New story by Seteyan - authoritarian/forced femme/xdress/tg themes
E-Mail: nais@hotmail.com Subject: Personal Ad complete Body of Message:
PersonalAd Copyright 1999 Seteyan Do not read if bisexual/transgender themes upset you.
I must have dozed off, I forgot for an instant where I was. But the soft restraint of the wool all around me brought me back. I was in a seamless envelope of wool, with my hands tied over my head, and my ankles bound. Only my hands and feet were exposed. My hands and feet and my limp cock, which protruded from this bizarre sight out of hastily cut hole in the wool. The wool was a soft brown blend, and stretched with my movements, and I could see dimly the outlines of the room through the weave, the room were I was effectively being held prisoner. Hard to believe this normal looking bedroom, in this normal Manhattan apartment building, could be my cage. The people on the other side of the wall had no idea, no idea what had happened in here. And it was all my own fault.
I had put an ad in the NYPeople personals section, under the Different Interests section, the section that usually catered to TVs, sado-masochists, submissives - people actually not that different than me. But my ad had been different - WANTED: SWEATER GIRL. SWM iso F who loves sweaters, who understands my addiction to angora, and who might torment me with cashmere, make me wear mohair. Older women ok, Big Breasts a plus. I will serve you in wool.
I did not think it would lead to anything. I had just been harboring these fantasies, fantasies about sweaters, and big tits, Mrs. Robinson in cashmere, the woman from Amarcord- these things had been buzzing through my head for years. So I had placed the ad. And Mrs. Robinson had called. But her name was Mrs. Saffi, and she seemed to understand my sweater fetish. I met with her, in a bar, and was surprised at her appearance. She was in fact an older woman, maybe 46, or even 50, short, slightly overweight, but she was cute. I mean she had a cute smile, a shock of black hair carefulled coiffed, and pair of tits that looked great under her blouse. She might not have been what I expected, but after a few minutes I was hungrily imagining her in a tight sweater, and black stockings. She was European, her voice lightly accented. Her face reminded me of Sofia Loren, it was angular and tan. And her body, well, I could see she would have been quite a beauty as a young girl, probably got alot of attention with those breasts. Probably too much attention. Now her hips were wide, her bosom soft and gravitating down; her legs still looked thin and trim, widening out as they got to her waist. She kept brushing my shoulders with her hands, touching my knee, all in the friendliest way. She would lean in conspiratorily and whisper, Look at that young woman over there, in the cashmere sweater? Do you find her attractive? She was also very pushy, which I liked, and she made it clear when we would meet, to 'play' as she called it.
So the next weekend I arrived at her apartment building, the doorman buzzed me upstairs, and I knocked at her door. In my bag were ten or twelve sweaters. I hoped she would try them on. I had this vision of her wearing an old cardigan, asking me to drink tea, and that would be it. But then she opened the door in her robe and I thought, Uh-oh. This is not what I expected.
She said Come in, and literally pulled me into her apartment, checking the hall carefully. She said, Don't say a word, unless I ask you a question, and do not question me. Do you understand? I said, Yes. She took my hand and dragged me into the bedroom, and sat me on the perfectly made bed. The whole apartment was spotless, and innocous, like a clean motel room. Then she said, Wait here. She smiled, her thick lips wrapping around her sharp, tan face. I watched her legs as she swayed out of the bedroom, and noticed that she had on black stockings, and those house slippers you see in movies, the kind with the soft marabou thingy. I felt vaguely aroused by that. I put my bag down, then decided to open it, and put my sweaters out on the bed... I was almost done when she reentered the bedroom. She was stunning, decked out in black stockings, heels and garters, an intricate pair of ruby red lace panties pulled over the garters, and her black bush visible. And on top, on her jutting breasts, a white angora sweater, tight and soft, her nipples visible, the outlines of her huge globular breasts framed in a white halo. The sweater ended in three quarter sleeves and a graceful v-neck. I was bowled over - it was like a vision from my dreams.
What do you think, she asked, smiling broadly, Not bad for a woman my age? And she raised her sweater to reveal a matching ruby red bra, the kind that a burlesque performer might have worn in the fifties, the kind of bra that suspended the breasts on a shelf, exposing the nipples and the tops of the breast, for evening gowns I suppose. I imagined that her lingerie was just that old, but the effect was dazzling. I tried to answer, but my throat was dry.
