BUNSNUB: Another Love Story Ch. 11

She had reached down with her left hand and was moving the tip of one nail lightly along the underside of my throbbing hard-on. It worked and while she laughed in my face, the finger's tip acted like a powerful aphrodisiac, a narcotic that blocked the pains emanating from my rump. I sniffled some and caught my breath. Then I sighed and expelled a long, deep lung full of pent up passions.

"Th..th..a...ank you...ma...ma'am," I offered through quivering lips and another deep breath.

"That's a good boy," she whispered in mocking encouragement. She then left me standing alone, looking like a deaf, dumb and blind fool. She took a deep breath also, but one of accomplishment and picked up a long piece of material. It looked like a woman's body stocking, white and transparent. It had mounds of ruffles and padded footies.

"Here's your new uniform," she said taking it in her two hands to hold open for me. It was another humiliating outfit, small enough for an infant and yet a lot more then anything else I'd been allowed to wear. It consisted of several buttonholes connected by another space-age material. The buttonholes were elastic openings. It looked as shear as shear could be, but white enough to almost see.

"Let's get you into this so you can begin earning your wages," the secretary said while working her fingers through a couple buttonholes. I looked on in astonishment, as the holes expanded to accept her two hands. She then began gathering the almost invisible film together. She pulled and rolled it into her hands until one foot was available, then she sat down on a chair and had me bring my foot up.

I steadied myself with a hand on the desk and lifted my leg so the secretary could slip the footed part on. The foot had a thinly padded bottom. The white material stretched unbelievably about me and she worked it carefully up my leg. She stopped to bring the other padded bottom to my other foot. The material disappeared as it traveled, clinging to my body like a watercolor, a second skin.

Soon she was working my second skin up over my thighs and when she'd worked the material to my waist, she needed stop only long enough to work my testicles through an appropriately positioned hole. The hole looked to be the size of a belly button and I couldn't believe she'd even attempt forcing my balls through it.

"Now don't fight me boy! Just relax and I wont hurt you," she said. She was looking up at me and I nervously shook my head, unable to catch my breath again. The secretary's fingers slipped in through the expandable hole and grabbed one of my testicles. Her fingernails dug into my sack and then she squeezed until I went up on my toes where I belonged, with a squeal. "That's a good boy! That's a good little guy, I got you. Just relax Joey, I've got you. You're safe, trust me, trust me," she said looking up at me, looking down at her. She wore a grin inversely proportional to my alarm. What a sight I must have made, dancing before her like a one legged ballerina as she worked. She worked first one testicle and then the other out through the tiny hole. My entire sack soon hung free and rested in the palm of her hand. The hole, which had grudgingly expanded to accept the passage of my testicles, snapped tight, constricting around the narrowest part of my sack.

"See, that didn't hurt you, you big baby," the secretary said while adjusting the vessels and tubes pinched by the elastic. She put my tubes into a comfortable order and finished by slapping my scrotum around. Looking down, I noticed the rim of the hole was trimmed in long white lace that encircled my scrotum like a miniature tutu. "Are they pretty, or what? Come on now, let's finish getting you into this," she blurted out, breaking into an amazing interest. The secretary continued stretching and working the material up my body, till I needed to slip my hands and arms through the narrowest sleeves I'd ever seen. They were the same size holes as all the others and took a lot of work. Feeling a bit strange, I looked behind me and then down. I noticed my buttocks were not covered. My swollen, bright red cheeks, stuck out through a hole also edged in white lace.

"Yes my dear boy and I suggested it, the lace that is. I believe you were made to wear lace... You should be taken out in public dressed in lace and wear it at all times. If your mother were alive, I'd take you home to her decked out in so much lace she'd have a heart attack," the secretary said in a quietly evil way. I couldn't get mad at her.

