Taffeta Torment VIII
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Taffeta Torment VII free porn video
George felt nervous. He was sweating as he walked up the drive to the
Taffeta Torment mansion. He felt all alone but most of all he felt
ashamed.
Since what he thought would be his perfect marriage to Margaret, she had
hardly deigned to speak to him. At least before they had common
interests in opera, theatre and the cinema and how George loved it when
she made the effort to dress for the occasion. Once, when they were
attending a Puccini opera at the local theatre, she had knocked him for
six when she emerged from her bedroom in a coral pink satin mermaid
frock, replete with black taffeta fishtail skirt and petticoats that
flared from the just above the knee and down around the ankles, a
generous pink satin sash tied in a bow to the front accentuating her
curves.
It was very similar to the frocks in Guys and Dolls worn by the Hot Box
Girls in their on stage act performing Take Back Your Mink. How George
dreamt of that sequence as a young man and here now as Margaret, dressed
to the nines, in something almost identical.
The frock edging of the high neckline was a thick black banding and she
wore pink satin gloves, opera length up and over the elbow naturally.
She had a matching long satin cape that covered her otherwise bare
shoulders, lined in pink satin, George was completely transfixed by the
vision of glamour.
"Come on darling, don't stare, let's get a move on," Margaret had teased
knowing the effect her gown would have on the infatuated George. Her
pink heels peeked beneath the froth of sewn-in taffeta petticoats that
flounced out the taffeta skirt at the bottom of the gown. George
recalled the swish and rustle to this day with the gown's tightness.
He could almost see the foundation garment, a strapless long line
corselette, that was supporting Margaret and her sheer black stockings
and when she minced away from him, that deafening swish and hiss of
nylon on nylon coupled with the image of her rounded posterior encased
in satin, had George in fierce arousal. Always keep them guessing what's
beneath the frock was Margaret's motto but though George might have
known most of the items he would never have guessed that she had added a
trumpet underskirt, in sumptuous pink heavy taffeta with a side zipping
at the top, to her undergarments, increasing the rustle as she walked as
it strained against the satin lining of her gently swaying mermaid
frock.
Poor George. What gorgeous memories but now he had been driven to visit
Taffeta Torment, so cruel was her neglect.
He hesitated for a second at on the front steps but before he could turn
his back and walk away forever, the door in front opened very slightly.
"Madam has been expecting you," Barbara greeted him a deep, lush voice
laced with intrigue. As she opened it further, she revealed herself to
be wearing a black taffeta maid's dress, the full 1950s style, calf
length variety, fluffed out by several layers of bright pink taffeta
petticoats.
"You will follow me upstairs while I prepare you for Madam," she
demanded. "But first put this eye mask on." Barbara, with her white
satin apron tied with thick taffeta ribbons into a huge bow at the rear,
worked herself behind George and snapped the mask over his eyes. "Now
take my hand."
George held his right hand out and Barbara caressed and held it firmly
in the grip of her pink satin gloves. She allowed George to brush up
against her taffeta skirts knowing it would excite him. As she walked up
the marble stairs, the clipping of her black stilettos on the marble
staircase aroused him even more.
He felt himself being taken into a room where he heard another female
voice telling him to stay still and not to remove his blindfold.
In a matter of what seemed seconds, he stood naked having been skilfully
undressed by two pairs of satin-gloved hands. Next his hands were cuffed
firmly behind his back and a pair of pink silk panties were stuffed into
mouth, crammed shut and secured with a stocking mask over his head but
not before his eye mask had been removed.
In all his life, George had never been so aroused or afraid. Had he not
been erect, he probably would have wet himself.
Before him stood Barbara and Joan, the latter dressed identically to her
partner in crime except her frock was pink and her apron black in
keeping with her satin gloves. Her stiffened taffeta petticoats were
also black giving the illusion that the two women were negatives of one
another. As they entwined their hands around George's cuffed arms and
let their frocks gently sway and swish against his bare thighs as they
walked along the corridor, his erection grew ever harder and stronger,
increasing his intense embarrassment.
"Don't worry darling, I've seen far bigger get far more aroused on far
less," Joan twittered as Barbara flirted outrageously with their smitten
prisoner.
It was not long before George was being guided through another bedroom
door to be confronted by Joyce, reclining on a large, silky settee
adorned with pink and ivory satin cushions. The moment George saw her,
his erection took on another even harder, frustrating dimension if that
were possible.
Joyce gave a little smirk as she saw his penis harden more.
