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CUSTOM CLOTHES by Throne (32 pages)
🕑 Added 2022-07-20 05:08:47 +0000 UTCCUSTOM CLOTHES by Throne
"Well, Frank, you said you didn't want to wear the pretty nightie that I got you to sleep in, so I found something else. There's a woman online who makes custom clothes for fussy sissy husbands like you."
"I'm not a sissy, Tasha," he insisted.
"No?" She was a big Scandanavian woman, tall and very full of figure. Her outfit was a green sleeveless top that showed plenty of side-boob, of which she had plenty to show, and skintight red slacks with 3/4 length legs. It was obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra. "Have you taken a good look at yourself lately?"
She clamped a hand onto the back of his neck and marched him to the full-length mirror she had installed in their bedroom. He didn't like what he saw. Short and slightly built, he had gained some chubby pounds from the special diet onto which she put him. His body hair was gone, permanently removed. And his penis, not very big to begin with, had been compressed and locked into an extremely tiny chastity device. Being reminded of the changes she had made in him always sapped his willpower. Frank's weak shoulders sagged. He lowered his gaze.
In a sullen voice he said, "You could at least unlock my cock."
She snickered. "What you have is hardly a cock, Franny." Her changeover to using the feminine name that she had given him was smooth and effortless. "It's just a little doodle, so useless that I had to lock it up."
"But I can't... I'm not able to..."
"You can't play with yourself anymore. So sad. That's another reason I had to put it into a pecker prison. After all, I did catch you diddling your doodle multiple times. And bad boys who tug on themselves like that get treated like sissies, at least when I'm making the rules."
He sniffled. "Okay. I'll wear the nightie."
"Too late for that, Franny. You're going to put on what's laid out on the bed."
The hapless husband looked at the unwanted garment again. It was a pair of Longjohns, not in the traditional red but pink, with a wide lace collar around their neck. To his dismay, attached to the ends of the sleeves were big mittens with no thumbs, which would render his hands useless for any but the most basic tasks. He sighed.
She held up the sleepwear and turned it around. It buttoned up the back instead of the front. He saw the trapdoor down below, and noticed it was extra wide. Frank had a bad idea why that particular customization had been made. Tasha had him sit on the edge of the bed so he could get his feet into the legs and all the way down to the footies. He stood up so he could fit his arms into the sleeves. It was disturbing to feel his hands go into those mitts. They were made of material so thick that he could barely flex his fingers. While he stood there quivering, his wife buttoned him up. Between the location of the buttons and the state of his hands, there was no way he could undress himself. She had him walk around so she could admire how unmanly he appeared.
"Now let's open you up in back so I can see that cute tushy." She dropped the covering over his bottom and cool air touched his skin. "Get an eyeful of those sweet cheeks," she exclaimed. "That added weight looks good on you back there." Her hand went to his buns to roughly manipulate one and then the other. He stood still and endured it. When she was enjoying herself this much it was better not to annoy her. "I think that door should stay open for a while, don't you, Franny?"
"Yes, dear." He automatically softened his voice and shifted from Frank's register, which wasn't at all deep to begin with, to Franny's, which was quite high.
"Let's go have a drink before I decide what to do about your recent bad behavior," she said. It sounded like a suggestion but was something very different.
In the kitchen there were two chairs at the table. One of them was a standard adult-sized model. The other was a low stool with a furry cover on it. Frank eased himself down onto the second one, which left him in a deep squat. The fur tickled him between his buttocks. Tasha poured herself a glass of red wine. For him she prepared a plastic cup of milk with strawberry flavoring stirred into it. She poured a bit of something else into it, which he guessed was a weight-gain product. Tasha handed the cup down to her husband. He took it between his flattened hands and held it that way. She sat alongside him, so that her full shapely legs were close enough for him to touch, if he were allowed to do that, which he wasn't. Her sensual proximity reminded him of the presence of his pink plastic chastity. He sipped his milk and managed not to moan from sexual frustration. How long had he been enduring enforced celibacy? He had lost track of the length of time, though he estimated that they were approaching the three-month mark.
"Oops," Tasha said, as if reading his mind. "I see that boo-boo face. Is somebody feeling sorry for themself? And is that because their dinky doodle is under lock and key? Hmmm?"
"Yes, dear," he answered, trying not to sound pouty but failing.
"And why is that little pink dingle in its cage?"
"To remind me that I'm not allowed to have sex with you, dear?"
"And why aren't you permitted to do that?"
