Periwinkle Pink Part 2
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The Periwinkle Blue Dress free porn video
The Periwinkle Blue Dress
A man buys a dress for himself ... and then pays for it. That was the
set-up from my first story, "The Green Dress." This is an alternate
version of that story, with the same initial premise and same characters
from my "The Dress" series. But people and events are different,
leading to a different place. I hope you like the alternative.
The Purchase
"Can I help you find anything?" the salesgirl said. It was just after
opening, and I was standing at a sale rack in Macy's. The salesgirl was
a young girl in her late teens or early twenties. She's pretty cute, I
thought reflexively.
For a moment, I froze. Was I really going to go through with this?
Could I summon the courage to tell her what I planned to say? Ten
minutes before, it seemed so easy. Now, I'm terrified.
"I'm not sure," I say, stalling. I'm a guy standing in front of a rack
of dresses. This is the moment of truth. Can I go through with it? Or
should I just run right now and forget the whole thing?
"How can I help you, sir? Are you looking for a particular size?" she
asks.
"I'm not sure," I say again, this time answering her question. In
truth, I know about what size I need, because I've bought a dress twice
before. Both times, though, it was at a low-price department store, and
I asked for a gift box, like I was buying it for my wife or girlfriend.
But this time is different. Will I have the courage to say I am buying
it for myself?
As you can guess, I am a crossdresser. I'm not that big. Maybe 5' 7"
tall. I struggle to top 150 pounds. My hair is slightly over my ears,
long-ish for a man but not too long. I've always been attracted to
women's clothing, cosmetics and, especially, heels. My wife, Ann, knows
about it and tolerates it during our lovemaking -- to a point. But she
doesn't really enjoy it, so she never seems to push the envelope or
initiate it. To compensate, I sometimes secretly engage in
crossdressing, usually when I have a business trip.
This time, she is away. For a week. At her sister's. So I decided to
purchase an outfit to wear during the week. I did my research, looking
online at the store's website, to get an idea of what dresses they had.
Then I made up a story. Enough to be mildly embarrassing, but plausible
(I hoped) so as not to come out and say, I'm a sissy of a man who is
voluntarily buying a dress for himself.
Yet, here I am, in the ladies' department on a Sunday, early in the
morning -- alone, for now at least -- and being asked about dresses.
So, after a pause, I find the courage to go forward with my plan. I can
feel my hands sweating. I try to keep them low now, suddenly feeling
that the single coat of pink polish I put on in the parking lot was a
mistake. "I'm not sure what size I need," I say to her.
"Well, what size is she -- your wife, right?" she says.
"That's the thing," I say, "you see, it's not for my wife. I need to
buy a dress for me to wear." (There, I said it).
"Oh," she says, and suppresses a slight giggle. She couldn't help but
be honest, before the professional in her took over again.
"I lost a bet," I tell her (lying). "We bet on the recent basketball
final, and I lost. So, now I have to attend my wife's book club this
Saturday, as one of the women." (God I hoped that sounded OK).
"My wife sent me in here to buy a dress and heels by myself. It's to
add to the embarrassment, I think."
"That's so cute," she said, and giggled again. "I'm Julia." She's
clearly finding it amusing to think of me forced to wear a dress. "You
have a small frame and your hair is light. I'm sure we can find
something that you will like."
She looked me over with a penetrating eye. "You'll fit the sizes we
have in this department. So, you're lucky there. There's a wider
selection here and we have all of the trendy styles. I have a few ideas
that would suit you well. We will just have to explore a little. Of
course, to be sure of the look and fit, you'll need to try it on."
"Oh, no," I say. Though I sort of want to say yes. "I think I'll just
try it at home and return it if it's not right. Besides, she may not
like my choice."
"What look are you searching for. Sexy or cute? Casual or business?"
I tell her I'm not sure, regretting now my decision to come into the
store. But she won't let me go. She subtly moved between me and the
exit to her department. "If it's a ladies group," she said, "and a
Saturday, I'm sure they don't go with jeans and blouses. You'll want
something dressy but casual. Not club wear, but still something that
shows off a woman's looks. We can be competitive, you know."
