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Taffeta Torment 4 By David Royce DEPRIVATION DAY. John loathed and longed for it in equal measure, the one day he was freed not from his shackles, no that would never do, but from his taffeta immersion. Not that it felt much like freedom but then Joyce had designed the day only to further her total control over a young man of whom she was growing increasingly fonder and possessive with each passing day. Strange how things had worked out. The more Margaret had concentrated all her efforts in snaring John's hapless father, the more Joyce had rekindled a shining towards John, recalling that fateful meeting that had altered both of their lives forever. More than once she had fantasized about how, if John had escaped from her initial imprisonment, how she would have recaptured her youthful victim. It would have been easy, she thought. Her reveries involved John returning to his own dwelling above her flat while she was out at lunch. Undaunted, and fully aware of John's weakness, she set about ensnaring him once more. That journey took her to her wardrobe and a few adjustments to her casual dress. First, she changed her stockings from tan to black, 15-dernier Aristoc nylons that were taughtly clasped by the 12 metal clips that gleamed from her shiny black, all-in-one girdle. She adjusted the garter straps to stretch the nylons up and over her shapely legs and smoothed the nylons to perfection, caressing the seams up and over her calves and finally thrusting her brightly painted red nails inside the top welt to confirm the fit was perfect. If only she could invent a machine that could shrink John and slip inside that welt, already tightly bound of course, he would be fit snugly between a couple of her suspender straps and she could carry him around on her shopping trips with her naked captive gagged and toiling to escape in a nylon prison at the top her thighs. How much would he struggle in vain, trapped inside the welt, listening to that special swish of the nylons rubbing together as she walked, the clip-clip of high heels on the marble floors of the lingerie department at her beloved store Farmer's, and gentle rustle of her taffeta half slip as it sashayed up against her stockings and John's puny but erect body. Ahh..such fantasies inside fantasies. Back to her main one, however. Upstairs she could hear John's clumsy footsteps, probably trying to get ready to go out and face the world after his humiliation the night before. No time to lose, Joyce, stop preening, though in truth she could not resist it when she thought of having John under her complete submission. An electric blue satin blouse with a crisp bow neck tie and delicate buttons on the cuffs of each sleeve came next before she produced her coup de grace - a newly acquired calf length skirt from Farmer's. No ordinary skirt, naturally, a long taffeta governess skirt that glistened in the half light of her bedroom. She drew it up and over her rarefied stockings and could hear the delicious rustle of the polyster satin underskirt that was stitched into the skirt, just enough stiffness to make the garment stand out a little with its smooth texture swishing in harmony against her stockings. She tucked in her blouse and fastened the skirt with a tiny zip at the back, a thick shiny black belt accentuating her curves and adding a touch of dominance to the outfit. Next, she grabbed her largest satin mackintosh, a huge, flouncing affair of buttons and flair in a soft lavender shade. John was almost ready to depart but she had a note already written: Please come and see me John, I have something for you was the tantalising line that she folded neatly into an envelope marked 'John'. She grasped the envelope and teetering on her six inch heels, swiftly posted it through John's door which was but a few yards from her own. She clipped her way back to her own flat in no time, shut the door and began to moisten her lips with a delicate pink shade of lipstick applied from her own old-fashioned golden tube stick. As she preened in front of her hall mirror, she placed a silken headscarf, blue with tiny white spots, around her neatly coiffuered hair and gracefully pulled on a pair of short coffee-coloured satin gloves. Now she was ready. As John descended his stairs he saw the envelope and he read Joyce's note with his heart pumping. He could smell her comforting perfume on the notepaper as he stood at the bottom of his stairs, trying desperately not to imagine, not to think, not to fantasize. He locked his door and walked briskly past Joyce's door but it was then that his curiosity got