Marina's Regime Part 3 free porn video

Marina's Regime by Aken Chapter 7 Advanced Training I nibbled on my apple, wondering what I should do to prepare myself for the next shipment of surprises from my Mistress Marina. It might arrive at any time until 6 PM. My trusty Jets shirt would protect my modesty from the waist up and a pair of sweat pants could also prevent the sight of a chastity belt or thigh-highs. But high-heel pumps locked to my feet were not so easy to disguise, nor were the sounds of padlocks rattling on metal hasps. My only solution at first blush would be to cower behind my door like a classic paranoid shut-in. What a copout that would be, not to mention entirely unworkable with bulkier packages. Yet I wondered if the mail service Marina used was familiar with my problem while delivering her parcels. Who knew how many of us were locked up in our corsets and heels, facing acute embarrassment? If Mistress was half as passionate as she claimed to be for making all her boyfriends submit to sissy training, I couldn't be the first guy to face this dilemma. So, what if I could turn this to my favor by not even trying to hide my odd predicament? And what if Mistress could discover what her delivery people came to know? Like my use of the 10-hour padlocks this morning, this could be another back channel for reaching her, a brand new way to get her hot rocks off. I supposed this was another test for me as well. Didn't she love to create suspense and to shock people? She said something like that when we met, and clearly she liked leaving her men in the dark most times. Her custom smart-phone app was an ideal tool for doing just that. Unless she had something to say, we suffered in radio silence. What I wouldn't give for the few minutes back we had at the pub talking face-to-face. 'Will I ever get to do that again?' My half-hour or so of resting my feet in bed felt good but I had to get busy again or I would drive myself buggy worrying about the next thing Mistress was planning, and what new demands she would make. But the simple fact was I loved this. Whatever her next moves were, this woman commanded my nerves. Even the hairs on my neck stood up for her. She must be one of those danger-sex soulmates I had read stories about, but never encountered in real-life. I eased myself out of the bed with my mind made up. I would let the delivery man see my shoes and not worry about it. That should earn me some bravery points if not a few laughs. Either way was fine with me. I located a pair of soft linen workout pants. They would look ok along with my sweatshirt, and were roomy enough for my family jewels. Next I dug out a pair of Celine's ankle warmers that ended up in my sock drawer ages ago by accident. I'd left them in there because frankly they were cute and reminded me of her during some earlier, happier times. The knitted warmers overlapped my heels, concealed my locks and muffled the rattles nicely. They did nothing to hide the fact that I was wearing sky-high ladies' pumps, but it was no big deal. Did this mean I was learning? Was I discovering the things Mistress wanted me to find? How would I know? I was simply trying to improvise, and at the same time stay in Marina's good graces. I busied myself by washing some windows. I filled a bucket with warm water, added a cup of vinegar to it, and wiped down all the dirty windows in my living room and bedroom, then the smaller windows in my kitchen, laundry room, and pantry area. My bathroom had no windows but it had an ornate mirror. So I scrubbed it down too, along with the big floor-length mirrors in my bedroom and entry hall. This job proceeded much easier than the mopping and vacuuming I did earlier. My agility in the heels was improving and my feet seemed to be getting tougher. I couldn't figure out why but this second wind felt really good to me. For fun I imagined that the ankle- warmers were having a magical effect on me. Maybe they'd been blessed with the spirit of Olivia Newton John, or Flashdance's Jennifer Beals. When I was finished I washed up my face and hands in the bathroom and took a towel to a considerable amount of sweat. I had been perspiring like mad under the corset. Removing my sweatshirt, I wetted down a washcloth and used it to cool off my neck, shoulders and back. It was the first time I looked at myself closely since the previous night. It amazed me to see that no hint of a beard had returned, not even a shadow. The texture of my skin appeared to look kind of perfect also. Around the corset it looked especially smooth, and strange to say I didn't even seem to smell bad, despite all my exertions. My armpits had barely a hint of masculine musk. All I smelled was the floral scent of the lotion Mistress commanded me to use. She certainly had some good products. I was thinking she should give them a catchy brand name and market them all over the world. I wondered if I should start using her powerful corset cream on my arms and legs too, but it might be too tingly for my face It was nearly 3 o'clock. I needed a drink and another break time for my feet. I walked to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of iced tea and sipped on it at my trusty countertop. I hadn't put the sweat-soaked Jets shirt back on yet, so my nipples remained on full display. They looked red and rashy to me, probably due to the way my shirt rubbed them around when I scrubbed on the windows. Looking down at my corset and linen pants It occurred to me I didn't look half-bad. I just needed something to cover up those angry little breasts. I didn't have another shirt like my Jets one but I needed something cooler anyway. I walked to my closet looking for the longest, thinnest shirt I owned. I found a white dress shirt that I never liked, a gift my wife once gave me. It was too big and the collar couldn't cooperate with my suits or ties. It was an odd fabric blend too, a touch of cotton and polyester with lots of rayon. No surprise that it lived on its hanger. But today I looked at it differently. Its