Garnet: a Story of Submission Ch. 03

3. A fashion parade and the appointment of a fourth Mistress

The image of my three internet mistresses came up true to time, immediately after I'd logged on at 1.15am on the Sunday morning following my second shopping expedition to extend my feminine wardrobe – as directed by them.

Like me all three were clad in lace trimmed and panelled underwear – bra', corselet and panties – completed in each case with matching head mask, stockings and court shoes. The three of them in shades of blue, green and yellow respectively, as befitted their pseudonyms Miss Emerald, Miss Sapphire and Miss Topaz; as 'Garnet' I was clad in shades of pink and crimson.

Genevieve stood to the side of my computer, out of range of the web-cam but in a position that gave her sight of the screen.

The image of the three of them faded from the screen as it was superseded by a video recording portraying the outside of my apartment block in Camden Lock. My surprise at the scene had barely had time to register before the shock was compounded by the image of me leaving my front door and walking, followed by the camera, to the tube station.

It rapidly became clear that the film was to an edited version of the previous day's quest. I was shown entering the underground system followed by a couple of shots 'in transit', before emerging at Long Acre and the Ann Summers outlet where Genevieve worked. Quickly, I was shown emerging from the shop with my first purchases – to depart back to Camden, only to re-emerge and make my way to Oxford Street, to be greeted by Genevieve. The episode of Genevieve purchasing a crop-top and persuading ... instructing me to exchange it for my tee-shirt, in full view of any interested passers by, giving them sight of my bra', was faithfully recorded; as was an extended shot of the lacy top of my panties emerging above the waist-band of my jeans, as we made our way to Debenhams. Finally, we were shown entering a taxi, again burdened with my afternoon acquisitions.

The film closed with a large question mark superimposed over a close up of Genevieve.

"Who is this?" My mistresses demanded.

Haltingly, at first, I explained that she was an assistant at the Ann Summers branch where I'd made my initial purchases – the lingerie in which I was currently clad – and had advised me over my morning's purchases; and that she had volunteered to assist me again during the afternoon.

"Is she with you now?" Came the peremptory demand.

I admitted that such was the case and, at their demand, introduced Genevieve to the three of them.

"Are you lovers?" Again the query was short – if not too sweet.

Again, I admitted to that development in our relationship.

"Prepare a video fashion show of your new costumes, all of them, for Monday night. Genevieve should be with you – from now on, in our conversations, she will be known as 'Amber' and, at least when she appears 'on screen', she will be suitably attired – as we are. You will notice that some forty minutes remain of your allotted screen time; during that interval you will wank into your panties as previously directed, remove them and use them to clean yourself up, remove your bra' and sit exposed in full view of your web-cam until it's time to log off."

I could of course have called a halt to the whole escapade at that stage, even though it was now obvious that my three mistresses knew where I lived. But I didn't. I was too far under their control to extricate myself now. Meekly, with a scarlet face under my mask, and under the interested scrutiny of Genevieve, I did as I was bid – spending some twenty five minutes sitting, more or less motionless, with my exposed cock and meagre masculine bosom pictured on the screen, still clad in pink satin mask, corselet and stockings – my soiled and saturated lacy panties and my matching bra' laying discarded on the desk top.

As I sat there I mused as to what Genevieve ... Amber would regard as 'suitably attired'; what kind of costume approximating to mine she would choose to set off the flawless rich dark, almost black, complexion that was the stunning bequest of her Sudanese ancestry. I was soon to find out.

*********

Maybe I should explain myself a little. I left home to work in London as an internet antique dealer, largely working from my own home office. The son of an overbearing and boorish father, I had never had the opportunity to develop any kind of self confidence; and this wasn't helped when my father died by the continued, although much more kindly, domination of my sister – the only one in the family to successfully stand up to my father – and, to a lesser extent, my mother. Until I met Genevieve my existence had been more or less solitary. Hence I hade been easy prey for my three dominant internet mistresses who had introduced me to the erotic joys of acceding to their efforts to feminise me. By now, I was 'hooked' on the excitement and engendered by wearing female clothes – I don't think I could have called a halt to the process by then, even if I'd been certain of finding a way to extricate myself, now that they obviously knew who I was, and where I lived.

