Margot's Contract Ch. 02

Having located "Ringlets" the hairdresser following my meeting with Mrs Margot Elizabeth Stott, I duly made my appointment for a new hair-do the following Saturday.

"And what's her name and what does she want doing?" the rather sweet young lady behind the counter asked. She noticed my confused look.

"Is it just for a trim or maybe a colouring or whatever? We need to know how long things will take so we can arrange our other appointments."

There was no point my being bashful, so trying not to blush, I got straight to the point.

"It's for me actually. I'd like my hair fashioned in a nice feminine style, with curls perhaps. I'm not sure about the need to colour it. Can you do that?"

One of the other hairdressers working nearby overheard me and came over.

"I'll do it for you dearie," she smiled. "I've no other clients yet for Saturday morning. I'll make you nice and girly, don't worry. And I'll give you a few highlights, how's that? It'll take about an hour, maybe a little longer," she smiled. She was a rather large lady - in her mid 40's I'd guess -- sporting a badge bearing the name "Elsie".

"Er, thanks. Can I have an appointment card please? Just in case I forget. Can we make it for 11 O'clock please?"

"Sure," the young lady behind the desk confirmed. "And what name shall I make it for?"

Feeling braver now, I just told her to book it for "Denise".

The next Monday, after work, I went along to the beauty counter of a nearby large department store and got my ears pierced. Then, before leaving the store, bought the nail polish (and remover) but chickened out of visiting the lady's lingerie floor to buy the panties, instead choosing to go into a Tesco supermarket and buy a pack of five assorted coloured ladies' briefs, hiding them in my shopping basket, underneath a few groceries. As I was sure I wasn't being observed, I made a point of checking the size first to make sure they wouldn't cut in to me as Mrs Margot Elizabeth Stott's panties did.

The earrings I purchased the next day, a simple pair of fake-pearl ones that dangled no more than an inch or so below my ear-lobe. I'd put these on after I'd finished in the hairdressers I figured.

Ensuring my body was hairless was a little more problematic, even though I wasn't that hairy. I bought a few brand-name depilatory products and, together with the use of a few safety razors, felt I managed to make a reasonable job of it.

Of course, on getting the panties home that evening, I immediately tried a pair on -- a lemon-coloured with white-lace trim and bow -- and was reminded how arousing wearing panties was. I wore panties every day that week deciding to keep the light-pink pair for my next meeting with Mrs Margot Elizabeth Stott. I still treasured the panties she'd given me at the gym and jerked off into them every evening.

The Saturday morning when I was to meet her saw me wake in a state of heightened excitement and anxiety. I managed to paint my toenails -- eventually - to what I deemed an acceptable standard and spent an age shaving my face and then going over any other parts I felt had even a trace of hair.

I took the studs out of my recently pierced ears and decided to try my new earrings on, as much to practice how to insert them as to see how they looked. I was somewhat anxious that maybe they dropped down a little further than I'd first assumed and thus be more noticeable to strangers than I'd be comfortable with, but it was too late to look for another pair now, these would have to do.

It was only when I stepped in to my new pink panties and felt their soft-cotton grip around my genitals that I steeled myself for the adventure I was about to embark upon and began to almost look forward to the day ahead.

Elsie greeted me with a big smile when I turned up for my hair appointment. It seemed as though every member of staff on "Ringlets" books had turned up that day to stare at me but there was no turning back now.

Elsie called me "Denise" throughout and spoke to me as though I was some foppish girl and I admit, it didn't make me feel uncomfortable at all. Anyway, after the initial 10 minutes or so, everyone else in the place seemed to have forgotten about me and were going about their own business.

She washed and combed through my hair, not trimming too much off, and proceeded to place numerous curlers and assorted objects of foil and plastic around my head after explaining to me that she was adding pink highlights here and there that would make me look, in her words " real girly". I raised no objections and admit to quite enjoying my time under the hair-drier reading the women's magazines Elsie had given me.

