It Started Innocently Enough

That evening's supper gave the first hint. Instead of a usual meal for me there was nothing on my plate but a protein shake and a cup of tea to drink.

"No solid food for you, we need to begin to clean out your digestive system. However, you can still have a bowl of ice cream for dessert."

After supper she suggested we proceed upstairs to the bedroom where she would give me a pedicure. After cleaning and soaking my feet in the bathtub, she rubbed my skin briskly and then smoothed on a very pleasant moisturizer. As I ate my bowl of Berry Garcia, with fine attention to detail she pushed back my cuticles with an orange stick and carefully filed each nail with precision. With little spongy things between my toes a clear base coat of polish was applied to each nail and allowed to thoroughly dry. She hadn't let on which color she had chosen for the top coat, preferring to keep it a secret, but it came as no real surprise when she pulled out the scarlet red enamel from her case. I was amazed at the professional results as she applied two coats of enamel to my toes over the next hour, with nary a blemish or mistake to be seen. I had to keep my feet up and let them dry for a while longer, and she helped the process along with the benefit of a hair dryer. They looked absolutely spectacular.

When I woke the next morning and went to the bathroom to pee, the bed next to me was already empty and there was a note for me on the vanity along with a bath bomb and a brand new razor.

"Surprise! Good Morning Mina! I'm downstairs making coffee for YOU for a change. Run a hot bath, throw the bomb in and get soaking. I'll bring you your coffee. By the time you're out of the tub I want everything below your nose "clean shaven" and I mean everything!

This was surprising, on several levels. Was I to take her note literally? I wasn't sure, as I adjusted the water temperature and opened the box of the bath bomb. With the tub reaching full height I threw in the bomb and it exploded into mounds of foam and fragrance as the water agitated it into a frothy mass. I gingerly stepped into the very hot water and began to let my limbs and muscles soak in its luxurious skin-softening magic. I smelled my coffee coming even before she walked through the door.

"How's the shaving coming?" she asked, crossing the bathroom threshold.

"Just about to start. To be sure I get it right, everything means..."

She smiled, "Okay, you need a list? Your legs; your genitals; your ass; your taint; your underarms; your chest; and of course, your face, including your mustache."

I was stunned. The only thing I heard was mustache. I never imagined her wanting me to shave my mustache - I hadn't seen my upper lip since I was a teenager. This was a pretty extreme step and I started to think of all sorts of implications and repercussions. What would my friends say? What would our kids say? How and why would I explain the reasons I shaved it? Would it even grow back? How long would it take? Would it grow back blond or grey? I was about to start blurting out my case to not shave my mustache off when she put a finger to her lips, and softly whispered one question to me.

"Mina, are you all-in or not?"

Her eyes locked on mine and did not waver or blink. She was waiting for an answer. Actually only one answer was even possible, one answer that would allow us to proceed, to move forward. Any other answer and we might as well pull the plug on the tub, it would all be over, done, finished.

"Yes, Mistress, I'm all-in."

"Good girl, Mina. Here's your razor..."

An hour later I was standing in the tub showering off the remnants of my soak and shave. The bath bomb had made all my skin silky soft, and the keenness of a new razor had allowed me to leave any shaven skin slick and smooth. She had helped me shave the parts of me I couldn't reach, and held a small mirror for me while I shaved my face and revealed what lay beneath my mustache for the first time in dozens of years.

Once the shower stopped, she leaned in and placed her lips on top of my still wet upper lip and gave me the most tender kiss I could remember. Her tongue slipped into my mouth as her lips engaged forcefully with mine as if they intended to become a single pair. Her left arm dropped down, her hand squeezed my now hairless scrotum in her palm, tightly clamping my balls in her grip.

"Time to get your hair and nails done Mina," as she led me out of the tub by my balls.

With a towel wrapped around my waist and my hair still wet, the contents of the temporary hair color box were removed. The instructions said to use the squeeze bottle to apply the liquid to freshly washed hair and comb in thoroughly, then blow it dry. Once dry it could be styled normally, and the color would be fast for at least three to four additional shampooing's. The color when wet was a startling crimson; we both were concerned it was almost clown-like. But as it began to dry under the heat of the dryer it began to mellow into a rich attractive red. Nobody was going to mistake it for a natural hair color, that wasn't the intent, but it did achieve the objective of a mod, flair, pop of color that looked well on short hair and might draw attentive and appreciative looks in a crowd.

