Threshold of Desire Ch. 3

It had been six months since that turning point in our relationship, that day when I had driven you to confess your fetishistic fantasies. That had led to the transcendent revelation about the dynamic of my seduction and your surrender, from which had grown our erotic rituals of dominance and submission.

Somewhat surprisingly, our everyday relationship had remained relatively normal. During the day or in public, we acted as any new couple might, still learning to make decisions together, and building our life as an equal partnership. If anything, we had become even more balanced than before, as our new intimacies strengthened our bond and trust. Certainly, we had become more considerate of each other and conscientious of one another's point of view. But at night, behind closed doors and in the privacy of our bedroom, that could all change dramatically when you gave up control to me in a gift of your submission.

Most often though our lovemaking was much as before, as ordinary as any couple's. I would choose to dominate you in the bedroom perhaps once or twice a month. Any more frequently would have made it too common and diminished its succulence -- like dining on French cuisine every day of the week. At all other times we hardly spoke of it, and I had made it abundantly clear that you were never to request or attempt to initiate a session under any circumstances. That privilege was to remain mine alone.

When the mood did strike me your only clue was that I typically wore the black panties that day. I usually wore them only on these 'special' days – their sensual feel brought back fond memories of that first time, when you had confessed all to me – and they had become symbolic of our special relationship on these occasions. If you were lucky enough to notice me wearing them as I dressed for the day, you would know that the evening would likely be an adventurous one. There would be no other signal, remark, or acknowledgement, in the morning or throughout the day, just that tacit symbol of your abject submission to me. Sometimes, in a throw back to our earlier games, I would be sure that you got an eyeful. That way I could savor the anticipation during the day that you would be aching with yearning for me all day long, barely able to think of anything else. It was simple, elegant, and perfect.

Our sexual activities on these special evenings would vary as my moods and whims might dictate, but usually retained certain aspects from that first time. Almost always we practiced your panty kissing and worship, with you deeply immersed expressing the fetish that empowered my seduction, and me reveling in your attentive adoration and thinking of new ways to dominate you and stretch the bounds of your submission to me. Most times I insisted that you pamper my feet in some fashion, which I found to be both physically and psychologically satisfying. And I would usually include some difficult new demand – a barrier breached, a boundary pushed, a humiliation endured, or a physical challenge to suffer. Besides the variety this provided, it served to keep you off balance, apprehensive, and completely at my mercy.

At one point I decided that it was time to escalate our panty games and training to another level. That morning was to begin differently that any before. After my shower, as I sat in my silk robe at my dressing table brushing my lustrous hair, I beckoned you to me, " Darling, would you come here? I want your help with something."

You had been making the morning coffee and stopped just long enough to answer, "Be right there, honey!" and in less than a minute were by my side, asking what I needed.

"I'd like you to help me get ready this morning."

A puzzled expression came across your face – I had never made such a request before – then softened as you answered, "Of course, what would you like me to do for you?"

"I'd like you to be a sweet boy and help me getting dressed."

You said, "OK," but were still a little puzzled and starting to feel off balance. You continued, "but what do you want me to do?"

"To start, why don't you go to my bureau in the closet and fetch me a clean pair of panties? Top left drawer, whatever's on top."

From the novelty of the request you sensed something was afoot, but merely answered, "OK honey," and proceeded as asked. But when you opened the drawer you stopped cold. Neatly folded on the top of the stack of panties sat the black pair, the special ones. Uh oh, you were in a bind now, trapped in a seemingly minor dilemma, but one with potential consequences that mattered greatly to you.

You picked up the black panties and absentmindedly felt their smoothness between your fingers as you contemplated the options. Had I known they were there? Had I placed them on top intentionally? If you brought them to me, tonight might be the night! You wanted so badly to bring them to me, but reconsidered: what if I hadn't planned it and it was just chance. I might think it presumptuous of you to bring them to me. The last time you tried to initiate our special dance I had made it quite clear that you were never ever to do so, and as a punishment and a reminder you had to wait six longs weeks until I next chose to play our erotic games. You were loath to let that happen again. It had already been three weeks since our last encounter, and the craving was filling your thoughts more and more each day. Better to play it safe, and bring another pair.