long tails could hang over my drawstring pants for an upscale garage-sale day look. Its smooth finish would be gentle for my unmentionables. I put the shirt on immediately, loving how cool and soft it felt on my shoulders. Then without even a conscious thought, I buttoned only two of the top shirt buttons and pulled the shirttails up around my sides, knotting them securely in front of me. I turned to look in my bedroom mirror and just stared at myself in shock. What an incredible look this made. White rayon wrapped around my pointy nipples, hiding all the nakedness north of my corset, while it exaggerated my new hourglass shape in just the right ways. The square-knot lay dead-center of the narrow waist I boasted as it effectively covered up the padlock on my corset shackle. Or was it a hot new style of jewelry? At the bottom of my outfit a pair of bright blue pumps could be seen - significantly tall heels, yes, but obscured by unpretentious ankle- warmers, and tucked under some throwaway pants. I could hardly believe what or who I was seeing. I would have dated that chick in a heartbeat. I turned myself sideways, recalling how horrified I felt recently at the swollen areas above my corsetry. Yet here I was, wondering what had happened. What made this look so good? Then I saw - the high heels, though hidden for the most part by geeky pants and ankle warmers, still held my body to a more appealing angle, tipping it backward a bit more than what my corset demanded. The heels tilted my ass up suggestively too, but factoring it in with the loose linen pants it presented an understated, accessible persona. Then to defy all those rules, a gleaming silk corset and a metallic belt took my already minimal waist and forged it into a declaration of absolute sex-appeal, as any corset would do for any girl. What would possibly keep me from seeing such a person as a girl? As long as that chastity pointed down hidden by baggy pants, not a thing. Of course I had no makeup on and my hair wasn't styled, but it didn't seem to matter. We see women all the time without hairdos and makeup, don't we? Yet they are still women. The fact that I had an oval face and a small build, even for a 5 foot 7" male, helped to make this illusion possible, and so did the light curly hair that was longer on top than it usually was. God-forbid if my hair was styled up a little, and a respectable amount of eye-makeup and lip-gloss were added to this look, it could even be overdoing it. I knew if I signed for Mistress' package looking like this and didn't say much, the courier would surely see the girl I saw now. My situation had changed altogether. It was time to reevaluate the plan. First rejecting notions of hiding behind my door I'd decided to say "screw it" and let my strange locked-on shoes be seen by the delivery guy, even though it would contradict every other part of my gender. But now with the discovery standing in my mirror the best choice was obvious: I should just plan on passing instead, and present myself in total gender agreement with my shoes. But if that was the plan I didn't want to screw anything up. I looked closely at my features in the mirror and immediately wished I had just a hint of makeup to boost my confidence to pass as a girl. I wanted very little color. I didn't need any man to be studying my makeup. He should only glance to see that I was wearing a smattering of it, then let his eyes slide down to the intricate mysteries of my corset and the secrets of my tall yet elaborately concealed shoes. I understood men that way, being one myself. Our eyes go where fascination is keenest. I took a couple of snapshots of my suddenly trap-like mirror image. Then I strode with purpose to the kitchen with my phone and ice tea, and parked the phone in its charging stand on the way. I had an idea to follow up. In our house I kept a junk drawer that I dumped into a box as I moved out. Yesterday, I poured its contents into a drawer of my new laundry room. Every kind of small random object might be found in it, from shoelaces and screws to tape and thumb tacks. What if some of Celine's makeup wound up in there too? I looked in the drawer without success until I spotted a pair of long-lost art pencils. The first was a soft gray pastel, but the second turned out to be one of Celine's old lip pencils, a product called Rimmel Natural. It had a brownish peachy color with a slight shimmer to it. I went to the bathroom and applied it right away, remembering the way my wife used to do it. I carefully lined the edges of my lips, and then colored them both in completely. It wasn't really the color I would select for a girlfriend. I liked brighter shades on ladies' lips, the way my Mistress wore hers. Intense lip color always captivated me best. And yet this pencil was just what I needed. It demurely said "I am wearing lipstick" yet nothing else. I decided a bit more shine would look better, so I got a fingertip of vaseline and tapped it on the crest of my lips. My pout was just about perfect for the mission at hand. Next, I stroked the gray charcoal pencil onto a fingertip and gently dabbed it to my eyelids. I didn't want much, just enough to say: "Here are some eyes that match my lips and clothes." Would more makeup have made me appear more feminine? Yes, perhaps, but it would also exaggerate things. I am alone in my home on a Sunday, so less should definitely be more. If I could pull this off with no makeup at all, then this was about confidence for me, not sex appeal. Instead of making a declaration on its own, the makeup should help me feel casual and normal. Now I just needed to wait for the moment of truth to arrive. I fetched my blow dryer and worked on my hair with a combination pick and comb. Softening up the curls didn't do anything to hurt my appearance, but mostly the primping was a way to stay busy. It was 3:30, a half-hour later than the Saturday delivery took place. If the shipment arrived after 4:30 my shoes would be unlocked. Then, technically I could just scrap the entire plan. I fiddled with my hair and used unscented hairspray on it, all the while pondering if I should immediately shuck off my stilettos and put my regular shoes and damp sweatshirt back on. Changing course yet again after putting my bold plan together seemed silly, but it would be an option. Smiling, I realized that my Mistress' actions would again determine all of my options. I rubbed some of Mistress' corset cream onto my wrists and behind my ears for their scent and walked to my entry area. I prayed her packages would arrive before I lost my nerve. Taking my phone from its charging stand I snapped some more selfies of my total look. The fuller hair and makeup touches weren't bad. They added to the outfit. Some selfies pointed into the mirror and some were at arm's length. No earring holes, I hoped that wasn't a giveaway. The doorbell rang. My heart took a leap. 