Been a Fairly Busy Week - Huh?

Must admit to being pleased.  I did get another episode from Kammi but she seems to be having problems with the authorization from the blog.  Maybe a slight hold up - but we'll get it fixed.   Then two (actually TWO) from Sissy Mindy.  Be STILL my heart!

I live in SoCal not far from San Diego - so am well used to sunshine.  Hasn't been that way since yesterday - Raining pretty steadily at times - then absolutely POURING at others.

I'm not Irish - Scottish - so don't celebrate St.  Patricks day - but love Corned beef and cabbage.  My wife bought some this week - and it was then that we realized that St.  Pat's day was coming up.  Started to invite friends for dinner - but it was too late, they were all buggering off somewhere.  All I can say is that it served them bloody right!  Driving through miserable rain - while I made absolutely the best boiled dinner I ever made!  Corned beef, cabbage, carrot, potato and onion.  HAH!

But here's my serial for the week - and, naturally, some of Rosie's 'Bits'.

Start of Part 3

I thought for a second. "But all guys don't consider themselves jocks - surely?"

"True." She agreed.  "But take Rose for example.  She has a fantastic IQ – way up there at the genius level.  Have some subbie who thinks he's brainy?  She'll bring him down to earth quickly enough."

"Subbie? Mean what I think it does?" I asked.

"Probably.  An affectionate term for a submissive.  I just love the little dears when they've finally accepted their proper station in life.  They're SO cute!"

I felt an internal shudder pass through me.  The conversation had taken a turn that made me decidedly uneasy, so I changed the subject fairly quickly.  In doing so, I caught her giving me a quick appraising glance, but thought I might be mistaken.

She surprised me by paying for lunch "You're the client!" she said.  "Can't be too used to our silly currency yet, are you?" 

Actually, I hadn't used the currency too much, relying on my credit card mostly and, anyway, it was a pleasant feeling to have a woman – an attractive woman at that – buy lunch for me.  I felt a little strange when she pulled my chair out for me as we left the table, but again I felt flattered by her attentions. My feeling of 'wrongness' was livened again when she opened the car door for me, let me get seated, then closed the door.  She dropped me off at the hotel door, then took off.

I'd given her the keys to the house, because she wanted to get the girls all settled and the house cleaned properly before me and the boss were scheduled to move in – scheduled for the following week.

When we finally drove up the driveway, even the boss noticed the changes.  "Ray?  Did you hire gardeners as well?  Place looks good – REAL good!"

I had noticed the fantastic improvement in the grounds myself, but had no idea of what had actually happened. (Samantha's organization had literally pulled in every transvestite submissive in the area – and put them to work – HARD labor – to make the place beautiful.).  Naturally, I had to pretend that I knew all about the change.  "Hey Mr. One?  When I put an organization together?  They're GOOD! – They'd BETTER be!"

He gave me a look, with just a hint of sarcasm in it – but when Angie and the other girls lined up to greet us, I could have sworn that his eyes popped.  God! Did they look beautiful!  I even heard him mutter "Jesus!" under his breath.  And?  When they were curtseying to him as he was introduced I could see his face redden with pleasure. 

But that was NOTHING to his face when he saw the inside!  I'd thought that Samantha's headquarters were clean.  They looked like a slum, in comparison!   Even I gawked at the 'GLEAM' of the place once we had made our way indoors.  It was incredible!  Bright vases of flowers – real ones, honest to god!  Furniture with about five layers of hand rubbed polish.  Chandeliers that practically hurt the eyes – WITHOUT the lights being on!"

My boss put his arm around my shoulder. "Ray? Gotta admit it.  Wasn't too happy when the organization made me take you on – but if this is how you take care of business? You might get a permanent place in MY family!  I don't take much notice of how a house looks – that's a woman's thing!  But I remember how this place looked when you brought me down to se it, and you deserve ALL the credit!"

