When It Blows, All Cats Are Gray
By Brandy Dewinter
Chris Stevenson looked up from the analysis he was working on
to let his eyes rest on his roommate. She was certainly, as always, a
sight for sore eyes. Karen Ashley was just about the prettiest girl
on the Smithfield College campus, slender and graceful, with flowing
golden blonde hair. For about the ten millionth time, Chris thought
about how lucky he was, not only to share a house with this co-ed
goddess, but even a bed.
Their first meeting had been about as inauspicious a start to
a close relationship as he could have imagined. Chris had been
enroute from the local Nerds-R-Us department, also known as
Engineering, and hadn't been paying attention to where he was going.
When he got to the humanities area (even engineers need to take a few
"soft" courses), he literally bumped into Karen. They had dropped
their books, then bumped heads again when they bent to recover them.
It could have been the worst moment of his not-very-spectacular life,
but it had tickled Karen's sense of humor and they had started
laughing together. It turned out they were in the same class, a
course in Properties of Fabrics that Chris had selected because it
sounded like his Properties of Materials courses and might be
technical enough to be interesting. She was taking it in support of
her Fashion Design major. The course had turned out to be laughably
easy, for an engineer, but there were a few math problems dealing with
the elasticity of fabrics and the amount of material required for
various patterns. Karen had found even these simple exercises to be a
challenge and had turned to Chris for help.
After a few study sessions Karen had realized that Chris was
actually a creative person, and "sensitive" like 90's guys are
supposed to be, for all his painfully shy, awkwardly nervous
engineering appearance. He had been genuinely interested in her
problems and never made her feel foolish even when they were working
on the most basic mathematics problems. On his part, Chris fell madly
in love with his beautiful companion, a love that started out as the
desire of a nerd for a goddess and grew even more compelling as he
realized that she was also not making fun of his lack of social
graces. When an opportunity opened up to rent an apartment near
campus, Karen decided she'd ask Chris to share expenses with her.
He'd been puppy-dog-grateful for the chance and always did
more than his share of the housework. Karen tolerated his crush on
her with good grace, a bit flattered by the adoration, but only a bit
since he was pretty much of a geek. One day, though, she decided to
help him to be a little more proud of himself. He had a long ways to
go. Chris was short, only about 5'8", the same height as Karen.
Further, Chris was slightly built. He probably outweighed her 118
pounds by a little, since a man's bones are typically stronger, but
only by a little. His muscle tone was poor, his muscle bulk
non-existent, and the obligatory engineer eyeglasses were selected for
functional utility, not attractiveness. About the only things he had
going for him were a fastidious personal style that kept him always
squeaky clean, and richly dark hair (at least on the top, where it
wasn't so short you could see skin through his haircut). His eyes
were a washed-out bluish-gray that were remarkable only in that you
would expect someone with such dark hair to have dark eyes, but his
were so pale they seemed colorless.
Karen, on the other hand, had learned to maximize her natural
beauty across the whole range of personal development. She was a
martial arts instructor and a serious yoga student. These studies had
given her a flowing grace and balance that lifted the beauty of her
already-shapely form into pure poetry whenever she moved. Classes in
support of her major had included training in color and shapes that
she had used to select flattering clothes and artful, exquisitely
sophisticated makeup styles. She decided to use these skills to
perform a makeover on Chris, just as serious as she might use for a
woman, but constrained by the limits of men's fashions. In addition,
she enrolled him in her yoga classes and started to teach him some of
the less-violent movements of her martial arts.
Chris responded to her guidance with the focused attention he
put into his engineering projects, multiplied by his overwhelming
desire to please Karen. Under her tutelage his body became toned and
fit, though he never did add much muscle bulk. The sorts of things
that Karen studied weren't much good for that, anyway. When he was
ready, Karen had Chris get contact lenses, tinted to make his
nondescript eyes a brilliant royal blue that matched her own. She had
him let his hair grow out to a length that could be styled, though
still short enough that it wasn't out of place among his fellow
engineers. After they had been living together for about 3 months,
Karen finally took him to bed.
Now that was a pleasant surprise. His thoroughly average
appearance had concealed a decided non-average set of masculine
equipment. No thicker than she might have expected, perhaps, but long
enough to make up for it. Longer in fact, than any lover she had ever
had. Karen was his first, of course, and she had to tell him just
about everything that she wanted him to do. That was good for both of
them because he was quite willing to do whatever he could to please
her and approached that problem as obsessively as he had approached
everything else. Under her guidance, he had blossomed into a quite
attractive man, handsome to look at, smooth with controlled power when
in motion, attentive and sensitive in relationships. His devotion to
her never wavered, but after another 3 months they were more like
equals in their friendship than goddess and geek. He was no longer a
nerd and her respect for him had lifted them to a sounder, more
enduring companionship.
"You're staring at me," Karen accused him gently, noticing his
distracted gaze.
"Yes," he smiled unapologetically.
"What were you thinking about?" she asked.
His smile got a little more serious, a little more profound,
"Oh, just about how we met, and how much I've changed since we met."
Karen giggled as she let her memory drift back to earlier
times, "You were such a geek!"
"I know. I still would be, if you hadn't come into my life."
"Probably," she agreed. "But you're looking good now."
"Thanks to you. You know, I owe you a lot. I wish there was
some way I could repay you," Chris said quietly, now completely
serious.
A strange light came into Karen's eyes as she pushed to
confirm the expression she saw on his face, heard in his voice, "Are
you serious?"
"Completely," he affirmed.
"Would you be willing to do something for me that might
embarrass you?" she prodded.
"As long as I don't get arrested, or if I do, as long as
you'll make bail," he smiled, but wrote her out about as blank a check
as he could cash. "Look, back before I met you I used to be
embarrassed most of the time. Now, I feel good about myself. You've
built quite a bank account of prevented embarrassment by the ways
you've helped me. So if you need to draw on that account a little, or
even a lot, well, you've got it coming."
Chris continued, "You do have me curious, though, what is this
mysterious, possibly embarrassing thing you want me to do?"
Karen stared out the window for a moment, obviously a bit
uncomfortable about the request she was considering. Chris stood up
from his study table and walked over to her, leaning close for a quick
kiss and then massaging her shoulders.
"Come on, gorgeous. It can't be that bad."
She looked up at him with a look of thanks for his
encouragement, then smiled and said, "I want you to be my model for my
Fashion As Art project."
"Me, a model? I'm too short and too thin," he said, not
refusing, just not sure how to meet her needs.
"Actually, you'd be perfect for what I have in mind," she
assured him.
"What do you have in mind?"
Again, Karen was reluctant to answer directly. Instead, she
asked him a question of her own, "Do you trust me?"
"Sure, you've never steered me wrong so far."
"Well, this is a bit different than anything we've done. The
project is to use fashion to make an artistic statement. I found out
that about half the students in class will be using a male model in
some sort of women's clothes. Those who are using men want to make a
tired old feminist complaint against the things men expect us to do
for fashion. I want to go beyond that, way beyond that. I want to
make a statement that even men would look good in the right clothes,
especially if society's limits were eliminated. So good, in fact,
that it is the men who are held back by fashion, not women. I want to
make you look like a beautiful woman and then dress you in something
that is both flattering and unusual. I want to make everyone think my
statement is completely at the level they can see, in your clothes and
actions, then show them that there is an even deeper, more profound
statement as well when we reveal that you are a man. You'd have to be
completely convincing as a woman, right up until the unveiling.
Completely convincing, and as a beautiful woman," she repeated.
Chris gulped a little and asked, "Do you think I could pull it
off? I'm not even pretty, let alone beautiful, and I wouldn't know
how to act. Even my voice is too deep."
"If you'll trust me and do whatever I tell you, we can do
this," Karen said firmly. If there was any doubt lurking behind her
shining eyes, she didn't let any of it into her voice.
"Okay, love, whatever you say," Chris grinned, thinking that
he could put up with just about anything for one night. His
self-confidence had increased to the point that something that would
have made him die on the spot with self-conscious embarrassment, even
before it happened, was now a bit of a lark.
"When is this 'project' due?" he asked.
"Not for about a month, but I'll need to get started
immediately. I'll also need a lot of your measurements. In fact, we
might as well do that, now. Strip" she smiled.
Karen stood up and went to her sewing table. Many of her
fashion design assignments involved actual construction of clothes and
she was used to developing patterns for whatever apparel was needed.
Chris, though, was not used to being used as a clothes dummy,
especially while nude, and even less used to being measured as Karen
decided was necessary. She took relaxed and tensioned measurement of
arms and legs, exhaled and inhaled chest measurements, range of motion
measurements as he bent to touch his palms to the floor and then
stretch toward the ceiling, and a host of others. However, he drew
the line when she started to make measurements of his cock.
"Now, wait a minute!" he said in surprise. "What are you
doing?"
"The costume I have in mind might show a bulge, if I don't
take care of it. I need to see how big of a problem that will be."
"Keep handling me like that and you'll see how big it can be."
"Promise?" she grinned.
With that incentive, her handling of his cock became even more
compelling. She giggled and wrapped her glossy lips around the tip.
Chris's tower grew rapidly with this inducement, and in a few minutes
his knees were starting to buckle as he moved closer and closer to the
point of no return. Just before he got there, though, she pulled back
and started taking new measurements. He was so close to coming that
his mind didn't register the loss of stimulation for a second. When
he did, his groan was so plaintive that Karen relented, finished her
measurements, and moved her moist lips back to his pulsing pole. This
time, she gave him the relief he had earned, casually swallowing his
cream as she usually did. Chris managed to keep from collapsing,
barely, though his knees were shaking and he had to hang onto the
sewing table.
"There," Karen laughed, "satisfied?"
Chris was still too short on breath to do more than nod, but
after a few minutes he recovered, got dressed, and then went over to
her work table.
