Cross dressed slavery

I touched the soft angora dress again, dying inside to try it on, to live out this secret fantasy I had tried to bury for years. What would she think of me if I tried on this dress? What would it feel like? My desire stirred, and I agreed with breathless nonchalance that I would try it on. SO I lifted the dress off of the wire frame she had been using, wondering how to put on a dress like this. Leena laughed at my clumsiness. “What are you doing?”

I stopped trying to find the entrance to the sweater dress. “Max, I’m serious here, that dress is worth about $1600 in materials alone. You have to take off your clothes, that belt especially.” I giggled again. I could not stop. Then she told me I could be a model, flattering me as she pulled my pants off. So there I was standing in front of her, in my boxer shorts, giggling with embarrassment, and trying to figure out why I felt so…malleable.

Leena stepped back, appraising my skinny male frame. She was all business which relaxed me somewhat. “Y’know Max,” she said, “your boxer shorts are gonna bunch up under the dress something awful.” I laughed at this, inappropriately perhaps, but Leena continued: “And your leg hair might snag the angora – I can probably cover that up.”

I tried to regain my composure, but I was starting to feel like a noodle dropped into boiling water. I groped for another sip of wine, while Leena went off to find something to cover my legs. She came back with a pair of lycra tights that kind of shimmered in the late afternoon light, and insisted I put them on. I was laughing uncontrollably now, but Leena did not seem to mind. She ushered me off to the bathroom where she shut the door and told me to change into the tights, she called them tights, like what ballet dancers wore. Now she was telling me I should have been a dancer. I looked at my narrow masculine frame and laughed again. I shimmied out of my boxers, and pulled the tights up my thin legs.