Bosom Bondage Buddies, Part 1 free porn video

Bosom Bondage Buddies by Brandy Dewinter Chapter 1 - The Challenge "We need to lose some weight," my wife Kelly said as she poked me in my over-inflated spare tire. "Me more than you," I agreed, "but you're right. If I don't lose some weight, I'm headed for heart attack, or diabetes like my father. We've tried though, and nothing seems to work." We had had this conversation before, both of us were cursed with an endomorph body, short and highly efficient at storing fat. About the only advantage that we could imagine for our body type was that we would be the last ones to starve to death if ever shipwrecked on a deserted island. In all other aspects we were fighting a constant battle against fat. Relative to the other members of our respective families we had done pretty well in overcoming our genetic disposition, but neither of us were satisfied. My wife is a petite 5'3", or would be, except at her weight it would be more accurate to describe her as "cherubic" than petite. For myself, at 5"8" I was fairly short for a guy and the pounds I carried included entirely too much fat, even though there were muscles in there somewhere, too. She is blonde, with eyes such a pale blue they seem like sunlit ice, while I have dark brown hair and midnight eyes as far to the other end of the spectrum as possible and still be blue. "Do you have any new ideas, or were you just stating the obvious?" I asked. "We need a new, more effective incentive," she declared. "Long term threats like heart attacks twenty years down the road don't get the job done. We need to set positive, short-term objectives." "Okay, Okay, I've heard this speech before. Do you have any specific ideas?" "I already thought about that. Since you don't mind wearing pantyhose, I think we should encourage your feminine side," she offered with laughing eyes. I tried to hide my blush, probably not too successfully. I had started wearing pantyhose for protection while playing racquetball. My usual partner and I were more enthusiastic than skilled and racquetballs tended to fly everywhere, with great speed if not great accuracy. As a result, we ended up with welts on our legs that made the effectiveness of rubber hose interrogation painfully obvious, yet cumbersome sweat pants interfered too much, as well as being hot. When I complained about the bruises my wife suggested I get some men's exercise tights and wear light support pantyhose under them. These had really helped to protect my legs and I had discovered that the feel of the pantyhose was so interesting that I had begun to wear them at other times as well. I had always known about my latent transvestite tendencies but had been afraid to indulge them openly, even around the house. However, with my wife's encouragement at least pantyhose had become acceptable. Now she was offering to extend the limits of acceptable cross-dressing, and I had to tightly control my urge to seem too enthusiastic. "What do you mean?" I asked. "For your incentive, if you can lose ten pounds, and keep it off for a full week, let's get you a full outfit of ladies underwear. In fact, let's get you three. One set will be a bra and panties, with garter belt and stockings. One set will be a tight, lace-up corset, and one set will be a nightgown, with peignoir. I thing you would look darling in ladies lingerie," she giggled. "What makes you think I would want to wear women's clothes?" I inquired breathlessly, trying not to show how excited I was getting. "Oh come on, Ran, I've known you wanted to wear women's clothes since before we got married. You're entirely too knowledgeable about ladies fashions and I've seen you fondling my underwear when you help with the laundry. I think it's wonderful. I've always heard that men who are in touch with their feminine side are much better lovers. Besides, that bulge you're trying to hide gives you away!" At this I blushed openly, surprised at how well she had identified an interest I thought was secret. Clearly, she was even more observant, and tolerant, than I had known. "I can't deny that the idea is intriguing. It certainly would provide an incentive for me. What about you? What's your incentive?" "Pick something," she said. "Show me that you have been paying attention to my desires as well as I've been tuning in on yours." "That's a challenge," I laughed. I thought for a moment and said, "Okay, here's the deal. If you lose ten pounds and keep it off for a whole week, we will also buy you three new sets of lingerie. We'll get matching outfits except for color and size. In addition, we'll get you a set of handcuffs." Now it was her turn to blush. "For me to wear, or for me to use?" she asked, clearly focused on the handcuffs. "That'll be up to you," I responded. "I've always known you were fascinated by control. This'll be your chance to bring your desires out into the open, just like my desire for ladies clothes. We can discover if you like being mistress, or slave." She looked at me tentatively. "I'm not sure I like that," she said. "Why would I want to hurt you, or have you hurt me?" "Bondage and discipline are not about pain," I replied. "Bondage is about trust, and responsibility. Bondage and pain are like straight and gay sex. Some like both, but many people like one and find the other uninteresting, even distasteful." "Don't worry about it," I continued. "We have to lose the weight first, anyway. Is that a good enough incentive for you?" "Sure, if you want me to handcuff you, I think it could be fun." I could see I would have to work on her about the idea. It was clear from the way she caught her breath when I captured her arms while kissing or making love that she was excited by the restriction on her movement. She also had often grasped the headboard of our bed, as though her arms were forced above her head. However, in her own mind I expected she envisioned herself as mistress. She tended to be a "take charge" kind of woman, which had caused us some major arguments when we first got married. We had eventually worked things out, but I knew she was remembering those arguments and that she thought her excitement was at the chance to be in charge. I though I knew her better, but time would tell. "So, have you worked out any further details?" I asked. "Yes," she replied, "it will work like this. We'll go to the exercise club in the morning and weigh on their scales. That's our baseline. Once we make our goal, we get the prize. However, if we gain the weight back, our prize goes away as well. That okay with you?" "Uh huh. Now let me see," I mused, "where did I put my heavy boots, sweats, winter underwear, and . . . " "No fair," she laughed, "whatever you wear on the first day is what you have to wear for all weighings." "Oh, well, you can't blame a guy for trying," I grinned. Chapter 2 - The Baseline The next morning, we got up before dawn in order to get in some exercise before we had to leave for work. Even though I was not playing racquetball I put on my pantyhose and exercise stretch pants under a tee-shirt. Kelly put on leggings and a leotard, then added an oversize tee-shirt herself. "When you lose a little weight, I'm determined to convince you to lose the tee-shirt. You look better in your leotard. Show off a little!" I teased. "Not yet, but maybe later. Besides, you're wearing a loose tee-shirt, too." "I don't have the shape to show off, like you do." "Not yet," she repeated with a chuckle, "but when we get you in that corset, we may have to get you a leotard, too." My response to that comment, even with the pantyhose, showed clearly through my tight pants, provoking a pointing finger and another laugh from my tormentor. "Maybe we should get a different kind of exercise this morning," I growled in mock anger as I grabbed at her. "Nope," she danced away, "we