Taking the Plunge Bk. 02 Pt. 05

I texted Nicole the next day at lunch to make the waxing appointment.

"Hiya, trisha from salon. Thx 4 holding my hand. U were right he loves them," and a single pink heart emoji.

"YaY!! Come get nu set," she texted me right back.

"Big one: Waxing full body next thurs or after?" I texted quickly, just to not lose my nerve, and she was all business.

"At desk now hold," she replied. I waited silently.

"Thu n Fri 11am-1, takes 2 sesh first time", she continued.

'Damn, I have to work,' I thought. Oh fuck it, I'll take the days off, or I'll quit. Forget it, I'm leaving that job anyways. More about that later.

"Perfect thank u thank u thank u," I replied.

She texted me:

"U = [cute unicorn emoji]" and a pdf with preparation instructions, and that was it. Appointment made.

I closed my eyes and imagined the results: the smooth skin of a sissy that I had always dreamed of. I had secretly shaved my ass and clit now and then, and always wanted more, but I was so scared. But not anymore. I'm facing it now.

Over the weekend, I sent more photos, morning and night, to Daddy, and we texted a bit. He was letting me come back to myself a little after a few nights of virtual submission to him, and also to want him, and think about everything.

I walked a lot, seeing all the different types of people, and wondering about them, about their secrets and their desires, but most of all about him. I was falling in love, and in a different way, but I'm a guy? Maybe not...shit...I'm a..? What am I now...does it even matter?

I don't care. I'm going there with him. 'You only live once,' 'one life to live', and all that, and well, it turns me on. Go away, shameful feelings and guilt over stuff I have no control over. I'm a good person, I know I am...and It Turns Me On, and him too, and after all those years of purging and shame I met someone special who..oh FUCKK!!...shut up!!

I yelled at myself, and told myself to breathe and enjoy it, stop worrying, only joy together with him so far. All the worry is in me, it's not him, it's inside me.

My long walks were sometimes more confusing than enlightening, but they always made me feel better, and calmer eventually, and more willing to just go.

One step in front of another, Trisha, down the path of submission to him.

After a few more miles of strolling, thinking, doubting, accepting, I felt a lightness inside me, a lifting of clouds, of pessimism, of darkness and weight, as I decided, one small step at at time, to be free, just let it go, the shame and moralizing and berating. And my thoughts were wrapped up in him and in dressing for him and being Trisha for him, and him and him and him, and Daddy wants me too the same way...

I decided to head into Manhattan, and took the subway to the village to continue my meandering walk, but at a brisk pace up through Washington Square park, the west side and through Chelsea, in the general direction of the salon. I love it here.

I saw the new shop from across the avenue, just down the street corner. It was a gay-focused S&M shop, I thought.

My pulse started pounding suddenly. Instant panic as my desires and shame flooded me again. I felt like I was staring down a landslide that was going to overtake me regardless of if I ran or stood still. I thought I might fall over, weeping from confusion and guilt and why why why me? I ducked into an ATM vestibule and pretended to use one just to hide my face for a few minutes as I got it together. I saw my reflection in the screen and asked myself again, 'Who am I? What do I want from life? From myself? Why is this so difficult?'

I almost texted him but I knew this was a battle I had to fight alone. I can't expect him to be there every second, can I? He's going to want a different gurl, someone eager and accepting of herself and not with all my issues. At least, that what I told myself as I collected my thoughts.

Eventually, I reared my shoulders back, head up, and breathed deeply, stepping outside and steadying myself. I glanced across the street at the shop and said out loud in a my male voice: "Fuck it I'm going in."

I pushed open the glass door. It was one of those old kinds with the steel handle running about waist height. I bet this place was like a tiny shoe repair shop or something for decades before all of this.

The first thing I noticed was the smell: Leather.

The texture of it was in the air, sweet and dark and warm, and I could see into the back which had what looked like a leather shop back there with an industrial sewing machine and wow, this is like a leather fetish place for all the, the leather gear?

I immediately noticed the floggers and so much more hanging, tightly packed on racks in the small shop, and all over the walls, and some tennis-ball-sized matte black orbs perfectly round hanging on strings...do those go...they can't fit there, do they?

