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Subject: {ASS/ASSTG/M} Repost TG: When It Blows, All Cats Are Gray     by Brandy Dewinter  (1/1)
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Hi.

  Ole Joe had mentioned that these stories were not posted here, so
there they are.

  As usual I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim on it. If
you have some usefull hints or some good coments, your mail is then
welcome. Flames, you know, they will be piped to /dev/null.

  If you are an author and wish to remain anonymouns or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands for
story postings and for nothing else.

Enjoy the story.

Ciao
	Nostrumo

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<


When It Blows, All Cats Are Gray


                                                           by Brandy Dewinter
 


Chris Stevenson looked up from the analysis he was working on to let his
eyes rest on his roommate.  She was certainly, as always, a sight for sore
eyes.  Karen Ashley was just about the prettiest girl on the Smithfield
College campus, slender and graceful, with flowing golden blonde hair.  For
about the ten millionth time, Chris thought about how lucky he was, not only
to share a house with this co-ed goddess, but even a bed.

Their first meeting had been about as inauspicious a start to a close
relationship as he could have imagined.  Chris had been enroute from the
local Nerds-R-Us department, also known as Engineering, and hadn't been
paying attention to where he was going.  When he got to the humanities area
(even engineers need to take a few "soft" courses), he literally bumped into
Karen.  They had dropped their books, then bumped heads again when they bent
to recover them.  It could have been the worst moment of his
not-very-spectacular life, but it had tickled Karen's sense of humor and
they had started laughing together.  It turned out they were in the same
class, a course in Properties of Fabrics that Chris had selected because it
sounded like his Properties of Materials courses and might be technical
enough to be interesting.  She was taking it in support of her Fashion
Design major.  The course had turned out to be laughably easy, for an
engineer, but there were a few math problems dealing with the elasticity of
fabrics and the amount of material required for various patterns.  Karen had
found even these simple exercises to be a challenge and had turned to Chris
for help.

After a few study sessions Karen had realized that Chris was actually a
creative person, and "sensitive" like 90's guys are supposed to be, for all
his painfully shy, awkwardly nervous engineering appearance.  He had been
genuinely interested in her problems and never made her feel foolish even
when they were working on the most basic mathematics problems.  On his part,
Chris fell madly in love with his beautiful companion, a love that started
out as the desire of a nerd for a goddess and grew even more compelling as
he realized that she was also not making fun of his lack of social graces.
When an opportunity opened up to rent an apartment near campus, Karen
decided she'd ask Chris to share expenses with her.

He'd been puppy-dog-grateful for the chance and always did more than his
share of the housework.  Karen tolerated his crush on her with good grace, a
bit flattered by the adoration, but only a bit since he was pretty much of a
geek.  One day, though, she decided to help him to be a little more proud of
himself.  He had a long ways to go.  Chris was short, only about 5'8", the
same height as Karen.  Further, Chris was slightly built.  He probably
outweighed her 118 pounds by a little, since a man's bones are typically
stronger, but only by a little.  His muscle tone was poor, his muscle bulk
non-existent, and the obligatory engineer eyeglasses were selected for
functional utility, not attractiveness.  About the only things he had going
for him were a fastidious personal style that kept him always squeaky clean,
and richly dark hair (at least on the top, where it wasn't so short you
could see skin through his haircut).  His eyes were a washed-out bluish-gray
that were remarkable only in that you would expect someone with such dark
hair to have dark eyes, but his were so pale they seemed colorless.

Karen, on the other hand, had learned to maximize her natural beauty across
the whole range of personal development.  She was a martial arts instructor
and a serious yoga student.  These studies had given her a flowing grace and
balance that lifted the beauty of her already-shapely form into pure poetry
whenever she moved.  Classes in support of her major had included training
in color and shapes that she had used to select flattering clothes and
artful, exquisitely sophisticated makeup styles.  She decided to use these
skills to perform a makeover on Chris, just as serious as she might use for
a woman, but constrained by the limits of men's fashions.  In addition, she
enrolled him in her yoga classes and started to teach him some of the
less-violent movements of her martial arts.

Chris responded to her guidance with the focused attention he put into his
engineering projects, multiplied by his overwhelming desire to please Karen.
Under her tutelage his body became toned and fit, though he never did add
much muscle bulk.  The sorts of things that Karen studied weren't much good
for that, anyway.  When he was ready, Karen had Chris get contact lenses,
tinted to make his nondescript eyes a brilliant royal blue that matched her
own.  She had him let his hair grow out to a length that could be styled,
though still short enough that it wasn't out of place among his fellow
engineers.  After they had been living together for about 3 months, Karen
finally took him to bed.

Now that was a pleasant surprise.  His thoroughly average appearance had
concealed a decided non-average set of masculine equipment.  No thicker than
she might have expected, perhaps, but long enough to make up for it.  Longer
in fact, than any lover she had ever had.  Karen was his first, of course,
and she had to tell him just about everything that she wanted him to do.
That was good for both of them because he was quite willing to do whatever
he could to please her and approached that problem as obsessively as he had
approached everything else.  Under her guidance, he had blossomed into a
quite attractive man, handsome to look at, smooth with controlled power when
in motion, attentive and sensitive in relationships.  His devotion to her
never wavered, but after another 3 months they were more like equals in
their friendship than goddess and geek.  He was no longer a nerd and her
respect for him had lifted them to a sounder, more enduring companionship.

"You're staring at me," Karen accused him gently, noticing his distracted
gaze.

"Yes," he smiled unapologetically.

"What were you thinking about?" she asked.

His smile got a little more serious, a little more profound, "Oh, just about
how we met, and how much I've changed since we met."

Karen giggled as she let her memory drift back to earlier times, "You were
such a geek!"

"I know.  I still would be, if you hadn't come into my life."

"Probably," she agreed.  "But you're looking good now."

"Thanks to you.  You know, I owe you a lot.  I wish there was some way I
could repay you," Chris said quietly, now completely serious.

A strange light came into Karen's eyes as she pushed to confirm the
expression she saw on his face, heard in his voice, "Are you serious?"

"Completely," he affirmed.

"Would you be willing to do something for me that might embarrass you?" she
prodded.

"As long as I don't get arrested, or if I do, as long as you'll make bail,"
he smiled, but wrote her out about as blank a check as he could cash.
"Look, back before I met you I used to be embarrassed most of the time.
Now, I feel good about myself.  You've built quite a bank account of
prevented embarrassment by the ways you've helped me.  So if you need to
draw on that account a little, or even a lot, well, you've got it coming."

Chris continued, "You do have me curious, though, what is this mysterious,
possibly embarrassing thing you want me to do?"

Karen stared out the window for a moment, obviously a bit uncomfortable
about the request she was considering.  Chris stood up from his study table
and walked over to her, leaning close for a quick kiss and then massaging
her shoulders.

"Come on, gorgeous.  It can't be that bad."

She looked up at him with a look of thanks for his encouragement, then
smiled and said, "I want you to be my model for my Fashion As Art project."

"Me, a model?  I'm too short and too thin," he said, not refusing, just not
sure how to meet her needs.

"Actually, you'd be perfect for what I have in mind," she assured him.

"What do you have in mind?"

Again, Karen was reluctant to answer directly.  Instead, she asked him a
question of her own, "Do you trust me?"

"Sure, you've never steered me wrong so far."

"Well, this is a bit different than anything we've done.  The project is to
use fashion to make an artistic statement.  I found out that about half the
students in class will be using a male model in some sort of women's
clothes.  Those who are using men want to make a tired old feminist
complaint against the things men expect us to do for fashion.  I want to go
beyond that, way beyond that.  I want to make a statement that even men
would look good in the right clothes, especially if society's limits were
eliminated.  So good, in fact, that it is the men who are held back by
fashion, not women.  I want to make you look like a beautiful woman and then
dress you in something that is both flattering and unusual.  I want to make
everyone think my statement is completely at the level they can see, in your
clothes and actions, then show them that there is an even deeper, more
profound statement as well when we reveal that you are a man.  You'd have to
be completely convincing as a woman, right up until the unveiling.
Completely convincing, and as a beautiful woman," she repeated.

Chris gulped a little and asked, "Do you think I could pull it off?  I'm not
even pretty, let alone beautiful, and I wouldn't know how to act.  Even my
voice is too deep."

"If you'll trust me and do whatever I tell you, we can do this," Karen said
firmly.  If there was any doubt lurking behind her shining eyes, she didn't
let any of it into her voice.

"Okay, love, whatever you say," Chris grinned, thinking that he could put up
with just about anything for one night.  His self-confidence had increased
to the point that something that would have made him die on the spot with
self-conscious embarrassment, even before it happened, was now a bit of a
lark.

"When is this 'project' due?" he asked.

"Not for about a month, but I'll need to get started immediately.  I'll also
need a lot of your measurements.  In fact, we might as well do that, now.
Strip" she smiled.

Karen stood up and went to her sewing table.  Many of her fashion design
assignments involved actual construction of clothes and she was used to
developing patterns for whatever apparel was needed.  Chris, though, was not
used to being used as a clothes dummy, especially while nude, and even less
used to being measured as Karen decided was necessary.  She took relaxed and
tensioned measurement of arms and legs, exhaled and inhaled chest
measurements, range of motion measurements as he bent to touch his palms to
the floor and then stretch toward the ceiling, and a host of others.
However, he drew the line when she started to make measurements of his cock.

"Now, wait a minute!" he said in surprise.  "What are you doing?"

"The costume I have in mind might show a bulge, if I don't take care of it.
I need to see how big of a problem that will be."

"Keep handling me like that and you'll see how big it can be."

"Promise?" she grinned.

With that incentive, her handling of his cock became even more compelling.
She giggled and wrapped her glossy lips around the tip.  Chris's tower grew
rapidly with this inducement, and in a few minutes his knees were starting
to buckle as he moved closer and closer to the point of no return.  Just
before he got there, though, she pulled back and started taking new
measurements.  He was so close to coming that his mind didn't register the
loss of stimulation for a second.  When he did, his groan was so plaintive
that Karen relented, finished her measurements, and moved her moist lips
back to his pulsing pole.  This time, she gave him the relief he had earned,
casually swallowing his cream as she usually did.  Chris managed to keep
from collapsing, barely, though his knees were shaking and he had to hang
onto the sewing table.