He wasn't quiet with his compliment and I know that everybody within earshot heard him.  Nobody reacted in any noticeable way – but I saw the ice form in Angela's eyes for a second – before it disappeared, melted by a genuine (at least it looked genuine) smile.  She bowed to the boss.  "Why, thank you sir.  Yes, Mr. Capp is a hard taskmaster.  On top of us all the time – making sure that it would be perfect for you and your guests"

"I'd like to get on top of them," Mr. One sniggered into my ear.  "Funny? You don't look all shagged out!"

But it wasn't much more than a few days when I could see that he was beginning to look tired out.  The girls really went to work on him.  In actuality I was tired out as well, because I had more sex than I was accustomed to – with all of the girls except Angela.  It got to be a habit, that we'd have dinner – usually a marvelous meal – then a couple of drinks.  Angela would bid us all goodnight (giving the impression that she didn't know what was going on) then an hour or so later, here come the girls!  We'd pair up for the night, do some heavy petting on the couches – sometimes more than that – then off to bed, for more 'coupling'.  In my case, the girl who accompanied me, stayed – for appearances sake in case Mr. One paid a visit – but it was mostly just for sleep.

On the other hand, the remaining two girls would turn their attentions on him – and sleep didn't enter the picture much.  He started coming down later and later each morning, which gave Angela a chance to have private conversations with me.  One morning she nodded her head. "Your boss IS a tough little bugger," she said. "But I think he's ready to be taken."

"Exhausted, huh?" I asked, smiling.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, he's a rabbit in bed from what I hear.  Can really take it." She smiled admiringly.  "And hand it out too!"

"But you're sure he's ready?"

"Oh yes.  But There's a few things."

"What's that?"

"I'd like to bring the other girls into the picture.  With your permission, I'll have them down here tomorrow."

"Why?  Isn't that a bit early?" I asked.

"Can I answer that in a moment?" she asked.

I nodded.

"The next thing.  If you can, can you leave the house for a week or so?"

I pondered.  "He's been hinting that he wants me to take a trip back to the States.  Liaise with all the family heads – I mean executives – and set up the meeting."

She looked at me, surprised.  "You can't just pick up a phone?"

I shook my head.  "We use nothing but encrypted computers and phone lines when we talk business.  But this meeting is so goddamned secret we can't use them.  The Feds are getting too good with tapping all lines of communications and – this meeting?  Most important get together of the organization in years.  Mr. One hasn't even told ME when it's going to be yet.  On top of that? Nobody that's coming is going to be bringing any bodyguards or advisors with them.  We're leasing a plane.  They'll all travel at the same time on it – no exceptions.  When they get to England, they'll be all brought here in limos – they won't have a clue as to where they are.

"So nobody can pull off any double-crosses?"

"You got that right, sister!" I laughed.

"But?  That still leaves the question unanswered." She said. "Can you get away for about a week or so?"

"Yes.  I think so.  But you still haven't answered mine." I said. "How come you want to bring the other girls down?"

"Well, what we're going to do is swamp the house with femininity. That's also the reason we want you out of here.  It's going to be that much more difficult to make him over if there's another man around."

That made sense.  I was still doubtful, thinking that, after all the talk, it was still taking longer and requiring more firepower than I'd been led to believe.  But I decided to leave it to the experts – after all, if they failed?  Who was to know that I'd been involved?  I giggled at the thought of seeing Mr. One dressed as a broad.  "You really going to do this?"  I asked.

She shrugged. "Absolutely.  No doubt about it.  Trust me!"

I flew into New York a few days later.  The feds didn't try to hide their presence, but I didn't care. My hands were clean, no rap sheet – not even an unpaid traffic ticket on my record (One of the reasons I'd been chosen as the boss's assistant) so they couldn't haul me off the street for any trumped up reason.

