Thursday, 26 June 2014

Ensnared by a Dionaea


The room, as usual, is filled with the smell of rose and lilac, no doubt from her perfume to enhance her femininity. Sometimes, I wonder whether she tempers it by adding pheromones to arouse people around her seeing that man and woman alike are always receptive towards her.

‘Her’? Ah yes, I’ve gone over the dilemma of assigning a gender to ‘her’. It’s easier that way, besides, she likes it when she’s referred as ‘miss’.

There she is, crouching in front of her mirror, clad in silk lingerie and fishnet stocking. She must have heard me and assumed that position for she knows what I like, her slim but firm derriere. Her skin seems to shimmer in the light and one does not need to touch to know that it is smooth and soft. How she does maintain that body is anybody’s guess, she’s extremely tight-lipped with her regime. Hormones, exercise, diet, genetics, surgery, fucking magic? Could be any of those and frankly, I have stopped rationalising a few weeks after being employed under her. Besides, I have a bigger problem now as I discretely shift my pants.

“Are you ready, ma'am?” I clear my throat, trying to level my tone. Keep it professional, Yori, it is not after hours yet. The woman narrowed her lips (made plump no doubt with the help of lipstick) into a fake pout. “How many times do I have to tell you,” she swang deftly and crossed her toned legs, “call me Minako,” My eyes immediately take in the sight of her lithe body, the petite bosom; realistic breast form with its lines masked under foundational make-up, taut stomach and the flat nether region of which under the silk panty tucks a male appendage that contradicts against her feminine illusion.

“Oh, I wonder what are you looking at?” She grins as she catches my line of sight. Her feminine voice, no doubt trained from young, betrays no sign of masculinity. People have often expressed surprise when they know of her identity (it takes a lot of persuasion, some had even demanded her to strip and show her genitia) and most often than not it’s either disgust, admiration, arousal or a mixture of all three after the initial shock.

I belonged to the latter, that is probably why she teases me so. She enjoys seeing people squirm as they question their notion taken granted. She also enjoys it when people shower her with affection not because of her femininity but because of who she is and she knows I would shower her with it by pressing the right buttons.    

“Anyway, please get ready, ma’am. The play is starting soon,” I replied curtly and turned around just in time to get hugged from behind. Her deft hands rubbing my already erected penis. “I only need an hour to get ready for the play, my dear Yori,” she whispered huskily (damn her range is good), “So pray tell, why are you here four hours early, hmm?” I could not see it but I could feel her smirk from behind. The air is now heavy with the fragrance of rose and lilac, it is making me light-headed. Fuck, she caught me red-handed.

Really, I’m ensnared by her like a fly to a venus flytrap.


  1. This is going to be a new favorite for me - it's inspired writing. . . the confusion and frustration is clearly evident in the protagonist. . . You handle this beautifully.

    1. Much appreciated Simone! Rereading it, the sentences seem pretty choppy and rushed though.