taffeta

When Jason awoke in Margaret's flat, the sun was streaming through the lace curtains of his bedroom. As his eyes grew accustomed to the harsh light, he noticed the soft, sumptuous surroundings of the room he had been sleeping in.

Ivory satin sheets were draped all over his naked body while a pink satin duvet kept in the warmth that he was experiencing this morning. He felt perfumed and dainty as he climbed out of the bed and walked gingerly across the lush carpet that adorned the floor.

Looking into the mirror his reflection revealed the soft skin of his youth and a slight trace of make-up and lipstick on his cheeks and head where Margaret had been cuddling and canoodling with him the night before. But of Margaret there was no trace.

He tried in vain, as George had done on so many frustrating times before, to force his way into her bedroom or indeed any of the many wardrobes, walk-in and otherwise, and drawers that were strewn around his own sleeping quarters. It was all to no avail.

There was no sign of any clothing whatsoever, in fact, his own or Margaret's or any of the gorgeous garments she had put him in. How some of him longed to be back in those swishy clothes right now but for the main part, he just wanted to get the hell out of this apartment and get back to his own private life.

As he gazed once more at his slim features he noticed a flimsy sort of negligee robe hanging over the full-length mirror and seized it quickly to keep out the slight morning chill and cover up his nudity. The chiffon and satin gown drowned him in truth and as he tugged it around him, the sheerness of the materials edging up against his penis and backside left him with a heavenly floaty feeling and an erection which seemed to appear from out of nowhere.

When he finally realised that he could make no further progress in exploring the remainder of the flat he set about the task of trying to get out of the place altogether but again found his efforts were thwarted by a locked front entrance without any hint of where a key might be hidden.

It was just then that he heard a knock on that door.

"Who is it?" Jason asked rather timidly.

"I'm a friend of Margaret's Jason. She asked me to look in on you and make sure you are OK and have everything you need," a soft, womanly voice from the other side.

"Well I am OK but haven't got what I need."

"Perhaps I can help darling. If you would let me in?"

"But I haven't got a key."

"No, but there is one darling. If you look inside the kitchen cupboard to the right of the sink, Margaret told me she left one in the pot marked tea."

Sure enough there was a key in the tea caddy, somewhere Jason had failed to search in the short time he had been trying to find a way out. The key fitted and the door opened in an instant revealing the voice on the other side.

"Hello Jason. I'm Moira. Can I come in?"

Even if Jason had wanted to say no, he knew somewhere deep down that he would have been unable to do so. Moira Evans was a little taller than himself but her six inch black heels towered her above his torso and at 50-plus years of age she seemed altogether a far more formidable individual than the shy teenager with choirboy looks.

She passed gracefully through the entrance as Jason held the door open before she turned and shut the door herself, locking it once more and retrieving the key which she placed in the pocket of her dark blue satin mackintosh.

"There, that's much more cosy darling," Moira cooed, becoming more familiar with her young companion who she could see was getting quite excited by her presence.

Her satin swing coat caressed her calves and their black seamed stockings as it swayed to and fro with Moira's movement towards Jason.

"Margaret is an old dear friend darling and she wanted me to give you a farewell present," she said, placing her black satin-gloved hand on Jason's shoulder as much to reassure the young boy as restrain him.

Jason for his part felt a wave of warm feelings swallowing him up as Moira loomed over his head and shoulders and the rest of his body protected only by the flimsiest of chiffon and satin. Her satinized raincoat and heavily made-up features, framed by a blue and white polka-dot silk headscarf appeared so much more sturdy, regimented and authoritarian in comparison to his own virtually transparent attire. She palmed her hands over the chiffon on his shoulders and down his front to just above his navel.

"My we are such pretty boy aren't we? Margaret said as much, but I didn't believe her. But she was right. Come on now, let's get you dressed as Margaret would want sweetie."

"But there aren't any clothes?"

"In Margaret's room darling. I have the key. Come, take my hand."

The firm satin glove clasped Jason's fragile hand and led him towards the second bedroom door. Jason was all too aware of the satin grip, the swishing overcoat and the overwhelming perfume that lay before him.

Moira squeezed his hand, again more in restraint than reassurance, and wafted him into the main bedroom. Beneath her coat, Jason thought he could detect the rustle of satin on taffeta as she minced towards the huge double bed. His eyes were transfixed on the gleaming heels and delicious seam of Moira's nylons as it disappeared beneath the hem of the shiny mackintosh.

