Taffeta Torment
- 2 years ago
- 7
- 0
Taffeta Torment VI free porn video
XXXXXXX
At Madame Lafayette's, George was also in a mesmeric world of his own
but in different circumstances. He had dropped off Margaret around
2.55pm and parked nearby when she insisted that he join her in the
fitting rooms.
What was a boy to do? He noticed that there was a 'closed' sign on the
shop front but little else as he was ushered in the front door by one of
the Madame's assistants, today attired in a tight black satin pencil
skirt, formidable black high heels and stockings and a shocking pink
satin blouse with a huge tied bow at the neckline. About the same age as
Margaret, she cut a similar figure as she minced in front of him, the
satin lining of her skirt joshing with the taffeta half slip that was an
essential and required part of the uniform for all boutique staff.
Including men, if they were lucky enough to pass the job interview!
George followed obediently as the assistant's nylons hissed their way
through the shop and along a small corridor and up one flight of stairs,
utterly breathless as he admired the tightness and shimmer of his
guide's skirt as it shaped around her girdled posterior, falling away to
the satin-lined hem that snuggled cosily against her nyloned calves.
"Your wife is in the private fitting rooms through there sir!" she
pointed along another corridor on the first floor.
"Oh, she is not my wife."
"My mistake, sir," but there was a knowing smile on her face and a
genuine smirk on her lavishly painted lips that betrayed her innocence,
though it was all lost on George who was transfixed by this middle-aged
woman's shapely legs and the clipping of her sumptuous high heels on the
concrete stairs.
"That way sir," she repeated and took herself off laughing at George's
utter lack of comprehension of the situation into which he was about to
walk so willingly.
A few yards down, George opened a door off to his left and entered a
world of untold bliss. In one corner of the grand room, another door led
off to what he assumed must be changing rooms but in this main part, the
walls were simply adorned by rail upon rail of sumptuous gowns, in all
shades, sizes, length and fabric though for the most part he could see
that they glistened and gleamed in the mood lighting.
There was the odd pink or burgundy chez lounge situated strategically on
the thick pink carpet and here and there a long length or waist-high
mirror peeped out from between the rails. Many of the frocks were
clearly wedding gowns, bridesmaid's frocks and skirts of exquisite
mother-of-the-bride outfits but many more were simply for balls or other
special occasions.
There was no sign of Margaret or anyone else for that matter and the
endemic urge to run his fingers over some of the lavish creations proved
too much as first he rustled a green taffeta frock with colour coded
satin-lined petticoats, then another in ivory satin sent a tingle up his
back as he brushed his hands along its generous and stiffened skirt.
Behind the door, concealed from George, Margaret and two assistants
stood and watched on CCTV camera.
"What a fool. He really thinks no-one is noticing him," laughed Margaret
and the other ladies, similarly attired as their colleague who had
guided George upstairs, joined in the giggling.
"Look at him. Wait until he gets to the next rail, poor man," said one
of them.
"He's not poor and he's not a man. But he'll soon be one of those two,"
replied Margaret and the three women convulsed in laughter.
In something of a daze, George stumbled across a rail slightly behind
the rest of gowns, about eight foot long and four foot off the ground,
it was fluffed out with the most intoxicating array of voluminous
petticoats, in silver satin, black and crimson taffeta, lilac taffeta
and organza and just about every conceivable colour, all multi-tiered
and begging for a frock to flounce out.
Just as CCTV George moved closer to stroke the inviting material of a
jet black taffeta petticoat, the phone in Margaret's clutch bag
vibrated.
"Hello, whose calling please?" Margaret asked when she he had retrieved
it from its satin prison.
"This is Kate. I was hoping to speak to George. We had an appointment at
3 o'clock and he promised to meet me regarding his son John.
"I am sorry Kate, but this his personal assistant Wendy Lattimer. He
has never mentioned it to me or put anything in the diary.
"Do you know here he is now Wendy?"
"I am afraid he's a little distracted at the moment," Margaret was
unable to stifle a smile and the other two ladies guffawed beneath their
breath at the image of George on the small screen working both of his
hands underneath the lining of the hanging black taffeta petticoat.