I went and visited The Don, then the other heads individually.  No telephone messages, only verbal instructions – always in Turkish baths, always everyone stripped.  Naturally, the Don had to approve everything first, but he was the one who had given the responsibility to Mr.  One, and he was very happy with how the whole job had been handled.  He looked at me, ice cold gray eyes.  "Your Capo?  Mr. One?  He seems very pleased with you.  He wasn't keen when I suggested you, but seems happy enough now.  Good job kid!"

I tried to act tough about it, but blushed with pleasure at the compliment.  Wait until he heard MY ideas for improving the organization! I thought, exhilarated.

The others weren't as kind.  To them, I was nothing more than a glorified errand boy, and they treated me with disdain, just slightly glossed over with false bonhomie.  Most of them were glad enough to finally get news of this meaning – they had been waiting for word on it for a long, long time.  They weren't overly keen on going to England, but knew  the dangers of trying to hold a meeting in the States.  None of them had been involved with the roust in Appalachia back in the fifties, but the knowledge that all of the law enforcement agencies still laughed at how those old clowns had been forced to run through the woods like a bunch of panicked chickens, still rankled.

The Don and Mr. One, both operated out of New York.  Luckily  Mr. Asti the head of the California/Nevada family happened to be in New York for a meeting with the Don, so I was able to pass on the word without flying out to California.  I still spent a very busy week though meeting with Abrazzi in Chicago, Mancini in Florida, and Gotti – the head of the Northwest families.  I was sick of flying, but still breathed a large sigh of relief when I got into the Concorde for England again. (I prefer the first class on American Airlines, but the Concorde is just too quick to pass up.) Naturally, I reported back to Mr. One after each meeting.  He sounded strange a few times, but I just assumed we had a bad line.

I wasn't too surprised to see a girl standing holding a placard with my name on it – but she looked somewhat familiar.  Then, with a shock, I recognized her as being one of the girls I'd interviewed with Angela – but I thought we'd passed on.  She gave me a wide grin as I approached her.  "Welcome back to England Mr. Capp.  I trust you had a pleasant flight?"

"Why yes, thanks " I said, feeling somewhat uneasy.  I mean Mr. One and I often hire limo's, but the drivers are usually male.  For some reason, the thought of this young woman being my driver perturbed me.

"Are you old enough to drive, miss?" I asked, cordially enough as we left the airport in a black Mercedes limo. 

"Oh yes sir!  Most certainly!  In fact, I am Dr. Tween's chauffeur."

I digested this remark for a few moments.  "That being the case," I said "Why are you driving ME?"

"Just as a courtesy to a client sir.  The doctor  has been paying a visit to your house and, having no use for me today, thought it would be a good idea for me to get you at the airport.  I hope you don't mind sir?"

"Oh no.  I don't mind at all.  Very nice of her, I'm sure." I mumbled.  But I was still uneasy.  What in hell was going on?  We'd never discussed her coming to visit the house at all.  Was Mr. One being difficult?  Good God!  Supposing they hadn't been able to make him over the way she said?  I broke out in a cold sweat and poured myself a good slug of straight bourbon from the bar behind the front seat. 

When we arrived, I couldn't fault the welcome I received.  Almost at the moment the limo cruised to a stop, the front doors opened and a line of maids filed out and stood in line.  Then Angela, looking quite pretty now in a green dress, came and stood in front of them.  As the chauffeur had pulled my luggage out of the back, three of the maids curtseyed to me and ran down the steps to get it.

"Welcome home Mr. Capp!" Angela said enthusiastically.  "Have a nice trip?  A successful one I hope?"

One look at her, and my fears were dissipated. Gone was the frowzy image she'd projected as the efficient housekeeper.  Now she was back to being the healthy, confident woman that I'd known when we first met.  As a matter of fact, she was projecting even more confidence now.  Seemed to have even lost some of the deference she'd shown when we parted.  More of an 'equal' now?

But my relief at not having a malignant boss meeting me more than made up for this niggling  disquiet.  I went to shake hands, without thinking, and was quite surprised to find myself drawn into a warm embrace!

