Emily was watching me get dressed this morning, something that's more time consuming for a sissy than it is for a man. Why? Well, the only undergarment a man needs to worry about is a pair of boxer shorts. But not a sissy.
This morning, I started with a bra, a baby-pink satin and embroidered lace underwire bra and a coordinating six-strap garter belt. Then I put on my hose, 100% nylon, 15 denier, Cervin stockings, carefully attached them to the garter belt. Finally, I slipped into a pink and white camisole and matching French knickers, the completion of the feminine part of me.
And that's whey Emily stared at me, looked between my legs, smiled.
"What," I asked, wondering if I'd done something wrong.
"Nothing," she said, but continued to stare.
"Seriously, what?"
"It's just...I know you're conflicted about it, about wearing it," she nodded towards my lace trimmed French knickers, "but just seeing the outline of your chastity cage in those pretty panties makes me so hot."
I swallowed, of course, that's why I was conflicted about wearing it, because the second she said something like that, I started to swell, to grow, filled the tight cage. "Em," I said, "please."
"See, that's why I like it so much, love," she moved towards me, touched the cage through the satin, "knowing how badly you want to use this sometimes, how badly you want to pretend to be a man, but knowing you can't, not unless I let you."
"P...please," I said again, eyes fluttering.
She leaned closer, whispered in my ear. "No, sissy, not today, not today."
And now I'm at work, my boy clothes over my girl undergarments, wool of satin, my suit hiding what's underneath, the real me.
And I'm still swollen, an hour later, my sissy clit still swollen to the edge of the small chastity cage, a reminder, all day, that I'm hers.
No comments:
Post a Comment