"There," Karen laughed, "satisfied?"

Chris was still too short on breath to do more than nod, but after a few
minutes he recovered, got dressed, and then went over to her work table.

"So, what sort of design are you working on?" he asked.

"I'm thinking of a catsuit, maybe in leather," she said.

That didn't help Chris much, "What's a catsuit?"

"It's a one-piece outfit that fits from neck to feet.  My idea will be very
form-fitting, but not see-through.  I have a couple of special ideas as
well, but they'll be a surprise," she teased.

It was clear that Chris wanted to know more about the outfit, but his newly
fit and supple body would look good in a tight, form-fitting outfit so he
didn't think that would be too bad.  It might be hard to make him look like
a woman in one, though.



  "Class dismissed," Professor Warren said.  "Miss Ashley, could you stay
for just a moment?"

Karen looked up in surprise.  She had noticed Professor Warren looking at
her quite intensely through several of her Fashion As Art classes, but he
had never treated her any differently than the other students.  At least,
not until now.  She stood up and walked to the front of the room, her books
clutched protectively across her shapely bosom.  The other students filed
out quickly, a few of the prettier girls grinning with a knowing smile.
Karen didn't notice them, but she would soon wish she had paid better
attention.

"How is your project coming, Miss Ashley?" the professor began with a normal
tone, on a seemingly-innocuous topic.

"Fine," she replied.  "I have an idea, and a model lined up.  I'll be
ready."

"Good.  Good," he said in a funny way, as though he didn't really care.
Then he continued.

"You know, I sense some real potential in you, in your work.  Your questions
in class show you have a better-than-normal grasp of what art really means,
especially as expressed in clothes.  You could do very well as a fashion
designer, with the right coaching."

Karen was starting to get a bit nervous now.  This line of comments was
flattering but she had heard flattering comments before, usually from a guy
that was hitting on her.  Professor Warren had turned away from her now,
though, seemingly just musing to himself.

"Thank you, Professor, I appreciate that," she finally said.

"Would you like a little coaching?" he asked, still nonchalant, still facing
away.

"Well," she tried to find some way to decline without making him angry, "I
think I have my current ideas pretty well together.  Maybe after the
semester is over."

"Miss Ashley, I always knew you were a smart girl.  It seems, though, that
you don't think I'm very smart," he said as he turned to face her.

Karen looked down in shock, then in derision as she saw the professor's
erect member poking through the fly of his pants.  It wasn't anything to be
proud of, that was for sure.

"You're obviously trying to put me off until you get your grade for this
class," he continued.  "Since you won't do this the easy way, let me make
myself clear.  I want a blowjob from you.  If you do, I'll give you an A and
also a glowing letter of recommendation to take with you for your job
search.  If you don't, well, I won't flunk you since that would be too
obvious, but your gradepoint average will certainly suffer."

"You can't do this!" Karen cried.  "I'll tell the dean!"

Professor Warren's smile was cruel and gloating, "Go right ahead.  You won't
be the first woman that has tried to use her looks to cover up for
inadequate artistic talent.  You propositioned me and I refused.  Then you
tried to get back at me with a false and slanderous claim.  It will be your
story against mine and the dean is a friend from way back.  He's backed me
before, when some pretty co-ed thought she could refuse me."

Karen sagged against a student desk, clutching her books even more tightly
to her breasts.  Inside, she was furious, but she was also scared.  This was
an important class and she knew that Professor Warren had a reputation among
top-notch fashion designers.  Art was so subjective that it would be hard to
prove he was biased either for or against her, so she would have a hard time
convincing his friends that any grade he gave her was unfair.  On the other
hand, a good grade and a strong letter of recommendation would almost
guarantee her a trial period with some of the top fashion design houses.

"Can I have a while to think about it?" she stalled.

"Sure," he grinned as he tucked his tiny tool away.  "Take right up until
the night the projects are displayed.  If I get a blowjob from you by the
time the party is over, you get your A and recommendation letter.  If not .
.  ."

Karen fled from the room, still furious, still scared.  After a little
while, though, her anger overpowered her fear and she started fuming to
herself.

"He can't do this to me.  I won't let him get away with it.  I'll figure out
some way to get him to give me a good grade without sucking his puny dick."

Her frustration reminded her of one of her earlier lovers.  That lover had
introduced her to mild bondage and she remembered the frustration of being
helpless while bound to a bed or strapped into various restraints.  At
first, she had found it fascinating.  Her body had responded with
overwhelming intensity when she was helpless, as though surrendering
external control had loosened internal controls that she hadn't even
realized were holding her back.  It helped that her introduction to bondage
was reasonably benign since her lover wasn't into pain, though after a while
forced lack of motion could get pretty uncomfortable.  Since no harm was
being done, after a few sessions where she was bound he agreed to be bound
himself.  That was when she had found her real interest.  The feeling of
being in control was even better than the incredible physical sensations of
helpless sex.  She had insisted more and more on being the dominant to his
submissive.  During one session, she had used a light riding crop she had
bought without his knowledge to create an interesting pattern of marks on
his ass and thighs, but that hadn't really added to her pleasure.  She liked
the control, not pain itself.  Her lover had refused to be bound after that
and they had broken up.  Karen had bumped into Chris before she found
another partner for her bondage scenes and his willingness to treat her like
a goddess had been almost as good as physical control.  Now, though, the
feelings of frustration that Professor Warren had awakened in her had
reminded her of an interest that had lain dormant for a long time.  Much too
long.

Karen enjoyed living with Chris.  He was still attentive to her, obviously
devoted and in love with her.  He had blossomed into a quite handsome young
man, though still short and slight of build.  Still, she didn't feel
fulfilled and had been considering moving on.  She just couldn't see a long
term relationship with a man that wasn't strong enough to force her respect,
nor submissive enough to let her dominate him.  Now that Chris had developed
well-deserved self-confidence, he was becoming less submissive than ever.
Karen actually felt a bit of pride in her success at turning that geek into
an attractive man, but she just wasn't satisfied.

Then a flash of insight hit her and she saw a way to resolve both problems.
A few modifications to her Fashion As Art project, and it would become a
spectacular bondage outfit.  If she could get Chris to wear it and submit to
her dominance, then they might be able to change their relationship to
something she would find more fulfilling.  The proof of his submission, in
the plot that was growing in her mind, could take care of Professor Warren
as well.

Karen hurried to the loft where students worked on fashion projects.  She
had her own sewing table at their apartment, but she had decided to make
Chris's catsuit in leather and that took a special sewing machine.  Since
clothing materials could be quite expensive, especially in the great
quantities of silks and brocades required for period costumes, Smithfield
College provided cloth for student projects.  Karen had obtained the
necessary leather and other materials through the college and worked on her
costume at the loft.  Other than what she had told him, Chris didn't really
know what was incorporated into her design and he wouldn't know that the
modifications she had just dreamed up weren't part of the original concept.



  The time of the project display party approached rapidly.  Chris had his
own engineering projects to work on and had become so focused on them that
he had forgotten his commitment to Karen, or at least forgotten when his
marker would be called in.  His first hint was when he saw a full-length
hanging bag draped over a chair near Karen's work table when he walked into
their apartment after a Friday lab period.

He called to her in the kitchen where she was working, "What's this?"

"It's your outfit, of course.  Tonight's the big night," she said with a
grin as she walked into the living room.

"Already?" he gulped.

"Yes.  We just have time for a quick bit to eat, then we need to get
dressed."

Chris swallowed again, but then his self-confidence resurrected itself and
he gave her a roguish grin.  "Yes ma'am, whatever you say."

"Remember that thought.  I'll hold you to it," she warned.

Shaking his head wryly, Chris walked back into the kitchen with her and
helped prepare their meal.  He was a bit surprised to find that he was
looking forward to this adventure.  He hadn't really been a transvestite,
but with an introverted nerd's typical fascination with things that seemed
beyond his reach, he had been curious about women's clothes.  While he was
growing up he had "experimented" a little with his mother's clothes, and
then his older sister's.  The experiments had never proceeded beyond trying
on a few items of lingerie and a dress in private when he was alone in the
house.  His feet were small for a man and he had been able to wear their
high-heeled shoes as well, finally learning how to walk in them with
reasonable gracefulness.  Actually, he had been more graceful in high heels
than not, he now realized, since they had forced him to loosen up his hips
when he walked instead of staying tightly controlled as his
self-consciousness required when he was in his geek phase.  That loose,
controlled suppleness was now part of his normal walk (though without quite
as much hip sway) since he had been studying yoga and martial arts.

Chris had never experimented with makeup, though, and had always kept his
hair short.  Even the new, longer style he had adopted under Karen's
guidance was still clearly masculine.  He didn't think Karen's expertise
could turn him into a beautiful girl, but he was willing, even anxious, to
give it a try.  He jerked when his reverie was interrupted by Karen.

"Ready?" she asked with a grin, a grin that was surprisingly fierce, harder
somehow in a way that was so subtle he didn't really realize it had affected
him, yet made him a little uneasy.  He put it down to the excitement of the
adventure opening before him and nodded.

"Okay, first, we go to the bathroom," she explained..

"I . .  um .  .  don't really need your help for that," he blushed.

"You do for what I want you to do," she insisted.  "But go ahead and take
care of your business first."

Karen stood impatiently until she heard the stool flush, then walked in to
see him standing there fully dressed.

"Strip," she ordered, now a real order not optional guidance.

He blushed again as he complied, feeling strangely vulnerable before the
strength of personality she was showing.  Something about that vulnerability
excited him, though, and his respectable sword came to attention, sniffing
for a moist sheath.  A tiny bit of amusement crept into Karen's eyes at this
sign of interest, though it was buried beneath the glittering feelings of
power that were building within her.