"Because I kept tugging on it." He hesitated. "And because it's on the small side."
"Small side? I think tiny would be a more accurate word."
"Okay," he conceded unhappily in his Franny voice. "My penis is tiny."
Putting a thoughtful expression on her pretty, roundish face, which was dominated by sparkling blue eyes, high cheekbones, a pert nose, and sensual lips, she asked, as if she didn't already know the answer, "Was there another reason I caged your plaything?"
He exhaled slowly. "Because when I don't get to empty my little balls..." He paused. "Tiny balls," he amended. "When my semen stays inside, so that all I can think about is sex, it makes me better at giving you cunnilingus."
Tasha cupped a hand behind your ear. "I don't think I heard those last few words right."
Frank took a breath and corrected, "When my cream is all backed up, it makes me do a better job of..." He swallowed uneasily. "... eating your twat."
"I heard that loud and clear." She smiled at him from her superior height. "And I know that what you meant but didn't say was that you're hungry for pussy." She licked her lips lasciviously. "But I'll bet you want to be made up pretty so you can pretend you're my girlfriend." Adding a note of warning to her words, she said, "Don't you?"
"Yes, dear."
"Then finish up your yummy drink and we can get busy. Your the make-up and then your punishment, all leading up to..." She raised her drink as if in a toast. "... tongue-time."
He forced himself to gulp down the remainder of his beverage, even though it was probably meant to add excess calories to his intake. Then he got up slowly from his low humiliating perch. His wife drained her glass and stood, so close that their bodies nearly touched, her unrestrained tits near enough that he could have kissed them, which made his penis twitch inside its tight confinement. She took Frank's hand to lead him into the bedroom, where he had to sit on an ice-cream parlor chair in front of her vanity table. He hated that because he could see his reflection the entire time, while she was remaking his face. He had to watch her progress as she used foundation, blush, eyebrow pencil, mascara, and eye shadow. The final touch was lipstick in a shade called Bubblegum Pink, over which she put a coat of shiny gloss. Seeing his altered countenance, Frank had a dizzying sense of lost identity. His old likeness had been replaced by Franny's.
"I had an idea that I think you're going to appreciate," his big bride told him. "We'll move this chair over by the big mirror so you can see how you react while I'm tanning your rump. Won't that be interesting?"
Rebellion lit a flame inside him but it was instantly snuffed. After he had been transformed into Franny it was impossible for him to fight back, even in small ways. Tasha set the chair in her chosen spot. She patted her wide, red-clad lap and he put himself over it. Her generously padded thighs were so firm and warm. His penis throbbed futilely. She rubbed his exposed nether cheeks, in no hurry to get started with the main act. All he could do was to lie there, seeing his heavily made-up face's reflection frowning back at him, feeling less like an adult male and more like a young girl, or like what his wife had made of him, which was a simpering sissy.
Tasha raised her hand and waited a moment for his anxiety to build to a peak. When she felt him shudder, she stuck. Her hand slapped down on his vulnerable tail end and he yowled in response. Again and again, she struck his soft butt until he was wailing non-stop. She halted. For a suspended moment he waited, trying to regain control of himself and hoping the spanking had come to an end. Just as he dared to grow optimistic, she swatted his pinked posterior another dozen times. She stopped and let her fingers rest on the now reddened skin, so she could savor the heat radiating from it. The color and temperature thrilled her. Arrows of arousal targeted the bullseye between her legs. She purred. A final dozen spanks, delivered with abandon, reduced him to a squalling sissy. His tears ran hotly down his cheeks. He licked them from his lips and tasted their saltiness.
"Now," she said in triumph, "time for lovemaking."
Between sobs he agreed, "Yes, dear."
She eased him off her lap and helped him to stand. When Tasha got up, she seemed somehow taller than usual. She gave Frank's ear a twist and walked him the short distance to the bed. Then she peeled down her clinging slacks and tossed them aside, for him to pick up later. She didn't bother to remove her top, as if all that mattered was his access to her split mound, or perhaps because he wasn't worthy of seeing her magnificent breasts in all their uncovered glory. Tasha stretched out on her back and pointed to the triangle of fine blond hair below her navel.
"Licking time, Franny," she declared joyfully. "Where's my obedient girlfriend? Where's my male lesbian? Where's my oh-so-eager-to-please spouse?"
