The Judge Who Said “Nii”

Femdom Blog, My Personality, Tease & Denial

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“Nii”

The word was at the tip of my tongue for the entire two hours I was in the courtroom yet I didn’t have the courage back then to shout it out.  I guess it was a good thing I didn’t, what with me being in a foreign commonwealth country on an easily revoke-able education visa – but still – the costumes , well namely the wigs , that I saw worn in the courtroom that day was so strikingly removed from the 19th century that it gave me uncontrollable giggles as I saw an act of Monty Python and the Holy Grail taking place before my eyes.  Truly, for on two occasions as I recall I accidentally snorted loudly through my nose when the judge stood up trying to supress a burst of laughter.  He, the judge, was a three way cross between Santa Claus, The Knights Who Say Ni , and the Black Knight all wrapped together in one ridiculous fashion faux pas.

I was in my early 20’s back then and not as bold as I am now in my late 20’s or I swear I would have followed him or one of the lawyers out of the courtroom riding my fake horse behind him yelling “nii nii nii” because he had said something earlier that was so out of touch with reality that he rightly needed to be ridiculed.

We were there, my friends and I that is , for our class mate – a naturalized Japanese friend that had been charged with possession on the way from a party we were at one night.  (yes i was a party girl over there in College)

At one point, this overweight wig wearing old man asked my friend while staring down at him over his glasses “What is your job?” and after my friend replied that he was delivering pizza to make ends meet through school his reply stuck with me “that’s not a real job now is it?”

“What else floats?  Little tiny rocks!”

One line from a movie, one line from a judge’s mouth, both equally absurd.

So I can hear you asking ‘where is she going with this?’ , because this snippet from my past seems hardly relevant to bdsm or a tease & denial session right?

Ok so fast forward to last Thursday, a month where none of my sessions have been anything other than tease & denial , and while that’s fine , I haven’t been challenged for nearly two months now which is a let down after some of the dramatic sessions I had at the tail end of last year.  It’s been three straight months of seeing men with less imagination than Kylo Ren , which is typical for February and March as the discount vacation dudes all hit Bangkok and I get many of these one-off Tease sessions which pay the bills but do little to inspire anything creative inside me.

Don’t get me wrong, for these guys a session with me always continues with follow up emails begging me to be their date while in town as I sent them away on an adrenaline high that they’ve never encountered before.  But for me, I guess it’s kind of like a gynecologist trying to get excited over seeing his wife’s pussy, and just as that would make his dick feel like he’s trying to shoot pool with a rope it makes my pussy drier than a nun’s cunt.

An sms triggers my Line last Thursday saying “my driver is pulling into your condo” which immediately peaks my curiosity as most dudes arrive on foot since I”m only a stone’s throw from Sukhumvit on Soi 11.  Frankly, I wasn’t thrilled about seeing him as I don’t ever seem to connect properly with men in their 60’s ,  I do the sessions out of pity actually if truth be told.  Pity in that the dude has been on this planet for more than half a century and hasn’t experienced a mind blowing sexual session yet.  At least after seeing me they can die happy … I’ve been told that on more than one occasion.

So there’s this strudel scene in the movie Inglorious Bastards, here I’ll link it for you …

 

 

That look on her face, :28 seconds into that scene as she encounters once again the man who terrorized her as a child, recognizing his face immediately … that’s the internal reaction I had when I saw the man step out from his personal limo, exact in his appearance as I had seen him six years ago in that court room, with the exception of wearing thicker spectacles and a bald head now replacing the Monty Python wig.

He greeted me by placing a bouquet of roses in my hands and addressing me meekly as “Mistress” with his eyes gazed downwards to my shoes.

I got the immediate feeling that this poor man has lived his entire life like this, caught in an act pushed upon him, a play for fools of which he is in the starring role.  How can he not have?  Our whole lives are painted for us by antiquated acts , a show that once worked fascinatingly well as little as two decades ago is now clung to by these people in positions of power.

In 2011 I remember watching the intro to Obama’s announcement that Bin Laden was dead.  It was an interesting moment.  There were about 6 of us sitting down for breakfast, 3 of us educated, and three without, all watching this theater of the absurd.  The red carpet, the podium blocked perfectly in the middle of the hallway, with a lovely chandelier hanging in the background as a visual cue for the unseen back light illuminating his left ear.

 

What bullshit.  That was 2011, and the three of us — one Japanese guy, one Aussie girl and me all laughed as he spoke.  It was so ’80’s the way they tried to present that news, fake or true as you wish to acknowledge the announcement , the true message was that the older generation didn’t get it yet as to what was happening in the world with the internet, social media, podcasts.  I call it the era of truth, or the era of less bullshit.

Then they tried it again with the Syria invasion and when that failed … guess what … they still didn’t get it.

What defines me and this time that I’ve been on this planet is that I’ve seen the beginnings of this great change taking place, where immediate truth has replaced false conjecture.  Sadly, if I have to put it in a relative timeline, this revolution is relative to when Windows launched Windows 95.

