Spring was here and the days were getting warmer. Life with Laura had settled into a routine and was not one I would swap for anything else. She was always strict, but she was fair, and never cruel—at least, not in my eyes, although I assume most men would see denial of erections and sex to be a severe form of maltreatment, not to mention not being allowed to touch her without her permission.
However, I had quickly come to understand that rationing of erections, orgasms and physical contact was a necessary price to pay for being the submissive part of an FLR. Laura, of course, continued to be almost insatiable when it came to cunnilingus, and I was having to satisfy her several times a week, and sometimes multiple times per night. Yet, she was happy to joke that it was me who was sex mad, and she was entirely normal—quite possibly she was.
Severe punishments had become rarer, largely because I had learnt what might provoke Laura to cane me. I often sensed that she missed me making mistakes that she could correct, but she stopped short of fabricating reasons to punish me.
At university, I had also settled into a pattern with Amy. She had become the de facto deputy leader of my FLR, so, in effect, I was serving two mistresses. Laura was not jealous, so she was tolerant of Amy controlling me as long as there was no sex between us.
Obviously, being locked up, I couldn’t engage in penetrative sex with Amy—not that I wished to, despite her being extraordinarily pretty—but luckily, Amy understood that any form of sex was off the agenda. Consequently, she contented herself with teasing me and flirting with me, and making me do humiliating things, such as addressing her as “Miss”. Her threat to make me stand in the corner of our office had not yet materialised, but I suspected it was only a matter of time.
But with both Laura and Amy controlling me in their different ways, I was under female supervision, 24/7.
oooOOooo
Then, on one unseasonably warm Saturday morning, while I was doing the handwashing, and Laura was busy catching up on social media, she suddenly had a thought.
She came into the utility room, where I was almost up to my elbows in suds. “I’ve been thinking, muffin,” she announced ominously. Laura’s “thinking” usually marked some change in my life, generally one where she would push my limits.
She continued, “You must get warm, wearing jeans, leggings, and so on, poppet. Eh?”
“Well… I’m fine, Miss,” I replied. “I’m comfortable like this, but thank you for asking.”
She sensed I was getting my defence in first and smiled sweetly at me. “But don’t you think I’m dressed more appropriately, muffin?” I turned to look at her. She was wearing a miniskirt that finished midthigh. I felt a stir in my cage as I took in her toned legs, but part of me was dreading what she was likely to say next.
Sure enough, she confirmed my expectations. “You could wear a skirt like this, sweetheart… here in the flat… once in a while.”
I felt my stomach drop. “No, Miss!” I exclaimed, “I would look stupid dressing like that.”
“I did say only in the flat, poppet, and not all the time. And who would see you?”
Her careful use of words rang alarm bells. She was implying that she would be the only one to see me, but that wasn’t exactly what she had said. “Only you, Miss, I would hope,” I answered.
My response caught her off guard a little, but she quickly recovered, “Yes, I would see you, muffin.”
She had still left open the possibility of others seeing me, such as my sister, Phoebe, or my sister’s sadistic friend, Zoe. “Not my sister nor Zoe, Miss?”
“Why would they want to see you dressed as a girl?”
She had purposefully avoided ruling them out, and it was clear she was not going to give me a straight answer. And I was certain that Phoebe and Zoe would be ecstatic to see me dressed as a girl. They were both turned on by anything that humiliated me.
Before I could think of another response, she changed tact. “It’ll be fun! You dressed as a schoolgirl once, poppet, in a skirt. You must remember?”
Of course, I did, and my penis was now twitching inside its cage recalling the occasion—a detention, Laura had called it. Dressing completely in a school uniform had been arousing, although my ardour had been dampened by the lines I had had to write and the frequent slaps with her tawse on the palm of my hand.
She paused to see what I would say next. It was like a game of chess, and she was weighing up what my next move would be.
“Yes, but er… that was different. I had stockings on to hide my hairy legs, Miss. In this warmer weather, I guess I wouldn’t be wearing stockings or tights, so my legs would look ridiculous.”
She had never, ever, suggested I shave, even knowing that Eric, my sister’s fiancé, was shaved, so I felt I was on safe ground raising that point.
How wrong I was! Her smile broadened, as she moved in for the kill. “I understand what you’re saying, so why not shave them, and keep them hairless, at all times, muffin? Even better, let’s remove all your body hair. Hmmm?”
My stomach dropped a further notch. “All my hair??”
“No, silly, not all of it! Only from the neck down. It will make you look far more feminine.”
I gulped. “I… I don’t think I could do that, Miss,” I feebly argued.
“I think you’re underestimating yourself, sweetheart. I wouldn’t mind betting that you’re becoming aroused at the very thought of passing yourself off as a girl.”
“I couldn’t pass as a girl, Miss!” I exclaimed.
