One Day Sunday: Part 2 by debee

Sorry boys & gurls. I got distracted by ribbons and puppies, and forgot that we had not finished this one yet. There are five parts, so plenty more to go!

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One Day Sunday: Part Two

I found myself standing is a fitting room moments later. There was nothing feminine about the space at all. Except that is was in a women’s clothing boutique, a tiny store common in malls. The “room” was really a cubicle among two or three others, with a large space between the floor and the bottom of the door. The top of the door was about at my eyes. There were two pairs of jeans draped on it. Another two pairs were lying on the small bench waiting for me to try them on.

As I slid down my Levis revealing my wife’s, or rather, my panties, as she referred to them since I put them on this morning, I heard her say, “remember, Hun, they should be quite long, you’ll need the length to wear a heel.”

“Yes,” I replied simply, noting her unapologetically loud voice. As I selected a pair and slid my foot into the leg, I assessed my excited emotions. This was happening! My wife was dressing me up in girls’ clothes. And rather in public. Did I mind that my wife didn’t keep her voice down? That she was including Julie in our “game?” Could other women in the little shop tell what was going on? Would anyone be disgusted? Amused? Would they care? Did I? I was certainly excited, and surprisingly, not overly embarrassed. I think I was having fun.

All these thoughts shot through me before I’d finished buttoning the girly jeans. The stretchy denim felt snug and satisfying over my thighs and ass. But this style was not going to work. The space between the crotch and waist was comically small. I zipped up the zipper that was not more than an inch long. I made a loud “hmmph!” noise.

“You’ve got those on?” my wife asked. “Let’s have a look at you.” I opened the small cubicle door and “presented” myself to her and Julie, who I was not surprised (pleased, actually?) to also be waiting there.

“The length is just right,” Julie observed as my wife turned me around. “How’s the waist fit?”

My wife lifted my shirttail that had been concealing my torso. “Oh, my,” my wife said. I’d had a difficult time squeezing my balls into that tiny space and my cock, still hard, had nowhere to go. I’d had to button the pants over it and an inch of my penis stuck out over the top of the waist. “Oh my” my wife repeated. Remembering my manners, I put my hand in front of the offending inch to screen Julie’s view.

“Well,” Julie said in a dead-pan voice that made us both laugh, “at least we know you’re having a good time. Maybe a different style? A looser fit?”

“No, we like these, don’t we Hun?”

“Well sure. But, Dear, there’s no place for it to go.”

She smiled to Julie and said, “Excuse us,” and shoved me back into the room and closed us both in. “Take those off,” she ordered. “And the panties,” again, not quietly. “We have to so something about this problem,” indicating my penis and without warning she grasped it with and iron grip, squeezing as hard as she could. I gave an involuntary gasp and she hushed me with a finger to her lip. I knew what she was doing.

Occasionally in love making, she’d used this method to soften me up to keep me from cumming too early. “Stubborn,” she said after squeezing for a half minute without effect. “Julie was apparently correct about your enjoying yourself,” and she squeezed even harder, this time digging in her fingernails. A tear welled up in my eye from the pain.

As I finally felt myself begin to shrink, my wife’s eyes brightened and she nodded with approval. “Reach down and grab that shoe,” she told me, indicating one of my black Converse high tops. Without her letting go we bent our knees together and I retrieved my shoe. We’d both worn our high tops today. Hers were pink. “We ought to switch colors one day. Now take the shoelace out.” I obeyed. By the time I’d finished, I was completely flaccid.

“Good. We need to be fast before your man clitty grows again” she said letting go finally. My wife took the lace and said, “watch how I tie this. You’ll want it to untie easily.” She made a kind of slipknot in the middle of the shoelace and then put it around my penis just below the circumcised head and pulled it snug. Then she turned me around so my back was toward her and instructed me to spread my legs. I obeyed, fascinated. Next she grabbed the dangling lace ends and firmly pulled my soft cock outward as far as it would stretch. With her other hand from behind, she reached between my legs and gripped the laces and pulled my still stretched penis back through my legs and snugged it into the crack of my ass. “How’re your testies?” she asked.

Where’d they go?” I ask, furtively feeling for them.

“Way up high. In you. Above the base of your cock. Should be one on each side?”

I felt for them. “Yeah, they’re there. Wow. They’re really high up.”

“Good.” And she continued to tug the lace back, through my crack and up until my “man clitty” was nearly to my anus. I winced with the rough treatment.

“Hurt?’” she asked. I nodded. “A good hurt or a bad hurt?”

“Both. Mostly good.”

“Perfect.” She took the two lace ends up my lower back and separated them taking each over a hip bone and had them meet in the front at my belly button, following the line that a skimpy thong might. There was just enough lace to tie a small bow, which she did.

I was amazed. “How’d you know how… to…”

“You aren’t the only one to check out kinky sites, Hun,” she laughed. “I’ve filed away a few tips. Now let’s try these on again,” she said, and left.

I reached down for my panties. The movement pulled on my “clitty” and made me wince again. I instead bent at my knees, keeping them together. Much less painful. “and more ladylike”, I mentally added, making myself smile.