When the time came to remove me from under the drier and take the curlers out, I nearly fainted. Not because my new hairstyle wasn't lovely and feminine-- but because my new curls were longer on one side than the other, meaning that nearly all the earring on the shorter side would be exposed. One or two of the other women in the shop stopped what they were doing to look at me. Elsie held up a mirror to the back of my head and awaited my approval. She cupped a hand underneath the longer curls just above my left shoulder and bounced the locks gently up.

"There Denise, what do you think?"

There was no denying my new hairstyle did look very cute and feminine, looking shiny and feeling light and bouncy.

"Yes. It's lovely Elsie, and the way the strands of pink weave through the curls adds a sort of..." I struggled to find the word.

"Girlishness I think," she completed the sentence for me.

"Now, close your eyes and I'll give it a good spray with this lacquer. If ever you want a full facial make-up doing dearie, just let me know. I could make you look such a princess."

I blushed a little but it was a blush of pride as well as embarrassment. My little todger, delicately held within my new pink panties began to squirm. I sensed moistness against the soft material.

"I see you've pierced ears Denise. A nice set of earrings could really bring out your feminine features."

A little more emboldened now by Elsie's compliments, I told her I did have a pair on me and was it okay if I fitted them in here?

"Of course dear, here, give them to me and I'll put them in for you. Don't want you ruining your nice new hair fiddling around trying to get them in."

She deftly inserted the earrings whilst occasionally bouncing my new locks in her hands. My reflection in the mirror would have shocked and appalled me just a week or so before, but now I didn't care what impression others got of me. It was only Mrs Margot Elizabeth Stott's opinion that mattered. Besides, who knows, maybe a year or two down the line I wouldn't be alive to worry what others thought of me. It then occurred to me that this was the first time in over a day that I'd given the issue of my health a thought, furthermore, I realised I was experiencing the pains less often. Perhaps I was just imagining that though, my dreams of being submissive to Mrs Stott pre-occupying my thoughts.

I was a little early arriving at the bar of the "Churchill" and there's no denying my appearance caused a few turned-heads, even so, I pressed on to where a barman waited and ordered my small glass of sweet sherry. Drink in hand, I made my way, almost trembling, to an empty table at the far end of the room where I could see all who entered and where Mrs Stott would clearly see me.

As the minutes ticked by, I began to wonder if perhaps she'd show; if she hadn't set me up and had no intention of having any sort of relationship with me sexual or otherwise. I began to swallow in little gulps of anxiety, occasionally bouncing my curls up gently in my hand in a manner not wholly unlike Elsie.

I was wearing a smart grey jacket over a black shirt and black trousers and felt that, from the neck down at least, I looked kind of masculine -- casual. I hoped Mrs Stott would approve when- if - she turned up.

I'd nearly finished my sweet sherry and was anxious about having to walk to the bar again with so many others there to gawp at me. And then I saw her.

She had her back to the bar and was talking to someone, seemingly in no hurry to get to me, whereas I was desperate for her to give that attention to me.

In a black, flared skirt that billowed out a little, the little white belt that encircled her waist emphasised her trim figure. She smiled on seeing me, her almost white hair, trimmed in a short above-the- shoulder style made her look the epitome of elegance, her looks understated but all the prettier for it. She simply looked too - well, pretty and womanly-soft, to be a dominatrix. It did occur to me that maybe I'd completely misread the situation and that she was simply playing me along. She signalled to the girl behind the bar to bring her usual drink to the table and confidently headed to where I waited.

I remembered at the last moment that, if she truly was going to be my dominant mistress, that I must stand up on her arrival.

"Good girl Denise. Your hair looks lovely. Now, you can sit down and I'll tell you what to do after I've received my drink."

The barmaid placed Mrs Stott's drink on the table and shot me a strange glance before moving away. I was just about to say something but Mrs Stott shot me a stern glance that left me in no doubt I was to keep quiet.

"Now Denise, you've had a whole week to reconsider. Do you still want to be my pantie-wearing slut; my sissy to do what I like with, without question? You may answer."

My dick, struggling inside my panties, told me that I must answer in the affirmative and the recent recollection of my possible demise a year or two down the line made it seem so right to confirm I wanted to carry on.

"Yes ma'am, there's nothing I'd like more."