'Why didn't I drink a glass of wine first?' I put the phone back in its charger and straightened up, brushing my clothes off quickly. 'Sign the receipt. Look him in the eyes. Don't talk too much. And don't be nervous!' I looked through the peep hole and saw a man in his twenties. He wore the same blue cap and uniform as the man yesterday, but this was a different guy. I unlatched and opened my door. "Tommie Lyn Montero?" he asked with a bored expression, holding a wifi tablet out to me. "There's a COD charge on this for $744. Just sign if you approve. Your card is on ez-pay." "OK," I smiled. I took his tablet and wrote my initials on the lcd screen with his stylus. Bending over, he picked up 3 shoeboxes strapped together like the ones yesterday were. I think he noticed my heels and corset by this time. He appeared to move a little more slowly. "Here you go, ma'am. Ah, they smell nice by the way. Got my whole truck smelling great." He was smiling directly at me as I carefully took the packages from his arms. "That's nice," I said. "Maybe it will do the same for my apartment." "But Ma'am, I have to say," he added straightening up, "You smell better by a mile." "Well thank you," I replied. "It's... some new hair spray I think." "Whatever it is, don't run out of it ever," he laughed. Then he had a sudden afterthought. "Uh, Ma'am? Don't... be offended by that. In fact, I am very sorry. I didn't mean anything by it." "Of course not," I said. "It's ok. You did not upset me." "Oh, good," he said, taking a deep breath. He was blushing. He had been terrified. "Well then," I said with a smile he appeared to need. "Thank you for the delivery." "No Ma'am! Thank you!" he replied happily as he charged back to the stairwell. I expected to grab my boxes wordlessly and run back inside. I feared a clocking, I feared insults, and who knows what other kind of humiliation. Yet there I was, watching him race back to his delivery truck, biting his tongue. The guy had looked helpless and confused and terribly turned on I imagine. 'He is wondering why he said dumb things and almost fell apart. He might have to buy his girlfriend a hot new corset to wear now, and maybe some exotic perfume.' 'Could he be that impressed by how I was dressed? Or, was it the scented lotion talking?' "Poor kid," I thought as I relocked my door. "But that certainly went well." Marina's Regime Chapter 8 Higher Purposes These boxes were nearly as heavy as the ones Mistress sent me on Saturday. I found the cover letter she wrote for me in the envelope on the box with a big number 1 written on it. Her perfume reinforced my rampant desires to be with her as I started to read her astonishing words: Dearest tommie, You continue to dazzle and delight me. Have I told you today how proud I am of you for the progress you are making? Well I am - so very proud and even more excited by what you may soon achieve. You no doubt understand by now how terribly much I adore humiliating my men. It always thrills me to control every aspect of our relationship, especially when with certain boyfriends I can include high amounts of feminization. Only rare extra special boyfriends will ever qualify for my maximum regimen. His perfect stature is required. All seemingly small elements become essentials. From his cheekbones and hair to muscle tone and shoe size each subtle point matters, and none more than personality and disposition. You my darling have all the prerequisites in one package. It is why I have accelerated my feminization plans for you. Because of that please be prepared for the added frustrations and domination that will accompany your transition by steadily increasing measure. The services I seek from you demand it and more. Try not to take this additional severity too personally, for when your burden grows difficult and unfair, that is because it is meant to. My expectations will appear unreasonable, because they must. If your embarrassments seem to be intolerable they very likely are. Yet accepting them is how you will serve me best. Fear not, my pet. You have everything this journey requires. Take one box at a time, Your adoring Mistress Marina Once again, Marina's introductory letter had left me dumbfounded. Obviously she is all about dominating her men, making them do things they would rather not do, until she makes her men want to do them. Did this mean she planned to make me want to be a female now? I hoped not because I wanted her so dearly, and only as a man desires a woman. All along I hoped we were up to some innocent, if unorthodox, foreplay. 'If she likes to dress men up, fine, I can deal with that as long as it will lead us to a standard heterosexual relationship!' But going full-tilt into major feminization? That sounded like much more than I could handle. It sounded like a full commitment to lifestyle transitions, hormones or even a title change. No way was I ready for those things. I needed to talk this over with Marina at the very soonest. In view of her enthusiasm and her clear promises to accentuate my female attributes our talk could not wait until Thursday night. Seriously, how far had we gone on a lark and a giggle in only two days? 