She peeled around for effect at the bedside, a four-poster that Margaret had ordered once George was effectively out of the place, and beckoned Jason towards her, holding on to one of the posts with a raised arm.

"Now my little poppet, do you know what kind of parting gift Margaret has left for you?"

"No idea I'm afraid."

Jason's throat was dry, his voice unsteady. Moira the complete opposite.

"Don't look so fretful darling! This isn't a punishment, this is a treat. Margaret said you might one final dress-up before you go off, fancy-free and back to your old ways. Said you couldn't make up your mind which direction you were going in. Is that right darling?"

As Jason mulled over what all this meant, Moira slowly loosened the large satin belt of her mackintosh, unfastened her buttons and removed it, the satin creation slithering with a swish down her arms and and skirt, and hung it carefully on a hanger by the side of the four-poster.

"There, I feel much better in just my skirt and blouse. Much more professional."

Jason was by now fully erect inside his negligee as Moira stood directly in front of him with a black satin skirt covering her knees and a burgundy satin blouse with the cutest pussy bow tied at the front that draped down to her waistline.

She carefully slid off her black satin gloves and placed them on the bed near her coat then smoothed her skirt in place, releasing a deafening rustle and swish as her polysatin lining clashed with the taffeta of her full-slip beneath.

"Now to get you ready my sweet. Just need to freshen up in his mirror." Moira's blue satin handbag opened to reveal a sensuous pink satin lining from which she withdrew her compact case and gold lipstick holder, applying the latter fully and smoothly with two deft coats of immaculate red lipstick before dabbing her face with a little powder puff. A final adjustment of her hair and earrings and she clicked the case shut and plopped it back into her handbag and snapped it shut.

Jason stared at the consummate ease with which Moira attended to her make-up and marvelled how she looked so different with a brush of the hair, a touch of powder and the satin glossy look of several layers of lipstick.

"Now let's have that negligee off darling," she demanded rather than requested. Jason, sensing her aroma, the lipstick and the touch of satin, complied willingly.

"Margaret has left your outfit in here sweetie," she said sweeping open the walk-in wardrobe with a key she had fished from her handbag. "Come inside, have a little look darling."

Completely naked and exposed, Jason followed the wiggling full posterior of his guide into the brightly-lit lair of the wardrobe.

He almost gasped at the size of the interior, almost as big as the two other bedrooms put together. Margaret had had it especially made without George's knowledge and had filled it with the most dazzling array of garments.

"I have a small business, a dressing service for ladies who have problems with little boys. You would be surprised how many requests I get to dress those little rascals more appropriately."

Jason had no idea what appropriately meant but he had an idea he was going to find out very shortly.

The sight, sound and smell of the clothes had Jason's heart thumping furiously, more so when Moira opened a drawer and extracted a corselette in ivory white, satin panels adorning its front and back as well as two slimmer panels at the side.

She hardly had to offer up the foundation garment as Jason stepped and felt the warmth of the panels and the constriction it brought. In a jiffy and total silence, and with dextrous painted fingernails, she had fastened the hook and eye ensemble beneath the side panels before firmly zipping shut the two side panels.

He sat on the bed without asking as she drew a pair of tan-coloured nylons up his slender legs, taking great pains to pull them tight on his calves and thighs before attaching them to eight suspender clips, tenderly caressing each welt and thick suspender and metal clip as it snapped shut on the gossamer material.

Jason thought he had grown accustomed to the feeling of sheer nylon on his flesh but he was very much mistaken as his erection only stiffened further in front of his impressed dresser.

"My somebody little cupcake likes his sheer stockings don't they darling? Mmmmmm...they do feel so nice don't they," she teased, cupping his calves in her palms.

"Now some nice heels I think Margaret mentioned. Here we are, six-inch stilettos in gleaming blue, very sexy. That's it, slip your little feet into them sweetie, bit of a squeeze but those stockings are so sheer, aren't they. There were go."

Moira then delved back into the wardrobe and emerged with a delicious full slip, in shimmering blue taffeta.

"Hold onto my shoulders darling and step into this gorgeous underskirt. Slowly, very slowly, there we are, up your calves and thighs and up and over those bra straps. Perfect."

The creeping sensation of the crisp taffeta sliding slowly up his nylons and engulfing the satin panels of his corselette only heightened Jason's hysteria. Moira could see his penis quivering in anticipation as she slid the slip gently over his nylons then fussed over its midriff and finally the bra straps of his corselette.

She stood behind him now, her hands nimbly smoothing any creases over his tummy and down the back his legs.