Her next order didn't seem very threatening, "Step into the shower."

Her next action, though, was unexpected, at least by Chris.  She took a pink
can and began to spread a foaming cream over his body, everywhere below his
neck.  Everywhere, even around his still-hard erection and full sack.

"Stand there until I come back for you," she said, and then left the room.

Chris stood in the shower, wondering just what was going on.  He hadn't seen
the label on the can and he didn't know what the foam was.  In a few minutes
it started to itch, not badly, more of a tingle actually.  Then it got
worse.  His skin started to feel crawly, as though the foam were alive.
Sharp little stabs of overloading nerves caused his skin to twitch and jump
uncontrollably.  He had just about decided to call the whole thing off when
Karen came back into the room, nude.  Her hair was bound up in a shower cap
but everything else was pure, unadulterated girl.

"That should about do, rinse it off."

He turned on the shower and stepped under the still-cold spray with grateful
relief.  Karen stepped into the shower with him and started to scrub his
body with a rough sponge, making sure that every bit of foam was lifted from
his skin.  Having that beautiful co-ed with the body of a goddess working on
him distracted Chris so much he didn't notice that all of his dark body hair
was washing down the drain.  He could hardly see himself anyway, since the
small shower kept them so close together that his head was either on her
shoulder, or crammed against the shower wall if she was working on his back.
Finally Karen stepped out of the shower and Chris could look down at his
body, his smooth, glistening, pinkly-scrubbed body.  His body that had never
seemed so naked before, right down to the still-erect manhood that protruded
from his hairless crotch.

"What was that stuff?" he gasped.

"Hair remover, of course.  I told you that you had to pass as a beautiful
woman.  This is only the first step."

She pulled him from the shower and toweled him dry vigorously, almost
asexually.  At least, it didn't seem sexually motivated on her part, but
Chris's sensitivity to her emotions had receded into the distance and he was
captured by his own excitement.  Seeing Karen rub his smooth body, muscles
dancing lightly under her supple skin, was a thrilling combination of
sensual pleasure in her touch and erotic imagination at the forbidden
adventure of being turned into a woman.  When Karen had him dry, she started
dusting lightly scented powder over his body.

"Do I really need that?" he complained.

"You do if I say that you do," she answered curtly.  Karen was really
getting into her dominatrix personality by this time, impatient with
complaints.

Without another word she drew him to the living room where she unzipped the
garment bag and Chris caught a glimpse of his outfit.  That first impression
was of vibrant colors, red and yellow, a bit of white.  He noticed that the
material was a softly tanned leather that looked almost alive even when
unoccupied.  Karen was about to reach for the suit when she noticed his
still-rampant erection.

"We can't have that," she decided.  Karen pushed Chris to a seat on the
couch and dropped to her knees between his legs.  With casual efficiency she
sucked his cock until he erupted into her mouth.  Chris had never patronized
a prostitute but that emotionless act made him think of a business
arrangement, not something of love at all.  Of course, it was fully at
Karen's decision.  Clearly, she was not prostituting herself for pay.  If
Chris had known of Professor Warren's demand he might have thought that
Karen would do what the professor asked with that same detachment.  He
didn't understand, yet, what a tremendous difference there was between the
lack of passion his suddenly dominant roommate displayed and the lack of
desire on the part of a forced participant.

While Chris was still catching his breath, Karen turned to the garment bag
once again and drew out the long, one-piece catsuit.  The dominant red and
yellow colors were interlocked in a jagged pattern suggestive of leaping
flames.  The outfit screamed, "HOT!" with fiery intensity.  It zipped down
the back and Karen opened it, then positioned it for Chris to step into.

As his foot entered the first leg opening, he felt a slickly smooth inner
liner.  Even as his toes were tasting the texture, Karen was explaining, "I
lined it with silk.  That will wick away any moisture if you sweat inside
the leather.  It also make is easier to get into, especially since I shaped
the leather to fit very tightly.  Your shaved and powdered body will slide
in easier, too."

Tight was right, Chris mused as he tried to get his foot past the
constriction at the knee, then at the ankle.  As his foot reached the bottom
he realized that there were high heels embedded in the legs of the catsuit,
as though it were a pair of more-than-thigh-high boots.  Karen had
incorporated short zippers at the back of each ankle so that his foot could
slide into the final position.  Without them, he'd never have gotten past
the tight squeeze over his arch.

"These heels are too high," Chris complained.  They were much higher than
any he had ever worn before, much higher than his mother or his sister had
ever possessed.

"That better be the last complaint I hear from you tonight," Karen warned.
"They're only 5 inches.  I have a pair just as high for my outfit, since I
want to remain as tall as you."

When both of Chris's feet were shaped by the towering heels embedded in the
catsuit, Karen zipped the short zippers at each heel.  She started to draw
the legs of the suit carefully up over Chris's newly smooth legs, but
stopped when she saw his rampant pole once again erect and demanding.

"You know I'm always good for at least two shots," he grinned in
embarrassment, though also just a bit of pride.

"Yes, I should have expected it," she admitted.  The sky-high spikes and the
legs of the catsuit bound Chris's legs almost as thoroughly as bonds created
for the purpose and Karen decided not to try and get him to move in this
intermediate state.

"Lean against the table," she commanded, then once again drew his turgid
cock into her moist, talented mouth.  It took a little longer the second
time, a fact that had pleased them both when they devoted an evening to
making love, but now that same endurance merely irritated Karen, however
much Chris enjoyed it.  She sucked hard, bobbed her head rapidly, and did
everything possible to bring him to a quick climax.  In a few minutes he was
once again filling her mouth with thick cream, shuddering as he tried to
maintain his balance on the unaccustomed stilts.

This time as Karen drew the leather garment up to his waist his cock was
limp and shrunken.  Karen had crafted a pouch into the crotch of the catsuit
and she fed his soft member into the pouch, fastening a small velcro strap
around his scrotum.  There were two elastic bands leading from the end of
the pouch, where the head of Chris's cock was barely exposed.  Karen reached
through from behind and pulled these straps up to fasten to two flaps that
ran inside the suit from Chris's hips to a few inches below his armpits.

"Hey!  What are you doing?" he gasped.

"I told you that you have to pass as a woman.  An inappropriate bulge will
be a dead giveaway.  This pouch will keep you pulled back out of the way.
Besides, now that you've had your second coming, you won't be hard again for
at least an hour or so."

"Is that how long this will last?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know, exactly, but the combination of the pouch, the tension of the
straps, and the tightness of the crotch of the catsuit should be sufficient
to keep you from showing.  If you get hard and it's uncomfortable, just
think pure thoughts," Karen replied unsympathetically.

As Karen fed his arms down the sleeves of the catsuit, Chris realized that
there were pads placed between the leather and the lining.  The first ones
he noticed were actually at his hips and fanny, adding shapely contours to
the tight buns he had become so proud of.  There were some even more
noticeable bulges at the front of the suit, though, decidedly more
noticeable once his arms were well down the sleeves and the shapes began to
press against his chest.  Chris actually found this less of a surprise than
many of the other things that had been happening, since he had figured on
some sort of padding to give him a bosom.  Maybe not quite that much,
though.  He figured that Karen had decided to give him such a spectacular
set of tits that people's attention would be drawn away from his face or
other parts of his figure.  If so, she hadn't been subtle about it.

The arms of the catsuit terminated in integral gloves, seamless with the
sleeves and with just enough stretchiness at the wrists to allow his hands
to enter without relief zippers.  Now this suit was beginning to look like
some sort of superhero costume, complete with a row of glittering rings
running from each elbow to wrist like a fringe on gauntlets.  There were a
few other rings set into the leather, strangely placed at the neck and at
the top of the small zippers at his ankles.  Karen pulled the sleeves up
until his shoulders were captured, then walked behind him.

"Raise your arms over your head.  Stretch for the ceiling," she ordered.

Chris complied, confused about why that was necessary.  Then he realized
that it pulled his waist in a little, and he thought she might feel it was
necessary in order to close the zipper.  He was on the right track but
hadn't realized the full extent of the features of the suit.  Not even
close.  He felt the two flaps within the suit moved over to lay against his
back, then felt Karen lacing the ends of the flaps together.  She started at
the top, pulling firmly but not excessively as she worked her way to the
smallest point of his waist, a few inches above where he normally considered
his waist to be.  That narrowest point split the difference between his
pelvic bones and his ribcage rather than riding just above his hips.
Another lace was added at those hips, this one working upward toward the
same smallest point of his waist.  Karen laced this much tighter, squeezing
Chris's stomach back and forcing some of his flesh to add to the swell at
his hips.  Overall, Chris was thinking, it was pretty tight, but not
uncomfortable.  Then Karen went back to the top lace and started drawing
them tighter, much tighter.  What had been a snug squeeze became an
overpowering compression.

"Please, Karen, I can't breathe," he gasped.

"No more complaints.  This is your last warning," she declared without
remorse.  She reached for the zipper that still rested just at the start of
the cleavage of his legs and drew it up his back.  Her tight lacing had done
its job and it slid past his tiny waist with perfect snugness, celebrating
every curve without dangerous tension on the small teeth of the zipper.  The
path continued up to the very base of his hairline, closing at a high
leather collar that forced Chris to hold his head carefully erect.  There
was a small click as the zipper finally completed its journey.

"What was that?" Chris whispered with the little breath the outfit allowed.
"That's not a complaint, just a question."

"I locked the zipper into place," Karen explained, a gloating grin hidden
from Chris's eyes as she stood behind him.  "You don't get out until I say
you do."

"That's not funny," Chris said.

Karen walked around to stand in front of him, "It's not meant to be.  Now
that you're in your suit, let's get one thing straight.  You are mine for
the evening.  You will do whatever I say, without complaint.  If you don't
comply with every one of my wishes as though your future depended on it,
I'll let you get out of that suit by yourself.  It's strong enough that you
won't be able to tear it, and I'd like to hear your explanation to anyone
you ask to help you.  You're going to be beautiful, dear, also meek and
agreeable.  I insist on it."