“How do you know unless you try? What’s the problem, dressing completely en femme in the flat?”
“Yeah… but… but what about university?” I was struggling to find excuses, and Laura was aware I was thrashing around, helplessly.
“What about it? I’m not saying wear a skirt to university.”
“No! But… but what about Amy? She’ll see my shaved arms. She’ll know something’s wrong.”
I instantly regretted using that word. “Something’s wrong? What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with having no body hair. Are you saying it’s wrong of me to have no body hair? So, I should let it grow and walk around looking like a gorilla, Stevie?”
Laura using my name, rather than a soubriquet, was always a warning sign not to be ignored.
“No, no, I’m not saying that. It’s… it’s just that men don’t usually shave like that, Miss.”
“Is this your misogyny coming out again, Stevie? I thought you’d been cured of that, but it seems not.”
“No, no! I’m saying that girls shave, Miss, but it’s not normal for men to.”
“Isn’t it? I think you will find that professional cyclists shave their legs, Stevie.”
I was floundering. “I… I just think Amy will make fun of me, Miss.”
“So what? Are you denying her a bit of fun?”
“Those are just the words she might use, Miss… But it’s fun at my expense.”
“You’re a submissive, Stevie. Have you somehow forgotten that? I bet you’re becoming more aroused just thinking about Amy teasing you?”
She was right, but I didn’t want to admit it. Holding me in a hard stare, she added, “Of course, I would never want to make you do something you didn’t want to. I’m not cruel, am I?”
“No! You’re never cruel, never!” I truthfully replied, thinking how different she was from the likes of Zoe, who took pleasure in torturing me.
“I reckon you need some time to think about what I’m suggesting, sweetheart. Some quiet time, with no distractions and no fidgeting, so you can reflect on the pros and cons. Eh?”
I realised she was “suggesting” that I spend time standing in the corner, presumably until I came around to her way of thinking.
“So, when you’ve finished the laundry, strip down to your bra and knickers, fetch your handcuffs, and then you may spend some time in deep thought. OK, muffin?”
“Yes, Miss,” I conceded.
“You’ll need to think it through for at least thirty minutes, but I suggest you keep thinking until you’ve considered all possibilities. No need to rush, sweetheart. We’ve got all day.”
As leader of our FLR, Laura could simply have ordered me to shave and dress as a girl. Yet, that was not her style, and she much preferred cajoling me to abide by her wishes. The outcome, invariably, was the same—she got her way.
oooOOooo
Forty-five minutes later, handwashing finished and wearing just my pink bra and matching panties, I politely asked Laura to cuff my wrists behind my back. Then, obediently, I stood facing the corner while she continued looking at her phone.
The handcuffs helped to stop me from fidgeting, and there was no sound to distract me nor any sights to divert my thoughts. It was not difficult to spend the time thinking through the options, especially the dangers and risks. Specifically, she had not ruled out someone other than her seeing me dressed as a girl. But, strangely, the thought of dressing en femme, and even of a third party seeing me like that, was exciting in a weird way. My penis was trying to engorge itself as I imagined what I might look like, shaved, wearing a short skirt, and possibly walking around as a girl might.
Standing there in the corner, without so much as the sound of a pin dropping, and with no visual stimulation whatsoever, time seemed to stand still. Only my erotic thoughts allowed me to tolerate the tedium I was forced to endure.
After what seemed like an eternity, Laura asked me if I had finished “thinking”. I replied that I had, so she told me to turn around. She looked up and down at me, and then down again. A smile spread across her face.
“Well, sweetheart,” she declared, “looking at how damp your panties are from leaking precum, I’m sure I know what conclusion you’ve come to, but tell me anyway.”
“Thank you, Miss,” I said, “After giving your proposal some serious thought, I… er… I agree with you that it would be fun for me to wear a skirt around the house occasionally and to shave my body.”
She smiled at me. “Oh! That’s brilliant, and I’m so pleased. I was hoping you would come around to my way of thinking. But you being so quiet has allowed me to think further, and I was thinking that instead of a skirt, we could get you a dress, muffin? What do you say? Or do you want more quiet time to reflect on that idea?”
Laura worked like a rachet, continuing to turn a bolt—me, that is—in one direction. She had a way of advancing towards her goal in small steps, whittling down my resistance. I could have argued that I didn’t want to wear a dress, but neither did I want more corner time.
Any resistance on my part would only delay my agreeing to her proposals, so I meekly consented. “Thank you, Miss, a dress sounds… er… wonderful. Thank you, Miss.” I swallowed hard and tried to put on a gratified expression.