the better of him. He knocked twice before a voice within said: "It's open." For an instant he hesitated but then it was too late and he opened the door to see the vision of beauty that was Joyce, coolly applying lipstick to those pouting lips and dressed to the nines. "Well hello stranger," she cooed. "Well come in if you want to see my surprise. And by the look on your face you'd better shut the door!" John realised he was standing open-jawed, almost drooling as Joyce brushed past him in her satin rain mac. The rustle of her taffeta frock and swish of her sheer stockings as she walked mesmerised him. He did not pay any attention as she locked the door and led him with her satin gloved hands into her boudoir. "Be a darling and unbutton my coat and hang it up please," she beckoned coyly. And John obeyed, the chance to touch that satin mac and lining and stand close to Joyce's perfumed body was all the incentive he needed. "There's a good boy," she cooed as she slipped out of her mac to reveal her stunning black taffeta frock and satin blouse. "Will I do?" she asked as he fidgeted with her coat and hanger, not wanting to loosen his grip on the gorgeous garment but hungry to be near Joyce again. She performed a small frou-frou with her satin gloves, revealing a glimpse of the polyster satin lining as she did so. "My shoes need a good clean sweetie," she said, totally out of the blue, thrusting her right foot forward provocatively, the movement causing her frock to sway against her stockings and calves and create that wonderful swish of nylon on satin. As if hypnotised, John fell to his knees and began licking her right shoe with all the vigour of a young boy possessed. "There, there...that's very good darling. And don't forget the heel. That must sparkle and shine like the rest of my shoes mustn't it?" This was where Joyce's fantasy moved into a blurring overdrive as she instructed John to move higher, ever more gently caressing her nylon- clad ankles, calves and thighs with his tongue before arresting between her legs at the open end of her magnificent girdle, pleasuring her every whim until she was sated on her satin bed cover and John was a spent force, ready to be tied up and bound to her bedposts until his tongue was once again required for pleasure. So much for fantasy. The reality today was deprivation day which meant John was utterly naked and bound spread-eagled to the four posters of his own bed in what was now his own very feminized bedroom. Gagged, of course, but not with a soft, pretty silk headscarf, his repression today was a harsh and tight-fitting rubber ball gag that is an essential item in the tool box of any self respecting dominatrix. "Are we sitting comfortably darling?" Joyce cooed as she moved closer to the bed where she had recently imprisoned John. She had decided on a black satin pencil skirt for her duties today with a hemline that fell just below the knee and a half slip of black taffeta that swished against her black nylon stockings and the satin lining of her skirt as she wiggled across the bedroom. A scarlet satin blouse with three quarter length sleeves rounded off by double buttoning on the cuff completed her attire although it was the gleaming six inch stilettos that mesmerised John as she tottered over and sat on the satin bed sheet next to her young captive. "Mmmmm.....I bet you wish you could be wearing this skirt today pet," she teased as she smoothed her hands over the shiny satin material and took her place, expertly crossing her legs to maximum effect as the sheer stockings hissed that seductive and irresistible rasp. "Never mind, tomorrow will be different won't it sweetie? Lots more rustly adventures for you. There, there. You're dripping out of your mouth and that won't do." She reached to the bedside table drawer and took out a neatly folded satin hankerchief with lace trimming before dabbing John's lips and mouth around the ball gag. "There, there pet. Aunty Joyce will make it better. Take away all that slavering." Joyce had taken to calling herself 'Aunty' in front of John because she rather liked the idea of looking after her 'nephew' while moulding him into the subservient and obedient little boy she desired. Her delicate perfume and the odour her gorgeous coral pink lipstick invaded John's senses as she leaned close, the palm of her right hand gently caressing his chin as she gently dabbed away his saliva. "Such a helpless little boy aren't we? Aunty Joyce needs to look after you sweetheart, doesn't she? But I know you'll repay me when the time is right. Ah-ah, no frillies or fabrics today darling. Tut tut." Joyce was responding