She smiled again, then swayed over to me. Her ass moved gently, side to side; she was as wide in the chest as she was down there. She said, Take off your clothes, and I did so immediately. My cock hardened as I removed my underwear, and she smiled again. She said, Ah, youth, and walked around my naked body. I wanted to touch her sweater so badly, I swayed towards her as she passed. But I could tell she wanted control. Lie down, she said, and put this on. She handed me a condom, and I lay on the bed, nervously unwrapping the rubber. Mrs. Safi turned out the light after I had finished. Then she crept up on the bed, slowly straddling my body. I felt her weight on my legs, the softness of her fleshy thighs. It was daytime, so I could see in the half-light of the closed blinds, as her sweatered breasts undulated towards me. She smiled down at me and said, Do not touch me, lie there and do not say a word.
So I lay there, as Mrs. Safi slowly rubbed herself, her own sweatered body, her bushy pubic mound, rocking lightly on my thighs, slowly working herself up over my rigid cock. I was entranced. Finally she slid her panties down and slowly eased her vagina over my penis, she was so wet, and big, I slid in easily. She moaned some more, still touching herself, whispering quiet foreign words, her dark eyes closed. She breathed deeply, rubbing her big breasts from side to side, in her own private ecstasy, but she was driving me wild. In the half light, the edges of her breasts seemed to be pushing the sweater almost to the bursting point. In a few minutes, I could feel my balls aching, I could feel my load building. I tried to think of something else. But it was too late, the sweater was driving me crazy. I exploded, gasping for breath, reaching for her breasts Mrs. Safi awoke from her reverie, her eyes flashing, quickly pulling my cock out of her, and backing away. She looked angry now, angrier still as my cock withered in the cold apartment air.
She shook her head, reproachfully. Ju think you are finished? Clean that up, boy, and then come back in here. I felt miserable, ashamed at my lack of control. I went to the bathroom, and peeled the condom off. I wanted to go home, maybe I woud just make my excuses and leave. But when I got back into the bedroom, she would not even let me speak. She raised a finger, the manicured nail a perfect red, and wagged it at me. No, no, no. Turn around, she said. I did, and she tied a black stocking around my head, in my mouth, gagging me. I stifled a moan. It was too late to complain, too late to leave. Too late, I asked myself, wasn't it?
She said, I noticed you have alot of sweaters, alot of womenz sweaters. You like to wear these? I shook my head, unconvincingly. She laughed. At least you are thin, you can do so, passably. Do you think so? I grunted a non-answer, as she tied my hands together in front of my body. Have you ever dressed up like a girl, she asked, that is what I think you do? I shook my head violently, but again she did not seem to believe me.
part 2 "Encased in wool"
She looked at my naked form with something approaching disdain. She said, I think maybe you will be getting more than you bargained for here. You thought, maybe, you meet someone, she wears your sweaters, you get excited and, voila, it is over. No no my friend it is not over. I have thought about this for a week. A week of my time, preparing. What do you think of that?
I was gagged, a stocking tied off between my lips. There was not much I could say.
She pulled a piece of wool fabric from the closet, brown and soft, it was two meters long, and seemed to be sewn into a tube. She arranged the wool at my feet, stretching the mouth of it. Step in, she said. I did, dreading and reveling in what was to come next. She pulled the tube of wool up my body, and as it passed my thighs I felt my cock begin to swell. She did not seem to notice. The wool was obviously blended with lycra or something stretchey, the fabric clung to my body like a wet t-shirt. At my ankles it was like a single pants leg. She told me to raise my arms as she pulled it up over my face, and for a moment I panicked, as wool covered my features. She did not notice. She backed me up, a ridiculous figure no doubt, standing six feet tall in a tube of stretch wool, until I was next to the bed. Then she pushed me over. I fell with a grunt onto the bed, and she left me there. She came back in a few moments, arranging my body so I was square on the bed. Then she looped another stocking (even I could feel the nylon run along my fingertips) through my bound wrists, around the mouth of the tube, and finally tied off to the bed frame. My ankles were bound in the same fashion. I was now tied INSIDE a coccon of wool, my ankles and wrists BOUND, and my cock was rigid. It must have made an interesting sight, the stretch wool clinging to my form, my erection standing up like a peak in the desert. I could see somewhat through the weave of the wool. I could see Mrs. Safi moving around, from the closet to the bed. Finally she climbed up on the bed. She was naked now. No need for pretense. Her huge breasts undulated with her as she worked her way up my body. At my cock, she got gentle, pulling on it, caressing it through the wool. I moaned, a helpless caterpillar, and flexed my pelvis forward. I thought she might fuck me through the wool, but then she cut a slit in the wool, and let my cock out. And she was pulling a rubber over my cock, and tying something TIGHT around the base. When she mounted me, I was hard and sore but it felt good. Mrs. Safi then slowly and methodically took her pleasure with me. Whatever she used on the base of my cock kept me from exploding, although I desperately wanted to. I ached. She rode me like a pro, enjoying herself, I could see her nipples heave in the darkening light. It was getting later and later and still she used me, until she was done, done and finished, done moaning and writhing. The room smelled of sex and sweat and wool.
