Taking a Break

I'm meant to be meeting my wife at a friends house after work. Tomorrow we're on holiday and she had promised we'd visit before we go. I've not been to her friend's house before, so I have to follow a map she has given me, which takes me to a smart detached house in the expensive end of town. I knock on the door thinking that the house is rather luxurious for her friend, and hoping I've got the right address.

The moment the door opens, my fears seem realised. Instead of my wife or her friend, there standing in the door is an elegant young blonde woman. She opens the door wide as though expecting me, showing immense confidence despite her wild dress. She's wearing a short fur trimmed jacket in black with a luxurious fur collar that accents the cleavage she has on show and spreads her long hair into a cascade across her shoulders. The jacket has generous fur trim around the cuffs and bottom that make it emphasise her feminine figure. She doesn't seem to be wearing anything underneath it, as below the fur trim that just touches her bottom I can only see lacey stocking tops. Her stockings disappear into long shiny thigh boots.

I blush deeply and begin to explain that I must have the wrong address when she interrupts me.

"Your wife and I were wondering where you were", she uses my name to leave me in no doubt.

Without waiting for an answer, she turns and walks back into the house, obviously expecting me to follow. Momentarily I can only stare at the sight of her bottom swaying sexily away down the hallway, with a wisp of plum coloured lace plunging between her buttocks. Still blushing and totally confused, I follow her.

The woman walks from the hallway to a large lounge. I follow, forming questions in my head, but not sure what to ask first. All questions are forgotten though as I enter the room. Standing by the imposing fireplace besides a tall free standing mirror is my wife but it takes me a moment to realise as she looks so different. Her hair is shiny, almost wet and swept back into long dark tendrils, and her eyes are cat-like with smoky black eyeshadow. Her lips are a dark wet plum colour. She is wearing a glossy black catsuit that fits her every last sensual curve, emphasising her narrow waist and long legs that are encased in knee length laced boots with impossibly tall heels.

The woman walks over to her and stands next to her, facing me. The mirror next to them reflects the view from another angle. I can only gape as they exchange knowing smiles at my stupification. Each woman puts her arm around the other's waist, and the stranger uses her free hand to undo the clasp on the jacket so it can hang open a little, showing an expensive plum coloured basque. They hold the pose for a moment, so obviously aware of the effect it is having on me. The room is utterly silent.

"Don't you feel over dressed?", my wife asks.

I'm overwhelmed, and very excited, and so confused. On the other hand I'm not stupid. Without knowing what to say, I pull off my shirt, shoes, socks and trousers. With the two women smiling and gesturing for me to continue, I take off my boxer shorts to stand naked and erect before them. The blonde woman takes the pile of clothes that I've made and leaves the room with them.

"You can change into the clothes in there", my wife gestures to another closed door. I begin to ask a question, but she just puts a finger to her lips, telling me to shush. Not knowing how to act, I step towards her thinking to kiss her but she steps back and points again to the door.

Not wanting to argue and spoil the moment, I open the door and go through to the room beyond. For a brief shocked moment I think that there's yet another woman in the small well lit room. Then my addled brain makes sense of the scene - on a stand is a long blonde wig which cascades down in tight golden spirals that I had taken to be the back of someone's head. My heart beat steadies, then rises again as I take in the room. Next to the wig is a hanger on which a baby pink dress is hanging. It looks like something a doll would be dressed in, with puff sleeves, a narrow waist and short skirt that is flared over a mass of petticoats. A little white lace trimmed apron sits over it.

The dress is beside a chair on which is laid a neat little pile of white lace which I can imagine will turn out to be lingerie. In front of the chair a pair of perilous heels are pointing their toes to me. They're pink to match the dress.

For a moment I hesitate, taking in the scene and checking to see if I've missed something - some male clothes that I should be wearing. I can't see anything to put on other than the ridiculously feminine items before me. Just as I'm making my mind up to go back and question my wife and her unknown friend, a voice behind me makes me jump and spin round.

"Don't you dare disappoint me.", my wife states, simply and sternly before turning on a beautiful heel and leaving the room again, shutting the door decisively behind me. I don't even have time to recover and utter a syllable.