"Why yes Angela!"  I replied to her question, once she freed me.  "Very successful!  Things went well here, I trust?"

"I'll leave you to judge for yourself Ray.  Samantha is probably eager to show you the results of her program."

"Mr.  One?" I asked, scared again.  "Is he still here?"

I caught a few smiles on the maids faces as I spoke, and especially when Angela answered.  "Oh yes!  He's here – but only in a manner of speaking?"

I was still aghast at her answer, when she linked her arm in mine. "Come inside Ray.  Please?  I think you'll be pleased.  Come on now."

As she led me in through the front door, the maids followed.  I got the strangest feeling as the door closed behind us.  Almost as if I'd been imprisoned, my warders closing off any avenue of escape I had left.  I shook this off though, putting the unease down to a combination of tiredness and jet lag.  I felt less and less comfortable as she and I made our way to what had been Mr. One's suite before I'd left.  I certainly was NOT prepared to find the good doctor sitting on the couch, feeding  chocolates to a girl in a gypsyish looking costume who was sitting on her lap,

Samantha looked up and saw me.  "Aha!  The wanderer returns!  How nice to see you again Ray.  I'd get up?" she smiled  "but I don't want to disturb Fatima here.  Have a nice trip?"

"Yes.  Pretty fair."  I responded, nonplussed at the circumstances. "But how did it go here?  With you?"

She gave me a rather vague smile.  "Here?  With me?  Fine of course.  Though I'm not sure what you mean?"  She smiled again.

"How did it go with Mr. One!" I hissed.  "What the hell do you THINK I mean?"

Her smile chilled rapidly.  "Ray?  I've warned you before.  I do NOT like being addressed in that tone.  I will not warn you again."  As she finished saying this, she pulled another chocolate from the box and fed it to the girl, who opened her mouth gratefully for the tidbit she was being given. 

Samantha smiled benignly again.  "Such a good girl Fatima!  Remember when YOU used to talk like that?"  The girl nodded slowly in agreement, her eyes fixed submissively  on her mistress's face.

Samantha  patted the girl on the head possessively.  "Would you like to give Ray any advice pet?  Maybe help him stay in my good books?  Not anger me?"

For the first time, the girl turned her eyes on me.  At first the veil concealing her face confused me – along with her soft voluptuous figure and ultra feminine clothes – all flimsy chiffons and silks.  But the black, malevolent eyes filled with hatred chilled me to the bone – and I knew what Mr. One had become!.  There was a tinge of a smile on his/her lips as she shook her head – slowly.

"No helpful hints for Ray?  None at all?" Samantha teased.

The girlish head shook negatively again, her eyes still fixed maliciously on me. 

I could not help myself.  Shuddered fearfully.  Frightened.  Suddenly aware that I could be in an area where I was totally out of my depth. Where I had no compass to guide me.

"Very well then Fatima!  Run along and get yourself ready." She said, pushing the girl gently up.  "We have to be taking a trip in a little while.  Back to London.  But your mistress has things to talk about that don't concern you – so OFF you go!  There's a girl!"

And I saw a man, who a few short weeks ago been one of the most powerful men in the U.S. of A. get to his feet and flutter away out of the room - in a diaphanous display of femininity.  Strangely, I didn't want to laugh.  In all honesty?  I was more sympathetic than anything else.  I turned my attention back to Samantha.  She was regarding me closely.

"You look a little pale, dear Ray.  Feeling alright?" She said softly, getting up from the chair.

"Yes.  Of course!" I said, as confidently as I could, suddenly frightened of this powerful woman, now picking up the box that contained the chocolates.

She nodded, as if understanding what my feelings were. "I'd thought you'd like  a few weeks to yourself?  Before your guests arrive?  Get to know the girls?" she offered, starting to make her way towards me.

"You DID get the password?" I asked worriedly as she loomed in front of me.