He got onto the bed between her feet and lay on his tummy. His chastity pressed into his hairless pubic area. He ran his tongue along Tasha's vertical lips, tasting the salty tang of an unwashed vagina. He lapped and probed and sucked. She moaned and jerked her wide hips. With her voracious sexual appetite, she kept him down there until he had given her four bucking orgasms, each of them very juicy. His lower face was smeared with her plentiful secretions. At last, it was over. The sated women stretched languorously and yawned.
She pronounced, "One of us is going to sleep soundly tonight. The other one might have a problem with unfulfilled needs. But like we established earlier, the more you don't get it, the better you give it." She reached down to pat his tousled hair. "Just stay there for a while, Franny. Give my sweet spot some butterfly kisses to send me off to dreamland. And tomorrow night we can have another chit-chat about what you want to wear to bed." She chortled. "I almost hope you'll give me a hard time again."
*********
Joe was about a head taller than his short wife, but he cowered as she crossed the room toward him. Violet could become violent.
The little redhead snarled, "I told you to be undressed when I got home, Joey."
"I know," he said weakly. "It was just that I wasn't sure when you'd get here and..."
She launched herself at him, planted a hand in the middle of his chest, and shoved him back against the wall of their den. "The idea is for you to get naked after I leave and stay that way, so you can't make yourself look stupid, like you just did."
"But I'm... I was only thinking..."
"Thinking always gets you into trouble. It's a bad habit you have to unlearn. For now, you can get bare-assed and then bring me the package that I left on the front porch."
"Couldn't I get the package first?"
"No, you could not." She stepped back, but only so she could jab a finger into his undeveloped midsection. "Let me see you strip, Joy."
When she switched from his male name to the female one with which she had rechristened him, he knew matters were serious. Joe pulled his T-shirt up and over his head, mussing his naturally curly auburn hair, so that a lock of it fell onto his suddenly perspiring forehead. He slipped off his slippers, under which his feet were bare. Then came his lounge pants, colorful ones with the name of his favorite sports team repeated all over them. Those were a remembrance from his former life, before his wife had decided he was so unmasculine that she should turn him into a full sissy. Every time he put them on, he was reminded that she no longer allowed him to watch games on TV, or indeed any programs that she didn't pre-approve. Mostly, she had him viewing home shopping shows that were intended for women. When models appeared, he was required to mimic the way they moved and posed when they showed off what they wore. When his wife was there to see him, it was so embarrassing. If she was absent from the room, having to act girly while alone was a repeated lesson in how much power she wielded over him. After the discarded pants, all he had to cover him was a pair of pink, satiny bikini-cut panties. He eyed Violet with hope. Maybe she would allow him to keep on at least those. Understanding his unspoken question, she shook her head. He whimpered and peeled down his last flimsy bit of covering. He was naked, if you didn't count the itty-bitty cock-lock inside which his manhood was compressed. She motioned toward the front door.
"Go ahead," she said warningly. "Scamper out there, Joy."
With a sniffle he put his hand on the doorknob. Joe held his slender upper arms against his ribs and pressed his thighs together, as if he could somehow hide himself. He opened the door a few inches and peeked out through the gap. There was a car coming toward him and he quickly closed it again. When he swiveled toward Violet, her pretty face was drawn tightly, which was not what he wanted to see. After a few seconds he tried again. No one was coming and there were no obvious signs of activity at the houses across the street. Joey tiptoed onto the wide porch and checked for the box. When he didn't see it, he looked further. It was all the way at the far edge of the concrete expanse. His wife was being so unfair. Bending forward, he hurried to fetch it.
Violet called out, "Posture, sissy. Straighten up." He obeyed, then grabbed the box, which wasn't very heavy. She told him, "I want to see dainty feminine steps, Joy." He tried to comply but she decided, "You rushed that. Go back to where you picked up the box and do it again, with some grace." His glance darted around. Holding the carton against his bare chest, he took delicate steps toward his bride, the door, and safety. She put her hands on her hips and glowered at him. "Maybe a walk around the block would clear your head, so you could think better."
"Please," he whined.
She gave an overly dramatic sigh. A car turned the corner at the far end of the street and moved toward their house. Joe's spine grew rigid. He continued toward his goal, attempting not to annoy his wife again. As the headlights' illumination grew closer, he reached her. She shook her head, as if resigning herself to his poor performance, and stepped aside. He entered, his skin tingling from the night air, even though the temperature was pleasant. Once he was inside, she slowly closed the door. He was relieved to hear it click shut, the lock engaging.
"Now," she said, "let's go back to the den and see what's inside that box."
