Entree Ch 07

by: boy/the alter-ego of NastyPierre

Chapter 7: The Outfit

I had been left humping air without satisfaction, gratified by the experience of denial and the promise of tomorrow, which was today.

I showered, shaved and prepared for the arrival of my Mistress by watching for her from my window. It had been a beautiful day and the sun was setting, the sky was clear and night arrived as a great blanket I wanted to roll up in and doze, to dream of puppy-hood. And yet, I was antsy, I felt as if I'd been waiting for years, a prisoner in solitary confinement who realized suddenly the warden was arriving to set me free. When the car pulled up and I saw my Mistress and her friend emerge, I crawled to the door and opened it slightly. My Mistress has keys, but I always left the door ajar.

Once again I was waiting on my hands and knees watching through the crack as my Mistress and her friend got to my landing. Again my Mistress stopped in front of the neighbor's door and called me to her. Once again I complied and went crawling out to meet her without knowing whether or not my neighbors were home. And I did it while barking merrily and moving swiftly, glancing up at her friend as I approached. She had a large grin smeared across her face about to burst into laughter, bathing me in those emotions that choke me up with gobs of embarrassment.

The friend carried a large leather satchel by a strap draped over one shoulder. It was shiny black and filled with my new 'outfit', I was sure. As expected she broke into a laugh as I humiliated myself for their benefit. Plowing through snide snickering I went up to my Mistress. I went up on my knees while moving my hands in ways meant to be cute, in ways she had shown me, as was expected of me. I held my boner out in front of me for her to see and shook it back and forth, sending a couple long thick strands in several directions. She seemed very pleased and brought her left hand forward. She held it just over my head and I jumped for it. I kept thinking about the neighbors but couldn't stop myself from doing what it was I was doing. I had to play my fantasies out, striving for results of an insatiable appetite. As she dangled her fingers in the air above me, my attempts to reach them with mouth and tongue became frantic displays of shear lunacy, from vulgar strings of pure depravity, from which I couldn't escape. This was my high.

The women were taken by my actions and began laughing louder, almost roaring. I became very nervous and worried sick about neighbors responding to the commotion. Crawling out into the hallway of my apartment while naked was one thing I still disliked, and so it was something my Mistress had taken an immediate liking to. And she loved tempting fate by testing my ability to withstand moments of shear panic; allowing me at the very last microsecond to flee an imbroglio that would otherwise leave me devastated. Even now I was prepared to run back to my apartment at the first sound of an approaching resident, and my Mistress knew it. She understood why. She understood my craving for close encounters of the embarrassing kind and realized she could control me through them. She also knew I needed to be taken the rest of the way, that I was ready and ripe for the plucking. That is why my Mistress planned spending the next two weeks stoking my desires while honing my tolerance for humiliation and degradation.

I continued out of control, jumping around from knee to knee, stretching to reach my lover with a tongue that wiggled and strained desperately. My lips snapped shut on failed attempts to help my tongue, and then opened again to try once more. I broke out into a sweat and drummed my knees to an erotic beat that kept me hopping higher. My Mistress finally allowed me to reach the tip of one finger with the tip of my lingua for a moment and the sensation was characteristically overwhelming. It made me sizzle and drove me to wilder rhythms and erotic movements. My knees were sore from struggling in a frenzy to reach it. I was sure the neighbors door would open and was prepared to dart off, but I had to capture that finger first, the entire hand, my friend and lover. I gurgled, barked, and whimpered in frustration while the women laughed almost without reservation. If I heard a door open I'd run, yet would hesitate for a taste, and stay for the hand, maybe. I was shaking with anticipation and hope, hoping my Mistress would allow me the finger, but she soon ordered me to reenter my apartment. As soon as she snapped her fingers and pointed, I darted away.

"On your block," she said to my retreat.

