Margot's Contract Ch. 01

"Ah, I see. So you'll be one of that group of young men that sit in the restaurant and leer and ogle at the girls I suppose. Imagining you're all sex gods I'd wager. How do I know this isn't some kind of joke, a bet perhaps; a dare to make a fool of me so that you can then share it with the others and have a good laugh -- at my expense? Is that what this is all about?"

I had to convince her I was genuine -- before anyone else came into the steam-room.

"No, it's not like that. I promise. I've not mentioned this to another soul. Please believe me. I'm willing to do anything you say: anything, to prove this is how I feel: that I'm genuine. To have you dominate me is all I desire from life Mrs Stott."

Again she maintained a period of silence before addressing me.

"Go back to the changing room -- now. Bring your boxer shorts or underpants or whatever it is you wear back with you and wait for me to return, Understand?"

I nodded.

"Then off you go, do it now, this minute."

I stood up and made for the door, Mrs Stott standing up after me. I held the door open for her and managed to have a brief look at her pert, sweet derriere lodged in the little bikini she was wearing. On my return, she was already back there and again, there was just the two of us.

"Hand me your underpants and take your swimming trunks off and give those to me too. Chop-chop."

I handed her my boxers and sheepishly wriggled out of my swimming trunks, turning sideways on so that my dick and balls were not in her full view.

"Turn around, hand me the trunks and let me inspect you," she demanded.

I did as I was told, my cock now beginning to stretch up and out in an embarrassing salute. Mrs Stott looked down at it as she stuffed my clothing into the small bag she'd returned with.

"I can see why you might be submissive. Not that impressive is it?" she mocked.

Reaching in to her bag, she extracted a small, tightly crumpled ball of white material. This, she stretched out and held up before my face to show me.

"They're the panties I was wearing whilst playing squash earlier. I have another pair to wear. You will wear these if what you say is true. Put them on -- now!"

I did as I was told. If it wasn't for the fact we might not be alone for much longer, I'd have sniffed them and licked them and showed her just how much I adored anything that had to do with her.

They were a tight fit but I just about managed to get them over my bum, the front of them (which had a little dark-blue bow by the way) never quite managed to enclose my, by now, erect, five and a half- inch member.

"Keep them on. Stay in here for another five minutes and then get showered and changed and meet me up in the main bar in 30 minutes wearing the panties. Oh, and always address me as "ma'am" to rhyme with ham. Got that?"

"Yes, ma'am," I stuttered, overjoyed at how things had gone so far but with a deep sense of foreboding. Just what had I started? What had I let myself in for?

Others came into the steam-room in my remaining time there but I didn't care, so pleased with myself was I that I'd managed to tell Mrs Margot Elizabeth Stott of my desire for her. Sure, I kept my hands over the front of her -- my -- panties, and I sure as hell got some strange looks from some of the men back in the changing room, but I ignored all the stares and giggles.

Mrs Stott was already seated at a table when I entered the bar. She curled her finger to beckon me over. I approached her almost in a daze, hardly able to believe what was happening and unable to comprehend what lay ahead.

"Can I get you a drink?" I asked.

"What did I tell you? How must you address me?" Her tone was firm, that of someone who'd brook nothing but complete compliance.

"Can I get you a drink ma'am?"

Mrs Stott looked beyond me towards the man behind the bar.

"We'll have our drinks now please if you'd be so kind," she spoke, more in the tone of an order than a request.

"Sit down Denis. I need to make a few things plain to you and I'm still not sure you're being genuine and that this isn't all some silly, juvenile prank."

I sat down, intending to plead my case again but had to hold back until the barman had placed our drinks on the table and Mrs Stott had smiled at and thanked him.

Mrs Stott raised the orange-coloured cocktail, to her perfect, sensual lips. I looked down at the other drink. She noticed my confused look.

"It's a sweet sherry Denis. If you want to be submissive, if you're a beta-male to an alpha-woman, you must accept your mimsy, sissy, and subordinate position. Now, just push down the waist of your trousers and show me that you're wearing my panties as I ordered you to."

I quickly looked around to see if there were others nearby who could hear or see my discomfort but it seemed safe and I stood slightly and pulled the waist of my trousers down slightly with one hand whilst pulling up the waist of the panties to show Mrs Stott the little bow that adorned them. She nodded that she'd seen them and motioned me to sit.