"Yes" she answered smoothly, sitting down beside me. "But don't worry about it.  I'll make SURE that it's the right one before anybody arrives.  Don't want you getting in trouble, do we?"

"What do you mean?" I asked worriedly.

"Fatima is a good girl, and I'm ninety five percent positive that the password she gave me is correct . ."

"So? Why won't you give it to me then?" I said.

She gave me a glacial smile, and put a warm hand on my thigh.  "You're being very naughty Ray.  I give information out to my clients when I'm absolutely SURE that it is correct. I have slight doubts about this, it is true – but you are really not in any need of it until your guests actually arrive.  Is this not correct?"

"Yes . .  I guess that's true."  I admitted.

She picked a chocolate from the box and held it up to my mouth.  Smiled maternally.  "Have a chocolate Ray.  They're lovely."

"No thanks Samantha.  Not hungry." I said backing away from her hand.

"Oh don't be such a stuffy little man.  Have a chocolate.  Consider it a peace pipe sort of thing.  We're friends now, aren't we?  Have a choccy -  Just to please Samantha?"

I opened my lips a little, and she placed the candy softly against them.  "Mmmm!" she said.  "Open up now dear!  Be good – for Samantha!"

And I opened my mouth and she pushed the candy inside.  I started to try and chew it but had difficulty as my mouth had gone very dry.  "Oh dear!" she exclaimed.  "I've gone and given you a chewy one, haven't I?  I'm sorry. Just finish it, and I'll let you have a cream for the next one."

"Dnnnt wnnneneny" I mumbled.

"Ray!  I want you to have another chocolate!  Now stop being NAUGHTY!  Chew what's in your mouth.  Swallow it.  Then open your mouth and eat the candy I'm going to put in there.  Then, when you've finished it,  you say 'Thank you Samantha!"

I couldn't believe what this woman was doing to me!  Here I am, a grown man, and she's sitting beside me, stuffing chocolates into my mouth – as if to fatten the sacrificial lamb!  But I found myself meekly following her instructions to the letter.  Even said 'thank you Samantha' just as she had directed.  Could not believe my eyes when she delicately pulled a third chocolate from the box and held it to my lips.  I made no complaints this time.  Like a docile little pet, I took the candy and chewed it.  Was rewarded with a beatific smile when I thanked her again.

She stood, and looked down at me.  "Well Ray?  I guess I'll leave you to your own devices for a few days at least. I suppose you'll want to rest up after all your traveling .  Then?  As I said before?  You might want to get to know the girls.  They really ARE a fun group.  I'm sure you'll have a smashing time!"

Then, she leaned over me and gave me a strong, sensual, kiss – right on the lips!  Strangely dominated I took her advance passively.  Then she left, telling me not to accompany her as she marched to the door with a triumphant swagger. Then left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

I laid back in my chair, pondering.  Mr. One?  He was now Miss Nothing.  Out of play.  Out of the way.  Okay, I felt kinda bad.  The guy may have been one of the nastiest crooks of all time, but he'd always treated ME half decent, and I had to admit that I hadn't been all that loyal.  I assuaged my conscience with the thought that I owed my allegiance to the organization, but was still in the throws of uneasy introspection when Angela knocked and came into the room. "Ah well, Mr. Capp?  Any instructions, now that the good doctor has left?"

I looked at her blankly. "No.  None at all, really.  Just think I'd be better off in my bed.  Think I need a good night's sleep,"  I mumbled.  "Think I'll crash."

"Wonderful idea!" she said.  "I seem to remember that you seemed to prefer Rose's company.  I'll have her come and attend to you."

"Come and what?" I said.  Could not help it.  Laughed.  "I don't need a maid for goodness sake."

"Perhaps not," Angela agreed pleasantly.  "But her feelings would be hurt, if you don't pick her first."

"Feelings?  I don't know what you're talking about!  I don't NEED a maid!" I said aggressively.

"Very well Ray.  Just tell her that when she reports to you."

