Nandita To Nandini
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Nine And A Half Weeks free porn video
Nine And A Half Weeks
by Dawn Middlemiss
It had been a bad week. First I'd lost my job. Really, I didn't care
too much about that. I worked in a bank. My boss was demanding, and
when we'd lost staff before he expected the rest us simply to cover for them.
The work had been boring and repetitive, pushing pieces of paper around, yet
also stressful and pressured. If I'm honest I'd caused trouble and I wasn't
surprised when the boss had called me in.
What hurt me more was that I'd lost my girl-friend, too. When I told
her about the job, she just blew her top. She called me a loser, a no-hoper
and just about every other name under the sun. This was the opportunity to
leave that she'd been looking for, she told me. As she slammed the door
behind her, she told me to get a life.
So I walked down to the pub that evening, ready to drown my
sorrows. I didn't go to my regular, but instead took a longer walk along the
footpath by the fields to the next town. I guess the walk did me some good
because I walked into the bar feeling like a free man.
I ordered a pint, which I downed quickly, and followed it with
another. I must have been well into my third or fourth before I even bothered
looking around the bar. It was still early so there were few people in. The
lighting was quite dim, but a couple sitting over in the far corner caught my
eye. There were two women obviously having a heated conversation. From
where I sat I could only catch snippets of the argument.
The younger of the two women was dressed provocatively. She had
long blonde hair. Her face was immaculately made up with dark red lip stick.
Silver hoop earrings framed her face. She was wearing a tight, white lycra
top which moulded around her ample breasts, leaving very little to my
imagination. Over this she wore a scarlet red leather jacket which was
matched by one of the shortest of mini-skirts I've ever seen. On several
occasions she tried to tug the hem down but to little avail. Whenever she
moved the skirt would ride up a little giving the delightful glimpse of the tops
of her sheer black stockings. She held on to her drink with finely manicured,
long red-nailed fingers. On her feet she wore a pair of impossibly high heeled
patent red shoes.
Her companion was slightly older and dressed in black. Her low cut,
clingy materialed mini-dress showed off her cleavage to perfection. She had
shorter darker hair than her friend, I noticed. The dress was short and, below
the table, I could see her long, stockinged legs. She also wore spike heeled
shoes.
It must have been obvious that I was staring at them. I couldn't help
myself. I'd wager that no red-blooded male in my position would have been
able to resist.
I tried to tune into their conversation.
"Look at him, drooling over there. It's disgusting. I can't go through
with this," the blonde girl whimpered.
"It's your choice," the older woman replied. "You can either go
through with this, or simply walk out of the door. What's it to be?"
She sounded angry and harsh. I certainly wouldn't want to cross her,
I thought. The girl, dressed in the red, looked close to tears. Noise in the bar
began to rise again, so I couldn't hear much more of the conversation.
I had another pint and summoned up the courage to walk over to their
table.
"Good evening, ladies!" I said. "Care if I join you? Or can I get you a
drink?"
I sat next to the younger of the two women, and leaned across her to
put my glass on the table.
"My name's Martin," I said introducing myself. I was already feeling
the influence of the drink, because normally I would never have been quite so
forward. I reached out and, in what I thought was a friendly manner, put my
hand on the blonde's knee.
It was as if I'd touched her with a live electric wire. She flinched
away from me, and leapt to her feet. She scrambled past me with some
difficulty, spilling the drinks on the table. Tugging at the hem of her tight red
leather skirt, she turned to her friend. Now there really were tears in her eyes,
beginning to smudge her mascara-ed lashes.
"Look what you've done to me," she wept, looking down at her own
body. "I look ridiculous in this. I feel so humiliated. And now after all I've
been through you want me to suck a stranger's cock! Well I'm sorry, but my
choice is no. No way..."
Her words stunned me. What was going on here? What did she
mean? But before I'd had much of a chance to let my brain register what
she'd said, she had turned away from the table and, as much as her high
heels would allow, she was walking straight out of the bar. At the door she
gave one last tug at her hem, and without looking back, teetered out into the
night. I must admit that I was greatly tempted to get up and follow her, but
quickly the dark haired woman caught my attention again.