And with that, she jumped right into helping me choose a "flattering"
dress for me. For the next few minutes, she is asking me questions I
can't really answer. "Do you want a fit and flare style?" "How do you
feel about pencil skirts?" "Maxi dress or above the knee?" "Do you
want sleeveless?" etc.) I do my best to answer her, as she pulls a few
dresses out, one by one, and then holds each one up in front of me. She
touches each dress to my body. I want to run away now, but I'm
mesmerized. I also feel my member growing. I hope she doesn't see
that, too.
To move it along, I offer another small lie, backed by my online
shopping. "She suggested I get a Hilfiger dress -- it's her favorite
brand -- and that I should pick a soft color -- pink, or lavender or
something, if possible. If you don't have anything like that, I think
I'll just get an LBD, like the ones you have up front."
Julia paused when I said "LBD." Did I blow my story with that slip up?
What guy knows about little black dresses, let alone the "LBD"
shorthand? But she ultimately let it pass, and she proceeded to zero in
on their new Hilfiger collection. (No discount for me, I guess).
"These dresses are great," she says. "They are so light and comfortable
-- for women, anyway. I'm sure you'll enjoy it too. You might even
want two," she added, giggling again. (Now I'm really starting to think
that the LBD statement was a mistake.)
She selected a blue lace dress. It was sleeveless with a subtle flower
lace pattern. It zipped in the back and was cut narrowly in the waist.
The skirt flared slightly and fell just above the knee. "It's
periwinkle," she announced, "You have to try it on." Her tone made
clear that it wasn't a question.
I tried to refuse, but she was having none of it (perhaps because of the
LBD remark). She took me to the back, made sure the area was clear and
put me in an oversized stall. "Wait here, while I get a few things."
Then, she added, "what size are your shoes?"
I'm waiting in the dressing stall, hoping no one comes in. "What are
you doing, Benny?" I think. "This is dumb. You should run while you
can." But before I do, Julia returns. She has in her hands a bra,
matching panties and a pair of tan pumps. I recognize the pumps.
They're called "nude" not tan. I know that because I own a pair similar
to the ones she's holding. They look to be about three inch heel. No
problem for me.
Handing me the bra and panties, she instructs, "Put these on first. But
you have to buy the bra and panties regardless, once you try them on."
She instructs me how to fasten the bra, telling me that I must reach
behind my back to fasten it. "Real women" do it that way, she said.
I get into the bra and panty fine. (I have more practice than Julia
knows.) I step into the dress and begin to zip it up. I have to ask
Julia for help in zipping it all the way. She obliges, but makes me
step out into the dressing area to do so. Only after doing so do I
realize that I didn't put on the heels. I'm in my bare feet, and the
hot pink polish I put on my toes is exposed. Julia notices, of course.
"My wife's doing," I protest, but I don't think Julia believes me. "It
goes with the translucent pink you put on your fingers," she says. "I
mean, the translucent pink SHE put on your fingers," she corrected,
sarcastically. She definitely didn't believe me!
"Now, stop delaying and step into your heels," Julia commands. "They
complete the look." I do so, and she makes me walk out into the open
again. "There's a three-way mirror down there," she says, motioning to
the far end of the dressing room. "Walk over there, being sure to put
one heel in front of the other while you walk." I do so, belying the
fiction that I'd never worn heels before. "Twirl," Julia says. And I
oblige, of course.
"That's a winner," she announces. "Do you like it?" I try to play it
down, saying "It will do, I guess." Julia nods, but she isn't
satisfied. "No woman tries on only one dress. This one is cute, but we
might find something even cuter. Stay here."
I'm stuck in the dressing room for what seems like an eternity, stuck in
the dress because Julia didn't help me unzip it. After about five
minutes, Julia returns, with a handful of dresses in her hand and two
more pairs of heels. The first dress she has me try on is another
Hilfiger dress, burgundy with black sides. It's sleeveless, knee
length, and hugs my body. "Too formal," Julia declares.