"I think he might be some time as well. Do you want to leave a message
Kate?"
"No. I won't bother. I thought it was important to him but obviously
not. Goodbye and thanks for your help."
"No problem at all Kate. Take care." Click.
Margaret opened up the back of the phone and removed the sim card before
snapping it in two with her fingertips. "Could you put this in the bin
and the phone, please, ladies I shouldn't think George will be needing
either ever again?" she bid one of the assistants who readily went out
of the room by another door and deposited them both in the trash can.
"Now let's get to work ladies."
Xxxxxxxxx
True to her word, Joyce returned to her boudoir 15 minutes later. She
had used one of the 11 bedrooms in this quasi mansion to change her
attire, slipping out of her tight satin skirt and blouse and replacing
them with a full taffeta frock.
She never tired of smoothing her skirt and half slip down or up her
nylons, caressing her stockings with manicured nails and hands as she
did so. She knew the effect it had on John, most men of any persuasion
really but especially John. It had become a habit she could not kick
now, a satisfying one nonetheless that she relished. Every time she
lovingly drew a taffeta underskirt or satin-lined skirt up her
stockings, she could not contain a wry smile knowing what John's
reaction would be if he were present, smoothing the slip or skirt slowly
up and over her calves, letting it rest momentarily as it hissed over
her knees before gliding up and over her thighs and suspender clips and
securing it with a tiny side or back zip that completed the lovingly
performed encasement. Besides, nearly all the bedrooms were bugged with
mikes and dvd cameras allowing much of the material, without revealing
identities, to be used in the members' only section of the Taffeta
Torment website. Even if he did not see it at first hand, Joyce knew
that when he was working his IT skills on the site, he would often sneak
a peek at some private footage which usually was Joyce or Margaret coyly
dressing up in satin and taffeta. Fortunately, his hands were always
strapped to the desk allowing him to work the keyboard ....but nothing
else.
Joyce's change frock was a shade of deep blue, a tight bodice that
thrust up her ample bosoms, a sweetheart neckline but with over the
shoulder straps and side wraps that tapered out and down her arms,
tightly finishing just below her elbows.
It was a ravishing colour and filled out with its own smoothed,
stiffened and fitted polyester satin lining as well as several layer s
of fuchsia pink taffeta and satin-lined petticoats that Joyce had
fastened around her waist before hoisting her frock up and over head and
down her long-line bullet bra, jet black satin girdle and petticoats.
John, a real officiando of 1950s films, recalled Zsa Zsa Gabor or one of
her glamorous sisters wearing something similar in Artists and Models, a
wonderful taffeta creation that flounced and rustled across the screen
in a scene John remembered so well.
Now here was Joyce, who had slipped in to 6in blue high heels with an
almost velvet look to them. She could not be bothered to change out of
her seamed black nylons. Why should she? She knew she still looked great
and her stockings swished and hissed gorgeously as her legs strained
against the weight of her multi-tiered petticoats and frock.
"How was that little walk, darling? I bet it surprised you a little
sweetie, mmmm..." Joyce taunted but she could see from John's crimson
cheeks and expression that the pampering treatment and his new frock had
had the desired effect.
She cuffed his legs together while unlocking his arms from his side
restraints. Joyce was almost certain that John was beyond trying to
escape but she did not trust any man's instincts and she always either
used her potion or some sort of cuffs to ensure that he never could
escape even if the thought ever crossed his mind.
No sooner were his hands free than they were bound again, this time by
huge single satin restraint mitten, fully lined with layers of satin
upon satin, that wrapped around both of his hands before a long hook and
eye device took a corset-like tube up the back of his arms. Joyce had
designed the contraption herself, she found it the best way to
immobilise John or any of her clients while making them feel utterly
helpless and feminine simultaneously.
Once he was secured, she unlocked his leg cuffs and allowed him off the
treadmill.
"Let's go and have a nice sit down on my sofa shall we sweetie," she
invited, entwining her right arm around his bondaged arms and moving in
unison across the room.
"Can you hear the rustle of our taffeta frocks sweetie? Don't you just
adore it when the two fabrics rub up against one another? I'll bet you
were desperate to smooth down your taffeta skirt and run your fingers
over that delicious bodice of yours darling.