"I must apologise for my friend. She's very nervous and highly
strung." she said, apologetically. "Now, didn't you offer me a drink?"
Well, to cut a long story short, I was captivated by her from the very
start. We spent the whole evening chatting and laughing... and drinking. I
told her everything about myself, how I'd lost my job and how my girlfriend
had told me to get a life. Like I say, I was drinking heavily by then and a lot
of the conversation is a blur to me now. I'd expected some sympathy or a
shoulder to cry on, I suppose. I got no sympathy from her though. Instead, I
remember her saying that she thought men had it easy. I reacted to that and
tried to argue how tough it was with all the expectations on you as a man.
"Well," she said, "You ought to try being a woman for a while."
I thought about that for a few moments, and more to keep the
conversation going than anything else, I said: "I'd really like to. What's the
old red indian saying about not really knowing a person until you've walked
a mile in their shoes?"
"Do you mean that?" she replied. "Do you really want to know what
it's like to be a woman? To walk in our shoes?"
"Sure," I answered, feeling safe knowing that it could never happen.
I honestly don't remember much more about the conversation other
than that. In fact as the evening wore on I got more and more the worse for
wear, I have to admit. I think I remember her calling for a cab, and I think I
remember her helping me out of the pub and into the back of the taxi, but I
really can't recall more than that.
* * * * *
I woke up with a massive hang over. My tongue and throat felt
disgustingly furry. I tried to open my eyes but the daylight hurt. There was
something else wrong. I couldn't move my arms or legs.
I really came round with a start as a realised that I was securely tied
down to a bed. Moving my head around gingerly it began to dawn on me,
with a mounting sense of panic, that someone had stripped me naked and that
my wrists and ankles were securely bound to the foot and headboards. I had
no idea were I was. This was not my home or bedroom. I tried to shout out
for help, but my furred tongue and throat only managed a croak.
It was enough, however, to get the attention of another person who
was in the room. Turning my head carefully I realised that it was the same
woman who I'd met the previous night in the pub. Now she was dressed less
provocatively. She had on a pin stripe suit with straight pencil skirt. It
looked very business like and efficient, but at the same time, her white blouse
straining across her well-endowed breasts, it still managed to be very sexy.
"Good morning," she said. "I trust you've slept well?"
"What's going on?" I managed to croak, trying to clear my throat.
"I just wanted to see how serious you were," she replied. "Last
night you said that you'd really love to find out what it was like to be a
woman. Did you mean that?"
"I don't understand," I said nervously, stalling for time.
"I'm making you an offer. Listen carefully." She spoke quietly into
my ear. "I can make your dream come true. Only say the word and I'll teach
you what it is like to live as a woman."
"How?" I managed to ask.
"That won't be your problem," she whispered into my ear. "Just trust
me. Do you really want to know what it feels like to get dressed in women's
clothes - to put on a pair of lace panties, pulling them up your long, smooth
legs? To feel the touch against your skin of a silk blouse, or to feel perhaps a
pair of nylon stockings rubbing together between your thighs? The
experience of tottering on high heels as your whole centre of balance is
thrown forwards? Do you want to know what it feels like to wear thick lip
stick across your full, luscious lips? Or to try to work when you have long
painted nails at the end of your fingers?"
She spoke gently and seductively, for which I was grateful. My
throbbing hangover would not have been able to cope with any loud or
sudden noise. But as she spoke, embarrassingly I noticed that something
else was beginning to throb. Soon it was unmissable.
"I see the thought excites you," she laughed.
"What do you want?" I still pulled at the ropes which bound my
wrists and ankles, but I had already worked out that it wasn't going to do
much good. I was trapped.
"I have a contract I'd like you to sign," she said, picking up a piece of
paper from the bedside table. "If you're serious about finding out how it
feels to be a woman, sign it for me. The contract simply says that for two
months you will obey me, following my every command. You will
unquestioningly do exactly what I tell you to do. After the two months are up
you are free to do what you want, but for those two months I will own you.
You will be mine. The contract is legally binding according to my solicitor. If
you sign, but then go back on your word, if you break the contract, then I
can drag you through the courts and sue you for everything you've got. On
my side of the contract, I promise to teach you what it feels like to be a
woman. I hope that's clear."