have to weigh-in this morning." At the club, we watched each other weigh-in on the new electronic scale. My weight stabilized at 172.6 pounds, and hers at 141.2. Both of us shook our heads. "This better work," I said. "We can't keep drifting up like this. Let's set the baseline at exactly 170 for me and 140 for you. That will be easier to remember." "Okay," she said, "you're on." We proceeded to the stairmasters where as usual I set a faster pace than she did. Kelly's place of business was a lot closer to our house than mine and I needed to get done so that I could get on the road sooner. Then I moved on to the circuit of exercise machines, finishing up with a few laps of the indoor track. By that time she was into the machines herself, but far from through. "See you at the house," I called, provoking only an answering nod as she strained against the resistance of the machine. By the time she got home, I had already showered and shaved and was ready to leave. I gave her a quick kiss, and reached up under her tee-shirt to caress her softly-swelling curves. "Want to make me late for work?" I asked with a lover's leer. "Oh go on. You have a one-track mind," she pretended to snap, but her smile took all the heat away from her words. "Don't get my sweat against your suit. I'll see you tonight." "Promises, promises," I laughed as I went out the door. Chapter 3 - Highlights In The Dark That evening I got home just before she did and was changing clothes when she came in. I had worn suntan-colored pantyhose under my suit that day and was still wearing them as I hung up my clothes. "So, kinda getting into this, huh?" she chuckled. "You know I sometimes wear pantyhose under my suit, when I expect to be on my feet a lot," I replied. "Any excuse is a good one, if it turns you on," she teased. "Leave them on, get some shorts, and we'll go for a walk." Once again, she had pushed a hot button with me. The thought of going public in women's clothes was at once tremendously exciting, and frightening. My answering blush and bulge were clear signs her barb had struck home. "Not in public!" I exclaimed. "Leave them on anyway," she said, "and get some shorts." "Your legs look good in them, though those dark hairs need to go," she continued relentlessly. "Maybe we'll go walking after dark." By this time she had removed her skirt and started to rub her shimmering pantyhose against mine. The feel of the smooth materials sliding together brought my erection to the painful state, a fact she was quick to notice. She ground her mound up against my bulge, and laughed, stroking me lightly with her long fingers. "I think I am going to enjoy this challenge!" she laughed. Once again I grabbed at her, growling about a real challenge. And once again she danced away. "Not while you have your pantyhose on," she called from the closet where she started hanging up her clothes. "And don't you dare remove them. I want to see your smooth, shiny legs all evening." I dug out the shortest exercise shorts I had and drew them on over my slick legs. Thinking she was still in the closet, I posed in front of the mirror, turning to see how my legs looked from behind. She walked in on this and started laughing again, though at least she said nothing. Maybe she was laughing too hard. I grinned sheepishly, and reached for a sport shirt. "Okay, I already admitted the idea turns me on. You could at least be a little sympathetic." Still laughing, she came to me and gave me a deep, hot kiss. "Actually," she said, "the idea turns me on, too. You know I married you so I could tease you, though." "Really?" I replied. "I thought you married me for my money," I laughed at our old joke. My mother had been concerned that this had been the case, though Kelly had a professional job and her salary wasn't much different than my own income. Mothers-in-law are like that, I suppose. "Well, that too," she responded, giggling. "What do you want for supper?" she asked. "Whatever you want, not too much though. Cutting back on supper is probably the most effective thing we could do." "Right," she agreed, "how about just a salad?" She went off to fix it while I set the table. As we were cleaning up after supper, she again brought up the idea of a walk. "Go get your shoes on, we need a little exercise. It's dark out, or nearly so." I looked out at the setting sun, and thought about whether I could get away with it. "Come on," she continued, "suntan pantyhose match your arms better than your bare legs do. No one will know." I looked down at the highlights shimmering on my shiny legs, and decided that maybe, if I didn't get too close to anyone else, it might just look like a sheen of sweat. "Okay," I said, taking a deep breath, "let's do it." Our neighborhood is strictly residential, without much through traffic. As we walked along, no one seemed to pay any particular attention. After a while it became dark and the streetlights came on. Then I noticed that a single, strong light source like a streetlight really brought out the highlights on my legs. It was fascinating to see the shine flow over my legs as we walked. Realizing what I was staring at, Kelly brushed her pantyhose up against mine. "Like that, do you?" she grinned. My blush was the only answer. "Let's set an intermediate milestone," she said. "When you lose 5 pounds for a week, you shave your legs." "No," she contradicted herself with a twinkle in her laughing eyes, "even better, when you lose 5 pounds, I'll shave your legs." I tried to cover my embarrassment with gruffness. "You're getting entirely too good at pushing my buttons," I said. "If you keep me hard for too long, I may have to give you what you're asking for." "Promises, promises," she teased. This time when I grabbed for her, I snagged her wrist, and pulled her to me. Capturing her other wrist, I wrapped my arms around her which pinned her arms behind her back as though they were bound. I leaned over her, bowing her back over our interlinked arms. My hot mouth smothered her full lips, and my tongue rammed into her, forcing her to submit to my passion. She gasped with her own flooding passion as her body responded to my touch. Then I released her, and stood there smiling as she tried to catch her breath. "Two can play the game of excitement," I grinned. "You may be able to get me so hard I have to walk bent over, but your nipples show that your body wants me just as much as I want you." Smiling with bubbling heat behind her long lashes, she asked, "How much longer do you want to walk?" I smiled, myself, with the fresh confirmation of her basic nature. She did indeed like to be captured and helplessly slave to her own passion. I would have to build on that. On the other hand, her current invitation was clear, and I was nobody's fool. "Only about as long as it takes to get back to the house. Unless you think you can run that far." "I can outlast you any day," she challenged, and set off running toward the house. I easily caught up to her, which was clearly her intention. We both knew it was too far to the house to sprint. However, it was far enough that setting the correct pace was an important decision. I resolved to keep up with her whatever it took. The challenge of the physical exertion quickly resolved the bulge in my pants and I was able to get into an easier stride. Soon we were approaching the house, and she began to sprint. At this point, my faster pace in the morning exercises paid off, or maybe I just had a greater incentive, and I was able to pass her and reach the house first. Breathing heavily, and laughing like children, we entered the house. Immediately, I caught her hands again and repeated my fierce, controlling kiss. "Now, where were we?" I asked with a smirk. "You seem to have remembered well enough," she panted. I captured both of her wrists in one hand, and used the