Taffeta Torment
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Taffeta Torment V free porn video
Margaret stood before her full length bedroom mirror and admired the
reflection. Not quite her bedroom mirror, of course, because George had
bought it as a special gift, one of several, and this was his spare
bedroom in his generous town apartment. But ownership was not in doubt.
Everything would soon belong to Margaret.
After a short courtship, she had agreed to George's request that she move
in with him but only on the condition that the relationship was strictly
platonic. No hanky panky, just a common sharing of mutual interests, the
opera, cinema and so forth. Come turning in time, it was separate
bedrooms and separate beds.
George, utterly smitten, had gone along with the relationship. After all,
he was sharing his apartment with what to him was the most gorgeous woman
on god's earth, attired in the sort of feminine way that he had longed
for all of his life.
Today, though, was going to be a very special day for them both. Margaret
would make sure of it. In fact it was to be the last day of George's life
as he would know it.
"Poor George," she mused as she smoothed her hands up and down a black
satin skirt that enveloped her stocking-clad knees. She fussed with the
top of her navy blue satin blouse, tossing it this and that way as she
tied it in a neat bow. She moved gently in the room, listening with a
smile as the static hiss of her stockings rubbing up against her black
taffeta half slip created an erotic swishing sound in the few short steps
she minced across her plush carpet.
She recalled how she was dressed this way when recruiting another
pathetic member to their ever increasing Taffeta Torment club some months
ago. She had made an appointment with the bank about securing a new loan
for the internet business wanting to meet an ageing manager who she
thought might have been open to some gentle persuasion but instead a
quite unexpected dalliance with a young bank clerk promoted beyond his
station, led her to the jackpot.
"Can I help you madam?" asked the bank assistant, a man in his mid-20s
with angelic eyes and blond hair that made him look far younger.
"I certainly hope so," cooed Margaret, always willing to flirt with
little boys more than half her age. She had fastened a gold satinised
mackintosh over her satin skirt and blouse that morning and in the
privacy of the young attendant's office, the swish and rustle of its
burgundy satin lining echoed around the room.
His name was Simon and from the moment Margaret sat opposite, crossed
her delicious legs and smoothed her black nylons with a gentle stroke of
her satin gloved right hand, he was hers. Simon could not prevent himself
staring at her immaculate heels and seamed stockings that disappeared up
into that wonderful overcoat and Margaret, realising her power, played
him like a puppet. Leaning over his computer screen to view some by now
irrelevant repayment figures, she allowed her gloved hands to touch
Simon's, guiding them towards a few hot keys then allowing them to linger
on her satin mac.
"Do you like the feel of satin Simon?" she whispered thrusting her red
lips close to his earlobes seductively. "I'm wearing a satin skirt
underneath. Would you like to see it sweetie?"
Her glittering silver earrings and fragrant perfume were overwhelming
poor Simon, who nodded obligingly. "Are you sure that door is locked, we
wouldn't want to be disturbed would we sweetie?"
In a trance, Simon crossed the room and locked the huge oak door. When he
turned round, Margaret was waiting behind his desk. "Come here and
unbutton my mac, darling, would you?" and still in an semi hypnotic
state, Simon proceeded to do just that as Margaret stroked his ample
blond hair and placed her forefinger beneath his chin.
"That's a good boy. Can you touch that satin lining, sweetie. So smooth
and rustly isn't it?" she teased, pushing him to the ground beneath her
feet. Simon grovelled and groped, his hands succumbing to first, the
gorgeous lining of her mac then the sensual smooth satin of Margaret's
skirt.
Sitting down and crossing her shapely legs in one movement, she beckoned
Simon once more. "Just lick my shoes for a few minutes sweetie and then
we can sort out how much of a loan you can afford to give me. Is that OK
darling?"
But Simon was not there. Lying now on his back, his tongue extended to
caress Margaret's 5in stilettos, one hand was smoothing the sheerest of
black nylons, the other trying to run a palm across the black satin
skirt. "Just a little higher and you might be able to feel my girdle's
suspenders. That would be your lucky day, now wouldn't it?"