I next try on two black dresses, one with a halter top and one with
capped sleeves and a fit and flare style. She likes the fit and flare
dress the best, and makes me come out again, this time wearing the black
stilettos, with a another three inch heel to go with them. She has me
hold a red patent leather clutch. "It will look better if you do your
nails in a fire engine red," she commented. "But, for now, let me just
put a bit of makeup on you, so you can see what you could look like." I
try to resist, but Julia insists. I relent, and she applies blush, eye
shadow and an almost nude shiny lipstick. Besides, it's not like my
little pretense is holding any longer. Maybe if I go a little further,
I won't seem like a guy in drag. Julia tussles my hair a little, and
puts on a barrette she has in her pocket, to make my hair look a bit
more feminine. ("If you let your hair grow past your ears," she tells
me, "you can use a curling iron for some cute curls.")
One last humiliation comes when Julia handed me a body shaper and a pink
mini-dress. I object, but Julia pointed out that she had removed my
men's clothes from the dressing room. "If you want them back, you need
to try this on and model it for me out here. Otherwise, you can buy
that little black dress and wear it out." "Oh, wait," she added, "your
men's clothes contain your wallet, so you can't buy anything. If you
leave the store wearing the little black dress, I'll be sure to call
security on you for shoplifting. I bet your wife would have quite a
shock if she had to come down to pick you up, won't she?"
Oh my! This has gotten out of hand. But, at the same time, I'm turned
on by a woman actually ordering me to wear a dress. Staid Ann has never
done that. So, I comply, struggling to fit myself into the mini dress.
Eventually, I slither into it, put on the four inch black booties Julia
gave me and walk out into the open. I can feel my heart beat at 150
beats per minute, as I search for Julia. I'm desperately hoping no one
else walks back to the dressing room, as Julia makes me walk, bend over
deeply and even try to curtsey in the dress. Finally, she hands me my
own clothes and releases me. ("But keep the bra and panties on," she
tells me.)
Eventually, we agree on the first dress I tried on, the periwinkle one.
She rings up the dress and the undergarments. I buy the heels, even
though I already have a pair. It's not like I can say, "no, I already
have a pair that matches this dress." As a gift (she says), Julia
throws in a silver costume necklace, clip-on earrings and matching
double bracelets. The makeup were samples, so they go into the bag as
well.
I pay (in cash) and prepare to leave. At Julia's suggestion, I'm still
wearing the bra and panties ("YOUR" bra and panties, she whispered to
me) under my men's clothes. I'm also wearing the blush and eye shadow
she had put on me, but not the lipstick. She hands me their pink
shopping bag that holds the dress and other garments. The bag says "I
feel pretty" on the side. I try to leave a quickly as I can. As I near
the door, Julia says across the floor: "Enjoy your dress. Come back
when you're ready for another one." I'm about to die. The few other
women in the store now smile, ever so slightly, and glance my way.
My Week
I can't wait to get home. In the car, I hastily pull the dress over my
head, leaving it unzipped in the back, start the car and drive home.
I'm rock hard. I barely get home before I reach under my dress (my
dress!) and pleasure myself, making sure not to spill anything on my new
purchase.
That week was one of the most amazing weeks I've ever had. I had
carefully painted my toenails hot pink before my trip, and I leave it on
for the week. One night, I dare to paint my fingernails a light blue,
like Julia suggested, because it would go well with the periwinkle
dress. I also experiment with the makeup samples, though I wasn't very
good at applying that. I of course, wear the periwinkle dress every
night, along with the undergarments, the heels, and the jewelry. Most
nights I also wear a long brown wig that my wife bought one Halloween.
Once or twice I try to tease something like a girl's style out of my own
longish hair.
Every night, I hike my dress up and rub myself, imaging that my wife is
there making me touch myself. One night, I imagine both Ann and Julia
are together, taking turns ordering me to touch them and myself. All
the while they semi-mockingly compliment me on MY dress, MY nails or
tell me how much seeing me in panties turns them on. "Doesn't my
husband look pretty?" my imaginary Ann giggles to Julia. "Yes," Julia
answers, "though you should have seen the hot pink mini-dress he tried
on at the store. Your husband would make a great slut."
