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Her Little Doll           by: Sarah Deschand       (once known to a few as "Robin Masted")

 

Will. The will to live. The will to change. Free will, to choose. Here are three examples:

Famous watergate spook G. Gordon Liddy performed stunts like climbing a tree in a lightening storm and holding his hand over an open flame to demonstrate the power of his will over fear and instinct. Will can be thought of as one’s essence, one’s defining life force.

One of my own grandmother’s last wishes, at age 90, after relating some stories about her life, was: "All that, and I come away with - Life is so beautiful, so precious and wonderful. I’m glad I lived. I want to live." And she did live for several years more - though she was mostly unconscious, or at least unresponsive. She wanted to live.

Finally, the example of the Hotel California. A fish that lives in a river is carried by the current through the wooden slats of a trap into a backwater pool from which there is no return to the main current. It lives there for days, eventually coming to understand the nature of the trap, that it can squeeze through it in one direction only. You can check in, but you can never leave. But inexplicably, the fisherman never comes to harvest the trap, and the fish survives indefinitely in its backwater environment, even thrives.

I think of my own story in this context, the trials I have faced, my own unique experiences, and I know that my will has defined my own unique essence.

When I first met Danielle, I was not attracted to her. She did not have classic good looks, standing about 5’-4" with brown eyes under fine but wide brows which nearly met at the bridge of her nose. Her dirty blond hair had a bit of curl to it and draped over a broad, smooth, squarish face. Some fine, downy hair grew almost like sideburns next to her ears, down over her jaw and disappeared as it reached her throat.

She was a little heavy and round - pneumatique, the French would say - and her flesh was dimpled at the wrists, knees, and ankles. There was a non-athletic quality to her, slightly knock-kneed and unselfconsciously chubby, her legs almost like balloons encased in her maroon pantyhose. But there was also a kind of feminine sturdiness to her, and to her body, a kind of durability, like it was designed to last through the rigors of a long pregnancy. Even at the end of the day - 4:30 in fact - she smelled faintly of bath powder, which to me indicated her fastidious nature.

And her smile was sweet and unforced, and in my book, there is no such thing as an ugly pair of eyes, and Danielle’s were green, sort of, so while I wasn’t attracted to her, I wasn’t repulsed either. And our meeting, while accidental, was long and pleasant.

We had been - of all things - stuck on an elevator together. We worked in the same building for different companies on different floors, hers on the 9th, mine on the 5th. I had left work early to go to a dentist’s appointment, and she had also left early. When I boarded, she was the only other person in the car. As the elevator continued its descent, we smiled at each other - not the smiles of questioning lust which mark the beginning of a series of manic episodes in the sack, but just pleasant, businesslike hello-how-do-you-do smiles. I was about to strike up a conversation when the elevator made a shuddering, scraping noise and skidded to a stop. I took about an hour for them to get us out, and by that time, we were friends. We agreed to meet on Friday after work for drinks, and I can say truthfully, I looked forward to it.

Friday rolled around and I thought of my date with anticipation. On the elevator the other day, Danielle had been wearing the uniform around here - just a suit with a knee length skirt and a silk blouse, matching hose and pumps. I confess that I enjoyed the fact that women would wear this uniform. I liked the vulnerability expressed by the soft blouses and exposed legs, the personal expressions that women would make through jewelry or a change in hairstyle or make-up.

She worked in market research and product placement, she said, and I wondered if her company dressed down on Fridays, like mine did. At the time, I didn’t honestly know what to expect from my new friend - would she be casual? Or would she dress up and make more of an evening-like presentation of herself? Or would she have some professional appearance to make today and simply wear the uniform? Most importantly, would I recognize her as the same person that I’d gotten to know on the elevator the other day.

Of course, when we did meet - at a bar nearby where lots of people go after work - I wasn’t disappointed. I had suffered through casual day in wing-tips and wool trousers instead of the usual Doc Marten’s and jeans. It had been a few months since I’d had any action, and I was hungry enough to try to make the most of any chance I got. Even though I felt that she was no great beauty, Danielle was better than any other option I had, so I was determined to make a good effort.

Danielle had put herself together pretty well for our date - certainly a good sign. Over an olive colored wool skirt which ended mid-thigh, she wore an ivory colored nearly translucent blouse with full sleeves and a bit of lace at the neck, under which could be seen the outline of her bra. Her legs shimmered in shiny ivory colored hose. Close to the uniform, but not quite. I thought then and there that I would soon have the pleasure of removing her clothes and revealing her soft, round body to my hands.

We greeted each other with what appeared to be a chaste kiss to the cheek, but was in actuality our first facial contact. As we pulled apart, our eyes locked for a moment, and I knew I was home. The drinks were almost an afterthought, illusory, and since we both chowed down rather heavily on the complimentary bar hors d’oevres, I know that we both anticipated an exit to a more private location. We got up together and left through the front door with my hand on her back and without a definite plan.

Our conversation in the bar was a lot more personal than our elevator encounter. It turned out that we shared a similar set of circumstances - single, professional, educated, and alone - and similar taste in music (we preferred Hootie, Dave Mathews, Springsteen, and that type stuff to the "party" music they were playing in the bar). She didn’t seem to be hung up on religion or any new age type stuff, so we were a good fit there, although she did have this slightly prissy side to her, but you know, the dating politics can be pretty crazy, and you can’t blame a girl for being conservative at the beginning. After all, it would really suck to get beat up or worse, knocked up on the first date.

I suggested that my place was a bit of a mess, and that maybe we should go back to her place or out somewhere else. I wanted her to feel comfortable, in comfortable surroundings, and in control of her situation. I was pretty confident that what she really wanted was to get it on with me, and therefore, I had no need to force the issue. I just had to go with the flow. The flow led without interruption back to her apartment and into a warm embrace.