While she had been talking, she moved a full-length mirror into position,
finally turning it so that Chris could see himself.  The sight took his
breath away even more than being laced into the tight catsuit.  The red and
yellow and accenting white flowed across his body with stunning excitement.
Some subtle arrangement of the colors drew the eye to his breasts and his
crotch, shapes that were dramatically, emphatically, spectacularly female.
The inches that were trimmed from his waist were returned in the artfully
shaped pads on his hips and the even larger ones at his bust to give him
curves that would make a Playboy model green with envy.  His naturally slim
legs were accented by the highlights of the glossy material and lifted by
the towering heels to look like they went on forever and ever, amen.  No one
looking at the shape in that suit would believe, even accept the
possibility, that the person inside was anything but a woman, a wonderfully
fit, proudly sensuous woman.  He was so stunned by the miracle he saw in the
mirror that he found himself agreeing to Karen's demand for obedience
without conscious thought, with only a nod constrained to be small by the
tall collar of his catsuit

Karen's face showed her triumph, not only in his submission but in the
glorious success of her creation.  She enjoyed it herself for a moment,
which had the secondary effect of allowing Chris to enjoy it as well, then
told him to follow her.  He complied, stumbling a little on his
ankle-straining stilt heels, but soon remembering the swaying hip rhythm
that allowed him to put one foot directly before the other.  He moved
carefully, though, his head lifted by the collar, his torso stiffened by the
hidden corset stays, his legs delicately balanced on the tall spikes.  Karen
led him to her bedroom, to the vanity table where all her cosmetics were
laid out.

"You can't use my colors, but the lights on my makeup mirror will make sure
I can get the right look," she explained.

Chris sat at the invitation of her waved hand.  She grasped his chin in her
hand, tilting his head to different angles and watching the play of lights
from her bright mirror.  Taking a bag from her closet, she started laying
out a bewildering array of new cosmetics.  It seemed she wouldn't be using
anything from her own collection.  The first item she reached for, though,
was a tweezers.  Without further explanation or comment, she began to pluck
at this eyebrows.  More than once Chris started to complain, to pull back,
but the confusion rampant in his mind at the impossible transformation in
his body was too overwhelming and he found himself swept along.  By the time
his mind was once again able to formulate independent action, he could see
that his eyebrows had passed the point of no return and were definitely,
undeniably, feminine.  It suited Karen's purpose to leave them a bit full
actually, delicately arched, carefully tapered, but not pencil thin.  Chris
was small for a man, but big for a woman, as were his features.  Karen knew
she had to build on those facts, not deny them, so she would go for a strong
look in her makeover, not some dainty image that would look incongruous.

Once his eyebrows were shaped to her satisfaction, Karen started in on
foundations and concealers.  The harshness of the planes of Chris's face,
attractive in a man but not feminine enough for his role that night,
disappeared beneath artistry that Chris didn't even know was possible.  He
had thought that cosmetics were mostly colorful eyeshadows and bright
lipsticks.  The subtlety of Karen's magic didn't seem to make any visible
difference at all, even when she had completed with the flesh-toned
cosmetics and moved to the colored palette, but somehow his face was at once
softer and more feminine.  Once again Chris was surprised by her selections
when she did finally start adding color.  He expected her to use mostly blue
around his eyes that were now a brilliant royal color with the contact
lenses that Karen had talked him into wearing.  Instead, she seemed to pick
every color except blue, painting a vibrant image that seemed larger than
life while at the same time making the gemlike blue of his eyes leap into
sharp, dramatic focus.

After the powdered shadow was carefully placed, Karen reached for a small
box.  In it were false eyelashes, long and dark and gently curved.  She
carefully positioned them, trimmed a little for the perfect tapered shape
she desired, then glued them into place.  They were heavy, full, sensuous as
they caressed his eyelids.  Chris found himself batting his eyelashes at his
image, beginning for the first time to really believe he would come out of
this looking like a woman, even a pretty one.  Karen didn't stop with just
false eyelashes, though.  She painted a thin, but dramatically effective
line along his lashes, drawing it out past the corner of his eye to make
them seem larger and darker.  Mascara, coats and coats of mascara were added
to his lower lashes, then even to his upper ones to make sure they stayed
separated and dark.  His eyes were now as magically transformed as his body
had been, undeniably beautiful, just as certainly feminine.

Next Karen attacked his cheeks, blending in an array of powdered blushes
that merged at the edges imperceptibly with the tones of the foundation she
had applied, but were still subtly effective in creating a highly contoured
look to the cheekbones that were the center of her application.  A light
soft dusting of colors were added to his nose and forehead and chin as well,
bringing the smooth foundation into living, three-dimensional focus.  Now
the artistry of her application of seemingly-colorless cosmetics became
apparent as the strong features of Chris's slender face receded into the
more delicate contours expected in beautiful women.

The final targets for Karen's color artistry were Chris's lips, already a
bit full from his excited panting, but now painted into a delicately shaped
bow of sensual beauty.  Those lips demanded to be kissed, demanded to be
crushed by the embrace of any who saw them.  Those lips invited invasion
with a desperate, panting, pouting fullness that was at the same time empty
and begging to be fulfilled.  Exactly the image that Karen had intended.
Exactly.

In this day and age even conservative engineers often had an earring and
Chris had allowed Karen to pierce his left ear as part of his earlier
transformation from geek to good-looking man.  Now, she reached for an
alcohol swab and the piercing gun, then for his right earlobe.

Chris pulled back at this, but she had his earlobe captured and in a moment
a golden stud was gleaming in that ear to match the one in his left ear.
Only for a moment, though, as Karen, after carefully sanitizing her fingers
and new earrings in alcohol, pulled the old stud and the newly set one from
Chris's ears and inserted gleaming golden hoops into each.  While he was
trying to absorb the sensation of the heavy loops, Karen piled another shock
on his saturated senses as she pulled out a long, thick wig in the same deep
black of his natural hair.  She quickly pulled his own hair up and out of
the way, then positioned the cap of the wig on his head, drawing a hidden
adjustment string snugly.  A few pins were worked through the cap to hold
the wig securely to his own hair, then Karen squeezed a few drops of glue
periodically under the periphery.  That wig wasn't coming off without taking
the skin of his forehead and most of his own hair with it.  At least, not
without lots of care and a solvent for the glue.

Finally she stood back, urging Chris to stand.  He lifted himself slowly to
his feet, overcome with the multitude of hammerblows to his self image, but
pleased with the spectacular beauty of the woman, for no one could doubt it
was a woman, that looked back at him from the mirror.  The image was so
perfect that it seemed wrong, somehow, to think of himself as a man.  That
image wasn't a man, no way.  Karen was thinking along the same lines, even
more determined than Chris that the person wearing her clothes creation
should act, think, be feminine.

"As of this moment, you are a girl named Krystal.  If we call you Krys, you
still respond as a woman.  The name you hear will be short for Krystal, not
Christopher.  Do you understand, Krystal."

"Yes," she answered Karen quietly.

"Yes what?" Karen demanded.

"Yes, ma'am," the demure girl responded, twirling her lustrous hair and
relishing the feel of the heavy earrings.  The twirling of her hair led to
twirling of her body as she pirouetted gracefully even in her towering
heels.  Krystal realized that her hair was long enough to swish lightly on
her fanny when she walked, an image that had always been unbelievably
sensuous to her.  She wished that she could feel it without the coverage of
the skin-tight leather, but the visual image was wonderful enough.

"Walk around a little and get used to your outfit," Karen commanded.
Krystal was only too happy to obey.

Karen dressed in her own outfit much more quickly than she had transformed
Krystal.  Her own spectacular figure didn't need the constraint of a corset
and she had already done her makeup while the depilatory foam had been
working on Krystal's body hair.  All that remained was to comb out her
shining blonde hair, not as long as Krystal's dark tresses but cut in a
fuller, wavier style.  And to dress, an evolution that itself didn't take as
long as usual.  Karen pulled up dark, sheer-to-the-waist panty hose and then
donned a new dress, a strapless black leather mini-dress with a bustier top.
Her eye-capturing cleavage was emphasized more than concealed by the lifting
support of the bustier and her generous endowment threatened to spill out at
any moment, with any breath.  A short leather jacket completed her basic
dress, though she added earrings and a necklace to her ensemble.  A pair of
skin-tight black leather gloves, long enough to be disappear under the
sleeves of her bolero jacket added a definite statement of power to an
already-dramatic outfit.  It was clear that she was in charge of their pair,
not only through her actions, but through the strength the black leather
clothes gave her.  A pair of ankle boots with heels every bit as high as
those in Krystal's catsuit lifted her back to an even height with her slave
for the evening.

For Krystal was indeed to be a slave.  Karen had planned this ever since her
frustration at Professor Warren's advance had reminded her of her previous
bondage games.  If Krystal enjoyed the evening, responded to the adventure
with excitement and arousal, they would play this game again.  Many times.
If, on the other hand, the lurking Chris now so well hidden within the
beautiful girl in the catsuit should fight this submission, then Karen knew
she was ready to move on to another lover.  That was one of the important
tests of the evening, though it was not the only one.  However, Karen didn't
intend to let her submissive in on all her plans until it was too late to
back out.

"Let's go," she said, then waved at Krystal to precede her through the door.
They took Karen's car and parked near the site of the project display room.
Since it was a Fashion As Art class, it was expected that people would be
wearing the project results and would be able to move about the room.
Professor Warren had said that it would be set up as a conversation room,
with tables of refreshments, couches and chairs, and other ordinary
furniture.  Each student was to provide a card or other label with the title
of their art on their project.  Professor Warren reserved to himself the
final grade for the project, but would accept advice from other artists and
fashion designers that he had invited.  It would have the general feel of a
cocktail party, except for the labeled models, some of whom would probably
be wearing quite outlandish fashions.

As they stepped from the car, Karen grinned at Krystal, a hard, dominant
smile.  "You never did ask me what the title of my project was."

