Playing in the Snow

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A tale in which a Mistress introduces her new crossdressing sub to his future wardrobe.

Part One – My fetish gets turned on its head.

‘So, let’s see what I’m going to dress you in,’ she said with a grin.

‘Wonderful,’ I said excitedly.

‘Etsy always has plenty to look at. We’ll start there.’

‘Yes, I’ve…umm…shopped there before.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’

I blushed just the teensiest.

‘I already have a look for you in mind.’

I rubbed my hands in anticipation. ‘This is great!’

I sat down next to her as she opened the Etsy site on her computer and entered the unambiguous search terms.

Hundreds of matches quickly loaded.

I felt a strong stirring between my legs, but of course the small plastic cage I wore put a stop to any further swelling.

She started scrolling through the array of items. I felt like jumping up and down in pure joy — it was so exciting to be doing this with her.

She stopped at one item, a cardigan, and clicked on it to enlarge it. ‘I like this one.’

She leaned in a little towards the monitor and brushed back the sides of her blond bobbed hair behind her ears.

I cringed. It most definitely wasn’t my style. Sure, the fluffiness appealed – it was mohair – but it was the brightest pink and had knitted ‘happy-faced’ white lambs prancing over its front, together with an embroidery of a girl behind them holding a staff and wearing a red bonnet and a long, traditional red-white gingham dress. Heart-shaped red plastic buttons ran the length of its front, completing the outfit.

Eeek!

She continued to scroll through the cardigan’s gallery.

‘Not mad on it myself.’

‘Yes, but I am.’

Oh. Not what I wanted to hear.

I might have a strong fetish for feminine knitwear but never in such an over-the-top ‘little girlie-girlie,’ ultra-conservative, style. I much prefer plain, strong colours and styles, clearly feminine but often enough somewhat ambiguous, even unisex. Sure, I even have a pink cardigan but nothing as ghastly as this number.

I swallowed a little nervously and the pressing on the cage diminished.

She read the details of the item. ‘Large, 40″ bust. That should fit you.’ I pondered why any woman would want to wear such a piece.

I pulled a face. ‘Can’t we have a look around a bit? I can see there are plenty of other really nice sweaters and cardigans to look at.’

Her tone shifted and she drew back from the screen, straightened and turned to me. ‘I’m sure there are. And I’ll be looking over them too. But I am rather taken by this cute cardigan. Sending you out to the shops in that — imagine that!’

I could indeed. ‘Yes, but…’

‘Shoosh! No buts. You’re buying it.’ She swung back around and clicked on the item, saving it to the purchase cart.

‘Go and get your credit card.’ I meekly obeyed.

I handed it over. Enter details, click, purchase.

All done in a bewildering flash. I decided not to argue. She liked it and I figured it was just the one cardigan. ‘Why not, if it pleases her?’

She scrolled down the page, opening the next.

‘Wow, look at that!’ She clicked the image open.

I leaned in. You have got to be kidding me? Surely not?

‘Picture wearing that!’ I preferred not to, thanks.

She looked through the gallery chuckling at the model’s stance, who had clearly decided the item was best worn as ‘ironic.’ I couldn’t blame her. There was a short ten second video to go with the pictures and she clicked on that as well.

‘It’s a large size too! Oh, I don’t think I can resist,’ she said mischievously. She bought that too.

I shook my head. Some point soon I’m going to be wearing a bat-winged, golden yellow, ribbed mohair turtleneck covered in thirty or forty bauble pom-poms in various hues of pink, purple, red, violet and orange.

Who would knit such a ‘thing’?

‘This is fun!’, she said with glee. ‘That would look great with ribbed pink or red woolly tights and maybe patent red Mary Janes.’

Whoa — where is this going?

Another two items followed, one a fluffy hand-knitted, multi-stitched and patterned lavender-mauve cardigan with lace trim, very conservative, prim and ‘churchy’. And immensely unappealing.

The other was just as vile. It was a red sweater, a retro 80s high crewneck, with padded, puffed sleeves and black-framed geometric panels of yellow, blue, red and green on either side. And incredibly fluffy in that 80s over-the-top kind of way. I never liked the thrust of much 80s knitwear — this was proof.

When I mentioned it might be nice to wear something in a simpler style instead, she laughed and told not to be ‘silly’ before clicking on the purchase details.

‘Now stop your whining, it’s starting to get annoying.’ She told me to be quiet and to just sit back and watch.

I was left dumbfounded after those four horrid pieces, and it didn’t get any better after them.