The den had once been his man cave, or at least a version of one of those. He certainly didn't have any trophies to display from his high school or college days, never having been athletic. Instead, there had been some mass-produced sports souvenirs, a few books on the subject, and a grouping of four baseball cards in a frame, which he had purchased thinking they were genuine and not the reproductions they turned out to be. What there were more of now were items brought to the house by his wife's boyfriend, Rock, who was now in possession of that space which had formerly been Joey's domain in his pre-sissy days. It was like they had left a few of Joe's personal things there to send the message that those, as well as himself, were still around because of their sufferance. Rock had contributed beer signage, a cap with a team's insignia on it, and race car paraphernalia.
Once they were in the den, she had her naked husband put the box on the leather sofa that sat opposite the big-screen TV. Those pieces were both bought by Rock. He and Violet got a special thrill from making out on that sofa, preferably while Joe stood by, usually in nothing but a tiny apron, and waited to scurry off to get them drinks, snacks or maybe a plastic bottle of Love Lotion from the bedside table. Sometimes he had to bring them condoms. His wife was on birth control pills but the couple used rubbers on occasion for what they could do with them afterward. The latex sheaths, still moist on the outside from being inside Violet and filled with generous portions of warm semen from Rock, might be deposited down the front of Joey's panties, or inside one cup of his bra, if he was wearing one, or even inside his mouth, so he had to try to keep the open end elevated to prevent leakage.
Violet told her husband, "Open it up, Joy."
He had a bad feeling about this. With clumsy movements he pried the lid off. Inside was a variety of ruffled items, none of them very big. He didn't recognize any of them as pieces of clothing. When he turned to Violet with a questioning face, she snickered and took out a circle of pink ruffled material and stretched it to show that there was elastic inside. Then she fitted it over his head and brought it down to his neck, where she allowed it to contract, forming a ridiculous collar that a clown might wear. That was followed by wristlets, a three-inch band for around his waist, and anklets. It was like he was dressed, except with most of the material, like sleeves and legs and something to cover his private area, was missing.
"There has to be more to wear," he said, even though he saw only a smaller box remaining inside the container, this one sealed with packing tape.
Violet got her fingers into a hidden corner and came out with one more circlet of ruffles, in pink like all the others, but smaller than any of them.
Close to tears, Joe pointed out, "That can't cover anything."
"No," she said, widening it, "but it can go around something and decorate it, like this." She slipped it to the base of his genitals and let go, so that it stayed there, decorating them and calling attention to his caged pickle and undersized nuggets. "Delightful."
That was when he broke down and started to cry. His lips quivered. He was the perfect picture of a sissy.
She said, "Calm yourself down, Joy. Do you want Rock to see you like that?"
"I thought he was out of town."
"Did I say that? And give you hope of a less stressful weekend? I must have been confused. Rock didn't go anywhere. The only place he'll be is right here, and very soon. Dry those pansy tears and lose that puckered puss. You know how irritated he gets when you're overly emotional. And remember what he did last time you acted that way. Spanky-spank."
"O... okay," he said, not making much progress toward reining in his mini-breakdown. To try to win at least a modicum of her favor he asked, "Would you like me to get rid of that box?"
"Why would I want you to do that?" She took out the smaller container from inside the larger one. "When we're not done with it. In fact, why don't we wait for the real man of the house, so he can open this with his big strong hands, the ones that I love to feel all over me... and inside me?"
Joe hung his head from shame. "Yes, dear."
"In fact, I hear his truck pulling up out front right now. Why don't you kneel inside the door, so you can greet him when he comes in?" She smiled. "There's no need to unlock the door. Remember how I gave him your key?"
He remembered. Now it was him who had to be let in if the door was locked. When he came home from work, if he couldn't enter, his orders were to go out back and wait under the bedroom window. All too often, Violet would be in there with Rock and they'd leave that window open, so he could hear their noisy lovemaking.
Joe hurried to the living room. He put himself in a spot close enough to where she had said that he shouldn't get into trouble, but also at an angle where he hoped no one from outside might see him. There he knelt, in his extremely skin-baring ruffles. The key turned in the lock and suddenly there was Rock, tall and broad. His face was split by a leer when he saw Joe. The big man's shirt was flannel, with raggedly cut-off sleeves, so that his brawny arms were exposed. His jeans were worn and he had on heavy work shoes. Violet went to him and they embraced. Joe had to stay on his knees as they kissed passionately. With his greater stature, Rock seemed to utterly possess Violet. HIs hand went down to paw her bottom. The husband was at a perfect height to see his wife being willingly caressed and her lover's cock making a bulge in response.