"Very well. So doubtless you will have gone through with the little tests I set you?"

I nodded my head.

"Good girl..." she reached into her handbag and pulled out two mobile phones, giving one that was in pink to me: it had a sticker on the back with a security number on.

"That is your special slut-phone. The only other number saved on it is for this phone (she tapped the other phone which she'd retrieved from her bag). You must only ever use your slut-phone to communicate with me. Now, I want you to go to the gents and take pictures of your feet which you will, if you're a conscientious sissy, have painted and then take your trousers off and take a picture of you wearing panties and one with your panties lowered to prove to me you've shaved down there. Take the pictures on WhatsApp - my contact name being -- well you'll see."

She then returned to her drink and ushered me away to perform my task.

There were no others in the gents when I got down there. I hurriedly went in to a cubicle and locked the door. Switching on the phone, I noticed Mrs Stott had saved a background picture of some cookie-looking blonde girl in a maid's dress and with frilly petticoats billowing out underneath.

I found the WhatsApp app and checked what my name had been set to. It was "PantieWearer". The little picture that accompanied my details seemed to be of an erect cock with a lady's face behind it about to suck or lick it. I blushed but had no idea of the significance or even if it had any. I guess I just assumed it was to belittle me. Anyway I had no intention of backing out now. I duly removed my shoes, socks and trousers and sent the required pictures to the only name on my contact list "Denise's Owner." The picture of me in my panties would make it clear to Mrs Margot Elizabeth Stott that my dick had been leaking, but there was nothing I could do to hide it. Besides, deep down, it gave me a kind of thrill.

Having dressed myself again, I made my way back to the bar, now unconcerned at any strange looks I might be getting.

Mrs Stott indicated for me to sit down as she looked at the pictures I'd just sent her.

"Now I have these pictures Denise I can perhaps be assured that you're sincere in your desire to submit to me. Misbehave or cross me in any way and I might just send these pictures to others who might not know you're such a sissy. You wouldn't like that I guess would you?"

"No ma'am, I'd have to leave my job and maybe move well away from here."

Mrs Margot Elizabeth Stott then stood up and I remembered to stand up with her too.

"Right Denise, you follow me, always at least two steps behind. It's time you started your training. You can tell me all your domestic circumstances as we drive so that I can make arrangements for your servitude to me to go as smoothly as possible."

We left the bar and proceeded to the car park with me keeping the respectful two paces behind as ordered. On arriving at her luxury Range Rover, she stood by the driver's door, unlocked it and then looked straight at me and raised her eyebrows as though to say "I'm waiting".

I hastened forward and held the door open for her to get in.

"Good girl. You're a quick learner."

On our drive, she questioned me about my home and family circumstances and seemed pleased on hearing I lived in a flat on my own and my parents lived many miles away and that I didn't keep in regular contact. She never asked if I had a regular girlfriend, I guess she just knew that wouldn't be the case.

Now acquainted with my circumstances, she proceeded to enlarge upon what she expected of me and why.

"I'm a busy, successful woman -- as you know -- Denise. I'm successful in spite of men, most of who patronise and underrate me and resent me for bettering them. I got to the top by being assertive and find I actually quite enjoy making men squirm. Power over those who have a penis is my fetish I guess.

I was married, but once my husband started to try and assert his authority I realised it was time to kick him out. The only man I need in my life -- and I use the term "man" loosely in your case -- is one who will do my bidding without question: one who must let me have absolute control over their sex life and all that that entails. This person must pander to my domestic and sexual needs without question. I'm not a cruel woman you must understand I'm just superior. For a male to have any sexual involvement with me I must have total control of their penis. Even your little clitty must be under my control, my ownership. That way, I'll have no insubordination. Do you understand what that entails Denise, have I made myself clear?"

"Yes ma'am. I understand."

"Well, I hope you do. I'm going to take you back to my house now and give you one more chance to back out after giving you a taste of how life would be under my control."

She drove for about another 10 minutes before pulling in to the drive of a grand detached house with fake black and white Tudor-style timbers above the ground floor.

