Nelle
by: Sarah Dechand

 

It was in the weeks before Christmas, on a fairly cold evening, when I realized that Nelle and I might have a future. We were driving back to the city for some holiday shopping after work, and as we drove over the bridge, with the city lights gleaming in the background, I reached across the seat and slipped my hand into her lap between the folds of her coat. Her thighs were warm and soft, below the swishy fabric of her dress, and familiar too, since we had taken the train out together to pick up my car, and for the whole trip, we sat close together, arm in arm, with my hand right there, in her lap.

So, speeding over the river, I said simply, "feels great," thinking about how much more satisfying an evening this was so far, compared to my usual evenings at home, or worse, with my insane girlfriend. Nelle was good company, alright, and the attraction we shared was intense. Since we worked together, we each had to work hard to repress our feelings during the day, so the night brought freedom, and freedom, like her lap, felt great. Nelle took my opening, and moved the conversation forward.

"You mean the dress? It’s soft, smooth…" she asked "Yeah, and you too." I said "Can you imagine what it feels like to wear it?"

"Well, I think it’s different for you and me." I replied as calmly as I could. On the inside, though, I was a little bit shocked, since I had known for a long time that I really did want to know what it felt like to wear a dress, and while I might have hinted at this desire to Nelle, I had never told her. As the lump in my throat grew larger and the pit in my stomach grew deeper, she said – "Don’t you want to find out?" I said yes, and our plans for shopping were set aside, and we sped on to her apartment.

Nelle was a big girl, but not what you’d call fat; voluptuous maybe, but not fat. She was nearly my height, with pale skin and dark brown hair which complemented her rosy cheeks, and her brown eyes were not the deep soulful type that they call "cow-eyes," but sparkly, giving off clues to the witty mind behind them. We’d hit it off immediately when she started working. Her position was officially "office manager," but really, she did more than just make sure that the fax machine had paper and that the cleaning service was paid. Bright and hardworking, she was more than happy to become involved with the technical aspects of our work, and she liked me. Actually, she seemed to like me a lot. Naturally, we found excuses to work together.

Although we’d have an occassional lunch together, most of our intimacy at the office consisted in periodic trips out to the fire escape or into the stairwell for a "breather." Our office had a non-smoking policy, and smokers would take a break during the work day for a cig, so, as non-smokers, we felt that we too were entitled to a short break approximately every hour. We spent these breaks making out and feeling each other up with the passion that comes through secrecy, and as these events became more regular, so did our routine. Nelle seemed to enjoy undressing me, but only part way. She would unbutton a few buttons on my shirt, and then pull it down over my shoulders, to my elbows, which had the effect of limiting my arm movement and exposing my chest. It was through this treatment that I came to realize that indeed, a man’s nipples are an erogenous zone. Her touch did drive me nuts – but I digress.

I have always studied the clothing worn by women around, maybe I tend to fetishize it a little, but let’s just say that I find it interesting. That night, Nelle was wearing a dark jewel toned blue two piece dress, in a kind of crinkly rayon polyester, with a wide elasticized waistband, and a band of matching blue embroidery across the chest. The top was a long sleeved pullover, with a single button at the back of the neck. It was fairly typical of the kind of outfit Nelle would wear, which tended towards an overall unity of color and design, and also tended to be in softer, more flowing fabrics. In fact, I knew from observation that this particular outfit had a matching pair of pants, which one might wear instead of the skirt, and that she had a similar 3-piece set in a kind of beige or mauve tone.

So when we made it back to her apartment, after a good half hour of making out and grooving on the soft fabric of her dress, we found ourselvse on the bed, me on my back, she astraddle, taking the hem of her skirt and rubbing it back and forth across my neck, as she rocked from side to side over my concrete hard cock. As we pulsed together in rhythm, ascending to a more spiritual plane, she asked, in a way that told me that she knew – "You enjoy being dominated by a woman?"

