Maybe the strings that bound me to Mistress’ will were really there and maybe they weren’t. I could no longer tell or care. Nor did I really know if I were dressed like this – pink leotard, pink tights, pointe shoes and tutu – because it simply didn’t matter. There were no incongruities – I simply didn’t notice them. 

Music began playing and I felt tugs on my strings. I readied myself into fifth position. The music queues came with more tugs on my strings. I began to dance. Pirouettes, fouettes, arabesques, grand jetes and more – all effortless and graceful. An audience appeared before me, applauding and gasping as I nailed some technically challenging choreography.

Finally the music ended and I returned to fifth position. The lights went up and the audience cheered. They clapped, they whistled, they chanted my name. I curtsied and they howled. 

And then She appeared. Everything faded as I gave Her my undivided attention, focusing on Her with every ounce of will She allowed me to have. She walked to me and I seemed to shrink while she grew tall – I had sunk to my knees without noticing. She looked down at me, I stared up into Her eyes, which were like deep wells of wisdom, power and pleasure. She bent down and kissed me on my lips and it was like a million tiny explosions of pure bliss going off throughout my body and mind. Thoughts vanished in that whirlwind of pleasure. 

“Cum for me,” She commanded. 

I could only obey. Then, I slept. 

“ . . . Two, more and more awake and one! Up up up!” Kim said. 

I opened my eyes. I was laying on a bed, on top of its covers, still fully clothed in the jeans and t-shirt I was wearing when I came in. For a moment I was confused – where were my tights? Where was my tutu? And then I remembered. 

“That was amazing,” I said. “It felt so real.”

“Thank you,” Kim said. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I know you said you loved ballet, so I figured I’d work that into the scene. You actually dance really well.”

“Thanks,” I said, blushing. “Um, you commanded me to cum, right? I think my underwear’s still dry. Did you have me . . . change?”

“No, silly,” Kim giggled. She patted my hand affectionately. “You were deep in a feminine headspace all during that trance. You had a female orgasm.”

“I came like a girl?” I was incredulous.

She just nodded and a tide of emotion swept over me. It had been so real. I could remember the feel of the tights on my skin, having long hair tied and pinned into a bun, the thick stage makeup on my face. I began to cry. 

Kim hugged me. “What’s wrong?” she asked tenderly. 

“I – I don’t know,” I said at last. “Even after I realized I was genderfluid, I never thought I could actually be feminine, or present feminine. But now?”

I looked at my hairy arms and felt my stubble. I shrugged. 

“Oh, honey,” Kim said. “Being AMAB doesn’t mean you can’t be feminine, but you have to figure out your own femininity and your own masculinity, just like anyone else. These things are spectra, not absolutes.”

I nodded. Kim gave me another hug. “I didn’t mean to crack your egg, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “You did great. Being so completely in someone’s power like that, I was so into it.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you liked it. You were a really great subject for me.”

Now it was my turn to smile. 

“So, do you think we could another scene before the con ends?”

“Maybe,” she said. “I could make those strings permanent.”