'She has me sleeping semi-permanently in high heels and a corset. And just minutes ago I had a friendly chat with a deliveryman who had no earthly idea I wasn't a biological woman.' My Mistress didn't even ask me to do that, yet all of that took less than two days. I rubbed my temples for a minute. How could I wait 4 more days before talking to Marina, before explaining all of these worries and misgivings to her? That might as well be 4 years. I read her letter again to see if I was over-reacting to her tone. Was she as determined and serious as I imagined? Yes, there was no mistaking how intense she wanted this to be. I went and poured myself a glass of wine. I stood at my counter for several minutes trying to assess my next step. Perhaps I shouldn't open another box. Whatever was inside those boxes could take me another ten miles farther down the road she already had me on. And it was a road I wasn't at all sure I wanted to be on. I needed reassurances from her first. I needed a measure of commitment that she was actually going to let me be her boyfriend, not some new plaything or a metaphor, but a real lover who gets to have two-way conversations with her, and go out on dates. She must know how much I desire her. Why else would I have done these things? Why humiliate myself like this if it wasn't to earn her trust and intimacy? I told myself I had the strength to get off this merry-go-round if I wanted to. But did I really? I took another sip of wine and dwelled on that question. 'Just look at me. I'm dressed like a slut for the most part already, yet it's not hurting me. It's confusing the hell out of me, but simply looking feminine isn't painful. Not knowing her true intention is what hurts.' So if I truly planned to end this business, it needed to be tomorrow morning at 5 AM when my corset padlock came undone. That's when I would have to decide to give up on this, and give up on Marina too if I needed to. Until then I should look at what she had sent me. I owed us that much at least. It was 4:14 by the time I stopped debating with myself about the frightening decisions that Mistress Marina seemed to be making for me. In 15 minutes I would be able to remove my shoe locks and take a nice breather. Rubbing my sore toes after the events of today would be nice indeed. I cut open box number one and found a beautiful bra, plus a teddy and panty combination, all dripping in lace. What a relief! No chastity belts or Victorian-era bondage contraptions this time - just some normal-looking if rather sultry women's undergarments. I noticed a new velvet drawstring bag in the box also. It was heavy for it contained an extra assortment of padlocks in colors I was already familiar with, except for one. There were 6 more yellow locks to add to the four I already had. 4 more green, and 4 more brown locks to add to the four of each I currently had. There were 5 more blue locks to add to the one I had, 5 more black locks to add to the one I had, and one pink mystery lock. All of this was a bit ominous. A new letter was there also, next to the bag. I had to admit Mistress' ability to write these long eloquent letters impressed me. This was her sixth one, all lovingly hand-written and richly perfumed. I resolved to start keeping them in a freezer bag to preserve their scent. Dearest tommie, You may have noticed a need for a brassiere by this point. Something about a corset tends to do that, whether with women or men. After the nipples are exposed and pointed outward, in no time at all they beg for their privacy and protection again. This bra is a perfect choice for you to start with. It will comfort those delicate zones that your nipples will have become, plus at the same time match perfectly with your lovely blue corset. As nice as my special inks are, they tend to have bruising effects on a man's breasts, with increasing amounts of puffiness and soreness to watch for. A sturdy bra like this will prevent the irritation that shirts and blouses or even bed sheets create as they rub against your naked nipples. So wearing your bra as often as possible is more than a fashion statement for you. It is a sensible and healthy choice all around. You will notice that the shoulder straps of this bra meet up at the back where the main straps have small hasps for the bra to lock. Two of the new yellow padlocks are the ones you will attach nightly beginning at 7 PM sharp tonight. Yes love, your bra will follow the same wear schedule your high- heels do every evening, and of course you may obtain extra credit by adding daytime brassiere wear for self-improvement and to gratify your Mistress. Also in the box is an adorable silk panty and strapless teddy. The ensemble's purpose is to help you look sweet and to feel flirty as it brushes your skin and thigh-highs. It has pleated skirt details and is rather short, but not so short it can be covered up by shirts and sweaters. In any case, the teddy combo is recommended any time that your heels and stockings are worn. There is no bonus for it, but neither is there a lockup schedule. Your objective is to embrace a more ladylike look for me. Oblige your Mistress, dear, simply by feeling more feminine for her. Sweetheart, I know you are worried and upset. From experience I know that you may be on the verge of giving up right now. You are on the cusp of truly amazing achievements, yet instead may be discouraged or even afraid. And that is for one reason alone. It is because you are not certain if I am serious about loving you fully and completely. So here is what I am willing to promise you. As you are well ahead of schedule anyway I want to move our meeting up two days sooner to be on Tuesday at 5 PM. You are a superstar boyfriend, tommie! I think it will help if you can ask your questions on Tuesday evening and not wait until Thursday. And of course you will be on track to receive your two lovely rewards sooner than I first allowed. One reward is for wearing all of the garments for me this week that I asked you to wear, for the minimum times I