Show What You Can t Say Mallory Part 3
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One...
I had been scared. Now I was drunk. I've always found that alchohol is a
great eliminator of fear, provided you don't drink too much of it. But I
did and had and now the 737 was descending to land at the Boise airport
in Idaho. The stewardess had tried to take my last drink before lap
tables went up, but I downed it, and being the polite person I am, said
thank you. She smiled.
"You don't like flying much do you," she asked.
"No, maam, and I have an important meeting to go to, and I don't know how
well it's going to go."
"Well, I'm sure it'll be fine," she said with all of the assurance of
those who don't care.
"I hope so."
She smiled again, took the plastic cup and left.
I looked out the window, vacantly noticed how lush the land around here
was, the small city. It was a beautiful city I'd been told, with huge
firs, steep hills, lovely lakes, rivers full of fish and nice people. To
be honest, I didn't really care, although I did appreciate it all. I
mean, I could see it was beautiful country, kind of like the Seattle I
was coming from, but less crowded. It's just not much my kind of thing.
I'm into computer games. I'm into the internet. And I'm a bit kinky. My
internet name is rubberslut.
I notice beauty in the form of a rubber goddess, a fine corset, ver high
heels, or an elegantly designed computer game far more than I see the
fine sunsets, blue lakes, forested meadows. I'm told I'm missing out.
In fact, it was Cheryl, my ex girl friend of six weeks who had screamed
that at me, while doing a very sincere rant about what she had caught me
at. It had been a bad argument, and one sided.
Cheryl was my goddess. I so loved her. She was short, only 5', but in the
heels that she always, always wore, was 5'4" or 5'5", even. Rounded, red
headed, temperamental, and a beautiful face. Her fingers, like those of
most short people, were short, so she wore dagger nails to make them
longer. She compensated like that.
For a man, I'm short, 5'6", so it worked. Finally, I found a woman I
could look at, instead of up to.
And she was so compassionate and passionate. There is a long story here,
for we were together for six months, happy.
But I had played the internet before, I had a wardrobe of latex, and all
manner of things. Comics by Kroll, magazines from Marquis, and my
internet sites, toys of many stripes.
She had moved in with me, and the sex and bliss and partnership had been
wonderful. She dressed sexy, we made love sexy, heads turned, mostly
looking at her, most likely, and I was so proud.
A week later, it changed. She got comfortable in my apartment. She went
on my computer. She found my favorite sights. She, in fury, slowly,
deconstructed my apartment. And once one looks, the secrets are not hard
to find. It's a small apartment.
I'm twenty seven, and thrifty and sentimental. I don't throw anything I
like away and hadn't. I came home from work. I walked in through the
front door. She stood before me, betrayed and very, very sad. Her
beautiful make up had tear streaks down her cheeks. She had rent her
blouse, showing me her beautiful breasts. She was still in heels and
looked so gorgeous. I don't think she had ever looked so sexy before.
Based on my kink perception.
She pointed down at the pile of clothes in front of her. I'd not noticed,
being busy looking at her, and my heart fell. Everything was there. The
butt plugs, the latex corsets, boots that could never fit me, and some
that could. Torn magazines, ky tubes. Skirts, makeup, a blue page boy
wig. All of it was there. The pile, from so many years, was about three
feet high.
"I loved you," she said, and the way she said it made me sure it was in
past tense. "You betrayed me. We, we were so open together, so one,
and..." She paused, looking for words.
I said nothing. There was nothing to say, but a tear fell. Quietly.
"You cheated on me."
"I..."
Her eyes gleamed hate, and I wilted before them.
"You have hurt me so bad, Ray." She waved around the apartment. "This was
to be our love nest. Our life nest. Our base. This was going to be where
we started. This was ours!"
She continued. "You want this! You can have it!"
She picked up a whip that was at the top of the pile. Tears were
streaming, from both of us. Then she picked up a corsellette and held it
to me.