other to lightly stroke one of her full breasts. Under my caress, her nipple pushed forward through the thin material of her shirt. I pulled her tee-shirt up over her head and then down her arms, where it added to the confinement she was experiencing. With each further step of control, her breathing would catch for a second, then resume, hotter and more intense. Now I lowered my lips to her hard nipple, sucking on it, then washing it with my tongue. All the while my hold on her arms forced her back to arch into my hand, my lips, my tongue. Her breathing became rougher, gasping, panting. "Let me catch my breath," she moaned. "I'm going to pass out if you keep this up." "Promises, promises," I teased, lightly blowing on her nipple, which glistened from the moisture of the tongue bath I had just given it. Without releasing my hold on her wrists, I began to work her shorts and pantyhose down off her legs. Soon they were in a puddle at her ankles, and she was effectively naked before me, with only her tee-shirt around her arms. Again I leaned over her and kissed her, forcing my pantyhose-clad leg between her legs, and rubbing the slick material against her. Her breathing was still out of control, rasping in her throat, catching for long seconds as shudders passed through her quivering body. I lifted her legs in my free hand and carried her into the bedroom with her captured arms still held in my other hand. Laying her on the bed, I lifted her legs over my head and buried my face between her thighs. Her lower lips were glistening with her own moisture, and I blew lightly on them, which rewarded me with her shivers. Her moisture showed that she was ready for me and I could have taken her right then with her enthusiastic participation and consent. But tonight was as much for training as for pleasure and I intended to build within her body a memory of the benefits of surrender. Instead of undressing myself, I began to lick softly at her jewel, washing it with slow, gentle strokes of my tongue. With each touch, she moaned again, her chest heaving with the need to breathe, and at the same time the need to respond to my tongue. I probed my tongue deeply within her, lapping at her nectar. Then I replaced my tongue with my lips, and began to suck on her pleasure nub. This step was too much, and she exploded in uncontrollable spasms of pleasure, arching over her held arms, lifting her hips to my lips, to the ceiling, to the sky above with her muscle-straining pulsations. I gently resumed my washing of her jewel until her shudders subsided. Then I released her arms and straddled her waist. I took her left arm and began to massage it, working out any residual muscle tension. Then I moved up to her shoulder, her neck, and repeated the massage on the other side. Throughout this slow and loving task, Kelly lay as though unconscious, limp with the aftereffects of her exertion. I worked down her body, clinically, without attempt to revive her passion. Passing by her waist, I firmly massaged her legs to ensure that they did not cramp up after our run and the subsequent exercise. Finally I completed with her feet, and still she had said nothing, nor hardly moved. Her panting was subsiding as I finished, but she still had a small, soft smile on her lips, and was nearly asleep. I covered her with a comforter, and moved off the bed. "Where are you going?" she asked languidly. "Don't worry about it, just relax," I said. I went to the kitchen to get some wine we had chilling and prepared a couple of glasses. Returning to the bedroom, I slid one pantyhose-clad leg smoothly under her head as a pillow and offered the wine to her lips. She drank greedily, dried out from her heavy breathing, then leaned back into my leg. "That was incredible," she whispered. "I don't know whether to tease you again or not. I might not survive another experience like that." "Oh, I expect you would," I said with a smile. "What about you?" she asked. "This started with your excitement at wearing pantyhose in public. How are you doing?" "Don't worry about me, m'love, I'm sure you'll figure out some way to make it up to me, someday." "You'll spoil me rotten," she sighed. My reward for this "sacrifice" was a warm smile, and a snuggle against my leg. I was satisfied. I had taken total control and given her pleasure without requiring action on her part, except to accept my love and to allow her body to respond. This is the essence of the master/slave relationship. One surrenders control, one exercises it. Her languid acceptance, even belief that I was spoiling her by making her a slave would form the basis for ever more control. Her nature was as I had thought, now my problem was to lead her to understand it as well. Finally she began to stir. "I can't lay like this all night. We need to get ready for bed. Are you going to sleep in your pantyhose as well?" she asked. "No, I'm in no hurry. But if you want, we can get ready to go to sleep." As she went into the bathroom to prepare for bed, I slowly stripped off my clothes. Removing the smooth tension of the pantyhose from my legs was sharply disappointing and I affirmed in my own mind that we each had found effective incentives to lose weight, though Kelly had not begun to realize the extent of the changes coming in her life. Perhaps I had not either. Chapter 4 - First Progress The next morning, we went to the club again and weighed. Due to the light supper and good exercise, Kelly had lost over a pound and I had lost almost as much. We both resolved to remember that weight could fluctuate by more than that due to many minor factors, but it was encouraging nonetheless. We completed our morning workout regimen and went on through the day. That evening again found us dining on a light supper of soup and a salad. Wearing pantyhose had become the norm for me, and after supper we again took a walk. This evening Kelly held back on the teasing, both because we had already laughed about our routine and because we had moved to a different level in our relationship and she was enjoying the comfortable companionship. Nonetheless, we walked vigorously, and worked up a good warmth in our legs when we finally returned to home. "Let me give you a leg rubdown," I said. "I don't want those gorgeous legs to knot up with cramps." "Sold!" she cried happily, and we went to the bedroom again. This night, I started working on her back and arms before going to her legs. I had her stretch her arms out over her head and grab the headboard, then smoothly pulled on her legs to stretch her whole body. "This is like the gravity boots that people used to use, but you don't have all the blood rush to your head," I told her. After pulling on her legs together, I massaged her back. Then I moved back to her legs and spread them, pulling on one leg at a time. "Depending on which muscles need it most, it may be best to keep your legs and arms together, or spread them. It's harder to get even tension when your arms and legs are spread, though. I may need to work something out," I explained as I worked on each leg. After a few minutes, I had Kelly roll over, and repeated the process with her on her back. This time I increased the tension until she was almost lifted off the bed. She could feel her back and shoulders stretching. "Mmmm, that feels good," she murmured. Once all her muscles had been stretched and massaged, we went back into the other room to take care of mundane chores. This became our routine for the next few days. Each day we weighed again. I quickly made up the advantage she had started with, and was soon closing in on 165 pounds, for a net 5 pounds saving relative to our baseline. Kelly had stalled out at 136, plus or minus a little, and was getting frustrated. "Why doesn't my weight keep dropping like it did in the beginning?" she complained one evening. "We're