A Lovely Blouse-Wanking    by Prim

"Hello? Phincent Sheepey?" "Er, yes." "Felicity Charms. Be at my house in ten minutes." Phincent Sheepey had already been summoned to Missus Charms house: last week and the week before. For blouse conditioning. It was a punishment, but such an exciting one. As he got nearer to her house - to her front door - there were a thousand butterflies fluttering in his stomach. But it was Missus Grange who opened the door. She closed and locked it behind him, pocketing the key, and grasped his hand. "Come with me," she said and he followed her white blouse and royal blue skirt up the stairs. In the bedroom the blouses were laid out on the bed and hung on rails. His heart was pounding. "Strip," ordered Missus Charms as she organised her first blouses for the procedure. She wire a silver grey satin blouse with a large neck bow and lantern sleeves, with a black pleated skirt to above the knee. When he was naked they dressed him in her lingerie: white bra and suspenders with tan stockings. He wouldn't be needing panties: they wanted that cock in their hands. "You know the score by now, Phincent Sheepey," declared Felicity. "This is what happens to thieves who steal blouses from a ladies' wear store." "You will be dressed in one blouse after another, Sheepey," said Jessica, "And masturbated with satin blouses to remove every drop of semen from your body as part of your desexing program. Let's remove this." She inserted her key and unlocked his chastity. The relief was enormous as his strained cock sprang into size. They dressed him in a pink nylon blouse, then fastened his hands, his knees and his ankles with satin ribbons. "You will regret your disrespectful behaviour, Sheepey," said Felicity, laying his head back in her lap and spreading her bow over him. She fondled his face in the satin, pulling his head under her voluptuous breasts so that all he could see and smell and feel was the satin of her blouse. But his face soon disappeared from his thoughts, because Jessica had his cock. It was in satin, sliding and pinching and smoothing and pulling. He moaned with the pleasure of it, as was always the way for the first climax - and the second - and possibly the third. But by the time these heartless women were onto the tenth, eleventh and twelfth blouses it was going to be another story. He would be begging them not to insist on more squirts from dry, cumless ejaculations. His cock would ache. His ribs and guts would ache too. And still they had more blouses to slither all over him in his helpless, sexless condition. What a disaster it was, that day he pinched a woman's pink blouse for home masturbating, only to be arrested at the door by the store police. He had a different view of blouses now, controlled by women.

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