TV Groupie - 2 free porn video

TV GROUPIE--2 by "C. C." Standing there, awkwardly feminine and embarrassingly nude, I felt at a distinct disadvantage when it came to bargaining. Nonetheless, I tried: "You may have a point," I said, trying to sound confident, "but don't forget the trouble I could make for your girlfriend here," I nodded at JoBeth, "if I chose. Now instead of starting out at cross-purposes, let's see if we can't accommodate each other a little." I took a deep breath and tried not to think of what I looked like standing there. "I'm perfectly willing to pose as your slave, I guess, but I have to be able to look around and get close to some people there. Will you agree to help me?" Doctor Naomi Bernstein put a finger thoughtfully to her chin. "I suppose so," she said. "Yes, I think it might work. You agree to act as my slave. You promise to do whatever I tell you and play the role of the submissive little bitch to the hilt. And in return, I will arrange to lead you where you want and try to assist your investigation. We help each other: You, by showing complete slavish devotion to me in front of everyone there; and Me by acting as Front Man for your quest. Deal?" "Deal!" I said, relieved to have concluded this tricky business successfully. "Fine." Naomi smiled with amusement, the white teeth showing brightly under her curling lip. "Now get dressed. Your clothes are in the box on the bed!" And she majestically stalked into the bathroom to put on her own outfit. Apprehensively, I moved over to the bed (blushing when JoBeth whistled at the sight of my bare rump!) and opened the box. The first item inside was a pair of black silk panties, trimmed in filmy lace on the waist- and leg-bands. This trim was over two inches wide, making the panties look almost like a flouncy skirt as I held them up. I quickly slipped them on and found that they were at least a size too small, stretching tightly over my bottom, the waist-band not quite rising over my hips. I moved about in these things and the confining tightness of their fit vied for my attention with the soft tickle of their black lace trim across my legs and ass. A garter-belt came next, lace-trimmed like the panties and every bit as tight and uncomfortable. I slipped the garter straps through the legs of the panties and drew on a pair of dark silk stockings that molded themselves to the sensuous curves of my shapely legs, fastening to the garter straps with erotic tightness. The next item was a corset, which JoBeth eagerly helped me to get into. It was a hampering thing of heavy black satin, reinforced at the sides, stomach and back with heavy-duty nylon plastic. As JoBeth tightened the laces in the back, I noticed the flouncy black lace at the waist and top, matching my panties. I saw the way it stopped just short of my breasts, lifting and separating them. Felt how it forcibly arched my back, forcing me to thrust my boobs and jut my bottom prominently. "Ouch!" I cried as JoBeth tightened the laces on this thing. "That's too tight! I can't breathe!" She replied with the back of her hand across my pantied rump. SMACK! "Slaves don't whine to their Mistresses, Darling." She smiled. "And they certainly don't complain about lovely outfits like this. Now not another word, or I'll pull these laces in another inch. Understand?" "Yes -er- Mistress," I said meekly. "That's it!" JoBeth snarled with pleasure. "You spoke. So in we go, one more inch!" And she started re-tightening the laces. "Ouch! Urrgh!" I moaned. "But-but--" "I -- told -- you what would -- happen," JoBeth's straining at the laces gave a rhythmic cadence to her speech. "If you -- said -- one more -- word..." And she pulled even harder on the laces. I wanted to cry out with pain and protest. But I was too afraid of JoBeth tightening the laces even further. So I bit my lower lip and looked on in agony and amazement as she drew my waist in another full inch, feeling as if I were being cut in two. "There!" she said, tying off the laces at last. "Let's see... Why, you're down to a Twenty-Four waist! How lovely! But is it tight enough for you, Dear?" I started to speak, thought better of it, and merely nodded. "Very good!" JoBeth sparkled. "You catch on quickly. Now go get the next item of your apparel. You can put it on yourself." It was a leather collar. Black and neck-stretchingly wide, it buckled around my neck tightly. I noted with a worried look that there were four D-rings mounted on it, for convenient bondage. As I submissively fastened this thing around my own neck, I felt