“Thought you might say that,” she mused. “Turn around so I can undo your cuffs, and then let’s go shopping.”
oooOOooo
An hour later, we were in town and inside the familiar store that supplies my—and Laura’s—underwear. I was nervous, the only comfort being that, at least today, we were in the outer clothing department rather than in lingerie. Nonetheless, being a Saturday, the shop was busy with women perusing the aisles while their menfolk stood on the periphery, looking bored at best and embarrassed at worst. What’s more, I was wearing my “unisex” clothes, which looked even more incongruous here than they did at university—but at least I didn’t have to wear a bra in public!
There was no chance that I might get to stand on the sidelines. Laura wanted me with the clothing, so she could discuss styles and colours with me. “Well, at least we know your size, muffin,” she assured me, “so there’ll be no need for you to go into the changing rooms.”
She watched as I went red before continuing. “I bet you were hoping to go into the changing rooms, weren’t you, so you might catch a glimpse of a gorgeous young woman, partially undressed?”
“No!” I stressed. “That’s the last thing I wanted.” Although the possibility of seeing partially naked young women would have been a consolation prize for being marched into the changing rooms.
She laughed. “I’m just teasing you, poppet. Lighten up! I don’t think women would want you in there any more than you would want to be in there.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, but it was temporary, as Laura pulled dresses off the rack and held them up against me. She felt compelled to explain that she was doing this to judge how well they would suit me in terms of style and colour.
“This one is lovely, sweetie,” she exclaimed, holding up a predominantly red dress imprinted with small flowers in different colours. It had a low neckline and two shoulder straps, each no more than an inch wide.
“It’s very short,” I whispered.
“Sorry, muffin, I didn’t catch what you said.” I would have believed her, but for the smirk on her face.
Speaking slowly and a little louder, I repeated my concerns. “I said that it’s very short.”
“Well, sundresses are short, aren’t they? Where did you get the idea they came down to the ankles?”
I could see that engaging in a verbal joust with Laura, in public, was pointless. She was going to purposefully misunderstand everything I said.
“Yes… silly me!” I replied, rolling my eyes.
She glared at me, a warning sign that I might be pushing boundaries. “Sorry,” I added, “I shouldn’t have said that.” She continued to glare at me, with tight facial muscles, until I was compelled to break eye contact.
“Remember your manners, Stevie,” she reminded me. “I do not appreciate sarcasm. Did your mother not tell you that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?”
“Yes, she did… I’m really sorry, and it won’t happen again.”
“Good! Because if it does, I’ll find a quiet spot and put you over my knees.” She made a point of purposefully looking around, as if searching for somewhere we would not be disturbed. I didn’t think for a minute she would carry out this threat, but I was not going to take the chance. She can unpredictable sometimes!
“It… it won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Hmm? I was going to buy you just the one dress, but as you’re close to having a tantrum, I’m getting you another to go with it. Now hold on to this and we’ll see what else I can find for you.” I clutched the first dress, and soon it was followed by another skimpy dress, of similar length, but mainly blue.
I hoped we had finished, but, no, we hadn’t. “Shoes, next, muffin,” she declared. At least she had moved on from calling me “Stevie” to calling me “muffin”, which told me that she had forgiven me for my outburst.
With me clutching the two dresses, we traipsed to the shoe department, where she selected a pair of light tan open-toed sandals. I had to try them on, as she was not confident they would fit. “You’ve quite small feet for a man,” she commented, as if that was expected to provide me with some solace.
Luckily—or perhaps, unluckily—the sandals fitted, so we made our way to the cashier.
“We’ll need to paint your nails, poppet, if you’re wearing open-toed shoes. Okay?” It was a question, but not one I was keen to answer in a public place.
“Yes,” I meekly replied, wondering what arguments I could later advance to counter this idea.
“Credit card, please, sweetie,” she demanded as I placed my purchases on the counter. So much for Laura saying she was buying me these outfits.
The next few minutes were toe-curlingly embarrassing, but an experience I had suffered before. The middle-aged assistant made the understandable mistake of assuming the dresses were for Laura.
“Have you tried them on, Madam?” she asked politely.
“No, I didn’t need to.”
“They look a little oversized for you, Madam.”
“Yes, they will be, but they’re not for me.”
Laura stared pointedly in my direction but said nothing. The assistant also looked at me and, apart from my eccentric fashion sense, would have noticed I had gone beetroot red. “Oh… ahh… yes… okay. Well, you can always bring them back if they don’t fit, Madam,” she explained.
She had now also gone red—Laura was the only one whose skin colour looked normal. “Thank you. Someone will bring them back if they don’t fit,” she replied, smiling.
oooOOooo
Back in the car, I felt compelled to say something. “That was embarrassing, Miss.”
“What was?” she replied, playing dumb.
“You know! You saying the dresses were for someone else and then looking at me.”
“Ooooh!” she said, trying to look shocked. “Oh, my God, muffin! I… I see what you mean! The assistant might have thought I was saying the dresses were for you. I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t think! That was so stupid of me. Will you forgive me… please?”