My eyes were wide when I noticed the man; he was about an inch shorter than me behind the counter, maybe 35, in only leather pants, an open vest, and motorcycle cap. He had a wide pleasant grin on his face, almost too pleasant. Had he been drinking? 'Why is he so happy?' I wondered.

"Hi, got any questions feel free to ask," he called to me from just a few feet away.

"Yes, hi!" I smiled back at him. Maybe his smile was a disarming technique when a 'straight-looking' guy walked in.

I felt my nipples and belly piercings pulsing, and had a quick, yet ridiculous vision of it being like Wonder Woman's bracelets glowing when something new or dangerous is around. Omg, well at least my brain didn't lose it's sense of humor, I thought.

"Um...nice...nice shop," I said shyly, not knowing how you compliment the owner of a place like this. I continued: "Do you make all of this?"

"Most of it, a few pieces come from oversees, great leather from Italy, other places," he said, a little suspicion in his voice. "Are you looking for anything specific?"

Good question.

I paused and looked around; my mind was swimming in possibilities.

"It's for someone, a...a top. He's...experienced and I'd like to get him something really nice, maybe a custom piece."

Damn, I just confessed. The words just came out of me!

But this place, with this easy going guy in leather, I mean where else in the world would I confess? I laughed to myself inside wondering why I was so nervous, this place is, omg, it's really great. I wanted to try everything.

"Ohhh, I like that," he said. "So he likes quality," using code words I understood for 'do you want the expensive items'?

"Yes, but also something unique, if possible of course," I said in my male voice, with a little smile. 'Did I just inflect that like Trisha?' I asked myself silently.

"All right," he said in a change of tone, approving of my directness it seemed. He spoke quickly and my mind started recording:

"We make custom clothing, any accents or shade or design, all-black is quickest of course: pants, vests, jackets take two weeks, hats, gloves..."

"No, a belt",I interrupted him.

He paused looking at me suddenly with knowing realization - I wasn't some gay tourist with excellent brows coming for a custom pair of chaps for his husband's 30th (although there's nothing wrong with that!!)

I repeated it, smiling, now with a slight but knowing grin, "Is that ok? A...belt?"

"Yea, I heard you. So sorry, we get a lot off the bus," he said, finally like a guy who lives here, and I could hear his slight New York accent.

He stepped out from behind the counter.

To his right was a rack under a window that looked into a room with a large, flat green work table that looked old and classic, and more tools, scrap pieces of leather, different shades everywhere.

"We make these," he said, directing my eyes to underneath the window where there were 5 items hanging, four by their beautifully marbled wooden handles in different shades, and the fifth, painted red.

He continued:

"We source vintage leather belts from the 50s and 60s, all 100% real, and add a new leather core for strength, then we double them up and stitch, see? So the weight is great. There's nothing like it. We can stitch in any color."

He picked one off the wall and handed it to me, and continued:

"We make the handles too, all balanced, and much easier to swing than a plain belt. Try it."

My hand, Trisha's hand, was wrapped around the handle, fitting just perfectly in my palm. I took in a deep breath. The belt, it felt solid and...and waiting, waiting for its purpose. It almost disappeared in my hand, it was weighted so well.

I imagined it in Daddy's hand. I saw him using it on me as I gave my self to him, and I saw him, as I offered it on my knees, telling him that it was from my heart, and please Daddy, hurt me, teach me, bring me closer to you.

"Uh...," I could barely speak. 'Concentrate!' I told myself, continuing:

"He's got...he's got a little bigger hands, actually like a whole size up?"

I forced the fog of lust to clear, because I had to have this. This is the one.

"Ok, let's see," he said, picking another off the rack with a painted and severely carved modern red handle.

We exchanged them, and he described it: "The belt here is 2 inches longer, wider handle."

Wow, this one was angry. I closed my eyes and tried to shake hands with the handle, trying to judge the size of his hand, remembering when he pressed his warm palm gently into my cheek.

"I think this is it," I said, lightly swinging the luscious, aged, black leather. "I can feel the weight now, but not a red handle. Can I pick a wood like that?"

I pointed back to the rack and he explained that the other four were the four other woods they carried from light to heavy and and that their shades were the wood plus the stain, and they have black or brown belts too.

"Black belt for sure," I said, thinking about it all, imagining the different combinations. And what would Daddy like the best? What the best wood for him? What will make him love me even more? Is this love?