After the earlier remark about the dress might feel, this had the effect of setting off small explosions in the back of my neck, and I couldn’t reply right away. It was absolutely true. I not only enjoyed being dominated by a woman, but at that moment, more than anything, I wanted to be dominated by this woman. So I said "Yes, and you enjoy dominating a man." Her first response was a smile. Then she told me that she thought about this all the time, that she could spend hours on top of me, playing with me, dressing me, controlling me, and that she had always wanted a man who could just let it happen. For my part, I couldn’t help but agree. We enjoyed the moment together, and after a couple of pronounced and joyful orgasms, she told me to go and get myself cleaned up in a rather authoritative way.

I went to the bathroom, and cleaned myself throroughly, and when I returned, naked, she held out a pair of pink satin panties and a matching bra and said: "Put these on and sit down on the bed. I’ll be back in just a minute."

I eagerly complied, pulling on the panties, but struggling with the bra, since although I had imagined what it might be like to wear one, I had never had the opportunity to put one on. I was still struggling with it as she returned, wearing a terry bathrobe. Without a word, she moved behind me, and fastened the bra. "Are you ready?" She asked. I nodded yes. She looked me up and down, and her eyes came to rest on my dick, which was starting to get hard. "Hmm. Better do something about that, it will spoil the fit," she said, and she moved behind me and began to stroke me through the satiny fabric of the bra and panties. It didn’t take long before I had a raging hard-on. She expertly brought me off into a handful of tissues which she had conveniently put into her robe pocket, in anticipation of such a situation. Having sated my sex drive for the moment, she tucked my flaccid penis back between my legs, and pulled the panties up. Her dress was on the chair, and she brought over the two pieces. First, I put on the top, then I pulled up the skirt, tucking in the top. Nelle pulled the skirt up further, over my belly button, and made some more adjustments. Stepping away, she said "You look good."

I felt good. I felt really good. Wearing the dress was as pleasurable as I had imagined. It surrounded me with softness and swishy-ness and followed the movement of my body. I walked back and forth, at Nelle’s urging to enjoy the feeling. "You like it?" she asked. "Yes." I said.

"You should feel what it’s like with shaved legs and pantyhose!"

"Uhhhm, I’m not ready for that yet."

"OK. Take off the skirt."

"What?"

"Take it off. You don’t get to wear it again until you shave your legs."

 

There was no arguing, so I took off the skirt. As I did, Nelle went to her closet and brought out the pants that went with the outfit. I put them on. They felt nice, but they didn’t quite bring the same thrill as the skirt. I felt somehow more covered up, less exposed. "Those look pretty good on you, you have such a cute little butt." I felt embarrassed and laughed. It was true what she meant to say – that I didn’t have a big butt or a belly, so the pants fit kind of loosely, like they might fit a slender woman, without big hips, a belly, or a big butt. This was good. I felt permanently light-headed.

We hung out a while more, caught Letterman, and then it was time for me to leave. "Do you want to wear it home?" she asked. I nodded, scarcely able keep from breaking out into a big smile. "OK. Under two conditions." She said seriously.

"What are they?"

"One: You wear the panties to work tomorrow. I’m going to check up on you, so I’ll know."

"OK."

"Two: You buy a dozen pairs of panties so that you can wear a pair every day, if I ask."

This was a little harder, but I was hooked, and we both knew it. I agreed, and left wearing the silky pantsuit. Since it was late and no one was out, I had a very discreet and pleasureable ride home.

The next day, I wore the panties to the office under my clothes, and she wore an outfit which consisted of a black knit jumpsuit with stirrup pants, and a batik print wrap skirt. My eyes nearly popped out of my head, as I imagined liberating her from the wrap skirt. On our first trip out to the fire escape, Nelle unbuttoned and unzipped my pants to inspect. She smiled as she touched the front of the smooth silky panties, and looking me directly in the eye, said – "how do they feel?" My answer was an involuntary shudder. They felt great.

"Did you sleep in them?" I nodded. Yes, I had. Then she leaned close and whispered in my ear "too bad you can’t wear the bra to work too, pumpkin."

After a day of minor discomfort interspersed with intense excitement, we left the office to go to her apartment, about a 15 minute walk away. On the way we stopped at a store known for its selection of bras, panties, lingerie, and sleepwear; and under her careful supervision, I purchased the 12 pairs of panties. I was not allowed cotton, and more than one eyebrow was raised at the selection of dainty, lacy, and silky intimates. We left, and I carried the telltale pink and white shopping bag.