She slid off of me, and I lay there, my cock still pulsing with lust and pent-up release. She laughed and pulled the wet rubber from my cock. I so wanted to cum, I moaned piteously, but she did not finish me, and eventually my erection subsided. She was showering now, and I assumed she would release me when she re-emerged. I could use a shower myself. And I wanted to go home. I tested my bonds, but when I pulled on them they just got tighter. She finally returned, in her robe again, drying her jet-black hair. I wondered idly if she dyed it. She sat down on the bed, smiling. She was enjoying this. I hope, she said, you had no plans for tonight. I moaned, and tried to speak around the gag. It was hopeless.
She ran her hands down my body, and tugged on the cord still tied around the base of my cock. Wait here, she said, and laughed again. She returned with something in her hand, little bottles of something...I smelled the nail polish before I saw it. I moaned and thrashed. Her hand shot out and grabbed the end of the cinch line tied around my manhood. I froze, from fear more than pain. And for some reason, I grew hard again. Maybe it was the physical sensation, or maybe it was the idea of control. Whatever the reason, she got no more resistance from me as she painted both my toenails and my fingernails a bright red. Madagascar red, she whispered, glee in her voice. I moaned, for the hundreth time, a constant dim complaint from behind my gag.
Now don’t move, she said when she finished. She was getting dressed, and I was the silent observer. I moved my fingers slightly, I could feel the weight of the nail polish on my fingernails - my senses were that attuned. My cock still felt hard, like it might never get soft. Mrs. Safi appeared at my ear - she said do you take a size 10 shoe? I nodded, numb and will-less. And then she left, left me there, and no matter how I struggled I could not free myself. The stockings were tied tightly, and and I was afraid they might cut off my circulation if I pulled too hard. And the sweater coccoon just stretched with my writhing body, however much I tried to escape. But how much did I struggle? Was there a part of me that did not want to get free....?
PART 3 "three witches"
So here is the moment I have brought you to - I dozed off, bound and gagged, in a sealed tube of wool - and awoke to the sound of voices. Mrs. Safi had returned, and she was not alone. I thrashed at my bonds, and honestly did try to free myself, but only ended up rolling halfway over, my body bowed against the weave of the fabric.
And then the light went on, and a high female voice filled the room, giggling and gasping. Underneath my covering my body burnt with humiliation, my face turned red. Madagascar red. I could see through the wool three figures, Mrs. Safi would be the one in the middle. Another was shorter and skinnier - the Laugher, judging from her body language. The third was big, and round, hopefully a large woman, not a...man. I swallowed, or tried to, my gag had left my throat completely dry. A bright flash filled the room, and then another. The Laugher was taking pictures, still making shrill little noises of excitement. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Then someone untied the wool at my wrists and pulled it down my body. I was unveiled. Several more flash photographs were taken, leaving me half blind and dumbfounded.