Only then did you notice the panties that were next on the stack. Unlike my everyday conservative ones in white, ivory or cream, these brand new panties were in a fascinating array of colors: navy blue, pastel yellow, blushing peach, rich plum, dusky rose and hot pink. And all in that old-fashioned full-cut style that drove you mad. Oh, my! What was going on? It wasn't so hard for you to choose between bringing me an older pair of panties or one of the new ones. You were already imagining me in the new ones, and were eager for the thrill of seeing me wearing them. Plus, they were near the top of the stack.

"What took you so long?" I said with a slight edge of annoyance.

You didn't say a word, just looked down modestly and held out the pair of dusky rose panties.

I snatched them from your hand and said, "What's this, then?"

Your heart fell as you realized that you had made a mistake for which there might be consequences, "I didn't know which ones I should bring you. The black ones were on top and I . . ."

"I told you to bring me the ones on top, didn't I?" you scolded.

"Yes, but, . . ."

"Don't you think I know what's in my own lingerie drawer?" I said, clearly annoyed now.

"Of course, I'm sorry, it's just that . . ."

"Now go back and fetch the pair I asked for, and this time get it right!" I said and I tossed the rose-colored pair aside onto the bed.

You dutifully backtracked to fetch the powerfully symbolic black panties. You were unsure whether to be glad or not, as you didn't know what might come of it. When you returned I was standing with my hands on my hips, waiting impatiently, "Now hurry up and help me get dressed!"

When you tried to hand them to me I didn't accept them, and glared at you instead, admonishing, "I said help me, not hand them to me." I reached passed your offering hands to your shoulders and said, "Kneel down," as I pushed you down onto your knees.

"Haven't you ever seen how a butler helps a gentleman get dressed, or a maidservant tends to her queen? You should help like that." As I said this I let my robe fall open and I raised one foot and held it out to you. Finally understanding you held the black panties open for me to step into, first one foot then the other, and pulled them up snugly over the curves of my sumptuous ass and belly.

"Good. Now go get me a pair of black stockings and a garter belt. Top right drawer. And be quick this time."

By the time you returned I had already discarded the robe and put on a bra and blouse. "Do you think you could put stockings on me without ruining them?" you said as you donned the garter belt.

"I think so, I've watched you put stockings on so many times," you said as you recollected the teasing games we used to play.

"Good. Why don't you show me then?"

Awkwardly and somewhat painstakingly you rolled up a stocking, then slowly and carefully stretched it snugly up my leg, smoothing it in place. Then you repeated the action for the other leg.

"A little slow, but not too bad! I think your understanding better what I meant by 'help.' You just have to anticipate and be attentive, like a maidservant. You can be like that, can't you!" I said sweetly. Your face flushed with embarrassment at being compared to a maidservant. Although I had said it in a matter of fact way, not emasculating at all, it still felt humiliating.

"Now go fetch me a black half-slip. Second drawer down." This time I didn't have to remind you to kneel so that I could step in, or to pull the billowy slip over my shapely hips.

"Thank you, dear. You did that so well! Just like a very attentive maidservant would!" I smiled at you sweetly, and said, "I think you like helping me dress!" You just looked down at the floor, trying to hide your reddening face. "I think I'll have you be my little maidservant like this more often! Now be a good girl and get my black heels from the shoe rack."

By the time you returned with the shoes I had donned a comfortably roomy knee-length skirt and was sitting in my favorite wingback chair waiting for you. I motioned for you to sit on the low stool at my feet. As I held out my right foot so that you could place put my shoe on for me, I said, "You know, this reminds me of being waited on by this shoe salesmen a long time ago who was always trying to look up my dress. I used to love to tease him. I'd give him panty peaks to get him all hard and then he'd have to stand up to go get shoes for me." Then as I held up my left foot, "I loved how embarrassed he got trying to hide his little stiffy from everybody. It took him so long to come back, I always wondered if he was just trying to calm down or was wanking in the bathroom. I really loved to torment the little pervert."