uncomfortably how a real slave must feel, assisting in her own bondage. But at last the collar was on me, and I followed it with a pair of jet- black, open-toed, high-heeled shoes, with five-inch spike heels. It was murder, putting them on while wearing that stiff corset and collar, but fortunately, I am not a novice at transvestism, so once I got them on. I was able to walk around in them fairly easily, even though they pushed my ass out into even greater prominence and forced me to bounce my bare breasts wildly with each step. Then JoBeth drew the last item from the box. "Here, Darling," she cooed, "let me help you with this one. Turn around so your back is to me. I don't want you peeking. Are you sure you can't turn your head with that collar on? All right: Hands behind your back now. Here goes." It was a single glove of heavy black nylon, just wide enough for me to slip both of my arms into. It fastened with heavy snaps up the back, and as JoBeth clicked these together, I felt myself becoming increasingly helpless. Snap! Hands forced tightly together, bunched into helplessness. I noticed that the tip of this glove had no fingers; more like a thumbless mitten that narrowed into a thin nylon strap at the tip. Snap! Wrists joined immovably. Snap! Snap! Snap! On up my arms it went, mercifully stopping just short of my elbows, although I was certain that they could not be more than half an inch apart. It widened here into a sort of locking strap that wrapped around my arms and fastened midway between my elbows and shoulders, holding the single glove tightly in place. "Try walking now, Darling," JoBeth said haughtily. "I want to study the effect!" Obediently, I minced around the room in docile silence, afraid of getting that damned corset tightened again if I spoke. "Pefect!" JoBeth's look was a curious mix of amusement and malice. "Naomi darling, come and see!" Naomi entered the room, walking regally. I had expected to see her in some kind of Domme-ish outfit, but instead she was attired in an elegant white summer dress, short and billowy, with matching pumps and a delicate string of tiny pearls. The outfit set off her dark hair and pale skin perfectly, and as I looked into her hooded, hungry eyes, I saw that she was ogling me! "You're right, JoBeth," she smiled, "she's just lovely Now for the makeup!" Soon my eyes were feminized with eyeliner, false lashes and dark mascara. Soft powder for my face. Bright rouged cheeks and brilliant red lipstick, drawing my mouth into a sulky pout. Then, as Naomi combed and sprayed my blonde hair into a stiff, wind- swept, feminine style and clipped huge, dangling pendant earrings onto my ear lobes, JoBeth proceeded to powder my exposed breasts and rouge the nipples! What? I wondered, Why are they making up my breasts?? They'll be covered by a dress, won't they? Won't they!? "There now," JoBeth smiled, "Cinderella's all ready for the Ball. And what a ball it's going to be! Stand up, Beautiful." Trembling with fear, I stood up. "You know," Naomi mused, "I'd like to take you outside and parade you around, just like that! You look so scrumptious with your arms bound behind you and your waist nipped in! Black silk certainly becomes you! And I must say, your breasts and bottom would be the envy of any girl. But your bondage might draw too much attention to us on the way up, so here--" With decisive movements, she drew a black rubber cape over my shoulders, buttoning it at the neck. It was very full, but seemed awfully short, reaching down to just halfway over my rump. Naomi adjusted it in the front. "There," she said, "when I drape it just so, the sides of the cape catch on your nipples, holding it in place.... temporarily, anyway. Let's see how you look in the back. Tee-hee! Talk about leaving your ass hanging out! Well, you'll be in the car for most of the trip, so I guess it won't matter, much. Not if we hurry, anyway." She proceeded to pick up a small white satin handbag, from which she drew a strong leather leash. Before I knew it, the leash was clipped to the front of my collar, and Naomi was tugging me out the door. "Have fun, Lovebirds!" JoBeth called. "I'll wait here for you to come back and tell me all about it!" I felt myself blushing with embarrassment, quivering with nervousness. We were outside! Outside in this bizarre confection of satin, lace, nylon and rubber, where anyone might see me! Twilight was falling, and I knew that most of the drivers on the highway that passed by the motel would have their eyes on the road. But still, as I made my