Silk House Pt. 02

Even though Toby and I were fully confident Mr. Doherty was deviously playing matchmaker with us, it didn't stop our play from turning to actual panic when, across the house, we heard the familiar sound of keys rattling. Conveniently, after a few hours of rollicking about I was still somehow free of wearing spandex gear—Toby liked to hold it against me after I told him he was experiencing my fantasy—but unfortunately, I was still very much nude and unprepared to stall the old man. It took grabbing my clothes, shucking on only the essentials (the shirt and my shorts, thus commando) and bursting out into Mr. Doherty's hall to stave him off at the front door. In the moment, I desperately will my heartbeat to settle down and for my demeanor to relax for the sake of avoiding suspicion, but I'm not sure I'm successful.

"Sir!" I say gladly when he shuts the door. The sunlight pouring in through the clouded glass pane illuminates his surprised smile, and I dutifully return the grin.

"Why, Charles," he says, pulling his keys out of the lock. I'm not certain how many times I've mentioned I go by Charlie in our previous chats, but his stubborn formality is almost endearing. He gives me a once-over that I find concerning. "Are you alright, son? You look a bit out of breath."

"I only wanted to meet you out here is all. I thought I ought to tell you your cats are doing great." As if on cue, a long-haired creature sneaks up behind me and hops on the side table by the door. Doherty drops his keys in an adjacent crystal bowl and gets to affectionately petting it.

"Were they any trouble?" he asks innocently.

"They were practically invisible. This one—" I start, and legitimately evaluate it for a second. "I actually think is the one I didn't see at all last night." Mr. Doherty's gaze stays fixed on his pet but there's a slight change behind the eyes.

"Then what, may I ask, did you and you friend manage to occupy your time?" he poses, and looks right at me. He's just barely taller than me, this man who I estimate must be in his later fifties. This right here is Doherty's evaluation, I'm sure: to see if we're the nosy perverts he wanted us to be. Or, alternatively, he's actually suspicious of our activity and not pleased with my body language or defensiveness. Really, I'm just buying Toby time to undress and replace all the gear to where we found it. Without a word, and I'm surprised at the speed with which he does this, Mr. Doherty slips past me and heads into the hall where his bedroom door remains closed at the opposite end.

"Mr. Doherty! How was your trip by the way? Did you manage to—" I say, following nervously behind him, trying to convince him to turn around. But he's stormed through the door and I'm right there behind him. I gasp.

Toby is standing there, his back to us, wearing only the blue wet-look zentai with the hood off. He can't reach the lower zipper inconveniently at the middle of his back; both of his hands are reaching but fail to grab it. The rest of his things—and what I tried on, too—lays haphazardly on the floor underfoot for Doherty to see. Toby turns around to spot us with a look of dismay and then his eyes widen in shock, followed by guilt. I can't see Mr. Doherty's face, but my own expression is all cringe.

"You boys are very mischievous, aren't you?" Doherty asks coyly, and Toby fully turns around to give the older man a very apologetic look. But it's hard to be apologetic when you're body is on full display.

"All you had to do was pull down the shoulders, buddy," I sigh, and Mr. Doherty chuckles to himself. That's a good reaction, I think, but he doesn't seem all happiness and rainbows. He walks further in the room.

"Get undressed, and put all these clothes in the hamper over there," he instructs Toby. He points to a wicker basket at the corner of the room. "And you too, boy. That cock of yours is looking at me funny," he says to me. I look down and assess myself with embarrassment, observing that I'm rock hard, the waistband of my shorts rippled just so. Toby starts first by picking up all our things and gives me a mixed look of both apprehension and interest. I put out my hands and he drops the pile of material just there.

"Get undressed," I mouth to him while Doherty is looking curiously into his own closet. Toby glances at the man and raises his eyebrows with that signature resignation, very attractive. He then brings his shoulders together and pulls the material off his chest. "That seem easy enough to you?" I cajole quietly.

"I'm new to this! Okay?" he whispers emphatically, and I roll my eyes as he gets fully naked and throws the zentai on top of my pile. I take the clothes dutifully to the hamper and drop them in, then less dutifully take my time getting naked as well. When Doherty's done checking out his closet, I've already rejoined Toby in my birthday suit, and the old man instructs us to stand side by side. He smiles at our erect cocks, playfully bats each one once and lets them wobble back and forth, like he's window shopping.