"Well I had been expecting you George but not quite so quickly. And so
readily. So willing aren't you darling. Come and kneel before me and
tell me all about it. I'm sure it's something about your wife not
understanding you sweetie, is that it?" and as the words came out, both
Barbara and Joan could scarcely stifle a giggle given that in fact, his
wife understood all too well about George and his little peccadilloes.
Joyce was draped in a stunning full frock in rich coffee satin, its
heavy satin bodice shimmering in the bedroom lights, her ample bosom
framed by stunning shoulder ensemble that fell away to puff sleeves just
about the elbow where they met severely smooth black satin gloves.
As George was guided to a cushion beneath her feet, Barbara and Joan
gently but forcibly enough pushed him down to kneel at Joyce's manicured
feet, sheaved in six inch heels to match her magnificent frock. She
smoothed the seam of her dark tan nylons as George nestled uncomfortably
at her feet, one of her heels dangling precariously from her toe until
Joyce commanded him to use his nose and mouth to restore it to her
stockinged foot.
Poor George. As Joyce mercilessly swept her legs one way then other,
crossing and caressing her gown and nylons, he was mesmerised by the
relentless hissing and swish of the sheer stockings as well as the
deafening roar of matching taffeta petticoats that were snuggled beneath
Joyce's frock, the gathered lace and nylon the polysatin underskirt
tantalisingly cavorting right before his eyes and nose.
He could almost smell the rustle amidst the wonderful fragrances emitted
by the three women standing and sitting commandingly in the boudoir.
"Well George what do we have to say for ourselves little one?" teased
Joyce and she plumped up her underskirts and frock and sat back to hear
the sad story, which of course she already knew.
And all George could relate was how that day at Madame Lafayette's,
omitting the part where he was utterly lost in fabric as he touched
smooth satin and rustling taffeta, Margaret had emerged from the
changing rooms dressed in a thrilling frock of magenta blue taffeta,
sparkling and swishing towards him flanked by three of the assistants
mincing in pink heels and snug pink satin dresses, hands and elbows clad
in matching pink gloves and bearing little posies.
Margaret had demanded, in a demure and nice way, that he went down on
his knees and ask for her hand in marriage. Shocked out of his fantasy
feeling of fabrics, George of course obeyed and was instantly back in
fantasy land as he looked up at Margaret swishing impatiently in her
glorious frock, pink satin gloves impelling him to take her hand and ask
politely if she would marry him.
Suddenly he was surrounded by the other women so as to make him the
centre of a formation of pink satin, blue taffeta and pink and blue high
heels, all hissing around his bent body. He could have sworn he heard
laughter as he pressed his head into the skirt of Margaret's gown and
heard the rustle of taffeta petticoats beneath but he was far too
excited to worry about the details.
He seemed to be picked up and carried along by the three women who
announced that Madame Lafayette was licensed to carry out civil
ceremonies on the premises and no sooner had Margaret produced a couple
of rings than George had muttered some vows and was wed in a dreamlike
state.
All he could recall later was how joyous it all seemed, at last he would
be sharing a bedroom, more crucially her wardrobe too, with Margaret. He
had a couple of glasses of champagne with the other women and hurried
home with his new bride for whatever treasures he could not imagine.
Back at the flat, Margaret fluttered her lashes, puckered her lips and
smoothed her fabulous frock as she poured George another glass of
champagne and sat next to him on the living room settee.
"Poor George," was one of the last things he could recall from the day.
He felt Margaret's satin gloved hand stroking his face then bringing his
right hand down on her taffeta frock, but before he could feel just one
slither of a smoothing action across that glorious material, he lost the
sense of touch and was lost in the land of nod for the night.
The following day, George was telling a concerned Joyce, Margaret had
retreated back to her bedroom. She flounced out each morning for 'work'
wherever that was, announcing that she had not married for sex but
companionship and that they would continue as before, in separate
bedrooms. Except it was worse than before.
Each day, Margaret would emerge from her half of the flat, increasingly
attired in the sort of clothes that was driving George to distraction.
Usually a large satin mac in voluminous colours, blue, purple or
burgundy. She would smooth this on once she had made George see what it
concealed, occasionally a satinette frock or dress that fitted tightly
below the knee or more often than not a satin pencil skirt and satin
blouse of varying shades, all touched off with a pair of the highest
heels and nylons that hissed mockingly as George languished like a
lapdog. Whereupon Margaret would peck him on the cheek, leaving a faint
dab of her beloved lipstick and lasting impression of rouge on the face
and perfume up the nostrils.
George had even tried to force entry into Margaret's bedroom but to no
avail. Whatever shade and material of lavish gown, girdle, petticoat or
panties lay behind that door would remain a mystery. And so driven wild,
George was now driven to Taffeta Torment and into Joyce's satin and
nylon embrace.