More cringe-worthy fluffies followed, nine all told, and ending with a thick, sky blue turtleneck with white sleeves covered in knitted snowmen (complete with carrots), batıkent escort with swirling snowflakes, pine trees and snow-covered mountains in the background. Appalling.

To add to its horrors, little knitted snowballs hung from the bottom of the rollneck, the hem of the sleeves and the main hem. Why-oh-why would you knit such a monstrosity!? And who would want to wear it!?

She turned to me and grinned broadly. ‘You’ll be dressed perfectly for an outing in the snow with that pwetty sweater on, won’t you?’ before cracking up with laughter. I was learning she had a dark laugh.

I sat back in the chair, collecting my thoughts before saying I wasn’t sure if that item or the others were really ‘in my style’.

‘That’s not the point.’

I looked at her quizzically.

‘When you told me you wanted me to ‘rule’ your world, quote, unquote, what did you expect, huh?’ Her intense blue eyes bore into me.

‘Well, I guess…arrr…it’s just those sweaters and cardigans are…so not me!’

She chuckled. ‘But they soon will be.’

‘But it’s not what I was expecting, I thought…’

‘Whoa, pull up, pull up, silence, silence….’

I shut up, as much from working out how to articulate my emotions as from her directive.

‘Last week you agreed to hand your fetish over to me. That’s what you said you wanted, and needed, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I responded quietly.

‘And on that basis, it means I’ll be deciding how your fetish is going to be expressed from now on. If that means wearing these ‘lurv-ely’ fluffy delights I’ve just picked out for you, so be it.’

I took a very deep breath.

‘You should be thankful for what I’ve just done for you, not whining away. Rather ungrateful, if you ask me.’

I couldn’t help myself. ‘But…they’re all rather…ummm…awkward and…umm, a little ‘odd’ and…not really what I love wearing.’

She sighed. ‘Stop.’ She held her hand up.

I fell silent. ‘You’re failing to recognize that something fundamental has changed. You handed control of your fetish over to me and that means I am now the sole arbiter of what knitwear you’ll be wearing for as long as we’re together. Full-stop, end of story.’

She was right, I had said she could take control of the fetish. But this?

‘You are going to have to learn some basics, and pretty quick smart. Number One is this. You, as my submissive, are to obey me.’ That clear enough?’

I nodded a little in acknowledgement. ‘I can’t hear you?’

‘Yes, Mistress Rose, I want to obey you.’

‘Not ‘want to’, you have to. That’s how this dynamic works. It’s not something to play with, dabble, have a bit of kinky fun. Have you deciding what you will and will not do, with everything on your terms. Nup, no way. I thought you understood that when we sat down and talked about everything?’

I thought I did too. ‘I guess so. Umm…yes, Mistress Rose.’

‘Good. Then get your head around this. When it comes to wool, knitwear and your fetish, you’re only wearing what I allow you to wear, end of story, no debates.’

Oh God…

‘And if I decide you’ll be wearing sweaters with knitted pom-poms and baubles or ‘little-girl’ knitwear or knitwear suitable for a good, conservative, Christian lady at home in deepest, darkest Kansas, so be it.’

I sat there mutely, absorbing her words, trying to distract myself by focusing on the texture and style of the lovely lambswool forest green turtleneck she wore. It looked perfect on her…

‘I find it rather odd that you haven’t recognized exactly what your desire for feminine knitwear actually says about you, and what it represents.’

Where was this going?

‘You said you know this fetish has crossdressing aspects. I’m here to tell you this: you’re more than a crossdresser and from your demeanor and the other matters we’ve talked about, I’m pretty sure you can’t really consider yourself much of a man.’

I blushed, my mouth opening…

‘Tell me this? What real man do you know would let his pecker be put in a cock cage, ask to be dressed as a maid to do the housework, and want to don lots of fluffy, soft, feminine sweaters, and then wank themselves stupid while doing so?’

I was stung and stunned by her comment.

‘I’ll tell you? None. Real men would never do that because it’s not what real men do. Is it?’

I knew she was right — hell, I’d struggled enough with this concept of my manliness over the years.

‘No’, I answered softly, dropping my head.

She lifted my head back up with one hand. ‘Which must mean you can’t really be considered a proper, real man then, can you?’

I closed my eyes, wishing the ground would open and swallow me.

‘Well?’

‘No, I guess I can’t…’

‘Hurray!’

I didn’t know what to say or do.

‘Besides, you’re not exactly well-endowed downstairs now, are you?’

I couldn’t help having a four-inch penis but accepting the dice of genetics while trying to please women with my little dwettums, was never easy for me. That, and my sweater thing sure made holding a girlfriend difficult, beşevler escort as past girlfriends could attest.