Standing in the bedroom were three women: Mrs. Safi, looking smug and cruel, a lithe blonde girl with a camera, and a large woman with an astoundingly voluptous body and a shiny bald head! I looked from one to the next, astounded. Mrs. Safi finally stepped forward she was still wearing her coat. She said, So my dear, is this what you expected? I shook my head, then lay still. Mrs. Safi continued, No? Well, let’s not forget, you did ask for this...And with those words she undid her coat and revealed her braless breasts under one of my grey mohair sweaters. The sweater was stretched to a ridiculous point - I could see her nipples, her skin so clearly. I moaned in response and the other two women laughed as if that was the punchline to some joke. You see Rena, Mrs. Safi said, it is just as I told you. Patsy, you try it, there are his sweaters there.
I watched dumbfounded as the young blonde girl, Patsy, stripped off her tight t-shirt and reached for one of my sweaters, a black lambswool turtleneck. She slid it on over her small breasts, her skinny body, then proceeded to do a little dance in front of me, pulling the sweater back and forth. I was undone...my body responded despite my fear to the the sight of the soft wool wrapped around her skinny frame...my cock stiffened, and they all laughed again. Then the large one Rena walked up to me. She was wearing a pair of leather pants, laced up the front, and a tight spandex top. Her body was full and strong and unforgiving. I mean even her facial features , she looked vaguely middle eastern, were sharp and cruel at the same time. She said, Will you do whatever we say, if I put on a sweater as well? I stared into her kohl dark eyes, and listened to my own heart beat. Well?, she said. I could not answer her. If I answered what would happen to me? Rena, her body coiled like an enormous python, moved a little closer. What sweater should I wear?
I looked into her eyes, but could not help myself. I glanced down for an instant, and saw my sweaters lying there. Rena saw it and smiled. She slowly stripped, peeling off her pants, her shirt. She wore no underwear, and her body was as hairless as her head. I watched amazed as she pulled on a tight angora blend sweater dress, a black dress I had found in a thrift store. It had a built in bodice, a wide neck and half sleeves. It fit her, but just. I moaned again as she squirmed into it, watched as her breasts, remarkably firm and round, held the fabric bunched at her shoulders, and then she pulled the dress down. It fell to her thighs. It was as tight and alluring as anything I had ever seen.
She stood me up and pulled the wool tube down and away from my body. I was naked, and she ran her eyes over my body like a farmer at market. She stood close to me, her breasts almost touching my bare skin, and undid my gag and my wrists, smiling the whole time. For the first time I saw my fingernails and toenails and I moaned again.
She said, if you make one peep I will personally toss you out into the hallway naked. I nodded, hypnotized by the sight of Rena’s body. The young one, Patsy, took another picture. She said, I think she likes you Rena, and laughed again. Rena smiled and said, Not as much as she is going to like me.
I had no time to wonder why they referred to me as a ‘she’ - Rena pushed me down onto the bed, to the accompanying cheers of Mrs. Safi and Patsy. With my legs hanging off the edge, she mounted my chest, then lifted the hem of the sweater dress and positioned her slit over my face. As she descended on my mouth, and I admit I opened up immediately, my tongue extending, she let the skirt fall. My body shivered with excitement. Here I was, I was in angora darkness, lapping at a strangers cunt, a bald cunt for that matter, and I was in ecstasy. I ran my hands along the edge of the dress, somehow I knew that to touch Rena would be the wrong thing to do. She moaned and gyrated on my tongue, dancing her enormous pelvis back and forth.
I don’t know how long I was kept under there, licking and trying to breath, soaked in Rena’s juices. I heard her giving commands to the other two women, but my ears were covered by her enormous thighs. Finally Rena’s weight shifted, and for an instant there was air and light, then Rena turned her body 180 degrees, the bed creaking under her weight, until she faced the opposite way. Her legs now pinned my arms to my sides, and I looked up to see her enormous round ass hovering over my face, framed by the edge of the black sweater dress. Rena looked back and said, Keep licking or you might not enjoy this at all.
And then her ass descended, and I panicked as it settled on my face. I thrashed around for a moment, but then she arched her pelvis and I was in her cunt again, my face buried deeply. Now things started happening outside this little tent of flesh and angora. Strong hands grabbed my ankles and spread my legs, lifting them up into the air. And something started probing at my ass. I panicked, tried to free myself, and Rena did release my arms, but instead she lead my hands to her sweatered breasts. There my will, whatever will I had left, broke. I moaned and lapped with abandon - Rena’s clit, her cunt, everywhere her gyrating body led me. And they fucked me, at the same time. After a moment, fear evaporated, and I was arching my body as I was FUCKED by a dildo or a vibrator (or a combination of the two as I learned later) until I almost passed out with....with...the overwhelming sensation of it all.