mincing, jiggling, ass-switching way out to Dr. Bernstein's car, I felt as if there must be a million eyes on us. Naomi, on the other hand, seemed completely relaxed, totally sure of herself as she nonchalantly held my leash while unlocking her car. As soon as she had the door open, I almost jumped inside, causing her to titter with amusement as she reached in and buckled my seat belt. "Is this turning out to be more than you bargained for, Mr. Big, Tough, Private Eye?" She smirked. "I must say, you certainly have got yourself looking beautiful, though. Mmmm, those boobs of yours are just like ripe melons! Let's move the cape around, so I can see them.... My! The nipples certainly stand up when I do that! You must really be enjoying this!" Before I could even try to reply, Naomi straightened up and closed the car door, walking sensuously around to her side and climbing behind the wheel. As she put the expensive car in Drive, she turned to look at me, her eyes hot behind those heavy lids, her lips moist as she ran her tongue across them. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. Her expression of haughty, dominant sexuality (and my quivering, wide-eyed silence) spoke volumes. Less than ten minutes later, we were turning towards a parking lot set off a rural side road. The highway at this point was flanked on either side by deep culverts on either side, drainage ditches that formed a natural barrier for the area beyond. We pulled up to a small outbuilding near a private bridge that ran across the culvert. Naomi pressed a button that automatically lowered the windows of her car, and a tall, muscular woman came out of the small guard-shack. "Good to see you again, Doctor Bernstein." Her smile was friendly, but her eyes were sharp, watchful, as she looked into the car. "Pop your trunk, would you, Honey?" She walked slowly around the car, finally stopping by my door. "Got company, I see," the woman said, staring frankly down at my exposed bosom. She opened the car door. "Climb out, Honey. All newcomers here have to stand for a pat-down." I looked up at this female bodybuilder in confusion. Did she really mean for me to get out of the car? Here? On a public street where anyone might drive by? Dressed like this? Then I felt Naomi gently release the catch on my seat belt. "You heard the lady, Slave," she said. "Climb out, so she can pat you down!" Blushing several shades of red, I managed to squirm and twist my legs out the door, then bend over and balance my body into an upright position. The female guard looked at me oddly for a moment, then lifted my short cape and studied my single-mittened arms. "Hmmm," she said, "no wonder you're having so much trouble getting around. Here, I'll take care of this for you." She reached up behind me, and I eagerly backed toward her, anxious to have my arms freed. But the guard removed my cape instead! "Cumbersome things, capes," she said, "and totally unnecessary in your case!" She casually tossed it in the trunk and set about patting me down. Standing there in the gathering darkness like that, pantied, corseted, gloved, bare-breasted and teetering on high heels that accentuated my nylon-clad legs, I felt more degraded than ever as the stocky female proceeded to squeeze, fondle, and prod every inch of my feminized body. "Ahh-hmm," she muttered softly, "tits sure are the genuine article. Anything concealed in those stockings? I'll just run my hands up and down them... good. Let's see, now... What's in these panties?" She snaked her hands knowingly into my tight, lacey panties, then darted a finger of each hand deep into the clefts, front and back, wiggling them until I squirmed. "That's sure genuine!" She smiled. "Now what do you have in your cute little mouth here?" She playfully pulled the panties from my mouth. "Anything else in there?" "No Ma'am," I gasped, glad to have the use of my mouth again. "I'll just check." The muscular guard laced her fingers in my hair, pulled my head to hers, and planted a deep, tongue-twining kiss on my red lips. Totally against my will, I felt myself responding to the actions of this woman. I sensed my nipples stiffening and my crotch growing tight as my confined penis strained to burst into erection. I was still quivering, but now with a strange sort of desire as female hands left my hair and began sliding up and down my female body. I was getting turned on... hot.... "There!" The female guard pulled away from me suddenly, leaving me gasping and humiliated. "You pass with flying colors, Babe!" Breathing heavily herself, she