"So, what sort of design are you working on?" he asked.
"I'm thinking of a catsuit, maybe in leather," she said.
That didn't help Chris much, "What's a catsuit?"
"It's a one-piece outfit that fits from neck to feet. My idea
will be very form-fitting, but not see-through. I have a couple of
special ideas as well, but they'll be a surprise," she teased.
It was clear that Chris wanted to know more about the outfit,
but his newly fit and supple body would look good in a tight,
form-fitting outfit so he didn't think that would be too bad. It
might be hard to make him look like a woman in one, though.
"Class dismissed," Professor Warren said. "Miss Ashley, could
you stay for just a moment?"
Karen looked up in surprise. She had noticed Professor Warren
looking at her quite intensely through several of her Fashion As Art
classes, but he had never treated her any differently than the other
students. At least, not until now. She stood up and walked to the
front of the room, her books clutched protectively across her shapely
bosom. The other students filed out quickly, a few of the prettier
girls grinning with a knowing smile. Karen didn't notice them, but
she would soon wish she had paid better attention.
"How is your project coming, Miss Ashley?" the professor began
with a normal tone, on a seemingly-innocuous topic.
"Fine," she replied. "I have an idea, and a model lined up.
I'll be ready."
"Good. Good," he said in a funny way, as though he didn't
really care. Then he continued.
"You know, I sense some real potential in you, in your work.
Your questions in class show you have a better-than-normal grasp of
what art really means, especially as expressed in clothes. You could
do very well as a fashion designer, with the right coaching."
Karen was starting to get a bit nervous now. This line of
comments was flattering but she had heard flattering comments before,
usually from a guy that was hitting on her. Professor Warren had
turned away from her now, though, seemingly just musing to himself.
"Thank you, Professor, I appreciate that," she finally said.
"Would you like a little coaching?" he asked, still
nonchalant, still facing away.
"Well," she tried to find some way to decline without making
him angry, "I think I have my current ideas pretty well together.
Maybe after the semester is over."
"Miss Ashley, I always knew you were a smart girl. It seems,
though, that you don't think I'm very smart," he said as he turned to
face her.
Karen looked down in shock, then in derision as she saw the
professor's erect member poking through the fly of his pants. It
wasn't anything to be proud of, that was for sure.
"You're obviously trying to put me off until you get your
grade for this class," he continued. "Since you won't do this the
easy way, let me make myself clear. I want a blowjob from you. If
you do, I'll give you an A and also a glowing letter of recommendation
to take with you for your job search. If you don't, well, I won't
flunk you since that would be too obvious, but your gradepoint average
will certainly suffer."
"You can't do this!" Karen cried. "I'll tell the dean!"
Professor Warren's smile was cruel and gloating, "Go right
ahead. You won't be the first woman that has tried to use her looks
to cover up for inadequate artistic talent. You propositioned me and
I refused. Then you tried to get back at me with a false and
slanderous claim. It will be your story against mine and the dean is
a friend from way back. He's backed me before, when some pretty co-ed
thought she could refuse me."
Karen sagged against a student desk, clutching her books even
more tightly to her breasts. Inside, she was furious, but she was
also scared. This was an important class and she knew that Professor
Warren had a reputation among top-notch fashion designers. Art was so
subjective that it would be hard to prove he was biased either for or
against her, so she would have a hard time convincing his friends that
any grade he gave her was unfair. On the other hand, a good grade and
a strong letter of recommendation would almost guarantee her a trial
period with some of the top fashion design houses.
"Can I have a while to think about it?" she stalled.
"Sure," he grinned as he tucked his tiny tool away. "Take
right up until the night the projects are displayed. If I get a
blowjob from you by the time the party is over, you get your A and
recommendation letter. If not . . ."
Karen fled from the room, still furious, still scared. After
a little while, though, her anger overpowered her fear and she started
fuming to herself.
"He can't do this to me. I won't let him get away with it.
I'll figure out some way to get him to give me a good grade without
sucking his puny dick."
Her frustration reminded her of one of her earlier lovers.
That lover had introduced her to mild bondage and she remembered the
frustration of being helpless while bound to a bed or strapped into
various restraints. At first, she had found it fascinating. Her body
had responded with overwhelming intensity when she was helpless, as
though surrendering external control had loosened internal controls
that she hadn't even realized were holding her back. It helped that
her introduction to bondage was reasonably benign since her lover
wasn't into pain, though after a while forced lack of motion could get
pretty uncomfortable. Since no harm was being done, after a few
sessions where she was bound he agreed to be bound himself. That was
when she had found her real interest. The feeling of being in control
was even better than the incredible physical sensations of helpless
sex. She had insisted more and more on being the dominant to his
submissive. During one session, she had used a light riding crop she
had bought without his knowledge to create an interesting pattern of
marks on his ass and thighs, but that hadn't really added to her
pleasure. She liked the control, not pain itself. Her lover had
refused to be bound after that and they had broken up. Karen had
bumped into Chris before she found another partner for her bondage
scenes and his willingness to treat her like a goddess had been almost
as good as physical control. Now, though, the feelings of frustration
that Professor Warren had awakened in her had reminded her of an
interest that had lain dormant for a long time. Much too long.
Karen enjoyed living with Chris. He was still attentive to
her, obviously devoted and in love with her. He had blossomed into a
quite handsome young man, though still short and slight of build.
Still, she didn't feel fulfilled and had been considering moving on.
She just couldn't see a long term relationship with a man that wasn't
strong enough to force her respect, nor submissive enough to let her
dominate him. Now that Chris had developed well-deserved
self-confidence, he was becoming less submissive than ever. Karen
actually felt a bit of pride in her success at turning that geek into
an attractive man, but she just wasn't satisfied.
Then a flash of insight hit her and she saw a way to resolve
both problems. A few modifications to her Fashion As Art project, and
it would become a spectacular bondage outfit. If she could get Chris
to wear it and submit to her dominance, then they might be able to
change their relationship to something she would find more fulfilling.
The proof of his submission, in the plot that was growing in her mind,
could take care of Professor Warren as well.
Karen hurried to the loft where students worked on fashion
projects. She had her own sewing table at their apartment, but she
had decided to make Chris's catsuit in leather and that took a special
sewing machine. Since clothing materials could be quite expensive,
especially in the great quantities of silks and brocades required for
period costumes, Smithfield College provided cloth for student
projects. Karen had obtained the necessary leather and other
materials through the college and worked on her costume at the loft.
Other than what she had told him, Chris didn't really know what was
incorporated into her design and he wouldn't know that the
modifications she had just dreamed up weren't part of the original
concept.
The time of the project display party approached rapidly.
Chris had his own engineering projects to work on and had become so
focused on them that he had forgotten his commitment to Karen, or at
least forgotten when his marker would be called in. His first hint
was when he saw a full-length hanging bag draped over a chair near
Karen's work table when he walked into their apartment after a Friday
lab period.
He called to her in the kitchen where she was working, "What's
this?"
"It's your outfit, of course. Tonight's the big night," she
said with a grin as she walked into the living room.
"Already?" he gulped.
"Yes. We just have time for a quick bit to eat, then we need
to get dressed."
Chris swallowed again, but then his self-confidence
resurrected itself and he gave her a roguish grin. "Yes ma'am,
whatever you say."
"Remember that thought. I'll hold you to it," she warned.
Shaking his head wryly, Chris walked back into the kitchen
with her and helped prepare their meal. He was a bit surprised to
find that he was looking forward to this adventure. He hadn't really
been a transvestite, but with an introverted nerd's typical
fascination with things that seemed beyond his reach, he had been
curious about women's clothes. While he was growing up he had
"experimented" a little with his mother's clothes, and then his older
sister's. The experiments had never proceeded beyond trying on a few
items of lingerie and a dress in private when he was alone in the
house. His feet were small for a man and he had been able to wear
their high-heeled shoes as well, finally learning how to walk in them
with reasonable gracefulness. Actually, he had been more graceful in
high heels than not, he now realized, since they had forced him to
loosen up his hips when he walked instead of staying tightly
controlled as his self-consciousness required when he was in his geek
phase. That loose, controlled suppleness was now part of his normal
walk (though without quite as much hip sway) since he had been
studying yoga and martial arts.
Chris had never experimented with makeup, though, and had
always kept his hair short. Even the new, longer style he had adopted
under Karen's guidance was still clearly masculine. He didn't think
Karen's expertise could turn him into a beautiful girl, but he was
willing, even anxious, to give it a try. He jerked when his reverie
was interrupted by Karen.
"Ready?" she asked with a grin, a grin that was surprisingly
fierce, harder somehow in a way that was so subtle he didn't really
realize it had affected him, yet made him a little uneasy. He put it
down to the excitement of the adventure opening before him and nodded.
"Okay, first, we go to the bathroom," she explained..
"I . . um . . don't really need your help for that," he
blushed.
"You do for what I want you to do," she insisted. "But go
ahead and take care of your business first."
Karen stood impatiently until she heard the stool flush, then
walked in to see him standing there fully dressed.
"Strip," she ordered, now a real order not optional guidance.
He blushed again as he complied, feeling strangely vulnerable
before the strength of personality she was showing. Something about
that vulnerability excited him, though, and his respectable sword came
to attention, sniffing for a moist sheath. A tiny bit of amusement
crept into Karen's eyes at this sign of interest, though it was buried
beneath the glittering feelings of power that were building within
her.
Her next order didn't seem very threatening, "Step into the
shower."
Her next action, though, was unexpected, at least by Chris.
She took a pink can and began to spread a foaming cream over his body,
everywhere below his neck. Everywhere, even around his still-hard
erection and full sack.
"Stand there until I come back for you," she said, and then
left the room.
Chris stood in the shower, wondering just what was going on.