"There, all ready for the frock now. I don't think you'll be disappointed. And by the look of that tent pole inside your slip darling you're already having fun."

Jason's stiff appendage didn't leave any doubt as to his excitement, which reached a new level when Moira revealed one of Madame Lafayette's specials, a blue taffeta creation with the most alluring pink satin lining with a ruched satin gathering on either side of the skirt section.

As Moira's fingers unfastened the back zip, Jason felt a tingle in his scrotum.

"Is that for me?" he almost stammered.

"Now don't you worry, you don't have to stay in this. It's ot obligatory and besides you'll be on your way back to your little bachelor life with all your boy mates in a trice," Moira teased. "Just try it on and see what you think was Margaret's instruction to me. Put your hands on the dressing table and I'll guide you in from the back."

Jason leaned over the dresser and saw his reflection, the blue slip and its delicate lace trimming around his bra cups and the hem that fell just below his knees. He swayed gently, the sensation of the lace trim and taffeta pushing up against his nylon-encased knees and thighs rendering him dizzy.

He felt the pink satin lining brush up against his legs, heard the hiss and swish as it met his 12 denier stockings and lavish lace-tipped slip, moving up his thighs and gliding towards the back satin panels of his corselette.

"You're going to have give me a little wiggle here darling," instructed Moira in her most gentlest tones. "Just to get the ruched panels up and your frock fitting snugly over your waist. Aww, that is so perfect, just a little tug and we are almost there."

Moira adjusted the frock's satin panels and bent over to pull the skirt hem down towards his calves, smoothing his slip beneath the satin lining.

"Now Jason. Turn around and look at me, Good boy, let's get this top half up and over your corselette and bra straps, good boy. Now if you really want to dress like a lady, you try fastening this zip all on your own."

With his back now to the mirror, Moira positioned himself at his rear.

"I'll give you a head start," she said and slowly began zipping him up the blue taffeta slip, contrasting vividly with the pink satin lining as it gradually disappeared between the closing zip.

"Both hands behind your back, come on sweetie you've seen how us ladies do it I the films I'm sure. You'll need to learn this if you want to dress yourself daintily in the future, even a sneak little dressing session. Mmm?"

Jason placed both his hands behind him at the waist and took hold of the zip, making slow progress to pull it up towards the nape of his neck and closure.

"There's a good boy, we'll have you smoothing up your own skirts and stockings before we've finished."

As Jason jerked clumsily, Moira deftly swivelled and took out a pair of handcuffs from the dresser drawer behind. In a flash, she had them around Jason's wrists, whereupon she carefully lowered his now clamped hands down to his waist.

"Let me do you up darling," she whispered as Jason tried to look behind him, seeking an explanation.

"Just a minute, there, got you. All finished."

"What are you doing Moira?"

"Just making sure you are fully dressed as I was told darling, nothing to concern yourself with."

Jason began to panic a little. He suddenly realised that his hands were firmly shackled behind his back and just how tight the ruched satin and taffeta frock was clinging on to his thighs, down over his knees and halfway down his calves.

His towering heels meant he could scarcely walk though the vice-like grip of his frock. Any movement almost impossible and his tight stilettos seemed glued to his feet by cement.

"Now don't you start fretting Jason. Here we go," and with her now bound captive immobile Moira slipped a long-line girdle up and over Jason's head and shoulders and pulled it smartly down over his taffeta frock to his waist.

The speed and skill with which she encased Jason in its zips and fasteners bedazzled her young captive. There were a couple of strings to tighten in the middle of the girdle, which had been placed upside down over Jason's head, but the more he struggled, the tighter the lacing became.

"You little boys, you just get the idea behind women's foundations do you sweetie," she giggled as Jason foolishly, vainly toiled to escape Moira and girdle's grip. "That's it, keep trying to get free, a few more tiny strides towards to the door, there and voila, you're all trussed up in girdle heaven. Just zip up these side panels and it's the perfect fit."

Moira now stood in front of her helpless prisoner and admired her handy work, smoothing her satin skirt and Jason's frock alternately.

"Not bad, now you have a sit down," she cajoled, helping Jason onto the bed.

"I thought you said I was free to go," Jason protested but as much as he tried to move or free himself from his predicament, the tighter everything appeared to be getting around his body.

He could feel the effect of his own satin corselette and his taffeta slip and Moira could certainly see the effects as his rock-hard member continued to strain against this silky underskirt and the smooth satin lining of his skirt.

