving her authority but also her protection, even though the latter should sometimes take the form of indifference. Maîtresse Blanche puts an end to her sweet and sadistic torture, so I come out of my little dream.
She gets up, and leaves me to my fate as an inmate, until the reeducator returns.
• Waiting in the cage
From my cage and now plunged into darkness, I can hear Maîtresse Blanche showering and getting ready. On my side, the mourning of my Nanny is now done, this maternal presence is no more. I have not explicitly developed this aspect, this maternal word, but that is what it is all about, of course.
I then patiently await the return of the woman who, during those two days, will have healed my wounds, the ones that you don't see. Time flies by, and already I can see the little skylight of my cage opening.
The skylight opens, and I am immediately blinded by the blue light of a small flashlight pointed at me. This light, cold, looks just like its maker. I discover Maîtresse Blanche dressed in a white gown and a black medical face mask. The glasses she wears only concentrate her gaze, yet usually sharp enough. Her long brown hair is no longer in the wind, but held back by a strict braided ponytail. High black boots finish dressing this facet of Maîtresse Blanche that I then discover.
Sober like Swedish furniture, but with the resounding confidence of a top-class science student, she intimidates me.
Examining me with her flashlight, the reeducator talks about me aloud in a professorial tone and without any filter, as if the subject couldn't understand what she was saying. Reduced to the stage of a humanoid object, I find myself forced to write a postcard to my ego, telling it that it can stay a few more days on a cruise, far from me. There is no room for him in this cage, nor in what follows.
VI - The reeducator's torture room
Maîtresse Blanche gets me out of the cage, I get my freedom back. Not for long. I was soon led to a place I never knew existed.
In this surprising place, sits an operating table aimed by a powerful lighting. Everything around this medical island is in complete contrast with this theme. I am all the more impressed, even destabilized, and it is not to displease me.
More than anything else, I love being surprised and taken by surprise, even more so since I am often quite good at anticipating and making deductions. Thus, only few things evoke in me a feeling of inferiority stronger than surprise, astonishment, incomprehension.
-Saran wrap, my friend
I'm lying on the operating table. I see Maîtresse Blanche grabbing a small roll of black saran wrap, she starts to immobilise me and to merge my body and the operating table.
From the feet to the chest, she partially covers my body with this smooth and flexible material. As with all types of adhesives, I'm very excited about saran wrap. The mere sound of this film being unrolled is enough to make me shiver. I am savouring this moment.
A few seconds later, here I am, already trapped, effectively held in place by this film yet so fine. I try to struggle a little, I get agitated discreetly: feeling so constrained only adds to my pleasure. I am delivered to this reeducator and I can't do anything about it.
Then she blinds me. With no visual cues, I have her sober phrases as my only guide.
With no more time to think about what can happen to me, I feel the blade of a small knife going through my body, then through my crotch. It was the first time I had been confronted with this sharp game, and I hope it won't be the last in life. What I particularly liked was the apprehension I felt when the blade attacked my dearest parts. I don't dare to move an eyelash, or even breathe freely, so much so that I am afraid of inadvertently upsetting that knife.
I have thus been penetrated by a great feeling of powerlessness under the sharp control of Maîtresse Blanche, and it would be difficult not to ask for more.
The big part of my baby-to-man rehabilitation then comes into play, with an electro-stimulation device. Maîtresse Blanche decides to aim separately at my right nipple, my intimate parts, and my left foot. Here I am reduced to the stage of a simple feverish diagonal, an experimental subject without resources.
There are nine different programs that the reeducator intends to test on me, at these three different parts of my body. This means at least twenty-seven different stimulations, taking the time to observe my reaction and to draw conclusions. I found it to be long and I didn't see Maîtresse Blanche going that far.
But true to her methodical approach and very rigorous in her practice, she will go all the way and more, never faltering in her interest or concentration. I have to admit that I was conquered, and to see her being so persistent, so determined, only added to my feeling that I was just an object, a test thing. It was very absorbing, rather humiliating, and that's why I loved this sequence.
The programs are then studied one by one. I always have my squeaky pacifier in mouth, so I moan more or less in the acute, depending on the program which is applied. This variation of sounds in me was very innate, it was pretty funny. I make myself very loud, I must admit that a part of me likes to whine and be heard. However, the sadistic scientist doesn't take my rales into consideration other than to retain the most interesting programs - the ones that seem to hurt me the most.
I really like electric shocks, when I can let myself go. I experienced this for the first time with Mistress Lilith, with whom everything was magical. A second time at Warsaw Prison, where my whole stay was rather marked by my inability to let go completely, so I had liked it much less. Here, with Maîtresse Blanche, it is without surprise that it went well, I let myself be taken and carried by these discharges whose type of pain is difficult to describe. It was a really beautiful moment for me. What I "hate" the most (understand here, what I love the most) is, I think, the regular and systematic nature of the discharges. I know when it's going to come, in what way, at what interval, and I can never do anything about it,except to suffer and to rely on the will of my torturer.
Minutes go by, dozens of discharges follow. It is with all her fantasy, taking her time, entering completely in the experimental approach of this game, that Maîtresse Blanche notes that it is the programs n°2 and n°7 that make the most effect on me. She has a good ear, because that was indeed the observation I was also doing, helpless.
The reeducator, satisfied with her experience, takes good note and then decides that the subject needs to regain strength before undergoing her re-education based on the two selected programs.
• Lunch break: foodplay
Maîtresse Blanche leaves me a few moments to my fate, then comes back with a salad of olives, tomatoes, mozzarella. I regained my sight for this meal with her. I wrote in my article last year that I had discovered foodplay with her for the first time. I also wrote that it's a practice that leaves me neutral. But one year later, sitting on the operating table like that, I liked it much more than just being neutral. I think it's because I was completely passive, whereas last year I was active in the process.
I felt a certain connivance, a certain complicity, during that lunch. Maîtresse Blanche talked to me a lot, I loved it. I felt like her little thing, her small stuff, her big junk, her medium gadget.
She chews her food and then sometimes spits it back in my mouth. I grumble a lot at first, the feeling of this wet mush coming into me is very "uuggghhhh"! Maîtresse Blanche didn't like it very much, so afterwards I stopped whining at every bite. I didn't want her to think I didn't like the treatment she was giving me.