In this uniform, my boner was left pressed up against my stomach. It was forced into an uncomfortable position, with its head just below my belly button. It was drooling and oozing as much as ever, saturating the material with my arousal. I couldn't believe how well the material held me, tighter than yesterday's leather straps and the wetter the material became, the tighter it seemed to become and it wasn't my imagination.

"Almost in it big boy, come on you can do it," the secretary sang, as she finished stretching the material up along my arms, over my shoulders and finally let the neck snap shut. The lace-trimmed hole I'd passed my entire body through, suddenly snapped shut around my neck, as tightly as the others. "Isn't it a wondrous material, right out of an alien technology, wouldn't you say," she stated with a turned up brow. She was standing in front of me with a smirk on her face and a handful of lace pieces. I didn't understand her, but I had never before felt material like that.

She secured a fluffy lace frill about my wrist and toyed with it, as women are apt to do, until it looked light and feminine. She nodded to herself in satisfaction, did the same with my other wrist and then slipped an extra fluffy lace frill around my neck. "Oh and aren't we looking scrumptious today," she whispered in my face. Her breath hit me with the force of a canon ball and I smiled deliriously. The layers of lace came up all around my head and should have been enough, especially after the way she fussed at fluffing them apart. But the next thing I knew, she was holding one of those terrible fanned collars. Sooner still she was fixing it around my neck. She made sure to allow plenty of lace to protrude from both above and below the collar. Of course, this collar was white, concave and a little deeper then a champagne glass, with a radius of a mere foot. She then took me by the ear and led me to in front of a full-length mirror.

'Some type of futuristic, comic book character-clown', I thought when I saw my refection. I was too ashamed to look and too excited not to. The one-piece outfit was stretched so thinly about my body and was so tight, I looked like a freshly made veal bratwurst and it was uncomfortable. The secretary turned me slowly, so I could take in the entire humiliating picture.

"Go on, take a good look boy, that's you," she gloated. She forced me to turn slower and made me watch. My head, hands, buttocks and testicles, were the only parts of me not encased in this bizarre, space-age pig intestine, a casing that was getting tighter by the second. By the time I'd finished my rotation, both the secretary and I saw the froth clinging to the material. The entire front of my uniform was saturated in secretions. The material was highlighted by the syrupy moisture I churned out, which became suspended against my skin and turned to froth. In this case, I was churning out a large quantity. "I've never seen a cock drool like this, boy. It says a lot about the organ you're caring around between your legs for Ms. Handlesmen," she said. Her mind seemed to drift off, on and away for a short trip.

Taking me by the ear again, the secretary led me to her office and had me stand in her floodlight. As before, she picked up a camera and began snapping pictures of me. Once more I was a model moving from pose to pose. I stretched and twisted, I pouted and stared with opened mouth, then I showed her my tongue. I knelt with my head on the floor, my buns up and legs spread. Again she made me spread my own ass cheeks, this time to show off my asshole in all its mortification.

"Lets see that asshole spread wide! Rip it open for the camera! Come on pussy! I want to photograph your intestines, show them to me! Spread that hole boy!" the secretary kept ordering in loud bursts, while she zoomed in and moved around me with camera clicking. She made me sit on the chair with my legs spread and draped over the arms again, one of her favorite positions. She photographed me from every conceivable angle and quit only after finishing another five rolls of film and a long humiliating session. She seemed somewhat satisfied, but I could tell she planned even more of these sessions. I couldn't help wondering what came of all the photos. Did she show them to her friends and did they swap them amongst themselves, like boys do baseball cards?

"Come along with me boy," the secretary said, taking me by my elbow this time. We reentered Ms. Handlesmen's office and moved behind her desk. The secretary escorted me up to a stainless steel stool that was short and had three legs. It was against the wall and to the right of a potted plant. It was an extremely shiny stool and without the customary flat round seat. This seat was fashioned like a cone, with its pointed end up.

"Sit down here boy," the secretary ordered. Not waiting for me to move, she spun me around and plopped me down.