He hadn't seen the label on the can and he didn't know what the foam
was. In a few minutes it started to itch, not badly, more of a tingle
actually. Then it got worse. His skin started to feel crawly, as
though the foam were alive. Sharp little stabs of overloading nerves
caused his skin to twitch and jump uncontrollably. He had just about
decided to call the whole thing off when Karen came back into the
room, nude. Her hair was bound up in a shower cap but everything else
was pure, unadulterated girl.
"That should about do, rinse it off."
He turned on the shower and stepped under the still-cold spray
with grateful relief. Karen stepped into the shower with him and
started to scrub his body with a rough sponge, making sure that every
bit of foam was lifted from his skin. Having that beautiful co-ed
with the body of a goddess working on him distracted Chris so much he
didn't notice that all of his dark body hair was washing down the
drain. He could hardly see himself anyway, since the small shower
kept them so close together that his head was either on her shoulder,
or crammed against the shower wall if she was working on his back.
Finally Karen stepped out of the shower and Chris could look down at
his body, his smooth, glistening, pinkly-scrubbed body. His body that
had never seemed so naked before, right down to the still-erect
manhood that protruded from his hairless crotch.
"What was that stuff?" he gasped.
"Hair remover, of course. I told you that you had to pass as
a beautiful woman. This is only the first step."
She pulled him from the shower and toweled him dry vigorously,
almost asexually. At least, it didn't seem sexually motivated on her
part, but Chris's sensitivity to her emotions had receded into the
distance and he was captured by his own excitement. Seeing Karen rub
his smooth body, muscles dancing lightly under her supple skin, was a
thrilling combination of sensual pleasure in her touch and erotic
imagination at the forbidden adventure of being turned into a woman.
When Karen had him dry, she started dusting lightly scented powder
over his body.
"Do I really need that?" he complained.
"You do if I say that you do," she answered curtly. Karen was
really getting into her dominatrix personality by this time, impatient
with complaints.
Without another word she drew him to the living room where she
unzipped the garment bag and Chris caught a glimpse of his outfit.
That first impression was of vibrant colors, red and yellow, a bit of
white. He noticed that the material was a softly tanned leather that
looked almost alive even when unoccupied. Karen was about to reach
for the suit when she noticed his still-rampant erection.
"We can't have that," she decided. Karen pushed Chris to a
seat on the couch and dropped to her knees between his legs. With
casual efficiency she sucked his cock until he erupted into her mouth.
Chris had never patronized a prostitute but that emotionless act made
him think of a business arrangement, not something of love at all. Of
course, it was fully at Karen's decision. Clearly, she was not
prostituting herself for pay. If Chris had known of Professor
Warren's demand he might have thought that Karen would do what the
professor asked with that same detachment. He didn't understand, yet,
what a tremendous difference there was between the lack of passion his
suddenly dominant roommate displayed and the lack of desire on the
part of a forced participant.
While Chris was still catching his breath, Karen turned to the
garment bag once again and drew out the long, one-piece catsuit. The
dominant red and yellow colors were interlocked in a jagged pattern
suggestive of leaping flames. The outfit screamed, "HOT!" with fiery
intensity. It zipped down the back and Karen opened it, then
positioned it for Chris to step into.
As his foot entered the first leg opening, he felt a slickly
smooth inner liner. Even as his toes were tasting the texture, Karen
was explaining, "I lined it with silk. That will wick away any
moisture if you sweat inside the leather. It also make is easier to
get into, especially since I shaped the leather to fit very tightly.
Your shaved and powdered body will slide in easier, too."
Tight was right, Chris mused as he tried to get his foot past
the constriction at the knee, then at the ankle. As his foot reached
the bottom he realized that there were high heels embedded in the legs
of the catsuit, as though it were a pair of more-than-thigh-high
boots. Karen had incorporated short zippers at the back of each ankle
so that his foot could slide into the final position. Without them,
he'd never have gotten past the tight squeeze over his arch.
"These heels are too high," Chris complained. They were much
higher than any he had ever worn before, much higher than his mother
or his sister had ever possessed.
"That better be the last complaint I hear from you tonight,"
Karen warned. "They're only 5 inches. I have a pair just as high for
my outfit, since I want to remain as tall as you."
When both of Chris's feet were shaped by the towering heels
embedded in the catsuit, Karen zipped the short zippers at each heel.
She started to draw the legs of the suit carefully up over Chris's
newly smooth legs, but stopped when she saw his rampant pole once
again erect and demanding.
"You know I'm always good for at least two shots," he grinned
in embarrassment, though also just a bit of pride.
"Yes, I should have expected it," she admitted. The sky-high
spikes and the legs of the catsuit bound Chris's legs almost as
thoroughly as bonds created for the purpose and Karen decided not to
try and get him to move in this intermediate state.
"Lean against the table," she commanded, then once again drew
his turgid cock into her moist, talented mouth. It took a little
longer the second time, a fact that had pleased them both when they
devoted an evening to making love, but now that same endurance merely
irritated Karen, however much Chris enjoyed it. She sucked hard,
bobbed her head rapidly, and did everything possible to bring him to a
quick climax. In a few minutes he was once again filling her mouth
with thick cream, shuddering as he tried to maintain his balance on
the unaccustomed stilts.
This time as Karen drew the leather garment up to his waist
his cock was limp and shrunken. Karen had crafted a pouch into the
crotch of the catsuit and she fed his soft member into the pouch,
fastening a small velcro strap around his scrotum. There were two
elastic bands leading from the end of the pouch, where the head of
Chris's cock was barely exposed. Karen reached through from behind
and pulled these straps up to fasten to two flaps that ran inside the
suit from Chris's hips to a few inches below his armpits.
"Hey! What are you doing?" he gasped.
"I told you that you have to pass as a woman. An
inappropriate bulge will be a dead giveaway. This pouch will keep you
pulled back out of the way. Besides, now that you've had your second
coming, you won't be hard again for at least an hour or so."
"Is that how long this will last?" he asked hopefully.
"I don't know, exactly, but the combination of the pouch, the
tension of the straps, and the tightness of the crotch of the catsuit
should be sufficient to keep you from showing. If you get hard and
it's uncomfortable, just think pure thoughts," Karen replied
unsympathetically.
As Karen fed his arms down the sleeves of the catsuit, Chris
realized that there were pads placed between the leather and the
lining. The first ones he noticed were actually at his hips and
fanny, adding shapely contours to the tight buns he had become so
proud of. There were some even more noticeable bulges at the front of
the suit, though, decidedly more noticeable once his arms were well
down the sleeves and the shapes began to press against his chest.
Chris actually found this less of a surprise than many of the other
things that had been happening, since he had figured on some sort of
padding to give him a bosom. Maybe not quite that much, though. He
figured that Karen had decided to give him such a spectacular set of
tits that people's attention would be drawn away from his face or
other parts of his figure. If so, she hadn't been subtle about it.
The arms of the catsuit terminated in integral gloves,
seamless with the sleeves and with just enough stretchiness at the
wrists to allow his hands to enter without relief zippers. Now this
suit was beginning to look like some sort of superhero costume,
complete with a row of glittering rings running from each elbow to
wrist like a fringe on gauntlets. There were a few other rings set
into the leather, strangely placed at the neck and at the top of the
small zippers at his ankles. Karen pulled the sleeves up until his
shoulders were captured, then walked behind him.
"Raise your arms over your head. Stretch for the ceiling,"
she ordered.
Chris complied, confused about why that was necessary. Then
he realized that it pulled his waist in a little, and he thought she
might feel it was necessary in order to close the zipper. He was on
the right track but hadn't realized the full extent of the features of
the suit. Not even close. He felt the two flaps within the suit
moved over to lay against his back, then felt Karen lacing the ends of
the flaps together. She started at the top, pulling firmly but not
excessively as she worked her way to the smallest point of his waist,
a few inches above where he normally considered his waist to be. That
narrowest point split the difference between his pelvic bones and his
ribcage rather than riding just above his hips. Another lace was
added at those hips, this one working upward toward the same smallest
point of his waist. Karen laced this much tighter, squeezing Chris's
stomach back and forcing some of his flesh to add to the swell at his
hips. Overall, Chris was thinking, it was pretty tight, but not
uncomfortable. Then Karen went back to the top lace and started
drawing them tighter, much tighter. What had been a snug squeeze
became an overpowering compression.
"Please, Karen, I can't breathe," he gasped.
"No more complaints. This is your last warning," she declared
without remorse. She reached for the zipper that still rested just at
the start of the cleavage of his legs and drew it up his back. Her
tight lacing had done its job and it slid past his tiny waist with
perfect snugness, celebrating every curve without dangerous tension on
the small teeth of the zipper. The path continued up to the very base
of his hairline, closing at a high leather collar that forced Chris to
hold his head carefully erect. There was a small click as the zipper
finally completed its journey.
"What was that?" Chris whispered with the little breath the
outfit allowed. "That's not a complaint, just a question."
"I locked the zipper into place," Karen explained, a gloating
grin hidden from Chris's eyes as she stood behind him. "You don't get
out until I say you do."
"That's not funny," Chris said.
Karen walked around to stand in front of him, "It's not meant
to be. Now that you're in your suit, let's get one thing straight.
You are mine for the evening. You will do whatever I say, without
complaint. If you don't comply with every one of my wishes as though
your future depended on it, I'll let you get out of that suit by
yourself. It's strong enough that you won't be able to tear it, and
I'd like to hear your explanation to anyone you ask to help you.
You're going to be beautiful, dear, also meek and agreeable. I insist
on it."
While she had been talking, she moved a full-length mirror
into position, finally turning it so that Chris could see himself.
