Command Performance

The invitation was easy for Jim Hutchins to spot: the glossy black envelope on the floor beneath the mail slot stood out splendidly from the various bills, solicitations and other pieces of bulk scattered on the floor.

He didn't know it was an invitation, however, until he picked it up and tore it open. All he knew for sure was that the envelope contained something from Mistress Yvonne, his dominatrix.

The actual invite was on shiny black card stock with white lettering. It said:

You are commanded to attend an All-Hallow's Eve celebration at the Chandliss Hotel, 1427 Branham Street. You are required to check in at the hotel's front desk no later than 6:30 p.m. from October 31 through November 2.

Your service at this event will be mandatory. The clerk will have a room key in your name at the front desk. You will find everything you need to prepare for the celebration in your room.

Yvonne

Jim grinned broadly. At the sight of the note, he had been flooded with that peculiar combination of sensations that the thought of contact with his mistress invariably brought him: light-headedness, a sexually excited tightening of his sphincter and the rush of blood into his groin. He had no idea what the celebration would be, but he knew that if Yvonne was involved in the planning, it would be excruciatingly exciting.

He glanced at the calendar and saw that Halloween was only a week away. He knew he would be counting the hours and minutes until it arrived.

* * *

As it turned out, his schedule at work was very busy and the days seemed to rush past. Time only seemed to slow painfully when Oct. 31 dawned. For some reason, the hours at work on Fridays always dragged, in part because the freedom of the weekend beckoned beyond. In this case, the minutes passed exceptionally slowly because of his anticipation of the Halloween fete his mistress had planned.

Yvonne was a lifestyle domme and Jim had been seeing her for nearly two years. He had first met her at an invitation-only fetish-clothing event held by a local organization. As they chatted, he mentioned that he had developed a growing interest in submitting to a strong woman and that he was hoping to meet a dominatrix who would take him on as a slave.

She had arranged a scene with him and had been favorably impressed with his sincerity and willingness. Over the last 16 months, he had become her prize submissive, and she had even used him for demonstrations at a number of organizational meetings. Her sister dommes had been very favorably impressed by the progress of his training.

Jim had gone through the entire panoply of sub training, starting with being broken to the leash, pony play, genital torture, various types of bondage and even mummification. But where he really had excelled was in the role of a sissy-boy undergoing forced feminization. Yvonne had broken him in on panties and nylons, moving through the entire spectrum of sissification experiences up to and including forcing him to act as her maid.

Yvonne was a stickler and had given Jim complete instruction in female demeanor and movement, proper makeup techniques and the selection and wearing of feminine apparel. He had learned well, and she had been able to take him out to elegant restaurants, the symphony and even an opera performance as her exquisitely-groomed and beautifully dressed female companion. No one had given them a moment's notice – except those men and women who happened to admire them for their elegance, grace and beauty.

For Yvonne, elegance came naturally. A tall woman at 5' 8", she had a splendid figure and a natural physical ease that often turned men's heads. Although she preferred latex and leather outfits for her sessions with subs, she tended to dress expensively and well when she was out in public, wearing designer suits and dresses from Saks and Neimann Marcus and shoes from Arthur Behren. In her early 40s, she exuded maturity but still had the sexy good looks of a 20-something, looks that were enhanced but not exaggerated by her light touch with cosmetics.

And when Jim went out as her companion, she put him in equally elegant outfits, insured that his makeup was dramatic but understated, his nails were perfect, and the human hairpieces he wore looked natural and well-styled.

Indeed, Jim had come to love those evenings out with his mistress more than anything else. She had put him in touch with a feminine part of his personality that he found both exciting and comforting. He enjoyed the closeness they had as women companions even more than his abject submission to her as her sub – which was remarkable by itself, as he adored having her dominate and use him for her pleasure.

But lately, she had seemed to be on the cusp of entering into a new stage in their relationship. He sensed that she was not satisfied with the usual domination techniques she had been using on him. She seemed to be looking for some way to stretch his subservience.

Jim pondered the seeming change in her personality as he watched the hands on the clock in his office creep slowly toward quitting time. At exactly 5:30 p.m., he cleared his desk, picked up his satchel and practically ran out of the office.

The Chandliss, which dated back to the 1920s and had been built by the parents of a child star from the silent film age as an investment for the child's later years, was one of the city's older hotels. The star had died in a freak auto accident in the 1960s, and the hotel had subsequently changed hands several times before being purchased by a local gay businessman who had turned it into a showpiece for the local gay and lesbian community.