[The account of Garnet's first encounter with Miss Emerald, Miss Sapphire and Miss Topaz; and of his initial feminisation with the assistance of Genevieve; can be found in Chapters 1 and 2 of Garnet: a Story of Submission ... fp]

"Who do you think is the principal of those three?" Genevieve asked me, as we relaxed on my bed after another bout of love making.

"I assume it's Topaz," I replied, after a moment's reflection, "she appears to be the one who leads any interchange we have, and to me with their issue instructions."

"I'm not so sure," she said, "I wouldn't be surprised if it was the shemale, Miss Sapphire, the other two seemed to me to be deferring to her before anything was said."

"Shemale!" I exclaimed. "What makes you think Miss Sapphire's a Shemale?"

"Well, strictly speaking, I don't think she ... he is." Genevieve relied. "A true Shemale takes some form of medication to soften his contours, assume a more feminine form and encourage the formation of breasts. Some even ultimately undergo operation to re-assign their genitalia, but that's relatively rare. I think Sapphire is probably a transvestite. I don't think his boobs are any more real than yours and I think he carries a similar surprise to you in his panties."

"A slender man like you with small hands and feet, particularly one with a fair and fresh complexion again like yours, can dress very successfully as a woman," Genevieve continued, "and will deceive anyone – even another woman – given adequate attention to hair and make-up. Once again if, like you, his body and facial hair is almost non-existent he doesn't even need much in the way of cosmetics. But problems occur when he starts to undress. Without his outer clothes the differences in his body shape at the waist and hips are apparent and no matter how well he chooses his panties and tucks himself in, there's always a tell-tale bulge in the front of his knickers. In some ways a pretty man in lingerie looks more feminine without his knickers, with his cock on show than if he keeps them on."

"A pre-op Shemale usually looks best wearing a pair of pretty knickers that highlights the incongruity of his cock without actually fully exposing it, as an adjunct to an otherwise feminine body," she added, almost as an afterthought.

I deferred to her superior knowledge on the subject and tried to revise my perceptions of my three mistresses, accordingly. After all, working as she was she had far more experience of the comparative male and female form than me, and her ready acquiescence to my initial feminisation mission suggested that I wasn't the first young man to visit the shop in search of exotic lingerie for himself.

Now I was faced with another decision. Should I continue with this experience or call a halt to the whole thing now? And if I continued, what about the fashion show?

Even as I pondered, as now seemed the norm Genevieve took the decision out of my hands.

"We have a studio over the shop that we use to mount small fashion shows," she said. "Come down to the shop this evening, about six, things'll have quietened down by then. Bring all your clothes with you and we'll mount the show. I'll find some-one to record it."

*********

Genevieve opened the door to me and led me through the shop and up a flight of stairs to the next level, into a fair sized room set out with a stage and a short catwalk and set with small number of theatre type seats.

Her first action was to remove the light robe she was wearing to reveal an outfit that was a replica of my own and my mistresses internet satin and lace costumes, but in shades of orange that paid a stunning complement to her beautiful body.

My arousal, already reasonably advanced by the thought of what was to happen, increased. Suddenly Genevieve was no longer Genevieve, but truly 'Amber'.

And it was Amber who introduced me to a young Asian man, Osborn, who was to be our camera man. I must have looked a bit askance at the introduction of a third person.

"You don't need to worry," Amber assured me. "I became ware of Osborn's secret by accident, one day. Working as he has for so long surrounded by exotic femininity eventually he couldn't resist the urge to try the stock for himself. Take your jeans off," the last being directed at Osborne.

Meekly, he unshipped his pants, letting them slip down around his knees, to reveal that he was wearing a pair of dainty, translucent, lacy nylon panties that moulded themselves around his sizable cock, displaying it for approval.

A growl from Amber, as he made to return his jeans to their accustomed position, resulted in him hastily removing them altogether and he spent the rest of the session, discharging his duties as camera-man, with his incongruous masculinity, contained but not disguised by his pretty panties, on display under a short tee-shirt.