The sight took his breath away even more than being laced into the
tight catsuit. The red and yellow and accenting white flowed across
his body with stunning excitement. Some subtle arrangement of the
colors drew the eye to his breasts and his crotch, shapes that were
dramatically, emphatically, spectacularly female. The inches that
were trimmed from his waist were returned in the artfully shaped pads
on his hips and the even larger ones at his bust to give him curves
that would make a Playboy model green with envy. His naturally slim
legs were accented by the highlights of the glossy material and lifted
by the towering heels to look like they went on forever and ever,
amen. No one looking at the shape in that suit would believe, even
accept the possibility, that the person inside was anything but a
woman, a wonderfully fit, proudly sensuous woman. He was so stunned
by the miracle he saw in the mirror that he found himself agreeing to
Karen's demand for obedience without conscious thought, with only a
nod constrained to be small by the tall collar of his catsuit
Karen's face showed her triumph, not only in his submission
but in the glorious success of her creation. She enjoyed it herself
for a moment, which had the secondary effect of allowing Chris to
enjoy it as well, then told him to follow her. He complied, stumbling
a little on his ankle-straining stilt heels, but soon remembering the
swaying hip rhythm that allowed him to put one foot directly before
the other. He moved carefully, though, his head lifted by the collar,
his torso stiffened by the hidden corset stays, his legs delicately
balanced on the tall spikes. Karen led him to her bedroom, to the
vanity table where all her cosmetics were laid out.
"You can't use my colors, but the lights on my makeup mirror
will make sure I can get the right look," she explained.
Chris sat at the invitation of her waved hand. She grasped
his chin in her hand, tilting his head to different angles and
watching the play of lights from her bright mirror. Taking a bag from
her closet, she started laying out a bewildering array of new
cosmetics. It seemed she wouldn't be using anything from her own
collection. The first item she reached for, though, was a tweezers.
Without further explanation or comment, she began to pluck at this
eyebrows. More than once Chris started to complain, to pull back, but
the confusion rampant in his mind at the impossible transformation in
his body was too overwhelming and he found himself swept along. By
the time his mind was once again able to formulate independent action,
he could see that his eyebrows had passed the point of no return and
were definitely, undeniably, feminine. It suited Karen's purpose to
leave them a bit full actually, delicately arched, carefully tapered,
but not pencil thin. Chris was small for a man, but big for a woman,
as were his features. Karen knew she had to build on those facts, not
deny them, so she would go for a strong look in her makeover, not some
dainty image that would look incongruous.
Once his eyebrows were shaped to her satisfaction, Karen
started in on foundations and concealers. The harshness of the planes
of Chris's face, attractive in a man but not feminine enough for his
role that night, disappeared beneath artistry that Chris didn't even
know was possible. He had thought that cosmetics were mostly colorful
eyeshadows and bright lipsticks. The subtlety of Karen's magic didn't
seem to make any visible difference at all, even when she had
completed with the flesh-toned cosmetics and moved to the colored
palette, but somehow his face was at once softer and more feminine.
Once again Chris was surprised by her selections when she did finally
start adding color. He expected her to use mostly blue around his
eyes that were now a brilliant royal color with the contact lenses
that Karen had talked him into wearing. Instead, she seemed to pick
every color except blue, painting a vibrant image that seemed larger
than life while at the same time making the gemlike blue of his eyes
leap into sharp, dramatic focus.
After the powdered shadow was carefully placed, Karen reached
for a small box. In it were false eyelashes, long and dark and gently
curved. She carefully positioned them, trimmed a little for the
perfect tapered shape she desired, then glued them into place. They
were heavy, full, sensuous as they caressed his eyelids. Chris found
himself batting his eyelashes at his image, beginning for the first
time to really believe he would come out of this looking like a woman,
even a pretty one. Karen didn't stop with just false eyelashes,
though. She painted a thin, but dramatically effective line along his
lashes, drawing it out past the corner of his eye to make them seem
larger and darker. Mascara, coats and coats of mascara were added to
his lower lashes, then even to his upper ones to make sure they stayed
separated and dark. His eyes were now as magically transformed as his
body had been, undeniably beautiful, just as certainly feminine.
Next Karen attacked his cheeks, blending in an array of
powdered blushes that merged at the edges imperceptibly with the tones
of the foundation she had applied, but were still subtly effective in
creating a highly contoured look to the cheekbones that were the
center of her application. A light soft dusting of colors were added
to his nose and forehead and chin as well, bringing the smooth
foundation into living, three-dimensional focus. Now the artistry of
her application of seemingly-colorless cosmetics became apparent as
the strong features of Chris's slender face receded into the more
delicate contours expected in beautiful women.
The final targets for Karen's color artistry were Chris's
lips, already a bit full from his excited panting, but now painted
into a delicately shaped bow of sensual beauty. Those lips demanded
to be kissed, demanded to be crushed by the embrace of any who saw
them. Those lips invited invasion with a desperate, panting, pouting
fullness that was at the same time empty and begging to be fulfilled.
Exactly the image that Karen had intended. Exactly.
In this day and age even conservative engineers often had an
earring and Chris had allowed Karen to pierce his left ear as part of
his earlier transformation from geek to good-looking man. Now, she
reached for an alcohol swab and the piercing gun, then for his right
earlobe.
Chris pulled back at this, but she had his earlobe captured
and in a moment a golden stud was gleaming in that ear to match the
one in his left ear. Only for a moment, though, as Karen, after
carefully sanitizing her fingers and new earrings in alcohol, pulled
the old stud and the newly set one from Chris's ears and inserted
gleaming golden hoops into each. While he was trying to absorb the
sensation of the heavy loops, Karen piled another shock on his
saturated senses as she pulled out a long, thick wig in the same deep
black of his natural hair. She quickly pulled his own hair up and out
of the way, then positioned the cap of the wig on his head, drawing a
hidden adjustment string snugly. A few pins were worked through the
cap to hold the wig securely to his own hair, then Karen squeezed a
few drops of glue periodically under the periphery. That wig wasn't
coming off without taking the skin of his forehead and most of his own
hair with it. At least, not without lots of care and a solvent for
the glue.
Finally she stood back, urging Chris to stand. He lifted
himself slowly to his feet, overcome with the multitude of hammerblows
to his self image, but pleased with the spectacular beauty of the
woman, for no one could doubt it was a woman, that looked back at him
from the mirror. The image was so perfect that it seemed wrong,
somehow, to think of himself as a man. That image wasn't a man, no
way. Karen was thinking along the same lines, even more determined
than Chris that the person wearing her clothes creation should act,
think, be feminine.
"As of this moment, you are a girl named Krystal. If we call
you Krys, you still respond as a woman. The name you hear will be
short for Krystal, not Christopher. Do you understand, Krystal."
"Yes," she answered Karen quietly.
"Yes what?" Karen demanded.
"Yes, ma'am," the demure girl responded, twirling her lustrous
hair and relishing the feel of the heavy earrings. The twirling of
her hair led to twirling of her body as she pirouetted gracefully even
in her towering heels. Krystal realized that her hair was long enough
to swish lightly on her fanny when she walked, an image that had
always been unbelievably sensuous to her. She wished that she could
feel it without the coverage of the skin-tight leather, but the visual
image was wonderful enough.
"Walk around a little and get used to your outfit," Karen
commanded. Krystal was only too happy to obey.
Karen dressed in her own outfit much more quickly than she had
transformed Krystal. Her own spectacular figure didn't need the
constraint of a corset and she had already done her makeup while the
depilatory foam had been working on Krystal's body hair. All that
remained was to comb out her shining blonde hair, not as long as
Krystal's dark tresses but cut in a fuller, wavier style. And to
dress, an evolution that itself didn't take as long as usual. Karen
pulled up dark, sheer-to-the-waist panty hose and then donned a new
dress, a strapless black leather mini-dress with a bustier top. Her
eye-capturing cleavage was emphasized more than concealed by the
lifting support of the bustier and her generous endowment threatened
to spill out at any moment, with any breath. A short leather jacket
completed her basic dress, though she added earrings and a necklace to
her ensemble. A pair of skin-tight black leather gloves, long enough
to be disappear under the sleeves of her bolero jacket added a
definite statement of power to an already-dramatic outfit. It was
clear that she was in charge of their pair, not only through her
actions, but through the strength the black leather clothes gave her.
A pair of ankle boots with heels every bit as high as those in
Krystal's catsuit lifted her back to an even height with her slave for
the evening.
For Krystal was indeed to be a slave. Karen had planned this
ever since her frustration at Professor Warren's advance had reminded
her of her previous bondage games. If Krystal enjoyed the evening,
responded to the adventure with excitement and arousal, they would
play this game again. Many times. If, on the other hand, the lurking
Chris now so well hidden within the beautiful girl in the catsuit
should fight this submission, then Karen knew she was ready to move on
to another lover. That was one of the important tests of the evening,
though it was not the only one. However, Karen didn't intend to let
her submissive in on all her plans until it was too late to back out.
"Let's go," she said, then waved at Krystal to precede her
through the door. They took Karen's car and parked near the site of
the project display room. Since it was a Fashion As Art class, it was
expected that people would be wearing the project results and would be
able to move about the room. Professor Warren had said that it would
be set up as a conversation room, with tables of refreshments, couches
and chairs, and other ordinary furniture. Each student was to provide
a card or other label with the title of their art on their project.
Professor Warren reserved to himself the final grade for the project,
but would accept advice from other artists and fashion designers that
he had invited. It would have the general feel of a cocktail party,
except for the labeled models, some of whom would probably be wearing
quite outlandish fashions.
As they stepped from the car, Karen grinned at Krystal, a
hard, dominant smile. "You never did ask me what the title of my
project was."
Krystal shook her head, then shook it again as she reveled in
the feel of the long, sensuous mass hanging down her back. She was
clearly getting into this part. The cross-dressing aspect of the
evening was a lot more interesting than she would have believed. Now
Karen was going to find out if she liked the bondage aspect as well.
