Megan’s New Clothes
By Abe Froman
The
following story is a work of fiction. It contains scenes of an adult nature, so
if you are under 18, stop reading now. This story contains explicit sexual
language and fantasies involving the mental and physical control of others. If
you are offended by such activities, do not read any further. This is purely a
fantasy. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Thanks go out to Chase (and his wife) for inspiration and feedback.
Please
send any comments/suggestions to me at [email protected]. They are
appreciated and warmly received.
This
story may be reposted or archived provided the following conditions are met:
Megan’s New Clothes
Megan
stepped into the steaming shower with her mind racing. All week long she’d been stomping around the
house in a huff. She was frustrated and
a bit upset, and didn’t know why.
She
closed her eyes and let the water flow down over her body. She was moving into
her early 30’s and she was still very proud of her body, as was her
husband. Her 36D breasts were still
firm – she always chose the best bras to support them. Those breasts really kept jogging out of the
question for exercise, but she was rigorous when it came to aerobics and
stretching. As her hands spread suds
and foam over her body she could feel a smile and a tingle that her flesh was
taut and smooth all over.
Her
hands continued to explore as she washed.
She loved sex with her husband, and they always kept it fun. Flicking at the golden rings through her
pierced nipples, she was reminded how they not only kept her nipples erect, but
feeling their weight often brought her thoughts to happy experience in the
bedroom – or even a couple of the other rooms in the house.
She
looked down at the suds flowing over her long legs as her thighs spread for her
exploring fingers. She kept herself
nicely groomed – just a little stripe which was enough to tickle Heath’s tongue
and to prove she was a natural blonde.
She purred with the tongue of her own fingers, thinking it was a lovely
way to think happily about a difficult few days.
She
should be happy, if a bit amused by her horny husband. He’d surprised her with a motherlode of
online shopping last week. The money
wasn’t the issue, nor really was the stuff he bought. Sure, it was pretty much all slutty and tiny clothing and
accessories for her to wear but nothing out of the blue – they had talked and
joked about those sorts of things.
After
a lovely dinner made by her husband Heath and a glass of two of wine they’d
moved over to the bedroom for an impromptu fashion show. She’d been in a good mood, so she’d gone for
some of the more raunchy items: a lacy pair of crotchless panties, lace-topped
stockings with an ultra-short black wet-look latex skirt that was more
advertisement or gift-wrapping for her ass than a cover for it. Looking in the mirror at those long legs
flowing out of the skirt in those decadent stockings gave her an immediate and
encouraging tingle.
Next
was a tiny little stretchy tank top with spaghetti straps. It was white and it barely covered her full
breasts. There was plenty of flesh
exposed above the neckline and even at the sides. It was so tight that it hugged her breasts and body like a second
skin. Written, now stretched, across
the front was the word “slut” in gothic script. Looking like this, she felt that way too. It helped that the top was also clearly
displaying her stiff nipples, and was so tight that even the outlines of the
gold rings she wore in them were visible.
She’d
painted her lips with bright red lipstick, and even added mascara and some
rouge – after all, wouldn’t a slut dressed like this be painted up? The last item she looked at a while before
putting on. It was a black choker with
rhinestone letters, spelling out “I love cock” with a little heart for the word
“love.” Megan knew that Heath had
bought this particular one as a real wish.
She didn’t often go down on him, but she would occasionally give him a
kiss or nuzzle down there. She hardly
“loved cock.” But she felt inspired,
and thought that maybe it would make him so hot to see her wearing the choker,
he wouldn’t have time to wait for that foreplay.
But
the evening had gone quite different than her expectations – mostly because of
her own actions. She’d been
unstoppable. She strutted around in her
get-up, teasing him with the sight that obviously had him very hot. She’d been shameful, teasing her own body
with her hands for him, massaging him as well.
There was no getting around it: she fucked him and he fucked her for all
they were both worth. It went on for
hours.
Saying
she had gone down on him didn’t do the events justice. She had to admit to
herself that she had worshipped his cock, kissing it, sucking it, stroking it,
until she urged his cum from him and into her mouth.
Even
when they were both exhausted and the sky had begun to brighten with the
impending sunrise, she found she slept with her hand gripping his shaft. Waking hours later, nothing left of her
outfit but the choker, she had woken him with yet another bout of oral
service. He knew she wasn’t fully awake
until that shot of cum hit the back of her throat. In the moment, she had loved it, and had wanted nothing else.
But
barely an hour later, when she was stripped and right here, washing the sweat
and sex from her body in the shower, she felt ashamed, even humiliated by how
much like a sex-starved slut she’d acted.
That wasn’t her, was it? They’d
been married for years, and while they had a great sexual relationship, married
people don’t act like that, do they?
Her
reaction to her own behaviour had put her off.
She distracted herself with chores for the next couple days, and had
even found herself snapping at Heath when he mentioned that night (with that
grin on his face) or talked about the other purchases. He seemed hurt and surprised by her mood
now. She understood that – of course he
was. One night his wife was a
sex-starved maniac, the next night a prude.
