Sissy Holly-Day Shopping Fantasy by sophie

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Harder by ed cantor

A bit "harder" than my usual, below is the text of one of ed cantor's first attempts at Twitterotica. Enjoy!
* * *

getting on a plane to be teased and tormented and used

arriving to be picked up by you, immediately taken, stuffed with the plug, bound helpless, and taken to where the use REALLY begins

sun so bright after the trip in the trunk, blinking as you guide me in, handcuffed, plugged, gagged

i can see you tormenting me with your desire, blindfolded now, you make me strip and i can't see you, can't know who is there

but you come so close, teasing me once you've got me restrained helplessly immobile, keeping me inches from your thrilling arousal

now totally at your mercy, i groan at the tightness of the ropes, the cursed inflatability of the stretching plug, drooling around the gag

she pulls the blindfold off and, seeing her, despite everything, my body tingles with arousal at her striking and powerful beauty

my admiration is cut short, not just by the ominous surroundings, but by the more more immediate concern about the thin cane you held

my legs are spread wide, ankles held open by the roughly welded spreader bar and its steel shackles, my wrists pulled so high over my head

you move close, a briefly soft touch at my bared chest turns into you marking me with four parallel lines from your sharp fingernails

you are dangerously intimately close to me, i curse my reactions, growing erect as you start surrounding my cock and balls with thin leather

i moan in pain, as you've hung something from my swaying balls now...i look down to see a small empty tin pail

distracted by this new torment, I am shocked to screaming when the thin cane slices across my ass.

and again when you drop some leaden weight into the dangling pail, pulling painfully at me. "that's what happens when you don't thank me"

"thank you?" he stammered, tortured by the way the damned pail was now swinging. "yes, for the kiss of my sweet cane." and again it struck.

there was no point in resisting... "thank you" i gasped. your fingernails dragged down my back. "thanks for what, fucktoy?"

"thanks.. thanks for whipping my ass" i was guessing, in some kind of strange shock." "oh honey, that was just the cane, not the whip...yet"

you kept striking me with the cane, over and over, marking and torturing my ass, my own jerking making the weighted pail swing

but each time, even when reduced to sputtering groans, a strained "thank you" exits my lips

i feel like i'm about to lose consciousness, always waiting for the next strike, when you stop. you set the cane down on a shelf.

to replace it you pick up a wide leather paddle. you walk up in front of me, turning it so i can see all of it. your smile is dangerous.

My breathing coming in ragged panting, i look at it, at you. you use it under me to lift up and display my bound cock and balls to me

my balls, trussed in the thin leather, are red, almost purple, tight, the agony visible... you tease me with those painted talons again

your nails drag up and down the length of me, and you slide the paddle, like you're using a frying pan under me. when you squeeze i scream

you let the paddle down, leaving me at the mercy of the pail again, pulling another groan from me as your heels click behind me again

i'm nearly sobbing, knowing what is coming, and sure enough the paddle slams like like a truck, reigniting the fiery stripes of the cane

you cast a wider spread with the paddle, and soon the whole of my ass as well as the backs of my thighs are burning and glowing red

without being reminded, i am gasping thank you's out to you, even as the pain grows, narrowing my vision to a shadow-framed tunnel

you stop once more... i'm panting, and it takes me a moment to realize it is over, at least for now. you are moving again, arranging things

there is heavy scraping, big things sliding, but all i can do is revel in the reprieve from the paddle. then i feel the edge against my ass.

you've pushed a large, cold metal table up behind me. you free my ankles from the spreader bar. you lower my wrists, still bound together.

you pull me back, onto the table, securing the chain from my wrists somewhere behind my head. laid back, the cold surface is almost soothing

you free the dangling pail from my trussed cock but you do not release it. you pull my legs up, securing each doubled with a buckled strap

you push my frog-tied legs apart and it is the first time i see the ominous strap-on you've affixed to its harness at your hips

the harsh lights above me gleam in the slick coating of lubricant you've already prepared it with. "oh god, please don't, please" i stammer

your smile fades, and my throbbing balls are i your grip "i like the begging, but you're doing it wrong, fucktoy."

"beg me for this, beg me to take you like the dirty whore you are, or you'll feel that whip you were asking about, and i'll skin that ass"

i can tell by the look in your eyes that it is no bluff. i swallow hard, trying to make myself believe this isn't real. "please..."

"please what?" you demand of me. "please.. please use that on me, in me. please, please don't whip me." "slut, you'd better make me believe"

"please, oh god, please... please take me, please fuck my ass, please fuck me, please please take me and fuck my ass please"

i realize i'm nearly screaming. your smile is wickedly crooked. you ease the tip of the purple rubber monster to me, pushing open my rosebud

i groan as the thing pushes into me, even after i'd been stretched by the plug. and then you're really fucking, your hips driving forward.

"keep begging, whore. i know you want it, i know you love it!" "yes, please, please" i'm begging with all that i am as you impale me

the feeling of the thing inside me is completely new, like it is splitting me in half, but also something more

i can feel your pleasure. your bliss and fucking me so full is electric in the room. it isn't just better than the cane, it's something more

but i still blush at the words that are flying from my mouth, from some depraved core of me "fuck me! fuck my ass! fuck me! i need it! fuck"

my head thrown back, your rocking me on the table. my mind is numbed so much that all i can do is repeat "fuck me i'm a whore" over and over

my mind buzzing, and i realize something strange is happening. i'm starting to enjoy this. but how? i look and my cock is rock hard.

it is straining at its bondage, but rigid and upright and its purple head is glistening with precum. "i knew you were a whore, slut."

your smile shames me. my face is burning red. but still you fuck me and still i beg. you grip my shaft, hard. your nails curl around to bite

but still i love it. i want it. i want you to fuck me and stroke me. your touch makes my body electric. i feel like i'm a foot off the table

your hips are rolling, getting your own pleasure from the base of the strap-on, and you are ramming hard into me, but the pain is offset now

my begging is more than real now. i want it. i need it. i crave for you to fuck me, to take me with all you have.

your hand on my cock and your dildo in my ass is making me a pavloviansubject. this pleasure like i've never felt is because i'm yours now.

i'm begging in earnest, my voice almost gone, rasping, "fuck me please, oh god please fuck me, take me, i'm your fucking whore to use"

"tell me you're a whore" you command and i do it, aloud, "i'm a whore!"