stuffed Naomi's panties back into my mouth. "Back in the car, Sweet Stuff," she said, pinching my bottom, "and have fun!" Sitting on my sore rump in the car, I tried to ignore Naomi's titters of amusement as the guard returned to her shack. She picked up a phone in the little guard house and called something over to a matching cubicle that stood behind a fence on the other side of the short bridge. Then, to my surprise, the girl in the far shack flipped a lever. I couldn't see what was happening, but I thought I saw the bridge give an odd shudder. "Those are moveable reinforcing rods, motor-driven, being locked into place under the bridge," Naomi explained. "Unless they're in position, the bridge here won't hold the weight of a car." I marveled at the impregnability of this fortress-club. And quailed a little to think that I, a disguised male, was now headed inside it! Naomi parked the car in a row with several others. Now that I looked at it, this was a rather crowded parking lot, even this early in the evening. This place must have quite a reputation in the kinky lesbian underground! But by now, Naomi had exited the car and was opening my door, clipping a leash to my collar with an easy, practiced motion. "Come along, Slave Darling," she said, her eyes sweeping up and down my body. "My, don't you look a sight!" We walked across the parking lot, (Me mincing in my heels, feeling my bound arms tugging at my crotch while my breasts shimmied and shook) to a glass door fronted with what was obviously a see-thru mirror. I suddenly understood what Naomi meant when she said I looked a sight. Wow! My stockings were sagging, my lipstick smeared, my panties hanging off one hip, and my blonde hair crumpled and disarrayed by the mauling that lesbian guard had given me. I looked like a common prostitute just crawling out of bed, and that, together with my bare-breasted bondage, gave me a look of total depravity, complete degradation. I wanted to speak, to ask Naomi to at least repair my makeup and rearrange my clothing before anyone saw me like this. And somehow, I could tell that Naomi knew it, even though my mouth was silent, stuffed full of her panties. Her curved mouth, already smiling, curled just a little more, and her hooded eyes seemed to smoulder with more heat as she pushed a security buzzer at the door and tugged at my leash. "Oh...just...you...wait!" she breathed as the door swung open. Inside, it was like a thousand other discos and nightclubs across the world. Garish lights swallowed up in deep red-and-black decor. A modest entryway (where a female bouncer insisted on "checking me out" like the guard had done, this time in front of a group of amused lesbians!) leading onto a large, cavernous room, broken up into a small mezzanine that ran around three walls, and a dance floor crowded with tables. The far wall was completely filled by a stage, empty and dark, as Naomi took our seats at a table on the mezzanine. Or rather, Naomi took her seat, then curtly tugged downward on my leash. "On your knees, Slave Darling," she said, "I think I'll have you kneel beside my chair for a while, so all my friends can admire you!" And did they ever! For the next half hour, I became nothing but a living display-piece as curious and giggling women strolled by and admired Naomi's captive -- Me! They lifted and squeezed my breasts, complimenting Naomi on their size and shape. They pinched my nipples and bottom, admiring the training she had put into me. And they especially praised the clever bondage costume Naomi had designed for her slave. In response, Naomi smilingly removed her panties from my mouth, dried them by rubbing them through my hair and across my breasts, and casually put them back on, right in front of me. "She hates having me cover my pussy," Naomi told her friends, "she's so eager to kiss and lick me there that she gets terribly frustrated and impatient whenever I have panties on." She looked down at me. "Don't you, Slave Darling?" Realizing that I had better play my part well, I lowered my eyes modestly and replied, "Yes, Mistress, I do." "You do what, Slave?" Naomi persisted. "I do love -uh- serving your pussy, Mistress." "Oh yes?" Naomi tittered. "And how about kissing my feet, Slave? Do you like that, too?" Keeping my eyes low, I answered, "Yes, Mistress, I love kissing your feet." "And frenching my ass?" "Yes, Mistress." I was burning red with anger and embarrassment, yet I knew I had no choice but to continue this charade. "How naughty!" Behind me, a voice sounded, rich, vibrant and feminine. I