As I had predicted earlier, my hands soon busied themselves with the fabric covered buttons down her back, and the hidden zipper of her skirt. After about 15 minutes of preliminary caresses, we stood only in our underwear - tattersall boxers and silky peach panties- I stood behind her with my arms resting on her tummy cradling her breasts, each more than a mere handfull, and savoring the rolls of her soft, warm flesh. By contrast, my dick was as hard as if it were filled with cement As we walked into the bedroom, she whispered to me - "Adrian, sweetness, as hard as this may seem, the underwear has to stay on. Please understand. I promise it’ll be good anyway." I replied by intensifying my caresses.

The point was not lost. Danielle moved slowly but aggressively, pushing her ass into my lap, then, after scarcely a moment, my enormous cock was surrounding itself in the fleshy folds of her ass cheeks. My hands made their way around and around, never bored for a moment, between her soft stomach and the soft hot spot between her legs, cradling her cushiony and forgiving breasts and all points in between. For nearly half an hour we kept at this blissful grind until I couldn’t stand it anymore - I shot my load in stream after stream, shooting it everywhere, over my head, into her hair, onto the bed, onto the floor, into my own hair. Christ what a beautiful sticky mess. I shouted out "Yes! Yes!" like a prisoner who has escaped, and she joined me shouting "Yes! Yes!" We laughed and laughed.

Then, as my own excitement waned, hers seemed to build. She all of the sudden expressed some sincere interested in my body. Facing me for the first time in our intimacy, she began to trace small circles with her fingernails around my nipples. Her nails - fastidiously manicured and painted a fashionable deep maroon - just a bit long, on those oh-so-Danielle-like pudgy little fingers - the perfect thing would be to feel the softness of her fingers on my flesh - how could I resist when she pushed me back onto the bed. She quickly climbed astride me and continued her gentle ministrations to my nipples. "Adrian," she said, "are you the kind of man who likes to be dominated by a woman sexually?"

I was taken aback inwardly, not expecting this kind of question, but I pulled myself together enough to say: "Well, baby, if what you’re doing is ‘dominating’ me, yeah, I’m into it. I’m really into it." She smiled and continued and me, I just went with the flow, grooving on the sensual shift of her weight from one side of my cock to the other.

After a while, even though this scene was pretty exciting to me, - hell, my dick was as stiff as ever, nestled squarely between her pussy lips, although separated by a (let’s face it - annoying) layer of extremely sensuous fabric - my nipples started to hurt a bit. I was just not used to this kind of attention, so I started to move a bit, trying to shift her attention to other parts of my anatomy. But Danielle was steadfast. What she wanted was my tits. My tits! "Adrian, honey, hold still! Let me feel up your tits." So I tried to hold my peace for a few minutes more, but it was no use. My tits were really starting to hurt. This was kind of a critical moment - Did I move to stop the torment and risk ending this beautiful relationship? Did I grit my teeth and bear this a while longer hoping for a speedy end? Did I ask for mercy? I asked for mercy. "Danielle, pumpkin, please, have mercy on my poor tired titties. I’ve never had the pleasure of being so incredibly stimulated before, but I just can’t take it anymore."

"You’re kidding. You just can’t take it?’"

"Well, no...but I think I just need to get used to it."

"OK," she said, "But you know, this is one of the things that I just love about sex - you know, the touching, the stimulating, you know? But what if we protected your ‘sensitive’ area? Could you just hold on for a while more?"

I said sure, I’d be willing to try. She sprung off of me and went over to her dresser. In a moment she returned and handed me a truly soft and silky garment. "Adrian, this is a camisole of mine. I’m sure if you put it on, you’ll be much more comfortable." She held it out for me as I sat up, and I put my arms up into the camisole as Danielle chuckled and slid it over my head and adjusted it around my chest. How strange a feeling, to have my chest surrounded by this flimsy material. Of course, it was tight, but it was looser right in the area of my nipple. Danielle then re-assumed her position astride me and once again began her delicious caresses, this time through the silky camisole. We spent the rest of the evening in each other’s arms without further difficulties.

*****

I woke up on Saturday morning in a white haze of dreams which slowly peeled itself away from my budding consciousness, which in turned opened like a sunflower revealing its face to a new day. My surroundings in Danielle’s place were refreshingly new -sleeping on clean sheets with a floral print, in a peach hued room - a faint trace of potpourri hanging in the air. Danielle herself was not in the room, and her side of the bed was cold. I sat up in bed and realized that I was naked except for her camisole. It was pink with spaghetti straps and scalloped lace around the top. I ran my hand across it and felt my chest, which was actually a little sore from its workout last night.

At that moment Danielle entered the room - "Hi sleepyhead! You look cute! Good morning!"

"Good morning."

"Listen, last night, well, you made a huge mess, and you got it all over your clothes, so I’m washing them for you. You can stay in bed if you want, but I’m making waffles for breakfast. They’ll be ready in just a couple minutes. You can wear those pants on the chair if you want."

Who wouldn’t accept such a considerate offer? I didn’t refuse. Unfortunately, Danielle had left a pair of pink satin pants with an elastic waistband for me. They seemed to match the camisole. Also on the chair was a matching short belted wrap jacket, which I also put on since it was cold. I confess there was something a bit enjoyable about dressing up like this, but it somehow felt comfortable and right, possibly due to the sunny influence of Danielle herself.