to John's feeble attempts to free himself from his shackles just to get a brief touch of her satin skirt or nylons as she tilted full length across John's body. "No. No touching. Although I suppose I could just give you a little treat...." and with that she kissed him softly on his forehead and allowed her skirt to brush his by now very erect penis. "My, my, that is sooo hard darling. Ooohh, very good for such a little boy and such a little weenie weenie." It was then that a mobile phone hummed in the background, a tiny buzzing noise in the bedside drawer. John's mobile, which Joyce had kept just in case any dodgy questions were being asked about his whereabouts following his departure of almost indecent haste. Normally she answered and told the caller they had a wrong number but when the name JANE came up on the screen, she was more than a trifle intrigued. "Hello, can I help?" "I'm looking for John. Is this still his mobile number." "I'm afraid he's a little tied up at the moment darling. Can I say who was calling?" "Jane." "Jane?" repeated Joyce as she smiled at John whose erection was turning even more rigid. "My my, John is a dark horse, I'm sure he'd be gagging to talk to you sweetie but as I say he's awfully tied up just now." She threw a smirk at John who was desperately trying to blabber something through his rubber ball gag. "MMMMMMFFFFF.." was as much he could manage. "What's the noise?" asked Jane. "Oh nothing dear, just someone choking on breakfast next door, I run a guest house in Margate, mainly for the old folk you know. I'll attend to him now while we're talking," Joyce lied, breaking the golden rule of deprivation day by smothering John's whimpers beneath one his special petticoat hoods, the black taffeta and net enfolded around over his head and gag and tied up tight so as to further muffle any sound. "Is that all Jane?" Joyce said as she stroked and smoothed the taffeta lined lingerie against John's cheeks, pushing tight over his lips to restrict his mouth movement. "Could you tell him I called? I have an appointment with his father tomorrow, at 3pm. I'm hoping to find out a little more about where John went. You say you're at Margate, so I'll head there later this week. What's the name of the guest house. "Sea View. Just off the high street." "Well thanks for your help. I really had a thing for John but he just off and went without even a goodbye. Very strange. "Yes, young men can do the strangest things dear. I'll see you later in the week. Goodbye." Joyce felt a buzz and not only because she had lied so easily and sent a young girl hundreds of miles away from John. Joyce also felt a pang of jealousy. "Tut tut John, I didn't know you had a sweetheart." She had removed the taffeta petticoat and was looking with amusement and genuine tenderness at the face of a young boy crushed, crestfallen and close to tears. "There, there. You have to let her go now. With your little secret fetish, it would never have worked would it darling? Now I'll just put on your DVD and then you can have some private time to yourself." Joyce wiped a tear from beneath his eyes with the silk hankerchief and moved towards the DVD player and large screen which had been installed at the foot of the bed. She slotted in one of her homemade efforts, smoothed he skirt into place and clasped John's hand. "Just relax and enjoy, sweetie. Then lie back and have sweet dreams. I'll come and tuck you in later with a special story and nightcap." Joyce left with a mincing wiggle and rustle of taffeta and satin on nylon that aroused John to full erection. She glanced back and smiled, taking the key from the door and making sure John knew that he was being locked inside his own bedroom. John hated himself for succumbing to her...yet again. He had genuine feelings for Jane who was a good friend and an attractive young girl on his university course but the moment Joyce smoothed the taffeta petticoat over his head, it was as if Jane didn't exist. All he could feel was Joyce's delicate hands fondling the taffeta about his head and mouth, he could almost taste the moment and he was lost in her grasp. What now followed was a three hour homemade DVD of Margaret and Joyce trying on a variety of utterly gorgeous frocks and skirts at an establishment called Lafayette's, a wedding and gown boutique run by the very elegant Madame Lafayette, if indeed that was her name. John had downloaded some of this material on to the Taffeta Torment website. Madame L was a matronly lady in her mid-60s but absurdly attractive for her age, always attired immaculately in one of her own gowns, usually a more sedate option of