Chapter 1: Lillian Trapp and her feeble son-in-law, Pussyboot

  Oh no... she was ringing her bell. He needed another minute to finish her panties. His fingers lost control, hardly able to hold the needle and cream satin ribbon. Come on, Percival, just another few stitches to make the gathering of her afternoon panties absolutely fabulous and she would forgive him for being so stupid and sexless. Ohhh, his cock! Holding her panties like this was thrilling... too exciting. He must avoid emissions: that was always a red rag to her. He tried to avoid seeing the glossy primrose rayon... to avoid feeling its slippery softness in his fingers as he stitched closer and closer to the pretty ribbon bow at the outside of the leg ruching. He was getting better at scrambling his mind to avoid these floods of pleasure brought on by everything that came from her drawers and closets, but... ohhhhhhh they were all so ex-CIT-ing.

That's it! He'd finished! He hurried every needle-box, pin-cushion and pair of scissors into his sewing basket, gathered all the remnants into his samples bag, and the panty bloomers were finished... ready for his mother-in-law. The mirror... He had to check his appearance in the mirror: to make sure he was wearing her peignoir correctly, the way she liked him to wear it, with all twenty satin buttons fastened from his chin to his ankles in a cascade of rose pink... and his excitement grew again. He pulled a comb through his jet black, chin-length, bobbed hair - chin length at the front, but cut high at the back to allow for the high folds of the collars and ruffs she liked to see him in. He dissolved the bow of her deep waist sash and redid it into a huge butterfly, the tails trailing almost to her pink pom-pom carpet slippers. He must hurry or he would jism in her gown. One last look round his sewing room: Lillian would go manic if she stepped into his dressmaking room from her room next door and found a single item out of place. He must...

Horrors! Her bell went again, jangling in a temper! Heaven help him now. He gathered the folded panties, and wrapped them neatly round a pink silk rose boutonniere as his way of presenting them to his esteemed Mistress. His heart drummed in his chest as he approached her door, summoning his courage. He tapped reverently, opened the door by three inches and spoke with all his humility and subservience. "D-D-Darling M-M-Mother-In-Law, y-y-your panties are ready now. P-P-Please may I show them to you?"

"Get in here, PantyFrills" came Lillian's voluminous voice, "you lazy little wimp! You've tried my patience more than is good for you. Heaven protect you if you haven't made a good job of them. Let me see."

Percival Pennyweight breathed the scented cigar smoke that reached to him already from her heavily crimsoned lips. He tried to calm the hammering of his heart as he slid through the door in her satin bedrobe and saw in that split second that she was not alone: he would suffer the added mortification of Sapphire being there too, watching her feeble husband being humiliated. She would see how pathetic he was in front of her mother. What a misery. She looked up at him with a snigger and put her magazine down in the lap of her apple green skirt suit... then he caught her wonderful perfume which conjured the warmth of love he had always felt for her. How could it all have gone so wrong? Why had she lost all faith in him... and handed him over to her callous mother?

The hair on his head prickled with shame as he approached his Mother-In-Law in a swishing of floor length satin. He stopped in front of her booted knees, where she sat enthroned in her armchair, and executed a curtsey before holding out his little rose-and-bloomers presentation. He was expecting a fierce cut from the riding crop in her hand.

Instead there was a little gasp. "Ohhhh!" he heard, not daring to look up. She drew deeply on her cigarillo and breathed it in a cloud all round him. "Why Panty, my boy... you really do care! A rose... pour moi!" He kept his eyes on the toes of her brown leather boots, maddened with desire to touch them, with his lips, his tongue, his fingertips. He sensed that Lillian was unfolding her rose from its bloomered envelope and checking his needlework. Would she approve, or be consumed with anger? Or the more likely possibility: she would find some excuse to treat him with the contempt that she always did.

But no. Her voice was soft, almost encouraging. "Look at me, sissyboy," she said.

Percival obeyed. Lillian Trapp wanted to show him how deeply she held him in contempt. A gasp escaped his lips as he got a full view of his mother-in-law's fleshy but immaculate face, her ravishing platinum hair built into a beehive of rolling waves, and the cigarillo reaching six inches beyond her gloved fingers. His blood weakened as he saw the crisp lavishness of her blouse. She was wearing her peach day blouse in shuddered silk, with its twelve inch collar and billowing sleeves. It swelled magnificently over her powerful bust, with scalloped lacework down either side of her boutonnage. Her sleeve sizzled as she put her cigar holder to her pouting lips and sucked, before opening and exhaling another cloud all over him.