Looking in the mirror, Margaret giggled at her impudence. A day later,
Simon left the bank but not before he had embezzled ?500,000 in to an
offshore account. It left no paper trail and the bank never recovered
their assets. Only Margaret and Joyce did that.
The bank also never found Simon. But how could they? By the time Margaret
and Joyce had allowed him to stay at their mansion for a few weeks, he
had been transformed into the satin slut he aspired to be, performing an
oral sex that all older women wanted. Simon became Simone, of course, and
was rented out to a variety of friends and acquaintances, mostly of
Madame Lafayette. If the ladies did not find this angelic little cherubic
cutie amusing enough, there was always their frail, boring husbands. Many
a will read out and an estate had been settled after some doddering old
husband's heart had given way during an unexplained session of oral sex.
Almost certainly the young lady had been a prostitute, police surmised,
almost certainly paid for by the wife now widow who having witnessed the
act, always made sure the bondage cuffs and gag were removed from her
unwilling dead spouse before one of Madame Lafayette's assistants
escorted Simone, bound and gagged himself by now, back to the Taffeta
Torment mansion that satinised Simone's fraud had allowed them to
purchase, before locking him soundly away in his small feminised quarters
in the mainly deserted left wing.
But that was in the past. Margaret had the future to contend with now.
"George, George, could you help me a moment darling," she shouted through
her open bedroom door. George was startled. Never since she had moved in
with him had Margaret beckoned him into her boudoir though how he wished
just once he could have the chance to spend a few fleeting moments there.
And here it was.
"Coming dearest," he replied and Margaret smiled to herself. George
always adopted a suitably deferential tone when responding to her
requests. He had been trained well that far but today would be a step
beyond to a point where there could be no return.
"Sweetie pie, I have to be at Madame Lafayette's for 3pm and I'm running
late," she whimpered in mock maiden-in-distress tone. "Could you be a
darling and run me there. She has some new gowns in for the opera and I
so wanted to try them on before they go on general sale."
George pondered the vision in front of him. Margaret was still standing
in front of her mirror, now applying a delicate shade of crimson red
lipstick with her right hand as she spoke to him. Her left was stroking
her left thigh, her matching crimson red nails gently feeling the
shimmering satin at the front and side of her perfectly fitting skirt. He
could hear the rustle of what he supposed must be a taffeta petticoat
during her movement. What else could it be?
Letting them guess what was beneath her skirts and frocks, what was
making that swish and rustle sound against her sheerest stockings, was
one of Margaret's most potent weapons.
"Just be a darling and fetch me my coat and gloves would you pet?"
Looking over to her double bed and the pink satin covers, there was a
dark black satin rain mac and satin gloves to match. "And don't forget
the silk headscarf, I 'm having my hair done afterwards."
It was not often George experienced an unsolicited erection but as he
picked up the mac and gloves and ran the silky scarf through his fingers,
he suddenly felt stiff and helpless. In the mirror, Margaret watched his
discomfort with a wry smile. "Hurry darling, I don't want to be late..."
she urged him on.
A few minutes later, she was sat in the back of the car with George
speeding off to Madame Lafayette's. "I must ring ahead and tell her I'll
be a few minutes late. Could I borrow your mobile darling?"
Looking in his rearview mirrow, George watched spellbound as Margaret
fussed over her hair and took a metal lipstick holder out of her small
clutch bag and applied yet another layer.
"Thank you darling." She made a mock phone call ahead then carefully
placed George's mobile into the satin lining of her clutch bag. Joyce had
rang her that morning to tell her that under no circumstances must George
meet up with some girl who had a crush on John. She was trying to find
him and had traced his dad. The two of them could expose their whole
operation, Joyce said although secretly her reasons were driven just as
much by personal lust as gain.