Amber directed me remove my street clothes and despite them onto one of two chairs positioned adjacent to some kind of chemical dispenser – the other chair was already the recipient of Osborne's discarded jeans; she then instructed me unpack my feminine wardrobe and to iron and press them all using the adjacent steam iron and board. Once she was satisfied that my clothes were properly prepared she decreed that I should start by modelling my 'Provincial Girl' outfits, accordingly I dressed carefully in a set of my delicate cotton underwear, with stockings and shoes, and was just about to step into my dress when she stopped me to apply make-up to my face and to 'fix' my hair. Only then would she let me finish dressing. And it was at that stage, too, that she completed her own preparations by pulling a matching face mask over her closely cropped hair.

After bidding me to listen and react to her words she ushered me on to the stage and the catwalk and began her commentary.

"For her visit to the City, Garnet is wearing a rather fetching little dress in light summer cotton, over printed with a pink and crimson floral motif. As you can see, as befits her somewhat reserved and retiring nature, the skirt sits demurely above her knee to protect her modesty as she bends, stretches and sits."

In accordance with her instructions I did my best to suit my actions to her implied directions but the next words took me a back a bit, and my hesitation earned me a sharp reproof.

"Beneath her dress, Garnets modest nature is again displayed in her choice of underwear."

A pause occurred whilst, hastened by the reproof, I removed my dress as gracefully as I could.

"Garnets delicate pink cotton half-slip, daintily trimmed with broderie anglaise, and again printed with pink and crimson motif, conceals matching panties and suspender-belt. A matching bra', nylon stockings and matched court shoes complete Garnets outfit."

Not waiting to be prompted this time, I removed my underskirt to display my panties and suspender-belt as indicated.

I was sent back twice to repeat my image, each time displaying my outer wear – both times a skirt and blouse – and uncovering the underwear beneath. It was at the end of the third display as I stood arrayed in my essential underwear that I received another shock and, again, another reproof for hesitation in complying with the implied direction.

"Despite Garnet's modest appearance, she carries a secret within her panties that might be expected to produce quite a reaction from any boy or girl friend that she might invite back to her flat – and which, by virtue of that surprise, might assist her in maintaining her virtue."

And here I had to remove my panties as modestly as I could to reveal my, by now rapidly stiffening and thickening, cock standing out from the femininity that framed it – stocking tops below, pretty suspender-belt above, delicate suspender straps each side.

A similar pattern followed when Amber next decreed that I should model my 'Business Girl' wardrobe.

Again, she addressed the matter of make-up and hair once I'd assumed my underwear before I was allowed to complete my costume. The first display was that including the short sleeved, slim skirted dress.

"To reflect her self assurance and desire to achieve in a competitive environment, Career Girl Garnet is wearing a simple, rather severe but smart, linen dress, in crimson with a delicate pink pin-stripe the skirt of which sits below the knee," Amber's commentary started, "beneath her dress Garnet's personality is reflected by her choice of underwear. The silky touch of her expensive and luxurious lace trimmed satin lingerie on her body, enhances her confidence as she moves in her high powered business world. Under the full length slip the matching bra' and suspender-belt are complemented by her choice of French knickers; the whole is completed with matching stockings and court shoes."

This time I needed no prompting to remove my dress and slip as carefully as possible, to demonstrate the choice of underwear.

Once more the second and third outfits followed, both slim skirted business suits one in pink the other in crimson – over crimson and pink lingerie respectively. As I removed my Jacket, the first time, Amber's commentary indicated that Garnet's confidence was sufficient to enable her "to rely on the bodice of her slip to protect her modesty without further enhancement".

And this time I was more-or-less prepared when, once I was reduced to my third set of knickers, bra' and suspender-belt, Amber added "such is Garnet's self assurance that the failure of her loose legged knickers to either contain or restrain her unusual appendage, is of no consequence. Should she invite either a male or female lover into her domain, she is be fully aware of her ability to control any situation that may arise."

At these words I made sure that my arousal, standing out from the lace trim around the leg of my knickers, was fully visible.

My third set of outfits; that Amber described as 'Disco Slut Garnet', was more or less a free for all!

