Taffeta Torment VII
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Taffeta Torment XII free porn video
As John sinks and wishes ever deeper into a world of nylon, satin and
taffeta, Joyce finds new ways to further stimulate and arouse her young
captive and bring about his utter subjugation to womankind and the
contents of their wardrobes
"Now I know you are watching me you gorgeous little baby boy but I want to
hear your nylons swishing up against each other. Can you do that for me
darling? That's it, rub your little legs together and get that nylon
rustling up against that oh so so tight taffeta slip.
"I know your Auntie Joyce loves to put you in her tightest slips
sweetheart. So snug on those satin sheets isn't it."
Mrs Gabor leaned forward as her immaculate lips, perfectly arched eyebrows
and delicate eyelashes fluttered into focus.
"That's it sweetie, let me hear that simply sumptuous sound of nylon on
nylon, and that taffeta pressing down on your thighs. Good wickle boy."
The camera followed her in the boudoir as she glided effortlessly towards
her huge double bed, radiating warmth and silkiness from its satin-covered
pillows and sheets. Her full slip extended just below her knees, in
midnight black with a hint of lace around the hem and breasts.
She paused to smooth the taffeta over her own fully fashioned stockings
and coyly looked towards her wardrobe.
"What is a girl to wear darling?"
Bound, gagged and stocking-hooded back in Joyce's bedroom, John obeyed the
command and was now frantically hissing his nylons as he gazed upon the
vision of wonder on the large plasma screen at the foot of bis bed. It was
as if by being compliant, Mrs Gabor could actually hear his nylon rustle
and thus be pleased with this little obedient boy. He desperately wanted
to release his hands and arms to apply pressure to his now aching member
but Joyce and the other ladies had ensured that would be impossible with
double leather restraints and cuffs attached to the rigid metal headrest
and to the metal framework beneath his mattress.
His pulse quickened like never before as he felt the high heels he was
effectively locked in click against one another, his legs crossed and
bound at the knee so that every movement registered a vibrant hiss of his
10 denier stockings, on the inside of his thighs, his knees, calves and
ankles. Damn it, he couldn't budge an inch without hearing that seductive
rasp that jolted like fragrant static electricity on his limbs.
As he looked down he could see the gigantic bow that restrained those
limbs, a thick band of delicious lilac taffeta ribbon wrapped tightly
around just above his knees that contrasted vividly with his rustling slip
in a bridal ivory shade. The slip lingered well below his knees and the
thick ribbon strands edged towards his ankles, a pleasing, utterly
effeminate look as the lilac floated down over his slip and tan nylons.
But Mrs Gabor was right, the tightness of the slip was exhilarating and
generated from the girth where his white corselette nipped in his hips and
then extended up to pinch his stomach muscles and any excess flab in its
unforgiving confines.
The gigantic cups of its satin bullet bra held firm against his own
breasts, the thick adjustable satin shoulder straps straining to
perfection while the extra satin corset that Joyce had laced severely over
his corselette, in a complementary white satin edged with frilly lace and
tiny pink bows, helped to push any spare flesh up and into his bra cups,
almost lending the appearance of a tiny breast about to form.
"I want you down to a few dress sizes by the end of the week darling. I've
seen just the most darling satin skirt and taffeta slip for you, but you
must be disciplined and get that naughty waist down to a slimline 10
before I put you in them." Joyce's words had been both encouraging and
demanding, the very thought of another pencil skirt and rustling slip once
more had John's mind spinning in confusion. What colour could they be? And
what length? His mind wandered. Why was he beginning to think with such a
feminine take on everything?
His stocking-hood still held the scent of Joyce and her friends from their
lunchtime bedside visit, the aroma of thick perfume and lipstick clinging
to the nylon around his eyes, nose and mouth where a huge pink pacifier
was in place, its safety ring pressed down and held firmly in its
recipient's mouth both by the sheer nylon and a satin ribbon slotted
inside the dummy's two side holes and slipped around John's head and tied
with an unforgiving bow behind his head.
Even as he contemplated some form of escape, the satin mackintosh belt
that bound his ankles and was connected to another one at the bottom of
the bed's metal structure began to tug at his white stilettos and remind
him how truly helpless and captive he was. Beneath his taffeta slip, his
penis had been encased in two sheer nylons, one covering his entire
manhood and lower reaches, the other intricately tied to lift and separate
his two testicles and restrict any chance of ejaculation in the unlikely
event he could muster enough friction to bring about one. Further padded
by lavish white satin panties, the bloomer variety but not too large and
gorgeously sheer and shiny against his nyloned penis, his feeling of
frustration was bordering on obsession.