Had she not been suppressing a grin, I might have bought her admission. “Never mind, Miss, I’m sure it was an innocent mistake. Of course, I forgive you.”
She smiled at me, her lips clenched shut, and she placed a hand on my inner thigh, providing an unneeded distraction on the drive home.
oooOOooo
The flat that Laura and I shared wasn’t very big, but an alluring feature was the gigantic shower cubicle in the bathroom. It was easily large enough for two people to share—perhaps even three people, not that that was ever likely to happen. But, as I was to discover when we got home, today was a rare occasion when Laura and I would share the space.
When Laura told me what she proposed, I can assure the reader that I became very excited, despite the fate that awaited me. “Right, poppet,” she had explained, “We need to get all that nasty hair off you, and we’ll do it together in the shower.”
She saw the astonished expression on my face. “So, what are you waiting for? Strip off!”
I proceeded to undress, and so did she. In no time at all, we were both naked and staring at one another. I, needless to say, was still caged, not that my penis seemed to be aware of that—it was rapidly swelling into a non-existent space.
“Stop ogling me,” she commanded. “Sex seems to be the only thing you think about.”
Leaning into the shower, she turned on the water and while we waited for it to run hot, she reached into a cupboard and pulled out several disposable razors, all pink, so intended for girls, and a large tube of something. Then she pointed to me to get into the shower, following me in and closing the door.
“I don’t think I need to remind you I’m not to be groped or mauled, sweetie,” she said. If only she knew how difficult I find it to keep my hands off her, but I had no option other than to agree.
She covered me in suds to act as lubrication and then began to use a razor to denude me of hair. My penis was throbbing from her close proximity to my body. There were times when she was on her knees, barely inches in front of my cage, carefully removing the hair from my genital region and around my ball sacks.
I looked down at her. Around her neck was the gold chain bearing the key to my chastity device. So near, yet so far, but I felt emboldened to make a suggestion. “Perhaps it would be easier shaving down there if I were released, Miss?”
Laura looked up at me, nodding her head. “You’re right, it would be much, much easier!” Then, after raising my hopes, she added, “But then I would have to go, sopping wet, into the bedroom to retrieve your blindfold and handcuffs.” With a smirk, she commented, “And then you might still have an accident, muffin. I’m sure you understand.”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, Miss,” I answered, my hopes now dashed. My penis was pounding and, what’s more, I caught occasional glimpses of her using her free hand to finger herself, showing she was also being turned on by this.
The whole task seemed to take forever, and I was amazed by the amount of hair going down the plughole. It was only a matter of time before we had a blockage.
Finally, she was finished with the razors but then turned her attention to the cream in the tube. She turned off the water and smothered my body with it, working it into every nook and cranny. “We give it a few minutes to work,” she explained, and we both stood there while it did so.
Neither of us said anything as we waited, but she had a sweet smile on her face. I saw nothing malicious in her expression and I deduced she was doing this to me because she thought it would be fun and exciting. It wasn’t intended as a punishment or warning.
“Okay, water back on,” she declared unnecessarily as she twisted the control. I watched the last traces of hair leave my body and swirl around in the disappearing water.
We both stepped out of the shower. She looked me up and down and was pleased with the result. I also looked myself up and down and was horrified by my new appearance. Yet still, my penis was aching from the arousal I was experiencing. Was it solely from being so close to her beautiful, naked body, or was it also from the sense of humiliation I felt knowing that I would soon find myself in a dress?
I couldn’t bear being this close to her, and, now hairless, more naked than I had been since infancy. I needed solace. “Please, please, may I give you a cuddle, Miss?” I asked poignantly.
“No! You may not, Stevie! I tell you when you can touch me—you don’t get to ask. It’s the way it’s always been and always will be. Is that understood?!” She sounded angry, but was her anger genuine or confected? It probably didn’t matter, as the consequences could be the same—punishment.
“Sorry… I’m really sorry, Miss. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s… it’s just that I’m so out of my comfort zone I wanted some reassurance by being in physical contact with you.”
“Hmm…” she hesitantly replied. “Maybe I jumped to the wrong conclusion… I see what you’re saying, but everything will work out fine, trust me. You’ll look great in a dress, and we’ll have fun.”
I looked at her with a sad expression, and she continued. “You’re getting yourself worked up, in every sense of the word.” She pointed down at my cage, which looked like it could burst apart at the seams.
She handed me a bath towel and wrapped another around herself. “You’ve had too much excitement, muffin. When we get into the bedroom, I suggest you stand in the corner while I get dressed. It’s unfair of me to keep teasing you, isn’t it?”
I wanted to say no, it wasn’t, but instead, I agreed with her. “I understand, Miss. I need to calm down.” She smiled lovingly at me as we towelled ourselves dry.
Once again, she had exerted her dominance over me.