It seems like an age that I stand there, nervous and uncertain. Suddenly I'm aware of conversation and laughter creeping under the door from the other room. I'm aware that I'm getting cold and that I am being ignored. Hesitating a little longer, I eventually find the strength to step forward and examine the clothes.

The lace pile turns out to be lingerie and a couple of unexpected items. There is a bra, suspender belt, stockings and a thong that I'm sure is the white twin of the one worn by the unknown blonde woman. There are also two skin coloured mounds that are warm to the touch and soft - I guess that these are to pad the bra. Beneath all these is a white canvas band with sturdy clips and laces which I assume is for my waist.

My heart is beating fast again as I fiddle with the bra and pull it into place, pull the suspender belt around my waist and roll the stockings up my legs. I attach the deep lacy stocking tops to the belt and pull on the thong, struggling to make myself comfortable behind the little lace triangle. It seem like the biggest defeat to pick up the soft silicone breasts and fit them into the bra, which fills out to what seems like an enormous size. After a struggle, I work out the clips and laces of the white band. I'm sure that women usually pull the laces tighter, but just managing to clip it around me feels tight, and I can see an unaccustomed curve to my waist.

I approach the dress and take it off its hanger. For a second I consider putting it back and stopping this humiliation, but already I'm far down the path and can only seem to move forwards. The mass of net under the skirts and the apron are all part of it, so all I have to do is step into it and pull it into place where the shiny smooth material hugs against me. Just as I start to wonder how I'm going to pull the zip up my back, the door to the other room opens silently and the blonde woman steps through. The little surprise makes me jump, and I'm suddenly utterly self conscious and blushing.

"Let me do you up," the woman announces without expecting dissent, "turn round."

I face away, expecting her to just pull the zip up. Instead she reaches inside the dress to the laces of the band around my waist. She pulls hard and I can feel the laces running through the holes and drawing the band tighter around me. Just as I'm about to gasp, she stops and spends a second tying the laces in place. Finally she pulls the zip of the dress up my back so that it fits snugly around my waist and over my ample breasts.

The job done, I turn to try to break the spell, to regain some control over the situation. A few confused words come from my mouth before she puts a finger to my lips and takes away my ability to argue with a smiling "Shush".

"Now sit down here," she gestures to the chair.

I sit, with the petticoats billowing around me and stopping just short of the stocking tops. Not sure what to do with myself, I first put my arms by my side, then on the arms of the chair, then by my side again. She reaches my hands with hers, clasps them together and places them on my lap in a demure pose. Before I can ask what is happening, she reaches beside the chair to a box that I'd barely noticed before and opens it to reveal an array of makeup.

Understanding what is to come and somehow unable to stop it, I sit still as she applies the makeup to my face. First she wipes a fleshy coloured liquid over my face and blots it with powder. Then she brushes my eyes with pink and purple eyeshadow, applies darker eye liner and mascara. She tells me to pout and applies pink lipstick and coats it with another clear liquid. She takes a big soft brush from the box and dips it into a small pot of glittery powder which she lightly strokes over my face. My hands are taken and she applies long white nails over each of mine with some sort of glue.

Getting up, she crosses to the wig stand and motions me to follow as she picks it up and shakes the curls into even greater volume. She places the wig on my head and tugs around my crown until she is satisfied and I am surrounded my a mass of sweet smelling curls that almost reach my waist.

"Now, paint your nails carefully, put on your shoes and join us," she instructs me, handing me a bottle of pink nail polish and a couple of small padlocks, "you'll also need these."

I'm alone again. Not sure what the padlocks are for I perch on the edge of the chair, surrounded my sweet curls and soft petticoats. Not daring to let the sensations overwhelm me, I busy myself with the long fake nails which seem now to be fixed permanently to my hands. I paint each in turn, which is a slow process. As I concentrate on the task, I keep almost forgetting my predicament, each time being brought back to blushing awareness as a curl of hair falls across my face or my arm brushes across my now warm round breasts.

The shoes turn out to be simple court shoes, ridiculously high and with a small difference. A pink patent leather band is attached to the back of the heel, obviously intended to wrap around the wearer's ankle. Where the band meets, a metal loop is obviously designed to accept the padlocks. Sighing, I stretch my toes into each shoe, wrap the band around each ankle and lock it in place. I have no idea where the keys are.

