Dinner
- 3 years ago
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Dinner free porn video
It was nice of my Mother to host dinner for us; it was, after all, a
special occasion. I hadn't seen her for at least a year, but she offered
Martin and I free run of the place for a month, which would give him
plenty of time to get out into the country and see everything.
Still, as we sat down for dinner, I had to shoot her a disappointed look.
My ex-boyfriend was there, hovering around the table in a pink, frilly
apron, obsequious and submissive to a fault.
"Mother," I said, "what's Adam doing milling around dressed like that?"
She glanced at the diminutive figure, who was currently filling Martin's
wine glass, and turned back to me looking a little confused.
"Do you mean the apron?" she said. "I know it's a bit feminine but it
serves its purpose... it's got pockets and covers his trousers nicely..."
"Mother that's not what I meant."
Martin looked at the two of us with a smirk on his face. I'd told him all
about Adam and I; how I'd got completely sick, in the end, of how passive
he was.
"What's the matter then dear?" she replied.
"What I mean is I'm bothered about what's underneath his apron," I said,
waggling my fork at him, "the apron's perfectly fine... it's just I
thought you'd have him in something more suitable for the occasion."
"Oh you are a bossy-boots sometimes Alison. He didn't come here with that
many clothes, so he didn't have a black suit or anything like that to
wear."
I could have sworn I'd already explained this to her, but I continued.
"Mother. He didn't have many clothes because he was always wearing mine."
The sound of Adam knocking my Mother's wine glass over left the room
deadly silent. In a panic, he started to move towards the kitchen in order
to fetch a dish-towel, but Mother stopped him, pulling at the edge of his
apron.
"Adam," she said, crossly, "don't run off please. I made it very clear I
wouldn't tolerate liars..."
While my Mother berated Adam at the end of the table, Martin and I
exchanged eye-contact. He found my dominant streak so attractive, and all
but licked his lips imagining the escapades we'd get up to in my old four-
poster bed that night.
Still, we were in bed later than planned. Mother took Adam to get changed
before he was allowed to serve our starters. This time he was in a black
suit, a very tasteful one. The cut of the jacket displayed his silky
blouse, and the skirt fit him perfectly, ending below the apron at about
mid-calf, nicely showing off his black tights and neat leather court
shoes. Struggling to dry out the still damp tablecloth, he gave Martin and
I more than enough of a show to know he was wearing her underwear too. As
my Mother explained, she was fortunate enough to have kept a suitcase
packed with the clothes she used to wear to the office, before her
retirement. Adam had always been self-conscious about his small size, but
in this instance it made life so much simpler. Seeing as he even fit into
Mother's old tailored suits, there was no doubt he could start dressing in
her clothes all the time, given the sheer amount of them that she'd
accumulated. They were perfect for Adam, who seemed now to be even more
withdrawn than before - which didn't harm the dinner service one bit.
Martin had his arm around me later that night, when Adam came into our
room carrying my laundry. Adam no doubt recognised my expression, one of
tired satisfaction after the rough sex I'd just enjoyed. He was still in
his apron.
"I can't believe you Adam," I said. "Virtually under my nose in my
Mother's house wearing trousers again."
"C'mon Alison," Martin interrupted jokingly, "leave the poor guy alone."
"If I put you in dresses," I said, glaring at Adam, "you stay in dresses."
Martin pulled me closer into an embrace, enamoured by my strictness.
"So," I continued, "shouldn't you be going back to iron Mummy's things?
Because Martin and I are about to start round two... and I don't want you
standing there looking like a dour middle-aged cleaning lady while he
fucks my brains out. Understood?"
I saw Adam again the next morning, serving my mother and me breakfast.
This time he was in a dress. A smart grey sheath dress, of modest length,
paired with a white blouse and a thin line of pearls. I think my Mother
liked to see her old clothes being worn, instead of hiding away in a
suitcase.
Martin had left to explore the grounds of the house, leaving Mother and I
to chat over breakfast. Adam lingered, obviously trying to overhear our
conversation.
Once she caught Adam in a lie, she was eager to hear me flesh out the
story of our past relationship, knowing he'd failed to disclose the extent
to which he'd fallen into the role of my little helper at home. I knew
Adam wished I'd just shut up and fly back to Australia with Martin, but I
felt duty-bound at this point to reveal all. My Mother deserved so much
more, and I got kicks out of the idea that I was still controlling Adam
even though I was thousands of miles from home.