"You poor thing," Joyce pouted and Barbara and Joan agreed. "You need
some extended and thorough treatment in the art of femininity. What do
you think ladies?
"He is clearly deprived, the little lambkins. Have you always hankered
after ladies' clothing and foundation garments darling?"
And George was forced to admit he used to sneak into his own aunty's
bedroom when he was little boy of about five or six, the 1950s being a
time for gorgeous gowns, and he would love nothing more than to hide in
there, dark and snugly encased in the taffeta or polysatin lining of one
his aunt's favourite ballgowns or skirts.
"And did you try on her stockings then pet?" asked Barbara. "Did you
like to feel how smooth and sheer her satin skirts were?"
"No never, I know I just preferred to be there, the aroma of stockings
and frocks."
"A little taffeta and girdle virgin then. Never been dressed up in
ladies' attire and foundations. What a shame...there, there. George. We
can help you can't we girls," announced Joyce, thrusting herself forward
and pushing her satin forefinger beneath her captive's chin to focus his
attention.
"Now, the nice ladies will take you out and get you all trussed up,
sorry dressed up, for service. I am thinking right that you would prefer
gowns like these that Barbara and Joan have on, at least for now. We can
work up to something tighter, more constrictive as we progress. Is that
OK darling? I am assuming you have bought a cheque book too. We'll write
them as we go along."
Joyce was now standing in front of George, her satin folds resting
against his face, blinding him from the web into which he was slowly,
irrevocably, being drawn. Barbara and Joan lifted him up beneath his
shoulders and escorted him from the room as he felt black satin gloves
caress the cheeks of his posterior.
"Mmm not bad for your age, darling. Nothing a firm girdle, satin panels
and some lipstick can't improve. We'll have you pouting and serving like
a proper lady before you know it."
Joyce forgot to add we will also have you locked up, hogtied then
bankrupt in about the same amount of time. And then things will turn
quite horrible for poor little Georgie Porgie.
Since Joyce had taken such a personal interest in John's welfare and
supervision, he felt more and more incapable of individual thought or
freedom of any kind. His days were filled being petted and pampered by
Barbara and Joan, his nights satisfying the increasingly demanding and
proprietorial Joyce.
He had no idea how it was all going to end but he was determined to
fight his overwhelming feeling of abject satin surrender.
And then one day, Barbara and Joan arrived in their usual sultry tones
to announce that he had been promoted from website supervisor of Taffeta
Torment to Joyce's personal assistant.
"What does that even mean?" asked John, bound as normal by his arms and
legs to a huge satin sheeted double bed. He was meant to have a
deprivation day but the two ladies had received other instructions from
Madame.
"Now she has gone to a lot of trouble. She wants your first day under
her charge to be a memorable one and so the outfit you wear must also be
memorable."
Joan and Barbara were eyeing one another and laughing. They carried a
couple of neatly packaged boxes secured by pink silk ribbons with the
brand Madame Lafayette on them.
From out of nowhere John asked. "You are not wearing your maids'
uniforms today?" He had no idea where the question had come from but it
sounded more of a plea and as he said it, he felt a surge of an erection
swell up before him and the women.
"Oh diddums, do you want us to wear our outfits when we dress you then
darling?" teased Barbara. "It must be so comforting surrounded by those
swishing taffeta frocks and petticoats. What do you think Joan?"
"Well we could always go and change if you want us to darling. Is that
what you want sweetie?" asked Joan and John could feel his erection grow
stronger and his naked body and face aflame with erotic embarrassment.
In fact Joan and Barbara were attired in contrasting blue and pink satin
pencil skirts, each one as ever complementing one another, Joan in a
deep blue satin blouse and Barbara's pink satin blouse topping her blue
satin number that tapered to a finish just below her knee. Blue and pink
high heels, black 14 denier black stockings added to the vampish nature
of the two women today, black taffeta half-slips enhancing the swish and
rustle factor of the satin-lined skirts.
They sat astride John, who was now hopelessly mortified by his loose
tongue.
"Don't fret darling. We'll be wearing our maids' uniforms tomorrow for
your bathing and pedicure. And we'll have our shiniest and swishiest
nylon overalls for your manicure, so you'll be nicely strapped and
buckled in your special chair and we'll be all a rustle around you sweet
pea. Is that OK?"
Barbara had donned blue satin gloves as she stroked John's manhood while
Joan set about preparing a small potion to relax the teenager as they
lifted him off the bed and released his bindings.
As always John was powerless to resist as the drugged potion was forced
into his nostrils and he became a limp rag doll in the sturdy and
irresistible arms of his captors while totally aware of his senses and
what was happening.