"It's called, actually since you're it, you're called, "When
It Blows, All Cats Are Gray,' now, turn around," Karen ordered.
"What's that mean?" asked Krystal, though she turned dutifully
around, then "Hey, what are you doing?"
What Karen was doing was pulling Krystal's arms behind her and
running a glistening golden chain through the rings on the sleeves of
her catsuit, starting near her wrists. The chain was laced up to the
rings at her elbows, then pulled tighter, forcing her arms farther
behind her and her shoulders back. This had the additional effect of
thrusting her already-impressive tits even more dramatically forward.
Karen adjusted the tension in the laces to the level she wanted, tight
enough to be constantly uncomfortable but not acutely painful. Of
course, the discomfort would increase as time went on. She locked the
chain with a tiny, almost elegant padlock near Krystal's elbows and
then draped Krystal's long, midnight-black hair outside the laces,
where the golden chain would peek through the dark tresses. There was
no way that Krystal could reach that lock, even if she had the key.
With pressure on her shoulders, Karen then urged Krystal to
turn around again so that they were facing each other. She reached up
and took Krystal's jaw in her hand and said, "Now we're going to take
care of your voice, open wide."
"What?" Krystal struggled a little, still trusting Karen, but
very confused. However, she did open her mouth. Karen pushed a wide,
round ring into Krystal's mouth, wedging it into her teeth until they
slid into a slot running around the ring. It was clamped firmly by
her teeth, forcing Krystal to hold her mouth open as far as it would
go. She tried to bite down on the O ring but could only squeeze it a
very slight amount, and of course her pressure just wedged her teeth
even more strongly into the slot. It would take a determined squeeze
of the ring, independent of the pressure of her teeth, to deform it
enough that her teeth would slip out of the slot and the ring could be
extracted. Krystal explored the device with her tongue, feeling the
smooth, almost slick inner surface, contrasting the soft rubbery feel
of that surface with the unyielding strength of the hard edge against
which her teeth rested.
By now Krystal was nearing panic. She had let herself get in
over her head. Her arms were bound tightly, her body was transformed
by a suit that was locked onto her, and now her mouth was locked open,
vulnerable to who knew what? She thought about running away, but the
towering heels she wore would hobble her almost as effectively as
additional chains, and what would she do if she found someone? How
could she ever explain how she got into this predicament? Then Karen
made it even worse.
"Okay, now let me fit this into your O ring. It's the last
item of your costume, except for the card with the title, of course."
At first, Krystal couldn't tell what "this" was that Karen was
talking about. Krystal's head was still held erect by the tall
leather collar of her catsuit, and Karen had deliberately held "this"
too low for Krystal to see. She could feel it, though. Something was
pressed into the middle of the open ring that was forcing her jaws
wide. It pushed her tongue down and then intruded even farther into
her mouth, finally coming to a stop just as it triggered a reflex
throat spasm. Krystal felt more than heard some sort of soft click as
a feature of this new intruder engaged with the ring, locking it into
position. The intruding device was strangely shaped, a little rough.
She could feel a ridge running around it a little back from the
gently-rounded point, sort of like a knob on the end of a slightly
smaller shaft, though that shaft was large enough to fill the opening
in the O ring completely. In a flash of insight, Krystal realized
what that was filling her mouth. It was the shape of a cock, crammed
down her throat as far as she could take it and still breath. There
was a small hole through it because Krystal could draw air if she
sucked strongly. She would need to breathe primarily through her
nose, but some instinctive need for more air, energized by her panic,
caused her to suck on the cock gag in her mouth with desperate energy.
"Calm down, Krystal, while I explain my creation," Karen
directed as she hung the placard with her title around Krystal's neck.
"I call you, 'When It Blows, All Cats Are Gray' as a play on
the phrase, 'at night, all cats are gray.' Chauvinists like Professor
Warren use that expression to deride women. Their meaning is that in
the dark all women are pretty much the same, useful for sex and not
much else. I have taken that a couple of steps further. First, men
will do almost anything for a blowjob. When 'it', meaning someone,
'blows', then men don't care what the person doing the cocksucking
looks like, what they want or think or feel. In fact, they don't even
care if the person is a woman, don't want to get to know her well
enough to make sure. The 'it' in this case is a play on your
transgender situation, a man and a woman combined. If necessary to
make my point, I will expose you so that others can catch the subtlety
in my creation."
"On another level, my design for you shows you to be
spectacularly beautiful. My point is that in the right clothes, men
can have their appearance lifted to a beautiful level just as women
can. My own outfit, as a counterpoint to yours, shows that women can
be strong and dominant without losing their sensuality. We will show
those who are feminists because they are afraid or unable to be
beautiful that they are on the wrong track. Rather than deriding
female fashions for their supposed restrictions, we should be proud of
our bodies and do the best we can to showcase them. We should even be
willing to help men to achieve the same level of beauty."
"There is one more goal tonight, one that overrides all the
others. Professor Warren told me that he would give me an A and a
good recommendation if I gave him a blowjob. You're going to do it
instead. And when you're sucking on his cock, I'm going to take a
picture of him, sodomizing a bound young lady. If we meet that goal,
then I won't tell anyone there's a man lurking within you. I'll use
that picture to blackmail Professor Warren into the good grade I
deserve in this class. If he refuses, I'll reveal who you are and use
the forcible homosexual rape to get him bounced from the College."
Karen concluded her crushing plan for the evening by saying,
"Krystal, your part in all this is to do what I tell you. If I decide
it's necessary in order to get Professor Warren's attention, I'll give
you to someone so that you can suck his cock. The center piece of
your gag comes out if you undo the little clip that you can't see.
Then their cock can slide down the opening into your mouth. Your lips
can come together closely enough to caress their shafts, just not
quite enough to get fully closed. Your tongue and throat can handle
the rest. You'll need to do that until Professor Warren finally takes
the bait, then I'll get his picture. If you don't do what I require,
I'll just walk off and leave you, bound, gagged, dressed as a woman in
a locked-on outfit. No money, no ID, and no way home. When or if you
finally get home, you'll find your stuff on the doorstep and yourself
locked out. This is all or nothing. Do your best for me and I'll
keep you around, see that you're satisfied. Anything less than your
best and you're history. Do you understand?"
Krystal's shattered gaze pleaded with Karen not to go through
with this horrible plan, but Karen was unyielding. She stared Krystal
down, dominant, powerful. Finally Krystal lowered her eyes in shame,
but nodded with resignation. For all she knew, dressed as sensually
as she was, bound as thoroughly, if she tried to run away the first
man that found her might pull the plug from her mouth ring and rape
her orally anyway. At least this way, Karen would look out for her,
keep her from getting in too much trouble. She would, wouldn't she?
Krystal desperately hoped so. She submitted meekly as Karen hooked a
glistening golden chain to the ring at her collar, a chain that
matched the one binding her arms so tightly behind her. Then Karen
led off toward the site of the project display, tugging Krystal along
behind her with confident negligence.
Once in the display area, all eyes locked into the glamorous
pair. Karen was beautiful in her own right, and the dominant black
leather outfit made her shining blonde hair look like a continuous
explosion of light. But Krystal! Not only was Krystal equally
beautiful, the vibrant colors of her catsuit, the titillation of her
bondage, the strange way she kept her lips always slightly parted, all
added up to a mysteriously compelling excitement. Good art creates
emotions and the emotional impact of Karen's creation was incredible.
For a moment, in the stunned hush of the crowd, Karen felt she might
have been able to call Professor Warren's bluff and demand an A for
the course without giving him the blowjob he required or finding some
way to blackmail him. She certainly had that crowd under her spell.
But then she decided to go through with her plan. In part, because
she wanted to dominate Krystal and see if her submissive liked it.
Though no one else knew of Krystal's hidden secret, they both
found themselves comparing their appearance to the others that had
brought cross-dressed men. There were several, ranging from nearly
credible to blatantly uncaring of how good the men looked. At least
three that they noticed carried the uncreative title of "Turnabout Is
Fair Play." If Karen had been grading the presentations, she'd have
given those offerings an automatic F. They had dressed their models
in outfits that would have been unbecoming on women, and were
certainly not appropriate. An overweight woman should no more wear
tight miniskirts and open-midriff tops than these pot-bellied men.
Nor would society require her to. Requiring out-of-shape men to wear
hooker clothes was neither turnabout of society's rules, nor fair.
A few, though, had tried for something approaching Karen's
interpretation, finding an image for their men that celebrated their
potential if society's limits on clothing styles were relaxed. One
large, well-muscled man modeled a short, tight red satin skirt that
revealed as much as concealed his impressive bulge. His legs were
shaved and he wore shimmering pantyhose that made highlights dance as
the muscles rippled under his skin. It was beautiful, something that
all men should be allowed to wear without embarrassment or censure.
He wore a matching red bustier top that lifted his pectoral muscles
into a cleavage that was at once reminiscent of a woman's endowment
while simultaneously stridently masculine. Like Krystal, this model
had deeply black hair, though it was cut into a curly masculine style.
Like Krystal, this model wore glittering golden hoop earrings, setting
off the blue-black hair with dramatic emphasis. He was titled, "Be
All That You Can Be," an interesting statement that reaffirmed that
his masculine abilities were undiminished by invoking the power of the
US Army through their slogan. Karen would have given that student an
A, though she should have added appropriately strong makeup to
complete the statement.
Karen decided that this strongly-muscled man would be
Krystal's first target for the night. Tugging on her slave's leash,
Karen wandered over to the model and his student escort. It was clear
that this student, a somewhat mousy girl named Nancy Carter who was
nonetheless a teacher's pet to Professor Warren, was not controlling
her model. Her model was here as much to make his own statement as to
support her in her class project. If he was gay, he wasn't ashamed of
it, but somehow Karen didn't get that impression. He just seemed to
agree with the sentiment that men should be able to wear what they
want. Karen therefore approached the man as much as the student. Her
words could be heard by them both, but not by others.