Carefully I stand, feeling delicately tall. It isn't too hard to walk, but I have to deal with a tide of sensations that threaten to drown me. With each step I feel my calf muscles stretch and a smooth silk touch as one stocking clad leg brushes the other. The petticoats rustle and swing around me as I walk, brushing my manhood through the feminine thong that traps it. My waist is held tight so that I walk with my large chest thrust forwards. Every now and then a tendril of hair falls to tickle my face, smelling sweet.

Placing each foot carefully before the other, I cross to the door, open it and walk in to meet my tormentors.

They are waiting for me, standing and looking towards the door I enter through it. The reason for their apparent physic nature becomes clear as I realise that the television in one corner of the room is showing the image of the room I have come from. It takes a moment to take in the video recorder purring quietly below the TV.

"You are such a pretty maid!", my wife exclaims, "come and look"

I walk to her so that she can point me at the mirror. In it I can see her, looking beautiful, athletic and powerfully sexy. Her poise is so confident in the fetish boots and perfectly glossy catsuit and her wicked eyes are smiling. Next to her in the mirror is a soft porn fantasy figure, a girl in pink and white with long blonde curls and an impossible hour glass figure emphasised by the tiny flared skirt that stops short of long stockinged legs arched into skyscraper heels. Despite the heels, the girl is just shorter than the woman standing next to her. The image is immensely erotic, though I know that the girl is me.

"Now as you can see, you're pretty much helpless now, Suzy.", my wife tells me, not hesitating over what seems to be my new name.

"Think about it, you're dressed like a slut, don't have your car keys, can't even walk quickly in those heels and have been videoed," the blonde woman gestures at the television,"happily dressing yourself up."

"What a silly girl," my wife continues, "you've got yourself in deep trouble." She slaps me across the top of my exposed thigh, making me jump.

"If you want to get out of this alive, you'd better do as we say, Suzy, hadn't you?"

"Ermm.. I" I begin

"Wrong answer." the blonde woman interrupts me "Here are the rules. If we ask you a question you must answer 'Yes Miss C' to me and 'Yes Mistress' to your wife. If you don't answer you must accept a spanking, and if you feel you have to say 'No' to any question.."

My wife continues as the other woman trails off, "..we shall simply have to let you go. You'll be thrown out of this house as you are now, and that video will be given out as Christmas presents to all your friends."

"Now, do you understand?"

"Yes Miss C", I reply.

"Oh, and curtsey when you say that"

"Yes Mistress", I curtsey clumsily.

Miss C crosses to the video and presses a few buttons so that briefly the image of the room where I changed is replaced by one of this room before she turns the television off. It seems I shall be being recorded in my predicament.

My wife pulls me to her to kiss me deeply, her tongue pressing into my mouth. Her other hand snakes though the layers of petticoats to rub me through the panties I'm wearing. Quickly I'm hard again. Satisfied with this, she pushes me away.

"Go and get us drinks Suzy, darling.", Miss C gestures to the hallway.

"Yes Miss C", I curtsey again and go to find the kitchen.

When I return, the women are chatting like old friends. I hand them each a gin and tonic, hoping that I have guessed the right drinks.

"Well done Suzy, do you like being our maid?"

"Yes Miss C," I blush.

"Let us see?"

"I'm not sure how?"

"Show us how excited you are", my wife gestures to my crotch.

"Oh.", my face turns redder.

I lift my skirts and petticoats to expose my thong. It doesn't quite cover my erection, which bulges through the lace.

"Play with yourself for us"

I feel utterly ashamed, standing there dressed like a bimbo with my pink tipped fingers wrapped around my cock. Worse still, I'm hard with excitement. In the mirror I can see the girl pouting in concentration. I'm trying not to come.

"Stop now," my wife knows me well enough to not let me come yet. Thankful not to have the final humiliation, I pull the thong over my erection. The warm embrace of the delicate material almost makes me climax, but the feeling subsides to a dull ache of arousal and I find myself reflexively brushing my petticoats back into place.

"What a good girl!", Miss C is delighted, "Come and kiss me"

I sway to my tormentor, the ache in my groin along with the heels make me swing my bottom with each step, to her delight. She reaches behind my head and pulls me too her, invading my mouth with her tongue.

"Ah, I see, a slut too." my wife comments as I am released. "That wasn't very loyal to me was it?"