On parking, Mrs Margot Elizabeth Stott remained still and silent for a few seconds before the penny dropped and I hopped out of the car and rushed around to her side to open the door for her. I remembered to walk at least two steps behind her as she went in to the house and ordered me to follow her up the stairs where she led me to a large bedroom which she informed me was a spare!

Going up the staircase behind her, I struggled not to try and get a disrespectful peek up Mrs Stott's beautiful legs and under her skirt. The thought of glimpsing her panties hugging her pert bottom was intoxicating and my little cock was now straining up and above the waist of my panties.

"In here Denise. Stand in front of the dressing-table over there and take all your clothes off apart from your panties."

I did as requested and stood nervously, hands by my side and my cock-head defiantly poking out above the bow but some way beneath my navel. Mrs Stott laughed at the sight and moved towards the seat at the dressing table.

"Remove your panties Denise, now."

I wrestled out of them, my dick now poking out in all its glory -- or shame. She meanwhile had seated herself alongside me and, with one hand holding a small glass that had been nearby, placed her other about my weapon and began stroking it. I swayed my head in delight, feeling the curls of my new hairstyle swish as I did and my earrings jostle and swing.

"Does my little cocksucker's clit enjoy her mistress stroking her?"

"Oh yes ma'am, it's heaven," I managed to utter. She started to increase the pace and pressure of her masturbating me.

"Now Denise, I control your sexual pleasures; your orgasms. You must not come until I give you permission, understand?"

I nodded.

"Ma'am. But I might not be able to last..."

Just then her phone rang. She handed me the small glass and reached for her phone, telling me I must ejaculate into the glass. She continued to jack me off though, not even looking at me or my dick as she did so, as though my masturbation was of no great importance to her, an insignificant event that she could do whilst conversing on her phone.

Yes, I spat out my streams of spunk within a few seconds, trying not to yelp or distract my mistress from her more important 'phone call. A splosh or two missed the glass, some falling on her hand, some more dribbling on to her foot. Still chatting away and barely looking at me, she held the hand up to me and mimed that I was to lick it off. I nervously placed the almost-full glass on the dressing table and licked my spunk off her hand, feeling privileged at being able to run my tongue over her flesh. I felt so excited at this that I swooned at the thought of running my tongue over the more intimate parts of her body which, if I became her subservient pantie-wearing servant, I surely would.

She finished her call and, on seeing I'd licked her hand clean, leant back a little and held her foot up and out indicating that I was to lick my mess off her shoe. I obliged, not balking at the thought of swallowing my own come -- something I'd never done before. The taste was not so off-putting as to make me hesitate.

On moving my head to one side to allow her to inspect my efforts, Mrs Stott lowered her foot and ordered me to stand. On doing so, she reached for a tissue from a box on the dressing table and handed it to me and ordered me to wipe any drops off my knob and put the tissue in a nearby bin.

"Now gulp down all the glass you've just filled, every last drop, there's a good girl. Lick it clean."

As I was doing this (and not really enjoying it I might add), she reached into a drawer and pulled out a pink plastic device that she proceeded to fit on me. I was about to question what the hell it was but then recalled my position of subservience to her and how she'd explained how she was to have control over my penis. At first it was lovely --in spite of her twisting and squeezing my balls to get them through the ring and then cajole my shrunken dick through it too - feeling her fingers about my privates was a kind of painful pleasure. I knew I'd be getting stiff again if it carried on for much longer even though it was only minutes since I'd shot my load. However, as the pink plastic was encased over the modest length of my todger, I looked down at it and at the small lock that my mistress was about to click into place and realised erections might be something I'd not be getting again anytime soon.

"Do you like your little pink friend Denise? Don't you think the three little red roses etched on it help you realise what a little pathetic sissy you are?"

I wasn't sure how to respond, only now beginning to comprehend just what I might be letting myself in for. Mrs Margot Elizabeth Stott sensed my uncertainty.

"There's still time to back out, even though you agreed earlier to my total control over your pathetic clit."

Deep down though, I felt a certain pleasure at handing over my ability to have an erection to a stronger person and, not wanting Mrs Stott to think that I was a really naive green-horn who hadn't realised what total submission entailed, nodded my head.