"tell me you're a slut" and i scream it "i'm a slut, i'm your slut!"

"tell me all you want is to fucked and beaten and fucked some more, you fucking tramp!" i do, and i am. i am what you are making me.

"yes you are. cum, you ass-fucked whore." and i don't even think, i just explode. cum forcing itself past the bondage, to spurt up my chest

you fuck me a few more thrusts, and the pressure seems to push even more cum from my throbbing cock, you unlace it now, and it is still hard

it is super sensitized from is use and its bondage, my balls feel like theyve been kicked over and over.

i'm still helpless, not that i would have the energy to move if free. your fingers, in rubber gloves, are scooping up the thick white cum.

i'm almost beyond shame, but still i feel this humiliation as you slowly feed me every oozing drop of my own orgasm

once you are satisfied you retreat for a moment. when you return, you're holding a heavy collar, hinged steel, which you lock around my neck

only then do you you release my legs, free my hands. i turn slightly and i feel it and hear it. the chain from my collar to the wall.

you're moving away, dropping a bowl of some gruel on the floor, next to another filled with a splash of water. the door closes heavily.

you speak to me though the slit in the metal door. "you are mine, whore. and it is just beginning." i shudder. I can feel the truth of it.

One Day Sunday: Epilogue by debee

One Day Sunday: Epilogue

[Previous installments: http://www.inherservice.com/search/label/debee]

I left work two hours early and I still had to scurry. It was our One Year anniversary and I wanted to be completely changed and ready when my wife came home. It wasn’t our “girl week” yet, but this was a special occasion.

We’d eventually settled on a “one week on, four weeks off” schedule. We agreed to stick to it regardless of our ‘moods’. Discipline in such matters being an important element. A week was enough for plenty of playtime. Dressing games, undressing games, shopping games, public games, in the bedroom games. A week of sating our desires.

Four weeks off kept things fresh, with time to whet our appetite, time to plan, share new ideas, dream up a new variation on the theme.

And there were so many lovely variations. Male lesbian, domestic maid (the house was never cleaner), role reversal, rape play (I recalled with a thrill the time my wife slapped me around, because I ”looked and acted like a slut all day long,” which was quite true. She tore my clothes the then and forcefully and painfully entered me with her strap-on), various forms of bdsm, femdom…

As I heard the front door open I timed my peek in the oven so that I would be bent over when she came in the kitchen. I was rewarded with a hardy slap on the ass. “Welcome home dear,” I said turning. “I’ve started on some wine, can I get you one?”

She walked to the ‘fridge and took out a can of beer and cracked it open. She held it up in toast and I clanked my stem glass against the aluminum rim. “To the wife beaters,” she said.

“And the sluts that deserve it,” I returned. We smiled at our familiar toast and drank. “Funny, I was just thinking of the first time we invented that toast.”

“You’ve changed already. Gawd, how can you stand those confining clothes?”

“…price of fashion.”

“Well, I can’t wait to get out of these.” She took her beer and headed for the bedroom and I followed behind with my wine. “And it’s not yet our ‘on’ week, is it?”

I watched her change into a t-shirt, gray sweat pants, white gym socks. “Well I thought… that the occasion called for… a bit of … festivity.“ My wife stood looking blank. “Do you recognize my outfit?” I had since acquired much to fill my wardrobe. I hadn’t, until now, repeated the exact same combination as I wore home from the mall that evening.

“Looks like what you wore that first…” I watched the dawn break. “Has it been a year?” I turned my back and folded my arms in a pout. I normally pretended to be womanish and petulant for fun, but my feelings were really hurt.

“A year,” my wife repeated, “well in that case… there’s something on your vanity for you.” She cracked a grin. I spied a small gift wrapped in newspaper and string.

“You knew all along, you prick,” I laughed. “Oh, what is it?” I tore at the paper.

“Don’t break it in your lust for booty. I think you’re greedier when you wear a skirt. I wonder why that is…?”

“You darling. Oh, I love her! Whoever she is,” and I kissed the glass on the frame, leaving a lovely red kiss mark.” Under the glass was the girl in the ad from the magazine a year ago. My wife had found it and framed it. Jotted at the bottom was “ The Girl that Started it All xxox”

“That’s so nice. You’re a darling. But really,” I said looking at the picture, “don’t you think that top’s cute? Eeek!”

My wife threw me on the bed and climbed on top. “I want to fuck!” and she smeared my lipstick with hard kisses. She liked doing that. “Come here my little shemale. The ‘she’ is sexy to kiss, but right now I need the ‘male,’ down here. Let’s free it up!”

I exhaled and made my body limp in mock exhaustion. “I can’t. The tie’s under my corset and I’m not getting all undone. I want to stay nice for dinner.” I made weak fists and pounded on her chest.

“Fuck the dinner. I want an appetizer right now!” and she started to unbutton my blouse.

“Don’t pop the button, you clumsy. Let me.” I sighed. “ If you must, you must. But I’m not getting all undone. Take those sweat pants off.” I removed my blouse and unzipped my skirt and let fall to the floor. I walked casually to the dresser where we had our special drawer of things and pulled out her strap-on.

“Hey, that’s mine.”

“I know. You always get to wear this. My turn.” I strapped the holder around my waist and the thick black dildo hung in the place where my own manhood should have been.