required them to be worn. The other reward is for remaining chaste for me, a task I have made so easy for you after all with that adorable and innovative erection inhibitor. Receiving either reward will require that you properly honor and maintain all the relocking schedules I assigned to you this week, and you are doing perfectly in that area too. So this is my promise to you my love. Hold out two more days for me and we will have our blissful meeting at last. We will communicate and consummate intimately together. We will even make plans for the future. I hope this will give you even more to look forward to, and make the whirlwind of new experiences you have had this weekend easier to accept. Just know that in two days you will get more than texts or letters from me. So much more! You may try on your brassiere right away dearest, but moisturize first. Put the padlocks into position in advance. Then remind yourself to click them shut for me at exactly 7 PM. Enjoy your lovely garments in box #1 tonight, my darling. Luxuriate in their protective silk comforts. Allow nothing to dissuade you from trusting in me and in the lovely feelings I desire for you. Your Adoring Mistress Marina I stared at her letter in amazement. 'How can she do that?' She understood how freaked out I was feeling before opening my new box. She zoomed in on my suspicion and concern in even sharper detail than I did, even though I was the one who was dealing with them. Did she make me any less nervous about what had happened this weekend, and the direction we were going exactly? Not really. But it did wipe away the terror I felt for the upcoming four days. Tuesday night would make all the difference. I could surely manage two more nights of her not-so-subtle sissifying bondages. Why not see these two nights through and be with her? The padlocks on my shoe-straps chimed, letting me know that my feet could be set free for a couple of hours. I quickly unlatched the locks and straps, and got out of my ankle warmers and tight blue pumps. "Oh! That feels good," I said aloud, rubbing my feet behind me as I kneeled on my living room carpet. I decided to remain there and leave my pants and stockings on for the time being as I further examined the items from box #1 that were spread out on my coffee table. The bra was indeed beautiful, if a little heavy. It was made of the same immaculate shining blue silk as the corset, with the same white floral stitching to match. Picking it up I noticed that the inside facing was dark rubber, just like the corset. This seemed an odd choice, unless it was meant to serve as a weight-reducing garment also. Or it could've been intended to make her boyfriend as aware of the garment as possible - another one of Mistress' sly humiliations. Either way, the bra looked terrific. I loosened my knotted shirt and dropped it to my waist, then began to do a dry-fit of the brassiere. The wide strap formed under the breast cups sat perfectly into a recess built into my corset-top. What I thought had been purely decorative stitching on the corset beneath the curved, breast-shaping upper edge was in fact a connection point for the matching brassiere. I notched the bra strap in place and pulled the strap ends around to my back where they overlapped and fitted together using the two metal hasps, one slightly under each shoulder blade. That strap felt heavy and stiff and seemed like it held boning inside of it. Soon I understood. Sandwiched between the bra's heavy blue silk and rubber was a one-inch-wide strip of the wafer-thin metal my corset shackle was made of. 'When this thing gets locked onto me, it is seriously locked on. It becomes one with my corset.' Next I realized that the shoulder straps criss-crossed in front of my neck and then criss-crossed again over my upper back before meeting up with the two metal hasps. Those straps had metallic reinforcements in them also, though they were quite a bit narrower. I decided that before finishing up my fitting I ought to apply the moisturizing cream Mistress specified, rather than forget to do it later. After the padlocks were closed it would be much too late. I stood and walked to the bathroom where the corset cream was, enjoying how it felt to be free of the steep angle of my new shoes. I rubbed a good amount of the lotion on my breasts, back and shoulders before returning to the living room with my shoulder straps dangling. I crossed the bra straps over my shoulders. Taking two yellow locks, I hooked them on the two hasp-eyes under my shoulder blades and twisted the locks to a closing position but of course did not squeeze them shut. Like my shoe-locks, these would also wait until 7:00 sharp. I was surprised at how well this bra fit. It adhered to me like a second skin. Even though it was made of locking metal components, it didn't feel bulky. The rubber facing felt somewhat cooling and light in spite of the warm lotion. The cups stood out a good bit away from my nipples which was helpful. Having the cones to protect me from abrasive shirts and bed sheets was something to look forward to. In barely a day since my hair removal and corset regimen began, my engorged nipples had gotten sensitive enough to make me wince if anything slightly rough touched them. I pulled the rayon shirt back over my shoulders and knotted it firmly again atop my corset shackle. Reviewing myself in my entry-hall mirror, I had to say this bra improved my looks dramatically. I turned to a profile and back slowly. Combined with the shirt and pants I saw all of the girl-next-door appeal as before, but the improved bustline looked unquestionably better. The rayon top previously obscured any sight of nipples all by itself, but the shining blue silk and lace details of this bra could now be seen distinctly under the shirt's white folds. The results were so intriguing that I was grateful the delivery man never saw me like this, or he may have insisted on asking me out on a date. If I met a gal who looked this good I certainly might have tried. "Ok, no more ogling