Krystal shook her head, then shook it again as she reveled in the feel of
the long, sensuous mass hanging down her back.  She was clearly getting into
this part.  The cross-dressing aspect of the evening was a lot more
interesting than she would have believed.  Now Karen was going to find out
if she liked the bondage aspect as well.

"It's called, actually since you're it, you're called, "When It Blows, All
Cats Are Gray,' now, turn around," Karen ordered.

"What's that mean?" asked Krystal, though she turned dutifully around, then
"Hey, what are you doing?"

What Karen was doing was pulling Krystal's arms behind her and running a
glistening golden chain through the rings on the sleeves of her catsuit,
starting near her wrists.  The chain was laced up to the rings at her
elbows, then pulled tighter, forcing her arms farther behind her and her
shoulders back.  This had the additional effect of thrusting her
already-impressive tits even more dramatically forward.  Karen adjusted the
tension in the laces to the level she wanted, tight enough to be constantly
uncomfortable but not acutely painful.  Of course, the discomfort would
increase as time went on.  She locked the chain with a tiny, almost elegant
padlock near Krystal's elbows and then draped Krystal's long, midnight-black
hair outside the laces, where the golden chain would peek through the dark
tresses.  There was no way that Krystal could reach that lock, even if she
had the key.

With pressure on her shoulders, Karen then urged Krystal to turn around
again so that they were facing each other.  She reached up and took
Krystal's jaw in her hand and said, "Now we're going to take care of your
voice, open wide."

"What?" Krystal struggled a little, still trusting Karen, but very confused.
However, she did open her mouth.  Karen pushed a wide, round ring into
Krystal's mouth, wedging it into her teeth until they slid into a slot
running around the ring.  It was clamped firmly by her teeth, forcing
Krystal to hold her mouth open as far as it would go.  She tried to bite
down on the O ring but could only squeeze it a very slight amount, and of
course her pressure just wedged her teeth even more strongly into the slot.
It would take a determined squeeze of the ring, independent of the pressure
of her teeth, to deform it enough that her teeth would slip out of the slot
and the ring could be extracted.  Krystal explored the device with her
tongue, feeling the smooth, almost slick inner surface, contrasting the soft
rubbery feel of that surface with the unyielding strength of the hard edge
against which her teeth rested.

By now Krystal was nearing panic.  She had let herself get in over her head.
Her arms were bound tightly, her body was transformed by a suit that was
locked onto her, and now her mouth was locked open, vulnerable to who knew
what?  She thought about running away, but the towering heels she wore would
hobble her almost as effectively as additional chains, and what would she do
if she found someone?  How could she ever explain how she got into this
predicament?  Then Karen made it even worse.

"Okay, now let me fit this into your O ring.  It's the last item of your
costume, except for the card with the title, of course."

At first, Krystal couldn't tell what "this" was that Karen was talking
about.  Krystal's head was still held erect by the tall leather collar of
her catsuit, and Karen had deliberately held "this" too low for Krystal to
see.  She could feel it, though.  Something was pressed into the middle of
the open ring that was forcing her jaws wide.  It pushed her tongue down and
then intruded even farther into her mouth, finally coming to a stop just as
it triggered a reflex throat spasm.  Krystal felt more than heard some sort
of soft click as a feature of this new intruder engaged with the ring,
locking it into position.  The intruding device was strangely shaped, a
little rough.  She could feel a ridge running around it a little back from
the gently-rounded point, sort of like a knob on the end of a slightly
smaller shaft, though that shaft was large enough to fill the opening in the
O ring completely.  In a flash of insight, Krystal realized what that was
filling her mouth.  It was the shape of a cock, crammed down her throat as
far as she could take it and still breath.  There was a small hole through
it because Krystal could draw air if she sucked strongly.  She would need to
breathe primarily through her nose, but some instinctive need for more air,
energized by her panic, caused her to suck on the cock gag in her mouth with
desperate energy.

"Calm down, Krystal, while I explain my creation," Karen directed as she
hung the placard with her title around Krystal's neck.

"I call you, 'When It Blows, All Cats Are Gray' as a play on the phrase, 'at
night, all cats are gray.'  Chauvinists like Professor Warren use that
expression to deride women.  Their meaning is that in the dark all women are
pretty much the same, useful for sex and not much else.  I have taken that a
couple of steps further.  First, men will do almost anything for a blowjob.
When 'it', meaning someone, 'blows', then men don't care what the person
doing the cocksucking looks like, what they want or think or feel.  In fact,
they don't even care if the person is a woman, don't want to get to know her
well enough to make sure.  The 'it' in this case is a play on your
transgender situation, a man and a woman combined.  If necessary to make my
point, I will expose you so that others can catch the subtlety in my
creation."

"On another level, my design for you shows you to be spectacularly
beautiful.  My point is that in the right clothes, men can have their
appearance lifted to a beautiful level just as women can.  My own outfit, as
a counterpoint to yours, shows that women can be strong and dominant without
losing their sensuality.  We will show those who are feminists because they
are afraid or unable to be beautiful that they are on the wrong track.
Rather than deriding female fashions for their supposed restrictions, we
should be proud of our bodies and do the best we can to showcase them.  We
should even be willing to help men to achieve the same level of beauty."

"There is one more goal tonight, one that overrides all the others.
Professor Warren told me that he would give me an A and a good
recommendation if I gave him a blowjob.  You're going to do it instead.  And
when you're sucking on his cock, I'm going to take a picture of him,
sodomizing a bound young lady.  If we meet that goal, then I won't tell
anyone there's a man lurking within you.  I'll use that picture to blackmail
Professor Warren into the good grade I deserve in this class.  If he
refuses, I'll reveal who you are and use the forcible homosexual rape to get
him bounced from the College."

Karen concluded her crushing plan for the evening by saying, "Krystal, your
part in all this is to do what I tell you.  If I decide it's necessary in
order to get Professor Warren's attention, I'll give you to someone so that
you can suck his cock.  The center piece of your gag comes out if you undo
the little clip that you can't see.  Then their cock can slide down the
opening into your mouth.  Your lips can come together closely enough to
caress their shafts, just not quite enough to get fully closed.  Your tongue
and throat can handle the rest.  You'll need to do that until Professor
Warren finally takes the bait, then I'll get his picture.  If you don't do
what I require, I'll just walk off and leave you, bound, gagged, dressed as
a woman in a locked-on outfit.  No money, no ID, and no way home.  When or
if you finally get home, you'll find your stuff on the doorstep and yourself
locked out.  This is all or nothing.  Do your best for me and I'll keep you
around, see that you're satisfied.  Anything less than your best and you're
history.  Do you understand?"

Krystal's shattered gaze pleaded with Karen not to go through with this
horrible plan, but Karen was unyielding.  She stared Krystal down, dominant,
powerful.  Finally Krystal lowered her eyes in shame, but nodded with
resignation.  For all she knew, dressed as sensually as she was, bound as
thoroughly, if she tried to run away the first man that found her might pull
the plug from her mouth ring and rape her orally anyway.  At least this way,
Karen would look out for her, keep her from getting in too much trouble.
She would, wouldn't she?  Krystal desperately hoped so.  She submitted
meekly as Karen hooked a glistening golden chain to the ring at her collar,
a chain that matched the one binding her arms so tightly behind her.  Then
Karen led off toward the site of the project display, tugging Krystal along
behind her with confident negligence.

Once in the display area, all eyes locked into the glamorous pair.  Karen
was beautiful in her own right, and the dominant black leather outfit made
her shining blonde hair look like a continuous explosion of light.  But
Krystal!  Not only was Krystal equally beautiful, the vibrant colors of her
catsuit, the titillation of her bondage, the strange way she kept her lips
always slightly parted, all added up to a mysteriously compelling
excitement.  Good art creates emotions and the emotional impact of Karen's
creation was incredible.  For a moment, in the stunned hush of the crowd,
Karen felt she might have been able to call Professor Warren's bluff and
demand an A for the course without giving him the blowjob he required or
finding some way to blackmail him.  She certainly had that crowd under her
spell.  But then she decided to go through with her plan.  In part, because
she wanted to dominate Krystal and see if her submissive liked it.

Though no one else knew of Krystal's hidden secret, they both found
themselves comparing their appearance to the others that had brought
cross-dressed men.  There were several, ranging from nearly credible to
blatantly uncaring of how good the men looked.  At least three that they
noticed carried the uncreative title of "Turnabout Is Fair Play." If Karen
had been grading the presentations, she'd have given those offerings an
automatic F. They had dressed their models in outfits that would have been
unbecoming on women, and were certainly not appropriate.  An overweight
woman should no more wear tight miniskirts and open-midriff tops than these
pot-bellied men.  Nor would society require her to.  Requiring out-of-shape
men to wear hooker clothes was neither turnabout of society's rules, nor
fair.

A few, though, had tried for something approaching Karen's interpretation,
finding an image for their men that celebrated their potential if society's
limits on clothing styles were relaxed.  One large, well-muscled man modeled
a short, tight red satin skirt that revealed as much as concealed his
impressive bulge.  His legs were shaved and he wore shimmering pantyhose
that made highlights dance as the muscles rippled under his skin.  It was
beautiful, something that all men should be allowed to wear without
embarrassment or censure.  He wore a matching red bustier top that lifted
his pectoral muscles into a cleavage that was at once reminiscent of a
woman's endowment while simultaneously stridently masculine.  Like Krystal,
this model had deeply black hair, though it was cut into a curly masculine
style.  Like Krystal, this model wore glittering golden hoop earrings,
setting off the blue-black hair with dramatic emphasis.  He was titled, "Be
All That You Can Be," an interesting statement that reaffirmed that his
masculine abilities were undiminished by invoking the power of the US Army
through their slogan.  Karen would have given that student an A, though she
should have added appropriately strong makeup to complete the statement.