Joan opened one box, revealing a delicate all-in-one bottomless
corselette in virgin white edged with pretty pink bows and lace. Barbara
held his arms aloft and Joyce, now in her own pink satin gloves, eased
the undergarment up and over John's legs then his backside and waist.
They sat back on the bed as they closed zips at the side and back as
well a hook-and-eye fastening halfway down the back. It had two shiny
ivory satin panels at the lower front and rear as well as two more that
pushed up the large satin bra cups, into which John's steadily expanding
hormonally treated breasts fitted quite snugly.
"Perfect," said Barbara as Joan quickly removed a pair of nylons from
the same box, ripping open the package and handing one black stocking to
her partner.
"Now point your toes," relaxed Joan as they concentrated first on John's
left leg then his right, smoothing the nylons up each leg before
attaching it to the eight thick and large white metal tipped suspender
straps edged with pink taffeta ribbons.
"I find smoothing stockings on with satin gloves helps to stop snags.
Just in case careless fingernails cut into the nylon welt," Barbara
argued, sweetly smoothing and caressing the top of John's stocking so
recently introduced to the suspender clips of his new corselette.
"Oh dear, that erection is getting bigger by the second pet. These pink
satin panties should at least disguise it," and the two women tugged and
fitted the large but dainty panties up and over his knees and
suspenders, eventually coming to rest like a satin canvas over the rigid
tentpole beneath.
John was still feeling drowsy and submissive as Joan produced a midnight
black taffeta half-slip and tantalisingly drew it up over his nyloned
calves and thighs. The static rustle and hiss transported John to
further fantasy limits but just as he thought he could not contain
himself, Barbara revealed a figure-hugging pencil skirt in unforgivingly
shimmering black satin.
"Now your mistress bought this especially, darling, Your first day at
work and your first satin pencil skirt. She has had it made-to-measure
so it will be a bit tight sweetie"
And with that, Joan and Barbara slowly, deliberately let the polysatin
lining ride up against John's stockings, then smooth up over his taffeta
slip which they in turn held taught with their satin gloves over his
thighs and suspender clips before tugging it up and over his thighs,
posterior and waist so that it pinched in against the lower panels of
his corselette.
"Let's have that gorgeous satin blouse now Barbara," and she loosened
the satin ribbon from another box and proceeded to work an electric
blue satin blouse up and over John's shoulders and arms before tucking
it inside his skirt.
"Right, now let's finish him off."
John could feel only satin gloves going to work efficiently and at
tremendous speed, buttoning him inside this silky blouse that struggled
against the jutting breasts of his satin cupped bra, a pussy bow
serenely fastened at the top in a cute knot, buttons cascading down the
front, back and on the puffed sleeves of this frill-laden garment.
Barbara finalised the tucking-in and closed the back zip of his satin
skirt, an abrupt zzzzzp that signalled confinement and John felt
imprisoned in a satin and taffeta-lined jail, any lingering thoughts of
escape evaporating when Joan placed his size 5 nyloned feet, so delicate
for a young man, into six inch black high heels.
The potion was now wearing off but it hardly mattered. He couldn't run,
scarcely walk in his heels. He tottered, that was about it, his satin
skirt furtively constrained his thighs and knees, all the time pressing
up against his taffeta underskirt, which in turn smoothed seductively,
crispily and noisily over his sheer stockings that were held so rigid by
his unyielding suspender clips.
Barbara and Joan were whispering in his ears now as they applied the
finishing touches to John and his glazed look. They darkened and
thickened his already lush lashes, topped him with a blonde wavy wig,
very sexy, carefully dusted his cheeks with powder and lipsticked his
pouting lips into submission and a cupid's bow decoration.
"Silky stilettoes, suspenders and stockings, smooth slips, satin skirts.
S for sexy secretary," Barbara and Joan hissed as they went about the
finishing touches, all the while their perfumes reducing John's
resistance and inspiring only girly fantasies.
John was creaking under the weight of this stealth bondage. His breasts
were bursting out of his bra which in turn was bulging his satin blouse.
His thighs and knees were in desperate need of liberation but most of
all his erect penis required some freedom. But for all his yearning for
space, with every tottering step he took on his skyscraper heels,
towards his first day on the job as Joyce's PA, he lapsed into a taffeta
induced trance.
Unable to break the spell, he felt Joan and Barbara brush up against his
satin skirt, fondling his tightly packed bottom and stroking his
suspender clips through the taffeta half-slip as they escorted him down
the corridor. His first work day. His first skirt day.
Jeannie
- 11.06.2022
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