The hotel was 12 stories of art deco charm that featured a restaurant and piano bar in the basement, a rooftop bar and patio with a fabulous view of the city, and 110 splendidly renovated guest rooms, ten of which were really luxury suites with multiple rooms and small balconies. It had become a favorite spot for special celebrations by the wealthier members of the city's alternative sexuality circles. It was used as a headquarters for the activities of the local gay imperial court system, the venue of choice for events hosted by two large area fetish organizations and the site of the annual drag ball held by a regional Transgendered organization.

Jim parked in the garage behind the hotel and entered the lobby through the back door. He glanced at his watch as he strode to the counter. It was nearly 6 p.m. already. He was running slightly ahead of schedule so far, which was fine as Mistress Yvonne hated tardiness.

"Hi, I am Jim Hutchins," he said to the clerk, a chiseled young man in a neat blue blazer and maroon tie. "I think you have a room key for me."

The clerk smiled. "Yes, sir," he said pulling an envelope from one of the old-fashioned pigeonholes behind the desk. "A couple of the other gentlemen have already arrived and checked into their rooms. You will be with Mr. Stevens in Room 1123. We are expecting him to arrive at any moment."

Jim was a little surprised to find that he had been put up with another man. He thought that the "service" requirement in the invitation meant that he would be waiting on Mistress for the evening. He was a little disconcerted to find she apparently had something else in mind.

"Very good," he said as he took the key from the clerk. "Were there any further instructions for me?"

The clerk shook his head. "No sir," he replied. "I was told only to direct you to the room and tell you that you would be joined shortly. I believe that you will find the information you need waiting for you in the room."

Perplexed, Jim took the hotel's antique bird-cage elevator to the eleventh floor. He found his room and used the electronic key card to buzz himself in.

The room was clearly designed for two people, with a Queen-sized canopy bed, smart looking furniture from the silent film era, thick dark maroon curtains and antique light fixtures. He closed the door and looked around. On each side of the bed was a large, inexpensive trunk with a manila envelope lying on it. He picked up the one that had his name hand-written on it and tore it open.

"Slave: You will be getting ready for tonight with another domina's servant, and the two of you will help each other to prepare. Everything you both need will be inside your respective trunks. You are to help each other put these things on and come up to the rooftop patio at exactly 8 p.m.

Use every item in each trunk to get ready. And make sure that you put on your outfits as snugly as possible, because you will be checked by another mistress when you show up at the patio. There, you will be given further instructions for the evening."

With the instructions was a small key to the cheap padlock that clasped the trunk shut.

Jim was puzzled by Yvonne's instructions. He didn't quite understand why he and his roommate would need to help each other get ready for the celebration. The cases must contain some specialized gear or costumes we have to wear, he mused. Perhaps there is some sort of bondage equipment inside that a person can't get into all by himself. He felt a little uncomfortable opening his trunk before the other sub arrived, so he sat down in a comfortable armchair, crossed his legs and lit a cigarette to smoke while waiting.

He didn't have long to wait. He was only about halfway through with his cigarette when he heard the electric latch trigger and the squeak of the door’s hinges as his companion for the night entered the room. He rose and stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray. "Hi," he said, extending his hand. "My name is Jim Hutchins. I’m Mistress Yvonne's slave."

The stranger stepped forward and took it in a firm grip. "Hello, I’m Jack Edwards, and my mistress is Lady Candace," he said with a shy grin. "I saw Mistress Yvonne once at a domina's group meeting at my lady's house. She is really very beautiful. You must be happy to wear her collar."

Like Hutchins, Edwards was slightly shorter than the average man and weighed about 140 pounds. But unlike Hutchins he wore his hair bleached blonde and buzz-cut short, and had dark green eyes. The men were both rather good looking, but Edwards' nose, mouth and cheek-bones were rather sharply etched, while Hutchins' soft features gave him a slightly feminine appearance.

"Thanks," Jim said with a smile. "I feel lucky she lets me serve her. She has been very wonderful to me the last couple of years. I have seen photos of your lady, and she is gorgeous, too, but so tiny. It is amazing how such a physically small person can radiate such power and mastery."

They stood, still in a handclasp, sizing each other up. Then Jack broke the grip and the ice by giving Jim a warm hug that rather surprised him. "This promises to be an interesting evening," Jack said with a laugh. "Do you have any idea what it is all about?"

Jim laughed too and gestured to the trunks. "There is an envelope for you on the other side of the bed," he said. "All mine said was that we would need to help each other put on the things in the trunks. Hopefully yours will be more informative. Or at least the things inside the trunks will explain themselves.''