I was panicking by now. I felt sure I was trapped by a mad woman.
With the position I was in of utter vulnerability, and with a raging hang over,
I really wasn't thinking straight. I decided that I would do what ever it took to
get free and out of there. If that meant signing her contract then so be it. I
didn't know what might be the consequences of displeasing her or upsetting
her, so I decided to play along.
It was difficult to sign the form with my wrists so tightly bound to the
bed post, but she held the paper while I scribbled my signature.
"There," she said. "Signed, sealed and delivered. Now, don't go
anywhere."
As if I could!
She disappeared into the en-suite bathroom, but soon returned
carrying a tray on which there seemed to be dozens of bottles, creams and
potions. I got really worried when she held up a razor!
Quickly and efficiently she rubbed cream all over my body. Then
deftly she shaved every hair from my legs, my arms, my chest and my face.
While she was doing this she continued to speak to me.
"From now on you will call me Mistress," she said.
It was only then that I realised with surprise that I'd never even knew
her name. From then on I simply thought of her as "My Mistress".
At this point my hung over brain was still thinking of escape.
"I have already destroyed the male clothes that you arrived in," she
continued. "From now on, learn to think of yourself as a woman."
After she'd finished shaving me, she began work on my finger nails.
With my wrists still securely tied she had me exactly where she wanted me.
She applied some long acrylic nails over my own using what looked
suspiciously like some kind of super glue. I was sure the nails were not
coming off again in a hurry. Carefully, then, she applied two coats of bright
red varnish.
After she was satisfied with the look of my new nails, My Mistress
took a tape measure and began to take some measurements. The tape felt cold
against my waist, and hips. She asked me what shoe size I took, and then,
without speaking to me further, she left the room again. I tried once again to
shout, pleading that she should untie me, but I got no reaction. Shortly after I
heard the front door slam. She'd left the house!
Again, I struggled with my bonds but it was absolutely no use. In fact
I soon realised that by pulling at the ropes I was only succeeding in making
the knots tighter.
I must have drifted off back to sleep, despite the discomfort. The next
I knew she was back, standing next to the bed. Sunlight now streamed into
the room, so I reckoned several hours had passed.
"Now, Martina," she said, for "Martina" was now the name she
invariably called me by, "Now, for your transformation."
My headache had subsided a little and I was thinking more clearly. As
My Mistress untied my legs and arms I knew that it was useless to struggle or
try to escape. She had a legal contract signed in my name. I also had no
clothes!
Passively I submitted to all her instructions.
She told me to stand in front of a full length mirror. I struggled at
first as the circulation began to return to my hands and feet. My body already
looked strange to me stripped of its hair and with long red finger nailed hands
at my side.
Firstly, she produced a black lace bra, pulled the elasticated straps
over my arms and fastened it at the back. She then placed a pair of very
realistic breast forms into the bra cups. She placed some sort of adhesive to
the backs, and pushed the breasts firmly into place. She stood back to
admire. "They'll do... for now," she said, almost to herself.
As I looked at myself in the mirror and saw the life-like breasts which
now seemed to jut out from my body, I have to admit I began once again to
get turned on.
Next she took a rubber sheath and placed it around my swelling cock.
Deftly she pulled the flesh-coloured straps attached to the sheath, up and
around my back, pulling my penis around and out of sight between my legs.
"This gaffe will stay in place at all times," she ordered. "When you
need to go to the bathroom, from now on you'll have to learn how to do it
sitting down."
Quickly she placed a corset around my waist. It was made of black
satin material. I gasped involuntarily as she pulled hard on the strings at the
back, constricting my breathing at first until I began to get used to the
feeling. The top of the corset cut into the breast forms holding them even
more securely in place.
I sat on the edge of the bed as My Mistress rolled some black, fishnet
stockings up my smoothly shaved legs. She attached them to the suspenders
hanging down from the corset. Then, as I sat there, she began to work on my
face applying make up. First, eye shadow and mascara, then blusher, and
finally dark red lip stick. It felt very strange and heavy on my lips and the
great temptation was to run my tongue across them.
She now began to put the final pieces of the transformation into place.
