Some days you wake up and just feel happy.
Mittwoch, 27. Juli 2016
Mittwoch, 13. Juli 2016
Dreamy Dior
Interrupting our continouing story for some dreamy Dior fashion shows...
Let us just worship their clarity.
E. C.
Story: Nightwatch Part Four
I reached for my
uniform.
„Leave it,“ she
said and headed for the lift. That was that for her. And for me. I
obeyed, left my uniform and followed her in my cocktail dress,
barefoot and trying to halt the light swinging of too short cloth
over my too long body.
The short lift-ride
was not less awkward than the moments before. But I felt even more
trapped and exposed. The cabin was small and we had to stand close to
each other. I tried to avoid her eyes. She looked me up and down.
Looked away, seemed to be lost in thoughts for a second.
Abruptly she said
„Back straight.“
Immediatly, my
spine snapped straight. But I tried to keep my shoulders down so I
would have a little more of the dress over my hips.
„Shoulders back.“
I obeyed. What else
should I do? I fared well by obeying her. That was what I concluded
after the ten seconds it took the lift from going from second to
fourth. The hem of my dress still covered my hip area, she knew it
would be long enough. But I felt even more exposed, at any minute,
with any movement, the dress could ride up and expose my crotch or my
ass. Uncomfortably, I kept my back straight as a stick and shoulders
back like they were of stone and staggered behind the woman.
We sat down in the
security office. A dim room of the size and allure of a broom
closet. She told me to sit in the office chair in front of the four
surveillance monitors. One was black. Second floor, ladies
department.
She told me to face
her. I turned the chair around. She closed the door behind her back.
The air was getting stale fast, every sound was amplified and muffled
at the same time. Her presence made the room crushingly small. I
pulled at the dress to cover what I could of my thighs. At least I
shaved today, zipped through my mind, with an awkward feeling right
on this observations heels. I waited for her to say something. This definetly
wasn't going to get over by me. I'd just shut up.
„Ok, here's the
deal.“ She said, „Daddy... My father... Mr. Friedman – he's my
father.“ She took a breath. Oddly enough her search for the right
phrasing made me relax a little bit. The spell was somewhat broken. I
could see her for the first time. She had blonde hair, open,
flowing over her beige blazer. A fleeing chin and a boney nose proved
that she really was the daughter of the old Mr Friedman. Her chin and
nose didn't make her ugly. It made her intriguing to look at. Over
all her dominating feature were her eyes.
She used them on me
again. They impaled my mind.
„Point is, I'm
your new boss.. Click play on that one“ She pointed with one of her
red nails to a video player. I obeyed and started the recording,
knowing what I would see. Shame and embarrasment pumped through my
body. I looked on the screen only one second, than away. It was a
surveillance recording from a new angle. I saw myself standing in he
ladies department, still in my uniform, walking around, trying to
decide what I would wear that night. I didn't want to see more, I knew what
came next. I looked to the floor.
„I got suspicious
when the camera malfunctioned almost every night. I got a new one and
now I can get you fired... or much worse.“
Montag, 11. Juli 2016
Story: Nightwatch Part Three
Nightwatch (Part Three)
I turned around in shock.
There was a woman standing there.
I could feel the
lightness of my little cocktaildress. It was lighter than ever
before. I felt incredibly naked.
She had here
eyebrows raised, arms crossed. She wore one of the business outfits,
I had tried on a couple of nights ago. Wide pants, beige, Max Mara. I
didn't like the pantsuit then, personally, it felt akward, wearing womens
clothes made to look masculine. But they definetly had a feminine
touch, especially on her.
She put one hand on
her hips and came toward me. She walked slowly and let her hips move
from side to side. Her short steps were arousing me, I realised, they
halted the shock induced softening of my raging hard-on from
dressing up and it became rock solid again.
I tried to cover it
up, pulling the hem of the dress down and forward. The dress was
embarassingly short. I hoped that at least, she couldn't see the bugle in my
underpants and held onto the hem of the dress. But when she
came up to me, her face went from 'eyebrows raised' to 'lips pressed
together in stern displeasure'. She looked up and straight at me. Her eyes
were spears, slashing through my mind and holding me in place and
pose. I couldn't move, speak or think. I just stood there, in shock,
and waited.
She began to speak,
but I couldn't listen. I heard her talk, but I couldn't understand.
It was like I forgot English. The language part of my brain was
crushed underneath a puling horniness, the all-commanding urge to
cover my erection up, and an array of colours of no use at all other
than to strangle any coherent thought that tried to stick it's head
out to hear what other ideas thought of it's newest plan for action.