"Good girl," she started. "Pantie-wearers like you need not pretend you're macho by downing pints of beer do you understand?"

I nodded and slowly lifted the small glass of sherry to my lips; grateful no-one else seemed to be watching me.

"I need you to prove that you're a genuine submissive, so, I'm going to set you a few tasks that, if you complete to my satisfaction, will prove you're serious and that I can proceed to establish a true dominant relationship with a sissy, pantie-wearing slut like you are, or will become. Do I make myself clear?"

I can't say her use of the terms sissy or slut figured in my lexicon of submissive terms for males and they didn't alarm me as they ought to have done. I was wearing panties after all, so figured being called such terms was just a feature of a dominant person's put-down of a submissive.

"Please ma'am, I'm not joking or playing a prank. Telling you my innermost desires just then was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. Now I've told you, I'd do anything you ask to continue being your submissive. Anything."

"Anything?"

I nodded, "anything ma'am."

"Very well. Meet me here, in this bar at the same time next week. Don't you dare be drinking beer -- it must be a sweet sherry."

I nodded my acceptance and wondered if that was the test.

"Before then though, you must have your ears pierced and be wearing earrings and a different pair of panties than those you have on now. Is that clear?"

I nodded.

"Furthermore, you must shave all your bodily hair -- and I mean all -- and have your toenails painted in pink. All your toes, got that?"

I gulped in apprehension at having to do all that but nodded my understanding.

"Finally..." she looked across at my light-brown hair which I usually tied in a pony-tail as many long-haired men did, "there's a hairdresser not far from here called "Ringlets", I want you to make an appointment with them when you leave here today to have your hair given a feminine look, curls perhaps. Get an appointment card from them and show me it next week. Is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am, I think so," I half stuttered.

"Look, Denis or shall I call you Denise? Yes, that'll suit. Look Denise, I won't accept anything but total obedience; acceptance that I am your mistress, your superior. If you can't take that in we can call it all off now and pretend today never happened if you like."

"No, no ma'am," I pleaded with a hint of desperation; I didn't want to back down now after coming so far."I'll be here next week as you have ordered."

"We'll see," she smiled. With that, she finished her drink and stood up to go but before she'd done so, turned to me with her parting shot.

"Denise, when your mistress stands to go, you must stand up too, before her and bow your head. You are now a pantie-wearing, small-clitty sissy who must learn to behave like one."

I promptly stood and lowered my head. She smiled at my compliance and strode confidently out of the bar. I caught a quick glance of her tall, nimble frame; hips swinging slightly in the light-cotton fabric of her well-cut trousers. How I wanted to be ordered to bury my face and tongue into that delectable valley.

Sitting down again, I was reminded by the discomfort they were causing, that I was now wearing her panties. I couldn't wait to get home, take them off and wank into them. First though, I had to find "Ringlets" and make my appointment for my hair-do. I decided to make it for the morning of my next meeting with my new mistress. I sure didn't want to go to work all next week sporting my new hair! I could paint my own toenails -- no problem there, although I'd have to buy the damn stuff, which might be a bit embarrassing, but after today, I knew I could handle that. Shaving my body-hair? Easy-peasy. Getting my ears pierced was no big deal either, lots of blokes- real macho blokes at that -- often had pierced ears and sported studs in them. I'd get mine done on the Monday after work and maybe buy a not-too garish pair of earrings to wear to our meeting. They might even be hidden under my no-longer pony-tailed hair!

Buying new panties? Sure, that would be embarrassing too. But it wasn't a challenge that would beat me. Besides, as I lived on my own, I didn't have to worry about a wife or girlfriend or family member finding them.

That evening, after I'd luxuriated and, eventually, jerked-off over Mrs Margot Elizabeth Stott's panties, two things occurred to me. The first was, even though I'd never previously had any urge to cross-dress, by putting on those panties I was now hooked and knew I'd buy more lingerie even if my mistress called the whole thing off.

The second was that my pre-occupation that day with Mrs Margot Elizabeth Stott had succeeded in putting all thoughts of my possible fatal illness behind me. For that reason alone, my obsession with the woman had been worthwhile. Little did I know what I was letting myself in for?