black taffeta with a frontage of double buttoning in white and side sash of white satin that swished against the full skirt and its sewn-in petticoats as she walked. She had two assistants, both sturdy women, a little younger than Joyce and Margaret but who dressed older, smart, crisp nylon housecoats in contrasting blue and white over a shop uniform of black satin skirts and pink satin blouses, tightly buttoned along the cuffs of the sleeves and up to a pretty bow fastening at the neck that peeped out over their delicious overalls. The action was slow but the hiss and rustle of nylons, satin skirts and taffeta frocks and petticoats was unrelenting as the two shop assistants took it in turns to first unzip and prepare Margaret and Joyce for another fitting then dress them accordingly in another magnificent gown. Inevitably, lipstick was applied and re-applied; frocks were displayed and touched and felt before and after fittings. At one stage, Joyce and Margaret are caught in conversation as they sit on a settee in the glorious fitting rooms, bedecked with huge ornate mirrors and pastel pink shades on the walls and floors. "You see this is the beauty of these taffeta petticoats," Joyce turns to Margaret, caressing and smoothing a frock in shimmering green satin with a full bodice and straps that just about contain her heaving bosom and long line bullet bra. The camera zooms in on her pink satin gloved hands as she glides them towards the hem of her frock and Margaret, swishing her own burgundy taffeta creation beside her on the sofa. Both women's hands are caught in camera close-up, pink satin gloves on one, black satin on the other as eager fingers gently lift the hem of Joyce's frock to reveal green taffeta petticoats billowed out by net and organza. "Right beneath the net I have this gorgeous polyster satin lining that protects my nylons from the net and it feels oh sooooo smooth when I'm walking across the dance floor. "Oh that's so sheer sweet darling," coos Margaret, the sultry commentary complimenting the sight of satin gloves exploring the petticoat lining and net and the sounds of 15-dernier stockings hissing against each other and the satin gloves. "It's simply adorable isn't it and then over the top, the best bit is the smoothest of taffeta linings that rustles and swishes against the satin lining of the frock. Can you hear that darling?" Joyce is rubbing the petticoats and frocks together as Margaret's black satin gloves begin an involuntary frou frou on her own frock. "So nice, isn't it boys. So swishy, so girlie....." and this time the women are addressing their audience as the camera pans out to reveal the ladies pouting their wonderfully red lips before standing up and adjusting their frocks, swishing off to the changing rooms, arm in arm, frock rustling against frock, ready to be undressed, pampered and put into more impossibly feminine creations. By which time John, unable to move one way or another, has achieved the largest of erections and orgasmic levels. He couldn't wait for Joyce to return and 'tuck him in'. What story would she tell him? One of his old Relate or Madame ones? And when she tucked him in, would she tease him just a little and let him touch her satin skirt or smooth the seam of her nylons into place? Deprivation Day. Dependency Day. Each passing day, John was increasingly helpless to his fetish and reliant on Joyce's whims. And Joyce knew it. XXXXXX ENCASEMENT DAY. How John longed and loathed for it in equal measure! Joyce had kept her promise to 'tuck him' in last night, returning after a long day attending to some of her more specialist clients in her large house to administer his medicine and loosen his restraints. She had probably changed several times during the day to meet various needs and fetishes but when she entered the bedroom she was as always impeccably attired from head to toe. She preferred black satin pencil skirts at this time of night to emphasise her control, a blouse in deep burgundy satin, black nylons and six inch black stilettos reassuring John, as if he were in any doubt, exactly who was in charge. "Now darling, it's time for beddy byes. I've got your tablets and a little sleeping draught to help you nod off." For weeks, she and Margaret had been popping pills in John, the sort that were used to help pacify agitated hospital patients, help them to be more docile, see things in a different way and be more compliant. John was never docile but his mind was beginning to accept the way of things. His carefree days as a grungy student seemed a distant past to him and at times he could barely recall any of his drunken