"Well don't worry because Aunty Joyce will do that for you. There,
there..." and she smoothed John's swishing skirt and fussed over her own
as the sofa beckoned.
"I'll just gather up the back of your frock pet. Don't want any creases
when you sit down on that pert little bottom do we now?"
John sat as Joyce guided his frock and petticoats beneath him so that he
could still feel the wonderful smoothness of his polyester satin lining
as he settled down at one end of the settee. With his arms hogtied and
dangled over the far end of the sofa and his head encased in nylon, he
felt as vulnerable as he'd ever felt in his entire life.
"There we are, pet," Joyce cooed as she sat directly next to him,
fluffing up the skirt and petticoats of her own blue taffeta frock.
There followed a cacophony of swishing and rustling as she made herself
comfortable adjacent to John, whose penis was once again striving to
escape its pantied and satin panelled restraints beneath his pink
petticoats.
"Can you remember when you were such an unruly little boy upstairs from
my apartment darling?" laughed Joyce, snuggling ever closer to John. She
caressed his frock against his nylons, swishing the delicate materials
together to cause John to moan inside his stocking mask.
"Oooh darling, does that feel good. Shall we have a little more then?
Shall we sweetie?" and John nodded furiously before Joyce began to
caress his bodice and work the coral pink satin lining in against his
corseletted body.
"I can feel your undergarments darling. Do you like wearing my
foundation wear sweetie? Did you like it when the ladies zipped you up
and in to my corselette? So tight isn't it?"
It was pure rhetoric but Joyce steadily was working John up to fever
pitch for a very good and personal reason.
"Can you cross your legs inside your frock darling? Mmm... it is one of
my biggest thrills, to feel that nylon touching nylon and the hiss it
causes. Can you do it for Aunty Joyce sweetie?" but try as John might,
he had trouble keeping his legs crossed much as he wanted to enjoy the
sensation like no other.
"There there, pet. It's not easy, is it, all that sheer, slippery
material. You'll have to practise like I did, it makes perfect, look,"
and Joyce smoothed her stockings with her manicured hand before crossing
them at the knees with consummate ease and a deafening swish and hiss of
nylon and taffeta cascading against one another. "I'll just have to
smooth your legs together and keep that frock's lining nice and tight up
against those dainty thighs of yours darling," and she was as good as
her word as her hands played around beneath his frock, stroked his
nylons and ensured that the polyester satin was caressing his upper
thighs and suspender clips.
"Now that unruly little boy has become such a well behaved and obedient
little princess, hasn't he sweetie. I just wish you had come to me
earlier and told me about your little secrets, that you wanted to dress
in my girdles and stockings and feel my taffeta and satin frocks up
against your lovely soft skin."
She moved in even closer now, her tone becoming a little more urgent
with desire. Her perfect red lipsticked lips were almost upon John's
face as her delicate fingers and nails loosened the bow tie knot that
held his pink and black silk headscarf over his shaven head. "There,
let's have this little silky scarf off you pet," she teased, slipping
the scarf seductively down his stockinged cheeks for the full slithery
effect of silk brushing up against nylon to overpower him.
Then she whispered in his ear.
"Do you know you have the most adorable eyelashes? Any woman would be
jealous of those long, girlie lashes. And your calves. The amount of
time the ladies at Lafayette's have asked me how did you get them so
shapely in a pair of heels?
"And they are right, sweetie. It's why I have fallen totally in lust
with you over the last few weeks, as you've grown more and more fond of
my nylons and frocks, I have become more and more affectionate about
you.
"Oh dear, are your lips trembling sweetie? No tears now, Aunty Joyce
won't allow tears to spoil your eye liner and those lashes darling."
John indeed was quivering inside, afraid of what he was and what he
might still further become but Joyce removed his nylon hood and dabbed
away his tears with an ivory satin hankie, trimmed with lace naturally,
that she had hidden up her sleeve for just such an occasion.