I have the most intense orgasms I've had since I was a teenager. Wow,
that dress is great.
The Discovery
The week went by so quickly. Ann was coming home on Sunday, but I
wanted one last chance to wear my dress. So, I left work at lunch time
on Friday. My plan was to go all out one more time on Friday -- makeup,
nails, perfume, the works -- and then have time Saturday to clean up and
hide everything away before Ann returned on Sunday.
I rush home at lunch, quickly put on my bra and panties, and then my
periwinkle dress. By now, I've devised a method to zip up the dress by
myself. I tie a small loop with a slip knot on a piece of string.
(Thanks, Boy Scouts USA!). I hook the loop onto the large Hilfiger logo
that forms the pull on the string. Then, I step into the dress, zip it
by hand as far as I can. Next, I toss the string over my shoulder.
From there, I can pull the string up from the front, until it is fully
closed. Simply sliding the slip knot allows me to remove the string
and, viola!, I'm in my dress.
I put on a pair of Ann's flip flops (pink) for now and head to the
kitchen for lunch. After I eat, I can put on makeup, the wig and some
heels. Maybe I'll even venture out somewhere in the daytime, just to
see how far I can push myself.
When I finish lunch, I spy a nail polish near where Ann keeps her purse.
I hadn't noticed it there before, but I wasn't really looking. It's a
light purple, very close to the color of the dress I'm wearing. It's an
Essie polish, with the rectangular bottle. "To buy or not to buy," is
the color. I hold the bottle up to my dress and decide that it matches
quite well. Coincidences are funny sometimes. I'm sure Ann didn't know
I'd buy a dress this color, but she couldn't have found a better match
if she did.
I decide I'll do my nails first, let them dry and then get myself ready
for the afternoon/evening. So, I gathered the base coat (Ann keeps a
clear bottle everywhere), a file and the purple nail polish. I sit down
at the kitchen table and begin my manicure. I'm almost through my first
coat of color on my left hand when I hear Ann say from behind me, "Well,
isn't this a pretty sight! I had to see this for myself."
Startled, I jump in my seat. I quickly try to think of something to say
or do. But what can I do? I can't run; Ann has already seen me. I
can't pretend to be someone else; I'm not wearing any makeup or a wig.
I look exactly like me -- except for the dress and the fact that I'm
painting my own nails. I struggle to come up with something. A secret
blackmail, perhaps? A dare? There has to be something.
Before I can say anything, Ann works her way around the kitchen, to face
me directly. "My oh my! What a darling little sight this is. Here's
my husband -- who has been alone all week. Aren't you glad to see me,
baby? I came home early to see you. And boy have I seen you! I'm
seeing something most women never see."
"I'm sorry, Ann. I -- I -- I can explain." I start. I'm certain that
she's angry. I'll have to say something to make her at ease.
But it turns out that Ann is not angry. She's not even surprised. "I
bet you could!" Ann responds to me. "But there really isn't much to
explain. The facts are pretty clear. My husband is here at home alone.
Wearing a dress that's not mine. He has a little bit of size in the
breast area, so I bet he is wearing a bra, correct? And he's in the
process of painting his own fingernails."
"Have I missed anything?" She asks, rhetorically. I don't respond, and
she continues. "So tell me. There's more you were planning to do,
isn't there?" I nod.
"You have heels to go with that dress, don't you?" I nod again.
"And some makeup?" "Yes," I answer this time.
"And did you buy a wig?"
"Yours," I respond, "from Halloween when you and your friends dressed
from The Devil Wears Prada and you were Anne Hathaway's character."
"Nice," she says. "Anything else? A purse?"
"No. I don't have a purse. I haven't left the house. But I have some
costume jewelry that the salesgirl gave me when I bought the dress."
Ann raised her eyebrow a little. I'm not sure whether it was over the
fact that I just admitted buying a dress, or that a salesgirl would give
me a gift. I could feel myself drop deeper into a hole.
After a pause, Ann sat down at the table directly across from me. I
keep waiting for her to yell or something. But she does nothing of the
sort.