I saw her perfectly
manicured fingers in front of my eyes. A shimmering red thumbnail
dug itself into the tip of her middlefinger. A loud snap. The
noise pierced the bubble of colours in my mind, blowing it up and
freed the language part.
„You are not
very responsive to unforseen events, are you Mr. Nightwatch, huh?“
I couldn't guess
wether she was angry at me or mocking me. I definetly invited abuse. What
did she want? What should I do?
„Say something,
Mr Watchman.“, she waved her arms around. „Anything!“
„You're from …
the Friedmans. Management?“ I managed to say something. Finally,
some action on my part.
„Oh, you have
such a deep voice, Mr Watchman.“ She put her hands on her chest,
acting surprised. She used her arms and hands a lot when she talked.
Her face moved very little. Her nails were beautifully done indeed,
I noticed again. She took her hands away again. And pointed to the
lift.
„Better keep your
mouth shut and follow me, your future is on the line here, and you
aren't dressed for it.“
Samstag, 9. Juli 2016
Story: Nightwatch Part Two
Nigthwatch (Part Two)
I took the dress
off the mannequin. The fabric of the dress felt smooth and real. I
let my fingers run over it. Then I remembered I had to take off my
uniform first. I glanced at the camera hanging from the ceiling. I
trunt it of ten minutes ago. Malfunction. Happens sometimes. The red
light was out. So I undressed. In my underpants and my new shaven
skin I stood there trying to remember to breath. I grabbed the dress
and lowered it over my head.
It fell perfectly.
I zipped it's back. It hugged my waist. I smoohed it down over my
legs. I never knew that there was something in this world which could
give me such a feeling. This dress felt different, titghter than any
clothes I ever wore before. It felt snug and seamless. One piece from
my shoulders to my ankles, when I moved my shoulder or one foot or
one arm I could feel the fabric slide over my body like solid water.
I had a raging
erection. My penis pressed hard against the inside of my underpants.
I took a few deep breaths. In and out. Then I began to walk through
the department. Long Dresses and soft skirts to the left of me,
elegant blouses and tops to the right and my dress sliding over my
thighs, every step tense and shaky. My hands tried to get even more
of this wonderful feeling of being inclosed and caress by something
fluid. I wanted to feel it from the inside and from the outside. I
wanted it all over me.
A sigh brought me
back to what I was doing. But it wasn't a call to reality. Reality
was this incredible feeling of this dress. No, I snapped back into
this mode of observing, one inch removed from my body. What was I
doing? Did I just sigh? Did this dress make me so horny I sound like
a porn actress? And than came the killing question: What kind of
pervert am I?
Hot shame got a
hold of me. Was I the kind of guy that will sneak into shady, cheap
hotel rooms, carrying a briefcase, eager to spend the night in ladies
underwear, while my future wife will think I had to work late, but I
was just a pervert who could only get it up wearing a garter belt and
high heels?
I rushed back to my
pile of work clothes and the naked mannequin. The fluid feeling of
the dress rushing over my thighs was now soiled by guilt. What did I
do? That's not me. I'm a man. What if someone saw me?
My face was red hot
as I fumbled with the zipper and stepped out of the dress. I put my
uniform back on and hastly pulled the dress over the mannequin. Then
I just stood there for a while. Everything was back to normal, I told
myself.
But the coming
nights of course proved me wrong. I didn't put the dress back on the
next night. But I had to push my desire to do so back down. I knew
the dress felt good on me – not only good but great, fantastic,
right. Nothing was back to normal.
I had to put it on
again. I couldn't sleep and when I did, I dreamed of the white
smoothness flowing over my body. Since my puberty I never came when I
slept. But after this fateful night I put on the dress I had several
times when I woke up, feeling cold and sticky cum in my pants. My
body told me I had to wear it again. I received the message and only
held back to satisfy my inner observing, judging eye that it was
wrong what I did. After all, it was 'Friedmans Finest' dress, not
mine. But they will never know. I took care of the cameras.
My second time
wearing the dress was as exciting as the first time. I wore it
longer, nearly my hole shift I spent in the ladies department.
Occasionally I imagined someone breaking into Friedmans Finest the
first time after 50 years and finding the night watchman in a wedding
dress. But I didn't think about it too long. Nobody robs a clothing
store at night. Clothing stores get robbed when they are open, by
school skipping teens and thrill seeking housewifes. One guy from the
security of one of the daytime shift, he called himself a 'detective',
once told me for the shoplifters it wasn't about money but an inner
urge to steal. That was an issue for the daytime shifts, never mine.
Then I suddenly
realised that what I was doing was technically stealing. I grinned
and blushed. Well, basically, I said to myself, I'm not taking
anything, I was merely using them and putting it back in perfect
order. Just trying it on, that's all.