I came but it was slow and hot, like wax melting... I was left sticky and wet and split in two.
All three women, touching themselves through their sweaters, seemed to enjoy this, as much for the control and the humiliation as the sexual stimulation. Rena nearly killed me with her thighs and ass, before she released me. And then they all stood there looking down at me, they knew what they had done to me, and they knew that I had surrendered to it. It was degrading, humiliating, but also exciting . I burned with sexual energy . I did not feel like myself. Soon I would not look like myself either....
PART 4 "out"
Get her cleaned up, Rena said, and let’s see what fun we can have. The youngest one, Patsy took my hand, almost like I was a child, and led me into the bathroom. My male hand with red fingernails looked strange in her slim feminine hand, but at this point I was numb, stupefied, like the survivor of an accident. Patsy was still giggling, enjoying every moment of this. She was a highly energetic girl, her thin and attractive body constantly moving and dancing. She had replaced the black sweater with a tiny blue angora croptop, that covered her pointy little breasts but not her elaborately pierced navel. After she had led me into the bathroom, and stood me under the shower for a moment, I realized she was talking. In fact she never stopped talking. She was saying something about working as a photographer’s assistant, how she had started as a stylist, a makeup artist, but now she wanted to take pictures. I nodded, too dazed to say anything. The word ‘pictures’ made me think about her camera, and what might happen to those photographs...but what could I do? I started to object to her covering me with some sort of foamy bath gel, but Rena poked her huge bald head in the door and I shut up. Moments later Patsy shaved my legs, my thighs, my ass, then started on my arms...and I watched it all happen like I was an observer to the entire episode. Truth be told I was staring at Patsy’s sweater, it had gotten wet and was pressed to her skinny body like a second skin...
I emerged from the shower and Patsy watched me shave what little shadow of a beard I might have had, encouraging me to press harder. She started messing with my medium length wet hair, moving it around on my head, finally bereting it flat to my skull. Then she started to apply the makeup, and I reacted - I raised my arm in objection. Quick as a flash she grabbed the leash that was still wrapped around my cock and pulled it backwards. My cock went between my legs, and back, and up, and I was held fast - suspended. My breath caught in my throat. Patsy’s pink lips were at my ear, whispering threats of extraordinary imagination, if I so much as moved. She asked, in that same little girl voice, Do we understand each other? And I nodded.
Maybe she didn’t trust me, she called Rena in, who promptly tied me to a chair in front of Safi’s makeup mirror. Then all three of them went to work on me, with Patsy performing the brushwork, covering my face with cosmetics. Rena pulled a wig from her bag - as a bald woman she said she had quite collection. And Mrs. Safi, the siren in this story, she spent the time pulling clothes out of her bag, checking to see what would fit me, finally putting one of her corset-bras on my skinny, male, and now naked body. All three argued about what to use for breastforms. I kept my mouth shut. I had learned my lesson...I thought I would bide my time, either they would get bored with this game, or I could find some way to escape. But again, beneath it all, beneath the makeup and the lingerie, under the eyes of these three witches, I was excited. My heart was racing...
They finished, and I could barely look at myself in the mirror - it was too weird to see the stranger looking back at me. Rena’s dark wig framed my face in shiny, straight tresses of black hair. My face was pale in sharp contrast, and it looked nothing like my old face. My cheekbones were made to stick out, my lashes were black and long, my lips were deep red, and framed in a dark brown outline. Even my eyebrows were dark and thin and arched. I was not beautiful, I had a male face made to look feminine, but I was not ugly at all, not as frightening as some of the drag queens I had seen. I looked like a cross between Anjelica Huston and a silent movie star...Patsy finished with a pale shade of green along my eyelids, feathering up to my brows. Now I looked more like a streetwalker, and as that thought settled in, my eyes wandered down to my breasts, my big, water-balloon tits, jutting off my skinny boybody like the figurehead on a pirate ship. What was I being made into? If I had any doubts, the rest of my outfit cleared it all up. Deep grey stockings were stretched to garters, descending from my corset, the corset that had bent my body into a rough hourglass shape. The stockings felt cool and dry on my skin, and reflected the light in a mysterious way. My cock, half-hard already was tucked inside some lycra panties, tight and dark. And then a short miniskirt, and high heels. If I thought I looked like a streetwalker, the pink sweater, soft and stretched thin over my breasts, cinched it. I was a sweater girl, a pinup from another era, a vision of sex and the lure of sex, and the sight of ME in the mirror sent a shiver of excitement through my body.