"I had my doubts about you two, but you seem eager, don't you?" he asks, but it doesn't seem like a question. After a beat of silence, I open my mouth to say something, but he speaks first. "I don't need to hear from you, young man, I already know everything that I need to." He's not particularly curt or militaristic in style, instead opting for an authoritative but respectful tone. He grins at me then turns to Toby.

"But please, you, tell me how your evening went," he asks, and Toby cutely looks at the ceiling to remember as if it were years ago.

"Umm... I think I had some kind of sexual awakening," Toby says jokingly, being honest for a bit of comedy. Doherty's expression turns into surprise, eyebrows raised.

"Is that true? Charles got to the door quite fast," he says, turning briefly to regard me. "Were you, by chance, wearing all those clothes I saw on my floor?" Toby looks to the ceiling again, coy in his own right, very innocent.

"Yes, that was me, sir."

"I like that: sir."

"I was raised to be polite, sir," he responds.

"He's lying," I interject dryly, rolling my eyes. I'm shocked that I even found the courage to speak. "Toby here is a brat. Very greedy." With that, though, Doherty steps away from Toby and inches closer to me, his arms crossed in front of him.

"I don't remember asking you a question, son," he says. Toby whistles in response, a long winding-down sound, and I swallow my breath. Doherty lowers one hand and settles a grip around the middle of my shaft, holds his hand there firmly, and I shudder a gasp. "I have it under good authority, boy, by circumstance of your inability to properly close your window blinds, that you already had an inclination for... spandex. What is it, then, that you were wearing?"

"Just—just the thong, and socks, and then nothing, sir," I manage. His face is only inches from mine, expressionless, but at my confession he lights up with a smile, lets go of my cock, then reaches around and firmly cups my ass cheek. Emotionally, it feels like the equivalent to a handshake.

"You're a good sport!" he exclaims, and then backs up. Toby can't help but suppress a mild laugh at the mood switch, though curiously, Doherty makes no effort to silence him. I'm starting to think I'm at the bottom of the food chain here, but for now I'm not complaining. "Doing your friend a favor like that. I'm sure it drove you mad."

"It was almost... soul crushing, sir."

"You deserve the pick of the litter, then, you do!"

"I do?" I ask. Toby elbows my arm. Doherty's expression changes yet again to something curiously new. He raises a hand, a finger, then points it vaguely between us.

"You two didn't happen to enter my basement, did you?" he asks. Toby and I consult each other with a single look; we weren't aware there was a basement at all. Seeing our confusion, it's obvious that our answer is a no, and a mischievous grin crosses Doherty's face. Only moments after he smiles, he veils it with that same authoritative expression. "Both of you, if you'll follow me."

With that, he walks out of the room and Toby consults me with a glance yet again. In a fumble we decide to follow.

"Keep pace boys, wouldn't want you to get lost," he says, and I manage to shoulder past Toby and we're in a three-point line. "You see, boys, in my older years I've accumulated an egregious amount of wealth thanks to a few lucky plays at the stocks. Open a business here, a business there, and suddenly I don't know what to do with myself. I don't have any family, any future prospects. I merely had my pleasures to entertain me, and then I come home to find you two." I want to ask if he set this situation up or if it was all lucky circumstance. My mind tells me it's the first option, obviously, but that also begs the question of how he'd know we'd raid his closet.

I decide not to speak out of turn again, posing it in my mind all as luck. He leads us through the living room, past the dining room, and into the kitchen. There's a door here, a door that Toby and I figured was the pantry last night. We'd left it closed, instead opting to forage in the fridge, but now Doherty opens it up and shows us the stairs leading down.

It's not a shadowy, horror-movie basement, but it's also not the clinical concrete-and-metal underpinnings like most houses have. The stairs are a clean, tan linoleum leading down to what I can only see is a light hardwood floor.

When Toby and I follow Doherty to the bottom, we're in awe. The room is a huge square shape, well lit, no walls to partition off the space. Along the farther walls are two long white racks with a huge array of spandex clothing draped from hangers. In all colors, in all cuts and textures and opacities. In the center of the room, and taking up the majority of the basement space, is a stretched-out square swath of silk—not unlike the silken sheets Toby struggled on last night—for what I'm assuming is meant to host our romp and play.

"Um, holy shit?" Toby manages, and Doherty looks back at us.

