Megan's New Clothes
By Abe Froman
The following story is a work of fiction. It contains scenes of an adult nature, so if you
are under 18, stop reading now. This story contains explicit sexual language and
fantasies involving the mental and physical control of others. If you are offended by such
activities, do not read any further. This is purely a fantasy. Any resemblance to any
person, living or dead is purely coincidental. Thanks go out to Chase (and his wife) for
inspiration and feedback.
Please send any comments/suggestions to me at froman.abe@gmail.com. They are
appreciated and warmly received.
This story may be reposted or archived provided the following conditions are met:
1) The story is not altered in any way
2) The story contains my name and disclaimer
3) You do not make money from the story
Megan's New Clothes
Megan stepped into the steaming shower with her mind racing. All week
long she'd been stomping around the house in a huff. She was frustrated
and a bit upset, and didn't know why.
She closed her eyes and let the water flow down over her body. She was
moving into her early 30's and she was still very proud of her body, as
was her husband. Her 36D breasts were still firm - she always chose the
best bras to support them. Those breasts really kept jogging out of the
question for exercise, but she was rigorous when it came to aerobics and
stretching. As her hands spread suds and foam over her body she could
feel a smile and a tingle that her flesh was taut and smooth all over.
Her hands continued to explore as she washed. She loved sex with her
husband, and they always kept it fun. Flicking at the golden rings through
her pierced nipples, she was reminded how they not only kept her nipples
erect, but feeling their weight often brought her thoughts to happy
experience in the bedroom - or even a couple of the other rooms in the
house.
She looked down at the suds flowing over her long legs as her thighs
spread for her exploring fingers. She kept herself nicely groomed - just a
little stripe which was enough to tickle Heath's tongue and to prove she
was a natural blonde. She purred with the tongue of her own fingers,
thinking it was a lovely way to think happily about a difficult few days.
She should be happy, if a bit amused by her horny husband. He'd
surprised her with a motherlode of online shopping last week. The money
wasn't the issue, nor really was the stuff he bought. Sure, it was pretty
much all slutty and tiny clothing and accessories for her to wear but
nothing out of the blue - they had talked and joked about those sorts of
things.
After a lovely dinner made by her husband Heath and a glass of two of
wine they'd moved over to the bedroom for an impromptu fashion show.
She'd been in a good mood, so she'd gone for some of the more raunchy
items: a lacy pair of crotchless panties, lace-topped stockings with an
ultra-short black wet-look latex skirt that was more advertisement or gift-
wrapping for her ass than a cover for it. Looking in the mirror at those
long legs flowing out of the skirt in those decadent stockings gave her an
immediate and encouraging tingle.
Next was a tiny little stretchy tank top with spaghetti straps. It was white
and it barely covered her full breasts. There was plenty of flesh exposed
above the neckline and even at the sides. It was so tight that it hugged her
breasts and body like a second skin. Written, now stretched, across the
front was the word "slut" in gothic script. Looking like this, she felt that
way too. It helped that the top was also clearly displaying her stiff
nipples, and was so tight that even the outlines of the gold rings she wore
in them were visible.
She'd painted her lips with bright red lipstick, and even added mascara
and some rouge - after all, wouldn't a slut dressed like this be painted up?
The last item she looked at a while before putting on. It was a black
choker with rhinestone letters, spelling out "I love cock" with a little heart
for the word "love." Megan knew that Heath had bought this particular
one as a real wish. She didn't often go down on him, but she would
occasionally give him a kiss or nuzzle down there. She hardly "loved
cock." But she felt inspired, and thought that maybe it would make him so
hot to see her wearing the choker, he wouldn't have time to wait for that
foreplay.
But the evening had gone quite different than her expectations - mostly
because of her own actions. She'd been unstoppable. She strutted around
in her get-up, teasing him with the sight that obviously had him very hot.
She'd been shameful, teasing her own body with her hands for him,
massaging him as well. There was no getting around it: she fucked him
and he fucked her for all they were both worth. It went on for hours.
Saying she had gone down on him didn't do the events justice. She had to
admit to herself that she had worshipped his cock, kissing it, sucking it,
stroking it, until she urged his cum from him and into her mouth.
Even when they were both exhausted and the sky had begun to brighten
with the impending sunrise, she found she slept with her hand gripping his
shaft. Waking hours later, nothing left of her outfit but the choker, she
had woken him with yet another bout of oral service. He knew she wasn't
fully awake until that shot of cum hit the back of her throat. In the
moment, she had loved it, and had wanted nothing else.
But barely an hour later, when she was stripped and right here, washing
the sweat and sex from her body in the shower, she felt ashamed, even
humiliated by how much like a sex-starved slut she'd acted. That wasn't
her, was it? They'd been married for years, and while they had a great
sexual relationship, married people don't act like that, do they?