"Hello, Nancy, who's your model?" Karen began.
"Um . . this is Brad Madison. His mother and my mother are
friends."
"My name is Karen Ashley. You two have done a good job."
Karen said it to them both, but her eyes were only for Madison.
"Thanks," Nancy replied. "Um . . I don't think I understand
the title of your project. By the way, what's her real name and why
is she holding her mouth open like that?"
"Do you understand, Brad?" Karen challenged, ignoring the rest
of Nancy's comment.
"When It Blows, All Cats Are Gray," he read. "Does it blow?"
Karen's grin congratulated him, "Got it in one."
Nancy gasped. Brad grinned. Krystal's eyes widened in panic.
Altogether an extremely satisfying reaction thought Karen.
"Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere a little more
private," Brad offered. He took Karen's arm and they strolled out
onto a tree-lined garden area. Krystal followed, of course, bound by
her leash. Nancy followed as well, too confused to know what else to
do.
"What is your name?" Nancy asked Krystal, unaware that she was
gagged.
Karen answered negligently over her shoulder, "She is Krystal.
She doesn't have much to say, tonight. That's part of the artistic
statement."
That comment confused Nancy more than it explained anything to
her. Krystal just trailed along in agonizing embarrassment, sure that
she knew what Karen had in mind. When they reached a private spot,
out of sight of any other attendees, Karen proved she was right.
She pushed Krystal to her knees, then reached into her purse
and extracted a small padlock. Karen clipped this to the two rings at
Krystal's ankles, locking her legs together, though her knees could
spread enough for a stable base. Then Karen handed Krystal's leash to
Brad and took Nancy's arm.
"Nancy, let's you and I go get something to drink. Brad,
you'll find a small clip that will release a part of what is keeping
Krystal so quiet. We'll be back in a little while."
Strolling like life-long friends, though Karen's control of
Nancy's arm was unyielding, they walked off and left Krystal kneeling
at Brad's feet. Brad looked down at the gorgeous creature bound
before him. He lifted her chin even higher than the tall collar of
her suit forced her to hold it, and examined the plug in her mouth.
There was an obvious sort of latch holding a portion in place, so he
released the latch and pulled out the center portion of Krystal's gag.
Krystal gasped in as much air as the tight corset allowed her.
She had been sucking on the plug since it had been put in her mouth,
thinking that her shortage of air was due to its obstruction. In
face, her nose had provided as much air as the corset would allow her
to have anyway. She sagged in her bonds with false relief, false
because her ordeal was just beginning.
Brad examined the plug and bragged, "Hmm, not too bad on
diameter, but a little short, don't you think?"
He pulled his red skirt up above his hips, then pulled his
pantyhose down to reveal a thick, hard cock every bit as large as his
bulge had promised. Krystal stared at it in cross-eyed fascination as
the tip waved just before her nose. Her distended jaw offered no
defense as Brad slowly moved his hips forward, pressing the tip of his
cock past her partially-open lips. Krystal tried to widen her lips
even further, to avoid any touch of his member, but it was so large
that all her efforts accomplished was to soften the pressure of her
lips to a gentle caress rather than a stiff orifice. A desperate
scream, a call that was meant to be, "NO!" but came out only as, "Oh!"
passed through the open portion of her mouth ring. Brad took this as
a sign of how impressed Krystal was with his size, and bragged
further.
"Oh, baby, that's right. You love my monster here. You want
it don't you?"
Krystal tried again to deny it, but the new intruder that
gagged her mouth was as effective at limiting sound as the old one had
been. She tried to shake her head in negation, but Brad's tool had
already penetrated far enough to lock her head forward. She tried to
force it back with her tongue, but the head of the invader had already
passed the end of her tongue and all her pressure did was squeeze him
even harder.
The sensation of passing not just one set of soft lips, but a
second soft squeeze at the ring protecting his cock from Krystal's
teeth was unique in Brad's experience. He had heard about these O
ring things, but never come across one, let alone someone willing to
wear one. Of course, Krystal might not have been all that willing.
It was clear that she was under Karen's control. He pressed his cock
deeper into her mouth, enjoying the sensations, and the power.
Krystal's tongue pressed against the bottom of his shaft, and he felt
the very tip reach the back of her throat. The helpless receptacle
before him spasmed with an uncontrollable reflex rejection of his
stiff invader. He smiled at the thought of pushing even further, but
he was a bit afraid that Krystal might vomit if that reflex was
triggered too hard, too fast. So he withdrew until he felt the gentle
squeeze of the O ring behind the head of his dick, then pressed
forward again.
In the main room of the project display area Karen and Nancy
had gotten their drinks. Nancy kept glancing back at the doorway to
the garden, but Karen had her arm firmly under control and was
steering her around the room. Finally, Nancy just had to ask some
questions, though her meek personality found it extremely hard to meet
the strength of the gorgeous blonde walking with her.
"Um . . what do you think they're doing out there?" she asked.
Karen laughed, "What do YOU think they're doing?"
"I don't know. I didn't understand everything you and Brad
were saying. Why are Krystal's arms tied? And why did you lock her
ankles together? And what were you telling Brad about why she's so
quiet?"
As before, Karen answered the questions she felt like
answering and blandly ignored the rest. "Krystal does what I want her
to do. I expect she's doing it now. Shall we go watch?"
The flaming blush that leapt into Nancy's cheeks provoked
another cool chuckle from Karen, who was already guiding them out
through the doorway to the garden, though down another path than the
one they had taken previously. She led them until they could look
through some bushes at Krystal and Brad. Their vantage point was
somewhat behind Krystal, far enough to the side to see that she had
engulfed Brad's shaft with her lips, but not enough to see her eyes or
the front of her collar.
What they saw was Krystal throwing herself forward
enthusiastically to take as much of Brad's cock as possible down her
throat. She would lunge at his crotch, then lean back, then lunge
forward again. It was a incredibly erotic display of desire, a bound
woman trying desperately to take a man's dick as deeply as she could,
as rapidly, as energetically, as wantonly as she could. What they
couldn't see was that the enthusiasm was Brad's not Krystal's. He had
run the chain from her collar between his legs and was yanking her
forward onto his cock with sharp jerks on her leash. He would relax
the tension and Krystal would struggle back, only to be yanked forward
again. Her initial reaction had been anything but enthusiasm, in
fact. So much so that Brad had decided to take matters into his own
hands, so to speak. He had warned her that he would get his
satisfaction, whether she wanted him to or not. If she was passive,
he would probe ever deeper to find the tight, moist stimulation he
needed. On the other hand, if she did her part, sucking hard and
using her tongue with energy, well then, he would be finished that
much the sooner and it would really be easier on her. It was
difficult for Krystal to make the mental adjustment necessary to
participate willingly in her oral rape, but in the end it didn't
matter. Brad's rhythmic tension on the chain was forcing his shaft so
far down her throat that he was getting the stimulation he wanted. He
was way past any consideration for her or her actions, completely
consumed in his own pleasure.
"Oh, yeah, baby, that's it. Squeeze that cock. Suck me
hard."
He stopped his yanking on her chain and just grabbed a handful
of hair on each side of Krystal's head. When Karen saw this she was
worried for a moment, concerned that Brad might yank off Krystal's
wig. But that worry proved unfounded. Either his motion was gentler
than it looked, or they had fastened the wig on tightly enough that it
didn't matter. Brad held Krystal's dark head motionless as he began
to ram his dick into her mouth, fucking her face. Nancy saw that
brutal, powerful motion and was horrified. Then she was just plain
scared as she saw the look on Karen's face. There was not the
faintest hint of horror on the blonde's face, nor in any body language
so fluently displayed in the powerful black leather. Instead, Karen
showed interest, respect, even building excitement. Nancy wanted to
turn and run, but her horrified fascination drew her eyes back to the
joined pair.
With a rapidly accelerating series of strokes, Brad erupted
into Krystal's mouth. Her throat continued to spasm with every
plunging invasion by Brad's tool, but the thick cream that filled her
mouth triggered yet another reflex, transforming her gagging rejection
into a gulping swallow. Though she tried to reject his intrusion with
pushes of her tongue that were the only motions she could make in her
mouth, those muscle commands just triggered further swallows, again
and again, until Brad's cream was absorbed, then milked to the last
drop. Finally Brad completed his ramming sodomy and withdrew from her
dark red lips.
"Not bad, baby. You need a little practice, but not bad, not
bad at all," he gloated, knowing that his praise was a further insult
to his temporary captive.
"That's our cue," Karen grinned, then pulled Nancy with her to
the path that Brad and Krystal occupied.
"May I have Krystal's plug back please?" she asked with hollow
politeness.
"Certainly," Brad replied with equally false manners. He
handed her the center portion to Krystal's gag and Karen quickly
inserted it, pushing it home before Krystal's shocked senses could put
up any visible resistance. Nancy had caught just a glimpse of the
cruel ring distending Krystal's jaws, but she had seen the cock-shaped
plug very clearly and now knew what was keeping Krystal quiet.
Karen reached down and unlocked Krystal's ankles, pulling her
to her feet. The blonde dominant's grin showed fierce pleasure as she
teased her bound companion.
"My dear Krystal, you simply must take better care of your
appearance. Why, your lipstick is almost all gone, and what's this on
your chin?"
Krystal stood in embarrassed silence as Karen fussed over her
with ostentatious care that sharply emphasized the dark-haired
captive's absolute helplessness and total dependence. Karen dabbed
with a tissue at the gleaming drops of Brad's cream that speckled
Krystal's chin, then pulled a lipstick tube from her purse.
