Denysse Berlin watched as her son-in-law began his morning 'worship' of her lingerie. She was blond, always impeccably dressed and groomed and fabulously attractive for a sixty-year-old. A curl of scorn twisted her lips at the hopeless weakness he showed, day after day, surrendering his manhood in pathetic premature ejaculations, despite all his efforts at self-control. He'd been like that with Britney: now he was like that with her panties and petticoats. She was going to have to do something about it.|
"Britney honey, come and see what he's done in my room." She used her phone to call in her daughter, as Martin Berlin knelt hanging his head in front of her. When his wife arrived he was sobbing, wearing nothing but a pair of her mother's stockings and a dainty teddy in pale jade green satin.
"I'm sick and tired of punishing the wimp, he is so sexless," jibed Denysse. "Look at him, look at what he's done, and that was after kneeling in front of me in my panty for all of thirty seconds."
Britney looked divine too in her lingerie: a matching bra and panty set with lace topped thigh highs. She had her hair tied up so that it fell from her crown in blond cascades to her bare shoulders. Her face was less attractive to him: a snarl of contempt was her reaction to his appearance: the pointed front of her mother's satin teddy hung from his stiffened cock with shiny, bubbled cum, dripping onto the rubber mat beneath his knees.
"Hello? Is that Burning Impressions? - Ah good morning. I've got a male who needs a damn good caning. Can I book an appointment? - Yes, he needs treatment. I'm training him to worship my lingerie, blouses and skirts and things, and he can't hold it for more than half a minute. Can you help?"
Martin Berlin shrank in front of his wife. He would have loved to snatch that phone and assert his manhood - or at least to object and promise he would do better for his Mother-In-Law, but such insolence was out of the question. Denysse rang off.
"They want me to bring along half a dozen items of lingerie that he finds it hard to resist. Our appointment's in an hour's time."
"No!" Martin's panic blurted out in spite of his better judgement. He modified his reaction in front of the steaming look on Denysse's face. "Please, Mother-In-Law, I beg you not to show me to other women. Please don't take me there."
An hour later Denysse led him into Burning Impressions, a "School of Discipline". Not satisfied with declaring him openly to be a man with no control over his sexual reactions, she had seen fit to expose him in her satin French knickers, with white blouse and bra, stockings and heels, her peach polyester trousers, and her white double breasted coat with the enormous collar. To make sure he was seen as under her control, she had him in pink Dior lip glow, and a pair of pearled moon earrings. They were welcomed by two of the mistresses.
"This is Natacha and I am Nadine. Is this the feather-prick who can't obey instructions? He looks just the sort of panty-waist we love to discipline." Martin froze with impotence as he was handled by the two women. They lifted his chin as both women gazed into his reluctant eyes. "Mommy-In-Law tells me you spoil her expensive lingerie, is that right?"
His voice was very small. "I-I can't help it - it's so attractive. I - I think I'm a transvestite."
"You may be, beetroot face, but that won't stop us teaching your tender ass it's got to improve it's behaviour, will it Natacha?"
"Absolutely not, Nadine." They both wore waistcoats to match the colour of their glossy lipstick. "We're going to have to test that manly sexual ability of yours."
"And since you've got the self-control of a baby, we're going to treat you as a baby girl."
They set about dressing Martin for his test: his Mother-In-Law's coat was undone and slipped off, her trousers and blouse were undone, until he stood in just her bra and suspender belt pulling sharply on her stockings. Then they dressed him in a pretty white petticoat with three tiers of ruffles, and a dress in palest pink with puffed sleeves and a cute bow at the back of his sash. Like his petticoat, it failed to cover his private parts. There followed a pair of pink high heeled pumps, pink satin mittens and a pink satin bonnet. "Natacha," asked Nadine, "please bring in a nice punishment buggy for this naughty little girl."
When the punishment buggy was wheeled in Martin Berlin practically fainted and needed to be held upright as Natacha opened the bag of lingerie given to her by Denysse and spread the contents over its white latex peak, arranging several of her petticoats in a deliriously irresistible spread of shiny, colourful silks and satins. When he was least expecting it, the two mistresses lifted him in the air and planted him face down over the top of it, preventing him from sliding off by securing his ankles and wrists in buttoned straps of pink leather. He whimpered with humiliation inside his bonnet lining.
"Hear this," declared Nadine, lifting his bonnet with knuckles under his chin: "you will NOT spend a SINGLE DROP of your precious jism on such superior treasures, selected for your betterment by your revered Mother-In-Law. Do you understand?"
"Oh yes, yes, I'll try."
His bonnet was dropped so that he looked down Denysse's coat and skirt at her black patent high heels. How embarrassing that she was watching all this. There was no word yet of his being punished, but Martin was doomed. This place of fateful anguish had heard screams and begging through many sessions of painful learning, as life-long fetish dreams were being established beyond recovery.
In any case, he was in the hands of women: women who were intent on ensuring he conformed to their wishes. So what chance did he have? He lay on his liquid bed of silk, satin and nylon petticoats, tightening his sinews, steeling his nerves, clenching his fists and stiffening his legs - until the punishment buggy started into a life of its own.
At first it seemed to vibrate slightly, with a buzz deep beneath the cloud of lingerie that clustered round his private places. Then the movement began: at first a tightening in his wrist loops, then his ankle straps. The tension started to alternate, from arms to legs and back again, pulling him - sliding him! yes, his bonnet was sliding up Denysse's petticoat slips, then pushing down again, then up, then down, his little dress was sliding too, forward and back, and his legs: ohhh his legs, they were sliding through his Mother-In-Law's petticoats with delirious pleasure, tasting that divine sweetness he adored so much in all the contents of her lingerie drawers. His cock was so stiff, so feeble, so helpless. He got that horrifying feeling he knew so well, of his burning lust for her panties and petticoats rising and swelling in his weak, uncontrollable groin. He whimpered his despair. His bleating turned into cries of panic as it came higher and higher through his aching cock - until trying to hold it was useless - so blissfully useless, and his juice came squirting in great slides of cum, squidging and squelching for all to hear across her lovely, adorable, feminine petticoats beneath him.
SWISH - WHACK! SWOOSH - THWACK! The shocks of burning cane whipped across his defenceless ass. "Not good enough, you wimp!" "You're going to learn a lot, panty-waist!" cried both women. Their canes bit and stung as he tried hopelessly to turn his sliding, unmissable ass out of their way, although he half wanted to ignore the pain and enjoy the pleasure as his rhythmic sliding brought him new climaxes in the adorable underwear of his adorable Mother-In-Law.
"The Ass-Up Punisher rents at a hundred dollars a week," explained Nadine as she lifted her shirt ten minutes later and towelled under her arms. "We recommend clients use it: their sissies don't get time to recover from their discipline lessons if they are punished day in, day out."
"I love it," grinned Denysse, "and I know my daughter will want to use it on him too. I'll rent one for a month."
Martin Berlin's face sank deeper into the satin lining of his bonnet, now motionless on his Mother-In-Law's petticoat lace. A month of burning like this in his ass was more than he could manage. He was simply going to have to ask for deliverance. Perhaps he could surrender totally to her and offer to be her little girl? Maybe her baby girl, adoring her lingerie in front of her friends? Anything to avoid this sizzling pain in his cheeks. His resolution was already locked into his brain as she wheeled him forward with a lipstick grin from ear to ear and out of Burning Impressions so that the cool air of the street fanned some small relief across his reddened, effeminate globes.
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