George was now out of reach of anyone. Any thoughts of that rendezvous
had disappeared, replaced by the prospect of Margaret modelling a vast
array of sumptuous ballgowns. How appropriate, Margaret thought, as she
tossed his last hope of contact into her clutch bag. Immersed in the
satin line, the phone was on mute, unable to make a sound and on vibrate
only. Not much different from the predicament George would soon find
himself in.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Back in her mistress bedroom at the mansion Joyce had already made plans
to take John to the next level in his complete subjugation. She eagerly
awaited his return from the salon where Joan and Barbara has whisked him
off a few hours ago. The salon offered many fantasies and with its
variety of tables and reclining chairs covered in plastic or satin
sheets, it was able to cater for most of them.
Joan and Barbara were two new recruits to her staff, lady friends of
Madame Lafayette who had long disposed of their husbands, one way or
another, and now wanted a new challenge in life. Namely transforming
little boys into abject slaves and dressing up and having some fun in the
process.
Barbara, buxom and nearly 65, loved to dress in tight clothing despite
her advancing years and relished squeezing into the blue satin pencil
skirt she was wearing today. She wore 14 dernier Aristoc stockings, in a
rich coffee shade and seamed naturally, a pair of white stilettos that
emphasised her still shapely calves that carried her towards John, bound
and gagged in what had become his personal mobile salon chair. Her steps
were dainty but if the swish of her satin-lined skirt mesmerised John, it
was the crisp nylon work coat rustling against her skirt and the top of
her full length taffeta slip that brought John's senses to a brink.
Her coat, the sort beauticians at the posh salons wear, was dark blue,
fitted at the waist and slightly flared with white double buttoned trim
down the middle and three quarter sleeves edged with tiny white rolled up
sleeves held by two delicate buttons.
Her dark permed hair and gloss red lips added to the allure. Barbara knew
she had sex appeal and she flaunted it to the full.
"Now, now dear, just a final day in the salon and your mistress will be
so pleased with her little boy," she taunted as she checked his hands and
feet were securely fastened to his chair by formidable leather binds.
Joan, a dumpier but nevertheless vivacious lady of about the same age,
wore an identical nylon overall in blushing pink with blue buttons
instead of white as contrast. Her pencil skirt, though not visible, was
in a similar pink to match her heels. Joan was pink lady in every respect
and very much adored making a feminine fuss of her young charge.
"Now let's have you laid back, darling," she cooed and a switch on the
chair tilted John horizontal as if in a dentist's chair. His entire body
was encased in a long taffeta cape that was tied in a bow behind his
neck. Beneath lay the body of an almost entirely emasculated young man.
Tiny breasts had begun to protrude thanks to Joyce's hormone treatment
and all his pubic hair had gone forever. His legs had been prepared for
one final waxing that would finish the work of weeks of electrolysis and
since his arms and chests were silky soft, the battle to suppress manly
hairs in those regions had been a facile victory for Joyce and her
assistants.
Even his head had been completely shaven, shorn of a lovely and full head
of chestnut hair. Joyce had decided that she would choose a wig for him
on a daily basis to suit his or her mood and besides, fitting a sheer
black stocking over his bald head was far easier for Joyce and far more
arousing for John. Once smoothed over and fastened at the neck with a
garter collar, his mouth gagged with a silk headscarf, it was a simple
task to fit a luscious blonde wig on top and make him spend his time
trapped inside his nylon mask.
Barbara and Joan performed first a pedicure on his delicate feet and toes
as he lay horizontal. Next, they levered him up to finish him off with a
manicure, his hands vainly struggling for release from his leather cuffs.
"There, there sweetie, just keep still otherwise Joan and I will have to
start all over again," Barbara scalded in a firm but flirtatious tone.
She soothed his hand with her own gorgeously manicured fingers and nails.
A pumice stone was gently softening his palms and the back his hands -
they were never the hardest in any case, more a scholar than builder, but
even he could feel how soft and malleable they had become. The ladies
then applied varnish to his nails that had been groomed to perfection as
Joan idly chatted.