When we entered her apartment, she sent me immediately to the bed. So off I went, and I started to strip off my clothes. But Nelle had other ideas. She stopped me from stripping, saying "Wait a minute! I decide when you go clothed and unclothed. Keep those things on until I let you take them off!" So I sat on the bed and waited.

When she returned in a few moments, she was carrying a bag, and still wearing her coat. "Let’s go to your place. Come on. Don’t forget your little panties." I blushed as I picked up the bag, put on my coat, and headed out the door. My apartment was about a short train ride from hers, and we made the trip silently. My head filled with fantastic scenarios. I was just dying to know what was in the bag, but dared not ask. I wanted to let Nelle surprise me. Finally, we made it to my apartment.

Nelle had never visited, and I gave her the tour, which lasted about 10 seconds, since I lived in a one room studio with a small kitchen and a bathroom. While not the most fastidious person, the mess was pretty much under control, so I felt fairly comfortable showing her the sights. Nelle, on the other hand, went straight to the dresser, and went to the top drawer, where she knew she would find my underwear. She emptied the entire drawer of socks and underwear out onto the floor, and opened her bag. Out of it, she produced several bras and several pairs of pantyhose.

"These are my old bras and some pantyhose to go with your new panties, sweetie. Now put them into your new underwear drawer." I just about died on the spot. Upping the stakes at every opportunity, my new girlfriend had just taken over my underwear drawer. I could either pick up all of my sweatsocks and boxer shorts, which might have the effect of spoiling everything, or I could just put all of my new panties into the drawer, with Nelle’s old bras and pantyhose. I chose to go along with the plan, trusting her, and placed my new panties one by one into the drawer. As I did, Nelle scooped up my male underwear and put it into a plastic bag, which she then put into her bag.

She looked me directly in the eye as I closed the panty drawer, and excused herself to the bathroom with a naughty smile. She took her bag in with her, which I took to be a sign that certain preparations involving birth control might be afoot. When she exited a moment later, she had ditched the batik print wrap, and wore only the black knit cat suit. It hugged every curve of her body in a most delicious way, and I was completely enraptured by her power. "Touch gently." she said, and we began a lovemaking session which lasted well into the tiny hours of the morning. She called a cab at 3, saying she needed to go home to get ready for work.

The next morning, I awoke to discover that when Nelle excused herself to the bathroom that night, she pillaged my hamper and took my dirty socks and underwear as well as my clean ones. In addition, the socks I had worn the day before had been picked up as well. I had nothing but what was in my panty drawer. As I showered, shaved, and ate breakfast, I thought about my wardrobe dilemma. The panties were easy – I was in them and committed. But the pantyhose would be a problem. How could I escape detection? They would show at my ankles, and people could notice.

I picked the thickest, most opaque black pair and put them on. Unfortunately, my toenail caught the fabric, and I put a huge run in all the way up, thus foiling any attempt at deception on my part. A visible run would be a sure indicator that I was wearing pantyhose, so I selected the next darkest and thickest pair, and rolled them on slowly and deliberately to avoid a run. Success, but they bagged in the crotch, and I had to tug them up tight. By the time I finished dressing I felt quite snug and warm in my pants. Fortunately, the weather was still cold, but if this thing lasted until spring, there was sure to be trouble.

That day, at the office, Nelle and I took our customary fire escape break. While she didn’t need to check my tights –those she could see plainly enough - she did check on my panties. I was wearing white ones, much to her satisfaction. "Tights and panties keeping you nice and toasty warm, there?"

" Yeah. Kind of a pain to use the can, too."

"I guess you have to go in the stall and sit like a woman, don’t you."

"Well, I go into the stalls, but I can just pull the waistband down easily enough."

"Hmm. We’ll have to fix that." She seemed a little disturbed at the news.

"Why does it matter to you?"

"Well, you know, I think you should sit every time you use the toilet, like a real woman, and I just might like to control that aspect of your life."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. For now, it’s enough for me to know that my honey is all toasty warm in those tights and panties."