still exercising, and eating carefully." "Sometimes it just happens. Your body is probably building muscle right now to accommodate our new routine. After you're back in balance, your weight will drop." "By the way," I continued, "I got your incentive award for losing 5 pounds the other day. As soon as you make the weight, I'll show it to you." "Show me now," she exclaimed, "I can't wait!" "Nope," I grinned, "it's going to be a surprise." "What kind of incentive is that?" she grumbled. "If it works, a pretty good one," I laughed. The next morning, when I stepped on the electronic scale, I caught my breath. Kelly looked to see what had interested me, and noticed the reading on the scale, 164.7 pounds. "That makes your 5 pound incentive goal," she whispered with a grin, "tonight we shave your legs." I blushed to my hair roots, and turned around to see if anyone was listening. Shaving my legs seemed like a point of no return. However embarrassing it might have been, I could explain pantyhose for the circulation benefits, but shaving my legs would be pretty unambiguous. Yet it excited me tremendously as well. This step would have a major effect on how good my legs would look. "But what about walking in the evening?" I asked. "If I shave my legs, people will be able to tell." "Too bad," she giggled. "That was the deal, and now we are going through with it." Then Kelly stepped on the scale, and showed 135.3 pounds. "Damn," she said. "I didn't make mine." "Not quite," I admitted, "but you did make progress, that is the lowest you've shown, yet. You'll probably make it tomorrow. Tonight is my incentive. Tomorrow, hopefully, is yours." We completed the rest of our workout and went on to work. The day dragged by with glacial slowness. All I could think about was what would happen that evening. At the end of the day I rushed home but Kelly was not there, yet. I had undressed down to my pantyhose and was holding my shorts, wondering if I should put them on when she walked in. "What are you holding those for?" she asked with a chuckle. "You're going into the bathtub as soon as we get the water warm. Strip!" While she was running the bathwater, I peeled down my pantyhose and took off my underwear. In the bathroom, she had the tub steaming with hot water and was pouring in bath oil beads. "What are those for," I asked. "If we just start shaving on your legs," she explained, "we're likely to nick you up pretty badly. The bath oil with soften your skin." I gingerly entered the water. Kelly always did like it hotter than I preferred, but soon I was sitting in the tub. "Lean back," she ordered, "you need to soak clear up to your neck." "Wait a minute," I protested. "I thought we were just going to do my legs." "Nope," she giggled, "I decided that your are going to be hairless as a baby below your neck. Now just lean back. This is my incentive for you, and we'll do it my way." Leaning back into the hot water, I had to admit it felt wonderful. However, making such a commitment to looking feminine was resulting in an undeniable sign of excitement. "Goodness, what is this?" Kelly laughed. "Do we have a submarine in here? Certainly we have a snorkel breaking the surface." I had to laugh as well. It was clear that her incentive was well tuned to my desires. Kelly kneaded the bath oil into my legs for a few minutes, then said, "It's time, lift one leg out of the water." When I hesitated she giggled and grabbed my left ankle, extending my leg straight up. She took a handful of shaving cream and slowly spread it all over my leg down to the waterline. She started her razor gliding along my thigh, baring a strip of clean, smooth skin below the shaving cream. With each stroke, more and more of my leg was exposed, each section smooth, shiny, and glistening. Soon she finished on my thigh and moved to my knee, carefully following the more complicated contours. My lower leg then appeared from beneath the shaving cream. "Goodness, you even have hairy toes, we can't have that!" she chuckled. Kelly spread a little cream on each of my toes, then stripped hair and cream off to complete my first leg. Lowering my leg back into the water and bath oil, she massaged the skin to soft smoothness. The process was repeated on my right leg, and I thought I might be finished. I had been lying back with the water to my neck, and as I rose to leave the water, Kelly remembered (if she had ever forgotten) the hair in my chest. Pushing me back against the head of the tub, though with my chest out of the water, she reached for some more shaving cream. Soon my chest was lathered with cream and she began to glide the razor downward from my neck. Just as with my legs, each stroke revealed a strip of smooth skin without the usual mat of curly hair. As she moved outward from a centerline stripe, I said. "Be careful. They don't stand out like yours, but I would just as soon not lose my nipples, anyway." Kelly laughed, but did slow her pace and work her way carefully across the rest of my chest. When it was gleaming and smooth, she had me raise my arms and quickly removed the hair found there, also. "That should about do it," she smiled. "Stand up." When I rose from the water, she giggled gleefully. "Not quite done, I see," she said. "Have you ever noticed that you have a very hairy ass?" "No," I laughed, " I've never turned around to see." "Well," she said, " you do. Bend over and spread 'em." At her abrupt command, I looked at her quizzically. "What do you intend to do?" "Finish the job, of course," she replied. "I can see that I need to shave a bit higher on you than I do on me. I'm going to trim you down to a bikini shave so you won't show hair when you get your new underwear." Suiting her actions to her words, Kelly quickly scraped off the hair which had been below the tub waterline, turning me around as required to get all sides. She left only a small patch of hair that would be hidden by the skimpiest of bikinis, and even this she trimmed short with scissors. "Ta Daa!" she exclaimed. Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I gasped at the long, leaner-looking legs I never knew I had. "Go put on your pantyhose," she directed, as excited as I was by the transformation. My pantyhose slid up over my shiny, oiled legs more smoothly than ever before. Quickly I put on my shorts, and looked at my legs in the mirror. It was breathtaking. My legs had always looked better in pantyhose than without, but now! They appeared inches longer, thinner, and so shiny without the dark curls of smashed hair under the pantyhose. Why didn't all men shave their legs? How could women stand for men to be so coarse and bristly? With no more trouble than women put up with all the time, men could add so much to their appearance! I turned to Kelly with a grin, and noticed a pensive look on her face. "What's the matter, beautiful? Don't you like them?" I queried. Hesitantly, Kelly replied, "Sure, they look . . . great." Catching on, I said, "You're not jealous, are you?" Blushing, she said nothing, but I knew that my insight had been correct. "Look, beautiful," I said. "My legs are probably my best feature. I'm a little taller than you and my body doesn't store much fat in my legs. Together these add up to a pretty nice package, if I do say so myself. Let me have one area of at least competitively good looks. In all other features, there's no comparison." Smiling, she nodded, still somewhat shocked by how effective the transformation had been. "Let's go," she said. "Where?" "Out for our walk, of course," she replied. "Wait a minute," I resisted. "We're early, it's still light out. We haven't even eaten, yet." "Ooh," she grinned, "even better. Let's go out to dinner!" "No way," I replied, fascinated and frightened at the same time. "Not unless I put on jeans." "Nope," she insisted. "How about a compromise? We