“That’s hot. That’s a good look for you, Hun.” She was right, I thought as I gazed in my vanity mirror. Black spike heel boots and stockings, pink panties, black ‘cock,’ pink garters, black corset, pink bra, all in an hourglass package. She reached over and grabbed my “cock” and pulled me to her. “Yum,” she said. I crawled on the bed and flipped to my back.

“Mount me, please.”

“With pleasure.” As she started to roll on top, she hesitated. “But what about you? This is so selfish.”

“We both like a good fast fuck sometimes. I just like pleasing you. Use me, I’ll enjoy that.” I held my big black ‘cock’ steady while she slowly settled on it. She gasped as she pushed in the last two inches and my body took her weight. My wife looked down at me lovingly, smiled and closed her eyes. She slowly began to gyrate. I studied her intense expression as I counter pointed her movements with my pelvis.

You know we’re “on” next week?” I said, almost conversationally.

“Um hum” was the dreamy reply.

“I was thinking ‘school girl.’ A plaid mini, white blouse, Mary Janes. all easy stuff to get. Except the stockings… When did you last see opaque white stockings?”

“Humph.” She picked up the tempo a bit.

“Of course there’s always knee highs. Or tights,” I said.

She opened her eyes to say, “Boring.”

“Well in a perfect world, I’d wear…”

“This is a perfect world,” and she bent down and kissed me tenderly. She closed her eyes again and settled back into her motion. “Amy Catlin was a cheerleader in my class.”

My ‘school girl’ idea apparently triggered a memory. “What a bitch.” She continued, ”they all were, really. The cheerleaders. Big clique. All bitches. Snots.” The eyes remained closed, the motion steady.

“I never dated one,” I said. “Always wanted to.”

“You didn’t want a cheerleader. You wanted to be a cheerleader.” She giggled and continued her rhythm. When I moaned, she reached behind and down to rub my clit, but the position was awkward and she broke her stride. “Here, let me.” I slid my hand under my ass and took over the massaging. She smiled, relieved, and resumed her rhythm.

“So true,” I admitted. “But you are right. Snots and bitches all. But cute outfits. Bare legs though. I better get another wax.” I united our trains of thought. “The cunts, with their wool pleated mini skirts. Wouldn’t you love to teach one a lesson? Hold that cunt down and give it to her? Give it to her hard like she deserves?” The motion picked up tempo. ”You know how she wears that shit. Twirls around just to show her panty ass to the crowd… rip those fuckers off and teach that snotty cunt a lesson… wearing little sneakers… tight sweaters… hair spray… flavored lip gloss… bare legs… the fucking endless boyfriends…”

She was really was starting to thrust.

Another variation, I thought to myself.

“Fucking pompoms,” my wife said and pumped faster

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

One Day Sunday: Part 4 by debee

One Day Sunday: Part Four

Previous installments: http://www.inherservice.com/search/label/debee

And we did. Ninety minutes and four boutiques later had a hot little faux leather number, black, just at the knee. Its slightly stretchy fabric hugged my curves nicely, and to my surprise (and with Katherine giving me another vigorous cinching), I was down to a 23! We also picked out a more practical mid-thigh navy a-line, and two satin blouses, one black, the other cream.

Katherine new most of the shops and the help and chose stores that she thought would be open to my adventure. While some saleswomen weren’t thrilled about helping us, most were enthusiastic and cheerful. It was wonderful to have them fuss over me, offer tips and suggestions, and pretend to be jealous of my figure and legs.

During my blouse and skirt shopping, I’d given my clitty a rest and it was now back in its proper place. I asked Katherine if I was to wear a skirt out or my jeans, that I was too silly to decide on my own.

“Of course you are, Hun. Better get back into your long jeans and boots. I noticed your stockings are sagging. We better find you something to hold them up. And guess what we’re right next door to!”

I soon was pulled by the hand into a well known lingerie franchise. The femininity of the environment was intoxicating. All the help looked like the models in their own catalogue.

Katherine soon picked two styles of panty/garter sets with matching bras. One, a simple black satin, the other a more lacey light pink. “The garter is easy. Small. Your bra size is trickier. Here, start with this 34 AA padded, and we’ll go from there. In you go,” and she guided me to the changing room.

“I’m sorry. We can’t let you use our changing rooms,” a tall blonde intervened.

Oh. And why not?” Katherine politely asked.

“Just store policy. Cross dressers in the changing rooms sometimes make the other customers… uncomfortable.” She spoke in low tones in an attempt to keep our conversation somewhat private.

Katherine had now such thoughts. “Your dressing rooms are gender neutral. There’s no other place to change. How do we get the right fit?” she demanded in a firm tone.

Before the woman could answer, I heard a familiar voice chirp in, “What’s so ‘uncomfortable’? I don’t mind if he uses a room.” It was my wife. I didn’t know how long she’d been in the store.

“There,” Katherine said to the blonde, “you see? She doesn’t mind. How about you, miss?” she asked the nearest customer.

“Hey, help yourself,” the mid 30’s soccer mom said. These last few exchanges were rather loud. There were three other shoppers and another saleswoman in the place.

Katherine addressed the room, “anyone else mind?”

Two of the customers gave negative replies, the other merely shrugged.

The two clerks also shrugged to each other. The blonde spoke apologetically, “Look, it’s no big deal and I don’t care, really, so ok, this once. But keep it under your hat, ok? We really don’t want to become a drag haven…”

And I was in. As I tried on different sized bras, I marveled at my two “girlfriend’s” deftness. They used the situation to accomplish: a) making a valid political point about discrimination, b) allowing me to get in and try on sexy lingerie, and c) made me a focal point for all the customers. Not only were they all aware of what I was doing, but they all were kind of “invested” in my activity. Indeed, none left as I occasionally opened the door to let Katherine check the fitting on a particular size. Most gazed openly at us.

