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The lunch at Tasca's was fittingly light and frothy. Joyce's friend Margaret had arrived on time and in style, swathed in a gorgeous shocking pink satin frock that gleamed provocatively in the bright lights of the bistro. She was slightly taller than Joyce, a bit slimmer but a few years older although her elaborate make-up and exquisite dress sense more than disguised that fact. Her lips were perfectly formed in coral lipstick and large white scalloped earrings adorned a smiling face and dye-blonde hair that was coiffeured elegantly. With Joyce in her stunning taffeta and rayon green frock and Margaret slithering in satin and tan stockings, the gentle rustle of nylons and sheer linings of the garments must have sent a shiver down the backs of most red-blooded males in the vicinity. They were indeed the epitome of the ladies who lunch but there was business to discuss at this meal. Joyce explained her situation to Margaret in every detail. The two women had been more like sisters than just friends, shared secrets and lovers in the past and then turned their backs of men once they had been betrayed, sharing that agony and rehabilitation together. Now their paramount concern was to have fun, without hurting anyone and in John's case, it could never be said that he was feeling any pain at the moment. The pair arrived at a decision and a plan of action and left Tasca's, heading for Farmers department store. Margaret had chosen a white satin mac to conceal her frock and matching white high heels, wrist length pink gloves completing her ensemble. They made for a wonderful sight and sound as they clipped clopped down the high street, swishing in unison, arm in arm off the Farmers. Once there, they took the elevator to the second floor. Lingerie, women's foundation wear and Joyce's good friend Jean who was happy to oblige with a number of purchases ranging from girdles, corsets to stockings and half slips and petticoats. It was as if Joyce had won the lottery and in fact she had, or as near as damn it. The proceeds from the sale of John's flat would keep her in a manner to which she could easily become accustomed. Her orders to Jean were implicit because while John was sleeping, Joyce had been busy taking some discreet measurements around his slumbering torso. The plan, so far, was all adding up perfectly. By way of a treat, Joyce and Margaret then descended a floor to ladies' fashions where they were met by an impeccable manageress by the name of Betty. She was on good terms with Joyce and Margaret happened to be one of her best customers so both were welcomed with a joyful embrace. "We'd like a couple of satin skirts please Betty, cut just below the knee but tailored to allow only the minimum of movement," Joyce told her. "And they must be taffeta-lined," added Margaret. "Very well ladies, any particular colour?" "Black and royal blue, to match our girdles," Joyce replied with a giggle. "I think we have just the thing," Betty said, swishing into the back room as her own seamed nylons touched up against the satin lining of her black pencil skirt. Before long, she re-emerged with two satin skirts, one jet black the other royal blue, laying them across the counter in front of her two clients. "These are your exact sizes but you might like to try them on in the fitting room," Betty suggested. "No, that's a treat we have in store for a far more deserving cause," Joyce smirked and looked across at Margaret with a knowing smile. "Just put them in nice boxes and tissue paper with satin ribbons and we'll take them with the rest of our things." "Of course ladies. Let me call you a taxi and I'll get one of our young men to carry your purchases to the car." XXX Back at Joyce's flat, John was not sure how long he had been asleep. He was not sure if he had heard the clicking of high heels outside the front door and then the same snapping of stilettos on the tiles in Joyce's kitchen. He felt sure that on several occasions, he had been stroked and kissed around the face by satin gloved hands and lusciously glossed lips and a fragrant perfume seemed to linger permanently around his nose and mouth, so much so that he could almost consume it. Finally, though, he was awake. Sitting up, his arms still bound to the bed railings behind him by silk scarves. "Well hello sleepy head," he heard Joyce say as she peeped her head around the bedroom door. "H?ell?lo Mrs Slack," John replied with hesitation, still not sure if this was a dream or reality. As Joyce moved into the room, he knew it was the latter as she revealed herself to her sleepy captive. "Do you like it, John," Joyce asked, knowing full well what the answer would be. She was wearing an all-in-one open-bottomed black girdle, delicately framed with satin panels on both the front and back. It was marvellous creation, with satin bra straps that held up the sharp satin