Her reaction to her own behaviour had put her off. She distracted herself
with chores for the next couple days, and had even found herself snapping
at Heath when he mentioned that night (with that grin on his face) or
talked about the other purchases. He seemed hurt and surprised by her
mood now. She understood that - of course he was. One night his wife
was a sex-starved maniac, the next night a prude.
She didn't know really what to do, but she wasn't going to take it out on
him any more. In fact, maybe she should make it up to him. She had the
afternoon off, and she knew when he came home on Friday's it was with a
mix of the tiredness of a full week done, but with enthusiasm towards a
weekend arriving. She decided to surprise him with a nice dinner, maybe
even on the patio if this late summer weather held out. And hey, she
thought, maybe even one more surprise. She remembered her horny
husband had bought a French maid's uniform with that batch of clothing.
Her soapy fingers were moving fast now - it was such a typically male
fantasy - but the image of her own body in the tight uniform was just the
push she needed to slide her over the edge. In the steamy shower, alone in
her house, she screamed out and came hard - riding the pleasure in waves.
Her legs weakened and she slid down to the floor of the shower in a
blissful soapy tangle. After her recovery and rinse, she stepped out and
surrounded herself in fluffy towels to dry. She was going to make her
husband smile today, and clothed in just the towel, she let go a gleeful
giggle made her way see just how tawdry she'd look in that uniform.
The uniform seemed more complicated than she thought it would be, but
now she was determined. She spread the items out on the bed, and took
careful stock of them. First, she decided, were the stockings. She fixed
the garter belt around her hips and carefully rolled the fishnets up her legs
and fastened them. There were no panties, just a lacy petticoat that also
was wiggled in place around her hips. Next came the dress, though that
was a generous word for it. She managed to get the shiny latex around her
and it was immediate obvious that it was going to be very short and very
tight.
Once she had it in place, started to work at the laces, feeling it hug and
squeeze at her body, pushing her full breasts higher up, forming even more
into an hourglass figure. Once finally done to her satisfaction, the bodice
was little more than a shelf for her breasts, not even covering her nipples,
and her nipple rings gleamed and teased out. The skirt covered most of
the lace petticoat but very little of her - and that was standing up. She felt
her face start to warm and flush with embarrassment at her appearance,
but she felt it quickly change to a peaceful acceptance, knowing it was just
right somehow.
She continued to dress, applying the final touches. She slid her feet into
the five-inch spike heels and buckled the straps around her ankles. A tiny
white, lace-trimmed apron went in place around her waist. A matching
lace headband was arranged in her hair. The final touch was a white lace
choker. She smiled and shook her head as she noticed the embroidery in
it.
Black thread formed, in perfect script, the words, "the perfect slave." As
she put it in place around her neck, she was laughing and shaking her head
at her husband's fantasies. Once it settled home, however, the feeling
changed to a warm flowing all over her body. Yes, she was going to be
the perfect maid, the perfect slave. Just thinking about how good she was
going to be made her tingle, and her pussy lips were glistening.
So, like a good maid, she got to work. She had really just been planning
to try on the outfit, but now she realized how much there was to do. Over
the next few hours, her body was tightly wrapped and displayed to
perfection for no-one's benefit but her own as she vacuumed, dusted,
finished the laundry and prepared a feast fit for a king, or Master. She was
so fully in her role she barely noticed the gasping shock of the UPS
deliveryman as she answered the doorbell that afternoon. She
nonchalantly signed for the delivery, smiled at him, and returned to her
work. After all, Heath would be home soon.
When Heath arrived home, he stepped into the hall and called out to
Megan that he was home. After a long week, he was eager for the
weekend to start, even if there had been a bit of out-of-place quietness
between them lately. He was totally unprepared for her appearance and
greeting.
His jaw dropped to the floor as he took her in. The outfit he'd bought, and
recently all but given up hope of ever seeing her in, was better than he
could have dreamed. Her tits looked even larger than normal as they
nearly poured out of it, and that was saying something. Perhaps even
more striking was the way she was totally living up to her look. Every
motion seemed to communicate a kind of service and submission to him.
He felt his cock stir in his jeans.
"Hi, Sir," she softly said, "Please come out to the deck. I've got your
dinner ready."
Heath was too shocked to speak, and he followed her out, his eyes
drinking in the curves of her legs accentuated by her patterned stockings,
her calves formed by the posture the tall heels gave her, and the delicious
expanse of bare flesh between the stocking tops and the bottom of her tiny
skirt.
He couldn't get to a point of equilibrium, as every moment seem to carry a
new surprise, a new aspect of a fantasy he wouldn't have dared dream.
Megan simply knelt, on the deck in the cool fall air, as he ate the perfectly
grilled steak. By the time he has polished off the delicious meal, sipping
at his wine, his mind was turning a bit wicked.
Her performance was too perfect, too submissive. He couldn't help now
but want to try and trip her up.
Their back yard was relatively enclosed by foliage, but they weren't that
far from their neighbors. It was one of the reasons why Megan would
never fool around in the back yard, or even here on the deck. Heath
smiled as the idea crystallized in his mind, and he turned to her. He
opened his thighs and drew down his fly. He carefully drew out his stiff
cock and drank in the look in her eyes as a reaction.