They found me kneeling on my cinder block, my head and ass high. The friend became serious and began speaking to my Mistress about me. Her defamatory rhetoric with references to different parts of my body only served to fill me with a wonderfully sick pride. I brought myself higher and realized the door had been left open. It wasn't that anyone could see in without walking up to my doorway, at least not very well anyway. It was the idea... no, it was the experience I craved. It fed on my perversions. Mistress found me a pitiful male, but knew I would make a noble pet, and she reminded me about that time and time again. She had left the door open as a sign to me, an indication of what was to come. I swallowed hard and began to reconsider my uncontrollable desire for shame, as the women approached. The warm hand wrapped itself around my hard-on and another scooped up my balls. The one began stroking my shaft and the other fisted my testicles. Between them I was brought back in line, humping away like a bunny, bucking in wild abandon, driven from concerns for anything else. I was kept ready for degradation, and whatever else my Mistress had planned.

The hands were gone and I was left humping the air again. The women were at my legs before I realized where I was again. I almost remembered them wiping their hands off in my hair. First I looked to the door out of the fear of being caught, because that still worried me for some reason, then I looked back to find my Mistress. My Mistress seemed overly delighted by everything and was all smiles. Her friend had a legging and my Mistress helped her fit me into it. Together they zipped my left leg into a pink leather sheath that extended from my knee to my toes, leaving my big toe exposed. Yes, my outfit was of pink leather and I felt silly, yet excited. It acted like a second skin, and was fitted with a thin steel bar sewn into the leather along the length of my instep. The bar was narrow and only long enough to keep my foot from taking its natural bend. My lower leg was literally cinched tight against the bar and left immobile. Then my Mistress fitted my right leg and told me to stand. I looked at her to obey and put my feet to the floor, but found myself unable to comply. Because of the leggings I couldn't bend my feet, so I couldn't put either foot flat to the floor. My big toes had been forced into prominence, so in order to stand I needed to stand on them, and I couldn't imagine how, though I tried. I tried quite a number of times, but always fell. If I did make it up onto a toe, it was only for a brief second before falling in pain. Both women watched with glee as I tried over and over again, one eye in the doorway.

I tried finding an alternative to my big toes and tried the side of my feet, but couldn't come close with either side. The women found my endeavors quite amusing and taunted me as I struggled without success. I finally gave up after hurting both toes terribly. I couldn't bend my foot to stand normally, nor walk like a ballerina, and was forced to crawl. My Mistress had been right again, now I had to crawl, so I crawled back up onto my cinder block. Next came the kneepads, followed by legging for my left arm.

I placed my hand into what looked like a strange glove. The palm was attached to a dome like object and everything was sewn into a single piece of leather. My fingers and thumb were forced into their own narrow sheaths and made to fan out. They were made to clutch the dome-like object, which felt like an inverted cup. Once my hand was snuggly in place my Mistress zipped the leather sleeve together. It too was skin tight and ran to my elbow with the zipper disappearing under a pleat. After fitting my other arm, the friend appeared with a collar and harness ensemble. What did my Mistress see in pink and why on me I asked myself, as if I didn't know the answer.

My Mistress took the collar from her and placed it around my neck. It was the widest one yet and the most restrictive. My Mistress used a large silver padlock to fasten the collar in place and its click was quite unnerving. Then she was handed a pink leather ball gag and forced it into my mouth. After securing it into place with straps she drew tight behind my head, she turned me to face the mirror. Her friend stepped back with camera in hand and my Mistress stood with scissors. I looked at both and my eye's opened wide as the drool ran from the corners of my mouth and from my cock's hole. I looked to the door, praying no one would appear suddenly. This situation was way too bizarre and I'd die if discovered. I would have to commit suicide if a neighbor saw me like this, there would be little alternative. My Mistress's left hand came to the rescue again, stroking me out of my thoughts and back into her world. I looked in the mirror, quite dazed and confused.

I caught everything as my Mistress let my throbbing hard-on go to grab a fist full of my hair. She smiled and a flash went off, as she went at it with the shears. I was stunned immobile and shocked into disbelief. My face was held to the camera's flashes, the weight of all I now tolerated recorded. With a derisive grin spread from ear to ear, my Mistress went about cutting off all my hair as close to my scalp as she could. I actually cried during the entire episode and at one point actually attempted to pull from my Mistress's grasp. She stopped cutting my hair and slapped me across the face.

"Listen wimp," she shouted in a tone I had never heard. She was standing in front of me, holding my chin in one hand, forcing eye contact. I saw and felt her passion, its intensity, and listened carefully to quietly blown words. "Let the games begin!"