Finally, she says, "Oh, I know all about the jewlery, and that cute
little salesgirl. Julia it was, wasn't it?" I don't think I ever had a
poker face during this encounter, but if I did, the mention of "Julia"
ended it completely. I'm dead, I think.
"I'll tell you all about it, my pretty hubby," she continued, "but you
have a lot to do to finish getting ready. So, why don't you get back to
painting your nails. I can tell you all about what I know while I watch
you do your nails. Besides, I bought that color to match your
periwinkle dress. I thought I'd be giving you the manicure, honestly,
but I left it out to see if you'd do them yourself. After all, I heard
you were quite adventurous with the pink polishes on your shopping day."
I look at her, but she motions to the Essie polish bottle on the table.
So, I pick up the polish again and switch to the first coat on my other
hand. "Pretty," she declares. "And I'm impressed that you're leaving
your thumbs to do last. My husband is very good at such girly things!"
He taunts embarrass me. But, just like my imaginations while I was
touching myself earlier in the week, they also are making me very
aroused. I just might cum on my own if she keeps it up.
It takes three coats to get the color dark enough to match my dress.
While I'm doing my nails, Ann explains her story. Ann explains that her
trip to her sister's was an elaborate trap. She suspected I was
sneaking around in feminine things. She had seen an odd lipstick
remaining in my bag after I returned from a trip, and suspected that I
was dressing up on the road. So, she made up a story about spending a
week with her sister in order to test me. She really did go to see
Catherine that Sunday, although mostly to fill her in on the plan.
While she was gone, Ann tasked Susie -- her best friend and my co-worker
-- to spy on me. I never noticed Susie as she used the friends tracker
app to see where I was going and then to follow me into Macy's. Susie
hung out in the juniors department while I shopped. Far enough away
that I didn't notice her but close enough to keep tabs on my doings.
Susie even snuck into one of the dressing room stalls while I was
changing, so she could peek out through the slats to watch me try on
dresses. She stayed in the dressing room until well after I made my
purchases, and then had a long talk with Julia after I was gone. So,
Ann said, she knows everything about my shopping excursion.
Ann also said that she knew I was dressing up at home, because I was a
bit careless with our drapes, and Susie could easily see into the house
while parked in a dark area across the street. Ann has been staying
with Susie while they monitored my actions and planned my unmasking.
Ann was very nervous about planting the purple nail polish in the house,
certain that I would notice and think something was odd. But I didn't,
and having me paint my own nails is so much cuter than she could have
hoped for. Then, when Susie told her that I left work unexpectedly at
lunch, she knew what I would be up to, and she decided to catch me.
By now, I've finished my nails. I'm spreading my fingers and waiving my
hands to further the drying process. With three coats, it will take a
while. I'm vulnerable.
Watching me, Ann continues with her explanation: "Your actions have led
me to a lot of soul-searching. I've been very ambivalent up to this
point about your crossdressing propensities. It made me feel
inadequate. Why wasn't I enough for you? Was I not pretty enough?
Feminine enough? What did I do to cause this? In addition, the image
of you crossdressed was disturbing. In our previous attempts at
crossdressing games, you were part-man, part-woman. Not the strong
macho stereotype. And you weren't totally feminine either. Instead,
you were stuck in the middle, half and half, neither man nor woman. It
wasn't sexy to me, to be honest.
"The worst part was the isolation it forced on me. Women are very
social, you know. We like to talk to our confidants, to share our
feelings and our thoughts. But your crossdressing wasn't something I
could share. You wanted it to be a secret. That wasn't fair to me. It
kept me from doing the things I needed in order to process my emotional
response. I felt so lonely.
"One day last month, I finally revealed our secret to Susie. It was
completely by accident -- we were drinking while you were on a trip, and
we went to our bedroom so I could show her my new dress (that blue and
black one, you remember? From the latest Tommy collection. You know,
the one I may wear to your cousin's wedding next month. I bought it the
day we almost got soaked in that rainstorm). While I was showing Susie
the dress, she noticed those pink stilettos you bullied me into buying
online for you that one time. They obviously weren't for me or in my
size, and, in my slightly drunk state, the truth just poured out. (It's
not that Susie didn't know, by the way. You've been a little reckless
on your business trips: one time too many out on the balcony, remnants
of lipstick and perfume lingering too long, and that one time you had
specs of nail polish on your fingers the morning after you bailed on a
group dinner, claiming exhaustion. Susie had figured it out, and was
trying to decide whether to tell me.) It was hard for me to admit the
truth, but when I did I felt so much better. Sooo much."