"We'll work on styling it later, let's focus on your nails right now"

It was close to lunchtime and I still hadn't eaten any food.

"Maybe I could get a bite to eat first, Mistress, I haven't had any breakfast?"

She thought for a moment, then replied, "You're absolutely right, how thoughtless, I ate earlier before you got up and completely forgot. Here's our plan. You go put on and I'll lock your chastity cage, it should feel extra special on that shaved cock and balls. Then lets get dressed and walk down to the soup shop and get you a proper lunch. Remember you're on a liquid diet."

Shit, I didn't mean "go out" for lunch, I meant lunch in our kitchen! Not outside, in daylight, in my own neighborhood, with my mustache shaved off AND a headful of red hair. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

Ah well. It turned out the soup tasted delicious and as far as I know no one noticed me, at least no one came up to me and talked to me face-to-face while we were out. I kept my eyes down and tried not to make eye contact with anyone the entire time. Just before closing the front door, she handed me a baseball cap, whether out of pity or not I don't know, but most of my now red hair wound up covered. Perhaps it was enough for her just to know she could parade me around in a public exhibition of her dominance.

It was mid-afternoon by the time we walked home. The fake nails and nail polish were set out and the kitchen table set up as a manicure station, while a favorite instrumental jazz playlist was queued up on the stereo. After I washed my hands but before I put my fingers in the bowl she had set out for them to soak in, she handed me a pair of teeth-whitening strips.

"These have to sit against your teeth with your mouth closed for 45 minutes, so put them in now while I start your manicure."

She used this time to tell me that on our date she was looking forward to having me eat her pussy, how she liked being on top (of course) but while receiving oral she preferred her back. She told me to close my eyes and then began describing how she wanted my tongue to barely stroke her clit. She wanted slow upward strokes along her labia and clit hood while I held her mons down firmly with my hand and stretched it towards her breasts to better to expose the clit itself. Consistent slow flicks, gently with the tip of the tongue, with plenty of my saliva before her own pussy juices started flowing to make her slick. With my other hand I was to take just one well-lubed finger and massage the entrance to her pussy, occasionally sliding it up and down along her pussy lips. As she became hotter and started to squirm I was to turn my hand around and place the finger right at the entrance to her cunt and start pressing it in (careful with the fingernail!) ever so slowly and then gently, gently insert and withdraw, insert and withdraw, while still maintaining the rhythmic tongue stroking on her clit, until her mind and body quivered like a bowl of jelly as she fell into one fantastic orgasm after another.

Her ability to maintain any focus on my manicure was remarkable as her vivid descriptions were pure audio porn. Yet she used a warm bowl of water to soften my cuticles and she trimmed them and smoothed any rough edges of my natural nails. The false nails were ideal for cross-dressers, as their extra large size would easily cover a male's fingernails. After an adhesive tab was pressed on the base of each of my own nail's she chose the closest-sized false nail and set it on top and firmly pressed it into place. She then used a clipper and emery board to fine-tune the length and shape to her liking. As they were extremely long to start, their final length extended just over a full-inch and a half long. She had bought them unpainted so she could match the polish on my toes, so the next 90 minutes was spent applying and drying the base and two coats of scarlet red enamel. We did take a quick break in between hands to let me spit out the teeth-whitening gel strips and rinse my mouth.

"They look spectacular, how do they feel?" she asked.

I ran the nails across the skin of my forearm and it gave me chills. It was sexy and exciting to feel their sharp edges as they scratched the surface of my arm, and the bite of the nails when I dug them into the soft underside of my thigh as a test was exquisite.

"I love them! They are beautiful...Thank you so much!"

"Just know they will take some getting used to; even the simplest of tasks will sometimes take forever or be impossible. And inevitably you are going to poke yourself unexpectedly.... It's almost 5 o'clock. Well, Mina, I suppose you should start getting ready for our date."

My heart raced. My fantasy date! This was it... this was the night I had been waiting for, working for, for more than 2-months. If I wasn't wearing my cock cage my rising hard-on would have ripped right through my pants.