cups of a formidable bra arrangement which Joyce's impressive cleavage adequately did justice to. Her entire figure bellowed control and dominance, with six suspenders on each leg holding her sheer 12 denier seamed nylons delicately in place while six inch black heels gave her calves that curved, feminine look that women craved. "I'll take your open mouth and silence as a yes John and now I want to introduce you to my best friend Margaret." There was a slight pause before Margaret made her entrance, a dramatic effect well worth the wait as she walked elegantly towards Joyce and coupled her arms in hers. The moment was stunning because Margaret was adorned in exactly the same style of girdle as Joyce's only in royal blue, with matching satin gloves and shoes that mirrored Joyce's choice. "Would you get our skirts Margaret?" Joyce asked cooingly and in an instant, the pencil skirts were placed on the side of the bed where John lay bound. "Gorgeous aren't they? Slippery, heavy satin with a full taffeta lining. What girl could resist wanting to wiggle into one of them?" Joyce's teasing was making John aroused in his silky panties but she did not relent. "Shall we darling?" and with that, both ladies picked up their skirts and drew them slowly, seductively up their nylon-clad calves, over their knees and up their thighs as the crisp taffeta rustled and swished against their all embracing stockings. It was tight, as both women had wanted but the skirts were a perfect fit, exaggerating their shapely legs and confining their waist and bottoms beneath the sheath of satin and taffeta. Joyce helped Margaret with her final zip, a favour which was reciprocated, and voila, the girls were every inch two dominatrix on the prowl. "Ooh, It's so tight but so heavenly," cooed Margaret, smoothing first her skirt over her suspenders clips then caressing Joyce's around her posterior, gently stroking the satin over the back satin panels of her girdle. "Satin gloves on satin skirts and satin panels, it's so girly isn't it John?" Joyce said as the two women became entwined with another, embracing girdles and skirts with a deft touch of their gloved hands. John clearly was getting excited. But this was only the beginning. Joyce departed briefly then returned with a bottle of liquid. "It's a potion that I used as an assistant nurse," she explained to Margaret. "It was for unruly patients who needed a little coaxing to get into bed or go to the toilet." She had brought a small cotton cloth with her from the medicine cabinet and dabbed a little of the potion onto it before mincing over to John. "Just take a deep breath John, nothing to be afraid of," she said as she sat down on the bed beside him. John tried to resist, turning his head this way and that, trying to avoid the smell infiltrating his nostrils but once Margaret had gotten a firm grip of his crown, he was unable to stop the surge of the vapour from overcoming him. "Don't worry pet, you won't be asleep. That's the beauty of this potion, it nulls and relaxes the muscles so they feel so weak but your senses will FEEL everything. Perfect really." With that, Joyce and Margaret released him from his silken bonds and sat him on the satin sheets of the bed. John reacted like a rag doll, aware that he was being positioned by these two lovely creatures, aware of their satin touch and aware of their swishing taffeta lining as they fussed around their little baby boy. Joyce knew she had about five minutes until the effects of the potion wore off so her priority was to render John her helpless victim once again -- as quickly as possible. First, though, she needed to get him tucked up inside a long line bra, a midnight black one with jutting cups and firm hook and eye fastening at the back. John saw it coming, saw its satin straps and felt them overwhelming him as the ladies delicately placed his redundant arms through the straps. Margaret fastened each hook and eye at the back, meticulously making sure they were embedded tight as the elastic and panels began to grip his upper rib cage and push what little spare flesh around his chest up and into the daunting cups. Joyce grabbed a couple of her worn stockings and shunted them into the cups to give lend some substance and with the powerful upward pushing of the bra, there was the tiniest of cleavages on display. "That's so cute, come and have a look Margaret." And she did, feeling the satin cups and of the bra and adjusting the straps to ensure maximum tightness. "There we are, now shall we have that black corset and a pair of stockings Margaret?" John suddenly had noticed the pile of beribboned boxes in the corner of the room, two of which had been opened, presumably with the satin pencil skirts inside. Perched on her blue satin high heels with her seams razor sharp and straight down the back of her slim and arched calves, Margaret teetered over to the boxes and removed a satin