I proceeded to the kitchen where true to her word, Danielle was busily at work making waffles, apparently from scratch. Yes. They were incredibly delicious. And better still, we could hardly keep our hands off one another throughout breakfast. The sensation of being touched through two layers of smooth, slippery satin was provocative indeed. After we had eaten, she moved behind me and reached around, slipping her left hand into the jacket, and picked up where she left off the night before, going straight for the tit. Her hand gently massaged my breasts through the silky garments, and before long, there was a rather large pink tent in my lap. We moved back into the bedroom again for more sex.

As we entered the bedroom, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Ridiculous. What was this handsome young man doing wrapped up in a cloud of pink silk? And what a large tent-like protrusion in front! We both laughed as Danielle’s hand again reached around into the open jacket to its favorite spot over my breast.

Later that afternoon, after some vigorous sex, when Danielle had excused herself to use the bathroom, I had a chance to look around the room. It was a feminine room by any standard, decorated in soft peach and white. It had a kind of "matchy" quality to it that I personally didn’t care for, but that a lot of women seem to like. In one corner of the room, arranged carefully on and around a peach colored stuffed chair next to a small vanity table, was a collection of about a dozen dolls.

These were like dolls that I had seen advertised on the home shopping channels on cable - they were dressed in frothy, lacy "period" costumes with ribbons and bows and petticoats and bloomers and stuff. I began to get a deeper understanding and appreciation for the taste of my new friend, and certain suspicions of prissyness that I’d had before were confirmed. Danielle was Miss Priss for sure.

Afternoon was fading slowly into evening, and neither of us particularly wanted to leave the bedroom, so we stayed in and continued our play. There were two somewhat frustrating things, though. The first was that Danielle was on her period and did not feel comfortable going all the way. The second was that Danielle couldn’t seem to take her hands off my breasts, and even through the camisole, they were starting to feel very sore. The first thing, she could do nothing about, but the second, that was another story.

"I dated this guy in college," she said, "who really liked having this done to him. I’d spend hour after hour with him, just touching him there. He seemed to have an endless capacity for it, and it was great for me, too. I’d look into his eyes and see him just give in to it and go along with the flow. It was so pleasurable for me to know that I controlled his reaction. I started to play with it more and more - testing for different reactions, getting him all worked up, getting him irritated, relaxing him, then agitating him. It was fascinating..."

"Well, what happened?" I asked.

She sighed and said that it just didn’t work out and they went their separate ways. College.

But by 7 o’clock, my nipples were incredibly sensitive, and I had to insist that we stop the madness. I suggested that we swing by my place, so I could run in and get a change of clothes, and then go out to dinner. She agreed, and went to fetch my clothes from the dryer. When she was gone, it hit me like a ton of bricks. My wool pants were going to shrink about 5 sizes in the wash. Oh shit. How could she, Miss Priss, of all people, make such a mistake?

Sure enough, Danielle entered the room with a crestfallen expression - "The stains didn’t come out, Adrian. I’m so sorry." - and she dropped the clothes on the bed, and buried her face in my shoulder, nearly, it seemed, in tears. Of course, this show of contrition was not enough for me. My clothes, shrunk and ruined. I had to shout and curse a little bit, too. But my anger was short lived, and only a few moments later, we were both laughing about the situation. After all, we were sure, this was the best weekend either of us’d had in a while. We decided to try and make the best of it.

We now had to turn our attention to the problem of what I could wear out of her place. It had been years since she had a boyfriend who stayed over, and she couldn’t think of any guy’s clothes that she had. And me, while I was never a prototypical alpha male, with huge shoulders and narrow hips, my average masculine body was no match for Danielle’s wardrobe, or so I thought. Danielle had other ideas for me.

"Adrian, how would you feel about dressing up in something of mine for our little journey back to your place?" she asked, and before I could make any response, she continued, " I mean, you wouldn’t have to make much of an effort to leave here, and then we’d just be in the car. I don’t know about your place, though. Do you think you’d pass anyone on your way in?"

"No, no, I don’t think I’d pass anyone, but..."

"Great! I have just the thing!" she exclaimed, and went over to the closet.

"But I don’t know, I mean, it’s weird. I don’t think I want to go out dressed up like that."

Danielle wasn’t listening, though. She emerged from the closet with a baggy looking dress, kind of hippy-dippy style with some embroidery and a long skirt "Try this one!" she said, tossing it to me. I made no effort to catch it, and it sailed past me onto the bed.

"No way. I am not going out wearing a dress." I said, in a firm tone.

"Oh, come on, no one’ll see, and.."

"No way. No. End of story. I’m not gonna dress up like a woman. Sorry. No."

"OK Adrian OK. I’m sorry. I’ll see if there’s anything else in here for you. But I don’t think there’s any way your going to fit into any of my pants."

"At least let me try," I said. "Don’t you have any sweats or anything? Running shorts and a T-shirt?"

"No. I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t run, and the only athletic type stuff I have is my aerobics tights and my bathing suits. I don’t think you’d be too comfortable in those."

We both laughed a little, and then she brought out a pair of pleated pants. "These are my ‘fat pants.’ I only wear them when I’m feeling kind of fat. Usually, they’re just plain too ugly and baggy to wear out."

The pants were light beige chinos, with the zipper on the side. Even though Danielle was a little bit chubby, her waist was a good bit narrower than mine, and while I was able to pull the pants up almost all the way, the legs were way short and tight around my calfs, and the zipper was simply an impossibility. So the pants were out.

Suddnely, Danielle seemed to get an idea. She went enthusiastically to the closet again. This time, before she emerged, she said: "OK, Adrian, I think I’ve got something. I don’t expect you’re going to be thrilled by it, but it’s not a dress, it’s not a skirt, it has pants, BUT, it’s definitely not something you’ll feel comfortable in."

"Try me." I said. Heck. I’d been wearing satiny lingerie all day long. What could be so bad about whatever it was?