Jack opened his envelope with a frown and studied the single sheet of paper inside. When he looked up, it was clear from his expression that his instructions had told him no more than Jim's had.

"Well," Jim said holding up his key. "Let's see what we have in these."

The two men opened the flimsy locks and set them aside, then swung open the tops of the cases. Jim started back as he did, startled by its contents, which included, at the very top, what appeared to be a woman's severed head staring up at him. As he looked up, he saw that Jack was lifting an identical object from his trunk, staring at it with his mouth hanging open.

"It – it's a mask or hood of some kind," the blonde man said with effort, holding it up with its face toward Jim. "It seems to be made out of very thick latex or something like it. There is a zipper in the back of it."

Jim gawked. The face, of molded rubber, was very finely detailed, and had been colored in with some sort of paint so that it appeared to be completely made up with eye shadow, eyeliner, lipstick and liner crayon, blush and glued in eyelashes. The face had painted brows in a very thin arch over the large, ornately painted eyes. The lips of the mask were full, red and glossy, and gave the face a rather wanton, sexy look.

Jack undid the zipper at the rear and held it open. Behind the molded voluptuous mouth, the inside of the mask had a latex gag that appeared to be glued in place. It was shaped like the oversized mouthpiece of a skin diver’s snorkel. A hole about a half inch wide in diameter had been drilled or punched through it. He fingered the mask’s thick red lips and discovered that they were flexible enough to allow a tube or straw to be pushed through the hole into the interior of the wearer’s mouth.

“Well,” the slight blond man said with a smile. “It seems that we are to be seen but not heard tonight. My mistress has had me wear a rubber hood like this before when she did a force-feeding session on me once. She ran the feed tube through the hole and down my throat into my stomach. The hood wasn’t like this one, though. It was made of thick black rubber and there were no eyeholes in it, and no face painted on.

He looked at Jim grinning broadly. “It was a bit uncomfortable, but a unique experience,” he added. “She fed me broth through the tube while she administered a series of enemas at my other end. By the end of the session, the broth was running out almost as fast as she pumped it in!”

Jim smiled. “What else do we have in these little boxes of tricks, I wonder?”

Setting his mask on the bed, Jim rummaged through the case. Its other contents included a heavily boned back-lacing latex corset in glossy black, a pair of latex opera gloves in a matching color, a long straight wig of black hair with neat but rather severely cut bangs, seamed black nylons, a long-line brassiere made of molded rubber, a set of “D” cup silicone breast forms, and a pair of black patent stiletto pumps with a wide, locking ankle strap and five inch heels. It also contained a black satin maids dress with white lace trim at the hem, cuffs and high, Edwardian neckline, a ridiculously several fluffy petticoats to wear under the short maid’s skirt, a small lace-fringed white apron, a pair of rubber panties and an unusual device that was something like a chastity belt – only with a dildo mounted inside the strap at the rear and a snug, inch-wide hole in the front-piece through which the wearer was obviously supposed to thread his own penis.

“Interesting,” he said finally, looking up at his companion. “We might as well get started. We only have an hour until we are supposed to report for duty.”

The two men stripped off their street clothes and showered quickly, then began to get into the costumes that had been provided for them. The first order of business was to don the chastity belts. The belts buckled at the rear, and by experimentation they discovered that the easiest way to get them on was to step into the harness for the legs, lube up the dildos and start them into their anal cavities, then press them the rest of the way in by sitting down carefully on the bed. The phalluses were quite thick, and seating them securely in place took considerable effort. The anal stimulation gave both men erections, and each was barely able to slide his stiffening penis through the hole in the front of the apparatus.

The wide central strap of the chastity pressed each man’s balls up tightly into his crotch and created a flat area about three inches wide through which their engorged penises jutted rigidly. They took turns pulling the six-inch wide waist strap as tightly closed as they could manage, and then fastening it shut in back with three smaller roller buckles. The chastities not only provided anal and genital stimulation, but also acted as a sort of barbaric waist-cincher, pinching at least four inches off each man’s midsection and leaving them slightly breathless.

The corsets came next, fitting over the tops of the chastities. Each man took turns lacing the other’s corset tightly, working the closure at the rear completely shut by repeatedly tightening and retightening the cords.

“Whew,” Jim said looking at his 26-inch waist in a mirror. “Instant diet!”

With the corsets fastened, the two men put on their rubber brassieres, once again taking turns at fastening the ten hooks and eyelets that held the backs of the garments tightly shut. The bras were also designed to crush the men’s torsos and constrict them into a more feminine shape. They found that they had to put the outsized breast forms into the bras’ rubber cups before hooking them shut, because they fit too tightly to wedge the soft forms into once they were completely fastened.