‘I know it’s not that big but it…’

‘Shoosh. It sure isn’t. Which means it’s best kept locked away, to save you the embarrassment of trying to pretend it’s a real man’s cock.’

My bottom lip quivered a little. She was right about the size thing but still, what she was saying felt cruel.

‘And keeping it locked up will also help you focus. You watch, you’ll become focused on pleasing me, and that’s what you said you wanted to do.’

I did say that last week. ‘A-ha.’

‘If you’re very good — and that means very obedient – I’ll let you spurt while you’re dressed in fluffy cardigans and sweaters. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?’

Normally I would, but right now, I wasn’t so sure…

‘Come, come. You’ve worn or thought about knitwear every time you’ve spurted since you hit puberty 20 years ago, haven’t you?’

It was true, every single orgasm – and I couldn’t pretend otherwise to her or myself. I sighed. ‘Yes, Mistress Rose.’

‘Hundreds, if not thousands of spurts, and every time you were thinking fluffy thoughts.’ Put like that, it did seem obsessive.

‘Well, we both know you won’t change now. So, answer the question — you’d love to spurt while dressed in fluffy cardigans and sweaters, wouldn’t you?’

I took a deep breath again and let the air out slowly.

‘Yes, Mistress, I would love to…arrr…have my cock spurt…dressed in a nice fluffy cardigan or sweater.’

She burst out laughing.

‘Excellent. I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. And you will, I assure you. But only in the knitwear I choose for you.’

‘Yes Mistress.’

‘And another thing. Real men have cocks. Back to the lesson. Are you a real man?’

I lowered my eyes and quietly answered. ‘I guess I’m…ah…not… Mistress Rose.’

‘No guessing. Are you a real man?’

She’s relentless…so pushy…

‘No Mistress, I can’t be.’

‘Good. Now we’re moving in a more fruitful direction. I’m going to be exceedingly thorough at helping you get rid of any residual notions you may have of being a real man — and you’ll thank me for it in time, I’m sure.’

‘Yes, Mistress.’

‘And we’ll start with this. Your so called ‘cock’. Real men have cocks. And since you aren’t a real man it follows you haven’t got a cock. So, from now on you will only ever refer to it as your ‘little twinky-winky’. That clear?’

I shook my head but of course answered her in the way she expected. ‘Yes, Mistress.’

‘What do you call that thing between your legs?

‘Little twinky-winky, Mistress Rose.’

She chuckled. ‘Very good. And I suggest you recognize something else, too.’

Isn’t this enough, surely?

‘Since you’ll mostly be wearing the most ridiculous, silly and sissy-ish knitwear imaginable from now on, I suggest you get your mind and body around embracing this look I’m after for you. I’ll help you with this, believe you me.’

I had no doubt she would.

‘Pretty soon you’ll be mincing about in your little girlie cardigans and your sweet femmie sweaters, tra-la-la-ing through the house — or streets – happy as a little lamb!’ She laughed again.

‘Of course! Mary! Mary and her little lamb!’ Her eyes twinkled; her grin became more mischievous.

‘That can be your new sissy name — sissymarylambikins!’

Her laugh filled the room. I wanted to run but felt somehow bolted to the spot.

‘Sissymarylambikins…wonderful. Sissylambikins for short. Or maybe sissymary? Or both!’

A tear rolled down my face.

‘Awww, it’s okay sissymarylambikins, I’ll soon have you wrapped up in lovely fluffy dreaminess. It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?’ She gently wiped the tear away with her left index finger.

I knew she was right at some fundamental level, even if the form wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined it to be. But wool, knitwear…serving her as a maid…I did want it…What else could I say, despite the slow roll of tears down my cheek.

I nodded. ‘Yes Mistress, it is.’

She beamed back at me. ‘And needed. Such a silly sissy you are, worrying like this. You’ll love it — I’ll make sure of that.’

‘Why I’ve already booked you in for a twelve-week beginner knitting course, starting next Wednesday night at the college. If you’re good, I might let you wear one of your own sweaters. Would you like that?’

A knitting course — how embarrassing. No, I wouldn’t, I mean, I didn’t want to do a knitting course. Too close, too revealing…eeekkk. But how else could I answer?

‘Yes, Mistress Rose, thank you very much, Mistress Rose,’ I said quietly.

And with that I felt a strong stirring once more in the cage.

Funny that.

******

Part Two – Nine Months Later

He was quite the sissy within a couple of months of this exchange, helped along by all the fluffy pieces and sissywear I purchased for him in those first few weeks. What am I saying? He purchased it all!