I slid my panties on. I gasped. They FIT! I hadn’t realized how ill fitting they were until I felt them fit properly. I stared at the mirror. My “manhood” had just… vanished. I pulled my panties down a few inches and marveled the way my pubic hair formed a little womanly triangle. And a small trim to sharpen the edges would increase the effect, I mentally noted. I pulled my panties back up.

As I turned this way and that, I had another pleasant surprise. As the panty material rubbed against my clitty head, it still caused a wonderfully arousing feeling. Even with me being tied down and soft, my clitty felt wonderful. I buried my hand down into my panties, which to my delight nearly disappeared from view and stroked myself experimentally. The inclination to speed my fingertip’s movements was nearly overwhelming and I made the deliberate effort to stop and slip the jeans on.

The sensual sensation of snug, form-fitting women’s clothing actually feel like they FIT me repeated itself. I snugged the crotch seam up tightly against my crack and new “pussy.” It felt wonderful. I held up my shirt to check myself out this way and that. “Stop admiring yourself and give us a look!” I heard my wife say through the door. I laughed knowing I was doing just that.

When I opened the door I was pleased to see Julie’s mouth drop open in genuine surprise. “What’d you do? Surgery in there?”

“Something like that,” my wife replied. “Oh, so much better. Gawd, you’re a skinny mini, Hun. What you think, Julie? About perfect?”

Oh, these are sooo cuuuute on you, girlfriend! Oh, is that ok to call you that?”

“Call Hun anything you want, Julie. Right Hun? Now turn around… nice. Those sequins are so cute.”

“They really show off your booty, girl!” And Julie goosed me. “I wish I had a butt like that,” she said, slapping her own.

We stayed another half hour at this store with Julie, and eventually her co-worker Cara, who was equally friendly and helpful. Other customers came in and out, usually young women, but sometimes accompanied by a boyfriend or husband. The women usually gave us a neutral smile, the men most often smirked. No one commented, other than a wink and a “thumbs up” my wife received from another woman about her age.

After we chose the jeans that I’d tried on first, we selected another, more casual pair, shorter, so I could wear them with a flat sole. Next we looked at tops, my wife amusing herself by giving the word a little extra emphasis, reminding me that that was how we got into this game earlier this morning. While trying several colors and styles – dutifully draped over the door by the ladies – I followed my wife’s instructions to untie my clitty and let it “breath” is a normal position. “We’ll do that every so often and retie it in a slightly different spot so you don’t get too sore… until you get used to it. We don’t want it to fall off do we?”

The girls chose for me a long, satin camisole with spaghetti straps, a cotton tank, and a short simple v-neck with cap sleeves. They decided I wasn’t too old for a “layered top look” so the cami went on first, then the tank, and the v-neck was open enough to show “all the pretty straps underneath,’” they agreed.

“Now stay in there and tie yourself up nice and snug and I’ll pay for your things. I’ll bring them right back and you can wear them out. Isn’t this so fun?” she said excitedly as she left.

My heart went flip-flop. “Wear them out,” she’d said. Although I’d not really thought anything through, I’d imagined that we’d buy some items and take them home to play. Wear them out in the crowded mall hallways? But there was no internal debate. She didn’t really ask me. And I knew I wouldn’t say no.

I tied up my clitty quickly before it got hard from the idea that my spouse was feminizing me here and now and I was expected to be out in a broader public in a few moments. And no reservations that I had outweighed the fact that I was loving it.

My wife’s voice floated over to top of the door. “All paid for, Hun! All snug as a bug? Here’s your cami, and your tops, and your jeans. But first, ooh-la-la! Some black thigh-highs with lace elastic. I hope they stay up better for you than they do on me. Just hand me over those man clothes and I’ll carry them in this shopping bag. Thanks, Hun. I’ll wait for you up front at the door. See you in a jiff.”

Naturally, I couldn’t wait to put the stockings on. I must say I did it smoothly and quickly with much less trouble than I’d feared. They felt wonderful. I’d been in and out of so many tops and tight jeans they were beginning to feel familiar and comfortable. Lastly I removed the lace from my other shoe and turned down the tops like I’d seen a girl do once. I opened the cubicle door to find my wife. The store had gotten a bit busier over the last several minutes and I found two young women waiting for my room. I gave them my best smile and said, “free” breezily and walked away without turning.

After waving and giving a “thank-you” to Julie and Cara, I rejoined my wife at the front. She kissed me passionately. “You handled your “exit” so “mater-of-factly” Hun! I thought you might get flustered, especially with those girls standing there waiting.

“I wonder how long they were there.”

“Since I left you. I told them you’d be right out,” she giggled. “You know that door’s quite high off the ground. We watched you roll your stockings on. You’re pretty good at that. There! That’s the blush I knew you had in you. The taller gal thought you’d had practice. I’ve got these bags, so hold my purse.” And we started down the crowded hall.

If I expected people stop in their tracks, gawk and point, I was mistaken. A few smiles, a few glances that lingered longer than normal, that was all.

“Pretend you’re walking on a line,” my wife offered, “heel to toe. It’ll make your hips swing more.”

