Gromet's PlazaTG/CD Stories

Dirty Laundry, Dirty Slut

by Nathan Black

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© Copyright 2015 - Nathan Black - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF; F/m; cd; nylon; lingerie; heels; suit; tie; dinner; photo; emb; strapon; oral; anal; mast; climax; cons; X

Laundry day at our house is nothing less than an exhausting chore. I despise wearing my professional clothes when I get home, so I wear nearly two full outfits each day. I work hard, and I feel I deserve to be comfortable when I get home. However, we pay the price for my comfort on laundry day.

It was a Saturday. Between loads we were straightening things up around the house--dusting, washing dishes, various other chores--and by mid-afternoon things were fairly well in hand. She was folding the last load, and I was working on the closet in the bedroom when I came across an unopened pair of thigh-high stockings.  

She brought a load of clothes in right then, so I said, "Where do you want these, hon?"

She opened her mouth... and then she closed it. She looked me up and down, and then cocked her head to the side. I was starting to wonder, though not yet to worry, until she came up to me and whispered breathily, "Well, now that you mention it, my dear, I'd really like to see how they look on you."

I was floored. Other than a rather unfortunate incident when my older brother decided he wanted a little sister while my parents were shopping, I'd never even thought of donning women's clothing. It was certainly nothing I'd ever fantasized about. But apparently she'd imagined it for me. I managed to stammer, "Umm... honey?"

Sensing my hesitation, she pulled me close and said, "You don't have to do this, love. It's just... well, this is a fantasy of mine. I figured I'd tell you about it. I've got an outfit picked out for you and everything." She kissed me and said, "Just the thought of you in a skirt has me so wet, baby."

I have to admit that I was dubious at best. But I got immediately hard when she said the word "wet", and I knew I couldn't refuse her.

Seeing in my eyes that I'd given in, she smiled. "Let's make an evening of this, okay? Dinner's already cooking, and I want this to be just right. This has been in my head for a long time, and I want this to be perfect. Okay, baby?"

She'd trapped me nicely. My cock had agreed with her, and she was moving on before my brain could catch up. All I could do was smile and nod.

Now, I am by no means a sexist. I have a great deal of respect for women. I despise the feminist movement for their near-militant stance, but I am not dumb enough to believe that I am superior because of my gender. Our relationship is an equal one. Yes, she does most of the cooking, but that's because she cooks better. And though there are times when I love the sight of my wife in handcuffs, I'm not one of those men who would chain his wife to the stove as if that and the bedroom are the only two places she belongs.

All that being said, I know about traditional gender roles, and I was afraid of what the evening could bring. At the same time, strangely enough, I found myself growing somewhat excited at the prospect.

"Since it's a lot harder for women to dress than men," she asserted, "I'll help you. I have to say, helping you into the clothes may be at least as much fun as helping you out of them."

I could feel my face grow warm at her frank, appraising gaze.  Is this what it's like for a woman to be hunted? I wondered, growing harder at the thought. She smiled as she took my hand and led me to the middle of the room. Without a word she began to undress me. When I was naked she looked at my cock and said, "You are not to touch that again until I say so. Understand?" I nodded, and she smiled a feral grin.

She reached into a drawer of mostly unused clothing and pulled out a bag I'd never seen before. From the bag she removed what looked to be silk panties, a bra, and shoes--low heels, fortunately, though I'd have preferred flats for sure. She handed me the panties and said, "These should fit." As they slid up my legs and over my ass, two thoughts went through my head. First: This fit pretty good. And second: Damn, she really has been planning this!

"This will require some assistance," she smirked, reaching from behind me to set the bra in place. I don’t know how she got the measurements so exact, but the cups settled over my pecs, and I was astonished to feel extra jiggle as I realized this bra had liquid in it and was shaped so I actually had a decent rack. I blushed furiously when she told me, "They're 'C' cups. I know you're wondering." I felt her pull the clasp together.

Next she had me sit on the bed as she started the stockings up my legs. "I don't want these to run," she said. "Not yet, anyway." My face grew even warmer as she had me stand, pulling the stockings up the rest of the way, attaching garters to them to keep them in place.