Not that he thought he wanted to be a sissy, but I made sure beypazarı escort he embraced his true calling and nature.

Of course, he couldn’t really resist his urges and what with his submissive nature and my strict, unrelenting approach and firm encouragements, pretty soon he was quite the fluffy little pansy, prancing about on command, learning to do as he was told and being trained in the finer arts of sissiness. Which naturally included learning to serve me – in every possible way.

He looks and acts ridiculous, and he knows it. I tease him mercilessly, as any serious Mistress with a sissy, needs to. He hates it but I know at some level he can’t resist what he has become — an abject, fluffy, sissy.

Getting him to venture outside was the hardest part. Plenty of tears but I was firm and eventually his resistance collapsed — he knew I wasn’t backing down.

That ridiculous snowman sweater was the first piece I had him wear outside. I took him to the local park, and it was so much fun making him build a line of snowmen – with carrots — while dressed in that piece, along with matching tights, mitts, and knitted beanie.

(I videoed the outing — it won the Funniest Domme / sub public performance category at the local Fetish Klub awards of 2021).

So now he ventures out to the shops regularly, always dressed in an obviously feminine cardigan or similar girlish sweater. He knows what everyone must think of him.

He always gets so many laughs and funny comments. I remind him of the joy he’s about to bring to so many people’s lives, each time he’s just about to step out the door – he cringes every time I say it. But he realizes he needs to show the world just what sort of ‘man’ he truly is.

I had him dispose of almost all his old knitwear – most were simply far too ‘ordinary’ for my intent and purposes, which are focused on me controlling his fetish while emphasizing his sissiness.

I let him keep one cardigan and one turtleneck — he occasionally gets to don one or the other if he’s satisfied some goal or other that I’ve set him. I’ve found it’s useful having rewards like this around as occasional incentives.

But mostly he wears only the silliest, sissiest or girly-girly knitwear I can find, each a ‘horror’ story for him in their own way. Every time a new item arrives, I can see his mind flip in torment. Ah well, that’s where your dreams and desires can lead you.

He even has two knitted maids outfits, which I (he) purchased from a fetish knitwear house in Germany, one in deep purple and white tones, the other in pink and white. You should see them — not exactly practical for hard drudgery but nevertheless, for many household tasks, they are perfect. He adores them so much, why I think he may even develop a fetish for them — ha!

As for his little twinky-winky, I don’t normally let any sub under my rule spurt very much, perhaps only once every couple of months at the most. But for sissymarylambikins I thought I’d make an exception.

Just for fun and through the initial training period, mind you. And simply because I felt the need to accelerate his sissiness, use his cravings for knitwear to drive him deeper into submission and indulge myself somewhat. It’s been ten years since I had a sissy to play with — such fun!

So, I let him spurt, and rather frequently. In ways that I know he finds overwhelmingly humiliating and totally embarrassing, but let’s face it, that is what sissies need to feel, indeed, they need to learn to crave it.

He’s at the stage now where I have him able to spurt within a minute, on command. I’ve told him the next objective is to break the half minute barrier.

If he does, I’ve told him I’ll let him pick the cardigan to wear on a special trip to town to see a movie. A kid’s movie, of course. I said he could have popcorn and an ice-cream and even a hot dog and maybe even a packet of M&Ms, all foods he’s normally forbidden from eating since he’s on a permanent, strict, junk-food free, diet.

He jumped up and down all excitedly at that, like the good sissy I’ve trained him to be. ‘Thwank you, Mithstreth Roth, thank you thank you!’ he gushed.

It would be his first film in more than nine months, so I guess that’s reason enough to be all giddily excitable. Oh, such simple pleasures!

Once I have him down consistently below the 30 second mark, I’m going to change tact completely. From that point I won’t permit him to spurt at all unless, and until, I give the word — and that could be for an hour or more, and only if I feel the whim. I might simply lock him up again, while telling him to keep humping his fluffy pink cardigan or the dolly I had him knit especially for this. Sheer torment, I’m sure.

And eventually it’ll be time for permanent chastity. It’s better that way.

He’ll still have his knitwear, still have plenty of time to feel the pleasures of soft, fluffy wool next to his smooth skin. It’s just that he won’t be able to make a mess anymore. Which is no bad thing when you consider how much gooey gunk he’s wasted over the years.

If after a year or so he finds the permanent chastity impossible to endure, I’ll offer him a different permanent solution for any yearnings he may still have to spurt. If he chooses to go down that path – and it will be his choice – I’ll let him keep his tweeny-weeny as a memento, and just have the two other appendages removed.

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