"So how did you end up single darling?"
"It was Madame Lafayette actually. I had been married to Jeremy for
nearly 20 years, he was that many years older and at first it didn't
matter but he aged badly. Frankly sweetie, he'd become a bore and I
needed a bit of fun in my life. Plus he was sitting on a pile of cash and
his estate and I thought any minute he's going to change his will and
write me out."
"And then what?"
"Madame told me about this young man, Satin Simone she called him. How he
could, well, suck men's cocks like nobody else, drive them wild
apparently."
"No...." and both ladies giggled as John looked on wide-eyed but
perfectly still.
"Well, long story short, I got Jerry to, well take a fancy to the feel of
satin. Wasn't difficult, he was nearly bed-ridden so I'd sneak into his
bedroom , wearing a satin skirt, rub his hands up and down it while
gently stroking his you know what. I found it repulsive frankly, but it
worked. He became erect for the first time in years. Next thing, I
arranged for Madame to send this Simone over with one of her assistants.
That night, shortly before they arrived, I made sure Jerry was aroused
and then tied his hands to his four poster with some detachable leather
straps, courtesy of the Madame again.
"Well he was livid, but once I'd gagged him with a pair of my panties and
a silk headscarf and fitted one of my spare stockings over his head, he
soon calmed down. Amazing how that always works. Until this Simone
arrived. Dressed head to toe in shimmering black satin, long satin opera
gloves, hobble skirt and blouse and even a satin bib and bonnet. And
those lips, darling, to die for. She, sorry, he could hardly walk poor
lamb but once his handler, Jenny I think her name was, had laid him into
place, he went to work on Jerry in an impressive way."
"How so?"
"Well, I wouldn't have minded that tongue working its magic on me I can
tell you!"
Again fits of giggles and this time both ladies broke off to smooth
John's shaved nyloned head.
"Don't fret sweetie, your mistress had better things planned for you,"
Joan said, caressing him though the dernier stocking and planting a large
kiss on his cheek. "Let's have this stocking off and we can work on those
gorgeous eyelashes of yours darling. Now where were we Barbara?"
"And that was that. Jerry took one look at him and just about passed out
then but when he came into mouth and this little Simone took it all in,
then cleaned his mess on his satin bib and then licked Jerry's little
penis end for more, that's when he keeled over and breathed his last. God
rest him."
Barbara thought back to her dismantling the leather cuffs, removing the
silk scarf, stockings and panties from her dead husband's mouth and head.
Depositing ?100 of her late Jerry's money in an account that was a cover
for a ladyboy agency further confirmed the poor man's guilt in ensuing
investigations. The insurance companies and the solicitors didn't stand a
chance. Barbara was a rich woman on the strength of one almighty blow
job. "At least he died with a smile on his face..." Barbara laughed.
"Now then, let's get you back to your boudoir and all dressed up for your
mistress."
John was wheeled in the same chair back to his bedroom where the two
women set about preparing him. A small dose of Joyce's potion kept him
still long enough for John to be stood up straight and talcum powdered up
and down the front and back of his torso and around his genital area.
Barbara and Joan wore plastic disposable gloves for the task which they
were quickly removed before fitting John into a full length black
corselette, an open bottomed foundation garment that had been lying on
John's satin covered bed.
It was an old fashioned corselette with very little give, two zips at
either side and one at the back enforced by an underlay of hook and eye
fastening. It was a devil to get on, but once inside, it was a garment
that was meant to stay on rigidly and the satin bullet bra and thick
adjustable satin straps reinforced the feeling of being bound up. Joan
and Barbara deftly fastened the zips and hook and eyes before smoothing
down the huge satin panel at the front. The hiss of their nylon overalls
and swish of nylon stockings on satin skirts aroused John to a huge
erection despite his docile state.
"Oh my, we'll have to do something about that darling," laughed Joan.