She stepped out of the closet holding a big red thing with white polka-dots. "It’s a jumpsuit." She said, showing me each leg of the garment. "It’s cut really full, so I think you’ll fit o.k., it’s got pants, and look, I’m running out of stuff for you, and it’ll only be for a short car ride. So please, let’s get on with it so we can come back and have some more sex."

I sighed. This was a persuasive argument. I got up off the bed and took the jumpsuit from her. It was a soft rayon fabric. Upon closer observation, the polka dots turned out to be little hearts. "Uhh, could I have my boxer shorts back please?" I asked.

"Under this thing? No way. I want you to wear these, instead." she said, handing me a pair of pink tap pants which matched the camisole that I was wearing.

After a moment’s reflection, I took the tap pants from her. Snatched them from her, maybe a little meanly, because she started to cry. "Oh Adrian, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m doing the best I can for you. I’m sorry I don’t have what you need."

"Look." I said going over to her and hugging her, "I don’t mind wearing the jumpsuit. Really, I don’t. I’ll do it. No problem. We’ll go back to my place, and I’ll get a change of clothes, we’ll grab dinner, and then we’ll come back here and have some more sex. Heck, we might not even make it out of my place! Don’t cry. It’ll be O.K." A silver tongued devil am I. Danielle stopped her crying and gave me a smile full of tenderness.

I put on the tap pants, and stepped into the jumpsuit but Danielle interrupted me with a short laugh, "No no no. The zipper goes in back, silly."

So I reversed the jumpsuit and pulled it up, putting my arms into the sleeves. Danielle helped me on with it, pulling it over my shoulders and zipping it up to the nape of my neck. "Perfect!" said Danielle. Much to my surprise, It didn’t feel tight in the shoulders, although the 3/4 length sleeves were pretty tight around my forearms, and it was maybe a bit short at the crotch. I realized how beautifully proportioned women are, with short bodies and long legs.

"You look adorable" said Danielle, pressing her soft breasts into my back and reaching around and smoothing the jumpsuit across my front. She continued rubbing, and my dick began to get hard again. When she felt it, she stopped. "I had better stop, now. We can’t ruin our nice jumpsuit with our sticky spunk, now, can we, my big girl?" she whispered in my ear. " Get your shoes on and let’s go!" and pushed me along out of the room ahead of her.

As we left the room, I tried to adjust to movement in the big flowing garment that I wore, which bound me in some places, but in others was much looser than I was used to. I didn’t think I wanted to see myself in the mirror, but of course I stopped to look. I looked perfectly ridiculous, with a bit of my patch of chest hair poking up where there ought to be cleavage. What had I gotten myself into? With a sense of resignation which quickly turned into a kind of bitter laughter as I observed the incongruity of it all, I put on my black socks and wingtips.

"I’ll Drive!" said Danielle, humming to herself as we walked through the kitchen, and then out the side door to the carport. She opened the door for me, and I stepped into her car, a Honda Accord.

The trip from Danielle’s house to my house took about 20 minutes, about half of which was on the highway. It was just after dark, so I told myself, and I felt relatively discreet and obscure. I couldn’t really see into the other cars, ergo they couldn’t really see into Danielle’s car. They wouldn’t be able to see me in Danielle’s red jumpsuit.

As we drove, Danielle reached over and put her hand on my thigh. I did nothing to stop this pleasant sensation. She started to move her hand rhythmically over the soft fabric of the jumpsuit, steadily up my thigh. Before long, her caress had reached the tap pants I was wearing under the jumpsuit, and the two layers of fabric rubbed sensually over one another and lightly over my own flesh. "Aren’t you glad you didn’t wear your nasty boxers, hmm, Adrian?" she asked with a hint of what I thought might be aggression. I didn’t say anything. I just looked out the window, concentrating on the intensely pleasant stiffening sensation as blood rushed into my dick, my beloved dick, energized under her caresses. A line of trees slid by across a field, their black silhouettes pasted against a sky that was not quite night.

We reached my home, and after I had thought very seriously about work for a few moments, the better to conceal my excitement. It was at that moment that I realized that I had neither my keys nor my wallet on me. They had been in my pants pockets, and while Danielle had considerately packed up my (ruined! stained!) clothes, my keys and wallet were probably sitting on a counter near the washing machine in her house. Was I responsible? Did I keep a spare, emergency set of keys hidden in a special place? Yes I was. My spare keys were down at the 7-11, about a quarter mile from my house. I was pals with the guys who managed the store, and I left a set with them. They did not know Danielle, and I was in no condition to face the management.

Danielle saved the day: "Come on. We’ll just go back to my place, you can spend the night again, and we’ll come back here tomorrow, OK?"

"OK."

So we returned to Danielle’s, our appetite for being out sated. We had more sex, ordered in chinese, and finally, at about two a.m., collapsed exhausted in sleep. The whole evening, I note in retrospect, except for when we were making it, I wore the clothes that Danielle had loaned me.

********

Sunday morning, once again, I awoke later than Danielle. This time however, there was nothing for me to put on in the corner. I had on only the camisole - and my nipples were sore from the workout. Danielle was in the shower, so I went in to surprise her.

The surprise was successful, and once again, I cradled her full, soft, naked flesh in my arms as we twisted in the jets of warm water.

Standing behind her, I put my hands on her thighs and ran them up to her belly, around and into the soft crease of her vagina and back down her inner thighs. She shuddered and pressed her soft, sweet, forgiving ass against my enormously stiff and inflated dick, slowly moving it in circles. Lathering up with soap, I poked gently at her asshole. Her pussy had been off limits this whole time, for some reason which she would not divulge.

"I hear you knockin’" she said "But you can’t come in unless you promise me something."