The brutish guy looked over Violet's shoulder at Joe. He asked her, "How has Jerky been behaving?"
"Joy? The usual uncooperative attitude, some backtalk, and lots of dirty looks. Sometimes it's so difficult when you're not here."
Joe couldn't believe the exaggerations he was hearing. Rock released Violet and stalked over to her spouse. He grabbed Joe under the arms, to effortlessly hoist him to his feet.
"So, you've been giving my girl trouble," he accused before giving him a violent shake. "That's just asking for some payback." He walked Joe backwards until they reached the sofa, where he bent him over the end of it. Rock dug his fingers into Joe's soft hips. His crotch pressed against his helpless prey's bare bottom. "Maybe you need a lesson you won't ever be able to forget." He pumped his hips hard. "I don't think your Missus would mind missing one trip to the bedroom with me, if it meant straightening out your bad habits." He ground against him. Joe could feel Rock's enviable cock and it made him shudder. "You want some of that, sissy?"
Violet sat on the sofa and took Joe's face in her hands. "Would that do the trick? Having Rock lay pipe back there?"
Joe squeaked, "No. Please. Not that. I'll be good."
"I don't know," Rock said doubtfully. His words were followed by the sound of his zipper being lowered. A moment later his stiff tool was knocking at the back door. Joe squirmed. "Damn. Now he's trying to get me all fired up, wiggling his soft butt around."
Violet gazed into Joe's eyes. "Were you being difficult on purpose, Joy? Trying to get Rock mad, so he'd rough you up? Were you hoping he'd give you a poke and take you the rest of the way to becoming a total sissy?"
"I don't want that," Joe insisted. "I'm not that way."
"No?" She didn't sound like she believed him. "I've watched you after him and me have sex, when you have to clean up his stick. The way you go at it makes me think you're having the time of your life and that you'd welcome him popping your cherry."
"Noooo," Joe wailed.
Violet stroked his neck. Rock pinched his ass. Joe was close to breaking down and weeping. All at once, his two tormentors stopped what they were doing. A moment later Violet was back on her feet, giving Rock a kiss with lots of tongue, her hand on his rampant cock. She grabbed the smaller box that waited to be opened and handed it to her lover.
"I want your battering ram all to myself, so this will have to do for Joy for the time being."
Rock tore open the box. What had been inside was a fat butt-plug. Looking back from his awkward position, Joe saw it and moaned.
The towering man handed it to Violet. "Have Miss Candy Pants get this nice and wet before I plant it where the sun don't shine."
Violet held it against Joe's lips. "Open up, sugar. The more spit you get on it, the less it'll hurt, going in."
He opened his mouth wide but it's interior felt dry. Summoning up as much saliva as he could, Joe fellated the sex toy, aware of how what he was doing looked. His wife made sure he got it slippery all the way to its widest point. Then she passed it back to Rock, who held it by the base and set the rounded end against Joe's bullseye. Before the spit could evaporate, he gave a shove that forced the tight ring of muscle to widen. Joe yowled at the painful intrusion. Rock pushed once more, burying most of the rubber rammer inside. Joe's sphincter clenched around the narrower portion, assuring that the rest of it wouldn't slide out.
Violet panted from the excitement of witnessing her husband's mistreatment. She said, her voice thick with passion, "We have to hit the bedroom right now. This is a sex emergency. You can think about raping Joy later. He sure deserves it. But at the moment, I need you more than that pansy does."
Rock laughed raucously. "You got it, babe. It'll do the wuss good to think about what might be coming his way. The old rear entrance break-in."
He scooped the short woman up in his arms. She giggled and they locked lips. Rock held her aloft effortlessly. As he carried her toward the bedroom, she called back to her husband, "Come on with us, Joy. I'm so wet and he's so hard that we won't need you to warm us up. But I know my man is going to pump me full of cream, so both of us are going to need a thorough cleaning from your talented mouth."
They went down the hall with Joe following reluctantly, the plug tormenting his ass. At least he had escaped being deflowered by that rapacious beast. He had been scared out of his wits when it seemed like it was going to happen. That was something he never wanted to experience, which left one question unanswered. Why was Joe's little dick harder than it had ever been before?