I tried all five of them, and decided on a dark cherrywood stain over oak, rich and intense but also, well, just because oak was number 3 right in the middle, and I really had no idea what I was doing then, but I knew it would be beautiful.

"Great," he said matter-of factly. "Any engraving or stitching? Custom plates too, something new we're trying."

"What's that?"

"Two plates on either side of the handle, slightly recessed," he told me as he stepped into the workshop and returned with a bare unfinished handle. The rectangles for the small brass plates had been etched out already, and there was a small cylindrical hole between the sides.

"We glue them to the wood, and lock the plates together with stainless steel. They can be steel or brass, and engraved with anything."

"Can you match the stitching on the belt to the stain of the wood?" I asked.

"Of course. You said dark cherrywood over oak? Very subtle and handsome."

"Yes, yes, dark cherrywood over oak," I repeated, savoring the words, and seeing the rich color in my mind.

I looked down at the prototype in my hand, turning it back and forth.

"If you'd like to customize, we have to do it first because the way the wood is cut."

"Yes, I'll take the brass plates, please," I said, and paused.

"'Daddy.' I want them to say 'Daddy'"

——————————

I was anxious and kept looking out of my apartment window to the street, biting my lip, a bundle of sissy nerves.

Nicole giggled at me again as she gently pushed my face back towards her to finish doing my eyes.

"He's coming. Face front," she reminded me.

"I know, I know, sorry. It's just been so long and..." My voice trailed off, trying not to look back to the window, and knowing we hadn't seen each other in person since the hotel date almost a month ago.

Daddy had come back from Europe and immediately invited me to spend a full 3-day weekend with him upstate, starting one week after my waxing so my skin would be healed and I'd still be perfectly smooth.

He was going to rent a private house, just me and him, and I could be dressed 24/7 from Friday until we got back on Monday night.

I said 'yes' right away. And now it's Friday afternoon and he's coming to pick me up. I'm going to surprise him with Nicole's makeup work and I really could use the sissy friendship right about now.

I tried to steady my nerves and reflect on the last two weeks, when I really jumped into the sissy pool.

I had my first full-body wax, (it wasn't too-too bad for a masochist like me, to be honest, but still,) got my first pedicure at the salon with Daddy's permission, and bought a dozen or so more panties and bras, babydolls to sleep in, more jeans & denim shorts and denim surprises for him, more high heels, more sets of nipple piercings and belly button jewelry.

I hadn't been out of panties for weeks now except to shower, and kept my cage on as long as I could almost all day and all night.

I was free - Trisha was free?

Well, maybe not free free, but, for the first time in my life, at least I was giving myself permission to go there and experience everything I felt inside.

And I had such a good Daddy to show me, to guide me, to break me, to overcome my fears and shame and let me live for once as his femme, owned, fucktoy slut that I needed to be and craved to be.

Aside from the pure kink, he was also caring for me and I started feeling for him too. I wondered about him and wanted to know more, I wanted him to be happy, to tell me his troubles and let me caress him and make him feel better - plus, yea, also to be fucked and flogged to oblivion.

It was so confusing still, but the parts were starting to fit in my mind, so I was trying to just go with it now. And I was.

Nicole and I had met for a drink after my last waxing appointment and I told her everything; we talked and talked. I needed a sissy friend to help me stay here, and to get advice from.

She was so so great, asking me all the important questions like:

"Do you trust him?"

"Will you put me on speed dial in case anything goes wrong?"

And of course, "What's his cock like?"

I think she was mildly freaked out at how sado-masochistic our relationship was, but it wasn't like she hadn't seen it before. I assured her that it was me who asked for it first. I mean, I had put it all in my online profile and he found me because of that.

I had asked her for makeup advice, and she offered to come over and do my makeup perfectly before he picked me up.

She was finishing up now on me as my heart was racing, knowing Daddy will be here any minute.

Nicole sounded satisfied, saying "mmmmm, there it is, Trish...whaddya think?"

She turned me towards the mirror and I just about passed out.

"Oh my...oh my god..." I could barely speak.

"Don't cry!" she exclaimed, and grabbed a tissue just dabbing my reddening eyes.

"Nicole, they are...they are...oh my god..."

She did them just like my dream/nightmare. My face was Trisha's face, a slut, a girlfriend, a lover, a whore, a femme, a sissy's face, all at once.

