Sad Sack

'Very well then, get into Sad Sack.' I handed it to him.

He turned it around and unzipped the back and cautiously stepped one leg in and then the other then pulled the garment up his legs and torso before putting each arm in.

I spun him around and zipped him up then folded the high neckline down, like a turtleneck.

'Jiggle for me.'

He started flapping his arms and jumping up and down on the spot.

'Faster.'

He upped the tempo. 'Faster.'

He responded. I let his spastic dance continue for a minute or so and then told him to stop. He looked so relieved, in one sense of the word at least. I could see from the clenching of his fists and the pained expression that he was struggling with the itchiness of the garment.

It's impossible to wear Sad Sack and not scratch yourself -- and crazily, I might add.

I'm realistic enough to accept this so in general I allow him to scratch when he needs to. But - and this is one more reason I let him scratch himself at times - I play with this aspect frequently, perhaps denying him a period of scratching or only allowing him to scratch at certain points or on command or say, every 'x times-per hour, maximum'.

It's much better this way as it intensifies both the overall discomfort and specific aspects of the treatment, while reminding him that I am in absolute control, always. I know, I can be such a controlling, bossy-boots -- hehehehe...

The poor thing. He clearly wanted to scratch himself, but he's not allowed to until I say he can. And that could be anytime in the next few hours. Mmmm, I'll just let things take their course for now, I think...

I got a wide pink leather collar and a small padlock from the shelf behind him and turned him around.

'Can't have you thinking you can take Pretty Miss Pink off now,' rolling the neck back up and putting the collar on. I threaded the padlock through the zipper eye and ring of the collar before closing it shut and rolling the neck back down.

'There, now you don't have to be distracted by any silly notions of escaping from Pretty Miss Pink Sad Sack,' I chuckled as I patted his bald head.

And then came the pinafore apron. For some reason he could never quite articulate, donning the 'pinnie' always made him blush. It certainly looked ridiculous, which was why I added it to the outfit.

I always like putting it on him. 'Bend forward.' Over his head it went. He stood up and I did the ties up on the sides and at the back.

I flattened it down and turned him around to face the mirror. That got him blushing.

'Awww, it's so pwweeetttyyy,' I mockingly said with a grin.

It was made of hessian too, though sides had a cream-coloured cloth panel sown over them covered in floral motifs, giving it a distinctly feminine appearance. Which is my guess why he always felt awkward seeing it on himself. Because, despite everything I do to him, day in, day out, I know he still considers himself a man. And I do too, for that matter.

Next came coarse pink slippers covered in pink satin, fingerless mitts and then pink cuffs on the end of each sleeve.

One last item: his cap. It was really more like a bonnet and yes, it too was hessian and also covered in pink satin and lace trim. I tied it off under his chin. Tightly, I might add.

(When it comes time for his cage and a few hours 'rest', the bonnet and pinnie come off, replaced by a hessian hood and coarse gag. The fingerless gloves are also replaced - with heavy, coarse mittens.)

When he's in one of his Sad Sack outfits I may add some additional aspects if I feel he needs or deserves it, or I just fancy another level of torment for him.

It might be that I'll turn the heating on in a room or make him put on an oversized, loose sweater or leg warmers over Sad Sack, the extra layers adding considerable heat and discomfort to the experience.

Then there's butt plugs and gags, restraints of all sorts, figging too, and of course the chillie-willy treatment. And all four Sad Sacks have small eyelets sown into the arms and legs, which allows for restrictions on walking, movement and the like.

But for now, these accoutrements can all wait -- he needs to get stuck into his long list of chores.

'All right Pretty Miss Pink, time to get to work.' He's at his busiest in Pretty Miss Pink Sad Sack - all duties are carried out in double-time.

'I'll start you on the mirrors.'

I have many mirrors throughout the house, for obvious reasons. Nothing like watching yourself dominating the man in your life, or the man in your life observing your domination in action. He won't be able to escape from the reality of his predicament, or his bizarre appearance, for more than a few minutes tonight. And that's just how I love it.

'Starting with the mirrors in here. Quick, off you go.'

'Yes Mistress.' He walked briskly, if a little awkwardly, out of the room to fetch the cleaning items from the laundry. (He's not permitted to run in the house unless I say he can).

This, the main 'play' room, has one full-length mirrored wall, a half-mirror wall, two free standing mirrors as well as a ceiling mirror. He'll be in here for at least the next three hours, if not longer. Good.

I looked at myself in the mirror opposite and roared with laughter.

I swept my hair back, pulled the sleeves down and adjusted the collar of my turtleneck, pondering what I might watch on Netflix tonight. A movie, a documentary or perhaps start on a new series? Not sure, we'll see what takes my fancy. And a red or white wine? Mmmm?

But first I'd better turn the camera system on in here. And then call my sister. And Roslyn. Oh, that's right, I need to call that lazy fuck of a selfish brother of mine, too. Geez, some men!