corset and some Kayser 12 denier stockings from one of them. John's senses were as keen as his muscles were nullified and as the two women worked around him, he could feel the touch of their satin gloves and skirts whisking against him, smell that familiar perfume and glance at their heaving breasts and bodies restrained beneath those powerful girdles. There was no hint of panic, either, as they coolly undid the packet that contained the stockings. Joyce took one in her hand and smoothed her satin gloves inside to open up the fine material. "Put his hands together behind his back," Joyce told Margaret who obeyed willingly. They then eased the single stocking over both of his hands, wrists and elbows until the darker mesh at the top was forced up almost as far his shoulder blades. With his hands firmly encased in the nylon, Margaret grabbed some of the spare ribbon from the boxes (Betty had been very generous with her satin ribbons) and tied the top of his arms together around the stocking, a huge red bow finishing the job. It most likely would have been sufficient to tether John but Joyce and Margaret had not finished yet. Not by some distance. John was a forlorn figure, hogtied by a stocking and satin ribbon staring forward with only two satin skirts in close proximity, their taffeta lining swishing this way and that under restraint from the skirts as they kissed the nylon-clad legs of their owners. Behind him, he could feel the corset being fixed and wrapped around his arms, from just above his elbow to his wrists. The laces were used to tightening waists to around 14inches but now the women worked hard to compress the corset to immobilise John's arms and elbows, tugging at the strings though hooks and eyes until it was completely rigid around their victim's arms. "There, that should do it," Margaret announced with a triumphant note of accomplishment. "All safe and comfy now aren't we darling," as she ruffled John's hair and shoulders. "Lipstick Joyce!" she said. "Now what shade to suit those baby blue eyes. Coral pink I think. Pucker up pet" John remained in a state of semi-shock as Joyce brought a compact lipstick with the most stunning and gleaming coral pink inside towards his lips, applying soft stroke after stroke until his lips had ripened into a lecherous female pout. "Hmm that's quite fetching. I think he'll suit that in future, don't you Joyce?" "Delicious. And we must have a frock to match, in taffeta naturally. With chiffon net and a stiffened net petticoat sewn in, lined in peach taffeta of course." "Betty knows a treasure of a woman who runs up those sort of things, fancy skirts and frocks, ballgowns with all the trimmings and lace. And we have his measurements. How delightful." It was pure teasing but the women were now getting into the mood of things. "Margaret, pass me that silk headscarf please and a pair of my silkiest panties, from that drawer over there. He'll be recovering his power of speech first and frankly I don't want to hear his moaning too much when we finally girdle him." Margaret smoothed her skirt and stockings as she glided across the room to Joyce's underwear drawer. She pulled out a pair of black, silky panties with incredible lace detail and passed them to Joyce, who had already started to open up the other Kayser stocking. "There now, open wide for auntie Joyce, there's a good boy," she said as she pushed her black panties deep into the John's mouth, making sure she did not smudge his delicious lipstick. "Just a bit more, there, that's it. Now we'll keep in that place with a knot in this lovely ladies' headscarf. That should do it. Margaret, will you do the honours behind. A nice tight bow please." His mouth suitably expanded and gagged, Joyce then smothered him in the remaining stocking, smoothing the 12 denier down to his neck until it fitted snugly over his eyes, nose and muffled mouth. "Mmmfp,mmmmmmf," John pleaded as his vocal chords began to work again. "Ah, just in time darling." The beauty of Joyce's plan was that while John's muscles were relaxed, she and Margaret could slip him into a powerful girdle and tighten it to their satisfaction. As they became less tense and hardened, he would feel the full power of the girdle as it dominated his form and restricted movement, especially in some parts of his anatomy that were going to get particularly hard. "Now let's get him girdled shall we Margaret?" and then the ladies moved gracefully to another one of the boxes and took out a smooth long-line girdle the like of which John had never seen before. It was an open-bottomed affair, in sparkling black satin with lace overlay at the sides and the front. Joyce carried it in her hands, softly caressing its satin panels and remarking on its beautiful detail. It was a perfect match for his long line bra. "It's very rare, made for a selected clientele John," she said. "Only ladies of a certain age wear these any more