"Just the way he likes it, femme, slutty and leaning pink and submissive, right?" she asked me.

"Yea...yea...exactly..ohh thank you, Nicole, thank you, thank you," I turned to her and threw my arms around her, squeezing her tightly in pure sissy gratitude.

Though to confess, I felt that fear again, the fear that I was taking everything too far, I mean look at me right at this moment!

Then my phone went off - Daddy.

"Are you ready, princess?" His deep voice seemed to rattle me, shaking the dust of my male self through a sieve and leaving only her.

"Yes, Daddy."

Nicole's eyes widened, hearing for the first time my full high sissy slut voice, the one I only used with Daddy.

"Come on down then, black BMW. Jump in the back seat."

"Coming, Daddy." And I hung up.

I looked at Nicole and she stepped right in front of me, and to my amazement, spoke in a similar, ultra-high femme sissy bimbo cadence:

"I know you're gonna be the best fucking slut for Daddy, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'll be Daddy's best fucking slut ever," I replied staring into her eyes and seeing myself and my desires in a moment of sissy understanding.

She leaned in and gave me a soft little kiss right on my lips, now plumped and painted with a light pink blush and soft glitter throughout, our breath touching for just a few seconds, and I knew everything would be ok.

"Let's go," I said and got my rolling suitcase, packed with new outfits and makeup, and the duffel bag with the special leather gift that I had ordered for Daddy.

We scrambled down the flight of stairs in my old Brooklyn building. It was a rainy early winter day in December, and I was wearing my boy shoes, button down shirt, and jacket, but everything else was all Trisha, from my hair to my painted toes, the tight denim hugging my ass and the pink belt, the white fishnets and garter under them, pink panties and bra, the piercings, and under my boy shirt, my first real girl 'top': a sexy, tight sweater, off-white and furry soft cutoff above my midriff so Daddy could see my belly button.

As soon as we got downstairs, I saw Daddy's hulking SUV. Nicole raised her umbrella to cover me and walked me there, and I turned to her before opening the door.

I didn't have to say anything. Our eyes met and exchanged the gratitude of two sissies who found each other, and would be friends, maybe forever.

I opened the door and tossed the duffel bag over the seats into the rear, and the rolling case behind Daddy, and slid into the back seat.

I looked up. Daddy was staring at me.

"Who the hell was that?"

"Nicole from the salon Daddy, she...she just did my makeup Daddy."

He looked at me, slightly astonished.

"Angel, you are full of surprises. Let me look at you."

Whew, I thought he might kick me out of the car.

He studied my face, and I saw his eyes darting over my body as I peeled off my boy jacket and shoes.

He had told me the rules: from the moment I entered his car, I was his slut. 'All-girl, all-weekend' was the phrase he used.

"You look absolutely beautiful. I wish we didn't have a two hour drive so I could take you right now."

I seriously thought of peeling off my clothes and begging, 'Please fuck me, fuck me Daddy," right here in the back seat, but ohhh we have to wait, and Daddy is so, so good at waiting.

"Something for you under the seat there. Why don't you open it first before we go."

My heart jumped and I reached under the passenger seat. There was a little rectangular box about the size of my hand. I opened the cover, and inside, was a purple velvet bag and drawstring which I pulled open and into my hand fell the large, clear acrylic butt plug; the kind that you can see right up into when its inside...ohhhh wow...

There was a single-use lube packet also in the box that said 'AQUA thick'. I stared at it and breathed deeply a few times.

"You know what to do, bitch, so do it." I stared down at the heavy plug in my hand. I did know what to do, omg fuck yes Daddy I'll do it I want to, I need it too, Daddy.

He pulled into an empty spot so he could watch me.

'Ok, he's gonna watch me,' I thought. I was nervous, embarrassed, horny, and my heart was pounding now. Thank god this thing has tinted windows.

But then she took over. Trisha calmed me and came out and I said to myself 'yes, watch me, watch what I do for you, Daddy, how bad I need this, how much I need you.'

Like the whore I was, and still am for him, I placed the new plug onto the seat next to me, and opened my pretty pink belt, and sensually peeled down the tight distressed denim just to the top of my thighs. I had to, like, scooch the panties down side to side, until I could feel the cool air of the car on my little sissy pussy, already plugged with my smaller pink jewel plug.