Karen decided that this strongly-muscled man would be Krystal's first target
for the night.  Tugging on her slave's leash, Karen wandered over to the
model and his student escort.  It was clear that this student, a somewhat
mousy girl named Nancy Carter who was nonetheless a teacher's pet to
Professor Warren, was not controlling her model.  Her model was here as much
to make his own statement as to support her in her class project.  If he was
gay, he wasn't ashamed of it, but somehow Karen didn't get that impression.
He just seemed to agree with the sentiment that men should be able to wear
what they want.  Karen therefore approached the man as much as the student.
Her words could be heard by them both, but not by others.

"Hello, Nancy, who's your model?" Karen began.

"Um .  .  this is Brad Madison.  His mother and my mother are friends."

"My name is Karen Ashley.  You two have done a good job." Karen said it to
them both, but her eyes were only for Madison.

"Thanks," Nancy replied.  "Um .  .  I don't think I understand the title of
your project.  By the way, what's her real name and why is she holding her
mouth open like that?"

"Do you understand, Brad?" Karen challenged, ignoring the rest of Nancy's
comment.

"When It Blows, All Cats Are Gray," he read.  "Does it blow?"

Karen's grin congratulated him, "Got it in one."

Nancy gasped.  Brad grinned.  Krystal's eyes widened in panic.  Altogether
an extremely satisfying reaction thought Karen.

"Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere a little more private," Brad
offered.  He took Karen's arm and they strolled out onto a tree-lined garden
area.  Krystal followed, of course, bound by her leash.  Nancy followed as
well, too confused to know what else to do.

"What is your name?" Nancy asked Krystal, unaware that she was gagged.

Karen answered negligently over her shoulder, "She is Krystal.  She doesn't
have much to say, tonight.  That's part of the artistic statement."

That comment confused Nancy more than it explained anything to her.  Krystal
just trailed along in agonizing embarrassment, sure that she knew what Karen
had in mind.  When they reached a private spot, out of sight of any other
attendees, Karen proved she was right.

She pushed Krystal to her knees, then reached into her purse and extracted a
small padlock.  Karen clipped this to the two rings at Krystal's ankles,
locking her legs together, though her knees could spread enough for a stable
base.  Then Karen handed Krystal's leash to Brad and took Nancy's arm.

"Nancy, let's you and I go get something to drink.  Brad, you'll find a
small clip that will release a part of what is keeping Krystal so quiet.
We'll be back in a little while."

Strolling like life-long friends, though Karen's control of Nancy's arm was
unyielding, they walked off and left Krystal kneeling at Brad's feet.  Brad
looked down at the gorgeous creature bound before him.  He lifted her chin
even higher than the tall collar of her suit forced her to hold it, and
examined the plug in her mouth.  There was an obvious sort of latch holding
a portion in place, so he released the latch and pulled out the center
portion of Krystal's gag.

Krystal gasped in as much air as the tight corset allowed her.  She had been
sucking on the plug since it had been put in her mouth, thinking that her
shortage of air was due to its obstruction.  In face, her nose had provided
as much air as the corset would allow her to have anyway.  She sagged in her
bonds with false relief, false because her ordeal was just beginning.

Brad examined the plug and bragged, "Hmm, not too bad on diameter, but a
little short, don't you think?"

He pulled his red skirt up above his hips, then pulled his pantyhose down to
reveal a thick, hard cock every bit as large as his bulge had promised.
Krystal stared at it in cross-eyed fascination as the tip waved just before
her nose.  Her distended jaw offered no defense as Brad slowly moved his
hips forward, pressing the tip of his cock past her partially-open lips.
Krystal tried to widen her lips even further, to avoid any touch of his
member, but it was so large that all her efforts accomplished was to soften
the pressure of her lips to a gentle caress rather than a stiff orifice.  A
desperate scream, a call that was meant to be, "NO!" but came out only as,
"Oh!" passed through the open portion of her mouth ring.  Brad took this as
a sign of how impressed Krystal was with his size, and bragged further.

"Oh, baby, that's right.  You love my monster here.  You want it don't you?"

Krystal tried again to deny it, but the new intruder that gagged her mouth
was as effective at limiting sound as the old one had been.  She tried to
shake her head in negation, but Brad's tool had already penetrated far
enough to lock her head forward.  She tried to force it back with her
tongue, but the head of the invader had already passed the end of her tongue
and all her pressure did was squeeze him even harder.

The sensation of passing not just one set of soft lips, but a second soft
squeeze at the ring protecting his cock from Krystal's teeth was unique in
Brad's experience.  He had heard about these O ring things, but never come
across one, let alone someone willing to wear one.  Of course, Krystal might
not have been all that willing.  It was clear that she was under Karen's
control.  He pressed his cock deeper into her mouth, enjoying the
sensations, and the power.  Krystal's tongue pressed against the bottom of
his shaft, and he felt the very tip reach the back of her throat.  The
helpless receptacle before him spasmed with an uncontrollable reflex
rejection of his stiff invader.  He smiled at the thought of pushing even
further, but he was a bit afraid that Krystal might vomit if that reflex was
triggered too hard, too fast.  So he withdrew until he felt the gentle
squeeze of the O ring behind the head of his dick, then pressed forward
again.

In the main room of the project display area Karen and Nancy had gotten
their drinks.  Nancy kept glancing back at the doorway to the garden, but
Karen had her arm firmly under control and was steering her around the room.
Finally, Nancy just had to ask some questions, though her meek personality
found it extremely hard to meet the strength of the gorgeous blonde walking
with her.

"Um .  .  what do you think they're doing out there?" she asked.

Karen laughed, "What do YOU think they're doing?"

"I don't know.  I didn't understand everything you and Brad were saying.
Why are Krystal's arms tied?  And why did you lock her ankles together?  And
what were you telling Brad about why she's so quiet?"

As before, Karen answered the questions she felt like answering and blandly
ignored the rest.  "Krystal does what I want her to do.  I expect she's
doing it now.  Shall we go watch?"

The flaming blush that leapt into Nancy's cheeks provoked another cool
chuckle from Karen, who was already guiding them out through the doorway to
the garden, though down another path than the one they had taken previously.
She led them until they could look through some bushes at Krystal and Brad.
Their vantage point was somewhat behind Krystal, far enough to the side to
see that she had engulfed Brad's shaft with her lips, but not enough to see
her eyes or the front of her collar.

What they saw was Krystal throwing herself forward enthusiastically to take
as much of Brad's cock as possible down her throat.  She would lunge at his
crotch, then lean back, then lunge forward again.  It was a incredibly
erotic display of desire, a bound woman trying desperately to take a man's
dick as deeply as she could, as rapidly, as energetically, as wantonly as
she could.  What they couldn't see was that the enthusiasm was Brad's not
Krystal's.  He had run the chain from her collar between his legs and was
yanking her forward onto his cock with sharp jerks on her leash.  He would
relax the tension and Krystal would struggle back, only to be yanked forward
again.  Her initial reaction had been anything but enthusiasm, in fact.  So
much so that Brad had decided to take matters into his own hands, so to
speak.  He had warned her that he would get his satisfaction, whether she
wanted him to or not.  If she was passive, he would probe ever deeper to
find the tight, moist stimulation he needed.  On the other hand, if she did
her part, sucking hard and using her tongue with energy, well then, he would
be finished that much the sooner and it would really be easier on her.  It
was difficult for Krystal to make the mental adjustment necessary to
participate willingly in her oral rape, but in the end it didn't matter.
Brad's rhythmic tension on the chain was forcing his shaft so far down her
throat that he was getting the stimulation he wanted.  He was way past any
consideration for her or her actions, completely consumed in his own
pleasure.

"Oh, yeah, baby, that's it.  Squeeze that cock.  Suck me hard."

He stopped his yanking on her chain and just grabbed a handful of hair on
each side of Krystal's head.  When Karen saw this she was worried for a
moment, concerned that Brad might yank off Krystal's wig.  But that worry
proved unfounded.  Either his motion was gentler than it looked, or they had
fastened the wig on tightly enough that it didn't matter.  Brad held
Krystal's dark head motionless as he began to ram his dick into her mouth,
fucking her face.  Nancy saw that brutal, powerful motion and was horrified.
Then she was just plain scared as she saw the look on Karen's face.  There
was not the faintest hint of horror on the blonde's face, nor in any body
language so fluently displayed in the powerful black leather.  Instead,
Karen showed interest, respect, even building excitement.  Nancy wanted to
turn and run, but her horrified fascination drew her eyes back to the joined
pair.

With a rapidly accelerating series of strokes, Brad erupted into Krystal's
mouth.  Her throat continued to spasm with every plunging invasion by Brad's
tool, but the thick cream that filled her mouth triggered yet another
reflex, transforming her gagging rejection into a gulping swallow.  Though
she tried to reject his intrusion with pushes of her tongue that were the
only motions she could make in her mouth, those muscle commands just
triggered further swallows, again and again, until Brad's cream was
absorbed, then milked to the last drop.  Finally Brad completed his ramming
sodomy and withdrew from her dark red lips.

"Not bad, baby.  You need a little practice, but not bad, not bad at all,"
he gloated, knowing that his praise was a further insult to his temporary
captive.

"That's our cue," Karen grinned, then pulled Nancy with her to the path that
Brad and Krystal occupied.

"May I have Krystal's plug back please?" she asked with hollow politeness.

"Certainly," Brad replied with equally false manners.  He handed her the
center portion to Krystal's gag and Karen quickly inserted it, pushing it
home before Krystal's shocked senses could put up any visible resistance.
Nancy had caught just a glimpse of the cruel ring distending Krystal's jaws,
but she had seen the cock-shaped plug very clearly and now knew what was
keeping Krystal quiet.

Karen reached down and unlocked Krystal's ankles, pulling her to her feet.
The blonde dominant's grin showed fierce pleasure as she teased her bound
companion.

"My dear Krystal, you simply must take better care of your appearance.  Why,
your lipstick is almost all gone, and what's this on your chin?"

Krystal stood in embarrassed silence as Karen fussed over her with
ostentatious care that sharply emphasized the dark-haired captive's absolute
helplessness and total dependence.  Karen dabbed with a tissue at the
gleaming drops of Brad's cream that speckled Krystal's chin, then pulled a
lipstick tube from her purse.