turned and looked respectfully up at a devastating red-head in tight leather breeches, knee-high shiny black boots, and a loose, low-cut white silk blouse. "Naughty girls like you should be spanked," she said eagerly, in that strong contralto. "Does your Mistress ever discipline you for your naughtiness?" "Yes Ma'am," I smiled, hating every second of this. "My Mistress very considerately corrects me for my wicked deeds and thoughts!" "And do you enjoy," The red-head's gaze was becoming more forceful, but her speech remained soft and deliberate, "... being...corrected?" I swallowed, suddenly very apprehensive. "Yes Ma'am?" I squeaked. Suddenly the red-head looked at her watch. "Damn!" she said. "No time now." She looked down at me, her breathing clearly audible, and ran a leather-gloved hand across my cheek, almost tenderly. "Maybe later, Sweet!" And to my enormous relief, she got up and left. "Well." Another woman took her place almost immediately, drawing up a chair in front of my crouching figure. She was a black woman, tall and solidly built, wearing a white kid leather mini-dress that showed up excitingly against her dark skin. "If we're not going to see you get spanked, Slave, I wanna see you display your other talent." She moved her legs apart, facing me straight on. "And unlike Naomi, I don't have any panties to get in the way!" The black lady leaned forward. I felt her fingers entwine in my hair as she pulled my face to her lap. From the corner of my eye, I just had time to catch a glimpse of Naomi's huge, amused grin. Then shapely black legs filled my vision as my mouth and nose were pressed into warm, moist womanhood. I knew that this might be the acid test of my disguise. For they say (and lesbians firmly believe it) that no one can pleasure a woman quite like another woman can. Now, this experienced black lezzie was determined to try my oral skills, and I knew I had better not let her down! I tongued, drawing slowly upward along the center of her pussy, even as I kissed at her nether-lips. She rewarded me with a sensuous squirm, propping her knees up on my bare shoulders. I applied a gentle, sucking motion, moving my lips in a slow rhythm as I probed with my tongue, and the black woman's fingers tightened in my hair. Working my kissing way up her pussy, I at last found her swollen love-button, just barely big enough to put my lips around. But I fastened on it hungrily, working with a steady, syncopated tongue. I imagined music in my mind, to keep me in rhythm and avoid the common male mistake of working too hard and too fast. Dum-da-dee-da-Dum-da-dum-dum. Duh-dee-da-da-da-Dum.... Crouched there between the ebony legs, I could almost hear it. My body began to move instinctively with the beat. As did that of my impromptu lover! She seemed to be coiling and writhing around my head like a supple, tightly wound spring.... And then she released. I felt her powerful legs clench and unclench around my head as she pulled at the roots of my hair. Within my prison of black thigh-flesh, I could hear a soft, "M-m-mmm-mmmm-Mmm-MMMAAH!" And it was over. The black lady released me and I rocked back on my heels and butt, my face smeared with her juices, as she stretched her legs, a dreamy look on her face. Then I suddenly found that the music I had heard wasn't in my head1 In a moment, I almost forgot my confused, erotic state (for my encounter had gotten me very turned on; to the point where I could feel my balls ache as my cock strained to swell up inside the false pussy, and my stiff nipples tingled with arousal) forgot the shameless appearance I must now present, and even forgot Naomi's burning, laughing eyes all over my feminized body. The stage along the far wall was now awash with bright, colorful spotlights, bouncing off sequined screens and brass bars. Just left of center stage, on a raised platform, a bizarrely-clad girl was pounding an elaborate set of drums, the skins of which had been painted to look like naked derri?res. Just right of center, another girl, identically dressed, was making feverish passes on an odd-sounding synthesizer. Two girls shared center stage, one with the inevitable electric guitar, the other making oral love to a hand-held microphone: "I watch you with the hookers dancing/ Move your body to an' fro/You're the Pretty Bitch, the Baby Rich/ To make my juices flow...." So this was Bitchin' Heat. And they were certainly not just another punk rock group! The voice of the lead singer, whom I immediately recognized as the red-head I'd met earlier, was