*********
The Kenton's doorbell rang and David's back muscles tensed. His wife was getting ready to go out, so he would have to answer it. Knowing who was there didn't help. In fact, it had quite the opposite effect. Another problem was that all the slender young husband had on was a lightweight yellow dress, handmade in an adult size but designed to appear appropriate for a female pre-teen. He had nothing underneath. On his small feet were ballet slippers. His face below pale eyebrows, like his entire body, was devoid of hair. He opened the door with trepidation, to be confronted by a tall thickset woman. She was only about ten years older than him but had a matronly look. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the rear of her head. In one plump hand she carried a suitcase.
He stammered, "Thank you for coming again, Miss Strictland." He tried to make his words sincere but anxiety made that impossible.
"I'm always happy to see you." There was no doubt that what she said was the truth. "Your lovely wife knows she can call me anytime."
The short man stepped aside to let her pass. He said, "Jane is just finishing getting ready for... um... her date."
"How nice for her. I'm sure she needs to get out and be with a real man and do grown-up things." She set her case by the armchair and then sat down. Miss Strictland had on a skirt suit and a blouse with a high collar. Her heavy calves were in gunmetal-grey stockings and on her feet were practical black shoes with square toes and blocky heels. "That's a pretty dress you're wearing, David," she complimented. "Let me see you curtsey."
He pinched the hem on both sides and did a deep dip. Miss Strictland applauded with her hands close together, like one might do for an adolescent. David shivered. He tried to reject the way she made him feel but was unable to do it. Against his will, his immature penis twitched. His hands unconsciously drifted toward it and then jerked away. The visitor saw that and smiled to herself. He obviously hadn't forgotten their last encounter. There were a few moments of tension, that taut mood broken when Jane appeared, stunning in a slinky red dress and matching heels.
She said, "Thank you for coming, Miss Strictland."
"My pleasure." She eyed David. "Honestly."
"Well, my date will be picking me up any minute. Will you be okay if I rush off like that?"
"Certainly. I'm sure David and I will have a very pleasant evening. And a productive one." Her hand fell to the top of the suitcase by her side.
"I know you will," Jane Kenton said with confidence.
The wife went to David, who was hugging himself. She told him, "I don't think Miss Strictland wants to see you like that. Please put your hands at your sides. And do exactly as she tells you to." She kissed the air six inches from his lips. "And don't distract yourself thinking about me and Thomas... and what we'll be doing."
The doorbell rang. Jane whisked across the room to respond. She opened the door and the others heard a deep masculine voice. And then she was gone. David stood there uncomfortably, shifting his feet around.
"Do be still, dear," Miss Strictland said. "I hope you've remembered your lessons from last time. What do you call me?"
"I call you Nanny or Nanny Strictland."
"Very good. Have you been having those thoughts about me after you go to bed, the ones you confessed to last time?"
His cheeks turned pink. In a softened voice he said, "Yes. I tried not to but..."
"It's all right," she advised. "Sometimes this happens when a little man like yourself has to have a Nanny. They transfer the desires that a normal man would have for his bride to the nanny." She smiled tolerantly. "Tell me more."
He didn't want to admit more but was too intimidated to refuse or lie. He said, "When I see Jane after a shower, wearing just her short robe, or else ready for bed in a see-through nightie, instead of picturing myself with her like I used to, I see you coming here to mind me."
"Isn't that flattering?" she said. "And I noticed something else about you, David. Last time, when I had to spank you, and you were across my lap, do you remember what I was wearing?"
Her charge made a throat-clearing sound. "You had on a rubber apron."
"That's right. And as soon as you were on my thighs, I could feel you becoming aroused. Oh my. I believe you've started to see your spankings as a substitute for sex. But at the same time, I got the impression that you took special pleasure from being in contact with that rubber, while you were wearing only panties and stockings, and smelling it as well. Don't you agree?"
"I'm not sure. But maybe, Nanny."
"So, with that in mind," she went on pleasantly, "I've brought along something new for you to wear. I think you'll get a special thrill out of it." He stood there rubbing his thighs together. She nodded toward his nervous movements and said, "Don't fidget, David. I swear, sometimes it's like you're trying to provoke me to spank your fanny."
The way she put that idea into his head disturbed him. Could it be true? A few weeks ago, he would have refused to even consider it. Now, especially after his confession and her perceptive comment about how the rubber apron had affected him, he wasn't so sure.
"What I need you to do right now," she informed him, "is get out of that pretty Summer dress for me. All right?"