It was a nice tight one, with tight legs and garter attachments, with
breast covers that could almost make a bosom. Pale peach, with white
satin. With the right stockings and heels, some gloves and a nice skirt,
it would look very nice. All it would take was some makeup and a wig to
complete the outfit. It said curves.
She whipped the whip, and held out the corsellette, and I made a mistake.
I reached for the corsellette. She dropped the whip, strutted to the
door, turned. "Don't talk to me, don't call for me. I never want to see
you again. You are cancer in my brain."
"Cheryl! Let's talk abou..."
But the door had closed. Behind my Cheryl.
I sat down and cried. And then, after a while, I began to dress.
Two....
The plane lands, and I pick up my bags, somewhat slurry wise. Still in
control, everything is moving easy. I'm safe and still in the airport, so
there's no commitment made. It's only for a weekend, but still, it was
suggested, determined, actually, I should bring most of my stuff.
Options, he had said.
Two duffle bags and I'm walking to the door for a taxi.
I see her at the same time she sees me. She's in a short denim skirt,
high heels and a denim vest that shows curves and curves. Her make up is
tacky strong, the blonde hair big, the smile kind.
"Ray?"
I look around. I hadn't known what to expect. I hadn't thought this far.
I go for strong. "Yes, that is me."
"Goodness, I'm so glad I'm not late." She rushes up to me. And gives me a
kiss. She is stunning in a country way. A tad on the skank side. But the
country smile is convincing. "Let me take one of your bags."
I let her, but it's too heavy, too many things in it.
She drops the bag, breaking a nail. She gives me mean look, then says,
"I'll get a porter."
I stand there, stupid. Is that Mistress Davison? It can't be. That is not
the one I spoke to for the last six months. And It's not Master David. We
changed his name, when we realized that he wasn't really fem, but then
who is this, I wonder.
She comes back with a porter, who is looking at her heels and stockings
and steering poorly.
"Load her up," she says.
"Who are you," I ask, as I put the bags on the cart.
A cross look passes her face before the sun smile. "I'm Dave's sister."
"Sister?" I am somewhat numb with fear and alchohol and lack of planning.
"Yes, silly. He's setting everything up. To look Her best. For You."
I give her a vacant look.
"I know my bro, and love him. I'm here to help. He told me he loves you."
Foolishly, this pleases me, and I load my bags on the cart.
Three....
After Cheryl left, after the crying, I realized I was basically
unacceptable. I cried for a while, and then went for kinky. Over the top
kinky. Total kinky. At least to my mind.
I locked the door. Drew the blinds.
I took a shower. I did something I'd never done before. I committed.
After all, it could always grow back. I shaved. Everywhere. And
everywhere. I left marks on my leg, chest, arm and butt hole. My hands
were shakey. The tequila didn't seem to help.
I'd read enough to know that a plug is penultimate, or almost, but as a
constant reminder, it's important. Once I was drunk enough, I rammed in a
very fat plug. It wasn't the royal jelly, but it was ver fat at it's
base, and tapered down. I so wanted to get rid of it, but wouldn't. I'm
stubborn that way. I mewled into the pillow though, and it passed.
I coated myself with ky, lots and lots of it. I was so sad and angry, who
cared. NO one cared.
Then I put on the latex corsellette. It slid up easy. I had a drink,
another, and poured a tube of ky into each of the latex stockings,
squished them around a bit, and slid them up.
I thought of Cheryl. I thought of this weird kink. I thought of Cheryl. I
had a drink.
Crazy, I did the same with the latex gloves...ky, and slide on. Then I
started to get dressed. But I was so guiltily horny. I so wanted to come.
I think maybe I was in love with things that didn't exist.
I put on a thick latex cock sheath, but without ky. It hid the sensations
I was feeling. It had ball sacs, so I put mine in them, and tied the
leather cord tight. That hurt. But goodly. I knew I would stay horny.