That’s what this old judge was standing in front of me, a representative of whatever you guys used before Windows 95 , perhaps DOS?  Am I being mean?  Ya probably, for sure I was being mean right from the first moment I saw him , for if he saw pizza delivery as being ‘not quite a real job’ I could only wonder what contempt he held for what I do – yet here he was – in dire need of whatever not-real service I could provide for him.

When we got in the elevator to take the long ride up to my floor I did something I don’t normally do.  Turning my back to him I opened his arms apart and sunk backwards into his chest and pulled his hands over my breasts while I rubbed my ass against the cock under his pants feeling it immediately spring to a full judge’s salute.

“Can you do something for me?” I asked him as I turned around and held it in my hand through his suit trousers.

“Yes mistress” he gasped.

“Can you say the word Nii for me” I smiled up to him as I asked.

“Nii?”

“Yes say it again, it makes me hot” I laughed.

“Nii, Nii, Nii, Nii”

“Oh that’s perfect”  I said as the elevator reached our floor and I pulled him by his unleashed dick to my condo door.  “I’m gonna have a lot of fun with you.”

“Really?” he voiced with a breath of anticipation.

I rolled my eyes as I led him into my abode thinking “yup … really.”

As I plugged in the hot water heater to make us both some tea I couldn’t resist in instigating some more meaningful discourse rather than the small talk that gets bantered back and forth every day.  I just had it in my mind that I had something to prove to this guy, 40 years my elder.  I wanted to show him that the disconnect between his perception of the world and the perception from someone of my generation was so great that he would see himself as he truly is … a relic.

Not that I’m smarter than him , in a brains for brains battle he , and most of you, would circle the field on me two or three times over.

I figured the way to fuck with his mind was to make him do something he probably had never had to do before .. engage in an intellectual conversation at the same time he was being Teased mercilessly.

I poured two spoons of sugar into his black Earl Grey tea and took a second to fully lick the sweetness from my fingers in front of him before offering him a lick as well.  My finger swept up against his lips as I straddled over him and pressed my hips down onto his crotch area cupping his balls from outside his trousers with my left hand.

“Trick question for you, ready?”

“Yes sure, what is it?”

“Trump or Hillary?” I said failing to make eye contact with him as I asked for my concentration was on getting his stuck golden zipper to unzip, thinking all the while … who the fuck orders trousers with a golden zipper?   I started to think of the movie GoldMember , which led my thinking of the word ‘golllllllllllllllld” , which led me to snuff a snorting laugh before it escaped my mouth.

 

 

Add about 20kg , remove a bit more hair, and suddenly the appearance between the two is striking … so I had reason to laugh.  Hey you know the cool thing about dicks … they don’t age nearly as quickly as men do.  Truth.  I could easily have swapped his dick with the dick of a 30 year old and neither would have been the wiser.  Didn’t they make a movie about that, Face Off , Nicholas Cage’s last relevant movie – back when the Motorola X phone was all the rage.  If I made a sequel called Dick Off , nobody would care so long as the transferred size was of equal or longer length.

Anyways, this judge’s member was impressively young looking and I was simply caressing the head of it , awaiting an answer to my question.

“Who would I choose, is that what you’re asking me?”

“Ya or .. who would you like to fuck , either or.”

“Hillary” he moaned because I squeezed his balls ever so gently as he said her name.  Rather spontaneously, a thought entered my mind of me fucking this guy in his ass with his wig on and making him whisper Oh Hillary while I was anal raping him … it made me suppress yet another fit of laughter , and thus another snort.

“Wrong answer” I snapped while squeezing his balls tight enough to make him gasp.

“You’d vote for Trump?”

“If he’s doing what I think he’s doing, then yes.  But only if that.”

At that point his dick was hard enough to qualify for a perfect erection, but confused enough to be pointing down and not straight up against the stomach as all Tease & Denied dicks are before allowed to cum.  My hand was just lightly stroking him and my small but perky breasts were erect enough under my black lingerie to make him perspire uncomfortably.

“Can we talk about this later” he said grabbing me by my hips.

“No, and if your hands touch me again without asking they’ll be handcuffed behind you for the rest of the evening.”

But sure enough, an hour later and this I’ve had to not only use my bindings on this guys arms but on his feet as well , in retrospect I should have just mummy wrapped him in saran wrap as I normally do.  At this point his dick is trying to climb up and over his fat belly button and every touch of my finger on his balls or his shaft is making him tremble as I have him right on the edge of orgasm.

However I never let him fully enjoy the moment of walking that fine line between ecstasy and frustration as I keep insisting on making him talk about things he’s really attached his life to and I could tell by the ever maddening look on his face that it was annoying him to no end.

Now I wouldn’t do that with hardly anyone else , and in truth it was the first time I’ve talked so much during a session , especially with the point of irritating someone.  But it worked.  About 90 minutes into the session he abruptly stood up and with his dick standing as upright as he was they made a stand together.

“Look if you want to talk about such things I’ll take you to dinner next time, I want instead to focus on what you’re doing.”