Sitting on opposite sides of the bed, each man sat down to roll the shiny stockings up over their shaved legs and fasten them to the eight garters that dangled from the bottom of the corset. They stepped into their black rubber panties and pulled them up to their midsections. The tight-fitting latex held their swollen genitals down between their legs, turning their stiff penises into grotesquely exaggerated Venus mounts between their nyloned thighs.

Next each man donned his latex gloves, using talcum powder to make the garments more slippery inside, and working them carefully over their fingers and up onto the upper portions of their arms. The tops of the gloves were clearly intended to be covered by the puffy sleeves of the satin maid uniforms, and the two slaves knew that their mistresses would be looking for any unnecessary folds in the material. It took them some effort to get the hand portions of the gloves to fit completely smoothly, as the gloves were rather small for male hands. They flexed their fingers vigorously as they tugged at the shiny black rubber, working every last bit of air out of the elastic material so they fit like second skins.

The easiest part of the costumes to get into were the maids’ dresses themselves. The satin garments had been custom made to fit a woman – or man – with the precise proportions that the heavy cinching and mammoth breast forms – gave Jack and Jim. Each man helped the other close the snug-fitting costumes by pulling the zippers at the back smoothly shut. Gripping the fly with the tight latex gloves was something of a challenge, but the two slaves persevered until they had triumphed.

Even more of a challenge was getting into the “fuck me” shoes. The pumps were the correct size, but the straps were difficult to manage while wearing latex gloves, and the little padlocks that had to be attached to each ankle required considerable effort.

The final touch to each costume was the wanton harlot’s rubber face and wig. Jack put his mask on first, turning the molded face partially inside out so he could fit the gag-mouthpiece between his jaws. He then pulled the ornately painted rubber face over his own features, adjusted the mask’s ears over the tops of his own, slipped the wide rubber flange at the rear under the flap and pulled the zipper all the way shut with a metallic rasp.

A moment before he had been an incongruous sight: a sexy and voluptuous woman dressed in an erotically charged maid’s uniform from the neck down, with an undeniably masculine head above the costume’s frilly neckline. By putting on the rubber mask, he had instantly turned himself into a bald woman with a suggestive and sluttish costume.

Jim gave a low whistle at the effect, the followed Jack’s example. The major difficulty he found was fitting the gag into his oral cavity, but after he conquered the mouthpiece, he found the flexibility of the rubber false face to be such that pulling it snugly over his head and ears presented no problem. He pulled his zipper down and arranged the bottom of the mask so that it was concealed by the frilly lace trim on the costume’s neckline. He used the tips of two rubber-clad fingers to push apart the soft and fleshy lips of the mask and found he could draw air through the mouthpiece. The notion relieved him because he was starting to want a cigarette very badly.

He curtsied to his roommate melodramatically, head tilted slightly to one side in a parody of submission, spreading the skirt with his rubber-gloved hands. Then gesturing to the wigs lying on the bed, he picked one up and slipped it over the bald crown of his head, tugging it down until the stretch net inside was securely in place.

Jack followed suit and they looked at each other with excitement.

They were now almost identical twins, with the same hair, face and costume – two remarkable wanton looking maids, ready for whatever duties their mistresses might have them perform.

Teetering in the sky high heels, Jim minced over to the table and fished out a cigarette, fitted it between the glossy red lips of the mask and gave it fire with a small butane lighter. He held the package out to Jack, who nodded and took one of the smokes. For a few moments, the two identical maids puffed the cigarettes silently, pacing around the room and getting used to the extreme height of their stiletto shoes.

Finally, Jim sank into an overstuffed chair and crossed his long nyloned legs elegantly, swinging one of his feet in a casual manner. He inhaled deeply and let smoke trickle from the narrow nostrils of his pert latex nose, running the fingers of one shiny black gloved hand through the straight black tresses of his wig.

Jack found the other chair and sat down. He let his head loll back as he blew a thin gray stream of smoke from the opening behind his dark-red doll’s lips.

Jim glanced at the clock on the bedside table and then did a double take as the hour sank in. He found it hard to believe that getting into the maid costumes had taken nearly 60 minutes, but the clock registered the time as 7:56 p.m. Stubbing out his cigarette, he rose and moved quickly to the bedside table, where he hurriedly scrawled a note on the pad next to the telephone and handed it to Jack.

Jack held the note up and read it:

“Let’s go, honey. It’s show time.”

04.03.11