"There there sweetie, nothing to be frightened of, is there? Those lips
were made for kissing not quivering darling," and as he sat helpless
with his hands bound behind his back, she pulled him towards her,
stroked his cheek with her right hand and brusquely held him close by
his waist with her left as she devoured his tongue and lips in a kiss
that lingered with a passion and genuine lust she had never before
experienced.
When she was done with him, she smoothed his frock once more then her
own as she arose to choose a huge satin pillow from her double poster
bed.
"You just a little more lipstick sweetie, I'm afraid I've smudged yours,
and a little application for me and voila, we're done," she said,
applying several layers of red lipstick to John's already full lips.
Joyce teased him off the settee and forced his shoulders down so he was
kneeling on the satin cushion in front of the sofa. She sat down before
him with her heels gleaming in the subdued lighting and the hem of her
frock and petticoats floating and flouncing, hypnotising John into a by-
now mesmeric gaze.
"Work your way up from my heels with your tongue darling, kissing the
hem of my frock and my stockings. As you rise up the inside of my legs
and petticoats, I have had my girdle specially sized and lined in satin
so that when your gorgeously shaven head reaches its open bottom, it
will glide inside and fit like a glove...a satin opera glove of course."
Joyce was laughing but before long she was moaning...and moaning.
"Don't stop, sweetie," she was gasping as John entered her girdle and
began licking and sucking with a fervour and desire he also had never
known.
"God you are so good at this darling, so gentle my darling little
taffeta boy.....you were made for this for me....I am so glad I groomed
you...sooo so glad..." but then for fully half an hour, she could not
blurt out another sentence save for "Please, god, more..more..."
Xxxxx
Barbara and Joan had crept to the door of Joyce's bedroom on a couple of
occasions but upon hearing the shrieks of delights and the muffled tones
of a young man busy at work, they thought best not to enter. At the
third attempt, Joyce finally flung open the door.
"Take him to his bedroom and enjoy," she instructed and allowed them to
enter. Joyce had delayed their entrance for 10 minutes to recover her
composure and apply some make-up that restored her figure and appearance
as the lady of the mansion. Eleven minutes earlier she was in the final
throes of her umpteenth orgasm, slightly bedraggled and a young man
wedged firmly between her thighs and legs. Still, the power and
restorative effects of lipstick and perfume can work wonders even if it
was only a facade. Inside she was still quaking from John's attentions.
Joyce always took precautions in case John might elude them. From now
on, those precautions would be trebled. This young man was going nowhere
except to Joyce's boudoir at every available moment.
"Be gentle with him ladies," Joyce teased, regaining more of herself
now, perhaps because she could see the dreadful state John was in and
also the fate which awaited him.
Joan did not wait for further instructions, she whisked the limp rag
doll that was John off his feet and carried him to his bedroom as
Barbara tagged along behind.
Once there, they manacled John's ankles with a pair of cuffs, thus
enabling them to release his hands from their corset and satin
encasement behind his back. They went about their work briskly and
professionally as John gradually returned to the land of living himself
having spent the last half hour or more immersed inside Joyce's satin-
lined girdle pleasuring his mistress to her heart's content.
Did he really think that she was now his mistress? Had he finally
succumbed to her willpower? Surely not yet.
As Barbara coaxed his senses back to some sort of normality with
smelling salts and a fragrant perfume, he saw that both ladies had
changed into billowing taffeta frocks. Joan's was a radiant pink, what
else, with layers of pink petticoats beneath that swished madly as she
went about fussing John's own taffeta frock and petticoats. She was
wearing metal grey satin gloves that stopped short of her frock's puffed
sleeves, just above the elbow. John could see why the colour had been
chosen because it matched the identical taffeta frock that adorned
Barbara. Her satin gloves were pink, of course, and both the ladies'
ample bosoms were smothered in the taffeta frocks and satin-lined bodice
which were tight to the waist and neckline.
Sat slumped in the middle of his own settee, he pondered on how many
occasions he had been pinned here, himself smothered, bound or hogtied
in taffeta and satin, unable to move or even muffle a word through a
variety of nylon and silken gags and restraints.
Barbara had prepared a few things on a table behind John's settee while
Joan began to nestle herself to John's left, sweeping her glorious
taffeta frock all over his own black taffeta affair.