"But first we have to take care of some, uh, 'business.'"

I'm a pretty sharp fellow but I did not have a clue what sort of business we had left to discuss at this point. She took me by the hand and led me to the bathroom and told me to strip.

"Normally I'd have you do this yourself but given your new manicure I'm offering my assistance. Now please get on your knees and bend over the tub edge."

Now it dawned on me. As soon as she told me to bend over and then lift my butt up higher I knew exactly what the score was. The unfinished "business" was inserting a butt plug. The familiar coolness of lube against my asshole confirmed a butt plug was soon going to fill my rectum. I felt her finger gently pushing at the entrance, stretching the opening. I focused on relaxing my butt muscles as I waited for the bulb of the plug to start its journey inward. I wondered which one she chose? As she withdrew her finger it was replaced by the familiar solid feel of plastic against my anus, but instead of resistively pushing my sphincter muscle open it just slid right past and I suddenly felt the rapid flow of liquid quickly filling my bowel. She was administering me an enema!

The "butt plug" was actually just a thin plastic nozzle connected to a tube leading to a bag filled with soapy water hung on a towel hook. I immediately felt bloated as the bag emptied. But she filled it again, and the warm stream continued to pour into my insides. It was already causing me to cramp and was very hard to keep it all in. After the bag emptied for a third time (each one holding a liter) she said, "I think four will be about right," and refilled the bag. I thought thank God after this one I can sit on the toilet and seek relief. Not quite.

She proceeded to clamp the hose shut, close to where it entered my butt, took the bag off the other end, and after coiling the remaining tube, stuffed it between the crack of my ass and taped over my butt cheeks with several pieces of duct tape. She set the timer on her cell phone for 20 minutes and said I could do whatever I wanted to pass the time while she was gone, but if I let a even a drop leak out I would be licking it up with my tongue. The water inside me was sloshing and gurgling and my gut felt like a washing machine on steroids. I could not find any position lying on the cold hard floor that was comfortable, and anyways I did not want to move far from the toilet.

From my fetal position in front of the toilet I heard her foot-falls as she re-entered the bathroom. My agony seemed to make no difference to her. She seemed to move in slow motion. The last 20-minutes felt like a lifetime as my gut suffered a slow torture. She finally peeled the tape off my butt and motioned for me to sit on the toilet before unceremoniously pulling the tubing and nozzle out from beneath my asshole. Like a pressure washer, a jet of brown water shot out my ass into the bowl, loud bursts of air interspersed with the water making for the grossest sounding farts. Since I had so little solid food in the last 24-hours the majority of what came out was the water she had put in, but it took a while for it all to work its way out. When I felt sure the last dribble made its way out she instructed me to stand in the tub while she rinsed my butt clean with the hand-held shower. Now she bent me over and inserted what felt like the largest, thickest butt plug I had ever had inserted up into my clean little ass. "Cleaned and stretched for whatever, or whoever, may come to your back door this evening," she chimed.

Wearing a lightweight sarong I sat at her vanity while she fixed my hair. It was so short there were few options for styling, but she had some ideas. She wet my hair and combed my bangs down across my forehead and trimmed them straight across, right above my eyebrows. She then applied styling mouse all over and used the dryer and a short bush to tease the hair on the top of my head, adding volume and height. Combing back the sides with a fine-tooth comb, she swept the hair over my ears tight to my scalp. She sprayed everything with a finishing lacquer. The spray added a nice shine, deepened the red just a shade darker, and held every hair firmly in its place. The overall look was very retro and chic.

She next started in on my makeup by applying a base foundation after moisturizing my skin. The goal was a uniform tone as a starting point. A concealer under my eyes helped minimize the puffiness before she started outlining my inner eyeline with a brown pencil, then applied some white highlighter to my inner eye corners. It took her about 15-minutes of precise layering to apply the three shades of blue and gray eye shadow, blending them in a subtle smoky-eye effect. The false lashes were killer. After curling them, the mascara and matching eyeliner were added and they complemented the look perfectly. She had earlier hidden my natural brows beneath some form of wax cover-up that was now dry so she was free to paint in new feminine eyebrows that matched my overall look. The wispy high arched dark lines looked rather sophisticated and quite sexy. She used blush sparingly on my cheeks. The effect appeared to "lift" my cheekbones. Finally she handed me the lip liner, lipstick and gloss that matched my nails and said finish up. It took some determined focus to grasp hold of the makeup with my new fingernails but with the training sessions behind me the results were perfect, even by my Mistress's standards. I stared into the mirror; was it really me?