versatile, powerful, alluring and intriguing. The kind of voice that can last an opera star a lifetime or a rock star a decade. "You're out a-with the hustlers movin'/A-dancin' to their jive/The legs that spread -- around my head/ To make me come alive...." All four girls wore male jock straps of black leather with silver- studded belts, and abbreviated vests that bound up their bosoms like succulent roasts. Strong wrist-bands, head-bands, and soft black leather sandals completed the outfits, setting off their ripe, sinewy feminine bodies with startling sensual strength. "You hustle down my alley/To act so coy and sweet/ But I'll spill your cup, and bind you up, My captive and my meat!" The girl at the synthesizer launched into a solo: rhythmic, intricate, showcasing her talented improvisation. While she played, the red-headed lead singer (Edie Smythe, I recalled her name now) danced sensuously across the stage, followed by a brilliant blue light that made her body positively glow. Then the light picked up something else. There was another girl on stage. But she definitely wasn't part of the group. She stood to one side, her elbows bound behind her, her knees loosely hobbled, totally nude except for a leather hood that covered her entire head. And -- oddly enough -- her firm, full breasts were painted a bright red! But that wasn't all. As the red-head danced closer, I could see that the girl's elbows and knees were attached to a beam above her, restricting her movements considerably. And not only this: She was standing on a carpeted turntable, about two feet in diameter, and as it turned, she was forced to keep moving her feet or else lose her balance and fall, which would leave her dangling by her knees and elbows. I could see her straining to keep her hobbled legs pumping up and down, up and down.... It apparently was not good enough for Edie. She danced haughtily in front of the bound girl, looking disdainfully at her efforts, then picked up a riding crop from the floor and began bringing it down on top of the poor girl's feet! If she was moving before, the bound victim was really jumping now! At Edie's insistence, she raised her hobbled knees as high as possible, thrusting and jiggling her red-painted breasts as she danced to the beat. Edie moved behind her now, and gently slid the riding crop between the girl's thrashing legs, gripping it in front and back and slowly raising it so that it slid easily along her vulnerable vulva. Then Edie leaned over and softly blew on the back of the girl's neck. It was too much. As I watched in fascination, the poor girl gave a quiver of sexual desire and straightened her legs, as if trying to trap the riding crop between them. Instantly, her feet shot out from under her, and she was hanging in a sexy arch from her knees and elbows, her pussy almost touching the still-revolving turntable. Edie continued to play with her, moving in front to shake her ass in the girl's face, then dancing around behind her. She placed a sandaled foot softly on the girl's round bottom, then slowly pushed down. As soon as her pussy touched the revolving carpeted turntable, the bound girl gave a moan of desire audible even through her all- concealing hood. It almost looked as if she were having an orgasm right there on stage! The red-head kept pressing down, until her prisoner was almost shrieking with muffled pleasure, then spun around with a sinuous motion and danced back to her partners just as the girl at the synthesizer finished her cadenza and swung back to the beat: "So if you play, be careful, And wise to what you need, For if you stay, You gotta pay, And eat the feast I feed, And serve the feast I feed!" The lights on stage doused to thunderous applause, as if blown out by the burst of enthusiasm from the audience. For myself, I blinked in the darkness, unsure of myself, unsettled by the bizarre performance I had just witnessed. It was obvious that the girl on stage was a willing victim, taking pleasure from the pain her tormentors inflicted. But to be so shameless about it! So eager to receive punishment that she would allow herself to be exposed naked, bound and beaten until she climaxed in front of a roomful of strangers! I wondered how anyone could fall so low. Imagine being paraded around in just a hood, with your tits painted-- An idea suddenly hit me. I started to turn towards Naomi, struggling with the hampering arm-mitten and constricting corset. Feeling the silky texture of wrinkled nylons on my shapely smooth legs. As I moved, I could feel a waft of air across my bare