 

After work, we returned to Nelle’s and ordered in chinese. While we waited for the delivery, she had me remove my pants and shirt, and gave me a silky camisole to wear with my tights and panties. I felt terribly exposed, and Nelle only made it worse by constantly running her hand over my tights-clad legs and butt. I nearly begged her for something to cover up with, but held off, knowing that this would certainly lead to something possibly more exciting, and possibly worse.

I knew that part of the scene we were playing was that there would be no reward for instant surrender. That was no fun for either us. It was better to resist, to let things take their time to play out, and give Nelle a chance to improvise. When the food delivery came, Nelle said: "Follow me to the door!" Although I knew that we would be giving the deliveryman a good story, I tiptoed up and sort of stood behind Nelle as she opened the door, and paid for the food. She turned and set the bag down on the floor next to the door, and began to deliver some serious attention to my tights-encased legs and panty-clad bottom. The food was cold before we finally sat down to eat.

And so it was. I ditched my old girlfriend, and started seriously with Nelle. We continued in the same vein for several weeks. Each day, there was the ritual inspection on the fire escape, and each night, we’d return to Nelle’s for fun and games, usually involving one new garment or another. Once it was a filmy white sheer blouse, which I wore with no bra. Another night, it was a very large pair of brown, wide-wale corduroy pants which Nelle pulled halfway up my chest. We experimented with nail polish and make-up, and I learned how to use Nelle’s curling iron. Finally, one night, after a particularly vigorous session, I decided to stay, rather than going back home.

This proved to be a bad move. It turns out (by coincidence or plan, I’ll never know which for sure) that my pants had ripped, and were not wearable. In addition, I realized that if I wore yesterday’s shirt again, not only would I look bad, I would kind of smell all day too. Of course, Nelle had a solution for my troubles which not only involved the usual underwear and pantyhose, but this time also included a medieval looking one piece body shaping device. After putting on the panties and pantyhose, like usual, I stepped into this garment. Nelle pulled it up over the pantyhose, and I slipped my arms under the straps. It felt as tight as it looked, and wearing it, I felt truly under Nelle’s control. I would never be able to forget that I was wearing it. As she pulled up the side zipper, she whispered, "It’s a bodyshaper, dear. You’ll need it to fit into the pants."

Nelle had a pair of black pants that matched my jacket. She also had a blue oxford shirt that nearly fit me. Unfortunately, the pants were cut for her body, not mine, and were tight in the waist. In fact, I had to pull them up to my belly button, where I was laced tightest and really suck in to fasten the waist. They had no pockets at all, which kind of freaked me, and a zipper which seemed to begin about halfway between my crotch and my belly button, which really freaked me. They felt tight in the ass and in the crotch, which looked pretty smooth, just a straight seam disappearing to a point at the tops of my thighs. And the shirt posed a problem too. It buttoned "the wrong way" and I could barely do the buttons up myself. It was also a bit tight in the collar, which was slightly rounded. It had no pocket, and fit a little loose around the chest. The shoulders were a little narrow, and the sleeves were also a little short. I put my wallet in my jacket pocket and left with Nelle, knowing that I wouldn’t be taking off my jacket today. I just hoped that nobody would notice my girly pants and shirt.

Once we were at work, and had gone out for our fire escape break, I realized with dismay that I was truly in a deep situation. As Nelle stood behind me, her hands carressing the tops of my thighs and my crotch, which was quite flat thanks to the underwear, I realized that in order to use the bathroom, I would have to sit down each time, and undo the crotch of the body shaper. Furthermore, I would risk exposing my pantyhose clad legs under the walls of the stall. A foolish fear, since no one ever looked. At least I didn’t look. Nelle seemed to catch on to my discomfort. She asked: "Thinking about your first trip to the mens’ room, pumpkin?" I nodded. "I told you," she continued, "that I might just like to control that part of your life. You like it, don’t you? That I can make you sit down to go to the bathroom."

She continued rubbing my flat crotch as she spoke softly into my ear, and it was getting to be too much. I was totally aroused inside, but the panties, pantyhose, bodyshaper, and pants hid any semblance of a hard-on. In fact, for all my excitement, I could barely tell that my body was actually designed to penetrate another body. I felt more like a vessel for someone else’s pleasure. The feeling was too much, and I came right there in my panties. Nelle could sense it, of course, and she whispered in my ear: "Enjoy that sweet, secret wetness between your legs, darling. I guarantee there is no more feminine feeling." End of break. Back to work.