She clasped his hands behind his back and cuffed his wrists in leather
bindings held together by metal clips then sat him down on the bed, his
body encased in the corselette but his erection proudly jutting out from
beneath its open bottom.
This was a familiar scenario for John as the two ladies sat either side
and calmly lifted one leg at a time. "Point your toes sweetie, there's a
good boy, let's have these stockings nice and tight and clinging to those
girly legs."
He could feel nylon brush against nylon as they went about their work,
gradually securing his stockings in perfect harmony with the eight metal
suspender clips that trimmed the thick black suspenders that dangled so
lovingly from the corselette.
"I love them taught and tight, don't you Joan?" teased Barbara as she run
her hand up and down John's thick suspenders and fiddled meticulously
with the tiny pink taffeta ribbons that hid the eight metal clips.
Normally his erection would be stifled beneath the tight satin panel of
the corselette or girdle but today these two ladies, how he was falling
in lust with them as they went about their work, allowed his penis to be
loose. At least for while.
"Fetch those silky panties Joan would you?" and Joan produced a pair of
midnight black silk panties, large size with elasticated leggings that
they smoothed tenderly up and over John's nylons and snuggled in over his
erection before coming to rest in the middle of the satin panel.
"There, almost done."
Neither Joan nor Barbara spoke as the latter fetched a metal lipstick
container and proceeded to lavish red lipstick on John's moist lips.
"Oh, does that feel nice pet. Pucker up pet and we'll have them full and
inviting for your mistress won't we darling?"
Simultaneously, Joan had opened a pair of brand new Aristoc black
stockings and as soon as her companion had finished, she slipped it over
John's head in double quick fashion. "Don't smudge those lips now
darling. That's it, nice and snug. "
John found his newly painted lips pressed up against the sheerest nylons,
almost glued erotically to the flimsy stockings that suddenly took on the
aroma of his own lipstick and the fragrance the two ladies were now
spraying over his nyloned head.
"Got to have you smelling sweet for your mistress," Barbara teased as she
threw a sensuous silken scarf, pink with tiny black polka dots, up and
over his shaven head and firmed it into place around his stockinged
forehead with a cute bow tie knot below his chin.
A small dose of potion was required for the final instalment as they
released his hands which was just as well because as John saw his evening
dress attire for the night, his already full erection suddenly became
stiffer, larger almost.
Barbara and Joan had moved to his wardrobe in harmony and returned with
the fullest and most shimmering black taffeta frock John had ever seen
carried between them, carefully caressing the enticing material with
their delicate fingers and shimmering red nails as they glided across the
bedroom floor.
"Your mistress had this specially made you lucky little boy," Barbara
said. "Now let's get you inside."
They lifted his limp legs, which by now were adorned with six inch black
high heels that boasted a pink bow on the pointed front and back, and
smoothed up the frock. It was iridescent black taffeta that gleamed in
the light on the outside, a tightly fitted bodice with squared off
neckline and three quarter sleeves.
The rustle of the material sent a tingle up John's spine, exacerbated
when the two ladies drew up the frock over his nylons and allowed its
sewn-in coral pink taffeta petticoats with an underskirt of polyester
satin to brush up his calves and thighs. His senses were heighted as the
coral pink satin lined bodice encased his upper torso and a simple single
zip fastening bound him inside this delicious garment.
There were also satin coral pink upturned cuffs on the sleeve and a side
gathering slither of pink taffeta all a rustle as the two ladies flounced
and gathered the frock around John's calves and knees. His final ignominy
was a pair of elbow length pink satin gloves which the women worked up
over his freshly manicured nails and his slim hairless arms with ease.
He was utterly speechless, but before he could even move, Joan had
whisked him off his feet and was carrying him like a babe in arms towards
his bedroom door.
"Sure you can manage darling?"
"He's like a little baby, aren't you sweetie?"