go to a drive-through somewhere, but you have to wear your shorts." After a moment, I nodded acceptance, blushing once again at the ever-increasing excitement from the ever-increasing risks I was taking. As I walked out to the car, in broad daylight, with shaved legs, pantyhose, and shorts, I reflected on how far we both had come in such a short time, and we were losing weight, too. The next day at the club, when we weighed, I was down another half a pound, which we laughingly whispered to each other must be due to the lost hair. On this day, however, Kelly also made her 5 pound goal. She quickly asked me, "Now, tell me what you got for my incentive prize." "Sorry," I replied, not really sorry at all, "not until we get home tonight." That day I am sure her anticipation was every bit as great as mine had been the day before. For once, she was home before me and met me at the door. "Okay, NOW will you tell me what you got for me?" "No," I refused again, "not until after our walk. What's for dinner?" She pretended to be angry at my delaying tactics, but recognized the game of anticipation was part of the plan I had for whatever would happen. We changed clothes, revealing again my smooth and hairless legs in their shimmery pantyhose, then quickly prepared and ate our now-typical light supper. After cleaning up we worked on other chores until the sun was well down toward the horizon. Kelly came to me and said, "Okay, time for our walk." Though the sun was still high enough to provide a lot of light, my tolerance for risk was increasing and I agreed. We left the house and began our brisk walk around the area. There were still some of our neighbors out, though none we knew so well that we had to stop and talk, so we waved from a distance and proceeded. I wondered how many of these neighbors were trying to figure out what was different about me. None showed any signs of clear suspicion of my unusual attire but some did seem to look up for a longer time than ordinary neighborliness would indicate. When we completed our normal circuit we returned to the house, warm and loose from the exercise. Kelly kept glancing at me, obviously curious, and wanting me to show her the prize. However, she had also clearly decided to demonstrate that she could wait as long as I could, so she didn't say anything. I drew her into the bedroom for her usual after-workout rubdown. When I had finished on her back, she turned over and grabbed the headboard so that I could stretch her. At this point I reached into one of our drawers, and pulled out a length of silk scarf. "Here," I said, "Thread this through the eyebolt I put at the base of the headboard. Then arrange it so you can get a good hold on it." "Is this scarf all I get for making my first weight goal?" she frowned. "It's part of it, but there's more." I then pulled out two wide leather ankle restraints with rings set on each cuff. "Now," I said, "put on these ankle bands." I carefully said 'bands', not cuffs or restraints, or manacles. I didn't want her to associate the ankle cuffs with bondage too soon, but that is exactly what was in store for Kelly tonight. By leaving her hands untied and letting her put the ankle restraints on herself, I wanted her to think that she was able to stop at any point, which was indeed the case . . . for now. She fumbled with the fastenings for a few minutes but soon had the bands around her ankles. I checked them for tightness to make sure they would not slide off, then had her lie back on the bed and grab the silk scarf. "You might want to wrap it around your wrists, so you can get a good hold. I'm going to be tugging on your legs in a minute." With that, I brought out the remaining items in her current incentive package, two bungee cords. These were ordinary, just stretch cords with hooks on each end. I looped one around the corner post of our bed, and then reached for her leg. "What are you doing?" she asked. "What does it look like I'm doing?" I chided her. "I told you that it was hard to keep even tension on your legs when they're spread, and that I would work on a better answer. This is it. The bungees will keep a steady pull on your legs while I finish your massage." By this time I had fastened the hooks on the first bungee cord to the rings on her ankle cuff. The tension caused her hips to roll toward the fastened leg, and she started to let the scarf slide through her fingers. "Hold on to the scarf," I directed. "We need to keep a fair bit of tension in order to get the best benefit." I quickly fastened her other leg to the corresponding bedpost, bringing her back into a balanced arrangement. Then I proceeded to massage her legs, all the while letting the reasonably gentle but steady tension pull out the kinks in her muscles. As I continued, she began to relax and the scarf started to slip again. She grabbed at it and tried to hold tighter, but her hands were clearly getting tired. "Sorry," she murmured, "it feels heavenly, but I just can't hold on any longer." "Hmm, that's too bad," I consoled her. "I haven't even gotten to your arms, yet. I guess I'll have to come up with something to help you hold on as well." As she let the scarf slip away, I continued her massage up her body to her waist, and then to her arms. As I moved up to massage her neck, I straddled her waist with my pantyhose-clad legs. Once I had finished, I leaned forward and gently kissed her. Her arms came up around me, and we held each other for a few minutes. Her legs were not under much tension since she had slid down the bed, but they were still as restricted as though they were held by a spreader bar. Soon, I thought to myself, I will get her arms bound as well. The next morning as we dressed to go to the club I noticed that my pantyhose were dragging on the stubble that had grown out on my legs. Kelly noticed this as well and informed me that I would henceforth have to shave myself. "I may help with some of those 'hard-to-reach' areas though," she said with a twinkle in her laughing eyes. Chapter 5 - Satin Shivers Over the course of the next week we both showed an overall downward trend, though there were mornings when we showed no progress or even a bit of springback. Soon (though not soon enough, we felt) we were closing in on our 10 pound goal. Kelly had ordered several lingerie catalogs, some from the widely-recognized Frederick's of Hollywood and Victoria's Secrets, some from obscure special-interest catalogs with many unusual items. In anticipation of meeting our incentive threshold, we discussed what we would get. Looking through the lingerie catalogs, imagining myself in these feminine outfits, always excited me. Kelly purposely kept me breathlessly attentive by bringing up question after question on material, style, and color. "What do you think about white for me?" I asked. "Well," she said doubtfully, "I'm not too sure. You tan pretty well, and white would make your skin look awfully dark." "You tan just about as well, yourself," I countered, "and you look terrific in white." "That's because I'm blonde," she replied, "and my light hair and eyes set off the suntan. In white, your skin could get to look too dark," she continued. "Oh," I sighed, "so what do you recommend?" Looking through the catalogs, Kelly found a satin outfit in a deep midnight blue. "This looks like it would just match your eyes," she said as she pointed. "Oh," I breathed, "I like it." "Okay, that's all you get to see," Kelly chuckled as she closed the catalogs. "The rest will be a surprise." "What about choosing the things you'll get for your prize?" I asked. "We said I'd get the same things except for color and size. I'll match your outfits only in the colors I already use. That's all you need to know," she teased. Kelly was the first to reach her ten pound savings goal, and insisted on preparing her