She
didn’t know really what to do, but she wasn’t going to take it out on him any
more. In fact, maybe she should make it
up to him. She had the afternoon off,
and she knew when he came home on Friday’s it was with a mix of the tiredness
of a full week done, but with enthusiasm towards a weekend arriving. She decided to surprise him with a nice
dinner, maybe even on the patio if this late summer weather held out. And hey, she thought, maybe even one more
surprise. She remembered her horny
husband had bought a French maid’s uniform with that batch of clothing.
Her
soapy fingers were moving fast now – it was such a typically male fantasy – but
the image of her own body in the tight uniform was just the push she needed to
slide her over the edge. In the steamy
shower, alone in her house, she screamed out and came hard – riding the
pleasure in waves. Her legs weakened
and she slid down to the floor of the shower in a blissful soapy tangle. After her recovery and rinse, she stepped
out and surrounded herself in fluffy towels to dry. She was going to make her husband smile today, and clothed in
just the towel, she let go a gleeful giggle made her way see just how tawdry
she’d look in that uniform.
The
uniform seemed more complicated than she thought it would be, but now she was
determined. She spread the items out on
the bed, and took careful stock of them.
First, she decided, were the stockings.
She fixed the garter belt around her hips and carefully rolled the
fishnets up her legs and fastened them.
There were no panties, just a lacy petticoat that also was wiggled in
place around her hips. Next came the
dress, though that was a generous word for it.
She managed to get the shiny latex around her and it was immediate
obvious that it was going to be very short and very tight.
Once
she had it in place, started to work at the laces, feeling it hug and squeeze
at her body, pushing her full breasts higher up, forming even more into an
hourglass figure. Once finally done to
her satisfaction, the bodice was little more than a shelf for her breasts, not
even covering her nipples, and her nipple rings gleamed and teased out. The skirt covered most of the lace petticoat
but very little of her – and that was standing up. She felt her face start to warm and flush with embarrassment at
her appearance, but she felt it quickly change to a peaceful acceptance,
knowing it was just right somehow.
She
continued to dress, applying the final touches. She slid her feet into the five-inch spike heels and buckled the
straps around her ankles. A tiny white,
lace-trimmed apron went in place around her waist. A matching lace headband was arranged in her hair. The final touch was a white lace choker. She smiled and shook her head as she noticed
the embroidery in it.
Black
thread formed, in perfect script, the words, “the perfect slave.” As she put it in place around her neck, she
was laughing and shaking her head at her husband’s fantasies. Once it settled home, however, the feeling
changed to a warm flowing all over her body.
Yes, she was going to be the perfect maid, the perfect slave. Just thinking about how good she was going
to be made her tingle, and her pussy lips were glistening.
So,
like a good maid, she got to work. She
had really just been planning to try on the outfit, but now she realized how
much there was to do. Over the next few
hours, her body was tightly wrapped and displayed to perfection for no-one’s
benefit but her own as she vacuumed, dusted, finished the laundry and prepared
a feast fit for a king, or Master. She was so fully in her role she barely
noticed the gasping shock of the UPS deliveryman as she answered the doorbell
that afternoon. She nonchalantly signed
for the delivery, smiled at him, and returned to her work. After all, Heath would be home soon.
When
Heath arrived home, he stepped into the hall and called out to Megan that he
was home. After a long week, he was
eager for the weekend to start, even if there had been a bit of out-of-place
quietness between them lately. He was
totally unprepared for her appearance and greeting.
His
jaw dropped to the floor as he took her in.
The outfit he’d bought, and recently all but given up hope of ever
seeing her in, was better than he could have dreamed. Her tits looked even larger than normal as they nearly poured out
of it, and that was saying something.
Perhaps even more striking was the way she was totally living up to her
look. Every motion seemed to communicate
a kind of service and submission to him.
He felt his cock stir in his jeans.
“Hi,
Sir,” she softly said, “Please come out to the deck. I’ve got your dinner ready.”
Heath
was too shocked to speak, and he followed her out, his eyes drinking in the
curves of her legs accentuated by her patterned stockings, her calves formed by
the posture the tall heels gave her, and the delicious expanse of bare flesh
between the stocking tops and the bottom of her tiny skirt.
He
couldn’t get to a point of equilibrium, as every moment seem to carry a new
surprise, a new aspect of a fantasy he wouldn’t have dared dream. Megan simply knelt, on the deck in the cool
fall air, as he ate the perfectly grilled steak. By the time he has polished off the delicious meal, sipping at
his wine, his mind was turning a bit wicked.
Her
performance was too perfect, too submissive.
He couldn’t help now but want to try and trip her up.
Their
back yard was relatively enclosed by foliage, but they weren’t that far from
their neighbors. It was one of the
reasons why Megan would never fool around in the back yard, or even here on the
deck. Heath smiled as the idea
crystallized in his mind, and he turned to her. He opened his thighs and drew down his fly. He carefully drew out his stiff cock and
drank in the look in her eyes as a reaction.