for you, mister," I said aloud as I turned away from the mirror, "Let's get some dinner going." I had two more boxes to examine and a teddy to try on later, but what I cared about now was getting some good food to eat. I chopped up vegetables for a salad as water boiled for lemon-herb rice. Then I blackened some salmon and heated up a bourbon glaze. In 20 minutes I was enjoying my first delicious meal since noon Friday. Just preparing food and strolling around effortlessly in my thigh-highs, free of those difficult heels, felt terrific. I had to eat while standing due to the corset, which was noticeably more restrictive connected to the steel-reinforced bra, but stocking-feet somehow made it more pleasant. I brewed a cup of decaf and sipped on it while I pondered what the other two boxes contained. Mistress said something about this first box being ordinary, that she'd have sent me the bra regardless. But those next two boxes were accelerated shipments, based on some better than normal progress, whatever the heck that meant. What I was doing didn't feel like progress. It was more like chaos. And here I stood, against any kind of logic wearing this bra and corset for my new girlfriend, yet she had no intention of letting me rest on my laurels for the next two days. If those other two boxes were considered more advanced, what would that actually mean? More femininity? More restrictiveness? Undoubtedly one and most likely both. Based on what she seemed to love, those boxes would humiliate me and probably a lot. And I had to confess that if this was her thing, and she took it no further than just this, I might be ok with it, as long as she would finally allow us to become a standard couple. I guess she had warped me that much. But what about going farther? That gave me a sinking feeling, a horny kind of dread. It was 6:00 already. I would need to have my night-time lockups complete in one more hour. I was worried about what Mistress considered "accelerated training," however it was almost time to find out. Marina's Regime Chapter 9 Harder Challenges I opened box #2 to find a blue posture collar made of thick leather. It looked quite severe, built to hold a wearer's chin up and limit any turning of the head. It closed in back of the neck with a wide built-in leather strap. The strap contained a steel hasp welded across its buckling ring. The front of the collar extended downward toward the upper chest. Another lock-hasp was riveted to the low-point of the collar's extension. I could hardly believe Mistress would want to do this; she had so much control over me as it was. 'Why take ownership of me like this? My poor neck!' I looked inside the box for anything else, and found an assortment of stretchable bungee cords in different lengths and colors. This confused me, but grimly I was sure that when informed of their intention it too would be unpleasant. A fragrant note from Mistress was close at hand: My brave and beautiful pet, Yes dear, tonight we add a locking collar to your list of evening challenges. I want you to be patient with yourself however. Even if you hope to dive right in and sleep in it, I do not want or require that of you at this time. Beginning tonight the wearing schedule for your lovely new discipline collar is to lock yourself up in it at precisely 7 PM, with green locks. When those automatically come undone at 10 PM, you may remove your collar for the rest of the night. Three hours an evening will help you to grow accustomed to strict collars such as this, as well as attain an understanding for the activities that excite your Mistress. Whenever you have this collar locked around your neck, I want you to imagine it is me caressing you and gripping you firmly. And I must tell you that when two green locks snap shut on your collar each evening, I will feel those same imaginary caresses in return with many times your pleasure. It will be an equivalent of 3 hours of foreplay for me, lovemaking of the most delicious kind. If you do not feel it, or are not able to find such joy, you should still take pride in the fact that I will. Collars, especially difficult ones such as this model, are an acquired taste my darling, so I recommend 3-hour increments in the beginning. In your optional times for being collared and locked, be advised that your brassiere must be worn as well. The lower hasp in front of the collar fits thru pre-designed slots where your bra straps cross your upper chest in front. Of course both locks must be engaged for you to get credit for compulsory collaring during the evening, as well as for bonus hours of elective daytime wear, when you choose to do that. Those elastic straps in your box are what I call useful toys. The ten-inch long black one is very handy for keeping your chastity from moving around and disturbing the lines of your clothing. It has the right length and stretch to tuck your captive sex backward under your crotch and out of the way. The other end of the bungee will hook over the steel ring at the back of your corset shackle. This is more practical for tucking a man's chastity than adding on devices or tapes, both of which can be messy, time-consuming or even noisy. Compare that to a tried and true bungee strap, which is quick, clean and quiet as it efficiently enforces and releases your steel chastity tuck whenever you like. There are other lengths and colors of straps. Inventive uses for them will be announced to you over time, but for now the black ones will serve you well. There is no requirement to wear my bungees. But whenever you do it will please me immensely. Dearest darling tommie, this box may conclude your adventures for tonight if you like. My final box contains one of the most advanced and arduous of regimens. All my boyfriends have found it to be difficult, physically as well as emotionally. Some fail altogether in their proud efforts to conquer it, yet I have the greatest confidence in you. The single most important fact about this challenge is your training in it is entirely optional. As you may