Just then, two ladies appeared on the big screen, one attired in a
traditional maid's uniform, the other in a tight black satin pencil skirt
and azure blue satin blouse, replete with a divine pussy bow that
stretched down almost to her waist.
Of course, it was Barbara and Janice, play-acting as they so enjoyed.
"Now ladies, what have you brought for me to wear today?"
Barbara, the stouter of the two ladies, rustled her wide maid's frock,
seemingly of some heavy duchess satin and underlaid with several stiffly
rustling taffeta petticoats. Her white satin apron was tied up with an
enormous bow at the back, the skirt bobbing with a life of its own as she
began smoothing down Mrs Gabor's slip at the knees in her blue satin
gloves.
"We thought a touch of taffeta beneath satin Mrs Gabor, didn't we Janice?"
"Oh that sounds so delicious and my favourites," Mrs Gabor responded, the
red nails of her slim hands tracing Barbara's hands down her slip with a
resulting swish and rustle of the crisp material against her stockings.
Janice, all giggling with champagne satin gloves, behaved more like a
naughty star-struck teenager rather than a 50-something woman, looking
wantonly into Mrs Gabor's eyes as her mistress fondled her breasts over
her satin blouse and ran her fingers through her dyed blonde hair. Though
the women were of similar age, no one could have guessed as Janice
continued to giggle and twitter as Mrs Gabor teased and toyed with her
smitten attendant.
The maids then entered the walk-in wardrobe and emerged with a grey
taffeta frock, a shirt-waister with fitted black taffeta petticoats sewn
in.
Moving to the rear of Mrs Gabor, they opened up the frock and allowed her
to feel the smooth, shiny lining, an act which proved arousing both to her
but more importantly, from Joyce's viewpoint, to John.
"God that is soooo gorgeous darlings, get me in it quickly."
And as taffeta met taffeta, petticoats met slip, a cacophony of slithering
shiny materials could be heard in Joyce's bedroom while John moaned,
groaned then whimpered as Mrs Gabor was fitted seamlessly into her frock.
"Just smooth my skirt darling, would you?" Mrs Gabor requested of Barbara
in the sweetest of voices."So good being a woman and being able to dress
like this darling. Feels soooo good.
"Now John, I hope your stockings are still hissing darling. I know Auntie
Joyce likes to have your suspenders, eight isn't it sweetie, nice and
thick, keeps your stockings taught but allows a little give to help you
feel their sheerness. Still slithering on the bed I hope sweetheart. Won't
be long now will it girls?"
Janice fastened a tiny matching grey belt at the front of the frock,
Barbara fussed and fluffed with petticoats, running her satin gloves up
and down the full taffeta skirt while Janice lined up the matching self-
buttons on the front and ran her hands around Mrs Gabor's waist, smoothing
the satin lining against the taffeta slip and satin panels of the long-
line girdle beneath what was part of her foundation garments. The bodice
was tight and fitted Mrs Gabor's nipped waist beautifully, the neckline
not plunging but revealing a little of the taffeta lace trim of the slip
underneath while the sleeves were luxuriously wide, covering the top of
her shoulders and finishing just above the elbow.
"You must feel so wonderful in there Mrs Gabor."
"A girl could get used to it sweetie," cooed Mrs Gabor and ran her fingers
down Janice's pencil skirt and her inviting tightly-clad posterior.
Next came shoes, Mrs Gabor still in her pink mules from bedtime requiring
her six-inch light grey stilettos with a pink bow on the front,
exquisitely fitted by each maid as they kneeled at the swaying, swishing
satin hem of Mrs Gabor's frock.
"I just love the little thunk sound those heels make when the nylons slip
into the soft leather, don't you?" Both maids agreed, caressing her calves
lovingly as they made final preparations.
"It may be a little cold so we have chosen a sort of opera frock coat Mrs
Gabor."
What happened next John was not quite sure, but he remembered the two
women emerged with the most delightful garment he had ever seen, a
swirling, calf-length creation in gunmetal grey satin with huge shiny
collars and a draping backline that swished and rustled as it consumed Mrs
Gabor and her delightful frock and lingerie.