"What?" I asked.

"You’ll have to do something for me."

"What?!"

"Well, I don’t know exactly how to put it here and now, but look, If you feel the way about me the way that I do about you, it won’t be a problem. I don’t usually let men do me this way, Adrian, but I’ll let you, if you only promise me."

"Okay. I promise to do something for you." I said, and with that I gave a hard thrust. Danielle took a deep breath as I penetrated. I felt the warmth of her insides and the ring of her anus tightened around the base of my cock as I began the rhythm of our sex, slow, strong, and deliberate. I pumped harder and harder, and my grip around her waist grew tighter and tighter. My hand dropped down to the softness between her legs, where I found her clit between my thumb and forefinger. I twiddled it back and forth, and she began to buck as if to escape, but I would not yield my steely grip. We built up to a ferocious climax, moaning and screaming together. After I withdrew, we stood silently in each other’s arms, the warm shower washing away the last remains of our sex. I moved my head around hers and reached with my lips to her cheek to give her a kiss. I tasted the last of her...tears.

When we returned to the bedroom, Danielle proceeded to get dressed. I, of course, had nothing, hence I was naked. Danielle suggested that I put on the jumpsuit I had worn yesterday for the trip back to my house. Without much thought, I reached for the soft red garment and began to step into it, but before I could get too far, I heard Danielle’s chiding voice: "Ah, Ah, Ah! Don’t think you’re going to put that on without underwear, sweet - tee!... Here." She handed me a pale yellow one piece garment - this one a soft chemise with attached tap pants which snapped at the crotch.

I looked at her, open-mouthed and stupid. After a moment, I managed to say "You expect me..."

"Yes I do. It’s only sanitary, and yours are stained and filthy and smell horrible. You know that’s true. So you are just going to have to put these on. Now do it." She said assertively.

I did put on the yellow teddy, which she snapped shut for me at the crotch, and then the red jumpsuit. As she had yesterday, Danielle helped pull the bodice up to my chest, and raised the zipper to the nape of my neck. "There, now. Don’t you look precious?" she said, as her arms wrapped around me and carressed my front, my thighs, my stomach, and my oversensitized nipples through the layers of soft fabric.

While the attention was definitely a turn on, I felt a little bit uncomfortable in the jumpsuit. For one, it was confining, covering up so much of my body. Since it fastened behind me, it was not easy for me to reach around and unzip, as I had learned the night before. For another, it was limiting. It had no pockets, so I had no place to rest my hands, and the smooth front was so different from what I was used to - I no longer had easy access to my dick, like, say, each time I had to take a leak. For another, it defined my shape, raising my waist, de-emphasizing my shoulders, and fitting so loosely around the hips and thighs, giving me a more feminine look. Finally, it put me on display in a way that made me feel observed and conspicuous - all in red. I really didn’t feel comfortable at all, and asked Danielle in all seriousness - "Please, let me wear something else. You must have something..."

"No, Adrian," she replied, maybe a little bit too sharply. "You’re already dressed now. The jumpsuit is what you’ll wear today... until we get back to your place. Besides, you look so sweet - just yummy." and she wrapped her arms around me, putting her palms flat on my chest, and rubbing the layers of soft fabric over my burningly sensitized nipples. I couldn’t help but wince a little.

"OK, OK. Let’s go then." I said, wondering what I could have done or said to deserve her rebuke. Anyway, I was sure that we would just head back to my place, and everything would be back to normal with us - whatever that might be. Maybe it was a simple case of her not totally digging the sex in the shower. Maybe it upset her just a little, or something.

"You didn’t like that, did you lover?" she said.

"What?"

"This." She once again cupped my breasts(!) through the jumpsuit and gave a good rub. I was sensitive enough to wince again, and twisted to avoid more, but Danielle was willful, and continued.

"Stop!" I cried. "Stop it!"

"It does hurt you, doesn’t it?"

"Yeah. It does."

Then she changed her tune, touching me very lightly instead, her fingers running back and forth, up and down my chest and stomach. I began to get aroused "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Isn’t this better?"

"Much better."

Then, after a couple of minutes of this most arousing treatment, with a playful twist of my incredibly sore left nipple, she stopped. We went to the kitchen to get some breakfast. After breakfast, Danielle once again turned her attention to me, alternating between pissing me off and arousing me. Just as I would reach a point of true annoyance, near violence, really, she would stop; and just as a would reach a point of true arousal, she would stop. This continued for about 15 minutes.

Finally, I said: "Danielle, bun, let’s go now. Why don’t you just take me home, we can have a little nookie, I’ll change, and we can enjoy the rest of the day. We could go out for a walk on the canal, or go for a bike ride or something, it’ll be fun."

"You mean you’re not enjoying this?" She asked.

"Well, definitely parts of it, but it’s just a little weird - I mean - I’ve never dealt with someone who is so hot and cold or cruel and kind in their relations."

"Thank you," she said tartly, "but I don’t prefer to think of it that way. See, it’s not about ‘hot’ or ‘cold’ or ‘cruel’ or ‘kind,’ Adrian. It’s about control. You know I like to be in control, and I know that you kind of enjoy being the subject of my control, whether you want to admit it right now or not."

This Danielle was a strange chick, I thought to myself. She hadn’t directly asked me a question - so I really didn’t have an answer to her last statement. Dominated and controlled by this prissy woman. Dressed up in her very clothes, and seemingly on the losing end of an argument about how to spend the day. Scary. But the sex...

She turned to leave the room. "OK. We can go, but I’ve got to take care of a few things today. Will you let me deal with some stuff for a while, and then we can go?"

"How long..."