He didn't actually have any choice. In the past the tall heavy woman had demonstrated that she could physically handle him. He wordlessly pulled the dress up and over his head, leaving himself in only the ballet slippers. She got up and moved her suitcase onto the sofa, where she opened it. What Miss Strictland took out and held up for him to see was a dress much like the one he had just removed, except this one was pink and made of rubber. His eyes widened and he rubbed his thumbs over their neighboring fingers. David itched to feel that fragrant material against his bare skin. But then she produced a pair of matching panties. He was disappointed momentarily by the idea of having part of his anatomy shielded from contact with the rubber, until he noticed that the undergarment was made of the same stuff. His underdeveloped penis rose halfway. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned sideways.
"No need to be modest," Miss Strictland pointed out. "I've not only seen you naked many times, but more recently I've witnessed you becoming excited, like what's happening right now. Please put your hands behind your back and face me."
After he obeyed her, she waited a minute, perhaps to make sure he would continue to cooperate, or maybe so she could savor his confusion and that involuntary semi-erection. The nanny plumped her wide bottom down on the sofa, leaned far forward, and held out the panties. He stepped into one leg-hole and then the other. As if he was a child who couldn't dress himself unassisted, she inched them upward and snugged them into place, capturing his undersized dick and making sure it ended up vertical, held against his body by the tight-fitting panties. She held up her hand, pointed her index finger downward, and made a small circle with it. He understood the gesture and turned slowly around. She stopped him when his back was to her, so she could tug up on the panties and get them in between the ovals of his bottom. Then she let him finish his modelling rotation. All that movement with the clinging rubber against his dick got him the rest of the way hard. It was unsettling to be in front of her, so close, with his hairless body on display, the shameful erection showing off his unimpressive dimensions pressing against the rubber, while his betraying emotions made him purr contentedly.
She observed, "You obviously like this, David. I'm sure putting on the dress will delight you."
She stood and got it over his head. The material stuck to his skin a little bit, so it wasn't the same as donning a normal dress. She assisted him further and soon had it in place. There was a scalloped rubber collar, along with rubber bows around the waist like a belt, though the dress was fitted and snug so that no belt was needed. The rubber was like mischievous hands caressing him. His penis begged to be touched by his hand through the covering, but fondling himself there was one of the behaviors that had gotten him into trouble with Jane in the first place. So, he put his hands passively at his sides and willed his feet to be still. But then he started twitching, rolling his shoulders, and wiggling his bottom.
"Someone has an excess of energy," his nanny noted. "We'll have to do something to release that. I think you know what I mean."
"Yes, please," he blurted, barely thinking. Realizing what he had said, David balled his hands into tight fists and put them over his uncooperative organ. A disapproving glance from Miss Strictland made him rethink and reverse that move.
Still on her feet, she doffed her jacket. From the suitcase she took a rubber apron, which she put on unhurriedly, as he feasted his eyes on the sight. The previous one had reached to her knees but this went all the way to her ankles. Just seeing her in it and how her buxomness pushed out against the bodice made him tremble. With a sympathetic expression, she gathered David into her long arms and held him firmly against her generous bosom. His arms went around her and he whimpered. David felt his adult personality slipping away, to be replaced by the increasingly familiar persona of himself as a vulnerable and easily influenced youth. His knees went weak, so that he had to lean against the big woman. She patted his back and granted him the comfort of her embrace for a bit longer, while his growing addiction to rubber was reinforced and deepened. Taking hold of his wrist, she sat once more, at the same time pulling him along with her. Instead of making him lie across her lap face-down, in spanking position, she arranged him looking upward. He saw her smiling down benevolently. Her tightly pulled-back hair gave a contrasting sinister aspect to her appearance. Miss Strickland's hand settled on his rubber-covered thigh, close to his encased penis.
She asked him, "Would you like me to touch you in your special place, David?"
He was beyond resisting. "Yes, please, Nanny." His voice was choked with desire.
The big woman lifted the hem of his short dress and folded it back and out of her way. She replaced her hand almost where it had been, but slightly closer to where he desperately needed to feel it. She hadn't been exaggerating about him having excess energy and they both knew its source. The tip of her index finger made tiny circles, adding to his frustration.
She mused, "I wonder what Jane and that the man who picked her up are doing right now. Maybe they're having dinner in a nice restaurant, looking across the table at each other, thinking about what's going to happen later. I'm so happy for her. Aren't you, David?"