"Let's go Mina, time to get dressed."

I was startled from my reverie as I was led to my undergarments laid out on the bed: stockings, bra, the corset of course, and a low-rise pouch brief.

"Let's start with the corset."

I had become adept at putting on the corset from my daily training but she seemed interested in helping out. I didn't mind since my nails seemed so fragile and pulling the cords tight required a lot of work. The busk was positioned and fastened on me and she started drawing up the laces. She asked how far I had gotten in waist reduction since receiving the corset weeks ago. She already knew the answer but I replied I was proud of the 5-inch whittling of my waist, partly the result of dropping the 10 pounds and partly the result of the waist training. She said nothing and smiled as she continued to take up slack on the cords.

I stood there with hands on my hips as she moved her hands up and down the eyelets at the back of the corset, the two sides coming closer together with every cinch she pulled. She asked me to hold still and I felt her knee in the small of my back and she pulled on the cords weightily with both her hands. The corset's steel stays had taken on a distinctive S-curve as the laces pulled me in tighter and tighter. While they ran up short against the bones of my rib cage and hips, the soft flesh of my stomach was still available for reduction and she was determined to extract the last millimeter of constriction even if it resulted in breathlessness for me. She finally exclaimed 'done' and tied off the cords - the tails were longer than I had ever seen them and she had to coil them up like lariats to keep them from dragging on the floor.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

To say I was uncomfortable would be an understatement. I wasn't in pain, per se, yet it was hard to breath, hard to move, and I felt so encased and rigid that any movement of my torso felt like I was struggling against a giant resistive spring.

But fuck, what a shape - my figure was killer and looked just like a beautiful hourglass. She took out a tape measure and the tape didn't lie - 7 inches off my natural waist measurement.

The black fishnets were next, their detailed bold back seams would make the curve of my legs stand out. Not only would the seams give my legs a sense of subtle definition, the stockings were topped off by intricately detailed and sumptuous lace at the top bands to make me feel sexier. She had to help me get them on and smooth them out as I could not bend at the waist because of the corset and I didn't want to ruin them with my nails. They came up to mid-thigh and attached to the corset with six garters.

The brief went on next, perhaps a size too small and made of shiny black lycra with a front pouch that held my chastity cage snuggly up between my legs like a pseudo gaff. Not quite a thong, it did fully expose my lower buttocks and was very, very tight and secure.

The black lace underwire bra had padded cups that would provide some modest shape up top under my dress, and actually provided some lift and support to my embarrassingly small and sagging man-breasts. Usually used to undoing the tiny hooks and eyes from behind my wife's back, it was maddening trying to figure out how to fasten them behind my own back when she suggested I fasten them in front and then rotate the garment around to my back, slipping my arms under the straps in the process.

Only the dress and shoes remained - I knew the shoes well but the dress was still a mystery, which one she bought was still a secret. When she took the dress from her closet and pulled the wrapping off its hanger, I immediately recognized it. The shiny black PVC reflected the lights from the ceiling fan like stars. It was a form-fitting dress with a mandarin collar. Beneath the collar was a tear-dropped opening over the bodice, designed to expose breast cleavage. The mini-dress had laces up the sides that could be tightened as much or as little as you wanted, snugging the sheath to cover the butt, and even cocooning the thighs into a tight hobble if desired. I slipped the dress over my head and ran my arms into the mid-length sleeves, which were a tight fit. The collar was almost two inches tall and was reinforced and very stiff. It closed in the back with two buckles. Luckily the size was forgiving, and there was a lot of give in the fabric as she helped pull the rest of the dress down over my waist and ass. Seeing the laces, she of course could not resist offering to give me a helping hand in making sure they were good and tight, ensuring that the very, very short hem would not be riding up my legs any time soon. It fit and felt like a second skin because of its lycra backing, and the shiny black PVC finish was made even glossier when she shined it with a cloth dampened with PVC polish.