You were done putting on my shoes and I was fully dressed now. I lay back in the chair and, with a wicked gleam in my eye, said, "I bet you would just love to look up under my dress, wouldn't you?" You looked away evasively with an uncomfortable look on your face. I could tell that it bothered you that you could be manipulated so easily to emulate someone that I had just denigrated as a pervert. But in spite of the discomfort you nodded anyway.

I smiled at you and said, "Well, I suppose you really can't help it, can you. And you were such a good helper, I think that I'm going to let my maid have a little reward. But you have to pay attention, too, because I have some instructions for later."

While staring intently at you I very slowly and dramatically pulled my loose skirt up and spread my legs so that you could stare up my skirt, up my blowsy slip at my pantied crotch framed by the garters and hose. My action was less an exposure of my self, as you had just seen everything as I dressed. It was more of an exposure of the erotic power that I held over you, a deliberate statement, and a reminder of your subservient position. It was also an enticement that you were too weak to resist and it made you sink immediately into a transfixed stare.

"Now listen carefully, I have some instructions for you for tonight. I want you to be home early enough to be ready for me when I get home around 6:00 PM. Don't forget to give yourself a very close shave after you get home. And I want you to be naked and waiting on your knees near the door for my arrival. Did you get all that?"

"Uhn-huhn, I mean yes, I got it." You still stared, transfixed. If your ears and eyes were connected in any way in your brain my words had to have burned into your memory.

I then stood up abruptly and said, "Good enough, then. I'll look forward to tonight. Now you may go finish with breakfast."

That evening I didn't show up until 6:30 PM. I found you waiting for me as instructed, naked and on your knees in the foyer, presumably for at least the last half-hour. I didn't acknowledge your presence, just came in, closed the door, locked it, and took my time scanning through the day's mail on the side table. Then I leisurely removed my coat and hung it in the closet, all the while ignoring you. Finally I turned to stand directly in front of you, with my hands on my hips, and looked down at you like an officer might review a lowly grunt.

"I've had a busy day today and I'm looking forward now to a proper greeting from my panty boy!" I lifted the hem of my loose skirt and blowsy slip and dropped them over your head so that you were enveloped in that very feminine domain. The slippery silkiness of the loose black slip played all over your naked upper body. The cramped space under my skirt forced your face up against me and the limited air was stuffy and thick with my feminine fragrance. "Now beg for the privilege of pleasing me."

"Ohhh," you moaned, and with the sound of your voice muffled by my skirt, "Please allow me the privilege of greeting you properly. I want to show you with tender kisses how much I worship you. Please please let me kiss your sweet panties, please, I'm begging you, I want to so much.

"Very well. My panty boy may greet me properly now." I then directed you to kiss all over the front of my panties, pulling your face tightly to me, constraining your limited air to my pungent muskiness. By pushing your head around under my skirt I directed you to kiss my pussy through the slick fabric of my black panties, over and over and over, hundreds of repeated kisses for what must have been 15 minutes.

"This is how I want you to greet me on special nights. Be kneeling and ready. And if I lift my skirt you are to ask or beg, as I see fit, and worship as I permit. Do you understand?"

"Yes," came your muffled reply.

"Good. That's enough for now," I said as I lifted my skirt back off of you and pushed you away.

I bid that you follow me to the bedroom where I removed my blouse, skirt and slip and put them away neatly. I saw your discarded pants lying on the floor, and picked them up, muttering something about living with such a slob. As I removed the belt and tossed the pants on the bed, I noticed that the dusky rose panties that I had tossed aside that morning were no longer on the bed. Hmmmmm.

I had you kneel down again and I turned around so that my shapely bottom was right in your face. I spoke to you over my shoulder, "Now my beautiful bottom would like to here some praise from you. Talk to it like it was a person, a person much better than you, of a higher class. And tell it how much you love to kiss it, and how grateful you are for the opportunity to please it." I was really enjoying talking to you like this.