A pair of black lace panties, to match the bra, went over the gaffe. She
clipped some silver earrings to my ears and placed a bracelet around my
wrist.
Then, from a box, she pulled out a wig of long straight blonde hair,
very close to my own colouring. She pulled my own hair back into a hair net,
and then placed the wig on top. Around the edge of the hairpiece there were
adhesive strips which kept it from slipping. My mistress took some moments
getting it exactly how she wanted it.
The next surprise was the dress. It was a maid's uniform of black
silk. She slipped it over my head and pulled the zipper up the back. Round
my waist she put a white silk edged apron, and pulled the strings into a tight
bow at the back, accentuating the way that the corset was shaping me. I
could see as I looked down that the front was fairly low cut and allowed the
roundness of my new found breasts to peak out at the top. It was also quite
short. The hem was level with the palms of my hands at my side. Petticoats
also pushed the skirt outwards
I looked at myself in the mirror and could not believe what I was
seeing. There stood before me a young man's sexual fantasy. A pretty
young woman, full bosomed, red lipped, long flowing hair, dressed in a
maid's outfit, looked back at me.
"One final touch," said My Mistress.
She held before me a pair of strappy sandals, with the highest heels I
have ever seen or dreamt of. They must have been fully six inches high.
Carefully, My Mistress strapped the shoes around my ankles.
"Well, Martina," she smiled. "What did you say about not really
understanding a person until you walked in their shoes?"
* * * * *
I found the clothes limited my mobility a great deal. The shoes were
definitely not made for walking long distances, and the tightness of the corset
made it difficult to bend down. I also had to get used to my new breasts
which seemed to get in the way, and the long nails which made a simple task,
like picking some small item up from a work surface, quite a skill.
From that afternoon on, My Mistress began to teach me what she now
expected from me. She wanted to show me, first of all she explained, what it
was like to be a pretty, pinafored, and obedient housewife. I soon learned
each day to make sure that the kitchen was kept spotlessly clean, and that
there was a mouth watering meal on the table when My Mistress came home
in the evening.
That evening she showed me to my bedroom. I was quite
disappointed because I had half hoped to share her bed, but politely and
firmly she helped me to change into a long flowing white lace nightie. It was
a relief though to be able to take off the corset and shoes. The gaffe, she
explained once more was designed to stay in place, and the adhesive on the
breasts was more or less permanent without a neutralising solution.
The next morning, she helped me to get dressed again, and explained
that she had to go out to work. My Mistress led me down to the kitchen and,
once she had made sure everything was all right, she left me, literally,
chained to the kitchen sink.
"You're learning what it means to be a housewife," she explained,
"All day, chained to the kitchen, as they say."
While she was gone I spent the day cleaning out the cupboards and
cooking a meal. That part of my new role was not hard. I wasn't bad at
cooking anyway. What was more difficult was doing it while kept restrained
by the heels, corset, and nails. I soon concluded that men had designed these
things, and made their women wear them, precisely to keep them restricted
and subservient.
At first I continued to think about escape. I began to realise, however,
as the day wore on, that it wasn't just the clothes, the chain or the signed
contract that kept me there. There was another reason I stayed... I found that,
surprisingly, I was beginning to enjoy my new position. There were no
pressures on me, no decisions to make. The only thing I had to worry about
was keeping My Mistress happy.
And so the days passed by. Each new day brought an exciting
adventure. I could hardly wait to experience what, each day, My Mistress had
planned for me.
One afternoon she told me that we were going shopping to the
supermarket.
"All housewives have to shop," she told me.
I was nervous to say the least. The thought of going outside in public,
dressed as I was in full maid's uniform, filled me with horror.
"It's all right," she reassured me, "I've bought you some other
clothes to wear."
She had bought me a white, cotton tee-shirt and a short denim skirt.
She also gave me a pair of court shoes. The heels weren't as high as I'd been
used to, but they still could in no way have been described as flat.
I put the clothes and shoes on, and looked in the mirror. My Mistress
cast a critical eye over me, making adjustments to my make up.
"You'll pass," she eventually concluded. And I had to agree with
her. I did indeed look like any young woman you might pass in the street.