order herself. It was two days later that I reached my own goal. That evening, she showed me the sealed envelopes, ready to be mailed. "More than one envelope," I mused. "Where're they all going?" "No peeking," she laughed, "you'll just have to wait and see." "Oh well," I grumped, "at least I'll see what you get a couple of days before mine comes in." "No you won't," she grinned. "I combined the orders. Everything should come in at the same time." With the first goal reached but the rewards not received, we both lost a little intensity and our weight loss stagnated. We kept our suppers light but were allowing ourselves to eat more like we had been for lunch, or breakfast. We had made enough life-style change to keep from gaining back our saved weight but couldn't seem to reduce further. Then the first package arrived. When I got home, I noticed a sticker on our door explaining that a package from one of the well-known lingerie manufacturers had been left with our neighbor. I hurried to get it, hardly daring to breathe from excitement. Our neighbor Billie Jo, a lean, short-haired woman who had always seemed a little distant to me, brought the package with a thoughtful smile. "New clothes?" she asked. "Yes," I replied, trying to suppress my blush. "For my wife," I blundered on. "I've noticed that you and Kelly are out walking in the evenings a lot. You both seem to have lost some weight." "Nice of you to notice," I stammered. I looked at her a little more closely than I had before. She seemed more talkative than usual. Had she noticed something embarrassing about me? Could she tell that I wore pantyhose, or had shaved my legs? Her own legs were long and trim. She seemed almost too muscular to be feminine and I wondered if she were a female body-builder or something. "I must admit I always thought you and Kelly were sort of out of shape," she went on. "I think taking care of your body is very important and I'm not comfortable with people who don't." "Well, Kelly and I decided we needed to do something. We're making a little progress." "Yes, I can see that. You deserve some new clothes." "These are for Kelly," I repeated. "I know, you said that," she smiled. Perhaps I was reading too much into her words. Looking back on the conversation, it could have been completely innocent, but there was a definite smile lurking behind her eyes. The box she held was clearly labeled with a lingerie manufacturers logo, yet she seemed to be implying that the clothes were, or should have been, for me. The nervous tension from wondering how much she had noticed when I had been outside in my shorts made me stammer and repeat myself, which caused her to smile even more. I decided she must have known or suspected something even before my tongue-tied embarrassment at her door. However, she was even more friendly than before and didn't seem shocked or disgusted, only amused. "Um," I mumbled, "thanks for keeping this for us, I mean for Kelly." Her smile expanded even further, with clear amusement beyond that from a simple package delivery. She handed me the package and waved as I turned away from the door. I could feel her eyes on me as I walked away and I wondered what she was thinking. Not surprisingly, the package was addressed to Kelly and from long tradition I never opened her mail. My own mail always reached me unopened as well, and while I had not really had anything to hide (from Kelly), I appreciated the courtesy. As a result, I had to leave the package unopened though I was burning with curiosity. Finally Kelly arrived home, not especially late though it seemed like hours. "We got a package today," I blurted out as soon as she got in the door. "Oh," she smiled. "Where from?" I could tell she knew very well where the package must be from and was just enjoying my anxious curiosity. However, she had taken charge of this part of our incentive program and I resolved to maintain my composure and let her have her fun. Someday I would get my pleasant revenge. She glanced at the package as though it were uninteresting and strolled into the bedroom to change clothes. I was still wearing my suit, except for the jacket which I had hung up, and she looked at me as she passed. "You certainly won't be able to wear those clothes when you try on your new ones," she teased. "You better get in here and strip." "I will if you will," I countered. "Deal," she said, and proceeded to unzip her skirt. Soon it became a race, which proved she was as interested as I was. In no time, we were both nude. She reached out to stroke my smooth legs and hairless chest. "I do enjoy you without all that hair," she grinned. "I wondered if I would or not, but it really turns me on to see you all clean and shiny." "Turns me on, too," I mumbled, still somewhat embarrassed but unable to hide the truth. "Yes, that's obvious," she giggled. "Now, hand me that package." She had me turn around as she opened it, then I heard her gasp with pleasure. I started to turn toward her and she exclaimed, "Don't you dare turn around until I tell you! In fact, I'm going to make it so you can't peek." With a gleeful girlish laugh, she reached for the silk scarf we had used for her stretching massage, and tied it over my eyes. I heard the rustle of packing paper, and the sound of plastic bags being ripped open. "We'll start with this," she said, and I felt a garter belt being fastened around my waist. The garters dangled down on either side of my pulsing erection and along the sides of my hips. "Sit down," she said, pushing me back to the vanity chair. Next I felt soft stockings being smoothed up my legs, and fastened to the garters. When she had everything adjusted, the stockings were held snugly up and the garter belt rode securely on my hips. "Stand up again," she directed. I stood up, and she tapped one foot to make me raise it. Balancing against the top of her makeup table, I lifted one stocking-clad leg, and felt her pull some underwear around, it, but the leg hole seemed much larger than I expected. She pulled my leg back to the floor, and then urged me to lift the other. The underwear went around that leg as well and she guided my foot to the floor. Then she pulled the underwear up my legs. As it reached my hips I realized that it was only a minimum thong-style bikini, though it had a surprisingly large pouch, almost enough to contain my raging erection. "I found these in the men's section of the catalog," she giggled. "Imagine that, men wearing thong bikinis in satin. Who would ever believe it?" Since I stood there in just such a bikini, it was clear that she knew who would believe it, but I found it interesting that enough men bought them to make it worthwhile for the lingerie manufacturer to carry them. The next thing I knew, she was pulling my arms together and threading them through the straps of a bra which she quickly fastened in back. I was surprised to find that the bra fit quite well, except for the cups, of course, which were not padded. My disappointment must have shown because she giggled again. "Don't worry," she laughed, "I have tits for you, of the best kind. Except for real ones, of course." The pads she inserted into the bra cups were soft and pliable and I wondered what they looked like. "Just a minute more, darling," she said. "Let me get caught up with you." She took decidedly longer than one minute as I anxiously waited, listening to the rustle of wrapping and the slither of stockings. While I waited, I ran my fingers along the smooth texture of the stockings, and cupped my hands under the surprisingly full bra cups. Then she was guiding me to turn away from her vanity mirror. She said, "I don't want you peeking until everything is ready." I felt her untying my blindfold, then she removed it but held it spread below my chin so that I couldn't look down. I blinked my eyes open and