but they are very particular in what they want, the colour, the style and the constriction it brings." Utterly helpless and at their mercy, John was pushed back onto the bed where the two women lifted his legs and set about tugging the girdle up and over his legs and waist. The silk panties were bulging slightly so Joyce tucked his little member, slightly limp because of the potion but gradually becoming more rigid, to the upright position as the girdle slipped into place. He was a slight lad with not an inch of fat on him but relatively small, around 5ft 7inches, for a young man. Even without their heels, Joyce and Margaret would tower over him but in their six-inch stilettos and restricting clothing, they positively belittled his slim form. There were zips, nips and tucks all over the girdle but the ladies knew their stuff and within a few minutes, John was firmly girdled with only his now rigid member straining against its front panel. "Stockings now sweetie," Margaret said, unpacking another pair of nylons, this time Aristoc, from the cellophane wrapping. With his arms hogtied behind his back and his limbs and lower torso tightly girdled, John was brought to the upright position sitting on the side of the bed. It was then he felt the tiny metal clips of six suspenders and their taffeta ribbons dangling against each of his fleshy thighs, thighs that would very soon be smothered in delicious nylon. "It's so important to get the right sort of stocking, sheer 12 denier is quite simply adorable," Joyce teased as she ran the stocking along John's already nyloned face, down his upper chest, across his captive crotch and down to his feet. They smoothed the stockings up one a time, ensuring there were no snags as four satin gloves roamed freely over John's feminised legs and thighs. Joyce levered up his right leg and allowed it to rest on her satin skirt, forcing him to point his toes in an arch as Margaret began drawing up the first Aristoc. They then took great delight in attaching each of the six suspenders to the stocking top, always smoothing, always touching to make certain there were no wrinkles and that the seam was a true one up the back of the calf. They exchanged places for the second stocking and when that was done, they stood John up in front of the bed, keeping a firm grip in case his giddiness from the potion or his predicament made overcame him. John certainly felt faint, but not from the potion. His senses were once more in overload with these gorgeous women cooing and fussing around him and now Joyce minced over to the boxes and produced a remarkable half slip from inside. "It's your favourite John, heavy silk taffeta with the cutest little side zip to tuck you in all neat and tidy. Come on now, darling, lift those legs, I know you're feeling a little weak but the hiss of this working its way up your stockings will be worth all that energy pet." It was a struggle, true, but with Margaret and Joyce supporting and almost pulling his legs like a puppet on a string, they worked the taffeta petticoat up his legs, deliberately swishing it against his first his helpless calves then knees before zipping him inside it with a final flourish. John could feel his manhood rising to a throbbing level as the taffeta rustled around his sheer nylons. Worse still, it was tailored at the hem so it squeezed just below his knee and prevented scarcely any movement that did not mean nylon knees brushing and hissing against one another. "The shoes, Joyce, don't forget the shoes." Joyce had been busy at Farmers and with her measuring tape. John was a slight lad and had small feet for a boy, size seven, so she was able to choose a fashionable pair of court shoes with a four inch heel, in satin black of course. There was a slight bow on the front but John was oblivious to the detail as the two women slipped his stockinged feet inside the stilettos. "Cinders, you shall go to the ball," Margaret could not resist saying and both women burst out in laughter. "Where is that sleeping mask," Joyce muttered as she found a black velvet eye mask that she sometimes wore in bed when she wanted total sleep. She slipped it over the stocking that was caressing John's face and fixed it in place with its velvet band at the back of his head. "Now for a little walk my precious." Blindfolded, gagged and with his head encased in a 12 denier stocking, John's feminisation treatment was being taken to new highs. The fact that he could not see merely heightened his sense of touch and smell, a fact that Joyce and Margaret knew full well. They linked arms behind his back and ushered him around the apartment, each tentative step echoed by a whisper of satin on satin or taffeta on nylon. "You will have to take little steps John, until you are used to your heels and this training petticoat," Joyce told him as she stroked his taffeta slip at the back and felt his suspenders beneath as