“And what is that?”

“Making me cum”

“But I haven’t made you cum yet, you assume I will.”

“Well I’m not walking out of here with my dick all hard like this.”

“Says who?” and instantly with that remark I made him realize who’s actually holding all the cards.

“But…” he could only conjure up one word in rebuttal.

I had this moment right then and there where I debated whether or not to lay all my cards on the table and call his bluff , or to simply keep playing coy.  You know, normally I’d choose the coy route as it’s generally better to not confront a man’s ego – they get all defensive like a disturbed peacock.  But I instead chose to call and let the river card fall where it may.

“See this is MY courtroom, and I don’t need a silly wig to demonstrate power over you, and you know why?”  I stopped to see if he was beginning to connect the dots, but clearly he needed more color by numbers training.

“The reason is , you need the wig to hold power and I simply do not.”

I walked over to the foyer of my condo , picked his shoes up and laid them down at his feet.

“My door is right there, you’re free to go, hard dick and all.”

“Wait wait, I’m not saying I want to go, where is this all coming from?”

Then quite suddenly he got down on his knees , wanting to slip back into the mistress sub role that he wanted to act out but I had no intention of letting him role play this out.

“So tell me, Judge whatever your name is, and tell me truly.  Your orgasm depends upon your truthfulness.”

As soon as I identified his occupation he stood back up twice as fast as he had gotten down to his knees.  Now with the look of a threatened peacock he asked three questions all at once “Tell you what, do you know me, from where?”

Interestingly, or maybe just coincidental, he put the ‘tell you what’ thought first in his line of questions … ah the man’s cock when hard truly does rule the brain doesn’t it?

“Is my job a real job or not in your estimation?”

“How do you mean?” he asked perplexed.

“Like, how does my job compare to say that of a pizza delivery boy? If we’re speaking frankly I mean.”

At that second, before answering, he glanced down at his shrinking dick and bemoaned it’s retreat , truly caught in a conundrum of two brains trying to reason out the situation.

“Look miss…”

“Miss?”  i interrupted, “what happened to the ..tress part of how you address me.”

“Look…” he tried to continue but once again I stopped him.

“Play with your cock while you talk to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoy it.”

Sure enough he starts tugging on his dick in the foyer of my condo and subtly … but noticed by me … backs away from his shoes the way a panther would retreat from a lion.

“Wait!” I commanded.  “Don’t move, I’ll be right back” and I walked to my bdsm room, the empty 2nd bedroom in my condo where I have a collection of femdom accessories as big as Imelda Marcos’s former shoe closet (she’s 86 now, probably only wears slippers nowadays… how appropriate) .  A moment later I returned wearing one of the long hair wigs Mistess Wael and I use for our cross dressing sessions.

“Here” I said, placing it in his free hand.

“What’s the purpose of this?”

“You’re so comfortable wearing wigs from your job, I want you to wear this for me now while you edge yourself.”

“I will not” he said, tossing it onto my kitchen’s counter top.

“You will if you want to cum.” I replied, fetching it and placing it once again in his hand and then adding , “if I need to fetch it again, I’ll ask you to leave.”

“You know what, I think I’ll do just that” and he bent down to undo the bindings his feet were in.  I let him.  I even let him go get his trousers and watched as he put them on all in a huff, and I non nonchalantly kicked his shoes over towards him when he was done with his pants.

He put his shoes on just fine, however the brain in his dick made it’s final stand before reaching the door.  I had pushed myself up atop my kitchen counter which faces the door to my condo and was biting into a Granny Smith apple in my black lingerie just to add fuel to his dick’s complaint.

“Why are we fighting like this?” he paused before continuing “we were having a nice session”.

“I’m not fighting, I’m waiting for you to put the wig on.”

There was then an uncomfortably long pause and the silence filled the condo with a noise louder than a stadium of fans.  What was happening at that moment was an internal fight between who he was and who he wanted to be, or so I think.  Layers of an onion were beginning to be peeled off and he was fighting to keep them on.  Perhaps he was retired at this point, after all, it was more than 5 years ago that I last saw him and he was by my estimation a good bit into his 60’s at this point.  Maybe, just maybe, he hit that moment where he could finally let down his guard and step out of all the bullshit that society had weighed him down with.

He simply said. “I’m sorry.” and then opened the door and slipped out.

I knew he’d be back.  I wasn’t sure when, probably much later in the year or next, but I knew without a doubt that he’d be in contact with me again.  There were too many layers of onion that he needed removed and not so many years left to accomplish what needed to be done to fix him.  There are many more intricacies which occurred that night, far too many to go into or this post would turn into a mini novel, but at some point through all this mind-fuckary that I put him through, he realized he needed me – probably more than he needed anything else in his life at that moment.

Ya I could be wrong, I could be full of myself.  But I have the cutest sms on my Line than suggests I might not be that far from the mark, and it says ….

“I’d love to see you for dinner, if only to find out why you made me say Nii.  Love ______”

 

khaleesa xx

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