My wife kept up a chatter with Katherine, still pretending to be a stranger. “Wow, so well trained! That’s so wonderful. Does he cook and clean? Iron? Hand wash your dainties? Is he a live in? Oh, you ‘borrowed’ him? From who? How cool is that! Do you get to do anything you want with him? Anything?? (giggle) Hey! Can I borrow him when you’re done? Will his… ‘owner’, is that the right word? ‘Owner’ mind?”

This, and other such chat went on while I was in and out of my bras. Katherine selected the pink set and paid for it while I waited in the cubicle. She soon returned with the garter set and handed it over the door. Panties first then your stockings and belt and bra, then your cincher. Cream blouse, black skirt, boots. Hand me the rest, here’s your purse back. See you in a few, Hun.”

I stepped out a few minutes later. The same women were still there, “browsing.” I felt their stares but didn’t return them. Katherine motioned me over saying “well done, Hun, well done! You look so pretty! Now I have agreed to let this woman borrow you and use you as she sees fit, just as I have done. I will tell your owner. But stay with me for a few minutes. I have another task for you.”

These words were voiced as the three of us left the store, all eyes and ears on us. We walked quickly around a corner and collapsed on a sitting bench. “God what a RUSH!” Katherine said. “What a hoot. God this has been fun!”

I know!” my wife said. “Katherine, you’re fantastic. So nice of you to help us play dress-up”

I could play with you two all day,” she sighed. “But, the work thing. Gotta get back. But anytime you want a third… here’s my card… and my cell.’ Katherine jotted it on the card. My wife took another card and wrote our number it and gave it back to her. Hugs, kisses and a quick good-bye.

We sat down again happily. I looked down at myself, my leather skirt and spike heeled boots, felt the garter pull at my stockings, and a fresh wave of horniness came over me. “Stop admiring yourself,” said my wife, guessing my thoughts. “Tell me, how’d you know to sit down that way?”

“What way?”

“This is the first time we’ve sat since you put that sexy skirt on. As you sat down, you smoothed the skirt under your butt. Your knees are together, your ankles turned nicely to the side… I mean it’s lovely, ladylike… deportment. I don’t even sit that way…. There’s a lot of girly in you, Hun.” She gave me a long kiss. “I wonder why I like it? And you do too,” she kissed me again, “don’t you Hun?” kissing, whispering in my ear, “don’t you, my little, horny bitch.” Her hand was on my thigh, fingering the garter snaps through the fabric.

Like before, she abruptly stopped and sat up straight. She looked dreamily around and sighed. “Remember how we both hated malls? Now I see this place as Wonderland. A beautiful Wonderland. And, you, my dear Alice, you and I have stepped through the Looking Glass. We can have anything we desire here. All dreams can be fulfilled.” Giggle.

Before I could reply, she kissed me again. As she nuzzled and kissed, she whispered into my ear, “For example, our dear Katherine highly recommends that salon around the corner. And just behind you, she says that nail place is where she goes for her manicure and that the pedicures are delicious. And several of the jewelry stores here will pierce your ears for free with a purchase of good earrings. Too bad that tan and spa place is closed today. They do waxing. We’ll do that another day… but hair, nails and ears are a must.” She put a hand on my thigh and looked into my eyes, “You couldn’t say ‘no’ to me even if you wanted to, and you definitely don’t want to, do you, you little cunt?” I start to squirm my clit against the bench.

“I’ll let you decide which to do first.” She pondered. “Now, shall I go in with you, speak to the girls myself? We would decide what to do with you, making it clear that you’re opinion isn’t relevant, like you’re my property. That’s been really fun, hasn’t it? Or, do I come in later and watch you? Make you do it alone? Watch you ask to be prettied up, while I snicker and giggle with other customers… Hmmm? What do you like best? Both must be so humiliating!”

As it turned out, she did some of both. My wife and the hair stylist decided that a “Jamie Lee Curtis look” would work for me. They seemed more concerned with my eyebrows than anything else, and spent a good deal of time plucking and shaping them. My cut was short, simple, but clearly feminine.

My “look” apparently called for some large rhinestone earrings, so my ears were pierced next, and they chose a pair of silvery squares.

After that, it was to the nail place. My wife played a “stranger” again and giggled and teased with other women as I had my fingernails and toenails done. The pedicure was, as Katherine said, delicious. I chose an opalescent, pale pink for the fingernails, and a deep red for the toes. Rolling my stockings down was also fun, and I needed to use the “ladies room” to reattach them to my garters.

The experiences and feelings I had as I became more and more feminine is impossible to describe. Between each stop my wife necked with me and tried to feel up my skirt, which was always met with a slap of my hand. It was getting to be closing time for most of the shops. While there was time, my wife headed us to one of the larger department stores. She pointed to the make-up counter and told me to enquire to the girl about a quality brand of lipstick. And to ask about the easiest way to apply eyeliner. And with eye shadow, is it darker colors that should go closest to the eye?

In fifteen minutes I had my lips and eyes done expertly by the saleswoman, and a ruby red lipstick, mascara and liner, eye shadow, and a little blush in my purse.

In fifteen more minutes, we were in the lounge of the same restaurant that we had had lunch. My wife ordered me a Manhattan, allowing me only one, “since you’re driving,” she ordered. She was on her second scotch when she started to get really, really horny, and somewhat verbally abusive. I needed “my brains fucked out. Really, totally fucked out,” whether I “wanted it or not, ‘cause any bitch cunt that dresses like that… not only wants it, she’s asking for it. Ain’t that right? You want it?” More kissing and nuzzling. More of her hand creeping up my skirt, fingers sliding into the top of my stocking. I squirmed in my seat. Again.