"You're lucky I brought some of your lipstick with me," she chided Krystal.
"You don't even seem to have kept track of your purse.  Now, pucker up."

Of course Krystal never had a purse, her bound arms prevented her from
controlling any aspect of her own destiny that evening.  She tried to pucker
her lips as well as the wide-open pressure of the gag would allow, then
Karen applied a thick coating of the darkly-gleaming red lipstick to
Krystal's puffy lips.

In another wicked dig at Krystal's helplessness, Karen took a tissue and
held it up near Krystal's open lips, saying, "Now blot off the excess.  Oh,
you poor dear, of course you can't.  Well, you'll just have to hope your
next admirer likes your lips so slick and creamy.  Now, why don't we go back
into the main room and see who can be the next one to figure out your
riddle?"

At this suggestion that was in fact an order, Krystal's eyes widened then
took on a pleading desperation.  She shook her head in negation as sharply
as the high collar would allow, sending elegant ripples down through her
tumbling black tresses.  Karen looked at her with narrowed eyes, but turned
to the other couple without saying anything to Krystal.

Brad had pushed his shrunken cock back inside his pantyhose, then lowered
his short red skirt back into position.  The satiny material was wrinkled
where he had scrunched it, and the hard bulge that had been an strident part
of his previous artistic statement was gone, now soft and small.  Karen
noticed this reduction in the effectivenss of Nancy's project and pointed it
out with another teasing show of false concern.

"Why Nancy, your model's clothes aren't hanging very well right now, and he
seems to have lost some of the form of your composition.  It's a good thing
this isn't a competition since your statement doesn't seem to have held up
very well.  Don't worry, I'm sure Professor Warren will still give you the
grade you deserve."

Nancy was worried of course, especially since Karen had pointed out the
lessened impact of her project, but that was part of Karen's plan.  She
wanted Nancy to feel a need to approach Professor Warren with enough of a
story to get his interest pointed toward Krystal, and to Karen.

In response to a tug on her leash, Krystal followed Karen back into the main
room, the towering heels she wore forcing her hips to orbit with provocative
energy.  As they approached the door, Karen leaned close to Krystal's ear
and hissed with harsh command, "Krystal, dear, I don't like it when you try
and say no to me.  When I ask you if you want to do something, you will
always indicate that you do.  Do you understand?"

Krystal nodded her head, but the look of despair never left her eyes, a
despair that Karen had misinterpreted.  Krystal was too well bound even to
explain that her despair was not caused by the fear of another oral rape,
but by recognition within herself of a desire for it.  She had felt herself
respond with craving, not loathing, to the helplessness, to the constant
ache from her strict bondage, to the taste and the texture and the pressure
of a cock in her mouth.  Her body, her heart, her mind, every particle of
her being was responding with unimaginable thrill to being a woman, to being
a captive, to being a sex toy.  Deep inside her where Chris Stevenson still
lurked, there was shock and horror at the excitement she felt and that
surfaced in the pain in her eyes, but there would have been even more pain,
even more despair if Karen had relented from her path for the evening and
taken them home.

She followed her beautiful mistress with sensual grace, balancing easily on
the high heels, relishing the tight bondage and the exaggerated effect it
had on her swaying motion.  By the time they were back in the main room her
look of despair had been buried beneath sparkling interest.  She moved
closer to Karen, trying to see what her blonde dominatrix had in mind for
her next.  Karen was scanning the crowd for Professor Warren.  She would
wait for him to approach her, but she wanted to be ready when he did.  The
professor knew she was there, of course.  An assistant had taken her
registration information, but she had seen the professor at the table
reviewing the data.  She had also seen his eyes on them, seemingly casual,
but sharp with interest.  As soon as it was clear that the professor wasn't
headed their way immediately, Karen started working the crowd for the next
lucky man to figure out Krystal's riddle.  She never gave them any further
clues than the title and those inherent in Krystal's perpetually open lips,
and most didn't have the imagination to figure it out, but after a while she
had a winner and was passing out into the garden again.

Once again Karen forced Krystal to her knees, then locked her ankles
together.  Even if Krystal could somehow manage to get up onto her towering
heels with her ankles locked together and her arms useless for balance, once
standing all she would be able to do was hop on her stiletto spikes, a
hopeless method of movement that would surely result in a crashing fall.
Once again her leash was passed to the grinning man who had solved her
riddle.  Karen retreated into the gloom as the man extracted the thick plug
from the ring locked into Krystal's teeth, and watched as the shapely
brunette was used by yet another man.  He wasn't quite as creative as Brad
had been, dispensing with the leash and just grabbing Krystal's hair for
control.  He rammed into her mouth so fast and so deep that Krystal couldn't
have aided his pleasure if she wanted to, and to her deeply-buried horror
she found that she did want to.  In a few minutes he was through, casually
releasing her and stepping back to clean himself up on his handkerchief.
Krystal knelt quietly, waiting for the return of her cock-shaped gag plug.
The newest sodomizer was getting ready to place it into the wide O ring when
Karen walked up.

"I'll take care of that," the blonde offered, then inserted it with a little
less force than she had used before.  She unlocked Krystal's ankles and
helped the bound girl to her feet, then once again cleaned her face and
replenished her makeup.

As the man walked, actually swaggered, back into the main room, Karen spoke
to Krystal with a little less cruelty in her eyes and in her tone, "Sorry,
love, that one was more animal than I expected.  I'll try to find you one
that is a little more interesting next time."

They continued their evening's adventure with another foray into the main
area.  This time Karen saw Nancy Carter talking with Professor Warren when
they reached the room.  They might have been talking casually about Nancy's
project, but the glances they both cast at Karen and her captive showed that
the leather-clad pair was at least a part of the subject of their
conversation.  Krystal was displayed to additional party-goers until another
winner was found, and another trip made to the dark gardens.  When they
returned this time, Karen found Professor Warren casually waiting near the
doorway.

"So, Karen, you have an interesting concept," he said casually.  "The outfit
is quite attractive.  I appreciate the use of bright colors, and your
pattern draws the eye quite effectively without being heavy-handed.  Of
course, not everyone here had such a beautiful, and shapely, model to use.
It's an excellent touch to put her in bondage.  A model as sensuous as yours
could be intimidating, but her helplessness makes her at once someone to be
dominated and to be protected.  Good Art.  I am surprised that such a pretty
girl would consent to such strict bondage.  It must be uncomfortable."

Karen nodded, a superior smile her only indication that there were depths to
her creation beyond even those the professor had noticed, or understood.

"The title, now, that is a bit unusual," continued Professor Warren, as
though that were the only thing really unusual about her spectacular
project.  "I suppose there are meant to be meanings at multiple levels?"

Professor Warren stopped at that point and looked at Karen.  His smug smile
was met by calm confidence in eyes such a startling royal blue that they
looked as artificial as Krystal's really were.  This was a critical point in
Karen's plan.  She was determined to gain mastery over the arrogant
academic.  He was waiting for her to fill the void left behind his comments
with explanation that would be her plea for a good grade.  That would
establish his superiority in the relationship as her need for a grade was
shown to be greater than his need for sexual pleasure.  If, on the other
hand, she outwaited him, then her dominance would be shown.  However, Karen
faced the risk that Professor Warren would just turn away with some
dismissive comment.  If he did, she would lose her grade, her
recommendation, her battle of wills, everything.  She stood quietly, though,
the strength of her silence that challenged the professor to make his own
interpretation of the title of her project was shown in an arched eyebrow, a
superior smile, an almost imperceptible hardening of her gaze.

Karen won her challenge.  Professor Warren couldn't just turn away from the
vision in fire, the bound vision that he knew from his secondhand inquiries
was helplessly performing blowjobs to any who could solve the riddle of her
title.

"Let's see," he mused as though he were brilliantly solving a puzzle, though
the answer had been handed to him already.  "When It Blows, All Cats Are
Gray.  Since she's wearing a catsuit she would seem to be the subject, yet
her suit is vibrantly colored, not at all gray.  Your title must imply a
change might occur.  Yet, your title is not 'IF' it blows, but 'WHEN'. That
must imply that the lady does indeed blow under the right circumstances.
Tell me, am I on the right track so far?"

Karen nodded slightly, maintaining the strength of her silence.  Since
Professor Warren had solved the portion of the puzzle that others had
solved, or at least pretended to solve it, Karen turned without a word and
moved back into the garden.  Krystal trailed behind her, the golden chain
that held her arms glinting through her midnight mane, the sky-high heels
more excuse than cause for the sensuous wiggle of her shapely hips.
Professor Warren was totally captivated by the beautiful brunette, so
helplessly bound, so blatantly erotic.

In the garden, on a path that Karen had carefully selected for privacy more
apparent than real, Krystal was once again forced to her knees.  The small
lock clicked sharply as her ankles were bound as securely as her arms.
Karen had still not said a word to the professor, letting him think his
conclusions were correct and complete.  She handed him Krystal's golden
leash and walked away without looking back.

"So my pretty flame," gloated Professor Warren, "Karen chose wisely in
dressing you in such HOT clothes.  You are more beautiful than any woman I
have ever seen, and more erotic in your bondage and towering heels.  I may
give her the grade she desires just for letting me have you, without
requiring service from her personally."

As he spoke, he was fumbling with the latch to the plug in Krystal's gag.
In a moment, he had it loose, drawing it from the surrounding ring with
first interest, then amazement.  A momentary envy, or embarrassment, or both
showed in the professor's eyes as he realized that his own member was not
even as large as the one that Krystal had been sucking on all night.  He
wouldn't even fill up the ring that spread her jaws so dramatically.  Still,
no one would know but this gorgeous creature who was totally under his
control, and she obviously wouldn't be telling anyone anything, at least not
immediately.