His legs were useless, his heels pinching his toes and feet while his frock seemed to encase his every effort to propel himself forward. And on top was the long-line satin girdle, in a delicate cream colour, that bound his arms and hands so tight. He was helpless, unable to prevent Moira escorting him to the bed with just the minimum of effort.

"You have a nice sit down pet. Aunty Moira needs to phone someone."

She left the bedroom and Jason alone with this thoughts, such as they were, and the rustling of his slip and skirt and the enticing caress of his nylons as he struggled in vain to get to this feet.

It was only a few short minutes before he heard the excited trilling of female voices outside of the bedroom. They grew louder, the unmistakable sound of enthralled rapture against the click-clack of sturdy high heels walking in regimented step, guided by the rigidity of tight pencil skirts of satin or taffeta, their swishing moving ever closer.

"Well hello Jason, you little devil."

Moira was now flanked by two women, older than herself and plumper but immaculately attired in pink and blue satin mackintoshes, silken scarves concealing the odd lapsed chin maybe but accentuating full red lips that demanded his attention.

"You may remember me from some weddings years ago. Allow me to reintroduce myself, Elsie darling, Aunty Elsie to you. And this is my good friend and companion Brenda, Aunty Brenda from now on."

"Oh my god Elsie, you told me he was gorgeous, but not that he was such a little cherub-face angel. He's soooo cute darling."

The memory of those weddings sat in his velvet breeches on the knee of some distant relative, always dressed in pink satin as he recalled, came flooding back to him. She was a little weightier and older but there was no doubt that this was the woman who nurtured his wet dreams, encouraged them and doubtless revelled in them.

"Coming back now sweetie isn't it," Elsie cooed hovering above Jason by the bed.

"Now we don't have much time to waste, Moira you have done a fantastic job darling. Very professional as always. Brenda, bring me over my handbag please."

An almost business-like atmosphere swept through the room as Moira began packing away clothes and Elsie fished a lipstick from her bag.

"Pucker up darling, I want you nice and fresh when you move into your new room at my house. There were are, just a few thick coats, sleepy satin lipstick, makes your lips all heavy and want to have sleepy-byes."

Jason peered up at his captors, heavily made-up but passable for ladies of 60-plus he thought. He has always been attracted to women of a certain age, he knew deep inside, something about their demeanour, haughty and in control, capable of cuddly and cruel gestures alike.

Along with Brenda, they helped Jason to his feet and applied the satin lipstick. "Feels good darling doesn't it?

"Brenda pass me the pacifier. I'm just going to wet this with my lipstick sweetie. Now take it deep down into your pretty mouth, that's it. Nice. Good boy."

He tried to struggle but Brenda held him firmly at the back as Elsie slowly eased the pink dummy into his mouth with her free hand caressing his cheek. His lips didn't want to settle on the pacifier but he felt himself instinctively wanting to suck on it with his tongue once it had penetrated his mouth. Besides, even if he had wanted to spit it out Brenda had already secured it with two pieces of pink ribbon that threaded through holes in the side of the pacifier and then fastened behind his head. And the sweet taste of Elsie's lipstick was now an all-powering sensation on his tongue.

Without a word, Elsie then slipped a dark nylon with a crushing seam up the back from her bag. Clasping the welts between her manicured fingers, she gently fed it over his head and smoothed down below his chin until it fitted snugly over his cheeks and dummy.

"Precious little baby," she cooed, kissing him gently on the eyes then cheek then finally his nose to leave lipstick traces all over his stockinged face and its lingering scent and her powder in his nostrils. She then fastened the thick eight suspenders from his inverted encasement girdle onto the welt which was nestling very snugly around his neck and chin.

"There, that ought to keep that naughty nylon nice and tight for you cupcake."

She weaved blue satin gloves onto her hand, contrasting with her pink mackintosh, and smoothed his cheeks beneath the sheer stocking.

"Now diddums, we'll just get you ready for the trip. Brenda, please fasten one of your silk scarves around his mouth to keep that dummy firmly pressed into his lipstick. And I'll wrap one around your head once she's done. Awww so much better for walking outside. Brenda, the satin cape please."

Two minutes later, Jason was mincing his way towards the exit door. His face was smothered in nylon and lipstick, his head and mouth gagged by silken scarves.

His entire body was encased and entrapped by a mixture of firm foundation wear and the most exquisite lingerie and finery, a cocktail that intoxicated and frightened him at the same time.