You paused to think for a moment and then looked directly at my bottom and addressed it in sincere, respectful tones, "You are so beautiful, and so much better than me. I am so lucky that you favor a worthless nothing like me to know you. Thank you so much for letting me show you my appreciation, I'm truly grateful for that privilege. I love so much to kiss you and worship your beauty, and I would do anything to please you."

"Goodness, my bottom is surprised and very pleased with your praise! For that you are granted one kiss of devotion, before you remove my panties." With that I bent over and pushed my ass towards your face.

You knew well by now that 'kiss of devotion' meant a long pressing kiss on my tender rosebud. When you leaned forward to kiss my ass through the panties I slipped the belt around the back of your neck. As your lips met my ass I pulled the belt tight, holding you in place. As I straightened up part way I tightened the belt even further and then slipped the clasp in place. When I stood up all the way the belt pushed your face very tightly into my ass , holding your pursed lips snugly to my sweet bud.

"Mmmmm, dreamy! Ohhhh, my, that's nice. Let's stay like this for a while. Would you like that, too?"

A muffled "Uhn-huhn." Was all you could muster.

After what must have been ten minutes with your pursed lips pressed tightly to my ass, I finally released the belt saying, "My, that was good. I really enjoyed that, didn't you?"

You just nodded as you gathered your breath back.

"Now you may take my panties off, but remember, using only your mouth."

As you started to do so I saw that you were fondly yourself and stopped you abruptly, "Hey! Get your hands off your dinky. Just because you can't use them on me doesn't mean you can touch yourself unless I tell you." I had you resume trying to remove my panties then stopped short again, "Your face is rough. Didn't you shave like I told you to?"

"I . . , um . . , I didn't have time before you got home."

"You should know by now that I insist on you being as smooth as possible for me. You'll just have to take care of it right now." I marched you into the bathroom and stood behind you dressed only in my bra, panties, stockings and heels, with my arms crossed waiting impatiently as you hurried through the task, glancing furtively at me in the mirror.

You toweled off and turned to me for my approval, saying, "OK?"

"Much better!" you cooed as you felt the smoothness of my face, then shifted suddenly to a cooler, harder tone, "but we aren't done here. I think you need a reminder so you don't forget again, a punishment appropriate to the transgression." As I thought about this with my hand on my chin, I looked you up and down. "You'll have to shave some more, as a reminder. I want you to shave all the hair off your legs and pubes."

Your jaw dropped in astonishment! "What? You've got to be kidding! I can't do that!" You were absolutely mortified at the thought, and could hardly speak.

"You can, and you most certainly will! Your going to shave so you're as bald as a little boy!"

"Please, not that, it would be so embarrassing," you pleaded, your face twisted with panic. You thought of being discovered that way by the other men in the locker room at the gym. What would they think?

"That's the point, isn't it? That's why you won't forget again. It's to help you not forget. And I'm afraid you must. Now hurry up and get started. If you don't get going right away I might just do it myself with that sugary waxing stuff. And I don't think you'd like that, would you!"

The thought of being waxed and having your pubic hair torn out by the roots was disturbing, and I had once told you how it grew back thinner when removed that way. At least if you shaved it wouldn't hurt so much, and it might grow back better. You were crestfallen, but at last resigned to accept your punishment and try to preserve your remaining dignity by not whining further. "OK, I'll do it."

"Here, use these," I said as I handed you the shaving gel and one of the pink lady's razors from my drawer.

"Can't I at least use my own razor?"

"No."

I stood by and supervised the process, pointing out the places that you missed. By the time you were almost done with your legs, you had let go of the shame a bit, and were focussing instead on doing a thorough job. Then I brought the shame right back again with, "Don't forget to shave your balls. They'd look silly with all the other hair gone." When you were done with that formidably awkward and rather squeamish task, I had you trim as much pubic hair as you could with scissors, then razor shave the rest until you were as smooth as a baby, from the waist down. Once you had thoroughly wiped all the soap away, rinsed and toweled dry, I stood back to admire your handiwork.