Dale 3: A Day in the Life

(story continues from Dale V2.0)

Dale 3: A Day in the Life

Dale heard the click a second before the bedroom filled with soft music. Connie stirred. She reached over and tugged Dale's metal-clad cock. He feigned sleep. She tugged again, harder. It was a game of sorts. She didn't need a reason to dominate him, but she enjoyed it more that way. He edged closer.

She grabbed a handful of hair.

"Get your mouth busy, sis."

Dale slid under the covers and got his mouth busy.

He was her sissy slut, sis for short. It was his cue to go into owned girl mode. He spent most of the week as Dale the boyfriend, though, truth be told, he was still owned, 24/7, 365. And he still didn't think of himself as a sissy. He was a guy who liked to dress as a girl - and be dominated by one.

Sated, Connie grabbed his hair, pulled him up to cuddle her. The alarm sounded, Connie whacked it, yawned. Dale slipped out of bed, padded into the bathroom for a quick pee. When he heard the shower, he eased the door open and set a mug of coffee on the vanity.

The shop opened at nine, but Connie was always there early, even on Saturday, kind of the way it is when you own the place. Her joke was that she was going to get rich working half days - didn't matter if it was the first twelve hours or the second.

Her mother died several years ago. A couple of years later her dad died, too. There was nothing physically wrong with him. He just died of a broken heart. The inheritance wasn't much, but it paid for Dale's mods, the trip to Europe, and Connie's shop. It was the reason she did the cosmetology thing. She wasn't really into it, but she saw a business opportunity and decided she needed to know something about what was what.

He sat at the table, wearing his pink, silk robe, sipping coffee, when Connie breezed through. She set the mug in the sink.

"Thanks for the coffee."

"My pleasure."

"No, my pleasure. What a nice way to wake up."

She kissed him.

"Be back around two-ish."

Dale nodded. The door shut. He sipped his coffee.

As Connie's sissy slut, he was used to being in public dressed as a girl, but he didn't like it, not when he was alone anyway. Especially now that he was officially in sis mode, which meant whatever errands he had to run had to be while 'dressed'. Dale poured another cup of coffee, stalling. He took a quick shower, tied on his white, string bikini, and stepped out onto the patio.

The railing and bushes hid the bulge in his bikini bottom. Neighbors came and went. Some said hello, some didn't. None knew he was male. When Connie had moved in to the new apartment, she introduced Dale to her neighbors as her girlfriend. And so it was. Even when he was not in sis mode, he still wore girl clothes and a bit of makeup. During the week he was boyfriend and sub, weekends were for girls.

The trip to Amsterdam was a total mind fuck for Dale. They spent two hours each afternoon at Mistress Barbra's for Dale's lessons. They spent the rest of the day playing tourist, with Dale dressed, of course. Connie had packed and he had no boy clothes. Not that it really mattered. After all, it was Amsterdam. Now that he wore the chastity tube 24/7, they found pleated skirts provided the best camouflage.

He got a new, custom, cock tube - metal. The feeling of being handled by another guy creeped Dale out a bit, but despite the excessive body art, he was very professional about the whole thing. The tube and ring weren't overly tight, but definitely uncomfortably snug. The guy challenged Dale to remove it and he couldn't, well, not without losing a testicle in the process. It had much less bulk than the plastic cage, but a more secure grip. The last time he wore the cage was going through airport security coming home. Since then he wore the metal tube pretty much 24/7. Or maybe like 22/7 on those nights when Connie wanted more than Dale's mouth between her legs.

Evenings they spent at Mistress Barbra's. Dale wore a black leather harness, leather collar and cuffs, a black ball gag. Connie dressed in black leather or latex, sometimes both. She served Mistress. She wasn't too thrilled with the idea, but having Barbra train her sub made it worth it. Besides, Mistress believed to be a good top you had to learn to be a good bottom.

She always had guests. It was a club of sorts, invitation only, very exclusive. Dale was part of the ambiance, just another prop in the dungeon: hanging by his wrists, shackled to a wall, kneeling in a cage.

The evenings were part of their training and often Mistress would guide Connie through a scene with an experienced sub, the idea being he would be better able to deal with the consequences if Connie messed up.

Dale learned to suck - not cock, but Connie's strapon. He also learned to take it in his ass. It seemed he always had something in his ass and as the week progressed, things got bigger and bigger.

Two of Connie's favorite things were the dildo gag and her double strapon. The strapon had two shafts: one went inside her and one that would eventually find its way into Dale. He found he enjoyed it. It wasn't really a sexual thing, it just felt good. Sometimes Connie would free his cock and tug on it. Then it became sexual.

The dildo gag filled Dale with trepidation. She would wedge the large, rubber ball behind his teeth, buckle the straps, then straddle his face, impaling herself on the thick, black shaft. And then she would tease him. Granted, when she finally allowed him to come it was mind blowing. But the time prior to that was interminable and agonizingly frustrating.

In the end, it turned out, Connie was less into BDSM and domination than control. Not micromanaging control. She just liked being in charge. Still, they did have a fair collection of toys and scene-wear - and their nights at the club.

Dale finished his coffee, headed back inside. He stripped off his bikini, pulled on his green, satin panties. The same pair that had started them down this path, what?, three years ago. He now had a matching green bra. He slipped into a fresh pair of chalk-colored hose, clipped the garter belt to his waist, and attached the stockings.