flings and debauched all-night parties. Joyce had straightened him out all right. "There, now drink all this up and we'll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams darling." Joyce stroked his head, removed his ball gag and undid his hand restraints tied to the posts of his double bed. John's arms felt limp but he was being cocooned on his satin sheets by this gorgeous older woman who wanted to transform him to be her obedient little boy. As she arose from the bed and headed for the door, he could hear the swish and rustle of her nylons on her satin-lined skirt, the clip clop of her heels on part of the floor that Joyce had deliberately kept wooden so her stilettos would echo whenever she entered the room. His legs were still chained but his mind was free to roam and his dreams were as sweet as could be. But now it was morning and Joyce was preparing for his encasement. She knew the long day and sleeping potion would put John out until mid-morning at least so as she entered the room at 9am, he was still in a deep sleep on his slippery pink satin sheets. Without disturbing him, she unlocked his legs from their shackles and deftly moved his hands behind his back, binding them together by the wrists with two small satin hand muffs entwined by interlocking metal rings that required the minimum of effort to secure. As she sat him up on the bed, he began to awake from his slumber, a huge erection betraying his innermost thoughts. His eyes focused and there before him was his vision of wonder. Joyce had decided to dress French maid for the day, an outfit she often preferred to demonstrate to her many admirers and clients the glamour to which they should be aspiring. Small blue earrings shone in her lobes below her immaculately groomed blonde hair, her red lipstick perfection as she fussed over John with a toothbrush and water jug. "Clean your teeth and spit it out darling, make your feel all fresh," she commanded, tying a small satin bib around his neck for assistance. She brushed and allowed John a couple of gurgles before taking the water and brush away to the en suite bathroom, allowing John a full gaze at his tormentor. Joyce's frock was a black acetate taffeta that glimmered in the various spotlights that were needed to illuminate the bedroom that was heavily darkened by drawn velvet curtains. The seams of her black stockings were arrow straight down to her black heels as she tottered off, her full skirt swaying this way and that under the pressure from flowing net and taffeta petticoats. It was not a short French maid's frock that some of her more tart-like and egotistical clients preferred, the sort that showed off everything including stocking tops. That was simply naff. Joyce's gown was a full 1950s style that scarcely revealed her several tiered taffeta petticoats as it bobbed and swayed around her upper calves. John recalled seeing Joan Sims in her younger days swishing around in just the same gown in an old 1950s black and white film called Please Turn Over. As she returned, she smoothed her skirt and white nylon apron with tiny satin gloves that had a delicious lace frill on their cuffs, similar to the taffeta frill on her apron that was secured with the most gigantic taffeta sash and bow that trailed down the back that mesmerising frock. The bra points of her black corselette jutted out and filled the shining taffeta material that enveloped her upper body, a white lace frill topping just below her neckline and on the edges of her three quarters sleeves completing the symmetry of the frock. "Feeling better darling. No need to shave those legs, those wax treatments seem to have erased most of your bodily hair and with a bit of luck it won't be growing back. Won't that be nice?" John was bewildered. But not Joyce. She and Margaret had experimented with some deep waxing treatment all over John's body and combined with a few mild hormonal pills, John's tender young skin really was as smooth as the proverbial baby's bottom. Ripe and virginal, lusted Joyce. "There now, let's get you all made-up. Lipstick first, very important for a lady. Pucker up now darling and I'll have you in a cupid's bow in no time." John sat motionless with his hands secured behind his back on the side of the bed as Joyce pulled up a chair and golden lipstick holder from which she unscrewed a deep moist red lipstick. He marvelled at her skill, her application that she had learned over the years at Farmer's Beauty Salon. More, he marvelled at the rustle of her taffeta frock as she moved from one side of the chair to the other, the hissing of her nylons on the polyster satin underskirt of her