Many nights of
trying on ladies clothes of 'Friedmans Finest' followed. I tried on
everything, from business costumes to evening gowns. But I never put
on ladies underwear. And my feet were slightly too big for ladies
shoes. So I galavanted around 'Friedmans Finest' barefoot, night
after night. It were the best nights of my life.
Then, one night, I
had just put on a very light and very short cocktail dress, I heard a "Hrmhrm" behind me. I froze.
End of Part Two
Mittwoch, 6. Juli 2016
Story: Nightwatch Part One
This is the first part of the first story I upload here. I don't know how many parts it will have. I let it write itself.
Nightwatch
The job of a night watchman is a great
job for a student. Its pays decent money and you can do your homework
in between your rounds. The biggest plus for me was that I was alone.
My job was to sit around in the
surveillance room of the popular 'Friedmans Finest' clothing store
and call the cops if anyone broke in and try to steal one of
Friedmans finest dresses. Of course nobody ever tried to do that
since the 1960s. My shifts were boring to say the least. So boring
infact that I decided, I could try to spice things up a bit.
I've always been curious. And if you
combine curiousity with too much time and noone around you try odd
things.
The mannequin which was placed right at
the entrance to the ladies department wore a dress that always
caught my eye when I walked past it, doing my rounds. It was long,
sleak and shiny white and probably part of the wedding fashion
collection. I don't know what it was that caught me. Maybe it was
that it didn't have frilly stuff all over it. The dress was one simple,
elegant column. It took several nights walking past it for me to even
realize that I loved this dress. And it took even more time for me to
acknowledge what I wanted to do.
Of course, as a boy I never even thought that I would sometime in the future think what I thought the more often
I saw this dress. But inside me a fire began to crackle and burn its
way through second thoughts and all reasonability. I wanted to wear
this dress.
I don't remember the moment I decided
what I wanted to do. I probably didn't want to think about it too
much. It certainly wasn't a beam of light shining down on me, ripping
through my guts, changing everything I ever thought and done. I
didn't stand there mouth open, the torch slipping through my fingers
and I didn't start ripping of my square-in-every-way uniform at the
sound of the torch crashing on the floor. It was a slowly developing
hot burn which formed a small knot in my chest, but I didn't notice
it until the night I stood in front of the dress, prepared to take it
off the mannequin.
I think I prepared for it very
methodically. I knew that I couldn't put my hairy body in this dress,
so I knew I had to shave. For the first time in my live I shaved my
legs, again without much thinking about it. It was just a thing I had
to do. I observed myself shaving like I was an inch removed from my own body.
Having smooth skin was a weird but great feeling. Every movement felt
different. When I put on my uniform I felt the thin synthetic fabric
of the pants. I was surpised that there was a
completely different feel to everything
when I walked to 'Friedmans Finest'. It seemed I could feel the soft
evening wind inside my legs. My excitement grew.
Anticipation builds up differently in
different situations. I didn't realize how much I
wanted to wear this dress. I didn't get why my fingers
began to tremble like I had a disease. My best guess is, that I didn't want to reflect on
what wearing a dress meant for myself as a guy. The circumstances, that I did
it in a more or less open space and with property of the Friedman
family would have been enough to get shaky knees anyway. So I just
prepared for it, shaved and took care of the cameras for the night
and at two in the morning went to the second floor and stood infront of
the dress, mouth dry and clenched fists, shaking.
Montag, 4. Juli 2016
Hello dear reader!
With this blog I finally want to break out of my bubble and habit of overthinking everything to a point where the sun has set and life has moved on. To stop this I want to share with you what I find beautiful.
It's pictures and videos of elegant ladies who wear tight pants, pencil skirts and high heels in a tasteful way. And it's stories about young men learning to wear those same clothes. Often chastity helps them settle in their new identity.
I'm tall, skinny and from Germany. I live what I write about as much as I can and need to find a philosophical justification for everything I do. The same goes for chastity. So, prepare for the occasional rambling texts. I can't stop it as much as I can stop myself from wearing high heels. And it's healthier getting it out than it is brooding in a bubble.
Let's be excited!
E. C.
xxxx
It's pictures and videos of elegant ladies who wear tight pants, pencil skirts and high heels in a tasteful way. And it's stories about young men learning to wear those same clothes. Often chastity helps them settle in their new identity.
I'm tall, skinny and from Germany. I live what I write about as much as I can and need to find a philosophical justification for everything I do. The same goes for chastity. So, prepare for the occasional rambling texts. I can't stop it as much as I can stop myself from wearing high heels. And it's healthier getting it out than it is brooding in a bubble.
Let's be excited!
E. C.
xxxx
Abonnieren
Posts (Atom)