"I realize what this may look like, seeing it for the first time," he says, walking around the stretched fabric in the center. On the wall closest to us sits a single low-riding loveseat that Doherty drops himself on, throwing one arm over the back. He regards the scene with his own small glimmer of awe. "But it didn't happen overnight, and it certainly wasn't cheap to construct."

"I imagine," Toby comments. I'm still not risking talking.

"Toby, boy, sit with me for a moment, I'd like Charles to get his lay of the land," he instructs, and I think I spot some jealousy on Toby's face. The tables have finally turned, and I can't help but be smug.

"I can—?" I say, realizing my vocal discretion immediately after, but Doherty doesn't seem insulted. He seems entertained, if anything, and gestures to the racks. I walk across the stretched silk in the middle of the room to reach it—the material feels flush with a firm, pillow-y layer underneath, surely a glorified bed—and I find myself drawn first to a slick hot pink zentai. I suppose, after seeing Toby in a similar blue one, I'm a bit obsessed now. I touch the front and then force myself to move on, to observe the entire collection first. I do this for a while, much to my pleasure, but don't pick anything out. Sometimes I look over at the loveseat and see Toby and Doherty chatting quietly, sometimes seriously, but mostly Doherty watches me, relishing in my excitement.

"Are you ever going to pick something out, son?" he asks impatiently, and I freeze up for a moment, look back at him. He grins in reaction, then softly touches Toby's knee and tells him he needs a minute. I don't move while the older man approaches. "Do you have an eye for what you like?"

"Um, I think—" I start, but he interrupts me with a laugh.

"You seem a bit tense. Is there an item or two that intimidates you?"

"A lot, sir," I admit, and he has that mischievous, authoritative stare again. He steps past me.

"You're an easy read, Charles. You touch everything you love a bit too long. Like this," he says, and picks up that very first pick zentai I looked at. I gasp, and he relishes in it. "You need someone to push you to the limits, boy." With that, he walks down the line of the racks, evaluating all my previous pauses and almost-selections. "This, and these, and this will do you some good. Oh—and this." He picks up a number of items that all made my heart skip a beat, then unexpectedly throws them into the center of the bed. He snaps his fingers sharply, then looks across the room.

"Toby, in," he orders flatly, and my heart immediately sinks. Is this just another envy parade? Will I see my roommate wear all this and not me? Before I can really be disappointed, Doherty lightly slaps my butt and walks past me, returns to the couch. "Get in there, son."

I jump in like it's a fucking pool.

"Toby," Doherty starts, "I want to see you dressing this young man like your life depends on, and Charles, try not to let him. Me—I haven't had the opportunity to watch from the outside in quite a long time, and I do love a good drama." Toby turns to look at him with intrigue, and a curious beat passes before Doherty speaks up for the last time. "And boys, do misbehave."

I'm sitting there in the center of the silk sheet, eyeing Toby's upright pacing with a careful suspicion. Everything Doherty chose for me leaned particular to the feminine, unrestrained from my sexually cautious nature. Toby picks up the first item he sees with an interested laugh. It's pair of tan, high-waisted Spanx-style underwear, very restrictive and a size too small, I bet. I always saw them in the stores and never dared touch them or buy them, scared of what people would see, what the cashier might think. If it seems silly now, I try not to care.

"Really now?" he asks.

"Don't make fun of me."

"Oh, I'm not," he responds, and he throws himself on top of me in a flash. As much as I want to fight back and please Doherty, I give up too easily. Toby's on top of me, pinning my wrists to the "mattress" and holding the underwear in one of his hands. It grazes against my skin, and while I'm distracted he shifts his position and steadies my legs. He holds them together and adjusts the panties, putting my feet through the corresponding holes. My ankles are on his shoulders now and removing them will only cause more wrestling, so I let the tight material glide up my legs, to my upper thighs. The nicest part of dressing is feeling the fabric unwillingly wrap you up and compress you, but this is unlike anything I've experienced. He pushes the underwear up my pelvic area with one swoop and it more than cups my balls—it presses them and my cock against my belly, trying its best to completely hide it. The top of edge of the underwear stops at my belly button, and after he lets go, Toby places his hand on top of my cock and holds it firmly there, then rubs back and forth. In a heartbeat, he's off me again, standing up.

"What next, sir?" he asks, turning to Doherty. Doherty, still lounging casually, points beside where I lay.