"Now a blouse." She reached into the closet and pulled out a lovely red silk number, one with buttons up the front for easy access. As she buttoned me in she said, "This will go well with that slutty red lipstick I have for you."

Again reaching into the closet, she pulled out a black leather skirt. As she helped me to step into it she commented, "I'm going to be staring at your gorgeous legs all night, baby." I was wrong if I'd thought my face couldn't get any redder. The skirt barely reached my knees, and a slit up the side ensured even more would be visible. And as tight as it was, I wasn't hiding much, anyway.

"Time for makeup!" she exclaimed. I couldn't tell what she was doing, but I could feel something gentle on my eyelids, a brush on my cheeks, and finally the dreaded lipstick. When she was done, she examined her handiwork. "How lovely!" I managed a weak smile in response.

"Just one last thing," she said, reaching back into the bag. She pulled out a brown wig, and when she placed it on my head the hair fell to just below my shoulders.

"Now, baby," she said, "why don't you put on your shoes and go finish taking care of dinner while I go dress?" She walked into the spare bedroom as I somehow maneuvered myself into the shoes she'd set out for me. As I wobbled toward the kitchen I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I steeled myself and then turned squarely to face it.

I am not the most attractive man in the world, though I am by no means the ugliest. I discovered at that moment a self-conscious streak I never knew I had. I had a man's face with makeup, and I was not surprised to find a homely face staring back at me. Somewhat sad, but not surprised.  

What surprised me was that, with her ministrations, I actually had a decently-attractive full-figured body. My legs were somewhat mannish, but with the dark stockings and the heels they weren't too bad, and the hair wasn't immediately obvious. The shoes must have done something for my hips, too. And my chest! I actually found myself feeling "my" tits until I heard a laugh from the doorway. I turned to see my love naked, and she continued to laugh as she turned me toward the kitchen and said, "Somehow I knew you'd be doing that. Dinner, beautiful. And those tits are mine to feel!"

I continued my wobbly journey to the kitchen, doing my best not to break my ankles. We have a small kitchen, fortunately, so it wasn't very hard to carry things to the table. Even so, I nearly dropped the pot roast. Knowing this was special, I set the table with our finest linens and china. Our candlesticks were out, and new candles stood proudly. I could feel myself getting into the spirit. I still felt somewhat humiliated, but I also felt willing, submissive, almost servile.

I heard footsteps behind me as I finished dishing out food. My jaw dropped when I saw her. No suit I'd ever owned looked so good on me. This was tight in all the right places. She must have wrapped her chest, as her gorgeous breasts were nearly flat in the men's suit coat. The white shirt and red silk tie suited her. She wore wingtip shoes that positively shone. Her hair was pulled back in a simple tail. And the only makeup on her face was a hint of soft black above her lip to suggest a mustache. She had even managed a bulge in her pants, though I couldn't imagine how. "Honey," I stammered, "You look incredible!"

"You're not looking too bad yourself, babe," she drawled. She took my hand and led me to the table. She even held my chair for me, and she pushed it in when I sat. It was usually my job to lead our table prayer, and she smiled as she saw me with my hands folded, waiting for her to lead.  

Dinner was mostly a blur . . . though I blush to recall her eyes staring at me as if I was the feast.

When dinner was finished, we both worked on the dishes, our normal after-dinner chore. I couldn't seem to concentrate on the dishes, though, and it didn't help that she kept sliding her hands over my ass. I kept thinking of how amazing she looked. Finally I had to say, "Let me get the camera. You're so hot!" She smiled, and I stumbled off for the camera. I was slowly getting the hang of the accursed heels.  

She struck a few poses, and I took quite a few pictures of her. When she reached out for the camera, however, I hesitated.

"Come on now," she said. "This is my fantasy." I gave in with a sigh. She posed me as she wanted me, and then she decided to get a few of us together. The last shot was the same pose as my favorite wedding picture, except she was standing behind me with her hands on my waist. After the picture was snapped she leaned into my ear and said, "Now for the rest of my fantasy, baby." She took my hand and smiled as she led me to the bedroom.  