I continued to dress. Strong stockings, my boots, knee highs under. The
corset was weak, not tight, I couldn't figure it out, but it was long and
stiff. I tried to tighten it, just a bit more, but my gloves were useless
and I gave up. Fuck it.
I looked into the mirror and saw myself. I didn't like it, so began to
paint myself in white actress makeup, till I was ghost.
Then I added color, lashes, eyeshadow and more.
I put on that neon page boy wig, with some broken hairs and went on line.
My cock was hot, and my emotions were very low.
Then I went on line and spoke with Mistress Davison.
Four....
The airport is in the flatlands, the house is in the hills and Bambi,
Master David's sister, is driving fast in a neon pink Mustang
convertible. My face and head feel wonderful as warm wind travels by us,
the blue sky above so very blue. I'm looking around and seeing that I
have been missing something. This is beautiful. There is one so very
lovely cloud, it's the only cloud, maybe a lonely cloud and I want to
touch it. One moment it's a butterfly, then the currents take it and it's
a dragon. I don't get the warning.
Bambi has great legs and the skirt has hiked up. She's wearing clear
stockings and I can tell she's not wearing panties. She sees me notice,
and smiles. "I'm a bit, what's the word, riskyou. Not kinky like my
brother."
I correct her, absently. "It's risque."
A cloud crosses her painted face, lingers, then is gone. "Whatever.
Anyways, I'm so glad you came. Dave was worried that you'd chicken out."
She is easy to be with, and I feel comfortable. The tequila, that Master
David knows I like when I'm a bit down, was given to me in a flask, after
we loaded the duffle bags in the car. "We are going to party hardy,
hon," she had said, and then gulped deeply. She had smiled. "1813 Rose
Red Teck. Nothing but the best, for our special guest", then taking
another gulp, sped off out of the airport at redneck speed, cranking up
the radio with country music. "whoo hoo!"
I sip the tequila, a little buzzed, and ask quietly, "Will there be other
people there?"
"No hon," Bambi looks me over, again, like at the airport. "He said you
were a bit shy. And a little sad too. But he wouldn't tell me why. He
said that he had promised not to tell anyone about anything. He was very
udumint about that. Something like that."
"Adamant," I correct absently, and I feel a heat wave from her that I do
not see, for I am looking at the beautiful mountain forest ahead. It
radiates peace and quiet shadow.
I know why she is looking over me. For I am wearing a conservative
feminine attire. I'd been told to dress lightly, but comfortably by
Master David, something that wouldn't set off the airport detectors. But
still kinky, to make me get into the mood. I had thanked him for His
choice of attire.
Red panties, garter belt and stockings, black woman slacks over, the
stretchy tight kind with no pockets and a back zip; tight enough to see
the garters and stocking tops under. A dark silk shirt, not fem, but with
a bra under, and a white tie over. White leather boots with a small heel.
Nothing too fancy, nothing too crazy, nothing rubber. No eyeliner, and
definitely eye shadow. No metal clasps to set off airport security.
And it feels very nice, feminine to me, and well frisky. But now as I'm
driving with Master Dave's beautiful sister, I'm thinking, am I safe?
I know the thought is late. I know I've been thinking about it for a
while. I know I've been avoiding the answer. And I know the answer
already. It doesn't matter because there is nothing to lose. Except, of
course, my life.
Five...
Satin, nylon, rayon. I could never really tell the difference, but I knew
from the moment I touched it, it was far different from cotton, like the
underwear and socks I had to wear as a kid. In a way, it confused me. I
thought, as a kid, so this is why girls get to look pretty; it's because
they have lovely textures to wear and that's why they smile so much and
grow breasts. Men have to wear denim and be bully's or be sad or mean or
just plain fucked up. The dots connected later, and I realized that girls
were different from boys for other reasons. But I didn't ever understand
why they got to wear the nicer fabric. I never got that satin was sissy
on a man. I never liked to be manly in denim.
Six...