focused on her wide, ecstatic smile. When she saw that I was ready she gently urged me to turn around. My first thought was actually one of disappointment. My love handles were very much in view. Unconsciously I pulled in my stomach and thrust my chest out, which had an amazing effect on my "tits". They swayed and jiggled almost like real breasts and I could see definite nipple bulges in the satin bra cups. I reached up to touch them, which brought a laugh and an explanation from Kelly. "I got you the best silicone falsies I could find. They even have nipple forms in them. We need to make sure we always get them positioned correctly, but they look terrific." My outfit of panties and bra, with garter belt and stockings, was all in a deep, shimmering midnight blue. The contrast with my newly-shaved body was dramatic and exciting. The dark colors made my skin look like rich cream. The stockings were almost black, though stretched into grayness except for the lace fringe at the tops. I turned around to obtain a rear view in the mirror and saw thin, elegant seams accenting the back of each of my legs. The narrow thong was almost completely hidden in the crack of my ass, which looked surprisingly trim considering the roll around my waist. I grabbed at my love handles in disgust. "Oh, don't worry about that," Kelly chided. "They don't look that bad, and besides, we're still going to lose some more weight." I had been so enamored at my own outfit that I had forgotten to look at Kelly. Her outfit also shimmered in shiny satin, but the color was an icy blue that matched her own eyes. She had no need for falsies and filled out her own bra very nicely. Her glowing tan seemed incredibly vibrant and healthy next to the frosty blue color. She had chosen to go with lighter stockings that otherwise looked to be a match for mine, complete to the elegant seams. "Wow!" I exclaimed. "You are gorgeous. We should have gotten you an outfit like that a long time ago." "My tummy bulge looks worse than your love handles," she pouted. "No way," I disagreed. "You look terrific. But we do need to keep losing weight. Have you thought about the incentives for the next ten pounds?" "Wait a minute," she interrupted. "What about the rest of my incentive present?" "Oh, that's right," I agreed. "Let me get them for you." As I walked to the armoire, I could feel the garters sliding over my essentially nude hips and the stretch of the stockings. My tits swayed most convincingly in my bra, and I could see highlights in the satin as I moved by the lights in the room. I opened the correct drawer and withdrew the cuffs I had selected. Rather than go with conventional metal handcuffs that I thought might hurt during extended sessions, I had gotten some fur-lined leather cuffs from one of the catalogs with unusual items. They were actually separate restraints, but I had also gotten a couple of different length chains with padlocks to complete the set. I returned and handed them to Kelly. "Turn around," she ordered. I smiled and complied, placing my hands behind my back. Kelly fumbled with the restraints for a few minutes, then placed them on my wrists. She selected a short chain and then opened the padlock package. The two padlocks were part of a set with matched keys and she dangled the keys over my shoulder where I could see them, then tossed them on the dresser. In a moment, the padlocks clicked into place and my arms were securely bound behind me. "Now, for the part of your incentive that I didn't tell you about," she said. Her tone was intended to be ominous, but she spoiled it by giggling part way through. "Sit down on the vanity chair again," she directed. "You need to put your arms behind the chair back, and relax. You'll be there for a few minutes. Don't move." With that, she left the room for a minute, going in to our closet. She returned with two shoe boxes. Opening one of the boxes, she revealed elegant ice-blue satin pumps with towering heels. They had to be over 4 inches tall! These she placed on her own feet, then she opened the other box, revealing an obviously larger pair in my own midnight color. Lifting my legs, she quickly placed the high-heeled pumps on my feet. "Don't try to stand up, yet," she said. "That will come later. Close your eyes, and don't open them till I tell you to." I complied, curious about what other surprises she had in store for me. First, I felt a series of sharp pulls as Kelly removed some of the hairs of my eyebrows. In a moment, I felt a creamy moisture being applied to my forehead. The cream was spread across all of my face, and down onto my neck, spread so smoothly that it seemed to be absorbed into my skin. Next, I felt a light brush along my cheekbones. Then there were a series of swabs applied to my eyelids. A delicate pencil lined my upper lashes. "Okay," she said, "open your eyes, but don't look in the mirror." Kelly carefully applied eyeliner to my lower eyelid. Next, she worked mascara onto my lashes, patiently adding layers until they were long and full. When my right eye was complete, she started on the left where the process was repeated. Finally, I was directed to hold my mouth still and a frosty dark red was brushed onto my lips. In what seemed like an age but was probably about 20 minutes, she was satisfied. She had blocked the mirror with her body so I couldn't see what she had done so I looked up at her in silent question about the effectiveness of her endeavors. Once again, I saw that tentative look on her face that she had when she first saw my shaved legs in pantyhose. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Nothing . . . nothing at all," she replied. Moving out of the way, she let me look into the mirror, and I gasped with pleasure. I was gorgeous! It was unbelievable what a change the careful makeup had made. My skin glowed with a smoothness I had never seen and my eyes! Delicate pinks and golds and subtle mauves in eyeshadow had brought out the highlights of the deep midnight blue of my eyes, and the eyeliner had made them look so large! She had plucked my eyebrows just enough to achieve a strong Kathy Ireland shape, and the overall effect was sensually feminine without going so far that Ran would be compromised. It was a good thing my arms were bound, or I would have had to touch my face to see if it was really me. "Kelly, you're a wonder. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself." "Yes," she said quietly, "you're very beautiful." It was clear from the tone of her voice that she was jealous again, and this time with perhaps more reason. Her own makeup was what she had worn to work, not the glamour glitz she had placed on me. At the moment, I really did look even prettier than she did. She clearly needed a little ego-stroking. "I've always told you how beautiful you were when you went all out. If it can make this much difference with an ugly mug like mine, just think how terrific it makes you look when you give it your best. Why don't you freshen up your makeup a little? I'm apparently not going anywhere." This last was to remind her that I was essentially tied to the chair. I'm not sure I could have stood up in my towering heels even with my hands free and certainly wouldn't try with my arms bound behind the chair. She laughed as she shook off her pensive mood and said it wouldn't be necessary. Then she removed the cuffs and helped me to stand. I tottered uncertainly on the high spikes, trying to find the right weight balance between my toes and heels. Kelly gracefully swayed across the room and back and then challenged me to follow her. I stepped forward and nearly fell. "No," she said, "you can't walk like a man in those shoes. Watch." Again she swayed across the room and back, swinging her hips so that she could transfer her weight lightly onto the tall heels. "Shorten your