I explained to her what happened from the start. She knew (as well as the
two men) that I had a not insignificant strain of the authoritarian in me.
This was always something I felt I had to apologise for, growing up, but
it rushed to the surface like oil from a well once my patience with Adam
dried up.
Adam was an intelligent man, and it was that that initially interested me.
We met at University and moved in with each other soon after graduation.
We both worked, that was until we didn't. He never was a proactive person,
and so when he lost his job and got comfortable with the idea that I, as a
woman on the way up, would provide for him, any ambition in life left him.
"So you put him in your clothes?" Mother asked.
Adam's face when he heard this made me smile. No spilled wine this time,
thankfully, but he did almost forget to pour my coffee.
"Yes," I said, "although actually he put them on himself at first. You see
he was out of work for about three months at that point. No savings to
speak of so he was relying on me for rent etc., and, I remember it was a
Tuesday, I come home early from the office and find him hiding in the
bathroom."
"Hiding?" she asked.
"Yes, because he was busy not keeping the house clean as you might expect
him to do if he's home all day, but was trying on my clothes. So as soon
as he heard me come through the door he must have bolted for it. I put two
and two together (the clothes strewn around our bedroom were a clue), and
told him that if he doesn't come out the bathroom wearing what he took in
there of mine, then he could pack his stuff and leave that night. Of
course he had nowhere to go, I knew that, and so he spent the next five
minutes hurriedly putting back on everything he had ripped off in a
panic."
"So he was really in your clothes then?" Mother said, sounding
incredulous.
"Yes he damn well was. He must have spent all day getting into my things,
because he was wearing my best ball gown with all the trimmings. I checked
there was nothing he'd forgotten to put on still lying in that bathroom,
and had him show me what he put on under his frock. He had everything on;
bra and panties, slip, my spanx, tights and heels. When I got a look at
his makeup under the bedroom lights I figured that it must have taken him
an hour plus to get all this on."
By this point Adam was standing to attention with his hands in his skirted
lap. He was in heels already and it was only about 8:30 in the morning.
He'd be in them all day, and I remembered when he was living with me how
that was always his biggest gripe.
Mother interrupted my chain of thought. "Surely you didn't want him in
your best frock?"
I told her that was true. But at the same time, as I mentioned before, I
just felt the need to get a grip on this man.
"He was so obviously embarrassed, and I was so angry," I continued, "that
I did keep him in the frock for a while. I am a firm believer in that
principle; you know the one, where your child smokes a cigarette and you
make them finish the whole pack? So I had him do the chores he'd neglected
during the day in a dress. I told him that if he so much as slips his
shoes off or hitches his skirt up he'll be out on his arse."
Mother laughed, glancing behind her at Adam, who stood there humiliated,
but still, dutifully, at attention.
"You can be frightening sometimes Alison," Mother said, "but you are
creative. And you definitely know how to get your own way."
I nodded, and bit into a slice of marmalade toast that Adam had prepared
for the table.
"But then I realised," I said, still with toast in my mouth, "that he was
about to start washing dishes in my best frock. It cost about $600, which
is not unreasonable in my line of work considering the amount of dinner
parties and things, but I wasn't about to let Adam get dishwater on it. So
I had him get changed and into something more practical."
"An apron?" joked Mother.
I told her matter-of-factly that, yes, I had him in an apron. But I
explained how it was that evening, searching through my old clothes, that
I began dressing him as he would continue to dress until my meeting Martin
and moving abroad. That is, in smart women's office-wear. That way I could
keep his appearance consistent and smart, and have him feeling ready to
actually do work for me. It also meant he was in a dress or a skirt on a
daily basis and matched it always with a pair of court shoes.
"I'll tell you what, Mum," I said, "there's nothing quite like the
satisfaction of putting a man in heels. It was like some justice at last."
Mother almost spat out her coffee, and put her napkin to her mouth.
I looked Adam in the eyes before continuing: "And it is only one step down
from making sure a man is back in his heels after he thought he'd got rid
of the damn things."
Avriella
- 22.07.2022
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