Before he could think of what to say, her hand gave his penis a few light strokes. She repeated her question. Between deep breaths, not wanting to say the wrong thing and make her stop touching him, he agreed with her. She rewarded him by pressing harder against his confined and yearning dick.
"If you were bigger down here," she pointed out, "it might be a husband wife date she'd be on. But we can't expect her to settle for your little tiddle, can we?"
Again, he went along with what she suggested, even though it pained him to do so. Yet he was descending ever deeper into his submissive state, dragged down by the touch and scent of rubber garments, as well as the practiced manipulations of her hand. When she lightly pinched the head of his member between her thumb and forefinger, he gasped.
She commented, "It's fun to play with your dingle because it's so runty and unthreatening." The nanny reinforced that idea by running the end of only one finger up and down its limited length. "Just a cute toy."
His passion was rising, bringing him closer to losing control. He wasn't sure if he was permitted to let himself go. It had happened in the past and she always mixed disapproval at his lack of restraint with acceptance of his overreactions to her body, attitude and what she wore. Since the introduction of rubber into their time together, what scant ability to hold back that he formerly possessed now failed him. He was so overstimulated that she knew without any doubt how easy it would be to push him over the edge. Still, that was the opposite of what she wished. To keep him on the brink, extending his shame, demonstrating her power over him, and maintaining the possibility that she might not allow him to finish at all, those were her present goals. He squirmed on her lap, his eyes on her bulging bust. She massaged his perspiring scrotum through the rubber panties. That one fingertip ran up the underside of his stiffness and lingered on the receptive frenum. He groaned, willing himself to ejaculate but unable to make it happen.
"You sound like you're uncomfortable," she said with feigned concern. "Would you like me to stop, David? Are you unable to get your wife out of your mind? Are you selfishly wanting her all to yourself? Is the fact that she's with a better man making you jealous? Do you keep obsessing over your shrimpy dick?" She loved to drive home those points while his mind was so receptive because of his arousal.
"I'm... okay," he whispered, the words strained.
"So, you want me to make you finish?"
"Yes, please, Nanny Strictland."
"Even though your wife is out with a real man? Despite the fact that right now they might be kissing? Or maybe they decided to go to bed before dinner. They might be undressing each other at this very minute. Do you want me to keep playing with your dickie anyway?"
With a whimper he told her, "Yes. Please don't stop, Nanny."
"Oh, my. You're so obsessed with your own pleasure, David. I suppose that when she gets home, I'll have to tell her what you just said."
"It's..." He sobbed. "I guess you'll have to, Nanny Strictland," David said worriedly. He gasped.
"If it's what you want, David, I'll make you spurt inside your rubber panties. After that, I'm afraid you'll have to keep them on for a while. That will help you to focus on what you asked me to do -- practically pleaded for -- and to dwell on your wife's possible reactions."
"I understand. But if you could only do some more of what you're doing, Nanny. I'm not quite able to... you know... get to where I'm going."
"All right this time. Please understand, however, that I can't promise to take you all the way every night that I'm here. And I will continue to be here frequently, because your wife and her lover have become close. She told me she loves his big cock and how he uses it, plus the fact that he can keep going for so much longer than you ever could, David. I want you to think about what she said, while I give you what you requested." Her hand moved slightly faster. He moaned. "Think about them doing what you're no longer allowed to."
Because his body had heated up, the aroma of rubber was even stronger than before. He inhaled it greedily through his nostrils. The front of his dress rubbed against his hairless chest and receptive nipples. The rear of the panties was deep between his buttocks. It was as if his entire body was being caressed, and turned into one continuous erogenous zone. His breathing accelerated. For several long minutes the controlling woman kept him poised on the precipice of ecstasy. Then she added just enough additional speed to her hand's movements to push him the rest of the way. David squealed and began to spurt. She immediately stopped touching him, to assure that his release and relief would be less than fully satisfying. He squirmed on her lap, his field of vision filled with the image of her broad face, his mind overcome by the touch and scent of rubber... rubber... rubber.
"There you go," she concluded. "I'm sure your wife will be interested to hear about all this."
That reminder further undercut his satisfaction. He sniffled.
"Yes, Nanny Strictland." He could feel the warm sticky wetness between his close-fitting panties and smooth crotch. "I understand."
He also understood that this woman, who could act both stern and sympathetic, would be with him again soon. David knew he was being drawn ever further under her spell, but despite the guilt she had instilled in him, at that moment he was incapable of caring about anything except her presence. All he wanted was his Nanny and more rubber clothing.
*********