petticoats as she crossed her legs to maintain balance. "Mmm.. perfect. Now for my stockings. I bought two pairs of 15 dernier Aristoc yesterday sweetie. Not out of their packets yet. Here, let me get them." Joyce minced over to the side cabinet amid a rustle of fabrics and opened both packs of stockings, running her satinised hands through the first pair and smoothing the outside with her fingers. "Up and over, nothing like a lady's nylon to blot your lipstick on. Just a dab of perfume on the welt and you'll be inhaling me all day. Simply divine." The stocking fitted tightly as always. Joyce smoothed it into place and saw John's erection grow stiffer. "Little baby loves my nylons, doesn't he? What little boy wouldn't want lipstick and nylons over his face, precious?" She fussed over his benyloned head with her satin hands and gently caressed his cheeks, kissing him warmly on each one and on his nose, just so he could smell her own lipstick inside his stocking prison. "Now let's stand up darling. That's it." John was not the only thing standing to attention by the side of the bed. Joyce embraced her captive towards her bosom and watched his penis cushion on to her taffeta frock. She could not resist administering a gentle stroke, a loving cup of his testicles and steering it beneath her nylon apron so it rested on her full skirt. She gyrated John's helpless body so that his penis swayed up and down against the shiny smoothness of her taffeta frock. For a moment, she pondered milking him there and then but snapped out of it and bent down to grab a long line girdle from the pink rug, thereby breaking the spell for both she and John. "I adore this shiny girdle and I bought it just for you John. Far too tight to me I'm afraid but these delicate zips and hook and eye fastening at the back will make it nice and tight around your lower body. I'll just wrap your little weenie inside this other stocking, there that's it and pull up now, up and over your waist and voila, you're in." Joyce had pushed John's erection up and under the front satin panel of the black and lace girdle, and once it had ridden up to the very fringes of his chest, she fastened both side zips and the hook and eyes at the back so that he was a corsetted prisoner inside this delicious creation. Dangling down below were eight thick black suspender straps with eight metal clasps, each clip edged with black satin. Joyce couldn't wait to release the second set of stockings and smooth them up John's dainty pink legs. "Sit sweetie. I can see you're getting far too excited. Now let's have this leg first, point your toes like a good boy. There, that's it. I wish I was wearing these nylons, feel so sheer don't they pet." John watched on, his erection trapped by the reinforced satin casing of his girdle as Joyce expertly rolled the nylons up and his leg and attached each suspender clasp tenderly before smoothing down the satin ribbons over the metal. "Don't want the outline spoilt do we sweetie?" she cooed as she adjusted the straps to lend maximum tension to the welt and stockings. Joyce's next move was not new to John although he was taken aback by the sheer weight of the full length taffeta opera slip she pulled up over his nyloned legs. "I bought this from Lafayette's, apparently they don't make many like this anymore. For the slimmer lady so the fabric is thicker to fill out her skirt. There's a flimsy polyster satin lining inside the taffeta. Gorgeous isn't it darling." John's felt that familiar chill down his spine and whoosh up his legs and into his groin as Joyce teasingly smoothed up the pastel pink opera slip, coming to rest a few inches above John's waist where she zipped him in at the side and continued to fuss and caress him along his calves and thighs. "Now for your frock sweetheart." Now this was new to John. He'd often been left all day immobilised in this sort of outfit and predicament but the frock was something different. Taking her time to sashay over to John's wardrobe, Joyce produced full length taffeta skirt in deep burgundy, a ravishing frock that glistened in the false lighting and rustled magically as Joyce ran her hands up and down its smooth skirt. "It has a polyster satin lining, look darling, and its own net petticoats in between the frock's satin lined underskirt. They don't come much more swishy or frothy than this but it's far too big for you sweetie. So I'm going to try a different tack." Joyce turned the very long and fairly full skirt upside down and told John to step in. Gradually she took the outside hem and worked it up John's legs until the waistline could move no further. She had