stride. Put one foot directly in front of the other, not slightly to the side like a man does. Exaggerate it to begin with. It will really get your hips to swinging, which you need." I tried again, first stiffly, awkwardly, but eventually achieving an interesting sway as I began to loosen up. "That's it," she chortled. "Swing those hips, baby!" It started feeling better, even easy to swing along in those towering shoes. At one turn I caught sight of myself in the floor-length mirror and froze at the image. There I was, inches taller than I had ever been before, hips swung out to one side and legs that ran up forever, shimmering in super-sheer stockings. I was captivated by the smooth shine of the satin. "What's the matter, now?" she asked, then noticed what I was looking at. "Not too bad," she nodded in agreement with my unspoken impression. "Well," I said, "losing ten pounds was worth it to me. How about you?" "Oops," she cried. "I almost forgot. That's not all you get." She went back to the closet and returned with another package. Opening it, she revealed matching corsets, again in midnight and ice blue. "Take off your bra, but save the falsies," she directed. "And take the garter belt loose, but keep your stockings on." As I complied, she drew forth my corset and began to undo the laces. Once she had it loose enough, she had me draw it on over my legs and up above my hips. It didn't seem very tight as she adjusted it into position. She handed me the breast forms, and helped me to position them in the bra cups of the corset. "Okay," she said, "hang on to the bedpost." I reached out for the corner post of the bed, more for balance in my still-unsteady shoes than for anything else, when she yanked on the laces hard enough I had to grab on for real. "Hold still!" she ordered. "I'm just getting started." She drew the laces tighter and tighter, working each bit of slack down to the ends then pulling it out. I began to feel like I couldn't breathe and needed to use the upper part of my chest rather than just letting my belly bulge when my diaphragm moved. The phrase "heaving breasts" took on a whole new meaning as my chest motion increased. Eventually, after I had several times been sure that she couldn't possibly pull out any more, she tied off the ends of the laces. She helped me to fasten the stockings to the garters of the corset and I turned to look at myself in the full-length mirror. My breath, already difficult, stopped altogether for a long moment at the spectacular sight. Once again, I was amazed at the transformation. Before, I had enjoyed the look of the bra and panties but been disappointed at the bulge around my waist. Now, my love handles were hidden and my waist nipped in an amazing amount within the corset. There was so much more of the shimmering dark satin with the corset, every inch seeming to catch a highlight from one lamp or another. I turned and twisted as much as I was able within the stiff material and tried to get my breathing started again. As I turned, I noticed Kelly's ice-blue corset still in the package. "Take off your own bra," I told her. "It's your turn now." We repeated our earlier process with roles reversed and soon I was tugging on her laces. I was determined that she should be held at least as tightly as me. She gasped as each additional inch of lace was drawn out and soon was begging me to stop. Kelly didn't let loose of the bedpost however, and I wouldn't let up until I had as much as I could get. When I did stop, her waist was nipped in even tighter than mine, and her chest was heaving at least as much. "Wow," she breathed. "This is really something. How could women stand this?" "Look at yourself in the mirror, beautiful," I answered. When she saw her reflection, with the figure every woman dreams of having, a bright and happy smile lit up her face. I could see her self-confidence return, though with a difference. From now on I didn't think she would take her looks for granted. Instead, she knew she had to work at looking her best, but that the rewards would be worth it. "Okay," she said, "now I understand." At this point, even with the tight corset or perhaps because of it, my stomach grumbled. Kelly laughed and said, "that's right, we haven't eaten yet." Reaching in to the box, she drew out two short silk wrap-robes, one in each color. Handing me the midnight blue one, she wrapped her own around herself and tied it snugly. I put my own robe on, and laughed as I tied it. "I can't see my waist, there seem to be a pair of obstructions in my line of sight." Kelly giggled and nodded, her own figure enhanced by the corset she wore. The short robe barely covered the tops of my stockings and rubbed against my bare ass-cheeks as I walked with Kelly to the kitchen. Every little movement seemed to cause the hem of my robe to swish up and I felt as though my fanny were fully exposed. However, whenever I forgot to exaggerate the sway of my hips, I would stumble slightly. About that time I also realized that my feet had begun to hurt. "I'm going to have to take off these shoes," I complained. "My feet are killing me." "Don't you dare," Kelly threatened. "Learn to live with it. Mine hurt, too, but we'll both just have to get used to these shoes." When we sat down to eat, the robe rode up high enough that the skin of my ass was sitting directly on the chair. A few inches of pale thigh showed above the tops of my stockings and the sense of being exposed was intense. I had never realized how even shorts provided a guarantee of coverage that was unavailable with skirts. After we ate, Kelly asked, "Are you ready for our walk?" "Don't be silly," I replied. "But I'll get ready. Will you unlace me?" "Nope," she grinned. "Put on your exercise tights and running shoes. I'll get you a shirt." "Wait a minute," I resisted. "I can't go out there wearing this corset and falsies!" "Yes you can," she insisted. "We spent enough time in our fashion show that it's already dark. You're lucky I'm not insisting you wear shorts. I would insist if you had on suntan colored stockings instead of those lovely dark ones." Poised between reluctance and excitement, I didn't move for a moment. Kelly laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet. Tottering on my high heels I helped her clean our few dishes and swayed back into the bedroom. I found my exercise tights, and then slipped off the spiked pumps with both regret and relief, carefully packing them away in their shoe box and vowing to try them again. I unwrapped my robe, sighing again at the elegant sight of the dark, shimmery satin of my corset. Sliding the thin, tight exercise pants up over my smooth, stocking-clad legs I could see that the garters would be very noticeable. By this time, however, I was getting so excited at the idea of going out while wearing such feminine underthings that I was willing to take the risk. I put on my running shoes and went to the closet to get a loose shirt. Kelly met me at the doorway, and handed me a knit sport shirt. When I pulled it on, it hardly fit over my full breasts. I had thought that the garter straps would be noticeable, but they were nothing. My bustline was flamboyant! Undeniable! Gorgeous! Entirely too obvious! I looked at Kelly and started to complain, but the smirking challenge in her eyes made me determined to show I could take anything she could dream up. Then she added, or reminded me of, yet another risk. "Let me touch up your lipstick before we go out," she slyly suggested. Lipstick! I had forgotten that my face was made up with the same flamboyance the corset gave my figure. My blush must have shown even through the makeup and Kelly's smirk widened even further. I was almost trembling with tension from the conflict of desire and fear. Looking at myself in the mirror, I tried to decide which would show worst. Th