easily guess it is an element of bondage, but it goes on you only by your own will. I do not require any certain lockup schedule. Each trainee budgets his own time for when and for how long he will wear it. For that reason you do not need to examine your third box at any specific time. Open it tomorrow if you want to, or whenever you feel brave. There is no deadline for this. But when you first see it, just know that upon reaching your next level, the rank of Aspirant, you will have mastered this device and made it your own. My fastest boyfriend ever was able to reach Aspirant in slightly under one month. Naturally I am expecting you to demolish his record. Good news my love! When you became trainee you earned two new important privileges. The first is that instead of two questions in our weekly sessions, you will now have three. The other privilege is that you will be able to initiate one message to your Mistress each week. Usually new privileges do not begin until after the meeting following the boyfriend's rank up. But this time, for you my darling tommie, I will start them right away. Your message to me can be a maximum of 40 words, and you may include up to two pictures if you wish. Here is how we do it: you will be sent an alert in the next two days, always at a random time during sunlight hours. You then have four minutes to send a reply back through my interface. If you miss the time window your text field will disappear. Then there is always next week! If you do not open my third box tonight, enjoy all of your new experiences for me, darling, and I will be in contact with you tomorrow. If you do open the last box, do it only after you have gotten your lockup schedules at 7:00 PM completed on time. The contents of that box might prove so unsettling you could lose track of deadlines on your brassiere, high-heels and collar. That would be a big mistake and could cost you a reward. Your lockup-leeway times are still quite short. Your loving Mistress Marina When would these constraints of hers end? First the corset, then the shoes. Next it was the bra and now this outrageous collar. Each new item had a daily lockup routine that proposed two new tactics for binding my body to Mistress' will. One method was mandatory, while the other was elective. When Mistress ordered me to wear feminine garments she said it brought her a dose of ecstasy. But if I volunteered to do it she claimed it gave her an even more intense orgasm. It is hard to explain how the idea affected me. Physically, I was made to feel just as anyone would expect: trapped and defeated. But psychologically a more subtle form of bondage was coming into play. By fractions I was being taught to accept deeper servitude to Mistress, and to desire even further mortification, trusting that the longer and more enthusiastically I traded my fettered conditions for her pleasures, the more she would admire, love and value me for that. Could this truly be her definition of love, where my mounting shame and discomfort sets the scale? The freedom to message her once a week sounded very nice. I had longed for a way to do that since Friday. But it was obvious to me this would not be a genuine conversation. It would only be a message. If I sent her a bunch of questions or gripes it would make me a complainer and a loser. A woman who loves to impose her will over a man as she does may enjoy it all the more when a boyfriend is feeling emotionally compromised and physically stuck. But the woman who restricts her lover's ability to speak to her must have a reason for it. Perhaps she has little time for his idle chit-chat, questions or concerns. Immediately I knew that any text I sent must try to woo her. I should try to titillate and gratify her for selecting me in the first place. I must let her know I could be brave, and I would honor her demands upon me by seeing things in the best possible light. But above all I needed to be ready to message her within my 4-minute limit. I crafted a note right away, trying to represent my heartfelt desire for her along with my honest worry. At the same time I tried to throw in things she may enjoy hearing, but were nevertheless true, like admiring her powders or the fact that I trusted her no matter what. I didn't bother to say why I desired someone so manipulative and selfish as her, for I didn't know. And I could not explain my need to be hers any more than I understood what her motives actually were. 'Dear Beautiful Mistress. Your potions and creams are amazing. I do not understand your plans for me yet. But I trust you. I long for you and I hope to always serve you well. Love, tommie' Only 26 minutes remained until my 7 PM lockup so I needed to hurry. It was time to wear fresh thigh-highs, for I'd worn the light blue ones all day cleaning my apartment. I took off my shirt, my pants and thigh-highs and went to the bedroom carrying the boxes, my clothes and phone. Browsing the packages of hosiery Mistress had sent me Saturday, I selected the darker blue stockings and smoothed them carefully over my legs. The blue teddy/panty combo came next. The panties wouldn't fit properly over my chastity, so I gave the black bungee cord a tryout. I hooked one end of it to a ring built into my chastity tube and eased it back gently through my ass-crack. The bungee stretched until the other end met up with the D-ring near the base of my shackle in back. The result was remarkable. The chastity wasn't evident in the first place for it mainly pointed straight down. That's why it wasn't a factor under those loose pants. But with a bungee in service my junk was pulled far enough back to allow the new panties to go on me and fit rather perfectly. It felt peculiar and would take some getting used too. My balls were getting a dose of unwelcome pressure even as the cord rasped my anus in an altogether pleasant way. But nevertheless, I was dressed. For the first time since Saturday afternoon my privates were wearing some clothes again, even if it wasn't my typical undershorts. The blue silk teddy