Margaret applied pressure on the other thigh, gently stroking his nylons though the material. Inside his girdle, John could feel friction between his silk panties and the satin panel as he was walked about. In the kitchen, he could hear the clip-clop of high heels on the tiled floor, a sound that he often longed to hear more often although not from his own feet daintily mincing in 4inch heeled court shoes. Now and again Joyce would cup his little breasts through the long line bra or Margaret would run her hands around the top part of his girdle, reinforcing the fact that he was totally helpless and at their beck and call. All the while, John's member had reached an intolerable level of hardness with no conceivable avenue of release inside the confines of his girdle. "I think he needs a good rest now Joyce, the poor little lamb must be plum tuckered out after all the walking on heels. We did tell you it's hard on the calves and you do have to suffer to be beautiful, didn't we John?" John now was reduced to pleading ?mmffff' sounds inside his nylon prison, pleading as much for a relief from the ecstatic yet almost agonising frustrations he was experiencing. Joyce recognised the symptoms and decided he needed to lie down again. She dabbed a smidgen of the potion on the cotton cloth and forced the blindfolded John to inhale its drowsing effects. Seconds later, he was on the bed with Joyce's eye mask removed. Joyce and Margaret wanted him to see their satin skirts as well as hear them now as they untied his hands at the back. They kept one stocking on one arm and covered his other arm with a spare nylon as they spread his body and reclined him back into the satin pillows of Joyce's four-poster. His arms were bound again to the silken scarves while Margaret went about securing the stockings with silken ribbons tied in a bow a few inches above the elbow. "MMmm, doesn't he look so sweet," Joyce said, starting to compress the satin corset that had restrained his arms around his ankles. It was another tough assignment but both women worked hard to reduce the corset to the desired size, crossing John's legs at the knee to make a bigger area around his ankles to encircle. It was a remarkable work of art when finished, his ankles firmly bound but more importantly his knees unable to move without swishing up against the nylon that encased each of them. "Don't go struggling pet, you know it's only going to get you excited," Joyce whispered into his ear as she leant close and smooched him on his cheeks through the Kayser nylon. "Would you like auntie Joyce to make you feel all nice and satiny, sweetie." She was cooing now, her left hand dropping down to unzip his petticoat and lower it a little to expose his girdle and suspenders and stocking tops. His taffeta training slip now lay across his knees and Margaret was sashaying it up and down that area, the sound of its rustling and the feel of the material driving John to the brink. He could feel Joyce's lipstick next to his gagged mouth, feel her satin gloves caressing his stocking tops, probing inside his nylons and then rubbing away at the satin panel of his girdle that concealed a massive bulge. The friction was just enough to make him feel warm and tingling inside. John recalled those books that had betrayed him, Accord, Relate and Search, with their stories of mature women feminising and controlling young men through the power of their hourglass figures, dominant girdles and the boy's weakness for silk, satin, taffeta and nylons. He went to sleep in his own bedroom fantasising over those stories so why now when it was all coming true did he feel nervous, in fear that he was about to say farewell to a life of a layabout student and hello to one of undying servitude to Joyce, who could wrap him around her little satin- encased fingers with the swish of stocking against her taffeta-lined skirt. "You are such an obedient, compliant little boy in these nylons aren't you darling?" Joyce teased as she slid her gloves up and down his thighs. At this point Joyce stood up and marched to her wardrobe as John peered through the nylon, trying to focus on her heavenly wiggle and walk as she waltzed into the distance. She had several voluminous ballgowns in this particular wardrobe but there was one she wanted now. It was a mermaid shape long gown with a coral pink and tightened bodice that contrasted wildly with the expanse of chiffon and taffeta that made up the fan shape at the bottom of the gown. She fluffed it up and out of the wardrobe and brought it over to the bed. "Did you ever see a film called Guys and Dolls John? A classic musical from the 1950s and some of the chorus singers were wearing gowns like this, gorgeous satin creations with more than a hint of taffeta and chiffon and net for a huge petticoat effect." John had seen the movie many times, taped it religiously in fact for the fashions in the film not to