"You're lucky I brought some of your lipstick with me," she
chided Krystal. "You don't even seem to have kept track of your
purse. Now, pucker up."
Of course Krystal never had a purse, her bound arms prevented
her from controlling any aspect of her own destiny that evening. She
tried to pucker her lips as well as the wide-open pressure of the gag
would allow, then Karen applied a thick coating of the darkly-gleaming
red lipstick to Krystal's puffy lips. In another wicked dig at
Krystal's helplessness, Karen took a tissue and held it up near
Krystal's open lips, saying, "Now blot off the excess. Oh, you poor
dear, of course you can't. Well, you'll just have to hope your next
admirer likes your lips so slick and creamy. Now, why don't we go
back into the main room and see who can be the next one to figure out
your riddle?"
At this suggestion that was in fact an order, Krystal's eyes
widened then took on a pleading desperation. She shook her head in
negation as sharply as the high collar would allow, sending elegant
ripples down through her tumbling black tresses. Karen looked at her
with narrowed eyes, but turned to the other couple without saying
anything to Krystal.
Brad had pushed his shrunken cock back inside his pantyhose,
then lowered his short red skirt back into position. The satiny
material was wrinkled where he had scrunched it, and the hard bulge
that had been an strident part of his previous artistic statement was
gone, now soft and small. Karen noticed this reduction in the
effectivenss of Nancy's project and pointed it out with another
teasing show of false concern.
"Why Nancy, your model's clothes aren't hanging very well
right now, and he seems to have lost some of the form of your
composition. It's a good thing this isn't a competition since your
statement doesn't seem to have held up very well. Don't worry, I'm
sure Professor Warren will still give you the grade you deserve."
Nancy was worried of course, especially since Karen had
pointed out the lessened impact of her project, but that was part of
Karen's plan. She wanted Nancy to feel a need to approach Professor
Warren with enough of a story to get his interest pointed toward
Krystal, and to Karen.
In response to a tug on her leash, Krystal followed Karen back
into the main room, the towering heels she wore forcing her hips to
orbit with provocative energy. As they approached the door, Karen
leaned close to Krystal's ear and hissed with harsh command, "Krystal,
dear, I don't like it when you try and say no to me. When I ask you
if you want to do something, you will always indicate that you do. Do
you understand?"
Krystal nodded her head, but the look of despair never left
her eyes, a despair that Karen had misinterpreted. Krystal was too
well bound even to explain that her despair was not caused by the fear
of another oral rape, but by recognition within herself of a desire
for it. She had felt herself respond with craving, not loathing, to
the helplessness, to the constant ache from her strict bondage, to the
taste and the texture and the pressure of a cock in her mouth. Her
body, her heart, her mind, every particle of her being was responding
with unimaginable thrill to being a woman, to being a captive, to
being a sex toy. Deep inside her where Chris Stevenson still lurked,
there was shock and horror at the excitement she felt and that
surfaced in the pain in her eyes, but there would have been even more
pain, even more despair if Karen had relented from her path for the
evening and taken them home.
She followed her beautiful mistress with sensual grace,
balancing easily on the high heels, relishing the tight bondage and
the exaggerated effect it had on her swaying motion. By the time they
were back in the main room her look of despair had been buried beneath
sparkling interest. She moved closer to Karen, trying to see what her
blonde dominatrix had in mind for her next. Karen was scanning the
crowd for Professor Warren. She would wait for him to approach her,
but she wanted to be ready when he did. The professor knew she was
there, of course. An assistant had taken her registration
information, but she had seen the professor at the table reviewing the
data. She had also seen his eyes on them, seemingly casual, but sharp
with interest. As soon as it was clear that the professor wasn't
headed their way immediately, Karen started working the crowd for the
next lucky man to figure out Krystal's riddle. She never gave them
any further clues than the title and those inherent in Krystal's
perpetually open lips, and most didn't have the imagination to figure
it out, but after a while she had a winner and was passing out into
the garden again.
Once again Karen forced Krystal to her knees, then locked her
ankles together. Even if Krystal could somehow manage to get up onto
her towering heels with her ankles locked together and her arms
useless for balance, once standing all she would be able to do was hop
on her stiletto spikes, a hopeless method of movement that would
surely result in a crashing fall. Once again her leash was passed to
the grinning man who had solved her riddle. Karen retreated into the
gloom as the man extracted the thick plug from the ring locked into
Krystal's teeth, and watched as the shapely brunette was used by yet
another man. He wasn't quite as creative as Brad had been, dispensing
with the leash and just grabbing Krystal's hair for control. He
rammed into her mouth so fast and so deep that Krystal couldn't have
aided his pleasure if she wanted to, and to her deeply-buried horror
she found that she did want to. In a few minutes he was through,
casually releasing her and stepping back to clean himself up on his
handkerchief. Krystal knelt quietly, waiting for the return of her
cock-shaped gag plug. The newest sodomizer was getting ready to place
it into the wide O ring when Karen walked up.
"I'll take care of that," the blonde offered, then inserted it
with a little less force than she had used before. She unlocked
Krystal's ankles and helped the bound girl to her feet, then once
again cleaned her face and replenished her makeup.
As the man walked, actually swaggered, back into the main
room, Karen spoke to Krystal with a little less cruelty in her eyes
and in her tone, "Sorry, love, that one was more animal than I
expected. I'll try to find you one that is a little more interesting
next time."
They continued their evening's adventure with another foray
into the main area. This time Karen saw Nancy Carter talking with
Professor Warren when they reached the room. They might have been
talking casually about Nancy's project, but the glances they both cast
at Karen and her captive showed that the leather-clad pair was at
least a part of the subject of their conversation. Krystal was
displayed to additional party-goers until another winner was found,
and another trip made to the dark gardens. When they returned this
time, Karen found Professor Warren casually waiting near the doorway.
"So, Karen, you have an interesting concept," he said
casually. "The outfit is quite attractive. I appreciate the use of
bright colors, and your pattern draws the eye quite effectively
without being heavy-handed. Of course, not everyone here had such a
beautiful, and shapely, model to use. It's an excellent touch to put
her in bondage. A model as sensuous as yours could be intimidating,
but her helplessness makes her at once someone to be dominated and to
be protected. Good Art. I am surprised that such a pretty girl would
consent to such strict bondage. It must be uncomfortable."
Karen nodded, a superior smile her only indication that there
were depths to her creation beyond even those the professor had
noticed, or understood.
"The title, now, that is a bit unusual," continued Professor
Warren, as though that were the only thing really unusual about her
spectacular project. "I suppose there are meant to be meanings at
multiple levels?"
Professor Warren stopped at that point and looked at Karen.
His smug smile was met by calm confidence in eyes such a startling
royal blue that they looked as artificial as Krystal's really were.
This was a critical point in Karen's plan. She was determined to gain
mastery over the arrogant academic. He was waiting for her to fill
the void left behind his comments with explanation that would be her
plea for a good grade. That would establish his superiority in the
relationship as her need for a grade was shown to be greater than his
need for sexual pleasure. If, on the other hand, she outwaited him,
then her dominance would be shown. However, Karen faced the risk that
Professor Warren would just turn away with some dismissive comment.
If he did, she would lose her grade, her recommendation, her battle of
wills, everything. She stood quietly, though, the strength of her
silence that challenged the professor to make his own interpretation
of the title of her project was shown in an arched eyebrow, a superior
smile, an almost imperceptible hardening of her gaze.
Karen won her challenge. Professor Warren couldn't just turn
away from the vision in fire, the bound vision that he knew from his
secondhand inquiries was helplessly performing blowjobs to any who
could solve the riddle of her title.
"Let's see," he mused as though he were brilliantly solving a
puzzle, though the answer had been handed to him already. "When It
Blows, All Cats Are Gray. Since she's wearing a catsuit she would
seem to be the subject, yet her suit is vibrantly colored, not at all
gray. Your title must imply a change might occur. Yet, your title is
not 'IF' it blows, but 'WHEN'. That must imply that the lady does
indeed blow under the right circumstances. Tell me, am I on the right
track so far?"
Karen nodded slightly, maintaining the strength of her
silence. Since Professor Warren had solved the portion of the puzzle
that others had solved, or at least pretended to solve it, Karen
turned without a word and moved back into the garden. Krystal trailed
behind her, the golden chain that held her arms glinting through her
midnight mane, the sky-high heels more excuse than cause for the
sensuous wiggle of her shapely hips. Professor Warren was totally
captivated by the beautiful brunette, so helplessly bound, so
blatantly erotic.
In the garden, on a path that Karen had carefully selected for
privacy more apparent than real, Krystal was once again forced to her
knees. The small lock clicked sharply as her ankles were bound as
securely as her arms. Karen had still not said a word to the
professor, letting him think his conclusions were correct and
complete. She handed him Krystal's golden leash and walked away
without looking back.
"So my pretty flame," gloated Professor Warren, "Karen chose
wisely in dressing you in such HOT clothes. You are more beautiful
than any woman I have ever seen, and more erotic in your bondage and
towering heels. I may give her the grade she desires just for letting
me have you, without requiring service from her personally."
As he spoke, he was fumbling with the latch to the plug in
Krystal's gag. In a moment, he had it loose, drawing it from the
surrounding ring with first interest, then amazement. A momentary
envy, or embarrassment, or both showed in the professor's eyes as he
realized that his own member was not even as large as the one that
Krystal had been sucking on all night. He wouldn't even fill up the
ring that spread her jaws so dramatically. Still, no one would know
but this gorgeous creature who was totally under his control, and she
obviously wouldn't be telling anyone anything, at least not
immediately.
He drew his own inadequate tool from his pants and presented
to to Krystal's eyes. It was impossible for her to sneer, of course,
with her jaw forced open as far as it would go. But a bit of
something showed in her eyes. Relief that it was so small?