His satin cape covered any erectile indiscretions while its hood concealed his face from strangers that might be about, unlikely though that was. The foursome made their way downstairs and outside, where the darkness and lack of people around at that time of night meant there was little chance of rescue for Jason.

"I bet that satin mackintosh gained you entry much more easily when our little boy opened the door," Elsie was talking to Moira inside the elevator descending to the ground floor.

"It did help darling. I could see his little eyes light up, as well as his little cock!"

The women giggled as they led Jason towards Elsie's car, a four-door saloon as far as he could make out in the gloom and through the lipstick and nylon mask and satin-lined hood of his cape.

"All those years of training him in satin certainly paid off."

Jason wanted to ask what did she mean, did. He tried mutter something but of course it came out only as a muffle.

"Oh don't worry darling. I was grooming you all those years ago. I knew one day you would come of an age and be independent, but not from me naturally. You were trained to be my little satin boy but somehow you slipped through my grasp and I lost touch. Then I met Margaret by chance at a Taffeta Torment meeting, girls only of course." There was another peal of laughter as the night air hit Jason's nylons both on his cheeks and calves.

"She told me about her predicament, some little boy getting inquisitive about his old school friend. Well I knew John's father years ago, George wasn't it. I trained him myself to be the pathetic wimp he has become and I knew you and John went to school together so it all fitted.

"I told her I'd take good care of her problem. And I will darling. You won't be slipping through my satin-gloved fingers again I can assure you," she said, squeezing that bit tighter around the waist of his satin cape as if to emphasise the point.

The clicking of their high heels, and his own, seemed an almost deafening distraction. He still harboured hopes that somebody might intervene even as Brenda wiggled on ahead to release the car door locks.

Why had he tried to find John? If only he had kept away.

"In we get darling," Brenda beckoned Jason into the back passenger-side seat, Moira lowering his head as he stooped down to take his seat. "Is he fastened in darling?"

"All buckled up."

All hopes of a rescue were diminishing now with Brenda driving and Elsie in the front seat, while Moira sat next to the immobile Jason in the back. "I'll keep him out of sight just in case," she said, drawing him down so his face rested on her knee.

"Good idea darling," Elsie glanced into the back seat and turned around as Brenda began the long drive to their house in the country.

"You know that mackintosh and those heels are simply delightful Moira. Where do you shop darling?"

Jason was half-listening to the idle chatter. He felt Moira's satin mackintosh beneath his head, could hear the swish and rustle of her undergarments and nylons as she moved her legs in the car.

He saw Elsie take off one of her high heels for inspection then return it lovingly to Moira's foot, smoothing her arches and calves as she slipped her foot back into the shoe with a gentle swishing noise.

"Mmm, feels so soft and sheer."

"There's a shop, not Lafayette's, it's called Fliss's Fashions, just off the high street in town. I get all my shoes and macs from there darling. You really should try it."

"I intend to. And not just for me."

There was more laughter in the car. Moira, with her black satin gloves, began to stroke the side of her young captive's face and forehead as the car sped on.

"Aww, he has to listen to all this girl's talk about shoes and macs and girdles and stockings. Poor little thing."

"He'll get used to it I'm sure," Moira was gently stroking the silk scarf that kept Jason's nylon stocking in place.

"Just like a baby, just soothing satin across the temple and he'll soon be going to bo-bos won't you darling? And when you wake up Aunty Brenda and Aunty Elsie will be all ready to show you to your new bedroom."

"Look, his baby-eyelids are drooping. Don't fight it darling. You have some sweet dreams while we women talk about women things. Oooh that sleepy satin lipstick make your lips and eyelids all heavy, isn't it?"

The laughter filled the car now. How Jason wanted to say something back. And now the girdle was beginning to bite into his arms, his six-inch heels becoming uncomfortable. But then as he snuggled into Moira;s satin embrace he could hear her soothing voice talking about satin skirts and linings.

He felt his own lining, such an enticing crimson pink, caressing his taffeta slip, that blue shiny slip with the oh so pretty hem. His erection was re-aroused to new dimensions now. His bondage was only temporary he was sure. He knew he would think of a clever plan to escape. After all he'd done it once from Aunty Elsie, even if he wasn't sure how. It would come to him again. Somehow.

But in the meantime he felt tired. The methodical, rhythmical satin gloves that smoothed his temple were beginning to turn him on. He felt a face bend over and a flurry of lipstick encased his eyes and nose inside its nylon prison.

If only he could keep his eyes open. The plan would come to him. Surely.

***

Thank you, Ms Swish. We kiss the toe of your boot.

BACK