True to Master Dave's promise, we meet at the local bar at the base of
the mountain. There is a post office, a gas station and this bar. Farms,
and the homes that go with them are spread far and wide. There is a stop
sign in town at the cross of various roads. This is a no stop light town.
I am ver nervous, not because Bambi does a donut in her car as she
screaches the car to park. I am nervous because I feel this is redneck
zone and I'm wearing slacks. But it is numbed down and Bambi, seeing my
nerves, edges me to another zip of this fine tequila.
The day is bright, and the tavern is dark, and as it turns out, empty.
There is a dance floor, some tables, and cook counter. It is like all
taverns. Master Dave is in the kitchen when we enter. He is wearing a
cooks apron, but my eyes see that it is plastic, instead of cotton. My
fear diminishes.
"Hey, sis," he booms, for he is as tall as he said he is, his muscles
bulge and his eyes are blue. "Thank You for picking up Sissy."
He then looks at me, and I am arrested. He is more handsome than I could
expect. Tall, commanding, and his face has features of a male movie star.
I think no way could he be fem, he couldn't ever even try to pass.
"Lock the door, sis."
And he walks away from the counter and through the kitchen door, as Bambi
locks the door, and I feel confusion. He's wearing black stockings, a
garter belt, 3" heels, his apron, and his dick, which is long and fat and
swollen. Needy.
The masculine head doesn't match what is below the neck, although I can
see that under the nylon, muscles ripple.
He clicks toward me, full of confidence, smiles. "Hi sissy."
I am lost unto me. I don't know what to say or do. I kneel and say,
"curtsey." Like I've said so many times over the internet to him. I look
down and notice that his shoes are Praga, ver spendy, and stylish.
"now now," he says, Master Dave. "None of that. We're friends." He lifts
me up and hugs me, and gives me a kiss. It's a peck, really, but it means
a lot to me. "You said you needed someone to talk to. I'm here. Sis is
here, or she can go, if you want her to, but it's your call." He pauses,
then, "there's no need to worry, hon. I can see you're nervous, but don't
be. I am here for you." Then he kneels, and kisses my flat boot.
It will be the only time he does that, but I don't know that yet.
My concerns, of course, vanish, and I lift him up by my hand so that he
towers over me. I break into sobs, for my life had gone to shit, and tell
him, as I grasp him and hug him, and I say, "my life has gone to shit,
and You saved me." I sniffle, then say thank you.
And he pushes his muscle body to me and says, "there there," and strokes
my head.
I am calmed.
Seven....
After Cheryl left me, things got dire. I over drank, over drugged and got
fired. That was wham one.
I drank more to make up for the days I hadn't drank enough. I was on the
internet all the time, but contrary to the lie I was living in cyberspace
as rubber slut, I really wasn't brave enough to wear what I said I was
wearing. I had put on/in my plug, when Cheryl left. It hurt like a bitch.
And I so wanted to take it out, but I knew, that the path to being a
sissy is to wear a plug. I'd read that.
For a week or so, I was in latex, total latex, complete with slippery and
heels and almost as decked out as I claimed to be. Sans plug. It just was
not all that comfy in me, and it hurt taking it out as much as putting it
in.
The thought stayed with me, though, so I advertised myself as being all
that latex and plug and corset, and boots. I owned all of this. They were
now on the pile that cheryl had made. I went on line with simply some
plastic pants and pantyhose, not bothering with anything else.
I became down, weak, needy, so I advertised myself into something much
more kinky. And then I met Mistress Davina. We talked and talked and then
I lost my job and we talked and she became Master Dave. For reality comes
with honesty. But I could keep the lie.
And I did.
As it turned out, Master Dave fell in love with what I said I was.
Eight...
We are sitting on a butte, that overlooks the plains, under which, in the
cover of the mountain rests Master Dave's home. The view is stunning.
Flatlands and a river and marbled colors in sandy red, white sands,
gradations of mountain. It is simply awesome. I will never see it again,
but I do not know this.