Disappointment? Probably Krystal herself didn't know.
Professor Warren moved forward to feed his quivering penis
past Krystal's glossy red lips. She let them close lightly about it,
about all the pressure she could get with her mouth so wide, and then
he moved in further. She waited passively for him to push into her
throat. And waited, as his small tool hardly reached as far as the
gag she had grown to enjoy. Professor Warren felt the moistness of
her tongue, the pressure of her lips, just a touch from the wide mouth
ring blocking Krystal's teeth, and was thrilled by the sensation of
power that it gave him. He lusted after power as an addict lusts for
his drug, and to have such a beautiful woman completely under his
power was almost enough to make him come, even without physical
stimulation.
The bright flash of light caught him completely by surprise,
then another and another and another in rapid succession. He blinked
his eyes, looking around for the source of the flashes but his dazzled
eyes saw only shadows. Then Karen stepped from those shadows, holding
a camera in her black leather gloves.
She said her first words to him that night, while his penis
was still in Krystal's mouth, "Professor Warren, we have some things
to talk about."
"What? . . Huh? . . . What's going on?" he stammered as he
tried to get his exposed dick packed away into his pants.
"Let me explain the title of my project, Professor," continued
Karen. "Arrogant chauvinists like you make it clear that you think
women are good only for sex. Since it relieves you of the duty to
have a hard dick, you especially like oral sex, fellatio, so that the
woman can do all the work. When offered the chance for a blowjob, you
don't even care what the woman looks like. A fiery costume, a
gorgeous body, a pretty face, flowing long hair, none of this matters
to you. Krystal might as well have been ugly and dressed in gray.
You didn't even care whether she wanted to do this. You never asked
her. In fact, you left her in obviously uncomfortable bondage. My
photos of you show you forcibly sodomizing a helpless girl. You'll go
to jail, Professor."
"That's not true," he stammered, "you're the one that bound
her. You gave her to me."
"Slavery is illegal, Professor. You became a criminal by not
freeing her immediately. Besides, two wrongs don't make a right. Or
is it four, Krystal? Well, three and a half considering the
Professor's tiny dick."
"This is entrapment. Any man would have taken advantage of
your offer. This girl is so beautiful that she'd tempt a saint," he
argued.
"Well, you're hardly a saint, Professor. However, you're not
giving me enough credit for my part in this creation. Would you agree
that it is part of good fashion design to create the illusion of
greater beauty than really exists?"
"Of course," he snorted.
"Then here is my offer. By your own admission I have created
great beauty here. My fashion ability is excellent and I deserve an
excellent grade. By your own actions you show that I have made a
powerful, even compelling artistic statement. Men will use women for
oral sex, regardless of their wishes. You're going to give me my A
for the course, and the most laudatory letter you can write as a
recommendation to the fashion design houses. Or else, I'll spread
these photos around and Krystal can press charges for rape. Your
choice."
"Some creation of beauty," sneered Professor Warren when it
looked like he might have a way out of this. He knew he'd give Karen
her A for the course, and her letter. She actually deserved them.
But he wanted to gain a little personal authority back by denigrating
her achievement. "Start with the most beautiful girl around and
anyone can make her look beautiful. Not much challenge there."
Now it was Karen's turn to gloat, "Ah, of course you're right.
However, Krystal was not a beautiful woman when we started. In fact,
she was not a woman at all. Under my artistry is a man. Right,
Krystal?"
Krystal's mouth was still held open by the wide O ring, though
the center plug was removed. She couldn't really talk, but she nodded
her head as much as the tall collar of her suit allowed and managed a
feeble, ". . ethth," through her distended mouth. It came out in the
masculine tones of her voice, though, which was all the proof that
Karen required.
Professor Warren recoiled back in shock, wanting desperately
to disbelieve. Nothing Karen could have claimed would have been
convincing, no words Krystal could have uttered would have been
compelling, but that masculine voice was so incredibly incongruous
coming from that beautiful face and gorgeous body that the very
impossibility of it made it undeniably certain. The professor was
arrogantly sure of his own brilliance, sure that his blackmailing
harassment of students was only an excuse for them to do what they
wanted to do anyway, above all sure of his own sexual orientation. To
be attracted to, even lusting after a man, however dressed, was a
massive assault on his own self image. He staggered back to lean
against a nearby tree.
However, the professor was actually good at recognizing
artistic talent, good at helping students apply their talents to
fashion. He knew genius when it was revealed to him, all the more
remarkable when it had to be revealed to him, when he couldn't see
through to the core of the statement and the skill on his own. His
monstrous ego began to reassert itself almost immediately and he
started to rationalize his capitulation to the power Karen now held
over him by telling himself that art so compelling should be rewarded.
"Very well, Miss Ashley," he said, formal again in an attempt
to regain the authority of a teacher over a student. "You'll get your
A for the course, you deserve it. I'll also write you a letter that
should get you in the door at any high-fashion house in the country.
If you'll give me that camera, we'll forget this little incident ever
happened."
Karen laughed in his face, "Not a chance, Professor. I'm
keeping this film for evidence. I don't know what that statute of
limitations is on forcible rape in this state, but I'll bet it's a
pretty long time. You'll give me that A all right, and a good letter.
But I'm also going to be checking in with students in your classes in
the future. If you ever try harassing a co-ed again, you're history.
Do I make myself clear?"
Professor Warren's bluff collapsed like a popped balloon. His
shoulders slumped and his eyes suddenly found his shoes to be the most
compelling sight in the garden. He nodded silently, then started back
into the main room. Karen's low chuckle hastened him on his way, then
her question stopped him in his tracks.
"Pardon me, Professor, but unless you have need of that plug,
could I have it back?"
The cowed academic was clutching the cock-shaped plug to
Krystal's gag in his hand, totally forgotten amidst the shocks that
had been delivered to him. He realized it looked like he was fondling
a man's penis and he wanted to throw the devilish device away, but
Karen's arched eyebrow and waiting hand was even more compelling than
his embarrassment. He gave it to her and then hurried away before she
hit him with yet another humiliation.
Karen turned to the still-kneeling Krystal and said, "Sorry,
dear, but for reasons I'll explain later I still intend to leave you
gagged for a while. Without the center plug you'll just drool all
over yourself, so in it goes."
It was almost hard to determine if Krystal sagged when Karen
made this announcement. The bound brunette's arms were held back so
severely that her shoulders were almost rigid and the collar and
corset of her catsuit held her upper body in perfect posture. Only
her pleading eyes indicated any noticeable emotion, and Karen
misinterpreted that.
The blonde dominatrix placed the cock plug back in the wide O
ring and then unlocked Krystal's ankles. Karen helped the bound girl
to her feet and performed her usual ritual of repairing makeup, then
escorted her back into the display area. Professor Warren was back on
stride, surrounded by an array of admirers or sycophants. However,
Karen's grin widened even further when she saw him quickly look away
rather than take the chance of making eye contact with her. She
shepherded Krystal to the exit and then to the car. In a few minutes,
they were back at their apartment.
"Krystal, I'm sure your arms are tired. But it will be a few
more minutes yet before I release you. Be patient, dear. But then,
you don't have any choice do you?" giggled Karen. She pushed Krystal
once again to her knees and locked her ankles together. Then Karen
disappeared into her bedroom. In the promised few minutes she
reappeared, now dressed in her martial arts outfit, black belt
prominently visible around her trim waist.
She stepped in front of Krystal and said, "Okay, love, you
have a choice to make. In a moment I'll release you. You might
choose to come up fighting mad. If you think you can out-dance me
while you're wearing stilt heels and I'm in my gi, then give it a try.
I'm better than you even when we're both dressed for fighting. I'll
beat the crap out of you and when you wake up, you'll be on the front
step with all of your stuff around you and the door locked behind you.
Maybe I'll leave you the key to the zipper on your suit, and maybe I
won't.
"Your second option is not to be angry about tonight. After
all, you did promise to do whatever I asked. However, you might not
have liked it and not want to do it ever again. Well, I enjoyed it
immensely and will insist we do it again, if you stay in my life. If
you can't live with that, then I'll help you from your outfit, help
you pack, and give you a week to find a new place to stay. We'll part
with no hard feelings, but our life together will be over."
"It may be, though, that you enjoyed tonight. Oh, I know your
arms must be aching from the tight bondage and it would be too intense
to do all the time. But I have lots of ideas for beautiful ways to
dress Krystal, not all of which involve bondage and submission. Some
of my ideas involve very strict bondage, but I'm not into pain,
nothing worse than the discomfort you feel right now. If you think
that would be exciting, I can promise you a life more interesting than
any you would achieve on your own."
With those last words, Karen stepped behind Krystal and undid
her ankles, then the lock holding the golden chain that bound her
arms. Krystal shrugged her shoulders to loosen the chain, struggling
to get it slid down to her wrists so that she could move her arms.
While she was doing this Karen stepped in front of the kneeling
brunette again and moved back far enough to set herself in a balanced
fighting stance. In a few minutes, Krystal had the chain through the
links in her catsuit and was stretching her arms and shoulders. Just
for a second, though, because as soon as her arms were unkinked, she
moved her hands to her mouth and removed first the core plug to her
gag, and then compressed the mouth O ring. She carefully brought it
out past her teeth and examined it with curiosity before setting it
aside as well.
Krystal swayed to her feet with a motion much more sensuous
than her suit and heels required. She smiled at her blonde captor and
said, "Next time, you need to give me a break every now and then on
that mouth ring. I won't be able to kiss you properly for at least a
week."
Then she grinned, moved gracefully forward to the woman who
had opened a whole new life to her, and proved the lie of her
statement with the deepest, hottest, most sensual kiss they had ever
shared, the first of many to come.