"Megan, my maid, I want you to service me, right here and right now."
He was ready for her to laugh or to react in disgust, but certainly not for
what she did.
Without a word, and with a look that he could only read as excitement and
hunger, she slurped his shaft wetly into her mouth. He was moaning as he
looked down to see her painted lips wrapped tight around his cock, her tits
bouncing with her motion, barely retrained in the dress. Her nipple rings,
which he always loved to see, where glinting in the candlelight. The
pressure was building fast in his balls.
His mind's eye tried to imagine how this looked, and he still couldn't
believe it. And he couldn't give up yet. She couldn't be into this so
perfectly. He had to win, to break her act, to get her to cry uncle first.
"Stop, Megan." It nearly killed him to say it. She slid his shaft out of her
pursed lips slowly and looked up at him with questioning eyes. "Stand up,
move to the railing, and lean forward, pet."
Again, he waited for her refusal, maybe even a playful (or not quite) slap
at what he was suggesting, but there was none. She simply moved to the
wooden railing, leaned forwards just a touch, and actually lifted the back
of her skirt for him. There was no room in his circulation-starved mind to
think any further. He plunged into her, and gripped at her hips and breasts
for leverage as he built his rhythm faster and faster.
He could feel her arousal, her wetness greet his shaft as he worked his hips
to deepen its dance inside her. The pure pleasure gave him moments of
clear thought. She was bent forwards, her breasts fully free and swaying
with her motions. She seemed to be enjoying this as much as he was, but
she was holding back just enough in her reactions. Heath smiled and felt
his streak of wickedness build again.
"Baby, don't try to be quiet. Let it all out. Let me know how it feels," he
whispered in her ear, lips grazing it as they moved.
Megan's mind wasn't working as it normally would either. There was a
part of her, buried somewhere, or left behind this morning, that couldn't
believe what she was doing. Not only was she dressed like a tramp (even
if it was for her husband) but she was also having sex-enthusiastic sex-
with him outside. As if the blowjob hadn't been bad enough, she now
found herself moaning and grunting like an animal in heat. Those
thoughts tried to form some kind of resistance, but they didn't stand a
chance.
They fought hopelessly against the physical pleasure she was
experiencing, the memories of her own appearance in her uniform. The
look of lust and appreciation in the UPS man's gaze today (oh god... had
she really done that too?!) But most of all, unknown yet to her or Heath,
they were fighting against the strange power of the clothes themselves.
The company had found a rather new way to guarantee satisfaction with
their orders.
Her mind, under fashion's control sent her new thoughts. She just living
up to her appearance, to her uniform. After all, wasn't she a good French
maid? Wasn't she the perfect slave? She could do no more that obey.
Besides, she hadn't felt so good since she had felt his throbbing cock in
her mouth last week.
Megan could feel her husband's cock so full and thick inside her, driving
into her with motions that she was meeting with rolling hips and eager
grunts. Leaning out, looking over the back yard she could still feel tiny
twinges of humiliation. Each time a light would come on in neighbor's
window, each time a silhouetted head would appear in that light, she knew
that she was the show. She was the porn movie. She was the slut getting
fucked in her own back yard. Maybe she should be embarrassed or
ashamed but right now the mental satisfaction of being a good slave and
maid only added to her physical bliss.
The bliss and sensation pushed her farther and farther. She needed to
express her sensations, and to obey with her expression - to share her joy
and add to his. Her moans formed words as she screamed, "Oh god, oh
fuck yess. Fuck me! Please! Your cock is so big and I want all of it!
Please, oh god, please fuck me! Give me all of it!"
The part of Heath that could still think was amazed. This might be the
hottest sex that they'd ever had, and his wife was moaning and screaming
like a banshee. He was soaking in each sensation while fighting to make it
last as long as possible. God, he loved this woman - the feel of her, the
touch of her, the weight of her breasts in his hands and the velvet grip she
held him with now. He loved each moan, growing louder with each
minute. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd be getting appreciative
and knowing looks from his male neighbors tomorrow.
His fingers squeezed into the supple flesh of her full breasts and searched
out her stiff nipples as he could finally hold off no longer. His cum shot
deep inside her with spasm after spasm and her body reacted with its own
matching release. His arms wrapped around her and electricity seemed to
flow through every square inch of their touching skin. They inhabited
another world of pure pleasure and ecstasy for uncountable precious
moments.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed before conscious thought
returned, but he managed to blow out the candles and carry his saucy maid
back into the house and into bed. He might ask her tomorrow what had
come over her, or he might not.
And hey, if she was still in a good mood tomorrow, he might try to get her
to wear that "I like boys AND girls" baby tee first.
TO BE CONTINUED
Please send comments and/or suggestions to froman.abe@gmail.com.
(c) 2004 Abe Froman