guessed correctly that it could not possibly get over his shoulders or waist but this way it stopped midway between his knees and upper thighs. "Now lie down darling and let Joyce sort it out for my little cherub." Where the skirt's waist stopped, Joyce zipped it up and fixed a thick black leather belt to keep the garment in place and John's thighs nicely strapped together, almost like an elongated straight jacket. With him lying helplessly on his side and arms bound, Joyce smoothed the remainder of the skirt up and over his torso. She had again rightly assumed there was plenty of length and material to gather it up and take it over John's head without too much trouble. "There, nearly there pet." John could hear that wonderful swish of taffeta and satin as it crept up over his naked top, could feel Joyce's satin gloves and hear her own taffeta petticoats rustling frantically as she went about her encasement work. "First the polyster satin darling." Joyce had the underskirt up and over John's stockinged head now but first she stopped and released some of the nylon. "Let's just freshen you up pet before I pop you inside for the afternoon. Pout for me dear."Joyce applied more thick strokes of lipstick and squirted the last dabs of perfume on to the nylon and on to the polyster satin underskirt before pulling down John's stocking over his freshly rouged lips and chin. She pulled the underskirt tight over his hair and secured it with a nylon sash that was positioned beside the bed. "Mmmmm...feels so swishy sweetie. Aunty Joyce loves her special time with her little diddums," Joyce said, smoothing her white satin gloves over the underskirt material and creating a rustle and hiss on John's stockinged cheeks and forehead that was sending him in to taffeta nirvana. Next came the net and skirt itself, a trifle more fluffy but once she had gathered it all in, she was able to close the gap at the top with another wider and longer sash of red satin ribbon. It looked as if a giant confectionary was wrapped in a gorgeously fluffy taffeta and satinised bag. Her task was finished. She watched as John blindly writhed around inside his 'goodie bag'. He could hear the deafening roar of taffeta and satin with his every movement. His tightly stockinged head was filled with the overpowering scent of Joyce's perfume, the feel of taffeta smoothing and caressing his cheeks and forehead at the slightest tilt. He could taste her lipstick in his nostrils and desperately he was trying to kiss her stocking with the lipstick she has applied on him. Kissing HER stocking, kissing HER taffeta lining, with HER lipstick. Trapped beneath HER frock and HER net petticoats. Joyce rolled him over on to his front with his hands flailing behind and on top inside his taffeta prison. She pushed the net and taffeta lining of her frock down over his head and occasionally stroked his opera slip over his lower thighs and calves. She didn't want to wait too long. She saw him struggle in vain to escape the senses that were overwhelming him. His thighs and knees shuddered against his bondage but each time she knew he would feel the rasp and hiss of her stockings that now adorned his lovely legs. She pushed his bottom up and down to help him gain some friction between his throbbing penis and the satin panel of his girdle and the satin bed sheets. Her work was done now. He was unlikely to cum in the ensuing hours no matter how he tried. And he would try, very hard. Joyce and Margaret liked to video these sessions, using parts of it for the website but generally to marvel at John's pathetic attempts to satisfy himself. Like a baby in a romper suit, he needed someone to take care of him, to milk him and pamper him. She lifted up the bars on the sides of his converted bed, like a baby's cot really, so that he could not fall off his four poster no matter how he wriggled and squirmed. Joyce smoothed her frock down and admired herself in the long length mirror. Tomorrow would be John's final initiation before he submitted utterly to her will. She looked fondly at the little figure on the bed writhing around in ecstasy yet frustrating agony encased in her burgundy taffeta skirt and nylons. "Such a little cutey," she cooed as she leant over the bars and smoothed his opera slip one final time. She could not resist one last caress of the burgundy skirt where it smothered John's head. Inside, John could not hear her words but he felt her fingertips smoothing and pressing over the net petticoats. As he lovingly kissed his stocking and polyster satin lining, Joyce was smiling to herself. "Nearly there, sweetie. So nearly there, and all mine."