was strapless. Its elastic on top caught the swell of my bra cups and hugged me effortlessly. Made with a shimmering gauzy denier it was largely see-through, except where floral lace patterns appeared. Lacy adornments also marked the pleated ruffles atop my thighs. The combination looked beautiful and effusively feminine and made silken whispers with any movement I made. I slipped on my pumps quickly and got the locking straps aligned for their padlocks. I appeared to be getting better at this. I put the yellow locks in the hasps of my shoe-locks. They would be ready to close at the same moment as the brassiere locks were engaged. I now had just 11 minutes left to deal with my new discipline collar, which frankly scared the hell out of me. I left two of the green padlocks parked on the stool next to me as I looked into the mirror and held the collar to my neck for a dry fit. I had to raise up my chin just to hold it in place. Thank goodness Mistress didn't tell me to wear the collar all night! I was afraid of spending longer periods of time in this thing. It made swallowing difficult, and trying to turn my neck more than a few degrees would be out of the question. I could see that talking this over with myself any longer was not going to help. I would only be putting off the inevitable. Still, it was good that the collar was going on last. If I'd put the collar on first, my shoes, nylons and bungee cord would be nearly impossible. I remembered the corset cream and rubbed some of that around my neck. I buckled the collar's strap shut and attached two green locks, one in back, and one near my breastbone where the front hasp pushed up through steel-framed slots in the criss-crossing bra straps. The locks weren't shut, but they were primed. 3 minutes until 7 PM, and I was all set. Mistress mentioned a window of compliance, but never said how much time I truly had. I didn't need to know, for I was ready to do all of my locks rapid-fire in the first minute of 7 PM. I had some time to ruminate first, so I took a little of it to imagine our slightly crazy courtship ending up as being wonderful for us both. Then I pictured her descriptions of intense arousal when my locks were clicked shut. She said the feeling for her was exactly like great sex. Wouldn't it be awesome to feel that way from something so simple that took place from so far away? Then I realized - she made me feel just like that when her business cards mashed into my nipples! It should forever convince me there was a world full of things about sex I did not understand. My wall clock and smartphone both turned over to 7 o'clock. So, with one arm bracing me on the stool I lifted one knee high. Reaching down to my left shoe locks, 'Click, click.' Then I lifted my other leg, 'Click, click.' Reaching behind to the back straps of my bra with one arm, 'Click.' Then the other arm, 'Click.' And then, taking a slow breath as deeply as my unyielding corset and bra would allow, I reached to the base of my neck. Taking the first green lock, 'Click.' And then without delay I pressed the final lock just above my bra. I was done in barely 30 seconds. "Mistress Marina," I said aloud in the odd drama of that moment, "I hope you are climaxing beautifully right now. My body wears ten padlocks for you and most of them are forcing me to crossdress until sunrise. If this is getting you off I have done something to be proud of." I viewed myself in the mirror and for a moment felt as trapped and foolish as ever, but I definitely didn't look that way. From the gently made-up eyes down to my elegant shoes I looked dazzling - a fetishistic study in blue from the dark blue leather discipline collar and silken thigh-highs to my shimmering blue silk heels, corset and brassiere, to the enticing see-thru lace teddy and panty burying any trace of my maleness under the gossamer blue pleats. I turned stiffly and walked to my bathroom to get a closer look. The collar along with the stiff bearing of my neck gave added emphasis to my face. My hair still looked good from the comb-out and hair-spray I indulged in before the delivery man arrived, but the lip color had faded away in places, no doubt from the dinner I consumed. I took the Rimmel pencil from my sink counter to redecorate my lips with its frosty brown pigment. As before, I drew a line along the edges of my lips, going slightly outside my first application line. Then I carefully repainted my pucker, coating my lips completely with the surprisingly creamy product. I intended to snap some more selfies for Mistress to see, and I trusted that giving my lips a slightly larger area to fill in would offset what a subtle shade of lipstick this was. When I finished, it seemed to have the effect I was hoping for. My lips looked large and lush, but not exaggerated or campy. I took several pictures in the bathroom mirror. The lighting showed off everything I wore very clearly. I imagined my Mistress would like the look, for she picked out nearly all of it. Lastly, I hoped she would appreciate the initiative I'd been taking. I wondered idly if she would ever know I presented myself entirely as a female when I signed for her latest shipment. Would she have approved of it? Either way, with the pictures taken in my entry hall plus these bathroom pics I had plenty to choose from when the surprise moment arrived for my once-a-week message. I returned to the bedroom to start picking things up in preparation for bed. The collar made the simplest actions astonishingly hard, especially motions that involved bending or stooping or looking down for certain items on the floor. I felt the same awful feeling I had when my corset was first locked on, only this time my frustrations were caused by a heavily-yoked neck. When I finally got my bedroom straightened up and reasonably organized for my needs, I was left with that one question still unanswered. It was that third box containing the irresistible mystery. I knew myself better than to think I could wait until tomorrow or the next day to look inside it.