She pulled it over like a wrap and exalted in its sheer satin glory, fully
lined in polysatin with an entrancing sheen doubtless exaggerated by the
lighting required on this indoor but very amateur film set. John recalled
almost passing out before the maids then helped Mrs Gabor into grey satin
gloves that finished just below her elbow and the billowing sleeves of her
overcoat. She smoothed the front down, looked at herself in the mirror and
then swivelled slowly around for effect as the overcoat gathered at her
calves and caressed her sheer nylons, her entire body in fact. Even the
back panels seemed gathered yet fluffed out by some magical process,
perhaps even fitted stiffened satin petticoats John thought as his nylon-
encased erection grew to uncontrollable proportions beneath his taffeta
slip and satin panties.
"So shiny and so smooth, isn't it poppet?" Mrs Gabor paraded in front of
the maids and the mirror while addressing young John. The rustle and
frivolous flow of the fabric was unremitting, the intensity of John's
fixation growing with each caress of Mrs Gabor's satin gloves on the coat
and every single glorious bounce and swish of her movement.
He simply could not understand why he was so hopelessly captivated not
only by this gorgeous woman but by this particular coat. He was mesmerized
beyond belief, obsessed with the flirtatious coat and its glossy satin
glare that framed Mrs Gabor's face, eyes, hands and torso so adoringly.
Joyce could tell him of course that he was a little pre-conditioned
because when under initial supervision, an evening watching Lana Turner in
a film called Imitation of Life, flouncing about amidst perfumed splendour
in the same garment, was all part of the Trained and Tamed schedule that
she and the other women had so effectively devised. That and the fact that
Madame Lafayette had created this range with a view to enticing and
enslaving a different sort of young clientele, something that Mrs Gabor
had confided in Joyce. At any event, it sounded an exciting project and
one she may yet be able to be of assistance in, with any luck she thought.
The camera captured each of Mrs Gabor's posturing moves to perfection. She
fiddled with her sparkling necklace and adjusted the brightly shining
earrings that dangled from her slender lobes. Her lipstick, tenderly
applied by a gold case container from her satin clutch bag, came next, a
dab of eyeliner and powder from her vanity case and she was all ready for
the outside world. Almost.
"Now darling, I know you so desperately need someone to apply a little
pressure on your precious little weeny," Mrs Gabor cooed into the camera
and thus directly into John's face. "I'm sure you are trying to get your
satin covers to do the job but they are just not heavy enough darling, not
even that gorgeous pink satin quilt cover. And the way Joyce and the girls
have trussed you up sweetie, not even a little kiss to your right or left
can bring you any relief. Go on, try it. Just for me precious." And John
did, attempting hopelessly to get his pacifier to at least imitate a kiss
into one of the inviting pillows by his side. To no avail. He moaned
again.
She motioned her satin-encased fingers to her lipstick container as she
delicately placed it back into her handbag to emphasise the futility of
his situation, then smoothed the satin overcoat over her rustling frock
just to tease the helpless victim one last time.
And yet, even then, Barbara and Janice brought one more surprise and item
of apparel.
"Essential Mrs Gabor, just in case it rains."
With that, Barbara presented her with the most feminine of parasols, a
tiny satin covered handle and metal catch that revealed a grey satin top
sprinkled with black lace and heavenly satin bows.
Mrs Gabor opened up the umbrella and twirled it provocatively above her
perfumed and manicured features, the epitome of feline grace and beauty.
How Joyce could recall when she used similar items as a sort of mobile
above John's head to help control his mind and send him smoothly off to
sleep in his warm and comforting cot-like bed.
Now John was equally enthralled by the revolving satin umbrella that Mrs
Gabor dangled so alluringly above her lacquered hair with one satin-gloved
hand while clutching her satin handbag against the clasp that held her
coat together in the other. At her side, the two maids lovingly smoothed
her satin overcoat and gloves in their own adoration of the beautiful Mrs
Gabor.
John too was in love, lust and utterly descended into a land of satin
perfection and preening.
It was a moment for Joyce to celebrate. As well as skirts, nylons and all
things ladylike, John now had a fantasy woman to idolise and worship. If
there had ever been the slightest chance that he might be free and return
to his old ways, it was gone. John had reached the point of no return. And
Joyce and Mrs Gabor would hammer home the awful truth to him over the
coming days. Reinforce it actually. Like the heels of his stockings he was
now squirming about in so divinely on Joyce's king-size satinised bed.
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