Ann finished her speech, and I saw a mixture of exhaustion and relief in
her face. A hint of a tear was in her hazel eyes. "I'm sorry," I said.
We got up to kiss each other, but I had to hold back on account of my
drying nails. "Don't mess up those nails!" she admonished, "or we'll
have to take you to a professional for a touch-up."
The Choice
After we embraced, Ann laid out the rest of the situation for me. "So,
now you have a decision to make. Your secret isn't such a secret
anymore. I know. Susie knows. Catherine knows. Even Julia at Macy's
knows. But if you're going to do this, you have to own it. No more
lying. No more sneaking around. And no hiding it."
I looked at her, puzzled. "I'm not saying you will wear a dress to
Thanksgiving at your mother's. But you have to own up to your
crossdressing. And you will have to be willing to present, in public,
as a woman. If you're going to get all dolled up, I'm going to want to
be able to go out -- to a movie, shopping, something. That means you
have to try to be convincing. You can be fully Ben 90% of the time.
But when you're Jennifer, I want 100% Jennifer. Do you understand?"
I thought about it for a minute, but ultimately said that I understood.
"That's great!" she exclaimed, "There's just one more thing."
She pauses for a minute, long enough for me to wonder just what that
thing might be. Finally, she says: "When you're Ben, things will be as
normal. But when you're Jennifer, I'm in control. In total control. I
decide everything: what you wear, what we do, who sees you. All of it.
"I don't plan to hurt you, nor will I do anything to harm your career or
your standing with our families. Those would hurt me too, and I don't
want that. But, in thinking about your crossdressing, I discovered that
I didn't like when you made me do things to you. I only liked your
crossdressing when it was my idea, when I surprised you or pushed you
further than you planned. I liked it because you were vulnerable, and a
little afraid. You looked so cute, so meek, and it made me feel so
strong. So, crossdressing will be a release for you, but also a change
in status for me. This may be the last time I ask this, so listen and
think carefully. Jennifer, do you trust me and love me enough to put
yourself in my hands? Do you agree that when you are dressed, I'm in
charge, completely in charge until you stop being Jennifer?"
I tell her yes, but she makes me repeat it out loud. "Yes, I agree
that, when I'm Jennifer, you, Ann, are completely in charge. You will
be in charge until I stop being Jennifer, and I will trust in your
decision and your judgment, always."
Hearing this, Ann dropped her final surprise on me for the day. "That's
wonderful, Jennifer! I'm going back to Susie's for a bit. I made
reservations for us at Juan's Bistro for 7 pm tonight. We all will be
there: me, Susie, Catherine and Julia. Your task is to get ready --
all by yourself -- and join us. Keep that pretty Tommy dress on; it
matches your nails. Wig or no wig is your choice. And you can borrow a
purse and any accessories you need from me. Call Julia if you need to
run to the Macy's for something. Here's her card. She works until 5.
"We can't wait to see you, Jennifer. 7 pm. Don't be late!"
6:30 pm
I can't believe how things have changed in less than a week. How
they've changed in just the last few hours. But here I am, dressed as
Jennifer, doing just what my wife instructed. Like any woman, I make a
mental check before heading out to meet the girls for dinner.
* Periwinkle dress? Check.
* Nude pumps? Check.
* Long brown wig, slightly curled with a curling iron? Check.
* Earrings, necklace, and bracelets? Check, check, check.
* (Wedding ring replaced with a woman's ring? Check.)
* Makeup? After several attempts and a few YouTube videos, check.
* Matching nail polish? Check.
* Borrowed side-slung purse (purple with gold chain)? Check.
* Ready to debut as Jennifer? God I hope so!
Jerri
- 05.04.2020
- 16
- 0