“This has been a very fun day.” I said hoarsely. “I’ve never seen you so excited. Or aroused. And I think I feel the same. Tell me,” I stared into her eyes, “do you like me… better… this way…?”

It was a serious question and I thought it warranted a thoughtful answer. But she quickly waved it off. “Nah,” she dismissed. “If I was a lesbian and wanted a girl, I’d have got me one of those. I married a guy that’s what I want,” and she sat up and drained her drink. I felt confused and disappointed with her answer. What was I expecting? I retrieved a mirror and my lipstick from my bag and gave myself a fresh coat.

“But,” she said when I’d finished, and kissed me so hard she smeared my lipstick again, “I would love having a go at being bisexual…with you. Let’s go home and have a fresh look at our toys. We may see them in a whole different light.”

“Let me powder my nose.”


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

Pet by ed cantor

Written for me by my beloved ed cantor. The assignment was to share with me his own Puppy Play fantasy, but he seems to have worked in many of my favorite elements: tease & denial, panties, chastity, foot worship... ;-)

*
Pet

They were miles away from each other, but a heat linked them as they spoke. She was reclining in her bed, ready to drift to sleep. He was kneeling beside his, a position she enjoyed knowing he held for her.

“You know,” she purred, “I think I’d like a pet.”

“Really?” he asked. It seemed like a bit of departure from their previous conversation. “Do you think you’d like a dog or a cat or something? I don’t see you as a fish kind of person.”

“Actually,” she mused, “that’s not really what I’m thinking. I want the best parts of all those pets. I like the loyalty and service of dogs. I like the way a kitten might purr and be fun to play with. Hell, I even like how pretty fish are to look at, but you’re right – I want a pet I can play with.”

He smiled silently, his lips moving against the phone. “Well, it sounds like you know what you want. Now how are you going to get all this in one pet?”

“Silly boy. I’m going to get it the same way I always do: you’re going to give it to me.”

“Oh?” He was suddenly worried about how he was going to solve this particular puzzle to her liking.

“Yes indeed. The pet I want is you, and you’re going to be the pet I want. Now, you may do your edging – no cumming tonight, sleep in something pink for me, and tomorrow I’ll send you something to get you started. Good night, pet.”

He was still in shock when he spoke his good night, expressing his devotion, love and thanks.

It took him a while to get to sleep, and not just because of the physical throbbing that was the result of his edging and denial. His mind just raced, trying to imagine her intentions and plans, all while knowing the effort was futile. He was never able to guess at the details of her wonderful wickedness.

Finally, his mind swirling with possibilities, his body clad in nothing but panties of pink lace trimmed in ribbon, he drifted into a restless sleep.

He woke earlier than he would have liked, but it seemed like it would be a beautiful day outside, so he opted for a positive outlook. Before he completed his breakfast, an email from his Mistress arrived.

“Edward, the first thing a pet needs is a collar, a leash and a name tag. You will go to a pet store today - immediately - and purchase those items. The collar should be leather, with buckles for adjusting size and steel rings for the leash. You will hold it up to your neck at least once in the store, to test for fit. The leash should have a clip for your collar and a leather lead for me to hold. The tag should be engraved, stating that you are my property, but we will leave a blank space for your pet name, for now. I will expect you to have all these things by noon. Enjoy your shopping!”

He wasted no time in finishing up his food, cleaning it away and getting himself ready for the errand. His mind worked on him more than reality might have dictated, but then, it always did. He was deliciously humiliated, holding the collar up, wrapping it around his neck, even though he’d spent at least ten minutes circling around, making sure they was no one nearby in the nearly deserted store. The experience of the nametag was similar. He had to pay in advance, but then he was on his own at a large pseudo-vending machine. He kept a close eye over his shoulder, but no one saw him enter “Property of Mistress” via the touch screen.

Heading home on time, his purchases in the large plastic bag, he was gleeful, thrilled, and hard as a rock.
...

The next morning, as he walked up to her door, at the time he had been instructed to, just a day later, his mind was buzzing. His collar, still unworn, was the only item in the plain brown paper bag he carried. All that he’d been allowed to carry in his pockets were the key to his home and enough exact change to get him on transit. His only remaining preparation, detailed in another email that had been waiting for him at home, had been to make sure that all of his hair was trimmed. He’d started with a trip back out for a haircut and shave and then taken care of the rest himself at home, working nervously with scissors while standing in the bathtub.

It felt very strange, walking up her street -- a street he’d only ever driven on before. There weren’t even sidewalks, and he felt very much on display -- like the neighbours were likely to call the police to report an unusual stranger. He didn’t even have ID on him - just a dog collar that would only inspire more questions.

But finally he was there. He knocked on the door after a deep breath. Mistress was there quickly, an eager and loving smile on her face.

“Oh Edward, I’m so glad you are here on time. I’d have hated to start off with punishment. Come, step inside the door.”

He stepped in and then waited.

She came in around him and faced him.

“Edward -- and this is the last time for quite a while you will be called Edward -- this experience is going to be different for us. Especially for you. Are you ready to be my pet?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered, his lips dryly sticking together.

She reached into the paper bag. “Do you accept this collar as a symbol of your status before me and of my ownership of you?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Do you understand that you are to be a pet? Not a slave. Not a servant. A pet. MY pet. Mine to do with what I please.”

“Yes Mistress, I understand.”

“Excellent, pet. Strip.”

Wordlessly, without hesitation or second thought, he peeled off his clothes. The simple tan khakis, button down white oxford shirt, black boxers, white socks and Vans sneakers were all placed in turn in the black bag she held out as she watched, smiling and proud. In moments he stood before her, bare.

“Legs spread. Hands behind your back. Lean forward.”

He complied, feeling the blush of his nakedness and her clear control, not to mention his growing stiffness.