"Now dear, put your dainty little arm around my waist and feel my frock,
smooth it gently sweetie," Joan beckoned as her right satin gloved hand
began stroking his flushed cheeks. Less than a second later, Barbara had
ensconced herself on John's other side, her own shimmering grey taffeta
frock rustling up against John's. With colour coded heels, Joan in black
stockings, Barbara in a shade of smooth coffee, the two women began
slithering their hands up and down the skirt of John's taffeta frock.
"Put your hand on mine, darling," Barbara urged and both his hands were
now firmly pinned around the two women's waists and trapped down by
satin gloves on their respective frocks.
"That's such a turn-on, don't you find, Joan?" Barbara gushed, staring
deep into John's eyes while thrusting her thick and full pouting lips in
front of her hapless captive.
"What's that darling?"
"This sensual smoothing of taffeta up against my nylons. John's so
gentle with his movement, aren't you sweetie? Is that how you were with
your mistress?"
John could only nod in the affirmative as both Barbara and Joan
tightened their grip on his hands while softly stroking his own taffeta
frock and working the coral pink lining up and down his nyloned legs. As
they sat sidewards on to him, their satin gloves teased and tormented
his underskirts and stockings, their own skirts and petticoats swishing
and rustling frantically as poor John's pulse increased alarmingly.
"Oooooooo...I'm getting so turned on darling, can you feel my taffeta
rustling in your hand. You are such a lucky little boy, aren't you?"
Barbara cooed, her eyes again meeting John's as her and Joan's satin
gloves roamed beneath skirts. The smoothness of their gloves as they
glided effortlessly up and down his polyester satin lining and nylons
was inducing the hardest of erections that was once more pinned down by
his silk panties against the satin panel of his corselette.
From the table behind, Joan procured a metal lipstick holder and rolled
up an intoxicating bright red lipstick that she layered on John's
quivering lips. "Be still darling, pucker up and pout for Joan. That's
it, so smooth and thick isn't it darling? But feels and looks so good on
your lips, sweetie. "
It was almost in mechanical fashion that the ladies gently smoothed his
frock up and down his nylons while he reciprocated with his hamstrung
two hands, unable to stop the motion the women had initiated. He could
not tell whether their soft moans of pleasure were genuine or false but
for his own part, his moaning was driven by pure ecstasy.
"I think he likes his taffeta frock, don't you Joan?"
"Yes, but I do wish he would make less noise. Pass me that stocking and
that headscarf. We need to silence him a little."
The black sheer stocking was lying on the table behind and Joan smoothed
it from the inside with her shining grey satin gloves before pulling it
tight over John's head. Barbara applied the headscarf as a traditional
gag on the outside.
"Mmmmm, that's better and his gorgeous lips can still taste his sheer
stocking. Nice and moist lips on nylons. So sweet pet, isn't it?"
Barbara and Joan were working in perfect harmony now, stroking John's
stockinged head and his nylon thighs in tandem. Poor John, he had just
been devoured by one lustful woman and now two more were determined to
stimulate him to death by sexual frustration.
"Now what have we here? Oooh, they feel so smooth and silky, are you
wearing panties sweetie? They feel so luxurious, they must be expensive.
Were they a gift from your mistress? Well we can't have that, can we?
Joan, can you feel his panties?"
"Yes darling, shall we have them off him?" and the two women clutched
either side of his elasticated waistband and slowly, very slowly, and
very very daintily, lowered the silky material up and over erect penis
and down over his suspender clips and nylon thighs. They stopped first
when his black panties were exposed at knee level just below where his
frock had risen as Barbara and Joan had been toying with their victim.
"Lower I think sweetheart, down to your ankles. That's where all naughty
little boys have their panties lowered, keeps their legs tightly shut
and bound."
"MMffff...mmff.." was as much as John could manage as the intensity of
his erection began to take its toll.
Of course John's ankles were already cuffed but the ladies' role play
further added to his feeling of restriction as they slid the panties
down over his knees and let them rest just above his manacled ankles.
"Oooooh, that little weenie is really tenting now. Can you feel it
straining up against your petticoats sweetie? I'll bet it's like a
tentpole under taffeta canvas in there."