I have never been so happy. It's been a week now. In this strange land,
and it's beautiful. Master Dave, Bambi and I have hiked, walked, and
motor scooted everywhere. They are so kind to me. There has been no sex,
nor any suggestions of it. Just dressing. Bambi is a bit on the slut
side, with heels and ver short skirts, cleavage. A bit more and more to
me, I'm thinking she's kind of hot on me.
Master Dave is in leather. The leather shorts over the stockings and
hiking boots are ver kewl on him. He looks fashionable. Bambi is naked. I
glance and see that she is completely shaved, tanning. I am into this.
Bambi koos over to me. "We'd like you to stay. I would anyways." I feel
the twinkle in her eye.
I am non plussed. Stay? I would love to stay, but, but, and then again,
but. I say nothing. She removes herself, her mind from me, and lays back,
naked, on the stone upon which we sit, baking in the sun.
There is silence, as I sit, wonder, and see the beauty of the landscape
before me, not knowing that this will be the last time I see it.
Master Dave says, "just you to me, I think my sister likes you." He says
it quiet, but just loud enough for Bambi to hear. She crosses her legs,
but wiggles, like there is a secret there. "please stay."
It's summer, and the sun has grown, it's beautiful and warming.
Master Dave leans over and kisses me, small like, shy even. "Stay. We
love You."
My heart feels like the sun rising.
Nine....
After Cheryl left me, I was on line often. Listless on chat channels,
stupid on shopping, and very drunk. Cheryl....
Cheryl....
My kinks were really not at all that extreme. I didn't wear rubber. I
simply said I did. It got attention.
I wore latex less than I said, but tried as best as I could to wear as
much as I said. But sometimes I was lazy. ON line, I was the foxslut.
China white make up, my plug, my latex corset, latex stockings, five, no
six inch boots, latex gloves, all of it, and more.
I was in despair, and sent it out. I'm slut. Use me. In Cyberville, it's
ok to do that. Mistress Davina, was a kind Mistress.
She said, hon, I like what you are doing, but do what you want to do.
We spoke over many times. Her patience was limitless. As We spoke, it was
clear to know, and I challenged her on this, that she was not a Davina at
all.
"I am Master David, and You will do as I say."
We'd been sharing, so this was a change. "What," I said, do you want me
to do.
"Anything I tell you to do, slut."
I said, "Yes Master."
Ten...
That night Master David needs to go into town, so it's just me and Bambi.
I almost wonder if it's a set up, as she approaches me with a tequila,
wearing oh so very little, but her high heels are so ver high. I am
hoping it's a set up, because she is making me forget about Cheryl. She
kisses me before she sits at my feet and rests her head on my thigh.
Kinks, rubber and everything are long forgotten as I feel lust in my
penis and my brain and I am in love with this woman. Just like that. Just
like that!
We'd gone hiking during the day and I had never known that nature was so,
just so intense. Video games numb you down, I guess. After climbing a
steep hill, wooded and ferned, we'd come to a beautiful lake, dappled in
colors of blue. I'd been last in line, behind Bambi. She wore a thong,
and a vitra bra, nothing more. I followed happily, thoughts of latex long
gone.
She jumped into the lake and left that bra floating. She beckoned me in.
The water was cold, deliscous. She hugged me very close. Master just sat,
looked at me with her sister and smiled.
We made love then and there, under the eyes of Master. Before her
brother, under the water.
I almost drowned. Drank a lot of water.
"Stay with me, hon," she koos quiet and love.
"Ok."
"May I be Your Mistress?"
"Yes."
"Not Master David?" asked her brother.
"Yes."
"Good." We made love again, and it was ver good.
My cloud dragon had left my sight. But it was still lurking....
It would be later, that I found out that Bambi was not Master Davids
sister at all, but in truth, She was his wife. And not as kind as she
seemed to be.
Kierra
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