“It feels good to walk in these pants, “ I said suddenly. “The crotch rubs against my dick head and -”

“Clit,” she interrupted.

“Rubs against my clit,” I continued, “and in the fitting room when you first tied my clitty up…” and I described how I briefly fingered myself and how girly and sexy it looked and felt.

She stopped walking. “Really? That’s fantastic. I kind of assumed that if you were kept soft and all tied up you wouldn’t be… responsive... to much.”

“Well you assumed wrong.”

Come over here and sit.” We walked over to an out of the way bench and sat down. “So tell me, if you sit on your clit just right and kind of squirm and think horny thoughts while I kiss you, you can get yourself off?” and she held my face and shoved her tongue in my mouth. I was thinking horny thoughts. I squirmed. She put her hand inside my two tops and rubbed my satin cami against my nipple. I kept squirming on my clit.

My wife whispered in my ear, “Could you cum? Could you cum this way, my little bitch? My horny, slutty bitch, could you cum for me, little slut? Huh, bitch?” Oh my God, I was hot. But suddenly she stopped cold, sat up straight and straightened our clothes. “Well? Could you?”

I thought seriously. “I was close to orgasm there, I think. But the full deal? I’m not sure. Certainly not much could come out, if that’s what you mean by cum. I think I’d be kind of… suspended. Or maybe I’d just explode,” I laughed.

“Perfect! That’s so perfect. Now,” she said standing up, “I’m tired of you scuffing in those shoes, so new shoes is on the list, but first…”
She pulled me along several stores down. “Here.” We entered a store that specialized in raunchy, risqué, somewhat deviant clothing. Studded leather, latex, vinyl, and chains were everywhere. “I’ve thought about getting myself something sexy and fun here for ages and surprising you. But buying for you is even better!”

We waded in among the tables and racks. The lighting was dark and lurid for a store. Loud industrial music was playing. My wife headed to a rack of bustiers and cinchers. “Our culture’s changed so much. Used to only see this kind of stuff in adult lingerie stores. Now it’s in the mall and kids wear it to school.” I looked at the other customers and we were clearly the only ones over 20 in the store, including the staff.

My wife quickly searched through cinchers and corsets. “No… no… no… maybe, no… no… “

“Can I help you?” This was from a sales girl in goth attire, not older than seventeen.

“Yes, please. We’re looking for a good corset or cincher. All the ones I’ve seen are too… foo-fooey. I’m looking for one that really works”
“Um, yeah… these are pretty much for looks… we don’t really carry the heavy duty ones. How much do you want to cinch down? How many inches you want to lose?”

“It’s not for me.” My wife turned toward me.

“It’s for me,” I said, trying not to sound shy.

She just said “awesome,” to me without batting an eye. “So…?”

“Uh… well… I’m not really sure…”

“From around a 28 down to a 24 or so,” my wife said crisply.

“Hmmm… that’s quite a bit… Like I said, we don’t really… well, wait, we do have this one…” She led us over to another rack. “It’s an under-bust one. Is that ok? It doesn’t have any boning or anything, but it’s real tough vinyl so it has no give at all… “ She pulled a black corset off the hanger and handed to me “See? Real heavy zipper in front. The cords and grommets in back are real tough. Something like this work for you guys? We got it in red too, which is pretty hot.”

“We like the black,” my wife said. “We’ll try the small and the medium. Where…? oh, there are the fitting rooms. I think I’ll need to help with it.”

“Awesome,” the goth girl blandly said again.

In the cubicle my wife decided to put the corset over my cami. She stood behind me with the corset laces firmly in hand. “Exhale again.”

Cinch. “Again.” Cinch. “Can you breath?”

“Barely.” She chuckled. “Really. Barely,” I said.

“Price of fashion, Hun. Exhale.” Cinch. “This really is a rather nice one. You can cinch and tie off from the top, waist and the bottom. We’ll mostly cinch the waist and let the bottom flair to give you some hips. Hopefully these will still fit around them,” she said, indicating my low rider jeans. The corset extended just below my hip bones and I’d had to unbutton and lower them while I was being cinched up. “Exhale one more time.”

Cinch. Tie.

I could only use about the top forth of my lungs and I felt lightheaded, but when I turned to the mirror, I thought, “worth it.”

“Pull your pants up, girl! You look so hot!” I did too. I had and hourglass figure, The extra flair at my hips was further contrasted by my cinched down waist. Only the stretch of the stretch denim allowed me to button my girly jeans over the vinyl on my hips. I zipped up my one inch zipper, still marveling at my lack of any bulge.

Following my gaze, my wife reached down behind me and stroked my clit through my jeans. “So… here? Like this? This feels good?” I began squirming in my pants again, trying to lower myself and gain purchase against her teasing fingers. I reached down and pulled her hand harder against my clit.

“No, no. Bad girl,” she admonished. If we make out here, they’ll throw us in jail. And you are not dressed for a night in jail. Or maybe you are,” she teased. “Now let’s go buy this. I hope she can get the sensor off with you in it, ‘cause I’d hate to have to redo this.”

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For more info on debee, check out her Fetlife profile: http://fetlife.com/users/41213