"Oh, maybe an hour. I’ve just got to finish up a little dress I’m making for one of the dolls. I’m showing it on Monday night to the girls in the club."

Danielle’s hobby, it turns out, was these period costume dolls. She collected them, made clothing for them, and showed them off at doll shows. Every Monday, she would get together with some other women who shared these interests, and they would show their handiwork and just generally talk about the dolls.

I reluctantly agreed to hang out for an hour while she finished the dress. She went into the den, and I watched the pundits and windbags on Sunday AM tv. I was still wearing the jumpsuit, which pulled and tugged at me as I sat shifting uncomfortably. After about 15 minutes, I decided that there was no need to remain dressed, so I reached back for the top of the zipper, and moved to pull it down. It caught on something, and I found that I couldn’t budge it. I tried pulling apart the top - still - no luck.

I went into the other room, where Danielle was busily sewing away. When I told her the problem, she just laughed and said to chill. She’d be done soon, she said, and there was no reason to take the thing off, only to put it right back on. I couldn’t really see a satisfactory alternative to chilling out, so I chilled and watched her do her thing.

The dress that Danielle was making was a real sissy special. Tiers upon tiers of white ruffled lace embroidered petticoats spilled out under a pink pinafore style dress with big billowy sleeves. With concentration, she applied herself to the task of finishing the work as I looked on, eagerly awaiting the conclusion.

About half an hour later she finished the dress and put it on the doll, which had cascades of blond curls done up with little bows. "What do you think?" She asked me.

"Looks great," I said, complimenting her on the result of her hard work.

"Oh, you are such a sweetheart for waiting for me to finish," she said, walking around behind me. "Here, let me help you now.’ And once again, she began her typical pleasure/pain caresses. By now, I had been pretty thoroughly aroused several times, and I wished fervently that she would stop, help me off with my clothes, (her clothes, that is), and let me fuck her with ferocity, and I told her so.

She stopped, took a look at the top of the zipper, reached into her sewing kit for something, and fussed around back there for a minute. When she chirped "all done," and moved away, I reached back to lower the zipper. But I couldn’t do it. The zipper still wouldn’t move.

I noticed that Danielle’s eyes were locked onto my face, measuring and reveling in my reactions. Without turning away, she looked me right in the eyes and said. "I’ve sewn you in. You can’t get out unless I let you out, and I like you dressed like this, and I’m going to keep you dressed like this for a while. Then maybe I’ll let you out."

"You can’t do this to me!" I protested.

"Oh yes I can. I did, and you can’t do anything about it."

If Danielle had wanted to wait for 10 minutes, I don’t think I could have said a word. As I stood there looking into her sick, gloating face, hundreds of alternatives spun around in my head - get my keys and leave, go quietly to the kitchen and cut the thing off me with a knife, and then leave, beat her up and then leave - buteach alternative seemed too violent, too dangerous, too mean spirited. Danielle definitely liked me, and I liked her. The game that we were playing was a little sick, but in the end, I thought, harmless. After the past couple days, I trusted Danielle. She just liked her men a certain way. Of course, I wasn’t sure I was the way she liked.

"I’m going out now and I’ll be back soon. I have to get some things. Oh, and I took some precautions, in case you get any ideas, sweetie," she said reaching into her bosom and producing a chain which had my car and house keys on it. "So tell me. How does it feel to be trapped?"

NEXT CHAPTER

I returned to work on Monday a bit shook up. I couldn’t take my mind off of the panties and camisole that I had agreed to wear. The weekend had been strange, but wonderful - the sex and the relationship sweet, but also odd. I had never been with anyone who had both the desire and ability to control and manipulate me, and I wasn’t sure that I liked it.

I spent my entire Sunday dressed in the red jumpsuit with white printed hearts that Danielle had - let’s face it - put me in. The whole day was almost an excercise in humiliation. I was not able to remove this extremely feminine garment, and I was unable to move freely in the world, since Danielle had seized my car and house keys. I would have been filled with hatred and anger, except for the fact that Danielle was so sweet to me. In a strange way, I actually enjoyed being her prisoner. We were developing a relationship founded on true intimacy, and the sex had been great. Even when dressed, I was the recipient of copious attention from Danielle.

Danielle attended to her dolls, and I watched football, pretty much just like any normal Sunday. When evening came, we cooked a meal together, and Danielle drove me home. When we had entered my house, Danielle set my house and car keys down on the table and laid it on the line.

She could only carry on the relationship under one condition, and she reminded me that I had promised her some unspecified thing earlier in the shower. The condition was simple. If the relationship were to continue, I was to give her all of my underwear except for 2 pairs.

I didn’t want to decide at the moment, but Danielle would not allow me out of the jumpsuit until I committed one way or the other. When I reminded her that if she left, I could simply cut myself out of it, she simply shrugged and said that not to decide was to decide.

The decision was simple.

So as a result, I made my way into work in my new yellow panties and camisole. I had taken pains to make sure that the camisole was not visible under my shirt and vest, but I felt slightly uncomfortable and feared discovery.

We had agreed to meet at lunchtime in the stairwell at the 7th floor, and as one o’clock approached, I started getting a little nervous about the meeting. She told me she would want to make an "inspection," to make sure that I was abiding by the terms of our agreement. As I left my desk, I experienced some extra discomfort as I felt the panties sliding off of my butt-cheek and into my ass-crack. I made the necessary adjustment while walking up the stairs to meet Danielle.

When we hooked up at the 8th floor landing, we immediately covered one another in sloppy kisses, and I felt Danielle’s hand go straight to my breasts, which were still kind of sore from the weekend. The attention had it’s desired affect, and soon I was sporting a sumptuous hardon. Danielle removed my tie, and began to unbutton my shirt. I felt panic, hit by the realization that my yellow camisole trimmed in ribbon and lace would be exposed to the open air in a (well maybe) public place.