"You're her boss.  YOU tell her." I persisted.

"She'd never believe me.  Just tell her yourself.  Sleep well!"  and Angela departed the room.

I shook my head, then yawned.  Realized that I'd fall asleep in the chair if I wasn't careful, so forced myself up and made my way to my suite.  The moment I opened the door, I heard  bathwater running and smelled a sort of feminine fragrance in the air.  I also saw that my suitcases were mostly unpacked, bedclothes drawn back, and a pair of my pajamas laid out on the bed for me.  Rose picked that moment to come out of the bathroom whistling cheerfully.

"Good evening Ray!  Have a nice trip?" she said happily, curtseying respectfully then heading for the last suitcase that still had some articles in it.

I was confused momentarily by what appeared to be a new relationship.  Yes, she was wearing a maid's uniform and doing maid's work, but it was as if she was more of a friend now, than a servant.  I shrugged internally.  To tell the truth, I had never been overly comfortable with the Lord of the Manor type attitude that had been expected of me.  Decided to be friendlier.  "Yes Rose.  Got everything done that was needed.  But look, we can drop this maid nonsense from here on in.  I'll finish the unpacking.  Honestly?  I don't need a maid."

I was confused momentarily by what appeared to be a new relationship.  Yes, she was wearing a maid's uniform and doing maid's work, but it was as if she was more of a friend now, than a servant.  I shrugged internally.  To tell the truth, I had never been overly comfortable with the Lord of the Manor type attitude that had been expected of me.  Decided to be friendlier.  "Yes Rose.  Got everything done that was needed.  But look, we can drop this maid nonsense from here on in.  I'll finish the unpacking.  Honestly?  I don't need a maid."

End of Part 3

And now for Rosie

#26

Just like Marjorie said, there was a nightgown waiting for me on my bed. As it was neatly folded, I couldn’t really see what it was like, except that it was pink in color, so I picked it up to examine it. As I lifted it off the bed, it unfolded and masses of gauzy material suddenly slid to the ground. Gasping audibly, I almost dropped it on the floor out of fright.

The short bodice was made out of silk, with a square neckline and frilly short sleeves. The neckline – and the front of the bodice – was lavishly decorated in lace. The skirt consisted of layers upon layers of gauzy pink chiffon, starting out at the high waistline and running all the way to the floor. The hem left the ground only when I held the nightgown high up in the air – higher than my shoulders, by all means.

I put it back on the bed and went to turn on the bed light. Then I turned off the light on the ceiling. Only in semi-darkness did I dare to take off my robe and put on the nightgown. As much disliked the sheer idea of doing so, I had to admit it felt incredibly sensuous as the gauzy materials slid over my now perfectly smooth skin. Even so, I didn’t dare to look in the mirror, I felt I was humiliated enough. However, my humiliation was soon increased when I tried to make my way to bed. As I had suspected, the nightgown was too long for me and after just a few short steps, I became entangled in an impossible mess of chiffon. Furthermore, it was impossible to lift the hem just by holding the skirt at thigh height. Before I could even begin to lift the inner layer – which I was standing on – the slippery material of the outer layers slid out of my fingers. After a few attempts, I gave up and sat down on the floor, the chiffon billowing about me. First I dug out my legs out of the gauzy mess, then I took hold of what I thought was the hem of the longest layer and stood up. It turned out I was wrong as some material slithered from under the one I was holding and fell around my feet. I let out an annoyed sigh, but I was able to gather the remaining material without sitting down again and make the remaining couple of strides to my bed.

As I let go of the material of my skirts and rearranged it a little around my legs, I noticed that the multitude of layers didn’t make the whole garment opaque. I could very well see my legs through my skirts and while I didn’t look, I was sure both my backside and my privates were also visible. Suddenly I felt sorry for refusing Marjorie’s offer of panties. I still thought of them as an impossibly frilly and feminine garment yet they would have at least covered my exposed areas. The same could be said about the high heeled slippers, I suppose, which would have given me the extra height necessary to keep the hem of my nightgown of the floor.