Her fingers traced his neck, then they guided the leather of the collar against his flesh. “With this collar, I make you mine. I accept your offer and I take you. You are mine. You are my pet.” He could hear her enjoyment in her words. “You may kneel now.”

He wondered, in that split second, if he should reply in agreement or thanks, but she continued speaking even as he was lowering himself to the floor. “Some ground rules to start: First, always remember that you are my pet - not my slave, not my submissive, not my slut, not my lover. You will not speak unless directly instructed to. ‘Yes’ or ‘no’ questions can be answered by nodding or shaking your head. You will not stand or get upon any piece of furniture unless directly instructed to. A pet’s place is on the floor or in its cage. Do you understand so far, pet?”

He was suddenly very aware of the collar around his neck as he nodded.

“Good. You will be gagged on occasion, as I choose, but do NOT mistake the absence of a gag as permission to speak. It most likely just means I have chosen to hear your moans or grunts more directly, or that I have some other use in mind for your mouth, but you should just be satisfied knowing that your mouth is available because I wish it.”

She paused, then turned and simply pulled upon his leash as an indication that he should follow her. She made her way to the living room, while he scrambled on all fours to keep up, until she turned and lowered herself into an easy chair.

“Pets do not wear clothing, and so you will not wear clothing while you are here unless I choose otherwise. If you are required to leave here or be in pubic, I will choose something for you. Now, spread your legs a touch more, and hold still on all fours.”

He complied, taking a deep breath. She walked away for a moment, but was soon back carrying a small black bag. She knelt down behind him. Without warning, her hands were on his cock and balls, pulling and prodding at them.

“I’m glad to see you took care of your grooming. I’ll see how this goes, and determine later if I need to bring in someone else to groom you in the future, or whether you’ll be up to taking care of this yourself.”

As she spoke, her hands kept moving with precise, almost medical efficiency. She carefully guided his testicles, one at a time, and then his cock, though a plastic ring. She positioned it properly around the base of his manhood. She next guided his cock into the snug embrace of a clear plastic sleeve. He heard his breath almost as a whistle through his pursed lips. Once he was drawn deep enough into it, she guided its widened base up to the first ring, slotting the two together. Small locks clicked as they closed.

“I know that some say that all pets should be neutered, but we’ll just start you with some chastity,” she said, now prodding the device upon him, laughing softly at her own joke.

Her left hand moved, and she held him and the device as she brought his next surprise closer. “Now, I couldn’t really find the right thing for a puppy, so a pony tail will have to do for now.” He felt the first touch of it: the soft, so lightly lubricated, tip of the butt plug. It was colder than he’d felt before, and with less give than he was used to. She pushed it in, deeper and deeper, slowly and steadily. The profile of the thing just kept stretching him wider. He started to moan softly, and then silenced himself by biting his lower lip between his teeth.

“Short term pain for long term gain, pet,” she said, as though to comfort him. “This plug is nice and wide before it narrows at the base, so you’ll have so much less trouble keeping it in.” She giggled, but kept pushing. When its widest part finally crested into him, she switched to pulling back, giving just a bit of tormenting resistance, as his ass now tried to suck the thing fully inside. When the base finally pressed against his ass cheeks, he felt s tickle against his thighs. She let go, and with a blushing shock, his mind finally resolved the puzzling sensations he’d felt as it had been inserted. It was heavy. He could feel not only the fullness of it, but also the weight of it. It was solid, polished steel.

The previous tickling was intensified as his Mistress, her hands now free, grabbed the gleaming black ponytail flowing from the base of the plug. She flicked it back and forth, causing it to swish across the backs of his thighs. He could only imagine just how he looked at this moment, but the physical attention and his growing realization of his position before her was making him very keenly aware of how he was now feeling. His cock was throbbing, wanting to stiffen, but trapped inside the too-small sleeve of the chastity device. Even with his lips closed, he could not contain the building groan.

“There is another gift I will give you, to assist you in learning your position. Whenever I instruct you to ‘sit up,’ I wish for you to kneel, with your thighs spread, your body upright, and your hands up in front of you, like a begging puppy. Now, sit up.”

He scrambled into position, feeling the motion torment his full ass. He glanced down as he spread his legs, seeing his cock looking tiny and trapped within the device. He felt a bit silly, lifting his hands up, letting his wrists loosen and his hands slump down, but he knew there could be no hesitation. His Mistress took one hand in hers, holding it softly for a second, before turning it over, palm up, and curling his fingers up into a fist. She slid a snugly fitting, padded leather mitten over his closed hand.

She tightened the buckling closure around his wrist and slid a small lock in place, clicking it closed. As she repeated the process with his left hand, the fingers of his right instinctively tried to test their new enclosure. Not only was there no way he could remove his hand from the mitt, but he could also not even open his fingers. His hands had been effectively reduced to padded lumps at the end of his arms. The locks on them seemed redundant security at this point, but there were certainly making an impact on his imagination.

“Now, let’s help get you into the right frame of mind,” she said, jolting him out of his thoughts.

She held up a toy: a bright, translucent pink, floppy pink dildo, made of some kind of gel-like rubber. It wriggled obscenely in her hands, as she bounced it lightly, as though she was testing its weight. Then, with a swing of her arm, she tossed the toy across the room, where it bounced and landed in the far corner of the living room. She looked him in the eye as she spoke. “Fetch.”

He wanted to just melt into the floor, but he reacted quickly. He turned, on all fours, and crawled his way to the toy. He hand to move around the table and a chair. The weight and size of the plug were constant reminders of being stuffed and as he moved, his tail started to sway back and forth against his thighs. The chastity cage held him so securely, not unlike cock rings he’d worn before, so he was very aware of his manhood, even as it was trapped and kept in check.