Just how frail and feminine John had become could not have been confirmed
more by Joan's almost muscular handling of him as they made their way
down the corridor to Joyce's boudoir. He could feel Joan's sturdy arms
and hands clutching his frock and though he kicked and wiggled his feet
in protest, there was no doubt he felt a comforting glow as the taffeta
petticoats nestled around his immobile nylon legs and the polyester satin
swished and rustled against his nylons as he struggled wimpishly.
"Goodness me, what an adorable princess you are," shrieked Joyce as the
threesome entered her room.
"Where would you like him madam?"
"On the treadmill first, let's wear the little dear out for a while."
The treadmill was exactly that but John had no idea why he should need
exercise. That would only build up muscle surely, which was the reverse
of what Joyce wanted.
Nevertheless, his hands were secured to some special cuffs that had been
erected on stiff poles either side of the treadmill and he was placed in
the middle with his heels standing on the rubber revolving track.
"A very slow 15 minute walk should suffice for him to appreciate his new
frock and new makeover. We can retire to change ladies and meet me back
here in say half an hour. OK?"
Joan and Barbara nodded and minced off into the distance, looking back
and cooing seductively arm in arm at John as their nylon and satin attire
swished loudly as they departed. Joyce was leaving too but not before she
switched on the machine to slow walk.
"Have fun sweetie. I know you'll enjoy this," she teased, herself
smoothing her black satin skirt and wiggling out of the door and out of
John's eyeshot.
John could not see the relevance at all...that was until he was forced to
move with the slight force of the treadmill's revolution. For months he
had not been allowed to walk alone, and never for more than ten paces,
and now suddenly he was gliding across the treadmill as his frock
sashayed and rustled all around him.
Its stiffened petticoats and bodice pierced his senses but much more was
that his legs were now for the first time, as smooth and silky as any
woman's. But unlike any woman, he was not accustomed to the continual
swishing and caressing that his coral pink petticoats were subjecting his
newly shaven legs to. Moreover, his brand new nylons, so soft, so
clinging, oh my god 14 dernier, had never felt so sheer or enticing.
In short, every step was a new discovery, a new tingle up his spine, deep
down in his genitals. It was unbridled pleasure. He marvelled at how the
skirt of his frock swished and swayed and bobbed up and down as if alive
as he walked his tentative tiny steps. His high heels ensured every
movement was accentuated as his pert little bottom wiggled from side to
side in tandem with his frock.
He wanted more, he wanted less. He wanted to relieve himself but not to
relieve himself. He wanted to release his hands and run his pink satin
gloves over his gleaming black frock and feel the net and petticoats into
his nylons, smooth his frock again and again and make frou frou upon frou
frou with his dainty hands. He felt adorable yet he felt ashamed at the
same time. God had not made him like this but how could he not fail to
see how much he, or more likely she, was entranced and thrilled by it
all?
Clearly Joyce had groomed him well.
His steps were short and tiny, as Joyce had wanted, so his nyloned thighs
and calves hissed against one another as he minced along the treadmill.
Now and again a suspender clip, though covered in the smoothest taffeta
ribbons, would collide while his petticoats, forced down by the net and
organza and the taffeta frock, hindered progress with a rustle and a
swish at his every movement. The polyester satin lining positively clung
to his nylons as he pranced onwards on the spot, his arms raised on each
side as if keeping balance, walking like a lady minus her clutch bag.
His penis, now beyond erect and ready to explode, rubbed up and down
against the black satin of his corselette, each time trying to escape but
restrained by the black silk panties that held it a tormented prisoner.
On his head, his pink headscarf and fitted nylon was a reminder of his
satin and silky cocoon, his trembling lips unable to stop quivering and
kissing the gorgeous 14 dernier Aristoc that caressed his shaven head.
Meanwhile his legs were shaking, scared of the sensation the next step
would bring but certain it would be a pleasurable and inescapable one.
Joyce had trained him to adore taffeta, satin and girdles and now he was
being trained to be a woman...or at least an effeminate young man in
women's clothing.
Myra
- 30.07.2021
- 8
- 0