But Danielle would not yield, and unbuttoned the top 4 buttons of my shirt. She then pulled my shirt and my vest down off my shoulders. The result was that my upper arms were held tight to my chest, and I had mobility in my arms only from the elbow down. Alarmingly, the top of my camisole was exposed to the world, or at least anyone who ventured down the stairwell.

Danielle began her familiar frontal caressing through the camisole. As an accompaniment she whispered to me:

"You like this don’t you. The danger of it, the chance of exposure. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you’d prefer to be safe, protected from people’s gaze. Yes, that’s right. Safe and sweet and sound and out of the way...."

Her hand went to my crotch and traced the edge of the panties at the top of my leg. I shuddered and she responded by pulling down my zipper and reaching inside. I was so loaded to come that I thought I could blow any second. Danielle quickly went behind me reached around and pulled my dick out of the panties and began to yank with strong rhythmic strokes, and I blew massive gobs of spooge down the stairwell. They landed in the basement, some 90 feet below with loud smacks. All the while, Danielle was getting off on my excitement. She pulled her skirt up over her hips, and I needed no encouragement at all to pull down her pantyhose. Her panties were wet through, and I made short work of her with a few able flicks of my tongue. We cleaned up and caught our breath wrapped in each others arms for the next 20 minutes.

That evening, we met after work and returned to her place, ostensibly to pick up my car.

The rest of the week and the week after were exactly the same every day. After a month, I had spent nearly every hour in women’s underwear, and was subject to "inspections" in the stairwell morning, noon, and night. Our sex was adventurous and intense, but I think that we both had the sense that a routine was developing. The relationship had to start developing some or just end. I decided to up the stakes and make things interesting.

Typically, our "inspection" scenario was characterized by my compliance with her wishes. That was the turn-on for her - that I was prepared for her, waiting, just for her. I would *let* her have her way and give in to her wishes. My reward for compliance was intense stimulation. A pretty fair trade off in the moments that we were together. But when we were apart, my feelings were different indeed.

I felt freakish and uncomfortable in the panties - they rode high and got wedged in my butt. The fit was funny. Danielle’s insitence on feminine styled panties made me feel self-conscious. - I mean - IF MY CLIENTS ONLY KNEW - that I was sitting in front of them explaining a technical matter all the while wearing the most delicate lace-trimmed peach satin panties - well, the humiliation would be too much to bear.

My external appearance was also altered by the new uniform. My tendencies towards sloppiness were eliminated, since a careless flash of lace waistband or the outline of a strap at the shoulder would expose me to more scrutiny than I cared for. I wore vests often, and would keep my jacket on when I used to take it off. No one had said anything uet about my altered sense of style, but before long, it would be established that I was a careful dresser.

On the other hand, interspersed with these moments of acute discomfort were moments of true self-indulgence. It was very easy to daydream, dressed in my finery, and the subject of my daydreaming was Danielle, with her insistent caress. I was pleased to think of her hand on me, and gratified to think that we saw each other morning, noon, and night.

One day, as a change of pace, I wore one of my two remaining pairs of men’s underpants. When inspected in this state, I had expected to "turn the tables" and to re-energize our relationship.

Our relationship was re-energized as a result. But the direction that the energy flowed was a little bit different than I expected. I had planned to put myself behind her and to take control of her body, to make her feel soft and weak compared to my hard strength. Unfortunately, in reality, it was difficult for me to position myself this way. Danielle was a master of keeping me in front of her, never yielding to my desire or allowing me the opportunity.

She had, in fact, been pretty assertive, standing a step above the landing when we met, and immediately putting her hands on my chest. She bent down to kiss me, but it registered on her then and there that I was not wearing the requisite camisole. Her hunger seemed to shut off immediately.

"Are you wearing your panties?" she asked. I said no, of course not.

"Well, in that case, I’ll see you tonight." She said it flat and without emotion and turned quietly and walked up the stairs. I tried to read something into her movements, but could not. They were utterly neutral and offered no clue as to her feelings.

As I walked back down the stairwell, I felt lousy. True, I was deprived of my noon-time delight, but worse, I couldn’t help but feel that I had let Danielle down a little bit.

Of course, I was wrong. In retrospect, I know that this was a moment that Danielle had easily foreseen. In the evening, we met and went home to my place, where I had a dinner ready to cook. As I cooked dinner, Danielle called me on it.

"Why’d you wear your boxers today? Did you have a big meeting?" she asked. I told her that I just wanted to shake up the status quo a bit. She then claimed that she, herself wasn’t thrilled with the status quo. The sex was good, but, she didn’t know if I really cared for her. The boxers clinched it - she felt certain that I was a selfish pig.

I argued the point a little bit, but in the end, backed down. I really didn’t want to lose her.

This was when Danielle reached into her bag and pulled out a beige thing. It was a body-shaper, she explained, and would I please wear it tomorrow. There was no question that if I wanted the relationship to continue, I would have to. I told her I’d think about it.

I did think about it extensively that night. On the one hand, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the direction that the relationship was going - being around Danielle meant dressing and acting a certain way that was not necessarily my way. But on the other hand, there was a real attraction and kind of loyalty I felt for her. When she felt upset, I got upset too, as if she were a team-mate or a sister. Of course sexually, she was nothing at all like a sister - far from it. Our sex was daring, thrilling, pushed the boundaries of what I had previously known.

I decided that I would wear the bodyshaper - not out of desire to please her, I told myself, but because I didn’t want to lose the relationship just yet.