On the floor, with his hands immobilized, there was nothing he could use to fetch the toy except to use his mouth. He lowered his face to the floor, opened wide and closed his teeth onto it, near it’s middle. It was soft, feeling almost wet, and it jiggled constantly, the two ends flopping from each side of his bite.

His humiliation was growing and he felt the blush in his cheeks burning even before Mistress got the full sight of him returning to her. She laughed out loud, clapping her hands together with glee. She loved it enough to immediately repeat the process, this time tossing the rubber cock under the dining room table. His tailed ass was high in the air as he lowered his head under a chair to fetch it.

Over and over and over, she played this game of fetch with him. His knees were becoming sore, his lips red, and he knew he was drooling more each time. His cock was throbbing and his ass was aching.

“So,” she spoke, seemingly done with Fetch for the moment, tucking the floppy toy away, “time for some more basic lessons. You know ‘sit up.’ ‘Beg’ is just like ‘sit up’ except that I will expect your mouth to be wide open and your tongue extended. When I tell you to ‘roll over’ you will roll onto your back with your knees and arms up or, if you are already in that position, you will return to kneeling on all fours. If I tell you to ‘stay’ I will expect you to stay put, in the position you are currently in, until I release you. No matter what. ‘Heel’ means you are to crawl to my heel, kneeling there if I am sitting or standing, or crawling with me if I am moving. You will get a tiny bit of leeway as you learn these commands, but you will find very quickly that correction will follow any mistakes.”

His eyes were wide, taking it all in, fighting to draw it all into his memory, as well as dealing with the growing sense of his new place. She wasn’t even asking him questions anymore.

“But enough work for now,” she said, collapsing back into her chair. “My feet are in need of some attention.” She stretched out her legs, crossing her ankles, and looked am him, a smile lighting up her face. “Come, pet, put that tongue to some good use before I decide to lock it away.”

The pleasure of serving her was at least equal to the threat in inspiring him, crawling to her offered toes as quickly as he could. He focused all of his attention on kissing and serving and licking at her feet and toes. He used his tongue to massage and caress every inch.

Her reactions, the wriggling movement of her toes and feet, the soft moan oozing from her lips, they transported him to a place of joy. It was pure happiness for him to be able to serve her, and a physical high to be bringing her pleasure. His focus on her body and her taste and all the rest of her allowed him to drift above his physical situation. There was a part of his mind, and body, that was constantly aware of the fullness of the plug his ass, the grip of the chastity device resisting his arousal, the impotent feeling of supporting his upper body on hands that were bound in padded mitts – but still, his heart was flying and free, since he was serving her.

One Day Sunday: Part 3 by debee

One Day Sunday: Part Three

Our next stop was shoes and I was standing in front of the 10’s at a discount shoe store, with our shopping bags in hand and my wife’s hand bag over my shoulder. After considering having me wear just the corset on top, she changed her mind and decided on the tank (it was a coral shade with lace trim), reminding me of my morning comment, that this was not an appropriate time to look slutty. It hid my corset but was clingy and revealed my curves. My waist was further accented by a wide studded belt she bought along with the corset. It hung very loosely around my waist and rested on my hips.

At the moment my wife was in the next aisle. She kept her distance, wanting to watch me. I was ordered to shop on my own. There was a man and woman working sales in this store. I was relieved that the woman offered to help me first. “What are you looking for today?” She was about 35, conservatively dressed. Although I wasn’t entirely “en femme”, few could have doubts as to the kind of shopping I was doing.

“Well, I’m on a mission. I’m told that I look too “nice.” My wife turned into my aisle, pretending to browse. “So I’m looking for something… wicked. You know what I mean?” This was for her eaves-dropping ears, and I watched her suppress a smile. I’d show her slutty.

It had a pleasing effect on my clerk as well. “I know exactly what you mean! A sexy, “come hither” look? How much of a heel do you want? These black pumps are really sexy I think. And we have some really great specials on boots. These over-the-calf leather boots are a bit naughty and are only $40. What size do you wear?”

“Those are naughty,” I agreed. “Sometimes a 10, sometimes an 11, depends.”

“We’ll get both those sizes.”

“Can I find help you find something?” This was the male clerk speaking to my wife.

“I was looking for these in a seven. I see them in 8’s and 9’s, but… “

“7’s are here on the other side. I’m sure we have them. Let’s find you a pair…”

I continued to poke around and browse while I heard my wife pretend to speak under her breath to the salesman. “Can you believe that guy? Weird, huh?” He replied something that I didn’t catch. “Well, I think it’s weird, kinky weird.” Again I couldn’t hear his reply. “I certainly prefer a manly man.” Pause. “If you know what I mean.” They chuckled together.

My sales clerk was also listening to the rude comments and shook her head sympathetically at me. “Some people,” she said quietly and patted me on the arm.

“No worries,” I said cheerfully. “Listen, I’ll be getting into a taller heel, I’m sure, and I have a longer pair of pants here. It’ll be much easier to see what I like in these. But I don’t see a changing room. Is there a place to…?

“No changing room, but you can use the employee restroom. It’s right through that door at the back.”

I’m a girly man, I thought to myself as I changed my jeans. “So own it” I said aloud.

I walked out with three inches of my new jeans dragging on the floor My wife was still being “helped” by the salesman. He was crouched in front of her with a half dozen open shoeboxes littered about them. The man had just said something apparently funny. My wife laughed and playfully shoved her foot against his chest. She slyly winked at me as I quietly stood behind him.

“Let’s try the browns” she said to him and she held out her foot. He held her leg unnecessarily high at the calf and held the shoe out for her. She slowly slid her foot in and turned her foot and leg back and forth with his hand still on her calf. With slow deliberateness, my wife withdrew her leg from his hand and offered him her other foot, and the flirty game of footsie was repeated.

“Do you want to stand and see how they feel?” he asked her.

“No. I want to try those now.”