breasts, bringing back to me the scent of the black woman I had just serviced. I ignored the embarrassment. I had to talk to Naomi! This idea might not wait. But before I could get turned around, I felt something pink and soft slip down over my head and around my neck. As I finished turning, I saw Naomi's smiling face. She had removed her panties and put one leg-band of them over my neck, like a second collar. The other leg-band she was pulling like a leash, tugging me towards her. The silky feel of her intimate undergarment on my neck, caressing my chin and bare shoulders, felt strangely erotic. "Come on, Slave Darling." Her mouth curled in haughty desire. "I want you to do for me like you did for my friend Mandy!" She pulled her skirt to one side and, spread her legs apart so there could be no mistaking her intention. I was light-headed, tingling and warm all over. Maybe it was the exotic scene I had just witnessed. Perhaps it was the sensuality of being surrounded by all these women. Surely it couldn't have been my own sexy shape and near-nudity -- could it? But whatever the reason, I was filled with an almost nymphic excitement, incredibly turned on. I eagerly hobbled on my knees to the waiting Naomi, feeling my bare breasts and lace-covered bottom jiggle for everyone to see. I didn't care. I reached my goal and began tenderly lapping as Naomi wrapped herself around my face. Someone placed a playful swat on my naughty rear, which must have been jutting out very temptingly in the pose I was in. I didn't care. Scarcely felt it. On stage, Bitchin' Heat was starting another performance, but I couldn't see it right now. And a moment later, when Naomi's thighs clamped around my head, I couldn't hear it, either. It must have been an hour later when I finally snapped out of it. I don't know how many women I had kissed, tongued and serviced. It seemed like three or five, not counting Naomi. The band was taking a break, and we were in the crowded Ladies' Room, where Naomi was thoughtfully wiping my face and repairing my makeup. "Well, Slave Darling," Naomi asked as she stroked mascara on my lashes, "did you get to see any of the show?" I shivered a little, uncomfortably aware again of my feminized state and my semi-nude, completely helpless condition. "Er- Mistress, can we talk privately somewhere?" Just then, a toilet stall became vacant and Naomi tugged me into it. She plopped me down on the seat, then hiked up her skirt and sat down facing me, her smooth legs straddling mine, her silken-covered breasts pressed up against my bare ones. "Well, Miss-ter Crayle?" The way she said the name was a deliberate mockery of my true identity and gender. "Did you get what you came here for?" "Not yet." My voice was still soft and feminine from force of habit, and it seemed like too much trouble to change it. "I've got to get closer to those singers, and especially to that bound girl they had with them. Is there any way we can talk to them?" Naomi pursed her lips, either in thought or trying to suppress a laugh. "Mmm-maybe," she said. "That lead singer, Edie Smythe, seemed rather taken with you. It's possible I could get her over to our table and wangle some sort of invitation backstage...." "Do it," I said, "I've got to get in with them somehow." "All right." There was something sly and delighted in Naomi's manner. But she straightened her face and said, "Just let me take care of something first." I heard a tinkle of water. Although I couldn't look down because of my collar, I realized that Naomi must be taking a leak into the toilet while sitting on my lap! How strange it felt! She finished and stood up. "Oh dear," she pouted ruefully, "I got a couple drops on your nice little panties! You don't want to wear dirty panties, do you Slave Darling? No? Well I can fix that." Naomi pulled a pair of manicure scissors from her purse and in an instant she had snipped through the waistband of my panties and was pulling them off my now-naked hips! "There now!" she said brightly. "You're all dainty again! And doesn't your pretty blonde bush look nice with that strap running through it!" She playfully ran a finger along the cord that passed between my legs from the tip of the single mitten that imprisoned my arms behind me to the front of my corset. "Now what to do with these?" She smilingly held up the remains of my panties, wadded up with her own. "I have it!" And once again, Naomi pinched my nose tightly between her fingers and pulled sharply upwards, forcing my mouth open. And once more, my mouth was full of panties!