However, whatever was done was done, I said to myself as I climbed under the sheets and turned off the night light. I didn’t turn around much while I nervously awaited Marjorie’s entrance, though enough that I was forced to admit she had been right on another count – the silky nightgown did feel more appropriate under the satin sheets than my pajamas.

I must have been very tired because despite even stronger trepidation and anxiety I felt that night, I fell asleep before Marjorie came in. However, when she woke me up by pressing into me from behind, I instantly became fully aware of myself and her.

“Shhh,” she whispered in my ear after I had advertised my awaking with a shudder that ran throughout my body and slid her thick arm from my shoulder down to my chest, then slowly moving it to my belly. I knew that even with my both arms I couldn’t stop her from reaching wherever she wanted, so I just gently held on to her arm, as if I wanted to express my affection towards her. I noticed she was wearing her long sleeved pajamas which delighted me. Stroking her through the silk of her pajamas felt considerably less repulsing than touching her bare flesh. I felt relieved that the trick worked and she seemed placated by massaging my chest and toying with my nipples. However, that served only to excite her and thus lasted not nearly as long enough as I had hoped. Although it did last for what seemed to me was an eternity, as soon as she pressed her fat lips to the nape of my neck, I wished it could have lasted until the end of time. Marjorie on the other hand had other things on her mind and soon her palm slid down my front again, kneading my belly as it passed it until she finally groped between my legs. I sighed softly but otherwise made no sound, which is more than can be said for her increasingly loud breathing and the loud rustling of my skirts.

I hated myself for it, but my penis was responding to the situation with far more enthusiasm than myself. Under Marjorie’s crude, but masterful touch, it soon turned into a rock hard pole. Obviously satisfied, Marjorie relented her hold of my manhood and turned her attentions to my buttocks while slobbering on my neck.

After a few long moments, she tugged gently at my shoulder, signaling she wanted me to roll on my back. I didn’t even wish to look at her, much less fully expose my front side to her.

“No, please no,” I whimpered.

I could hear her swallow, then lick her lips and breathe lustily. With a single pull, she had me on my back. As saw her face slowly descending upon mine, I knew she was going to get what she wanted. Resigned, I closed my eyes and parted my lips to welcome her invading tongue as it thrust into my mouth.

Shortly thereafter she straddled me and, although I kept motionless the whole time, pinned me down by holding my wrists in her hands, kissing me some more. Then she started to hike up my skirts. All of the sudden, I was extremely thankful for the dozens of slippery layers my skirts comprised of. Even she, obviously used to this type of garments, had trouble raising my hem. Eventually however, I found myself with all of my nightgown’s fabrics bunched up above my waist, my erection protruding upwards.

“Please don’t…” I whimpered again, but she paid no attention to my pleas.

“Hold your skirts,” she hissed in my ear, guiding my hands by the wrists onto the masses of chiffon. With a satisfied grunt she then took off her pajama bottom and – too excited to take the top off as well – straddled me again.

As she fitted herself around me, it seemed that her massive thighs were going to swallow me completely. As soon as she was in position, though, she pressed my hands back on the pillow and the gauzy material puffed out, obscuring the action from my view. I leaned my head back against the pillow and soon enough her probing tongue was greedily exploring my mouth again.

As much as she repulsed me, I couldn’t deny Marjorie was a masterful lover. Minutes after I had – against my free will – entered her, I had my arms wrapped around her neck, clenching to her any way I could, sucking feverishly on her tongue and moving my hips wantonly in the rhythm she directed until I exploded in a scream of sheer delight.