“My” saleswoman was offering help to a young woman who said she was just looking, and so came back over to me and led me to the next aisle. “I left those sizes for you here. Do you need any more help?”

“Probably, yes please. At least help in the way of advice,” I smiled.

“My favorite kind.” she joked. I sat in a chair and crossed my legs. She watched as I slid my pants up, revealing my stockings.

“Let’s try the 10’s.” I suggested, and bent forward for the box on the floor.

“Let me get that,” and she sat on her heels and opened the box and removed a boot.

“Well! What service.” I said.

“It’s what I do,” she returned cheerfully. She unzipped the instep zipper and held the boot. I pushed my foot into it with effort. “It should be snug,” she offered as she zipped the boot and I stood up.

“The length is just right with those jeans,” she said. “Feel ok?”

“Wonderful. Let me try the other.” When I had them both on I took a few steps back and forth, remembering to “heal to toe” making my hips swing. “Yes, the right length… but I wonder if they look good with pants?”

“Well, they are wasted under pants. I’d wear a skirt. And you’ve got the legs for it.”

“Awe, that’s sweet of you.”

“Seriously, you do. If ya got it, flaunt it, I always say.”

“I don’t have a lot of practice flaunting,” I peered at the name on her employee pin, “Katherine.” She smiled. I sat down. The corset was so stiff that bending at the waist was impossible. To reach the zipper on the boot I needed to bend my knees, keeping them together and bring my ankle to within reach. It was a more graceful, more “ladylike” movement.

Katherine watched me with undisguised interest.

“Those open toed strappies are cute. Could I look at those?”

“Of course,” she said, and reached for a box. “Not a lot of practice? Practice flaunting, or practice in general?”

“Both,” I said. “If by ‘in general’ you mean… this.” Katherine smiled and nodded. “Lets see… “ I pretended to think. “I first started this… um… today.”

“No! Really?”

“Yup. So I’d say… damn.” I was struggling with the tiny buckle on the shoe strap. “This is microscopic. Are they all this way?”

“Let me help”, Katherine said. “Actually, you’re really not expected to unfasten them, usually. The strap is a little stretchy. Just slip it over your heal, like this. Now lets see!”

I stood and walked in front of the mirror. “I know. A skirt with these too, right?”

“If it were me. I’m just saying.”

I paraded a bit more and sat and crossed my legs. “I’ll need to shop for one or two, I guess. You have any tips?”

“You don’t have a skirt? Well getting just one is different than two, if you’re thinking about function. But you also said you look too ‘nice.’ A ‘wicked’ something? What else do you have to go with? Probably not much. You said you just started. Unless you can wear a friend’s clothes. Or a wife’s? Are you partnered? Does she know? Is she the one who thinks you’re too nice? Sorry to pry. Only tell me what you’re comfortable with. This is just so... interesting.”

“Really? Interesting? Or just weird?”

“Both, of course.”

“Well… I could be aloof and coy… But, since you asked! I have no wardrobe beyond what you’ve seen. I do want to look wicked. I do have a partner. Most of her clothes would be too short for me. She does know. She is my wife. And I’m comfortable telling you she’s the one flirting like a bitch in heat with your coworker.” Our conversation, animated enough, was in low tones and didn’t rise above my giggling and chatty wife on the other side of the shelves.

I heard her ask, “Now Carl, be honest. Are these heels too much? To slutty? Stand there and look. Would you date a chick in these or do I look trashy?”

“You could pull it off, I’m sure,” Carl said.

“You think? But they rub my heel. See? Here, feel that…”

Katherine was listening and looking levelly at me. “So,” she said lowly, “is she looking to get fucked? Is this a game you two play?

I shrugged. “Don’t know. All new territory. We’ve never cheated before. But then again, she’s never put me in girly clothes. Until today. I suspect that she’s just fooling around. Having fun leading him on. I know that doing this to me has made her real horny. Almost as much as me.”

“Interesting. So interesting. Still, to tease you with her flirting. Not to mention Carl.” Katherine laughed. “Still want those skirt shopping tips?” I nodded eagerly. “Carl,” she shouted over the shelf, “Now that Kim’s back I’m taking my lunch. Might be a long lunch.” To me, “Let me ring up those boots and we’ll go.”

“You can just… go?” I asked.

“When you’re the manager, yes.” We walked past my wife and Carl on the way to the counter. My wife was standing, bending down pretending to adjust something on a red leather pump she was wearing. “Yes, they make you look trashy, honey”, Katherine told her. “But a nice kind of trashy. We’re going shopping for skirts after we buy these, with your permission of course.”

Without straightening up she said, “fun!” Her sweater was unbuttoned and my wife beater she was wearing hung loosely, giving the kneeling Carl a clear view of her small but perky breasts and he has not pretending to look away. “Sexy, without being slutty, please,” she said over her shoulder to Katherine.

“Got it,” she said and led me to the counter. As I was fishing through “my” purse to find my wallet, my wife joined us.

“I’m getting this,” she said firmly. “A sweet little thing like you doesn’t need money to by your little pretties. Those boots are so hot, Hun! Those heels! You are wearing them out, of course. Look how well you walk in them. Well, you seem born to it.” To Katherine, “You should have seen how Hun slid those thigh highs on for the first time. Born to it. So it’s off to the sale racks like a couple of girlfriends. But, Katherine, if something is just so perfect for our girl here, don’t mind the cost. And one more thing… “ and she pulled Katherine aside out of my hearing and spoke to her in low tones. Katherine nodded and asked one or two questions as if to clarify something. They both occasionally glanced over at me and smiled or laughed. “Ok, then, you two,” my wife said now including me, “I’ll catch up in a bit. Have fun!”

(Check Back Next Week for Part Four)
* * *
For more info on debee, check out her Fetlife profile: http://fetlife.com/users/41213

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!

* * *

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.”

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