mention the chorus girls who flounced about in their pink mermaid frocks. He'd also taped a film called The French Line with Jane Russell in the leading part but the lingerie show at a French fashion house with girls draped in satins and silks and firmly girdled and corseted was his favourite. He had the feeling Joyce could know more about this as their relationship developed. For now, she took a coat hanger and hung the dress up above the bedstead where John was laying. Once again Joyce had done her measurements well and the gown drifted down from the hook above to lay inches above the satin sheets. That was the signal for Margaret to grab one side of the net and taffeta fan at the bottom and place it, in unison with Joyce, over John's head. It was a cruel encasement in that John could not see a thing but could feel the rustle of the taffeta that lined the frock and the layers of net that stiffened up the fantail. "Ooohh, that must feel sooooo good darling," Joyce hissed as both she and Margaret pressed gently down on the frock. Joyce slipped back the layers of net and took hold of the taffeta petticoat beneath, grasping it rigidly between her two satin gloved hands and rubbing it smoothly across the stocking that was encasing John's face. "How adorable, he's squirming like a little baby trying to feel the satin on a label," Margaret said. There was more teasing as they lowered the frock over his face again and pressed gently down, the taffeta, net and satin overlay all taking their toll on John's shredded nerves. It was clear that John was becoming increasingly twitchy. "I bet you'd love to be under a ladies' gown when she is parading in her high heels and stockings. I'd love to lock you in my wardrobe beneath my gowns, hands tied and mouth gagged so there is no escape, just the relentless rustle of my gowns as they slither all around your body. Mmmmmm, what do you think Margaret? "I think he's about ready," she replied and released his right arm from the headscarf while stroking his slender, palid arms through the stocking that imprisoned it. She stood up and allowed her skirt to fall to just beneath her knees, smoothed it into perfect shape and wandered off to find a clipboard and some papers that were in her briefcase. When she returned, Joyce was busy stroking the satin panels of John's girdle. "Slowly, ever so slowly darling," she hissed into his earlobes. "We don't want any accidents just yet my pretty precious." "mmfffe.." was as much as John could muster feeling his manly urges being submerged by a feminine desire to be allowed to touch his own taffeta slip and nylon stockings. Margaret produced a pen from the clipboard and guided John's stockinged hands towards the first sheet of paper. With the taffeta lining and net of the frock above him, he could not see anything in any case. "Just sign here dear, yes that's it, and here, now here. And another sheet, very good, and just one more with that dainty little hand. Well done, you have been a good boy. And what a busy day you've had. You deserve a delicious reward, don't you agree Joyce?" Joyce did. Margaret placed the papers away carefully back in the briefcase then rustled her way back to John's bedside to attend to the victim. Gagged and virtually encased from head to toe in sheer nylons, whispering taffeta, sumptuous silk and satin, he could not have felt more feminised. Flanked by two mature ladies in their girdles and satin outfits, he could not delay the inevitable as they both joined in gently applying friction to his satin panels while caressing his head and thighs in equal measure. The satin corset around his ankles meant there was no escape from the hissing noise of nylon on nylon and the frock above his head was suffocating and sensous in every way. Joyce in particular was in a generous mood. No wonder. John had just signed over an enduring power of attorney to her and to allow Margaret to sort out his estate, i.e. the flat above worth around ?200,000. "You are such a sweet boy. Are you going to be my obedient satin maid, dress me in my best finery and attend to all my needs? Would you like to have that job John? I really need someone like you to make sure my gowns are gleaming and the seams on my sheerest stockings always straight. Do you think you can cope sweetheart?" John felt giddy again. Margaret and Joyce were both tenderly kissing his face through his stocking now. Their nylon legs were entwined across his satin panel and they were rubbing their heels up against the bottom of his manhood inside the girdle. "mmmmmmmmmmmmfffffffffffffffffffffff...." John moaned as a final swish of nylon on the satin panel released a volcanic-like reaction inside the silk panties. Joyce smiled at Margaret She was in full control of not only her own destiny and John's. "There's a good boy. All creamy and nice now. I might milk you again later but only if you help dress me for the ball tonight."