The delight was all gone after I had regained full awareness of my actions and surroundings. Marjorie was still bending over me and I turned my head away in shame, trying to burry it into the soft satin covered pillow as much as I could. She wasn’t going to let me diminish her victory, though. With her hand she exerted an almost vice-like grip around my jaw and forced my head to face her again. I tried to look away by at least adverting my eyes, but she strengthened her grip to a very painful level until I relented and looked her in the eyes. I could feel tears welling up behind mine. She stared at me victoriously until I felt a single tear trickle back down my cheek. I started to sob.

“Oh, cry now,” she whispered menacingly, “But you liked it, didn’t you?”

I fought with all my strength to stop my sobbing, to control my breaths.

“Didn’t you?” she hissed.

I couldn’t help it any more and started weeping uncontrollably.

“You don’t have to answer,” she said, “We both know what happened. You liked it. You like being treated as a girl.”

She got off me, rearranged my skirts and my blankets, then left the room as I continued to cry into the pillow.

She was right, though. She had just raped me, and I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it immensely.

#27

I guess the worst part of Nicole taking over our marriage is that I lost my driving privileges, as she called them. I could easily cope with the clothes she makes me wear if she only drove me to work. It’s only eight o’clock in the morning and it’s already hot. This is the third bus I got on since leaving the house. I’ve still got a long way to ride, but at least I don’t have to transfer anymore and I’ve found a seat. The last bus was much worse. Crowded, hot and stuffy, the ride was rocky. I could hardly get near the handle bar to brace myself and even that after two stops. High time, as right after I got a good grip on the sweaty metal bar, the driver suddenly hit the brakes and it took all my strength not to fall down on the floor but that was all that I could prevent. I could only hold the handle bar with one arm, the other was already occupied with my handbag and my jacket that I had to take off. It took me by complete surprise when the bus stopped abruptly and the tug of inertia spun me around the vertical handlebar until I crashed into a man standing by the door, squealing with fright and surprise as I did so. I suppose I could have kept my ground even on my four inch heels if it only wasn’t for the tight skirt that prevented me from spreading my legs sideways by more than a foot. As it was, however, the only comfort I could find was that I left no traces of my elaborate makeup on the man’s shirt, as I apologized under the amused glances of fellow passengers.

Even without my clumsy antics, I get the same glances as people pass my seat. Most recently from a couple of schoolgirls. I can understand them, they’re all dressed either in shorts and tank tops or light summer dresses whereas I sit there in layers of clothing – Nicole insists I wear full lingerie and so I have to endure the morning heat with a full slip between my satin corset and my silk blouse. However, the heat gets to me the worst inside my panties. Even though I’m wearing stockings and not pantyhose, it’s quite hot and sweaty down there. The slip ends just below the hem of my skirt and the material of the skirt is too thick for this summer weather. Absently, my mind floats to the day Nicole bought me this suit. I remember her joy when she saw it on a mannequin and even more later on, when I modeled the yellow skirt and jacket ensemble, first at the store, then few days later at home with three different blouses, ‘all perfect’ that she bought me to wear along with it. Unavoidably, my mind revisits the night that followed and various ways how Nicole satisfied her lust. As if I’m not uncomfortable enough inside my tight panties, my penis start to respond to those thoughts. Half to try accommodating its slightly swollen size, half to let at least some air in under my skirt, I cross my legs, keeping them as far apart as manners permit as I do so, discretely hiding my actions from view with my jacket.

I open my handbag, take out my compact and check my make up. Still immaculate. I snap the compact closed and put it back inside the handbag. Another bunch of young girls pass by, I notice another pair of eyes viewing me half with pity, half with scorn. This time the object of attention is my crispy white blouse, with a long sash tied at the collar, lavish frills running down the bodice but still just enough transparent to hint at my lacy lingerie.

“Just wait a couple of short years, girls,” I say to them in my thoughts, “Then you’ll be in my shoes, every morning all prettied up, going to work.”

I pat my permed hair, then without thinking drop my hand in my lap again, as I’ve been so thoroughly trained to do.

“Then again, maybe you’ll have your husbands prettied up instead,” I add.