He shrugged into a charcoal blouse and wrapped the gray, plaid, pleated skirt around his hips, buttoned it. He stepped into a pair of black flats, buckled the belt, grabbed his purse, paused one moment before the mirror to check his makeup, and left the house.

* * *

"God! What a day!"

They were sitting by the pool. Dale back in his white bikini with a thick, green towel wrapped around his waist. Connie was wearing a black, one-piece. She wasn't into Goth, but black was her color. She took a sip of wine from the plastic cup. There were a couple of kids squealing in the shallow end of the pool. A fat guy floated by on a foam raft. A half dozen other folks were scattered around.

"I'm thinking of closing Mondays."

"I thought the plan was to make as much money as possible, even on the slow days."

"Yeah. I'm just beat to hell. You don't mind if we stay in tonight, do you?"

Dale shrugged.

"No."

The voice in Dale's head shouted YES! A night at the club was always embarrassing and, ultimately, painful.

As it turned out, they didn't stay in.

After a couple of glasses of wine and dinner, Connie felt better.

At the club, Connie removed Dale's coat. She pulled the collar and cuffs from a plastic bag, locked them on him. She pushed the black, rubber ball into Dale's mouth and buckled it. Since Dale was the designated driver, he wouldn't be drinking.

"Turn."

Dale turned.

He was wearing a black, leather hobble skirt that barely came to his knees. The back was open, exposing his ass cheeks. He wore a sheer, white blouse and black, spike heels.

Connie clipped the leash to Dale's collar, pushed the bag into a coat pocket, and handed the coat to the checker. At the door, the guy picked up a roll of black tape. Dale opened his blouse and the guy placed an X over each of his nipples. That was the rule: no nipples on girls and no genitals on anybody.

The club was buzzing. Not loud. There was a scene going on on the stage. A woman had another in a web of rope and she was just hoisting her off the floor.

Everyone was in scene clothes, even if it was just black jeans and Ts. Dale followed Connie to an empty couch, chain dangling between his tits. That was another rule. Leashes were okay, but not while walking, should someone cut between.

Connie was wearing black jodhpurs, knee-high black boots, and a black, satin blouse. A quirt hung from her belt.

Once seated she took Dale's leash. A waitress came by and set a drink on the small table. She pointed at the bar. A man was holding up a glass. Connie picked hers up and did likewise, took a sip.

"Ah, I see Phil and Jim are here."

Phil was actually Phyllis, though you'd never know it. They were kind of a middle-age, opposite version of themselves. Everybody thought they were a gay couple, the same way everybody thought Connie and he were lesbians. They weren't into kink, not overtly, not in public. What drew them all together was that she topped Jim as Connie topped Dale. And the four of them could let their hair down, as it were.

The scene ended. The music came up. There was a dance floor of sorts and a few couples, including Phil and Jim, drifted over to it.

Later Phil and Jim wandered over. Oddly, Phil and Dale had more in common, likewise, Jim and Connie connected. She removed Dale's gag, flagged down a waitress, and ordered him a drink.

Small talk was made. There was another scene, a guy with a bullwhip, a blindfolded girl tied to a wooden post. He didn't actually whip her, but he worked the whip all around her. It soon became clear that she was getting off on it when she began rubbing her crotch against the post.

Their friends were getting off on it, too. Though they weren't all that much into kink, they were seriously into corporal.

After the scene, Phil and Jim drifted away. Dale finished his drink. Connie replaced his gag.

A bit later they made the rounds. Aside from the main room, there were two, smaller public rooms. In one a girl was having her tits turned into pincushions. There were also a few small, private rooms. Some had doors with slots in them so passersby could pause and watch the scene. Some had solid doors. Connie stopped by one.

"This is ours."

She pulled a key from a pocket and let them in.

The room had a country manor look to it. A library of sorts with a fake fireplace glowing in the corner. Very popular with the Story of O crowd.

They key also opened the mini-bar. Dale fixed Connie another drink, then sank to his knees. Not an easy thing to do in a hobble-skirt.

Several minutes passed. Connie tugged his leash and Dale bent to kiss and lick Connie's boots.

More time passed. Finally Connie said, "Up."

Dale rocked back on his heels and stood. She led him over to the whipping post. It was short, made for kneeling. Dale knelt on the padded base, wrapped his arms around the post. Connie clipped his wrists to a ring. There were straps and she buckled one across Dale's back, pressing him tightly to the post, and another across his calves securing him to the base. She whipped him.

He got twenty-five lashes. Why twenty-five? He didn't know. But it was always twenty-five.

Connie took her time, pausing between lashes, pausing every few minutes to take a sip of her drink.

It was about a seven on the pain scale. Enough to make him gasp. Enough to raise welts. Enough to leave bruises that would last a few days.

Later, after she'd released him and he'd fixed another drink, there came a small knock. Dale rose, stepped over to the door. One of the waitresses was there.

"Time, folks."

She stepped into the room, checked the mini bar, wrote something on a slip of paper.

Dale followed Connie out into the crowd, convinced that all eyes were on him, or, more accurately, on his red-striped ass. Connie steered them to the bar. Dale was glad he was driving, but he really wanted a drink.

As if reading his mind Connie removed his gag. She kissed him.

"You've been a good little sis. One drink won't hurt."

Dale ordered a double ... and it didn't.

Back home the day ended as it had started. Connie tugged his cock, drawing him closer. She grabbed a handful of hair and said, "Get your mouth busy, sis."

Dale slid under the covers, settled between her legs, and got his mouth busy.

 

26.06.12