"The suit," he instructs, the full-body pink suit. Toby steps over to grab it without question and picks it up, smiling at the feel of the material. He's entertained, in some way.

"Are you really going to become his girl, then?" Toby asks me coyly.

"I don't know, maybe yours," I respond quietly, and he laughs. He steps over me, one leg on each side of my body, with his cock idly dangling erect a few feet above my face. He unzips the suit and backs up, approaches my feet. When he glides the suit over my lower legs, it's an absolutely heavenly feeling, not like I imagine before with him but better: so silky, so smooth, perfectly encasing every part of me it touches. He pulls the zentai over my knees and follows my thighs. There's the familiar raising-up of my middle as he helps the suit cover my cock and my ass (which, curiously, appears a touch more shapely thanks to the help of the Spanx). I drop my body when done and hold out my arms, relishing in this sensation as he pulls the sleeves and the attached gloves up my limbs. He leans over my body and forces the shoulders into position, then rolls me over.

Just like I imagined last night, I feel like a thing, something to dress up and play with by whoever is in charge of me. Toby aggressively pulls up the zipper and I'm about to turn my head to the side to glance at him. But he sits down on my back, grabs the back of my head and forces me to look into the sheets. With his free hand he takes the loose hood and covers my head, compromising my sight. Seeing through the first layer is remarkably easy, though, and luckily, with Doherty's selection of gear, I don't think my face will be covered up again.

Toby doesn't move for a hot second, pinning me there against the soft, silky sheets. Slowly, methodically, he backs himself up to the point that his cock lays on my ass, hard as rock and very warm. He grabs the material that's settled at my lower back and pulls upwards, forcing a wedgie between my cheeks, allowing him the perfect space to place his cock and hump me. Yes—he's moaning, working his hard cock through my effortlessly smooth cheeks, his hands travelling up my back. I'm in a rising ecstasy, my skin coming alive with the feeling of spandex against silk.

In almost every single way, the tables have turned.

"Toby," Doherty calls, warning him. Toby looks back and then grunts, pulling himself off me. He certainly is more fixed in his dominant ways than I am; it's almost a chemical thing. Last night might've been a fluke in the system. I think to myself. Without Doherty, I wonder if Toby would've had his way right then.

"What's next, sir?" he asks, and Doherty again points to something lying on the sheet a few feet away from me. It's a pair of white, mid-opacity pantyhose, and excited but gruffly, Toby steps over and grabs them. "Roll, Charlie," Toby orders, and I make sure not to dawdle.

I'm assuming he's seen someone put on pantyhose, or at least tights, because he does exactly what I imagine you should do to prep them: sticking his hand down one leg and pulling back, scrunching the material together. He leans over me and does this on both sides, readying my feet first and then slowly working up. They're very thick tights, not the cheap, sheer ones from the drug store. These are heavy duty, and working them up is an exhilarating game that threatens to make my legs tremble, the way they shift on top of the zentai. It's all here: all the feeling I drooled over, mentally begged for. He raises it up my thighs and over my hips and crotch again, ending at my belly button. His hands lower before I can think and he touches my knees, then strokes up my thighs until he reaches my crotch. He buries his face there for a moment, the contours of his lips, gliding up and down my cock. The white of the pantyhose makes the hot pink color underneath soften to a gentle baby pink, but this act is in no way gentle.

Toby crawls over my body even further and lays his entire weight down on me, taking his hands and wrapping them fully around me, like we're connected. His leaking cock is glued to mine under the layers of spandex, rubbing insistently deep.

"You're—you're going to make me-" I start, but he knows how the sentence ends, so he ceases his grinding before it happens.

"You had me laying in that cocoon all night. Don't think you're getting away that easily," he claims while separating himself from me. Doherty, head leaning against a propped-up hand, is transfixed.

"Try the swimsuit on him next," Doherty instructs, nodding in its direction. It's very close to us, so Toby doesn't need to get up to grab it. It's the familiar sky blue, and made of expert swimmer's material: full backed with a French cut to show off the hip. Toby releases one single "Ha!" and gets to work. It's almost no issue, slipping it up my legs, so I don't even realize it at first. When he pulls it over my crotch, I can feel everything compressing. It's as if he's locked the pantyhose into place now, and my junk is cupped to perfection, cradled into a sensational mound.