He drew his own inadequate tool from his pants and presented to to Krystal's
eyes.  It was impossible for her to sneer, of course, with her jaw forced
open as far as it would go.  But a bit of something showed in her eyes.
Relief that it was so small?  Disappointment?  Probably Krystal herself
didn't know.

Professor Warren moved forward to feed his quivering penis past Krystal's
glossy red lips.  She let them close lightly about it, about all the
pressure she could get with her mouth so wide, and then he moved in further.
She waited passively for him to push into her throat.  And waited, as his
small tool hardly reached as far as the gag she had grown to enjoy.
Professor Warren felt the moistness of her tongue, the pressure of her lips,
just a touch from the wide mouth ring blocking Krystal's teeth, and was
thrilled by the sensation of power that it gave him.  He lusted after power
as an addict lusts for his drug, and to have such a beautiful woman
completely under his power was almost enough to make him come, even without
physical stimulation.

The bright flash of light caught him completely by surprise, then another
and another and another in rapid succession.  He blinked his eyes, looking
around for the source of the flashes but his dazzled eyes saw only shadows.
Then Karen stepped from those shadows, holding a camera in her black leather
gloves.

She said her first words to him that night, while his penis was still in
Krystal's mouth, "Professor Warren, we have some things to talk about."

"What?  .  .  Huh?  .  .  .  What's going on?" he stammered as he tried to
get his exposed dick packed away into his pants.

"Let me explain the title of my project, Professor," continued Karen.
"Arrogant chauvinists like you make it clear that you think women are good
only for sex.  Since it relieves you of the duty to have a hard dick, you
especially like oral sex, fellatio, so that the woman can do all the work.
When offered the chance for a blowjob, you don't even care what the woman
looks like.  A fiery costume, a gorgeous body, a pretty face, flowing long
hair, none of this matters to you.  Krystal might as well have been ugly and
dressed in gray.  You didn't even care whether she wanted to do this.  You
never asked her.  In fact, you left her in obviously uncomfortable bondage.
My photos of you show you forcibly sodomizing a helpless girl.  You'll go to
jail, Professor."

"That's not true," he stammered, "you're the one that bound her.  You gave
her to me."

"Slavery is illegal, Professor.  You became a criminal by not freeing her
immediately.  Besides, two wrongs don't make a right.  Or is it four,
Krystal?  Well, three and a half considering the Professor's tiny dick."

"This is entrapment.  Any man would have taken advantage of your offer.
This girl is so beautiful that she'd tempt a saint," he argued.

"Well, you're hardly a saint, Professor.  However, you're not giving me
enough credit for my part in this creation.  Would you agree that it is part
of good fashion design to create the illusion of greater beauty than really
exists?"

"Of course," he snorted.

"Then here is my offer.  By your own admission I have created great beauty
here.  My fashion ability is excellent and I deserve an excellent grade.  By
your own actions you show that I have made a powerful, even compelling
artistic statement.  Men will use women for oral sex, regardless of their
wishes.  You're going to give me my A for the course, and the most laudatory
letter you can write as a recommendation to the fashion design houses.  Or
else, I'll spread these photos around and Krystal can press charges for
rape.  Your choice."

"Some creation of beauty," sneered Professor Warren when it looked like he
might have a way out of this.  He knew he'd give Karen her A for the course,
and her letter.  She actually deserved them.  But he wanted to gain a little
personal authority back by denigrating her achievement.  "Start with the
most beautiful girl around and anyone can make her look beautiful.  Not much
challenge there."

Now it was Karen's turn to gloat, "Ah, of course you're right.  However,
Krystal was not a beautiful woman when we started.  In fact, she was not a
woman at all.  Under my artistry is a man.  Right, Krystal?"

Krystal's mouth was still held open by the wide O ring, though the center
plug was removed.  She couldn't really talk, but she nodded her head as much
as the tall collar of her suit allowed and managed a feeble, ".  .  ethth,"
through her distended mouth.  It came out in the masculine tones of her
voice, though, which was all the proof that Karen required.

Professor Warren recoiled back in shock, wanting desperately to disbelieve.
Nothing Karen could have claimed would have been convincing, no words
Krystal could have uttered would have been compelling, but that masculine
voice was so incredibly incongruous coming from that beautiful face and
gorgeous body that the very impossibility of it made it undeniably certain.
The professor was arrogantly sure of his own brilliance, sure that his
blackmailing harassment of students was only an excuse for them to do what
they wanted to do anyway, above all sure of his own sexual orientation.  To
be attracted to, even lusting after a man, however dressed, was a massive
assault on his own self image.  He staggered back to lean against a nearby
tree.

However, the professor was actually good at recognizing artistic talent,
good at helping students apply their talents to fashion.  He knew genius
when it was revealed to him, all the more remarkable when it had to be
revealed to him, when he couldn't see through to the core of the statement
and the skill on his own.  His monstrous ego began to reassert itself almost
immediately and he started to rationalize his capitulation to the power
Karen now held over him by telling himself that art so compelling should be
rewarded.

"Very well, Miss Ashley," he said, formal again in an attempt to regain the
authority of a teacher over a student.  "You'll get your A for the course,
you deserve it.  I'll also write you a letter that should get you in the
door at any high-fashion house in the country.  If you'll give me that
camera, we'll forget this little incident ever happened."

Karen laughed in his face, "Not a chance, Professor.  I'm keeping this film
for evidence.  I don't know what that statute of limitations is on forcible
rape in this state, but I'll bet it's a pretty long time.  You'll give me
that A all right, and a good letter.  But I'm also going to be checking in
with students in your classes in the future.  If you ever try harassing a
co-ed again, you're history.  Do I make myself clear?"

Professor Warren's bluff collapsed like a popped balloon.  His shoulders
slumped and his eyes suddenly found his shoes to be the most compelling
sight in the garden.  He nodded silently, then started back into the main
room.  Karen's low chuckle hastened him on his way, then her question
stopped him in his tracks.

"Pardon me, Professor, but unless you have need of that plug, could I have
it back?"

The cowed academic was clutching the cock-shaped plug to Krystal's gag in
his hand, totally forgotten amidst the shocks that had been delivered to
him.  He realized it looked like he was fondling a man's penis and he wanted
to throw the devilish device away, but Karen's arched eyebrow and waiting
hand was even more compelling than his embarrassment.  He gave it to her and
then hurried away before she hit him with yet another humiliation.

Karen turned to the still-kneeling Krystal and said, "Sorry, dear, but for
reasons I'll explain later I still intend to leave you gagged for a while.
Without the center plug you'll just drool all over yourself, so in it goes."

It was almost hard to determine if Krystal sagged when Karen made this
announcement.  The bound brunette's arms were held back so severely that her
shoulders were almost rigid and the collar and corset of her catsuit held
her upper body in perfect posture.  Only her pleading eyes indicated any
noticeable emotion, and Karen misinterpreted that.

The blonde dominatrix placed the cock plug back in the wide O ring and then
unlocked Krystal's ankles.  Karen helped the bound girl to her feet and
performed her usual ritual of repairing makeup, then escorted her back into
the display area.  Professor Warren was back on stride, surrounded by an
array of admirers or sycophants.  However, Karen's grin widened even further
when she saw him quickly look away rather than take the chance of making eye
contact with her.  She shepherded Krystal to the exit and then to the car.
In a few minutes, they were back at their apartment.

"Krystal, I'm sure your arms are tired.  But it will be a few more minutes
yet before I release you.  Be patient, dear.  But then, you don't have any
choice do you?" giggled Karen.  She pushed Krystal once again to her knees
and locked her ankles together.  Then Karen disappeared into her bedroom.
In the promised few minutes she reappeared, now dressed in her martial arts
outfit, black belt prominently visible around her trim waist.

She stepped in front of Krystal and said, "Okay, love, you have a choice to
make.  In a moment I'll release you.  You might choose to come up fighting
mad.  If you think you can out-dance me while you're wearing stilt heels and
I'm in my gi, then give it a try.  I'm better than you even when we're both
dressed for fighting.  I'll beat the crap out of you and when you wake up,
you'll be on the front step with all of your stuff around you and the door
locked behind you.  Maybe I'll leave you the key to the zipper on your suit,
and maybe I won't.

"Your second option is not to be angry about tonight.  After all, you did
promise to do whatever I asked.  However, you might not have liked it and
not want to do it ever again.  Well, I enjoyed it immensely and will insist
we do it again, if you stay in my life.  If you can't live with that, then
I'll help you from your outfit, help you pack, and give you a week to find a
new place to stay.  We'll part with no hard feelings, but our life together
will be over."

"It may be, though, that you enjoyed tonight.  Oh, I know your arms must be
aching from the tight bondage and it would be too intense to do all the
time.  But I have lots of ideas for beautiful ways to dress Krystal, not all
of which involve bondage and submission.  Some of my ideas involve very
strict bondage, but I'm not into pain, nothing worse than the discomfort you
feel right now.  If you think that would be exciting, I can promise you a
life more interesting than any you would achieve on your own."

With those last words, Karen stepped behind Krystal and undid her ankles,
then the lock holding the golden chain that bound her arms.  Krystal
shrugged her shoulders to loosen the chain, struggling to get it slid down
to her wrists so that she could move her arms.  While she was doing this
Karen stepped in front of the kneeling brunette again and moved back far
enough to set herself in a balanced fighting stance.  In a few minutes,
Krystal had the chain through the links in her catsuit and was stretching
her arms and shoulders.  Just for a second, though, because as soon as her
arms were unkinked, she moved her hands to her mouth and removed first the
core plug to her gag, and then compressed the mouth O ring.  She carefully
brought it out past her teeth and examined it with curiosity before setting
it aside as well.

Krystal swayed to her feet with a motion much more sensuous than her suit
and heels required.  She smiled at her blonde captor and said, "Next time,
you need to give me a break every now and then on that mouth ring.  I won't
be able to kiss you properly for at least a week."

Then she grinned, moved gracefully forward to the woman who had opened a
whole new life to her, and proved the lie of her statement with the deepest,
hottest, most sensual kiss they had ever shared, the first of many to come.

-- 
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