"I.."

Before I can protest, she continues, "You are obviously a slutty little girl, aren't you?"

I'm about to protest before I see the spark in her eyes and remember the threat that I'm under.

"Yes, Mistress", I reply.

"Well we shall treat you like one. But only if you really want us to. Should we treat you like a tart?"

"Yes Mistress"

"Tell us how much you like your sexy new look, and how we should treat you. And you'd better sound like you mean it."

"I love to wear these sexy clothes. I love my pretty hair and lingerie. Please treat me like a slut."

"Help me with this then Suzy", Miss C commands, taking a tangle of leather strips from a box beside the mirror.

I help her as she steps into the tangle. As she pulls it up around her I realise that it is a harness that fits tightly around her waist. A strip of leather passes under her crotch with a circular opening that frames her mound. Once the harness is in place, she reaches inside the box to take out a long thick rubber dildo. As I begin to form a protest, she carefully manoeuvres the dildo into the harness so that it sticks out from her crotch like a dark erection, the other half buried inside her.

"Do you want to suck my cock?" she asks.

I'm torn. I would never do that to a man, but the person in front of me is anything but male. She is standing there with her jacket open to expose her basque, the fur collar framing her cleavage and spreading her blonde hair across her shoulders. Her legs are shapely and arch into the boots she is wearing. But in the middle of this luxurious rich femininity is the thick rubber erection. Following my gaze, she wraps delicate long fingers around it and gently strokes its length, making it a part of her.

"What do you say, slut?" I jump as my wife asks.

"Uh.. Yes Miss C", I find myself saying

"Ask nicely"

"May I suck your cock?" I croak

"You'd like to suck it would you? In front of your wife? A cock sucking girl?"

"Yes Miss C"

"Well, on your knees then"

I kneel before her, painfully aware of the warm smell of her body. The dildo is level with my face and I carefully take it into my mouth. It surprises me that it is warm and has no taste. Not sure what to do, I wrap my lips around it and suck.

"Good girl", Miss C murmurs. Her hand reaches behind my head and pulls me to her crotch. Slowly she rocks her hips, fucking my mouth. I can hear myself slurping on the rubber shaft.

"You know from here it looks like two girls pleasuring themselves," my wife comments from behind me, "stick your ass in the air a little Suzy, that's right. Yes you look like a little lesbian maid sucking her Mistress. Most men would love to see something like that. Just think of the fun you'll have watching yourself on video. You make such a natural tart."

Miss C is obviously in agreement as with each thrust a little grunt of pleasure escapes her lips. Her excitement is infectious and I'm hard again. Wanting to please her I try to respond to each thrust. "Enough," Miss C pushes me away, "you must serve your Mistress"

I look round, confused.

My Mistress is sitting casually on the sofa, her drink in one hand. As I stare blankly at her, she smiles, waiting patiently for me to catch on. Eventually, I realise that her slightly parted legs frame a naked patch of flesh where she has opened the zip on her catsuit. I hear a little gasp of surprise escape my lips.

"That's right Suzy, darling"

I get to my feet and wiggle my way to my wife to kneel before her. For a moment we stare into each other's eyes, drinking in the desire. Slowly I lower my head forward, keeping her gaze and hoping that the long soft blonde curls I am dragging up her thighs feel good. Eventually I have to look down and I lower my face to her, smelling her wetness, then tasting it. Her hands reach behind my head and hold it in place though right now the last thing I would want to do is break free. Gently I build a rhythm, surrounded by the smell of my wife, the latex of her catsuit and the sweet soft curls of my girlish hair. The task has me so totally involved that I forget everything around me but the need to please my wife, to get her as aroused as I am. Then, a touch on my ass, waving in the air as I am held down on my knees reminds me of my position.

"Good girl," the blonde woman comments from behind me, "don't stop."

The idea seems ridiculous - how would I want to stop this? Almost in answer to my thought, I can feel my panties being pulled down around my thighs. A cool wet finger slides between my ass cheeks, and searches out my asshole. Desperately I try not to loose concentration as I hear the quiet moans of my wife responding to my licking. The finger pushes hard, then slips wetly into me, spreading lubricant as it penetrates. For a moment the shock makes me try to pull away but my head is held firm between my wife's thighs.