"PantyFrills, my little sexless pom-pom," she cooed, "I am very pleased with your needlework on my panties, and I am going to reward you. You shall wear my panties yourself, so that you can feel as feminine as I do when I am in them. You may take off my peignoir, even though I like to see you in it."

Percival curtseyed deeply, holding wide the sides of his gown. "Thank you with all my heart, Mother-In-Law," he said, his eyes cast down, and he began to undo the satin buttons from the hem.

A whoop of amusement stung him from his darling Sapphire. He closed his eyes at his own feebleness, submitting totally to her mother. As his fingers rose higher and higher, he felt Lillian's eyes on him as always, waiting to see his bare legs, as smooth and hair-free as a baby's. His painful expectation was met with her cackling giggle as his childish, embarrassing cock came into her view. The embarrassment sent an ache through his genitals as he undid the final buttons, his huge collar slid from his shoulders, and the peignoir opened.

"Hahhh! There it is, son-in-law!" she cried, bursting into a fit of laughter. "Come on... hold my peignoir out wide and show me what you've got. Show me what you had to offer to my daughter when you dared to marry her. You clown. You wimp. You dainty little fairy-boy! Get on your knees and display your little piddle-pipe to me, then you can make your confession before I put you into my panties."

Percival knew exactly how he had to drop to his knees while sweeping the sides of Lillian's robe out as far as he could so that the peignoir floated to the floor in a full circle of pink satin, presenting his erection for her to scoff at. His hands held the sides of her peignoir wide apart, and his babyish groin was thrust forward to point his stiffened little member towards her. He was ready to confess.

"You may begin," she snorted. He could picture the sneer on her face, framed by the delicious silk deltas of her blouse collar. He calmed his heartbeats as best he could and began his formula.

"Dearest Lillian, my darling Mother-In-Law, I confess that I am not a real man. I admit that I adore you in your beautiful clothes with all my heart, and want to make love to everything you wear. I am a sissy pervert, my darling Mother-In-Law, in love with your corsets, your gowns and blouses, your leather wear and your furs, and I deserve to be humiliated and ridiculed in your panties by you and all your friends." He paused for a moment, according to the requirements of his ritual, then added his request. "Please, dearest Lillian, will you and your friends humiliate me as I deserve?"

His head remained low, looking obediently down the naked front of his body to his aching erection, knowing that he might at any moment be allowed to touch part of his mother-in-law or her delicious costume. What reception would she give him this morning? Was she in a patient or a punishing mood? He found out soon enough.

"You kept me waiting, you miserable waste of spunk. You will fold my peignoir over the chair and bend before me for the crop."

"I'm terribly sorry, Lillian," he wheedled, hoping to deflect her decision as he laid the silk negligee across the back of an armchair. "I wanted to finish my sewing with perfection to make a lovely presentation to you."

"Oh stop whinging," cried Sapphire, stepping forward to take him be the hair and pulling her husband into position at her mother's knees where she forced him to the floor. "I'll hold him here mother. Give his buttocks the thrashing of their lives."

"I have every intention," said Lillian with a snarl of determination. Her crop was in wound black leather, with a four inch doubled loop of leather at the whipping end. Before he had even seen it, her son-in-law was whimpering as if the heavy chastisement had already been inflicted.

It followed without loss of time. WHIP! THRASH! WHACK! SWIPE! Percival Pennyweight gritted his teeth like never before, hoping... silently pleading for it to stop. His mother-in-law was in full control over him. He gave himself to her without reserve, and found that he could suffer her whipping in silence for one simple reason. In front of his nose was the polished toe of one of her purple leather button boots. As the lashes bit into his stretched buttocks, his lips fastened onto her footwear, his mouth opened wide and he tongued the upper side of her foot, with pleasure mounting in his groin.

His satisfaction must have been remarked by Lillian herself. She was tiring anyway, but she looked down, saw what her pervert was doing, and kicked his face off her foot. "The insolent worm, Sapphire. He's kissing my boot without my permission. He needs to be taught a lesson in servitude."

Sapphire had already begun teaching him, smacking him across his hair with the palm of her hand. "B-But Mother-In-Law," he cried, trying to shield his scalp, "I couldn't help it. I saw the buttons along the side of your beautiful foot and... I remembered how lovely I felt last night when you made me kiss and suck them."