After about half an hour, I left for the men’s room to clean up, and take a leak. I entered a stall, and, exhaling with relief, lowered my trousers. I tried to unhook the crotch of the body shaper, but wasn’t able. Nelle had sewn it shut. I carefully and quietly stepped out of the trousers, hung them on a peg, and covered them with my jacket. I untied my tie, and struggled to unbutton Nelle’s shirt. After an eternity, I was able to lower the body shaper and pantyhose, and able to clean out my moist panties. Almost out of spite, I peed standing up. What a mess.

I realized that I could remedy this situation by putting on the pantyhose over the bodyshaper. That way, the next time I could simply lower my trousers and extract my penis through the leg opening and let loose. So I took off my pantyhose as well, put on the bodyshaper, put the pantyhose back on, put on my shirt, spent a while figuring out how to button it up, put on the pants, tied my tie, and put on the jacket.

Total elapsed time in the bathroom: 31 minutes. Shit. Well, fortunately, the day was not so busy for me, and Nelle was able to cover for me while I was out, and I drew no suspicion. Still, I was pretty freaked out. We went out for lunch – I didn’t have much apetite, all trussed up in my underwear, but Nelle insisted that I get a burger and fries, and a thick shake. "Are you trying to fatten me up?" I asked. Not all of you, she said mysteriously, and laughed.

We returned to Nelle’s that night after work, and after dropping our briefcases, went straight to the bedroom for some serious late afternoon delight, which consisted mostly of me moving my tongue with flickering abandon as she rocked back and forth, my face between her thights. I was permitted to take off the shirt and pants, but remained confined in the tights and bodyshaper. Naturally, I came again, deep inside.

We decided to go out for dinner, since it would take too much time to cook, and besides, the temptation to fuck again would be too great. Nelle felt that going out could be particularly fun if I attempted to pass as her girlfriend, so all of our experimenting over the past several weeks was put to the test. I went to the bathroom, showered, and shaved my face as close as I could, while Nelle got herself ready and picked out my outfit for the evening.

She wore a long black skirt with a blue sweater over a white tee. I put on the usual panties, black tights, and bra, which Nelle stuffed with some amazingly realistic feeling forms. She told me she had created my "breasts" using silicon gel from the bags that people stick in the freezer and then place in coolers to keep the tempereatures cool inside. They were soft and bouncy, like the real thing, and Nelle had molded them so that a rather large "nipple" was prominent in front. Nelle then had me put on a tight panty-girdle with a waist cincher over the tights – I accepted this since I wanted to try to pass for female. Next I put on a dark burgundy jersey knit jumpsuit which I had seen Nelle wear. It zipped up the front from above the elasticized waist to a kind of turtleneck top, which folded over, and had a wide matching belt, with a gold buckle.

It was one thing to see Nelle wear this jumpsuit, and quite another to wear it myself. On the one hand, it looked extremely comfortable to wear, and it did feel soft, but on the other, it looked kind of sexy on Nelle, and it did on me too, I guess. I became aware of how it fit over my new breasts, and how the outline of my nipples showed, a little. And the pants – with no pockets or zipper, they fit closely to my reshaped body. I couldn’t help but feel a bit self conscious and on display. I put on a pair of plain black pumps, low heels thank goodness that Nelle just happened to have in my size. We "did" my hair with the curling iron, and put on a little make-up – covered my beard and outlined my eyes. I accessorized with a pair of gold clip-on earrings and a bracelet, and we were out the door.

We went to a chinese place a few blocks away that neither of us had tried, and enjoyed a delicious meal. Don’t ask me what we ordered, how long it took, or anything else like that. All I remember is that nobody looked twice at us, and that Nelle had lifted her stockinged foot and placed it firmly into my crotch under the table for the entire meal. It was a complete rush. We returned home, and as a precaution, I was stripped completely before the sex. Nelle didn’t want to ruin any more of her foundation garments.

 

to be continued

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Sarah Dechand. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.