Amber had me prancing and gyrating on the catwalk, in pseudo disco movements, that sent both the flared skirt of my tunic and, in turn, the back-split skirt dancing and lifting – facilitating extended sightings of my cock, spilling out of the lace trimmed split front my panties under the tunic, and of the lacy bands across the back of my panties under the skirt. Additionally, both the open sided tunic top and the almost transparent blouse that matched my skirt were sufficiently tight to mould the semi-erect nipples of my false breasts, as they pressed through the front-split cups of my bras'.

Again, of course, Amber had me removing my skimpy outer garments to demonstrate the inadequacies of my underwear in detail.

The third outfit for 'Disco Slut Garnet'; the shocking pink leatherette micro-skirt, the semi-transparent blouse with the ruched collar and low-cut front over a nylon and lace micro-thong, the split-cup bra', suspender-belt, stockings and disco sandals; the ridiculously short length of my skirt meant that my cock, spilling sideways out of the thong, was on more or less permanent display.

Amber commented, "bi-sexual Disco Garnet is intent on displaying her wares in advance, in order that there may be no mistakes. Anyone who picks her up is left in no illusion as to what they can expect once they get her stripped and ready to service any demands made of her."

With that the show concluded; a show that, as signified, Osborne had recorded carefully to Amber's direction and was now ready for submission to my three inter-net mistresses.

Turning to retrieve my street clothes I found, to my horror, that the dispenser had somehow leaked, or a line had burst or something and my clothes were saturated with some kind of corrosive chemical beyond any hope of recovery and were now unwearable – as were Osborne's jeans.

*********

Amber picked up and discarded the ruined garments, one by one.

"No hope for it, you'll have to wear one of your outfits home. You'll probably be safest as Garnet the Country Girl," she told me. "And we'll have to find something from the shop for you, too," she said to Osborne.

With that she swept off downstairs leaving Osborne stood sheepishly in his pretty panties and short tee-shirt, awaiting her convenience, and me contemplating making my way back to home dressed as unmistakably female.

Only the previous day I'd travelled to Oxford Circus and the length of Oxford Street wearing panties and bra' under jeans and tee-shirt – which had been quickly substituted for a crop top; but Amber had been with me, and at least I'd been wearing my own trousers, which didn't seem quite the same. Now I was faced with a journey wearing a skirt and stockings. Still, as Amber had pointed out, there seemed no hope for it.

By the time Amber returned with skirt, a bra' and a pair of self supporting stockings for Osborne, I'd removed the remnants of my last Disco Slut Garnet outfit and clad myself in one of my prim skirts and blouses over my delicate cotton undies and a pair of stockings and shoes.

After ushering Osborne into the remainder of his outfit, Amber addressed make-up and hair for both of us, called and paid for a taxi for us to share, before she shed her face mask and climbed into a set of motorcycle leathers. As the taxi departed Long Acre with its two rather nervous apparently female passengers, she donned a helmet and roared off without a backward glance on a powerful Japanese machine.

The taxi driver deposited Osborne at his Nine Elms flat first, with a courteous "evening miss." And he extended the same civility to me as he deposited in Camden Lock. The first test was accomplished, at least in the relative gloom of the inside of a taxi on a late summer evening my charade had not been discovered.

Back in my flat I retained my femininity as I unpacked and stowed away the rest of my clothes, setting aside some the items of underwear for washing, other items for pressing, and prepared and ate a light evening meal. I didn't even wipe off my make-up or do anything to disarrange my hair.

Whilst I unpacking I discovered that someone ... Amber ... had added three 'shortie nighties' to my wardrobe. All in an essentially transparent chiffonous material – in crimson, rose-pink and pale pink respectively, with contrasting satin bows a threaded ribbon; each complete with three pairs of equally diaphanous matching panties.

I took the hint and that night I lay in my bed clad in one of my new prizes and reviewed the whole evening: Amber dressed in her lingerie; Osborne with his substantial cock surrounded encased in delicate femininity; and my own assorted costumes and the final taxi ride home. As I did so I found my hand automatically caressing and massaging my rapidly stiffening and thickening cock through the delicious daintiness of my panties – and, I confess, exploding into my panties as I attained a much needed and satisfactory relief.