Lillian's face twisted from one expression to another, through remembering and wanting to inflict more humiliation. Then her face brightened. "So you love my button boots that much, do you? Well you shall have some yourself. Sapphire, get him my Canadian leather boots for the pervert to smell up close... and I've laid out some more of my things on the bed. I'll dress him the way he wants to be."

Percival would have risen into a more respectful kneeling position, except that Lillian's gloved hand held his head in place, pushing his nose and lips into the buttoned instep of her boot. Moments later, he was being pulled upright by his wife as she put him into one of her mother's long line bras. Lillian pulled his face between her booted knees and squeezed him until he squeaked as he was having the pale pink brassiere hooked together from top to bottom. He was hooked into a firm suspender belt too, then hauled to his feet for Sapphire to take each prepared nylon from her mother and roll them up his legs, pulling the suspender clips to fasten them at the tops of his legs. His heart leapt as his mother-in-law seized him at the hips in her buttoning gauntlets so that his wife could squeeze each of his feet into one of her mother's patent court shoes.

"So good of you, PantyFrills, to prepare my panties for me, but it is you who is going to wear them for this little punishment for a boot pervert." He had to lift one shoe, then the other, and slot them into Lillian's rayon panties, which thrilled his legs as the cool lingerie slid up his nylons and encased his stiffened penis, because small as it was, it was solid in its blissful desire to be dressed in his mother-in-law's things. One of her gauze underskirts was dropped over his head and threaded down until Sapphire zipped and buttoned him into it at the back of his waist. There remained one of her oyster satin blouses and a wide pleated skirt, lined in silk, but Lillian wanted Sapphire to stop.

"I think we are wasting our time, dressing the sexless thing in my outerwear, honey," she said. I have a mind to treat the sissy the way he deserves, which is to meet his perversions halfway and make him the sissified idiot that he deserves to be. I would love nothing more than to begin his visits to the Society, darling, starting today. I want you to put him into my boots, as I decided a few minutes ago.

"If that's what you want, Mother," said her daughter, holding the firms but supple boots in pale maple leather, "but they will flap around on his legs, with respect to your size, dear. Even if I button them up, he's likely to step straight out of them."

Lillian laughed. "He would, and that's why he's not going to wear them on his feet, honey. I want you to put my boots over his head... and button him into them."

Percival Pennyweight missed a few heartbeats in his chest, whereas Sapphire burst out laughing. "Wonderful, Mother. You think of such delightful ways to make him suffer."

They burst out laughing at the look of dismay on the sissy's face as Lillian seized her son-in-law and forced him to the floor between her legs so that he was facing the fuzz of her pussy beneath the hem of her corselet. The boot of pale, soft kid leather was pulled down over his hair, so that the toe pointed forward six inches above his head.

"Your button loop, Mother," cried Sapphire, unable to stop giggling. "This is going to crush his head so tightly, I'm going to need it." It was easy to fasten the kid covered buttons at the foot, and even at the ankle, but then she was having to pull the sides of the boot together. Lillian proved very strong, wrapping her arms round her son-in-law's head to gain all the purchase of their strength. One by one, Sapphire popped each button through its buttonhole, bringing squeals in the form of maddened hums of impotence from their sissy captive as they drew the boot tighter, crushing his head smaller within the confines of sweet smelling kid. Finally the top buttons of the boot fastened easily at his neck, and the pervert was booted to their satisfaction.

"Put him in my other boot too, sweetheart," urged Lillian, taking up her cigar holder again. "You can fasten it round his face good and tight with one of the ribbons I use for tying the fool up." This proved to be easily done, so that Percival was buttoned into one boot, with the other boot clasping his booted head so that Lillian's toe and high heel were tied in place over his face. "That suits him well, don't you think, Mother?" declared Sapphire, her hands on her hips.

"Very well indeed," replied Lillian. "In fact I think I'll change the clown's name for our trip to the Society today. Instead of Pantyfrills, the boot-loving fetishist can be known as Pussyboot, and he can show all my friends how devoted he is to my boots. You'd love that wouldn't you?" she shouted, for the moaning, humming captive to hear. "Curtsey low to your Mother-In-Law, to show your gratitude and appreciation for her thoughtfulness."

His head ringing with pressure, and his squeezed nostrils filled with scented kid, Percival Pennyweight felt for the sides of his underskirt and dipped low in an obedient curtsey, sending both women into gales of laughter as he curtseyed again and again with a stiffened point in the front of his bloomered panties.