The bodyshaper itself was quite different from the garments I had been accustomed to wearing. Previously, my body had been gently caressed by soft silk and delicate lace. Now it was enveloped and compressed and controlled by the bodyshaper. In addition, it brought me in a bit at the waist, and was far less comfortable at the crotch - there seemed to be less room for me. Worst of all, it had actual bra cups which would show through just about any shirt I owned. Upon closer inspection, these cups were lightly padded.

As I got dressed for work, I noticed that my clothes fit a little bit differently. My pants seemed to ride up slightly to a higher waist - I could actually wear my belt a couple notches tighter. At the bottom, they were not quite floods, but pretty close. I wore a vest to cover up my new "breasts" and tried to make the best of it.

I met Danielle in the stairwell as we had planned, and she knew immediately that I had met her condition. I received a passionate kiss and got to feel her hands on my body again for the first time in a couple of days. It was ecstasy. Just as we began my ritual undressing, there was a sound below us - a janitor! I saw him coming up the stairs and he saw us and started yelling -

"All right you assholes - I know who you are now! You filthy perverts shooting your wads of jiz down the stairwell - what do you think? It just disappears down there and nobody cleans it up?"

We escaped up to Danielle’s office and I rode the elevator down. Instead of meeting in the stairwell for lunch, we just went out together. Afterwards, sitting in the car, I suggested that it had been a while since I’d let go - and Danielle gave me a look. She drove a ways down the highway, and we turned off and found a quiet spot. She turned to me and said - "If I get to take it out and put it back, it’s a deal." Do you suppose I could refuse? She blew me expertly, unhooking the cruel body shaper and freeing my dong to the wonders of her soft palate. She took me deep, and did not pull away as I pumped her mouth with load after load.

After the heat of the moment had dissipated, I went to clean my self up, reaching for a tissue. But Danielle pushed my hand away. "Remember, I get to put it back." she said.

This is how Danielle put my dick back. After thoroughly drying me out - she actually blew cool air on me - she reached back and pushed my nuts up into my body. This hurt a little and I twisted and shoved at her, but I realized that she had a strong position, bent over and close in. I would have to do something drastically violent to move her, and I just didn’t feel particularly violent towards one who had just given me the best blow-job of my life. So I let her continue, which she did by taking my soft penis, tucking it back between my legs and snapping shut the crotch of the bodyshaper.

"There we go. Nice and smooth," she said rubbing her hand across the now flat area at the top of my legs. I looked down at my crotch and beheld the trim, y-shaped form where I’d normally see my schlong. While this was embarrasing to me, it was also kind of a turn-on. Danielle had not stopped her caressing, and emanated a sort of satisfied contentment.

If it had been a slight challenge to keep my cool in front of clients while wearing panties and a camisole, it was a herculean effort to face the world in a bodyshaper with my penis tucked back between my legs. It felt as if everyone’s eyes were drawn to my crotch, which even though my pants were loose fitting, would appear to be absent a very important bit of flesh. And also the lightly padded breasts - I made my way through the rest of the day in a state of extreme self-consciousness.

When I finally met Danielle, we decided to go straight to her house for dinner rather than risk discovery in the stairwell. As we walked across the parking lot to our cars, she reached around and put her hand on my butt.

I pulled into the driveway and Danielle pulled up behind me. This was an agreement that we had, and that I had consented to - She would decide if I could leave or not. We went in and Danielle changed out of her work clothes, but I had nothing to change into, so I stayed dressed for work, pretty much. I must have looked uncomfortable (well, yes I was uncomfortable - all tucked in), because Danielle came into the kitchen, took one look at me, and asked if I’d like to slip into something more comfortable than my old work clothes.

I said sure, anticipating that she’d have something silky and soft for me to wear like usual - silk pajamas or something. But she came back with what looked like the red jumpsuit with white hearts. I had already taken off my vest, shirt and pants, and I stood there only in the body shaper. "Come on, step in," she said. "Adrian, trust me."

I stepped in and put my arms into the sleeves. As she pulled it up, I realized that this jumpsuit was a little different from the one I’d had on before. For one, it was lined in satin, and the fabric was a little different - white daisies instead of white hearts. For another, the sleeves were very tight at the forearms, but seemed to bloom voluminously at the shoulders. Where the first jumpsuit had been cut generously low at the chest, this one came up tight to my neck and finished with a white rounded collar trimmed in lace. The legs, instead of flowing into billowy pants, were cuffed at the knees. As Danielle pulled up the zipper to the top, she gave a little twist. She whispered in my ear, apparently really turned on, "I made it just for you. Now it’s locked and only I can take it off. Now hold on and let me do your cuffs," and bent down and secured the garment at my knees, pulling tight the satin ribbons and tying them into bows.

The feeling of self-consciousness and embarassment that I had been feeling all afternoon exploded into full blown mortification. I was petrified, felt as if I couldn’t move. Danielle, who had begun to breathe heavily and even moan a bit, took another satin ribbon, and with trembling hands, tied a big bow at my neck.

She stepped round behind me and began feeling me up the way she always had, lingering at my breasts for a moment, and then going straight to my still-flattened crotch. This was normally a big turn on for me, but I was embarrassed and confused. Here I was dressed like a huge sissy, but at the same time, my lover was turned on incredibly. Finally, after only a couple of minutes, Danielle let go, took my hand, and moved around to face me.

She looked at my face as she pulled my hand towards her, slid it under her waistband and down the front of her panties. I moved my hand down to where she wanted me to put it, and felt that she was not merely wet, but completely drenched, her juices actually running down her leg. "Do you understand now, Adrian?" she asked.

I did. I could see that life with Danielle, should I choose it, would involve many more outfits like the one I had on. Danielle wanted nothing more than to make me her little doll.

The "end" of the beginning…

 

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