I began to lose my train of thought as I found my rhythm. I looked down at his pitiful body and felt pulses of pleasure as tears rolled down his crimson cheeks. I squealed and heard him squealing too, his face contorting as he lost his fight to control his orgasm. My own orgasm rolled in waves. I threw myself forward and embraced him till the intensity subsided. He asked if he really had to. "I want you to look sexy for me," I told him. "We just put this over your arms, like this, and you'll feel your silly inhibitions slip away." When I leant in to kiss him on the sofa he froze like a shop window mannequin. Even when I slid my hand up his leg he remained inert. I stopped and asked him if he was alright, because, I said, I would get as much of a response from a china doll.

They are defensive, and tonight's was indignant. He declared that he didn't want to wear the clothes precisely because he was not a sissy. He was crying "no" again but it was little more than a whimper. I shifted position partly so I could reach around to resume my stroking but also so I could pin him if he tried to assert himself. Since then I have developed a routine for my men, which worked particularly well tonight. What I really like is watching their resistance crumble, so the more they protest the more rewarding is their surrender. The first step is to get them naked. A good a line as any is: "Let's slip into something more comfortable." You're making this really awkward," I say. "Why don't you give me a proper reason, like you're insecure about your masculinity? Hmm? Or uncomfortable with your sexuality?"

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Oh darling," I said, stroking his cheeks before kissing him gently. "It's not the clothes that make you a sissy, it's wanting to wear them. You don't want to wear them, right?" Like many women of my age I have a sense of resignation about my prospects of finding a life partner. Unlike some, I believe that I have found something more satisfying. The first thing a ballerina needs to learn," I said, placing my hands on his chest, "is balance." I shoved him roughly onto the bed. I climbed on top of his supine body and began kissing him. Whether it was through fear or arousal, this time he began to respond. With his struggles over, I slid the shorts smoothly over his thighs and drew them with both hands under his bottom till the elasticated waistband snapped into place. I turned my attention to the camisole. He cried out for me to stop but whether it was my continued stroking or the effect of the sexy lingerie he stayed in the same position, accepting his role as a passive sex object.

I leave them to take off their clothes in the bedroom and emerge from my bathroom in a nightdress and with a box for them to open while I clear away their clothes. The box tonight contained an ensemble of floral satin and white lace: a camisole and shorts and a delicate silk dressing gown. I concentrated on my needs, turning myself on while I humiliated him. "You played it all shy... pretending you didn't like being all girly... but look at you now."I asked him what he was afraid of. There is never any answer other than that they just don't want to.

It's very difficult for men not to groan when being taken, both from discomfort and relief as the strap-on moves within them. I wait till they start doing this before switching from masturbating them to stimulating myself. I could feel my orgasm building and held onto him tightly, controlling the rhythm as I needed it. As I spilled over I stared at him. His flushed face was turned to the side and his mouth lolled open. I hadn't noticed whether he had come or not and I didn't care. His shame was all-consuming but I refused to be embarrassed for him. My primary feeling was annoyance. "Come on then," I said. I took him to my bedroom and told him to take off his clothes, although I was so impatient that I took most of them off him myself. I pulled the dress out. It was essentially a leotard with a short lycra skirt sewn above the hips. It was pink and shiny, which I thought would help with the humiliation, but more importantly it would stretch and it was unlikely I would ever need it again.I thought that this might break the tension, but he blushed and didn't reply. I joked that his red cheeks made him look even more like a doll. "Should I put you in a pretty dress and play with you?"

I told him to get on his hands and knees and face the wall. I massaged him through the silk for a minute as I readied a tube of lubricant, then drew down his shorts. With lubricant on both hands I reached between his legs and stroked him intensely. While one hand continued to nurse his erection my other spread lubricant around the delicate entrance to his bottom. His arms, already tired from holding himself up for so long, flailed uselessly as he alternately tried to lash out and push himself upwards. He was sitting on the bed, so I took the shorts and laid them on his lap, squeezing him and kissing him again.Penetrating men in this position is all about angle, and I had to push his knees apart a little and press his shoulder blades sharply down to get him to present properly. With my lubricated fingers as a guide I breached him with little fuss. The lacy straps settled on his shoulders as I tugged down the silky bodice. "Now you'll let me take care of everything." I encouraged him to relax while describing what was happening to him. "Feel how deeply you're taking me, darling, my whole length coursing through you." I wondered how far he would let me go before showing some assertiveness. How much more shame could he take? Would he let me do anything to him? You do look demure, darling, but I know you can take this." I thrust in my finger deeply, twisting it on its way out and adding a second for the next round.