We drove to a large, out-of-town super store to do the week's
shopping. I have to admit that I did get looked at, but not in the way that I'd
been frightened of. No one realised that I was a man at all, but
disconcertingly some of the other men were giving me admiring looks, as I
pushed the trolley or reached over to pick something out of the freezer
section. I could see them stare at my long legs under the denim mini skirt and
my breasts under the white cotton shirt, much to some of their wives'
annoyance!
One Saturday My Mistress took me into the nearby local city to do
"Girl's Shopping", she said. We had a wonderful day, looking through the
department stores at all the lingerie and clothing. We lingered around the
make up counters, testing out the perfumes. We tried on dozens of pairs of
shoes. I was exhausted by the end of the day and my feet ached, but I really
did begin to feel that I understood a little of what it was to be female.
My old girl-friend would have envied me. She had told me to get a
life. And now I had - the life of a woman!
Another evening My Mistress took me our to a restaurant for a meal.
By then I trusted her completely, and had become less nervous about going
out in public after our shopping trips. She helped me touch up my make up
and fix my hair. She then produced for me the most gorgeous evening dress
I've ever seen. It was jet black velvet, long and straight. It clung to my body
like a second skin. There was a slit up the side to the top of my thigh which
gave glimpses of my leg as I moved.
Getting in and out of the taxi in a lady like way was another difficult
lesson to learn. As we entered the restaurant, I swear, every head turned to
look at us. My mistress helped me to our table.
"I'm so proud of you," she whispered in my ear, as we sat down.
* * * * *
The two months were up even before I had realised it. In fact 9_
weeks has gone by since the evening I'd met My Mistress in the bar.
"I have kept my side of the contract," My Mistress said to me one
evening, as I dutifully brought her a cup of coffee as she'd ordered. "I have
taught you what it really feels like to be a woman. And you have kept your
side of the contract, too, Martina." You have obeyed me in all things."
I watched as she took the contract and tore it up.
"You stay here, now, of your own free will," she continued.
"However, if you decide to remain, I have one last test for you. Do you really
want to go through this?"
"Yes, My Mistress," I stammered.
That evening she helped me to get dressed. She seemed to pull the
corset even tighter than usual. On the bed was laid out a red leather jacket,
with matching red leather micro skirt, and spike heeled patent leather shoes.
Submissively, I put them on over the white cotton tee-shirt I'd worn
previously. As I looked at myself in the mirror I began to feel nervous
because I thought that I'd seen the girl who looked back at me somewhere
before.
The feeling of deja-vu became even stronger as we walked into the
pub and sat down at the corner table. I'd been here before!
Suddenly I became acutely aware of the feel of the weight of the
lipstick and make up on my face. I was aware of my long blonde hair flowing
around my shoulders, the tug of the earrings on my ears. I felt the strain of
my breasts against the white cotton shirt. Nervously, I tugged at the hem of
the red leather skirt with my red nailed fingers, trying to cover the tops of my
sheer black stockings. I felt restricted by the tightness of the corset and the
height of the stiletto heels. I wanted to run for the door but knew that I
couldn't.
We drank some glasses of white wine in silence.
Then My Mistress turned to me and whispered in my ear.
"You see the man sitting at the bar?"
I nodded.
"In a moment, I can guarantee that he will come over to our table and
try to pick us up," she said. "Your mission, should you choose to take it, will
be to take him into the garden at the back and suck his cock until he comes.
Then, my pretty Martina, you will be one step closer to knowing what it is
like to be a woman!"
I didn't have much time to think before My Mistress' prophecy came
true. The man at the bar made his way across to our table. There was
mounting panic in my breast as he sat down next to me. I could smell the beer
on his breath.
"Good ev'ning, ladies," he slurred his words. "Care if I join you?"
The image of sucking this smelly, drunken man's cock invaded my
mind and filled me with horror.
I jumped to my high-heeled feet and made a rush for the door. As I
pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool of the evening air, I
pulled at the hem of my skirt.
As I walked back to my old flat, along the footpath, my feet began to
ache in the heels I was wearing. I certainly understood now what it felt like
to be a woman. I'd walked a mile in their shoes.
(the end)
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