“Megan,
my maid, I want you to service me, right here and right now.” He was ready for her to laugh or to react in
disgust, but certainly not for what she did.
Without
a word, and with a look that he could only read as excitement and hunger, she
slurped his shaft wetly into her mouth.
He was moaning as he looked down to see her painted lips wrapped tight
around his cock, her tits bouncing with her motion, barely retrained in the
dress. Her nipple rings, which he
always loved to see, where glinting in the candlelight. The pressure was building fast in his
balls.
His
mind’s eye tried to imagine how this looked, and he still couldn’t believe
it. And he couldn’t give up yet. She couldn’t be into this so perfectly. He had to win, to break her act, to get her
to cry uncle first.
“Stop,
Megan.” It nearly killed him to say
it. She slid his shaft out of her
pursed lips slowly and looked up at him with questioning eyes. “Stand up, move to the railing, and lean
forward, pet.”
Again,
he waited for her refusal, maybe even a playful (or not quite) slap at what he
was suggesting, but there was none. She
simply moved to the wooden railing, leaned forwards just a touch, and actually
lifted the back of her skirt for him.
There was no room in his circulation-starved mind to think any
further. He plunged into her, and
gripped at her hips and breasts for leverage as he built his rhythm faster and
faster.
He
could feel her arousal, her wetness greet his shaft as he worked his hips to
deepen its dance inside her. The pure
pleasure gave him moments of clear thought. She was bent forwards, her breasts
fully free and swaying with her motions.
She seemed to be enjoying this as much as he was, but she was holding
back just enough in her reactions. Heath smiled and felt his streak of
wickedness build again.
“Baby,
don’t try to be quiet. Let it all out. Let me know how it feels,” he whispered
in her ear, lips grazing it as they moved.
Megan’s
mind wasn’t working as it normally would either. There was a part of her, buried somewhere, or left behind this
morning, that couldn’t believe what she was doing. Not only was she dressed like a tramp (even if it was for her
husband) but she was also having sex—enthusiastic sex—with him outside. As if the blowjob hadn’t been bad enough,
she now found herself moaning and grunting like an animal in heat. Those thoughts tried to form some kind of
resistance, but they didn’t stand a chance.
They
fought hopelessly against the physical pleasure she was experiencing, the
memories of her own appearance in her uniform.
The look of lust and appreciation in the UPS man’s gaze today (oh god…
had she really done that too?!) But
most of all, unknown yet to her or Heath, they were fighting against the
strange power of the clothes themselves.
The company had found a rather new way to guarantee satisfaction with
their orders.
Her
mind, under fashion’s control sent her new thoughts. She just living up to her appearance, to her uniform. After all, wasn’t she a good French
maid? Wasn’t she the perfect
slave? She could do no more that obey. Besides, she hadn’t felt so good since she
had felt his throbbing cock in her mouth last week.
Megan
could feel her husband’s cock so full and thick inside her, driving into her
with motions that she was meeting with rolling hips and eager grunts. Leaning
out, looking over the back yard she could still feel tiny twinges of
humiliation. Each time a light would
come on in neighbor’s window, each time a silhouetted head would appear in that
light, she knew that she was the show. She was the porn movie. She was the slut
getting fucked in her own back yard. Maybe she should be embarrassed or ashamed
but right now the mental satisfaction of being a good slave and maid only added
to her physical bliss.
The
bliss and sensation pushed her farther and farther. She needed to express her sensations, and to obey with her
expression – to share her joy and add to his. Her moans formed words as she screamed,
“Oh god, oh fuck yess. Fuck me! Please!
Your cock is so big and I want all of it! Please, oh god, please fuck
me! Give me all of it!”
The
part of Heath that could still think was amazed. This might be the hottest sex that they’d ever had, and his wife
was moaning and screaming like a banshee. He was soaking in each sensation
while fighting to make it last as long as possible. God, he loved this woman – the feel of her, the touch of her, the
weight of her breasts in his hands and the velvet grip she held him with now.
He loved each moan, growing louder with each minute. There was no doubt in his
mind that he’d be getting appreciative and knowing looks from his male
neighbors tomorrow.
His
fingers squeezed into the supple flesh of her full breasts and searched out her
stiff nipples as he could finally hold off no longer. His cum shot deep inside her with spasm after spasm and her body
reacted with its own matching release. His arms wrapped around her and
electricity seemed to flow through every square inch of their touching skin.
They inhabited another world of pure pleasure and ecstasy for uncountable
precious moments.
He
wasn’t sure how much time had passed before conscious thought returned, but he
managed to blow out the candles and carry his saucy maid back into the house
and into bed. He might ask her tomorrow what had come over her, or he might
not.
And
hey, if she was still in a good mood tomorrow, he might try to get her to wear
that “I like boys AND girls” baby tee first.
...
Please send any comments or suggestions
to [email protected]. They are greatly
appreciated.
(c)
2004 Abe Froman