Now, said Rena, let’s go out. I spun around from the mirror, agahast at what she had just said. Deep within me I was ashamed, ashamed that I had pursued this, ashamed that I was enjoying this, but the thought that I might have to go out, into public, horrified me. To be revealed for what I was, what I had become...
Rena settled that debate, by pulling a dog leash out of her bag and explaining that she would drag me outside if I would rather. I stared at her, undone - there was no arguing with her.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Safi and Patsy were busy getting dressed. Mrs. Safi was eager to be as ‘glamorous as her slave girl’, and Patsy was helping. She ended up wearing the white angora sweater over a black lace bra, the black demibra clearly visible through the weave. She and Patsy started giggling over the sweaters, touching each other, and laughing. I felt terrible. Rena seemed bored, she had alreay changed back into her tight leather pants and neutral top. When she saw me looking at her, she gestured to me, and I walked across the carpet on the high heels. She took my face in her hands and said, It feels good doesn't it? I looked at her and felt my head bobbing, nodding, and instantly I turned red with shame. Rena touched me gently, It does not matter what you want, or what you wanted. You belong to us now. Now you are our sweater girl. If you behave, it will always feel this good. Always.
Two weekss later I was being passed around like a combat whore at a little lesbian bar called the Ona Lounge. It was owned by a Japanese transsexual named Lisa, but she pronounced it Reesa, so everyone else called her Reesa. Of the three witches, only Rena was left. Mrs. Safi had gone back to her dark little apartment, satisfied with the creature she had made of me. Patsy had vanished after she shot some pictures of me at a photographers studio, probably to sell the photos to some trashy shemale magazine. The brutal subjugation of the whole experience, the total immersion, had left me numb. And tired. But Rena kept on me - I was no one if not hers.
She controlled my life. She dressed me every night to go out, she fed me weird little vitamins, and a variety of sleeping pills during the day. She was teaching me how to do my makeup. How to shave my legs, and body hair, although my hair was not coming in as fast as I would have expected. She taught me how to walk on my heels. After the first night I learned how to kneel at her feet.
I am terrifed of her, mostly because she makes me feel very very good, and I am always scared she will take that away. She has fucked me in every one of my sweaters, and even lets me dress her in angora, and cashmere. Her skin, hairless from a genetic disorder, is incredibly sensitive, and when she wears a sweater she really feels it. We both look great in matching pink angora croptops, and the feel of her tits under the soft wool is excruciating.
But when we go out, I am treated differently. Roughly. Given to friends of hers, to be used and humiliated. I am routinely leashed and chained like a dog, bound with my arms behind my back and my cock hanging out. Or worse. One night, after-hours at the Ona Lounge, I was fucked on the bar by a pair of strap-on queens. I have even been fitted with a penis gag and forced to fuck Rena's friends with my face. But strangely, as long as I am wearing a sweater, I do not mind. I know I look sexy. Somehow Rena and Patsy have made me passable. The only time I am genuinely scared is when I have been left in Rena's convertible to be ogled by strange men.
Two nights ago we went to a big S&M ball, a fetish event, and every drag queen and latex girl was there, every leather domme and sissy boy. Rena made a grande entrance, dressed all in black rubber, leading me - a sweater girl in white angora, white stockings, blonde hair, a little white miniskirt - as if I was a sacrificial virgin. And that night I almost was.
Have I given up my other life? I cannot tell. I am wrapped up every night in Safi's tube of wool, and I sleep next to the naked form of Rena like a human pillow. I cannot remember what not wearing these sweaters was like. I cannot seem to stop. Even when Rena leaves me alone in her loft I cannot help but get dressed in the mohair, the cashmere, the twinsets and dresses that hang in Rena's closet. Strangely enough I think my breasts are beginning to grow. Maybe soon I will actually be a sweatergirl.