And sure enough, John's recently released penis was now throbbing,
almost gyrating up against his polyester satin lining which in turn was
straining against his net and taffeta petticoats above.
He tried to open his legs wider to accommodate the two women but his
silken panties that tugged at his ankles would not allow it. As a
result, his desperate attempts only doubled the swish and rustle of his
petticoats and increased the gorgeous hiss upon hiss of nyloned knee,
thigh and calf pressing vigorously, deliciously against one another.
The touch of their satin gloves everywhere on his face, on his bodice
and most of all on his frock and up and down his nylon thighs beneath
was blissful. The two women toyed with his suspender straps and clips,
pushed their satin fingers inside the welt of his stockings and stroked
his thighs gently, lovingly almost, but stopped short, for now, of
arousing his penis directly.
"Where would a lady be without satin gloves," Barbara now was tormenting
her captive, exposing her pink satin glove to caress her own frock,
John's hand on her frock and then her own. Joan, with in her shining
grey satin, replicated the process before meeting Barbara's hand in the
middle of John's frock where they seductively entwined on one another's
hands, then their faces before shooting John a long lingering look as if
to suggest the pair of them might be playing a little more with each
other once they had accomplished their mission with John.
"Oooo does that feel all girlie John? Like a proper little princess
aren't we, except for that naughty weenie." Joan and Barbara had one
final task to perform before ending the session as the pair of them
applied thick layers of lipstick to their already gloss-ridden lips,
traditional red for Barbara, coral pink for Joan.
There was something about ladies applying lipstick in their tiny compact
mirrors that always stiffened John's penis. He did not know why,
Freudian perhaps, but as Barbara and Joan puckered and ran lush strokes
over their lips before dabbing their hair in to place, John was on the
verge of explosion.
They stroked one another's taffeta frocks as they fussed over their
lipstick, then stroked John's taffeta skirts and petticoats before an
unopened pair of black 14 denier stockings was produced from the table
behind.
Neither woman spoke as they opened the packaging and took a stocking
apiece, unravelling each one lovingly before smudging their lips and
leaving sweetheart patterns on the inside of the reinforced toes and
heels.
"You go first Joan," and Joan slid the stocking beneath John's
petticoats and up and over his suspenders before letting it glide down
the shaft of his erection.
"So stiff darling," she commented as John felt the thick lipstick mark
up against his exposed nob end as Joan gathered the stocking down his
shaft and around his testicles. Barbara repeated the process, a little
more slowly and affectionately but still business-like and without
apparent emotion.
They fussed over the bodice of his frock, caressed his nyloned head once
more and then slowly began to move one of their satin gloves up over his
nylon thighs towards the double stocking cover on his penis.
"I'll take the top, you the bottom. OK?" Barbara cooed, unable to stifle
a giggle but long before those satin gloves reached their final
destination, John was ready and primed. He closed his eyes, his entire
body now shaking in anticipation. He felt the silk panties still tugging
just above his ankles as he tried again to part his legs wider and allow
the women easier access to his genitals but their elastic waist and legs
prevented it. His satin lining was rubbing violently against his nylons
now and he thought about Joan's gleaming grey satin glove cupping his
expanded testicles then felt the touch of Barbara's pink satin on his
shaft and tender nob end that was cushioned by the two lipsticked
stockings.
"Your mistress wants you to know that all good boys deserve favour,"
whispered Barbara. "Obedient and compliant little boys who bring
pleasure will also be pleasured. But only if they are very good little
boys and always dress in her favourite taffeta and satin frocks and
skirts and at all times are bound and encased in her finest girdles and
sheerest stockings. All the time. Do you understand darling?" she cooed,
as if reading a mission statement for the rest of John's life. Which of
course, it was.
He scarcely had time to nod in agreement which he would have done in
this state but two strokes later, John's penis exploded into its nylon
prison and his entire body could not stop from quivering as Barbara and
Joan continued with their gentle stroking and teasing beneath his
polyester satin lined petticoats.
Good or bad, he felt in taffeta heaven and hell simultaneously.
Sherry
- 08.04.2022
- 7
- 0