She led me to the bed and sat me down. "I know those shoes must be killing you, baby," she crooned. "Why don't you take them off?" I let out a relieved a sigh as I complied. She lifted my leg and began to stroke my calf, which needed it after the torture of heels. After a time she switched to the other leg.

I'd never cared much how a woman sat to preserve her modesty, and it showed. My legs were spread as wide as the skirt would allow. I was very relaxed, the tension in my legs having dissolved at her touch. As her hands started sliding higher, however, I tensed up again.

"Ladies don't sit with their legs wide open like that, do they?" Ashamed, I lowered my eyes and shook my head. I tried to close my legs, but she held them open with her body. She took my face between her hands and raised it sharply. "But then, you're no lady, are you?" Again I shook my head.

Looking right into my eyes she said, "Do you know what you are?" When I didn't answer she raised her voice. "You're just a dirty slut, aren't you?" I tried to look away, but she held my head firmly. "Aren't you?"

Finally I nodded.

She stroked my cock once--just once--and it throbbed in response. She just laughed as she removed her hand and said, "That's mine, remember? No touching."

I turned my head away in frustration, only to whip it back toward her as I felt her playing with my tits. "These are nice, baby," she purred. "No wonder you couldn't resist playing with them." I blushed as she unbuttoned my blouse and then rubbed her hands over my chest.

When she seemed satisfied with that she pulled me to my feet. "Take off your skirt, slut," she ordered. It took a bit of effort to reach the unfamiliar button location in the back, but finally the deed was done, and I slid the skirt over my thighs and down my legs. It pooled at my feet, and I was too ashamed to step out of it.  

She pulled the camera out of her pocket and snapped another few pictures of me as I blushed. Without lowering the camera she commanded, "On your knees. Now!" I obeyed without further hesitation, and she continued to snap pictures.

She set the camera on the edge of the bed. Soon her jacket joined it. There's always something sexy about a woman in a man's dress shirt; but in business slacks and a tie on top of it, sexy just barely touched the edges of it. She stepped close to me and said, "Lower my pants, now, baby. I've got something for you." Sure enough, as I undid the button, I could feel something hard in her pants. I tried to back away, but I had nowhere to go, and she boomed, "Off! NOW!" Haltingly I resumed my work. As I lowered her slacks to the floor I could see a cock harnessed to her, and I knew I was about to receive a fucking I'd never forget.  

She wasn't ready for that, though. "Suck it!" she ordered. And when I gave a slight hesitation she said, "C'mon, baby. Suck my cock."

Hesitantly I complied at first, but then I put my head--and neck and mouth--into it. I didn't notice it, but she must have reached for the camera because she said, "Look up." As I looked up she snapped a picture, one in which my eyes are raised as my mouth is impaled by this cock. I look like I've been sucking cock all my life. We later agreed that it's a lovely picture, but at that moment I felt an enormous surge of shame. I looked down as I resumed my task. She moaned, and it was almost as if she could feel my mouth on her, as if the cock were made of flesh instead of whatever it was made of. The shamed faded, and pride replaced it. I wanted to be the best damn cock-sucking slut in the world. I sucked that cock with a vengeance.  

Finally she pulled out of my mouth. "That was some might fine cock sucking, slut," she said, "but there's still another piece of my fantasy. Turn around."

Crawling, I complied. She grabbed a pillow from the bed, a ballgag from the drawer, and a bottle from the nightstand. I knew that bottle very well, as I used the lube it contained every time I plugged or fucked her ass; and she'd used it on me a few times with a plug. But this time it wouldn't be just a plug.

Without hesitation she shoved the gag into my mouth. The problem with me and gags is that, the minute it goes into my mouth, I immediately get thirsty. This time was no exception. This time, however, it would also stifle any complaints, which I knew was what she had in mind. 

From her breast shirt pocket she pulled a switchblade, and before I knew it she'd cut through the seam of my panties. With a jerked she ripped them from me, and I was exposed to her. I watched her as she lubed the flesh-colored cock. Then she moved behind me, and she used a finger to lube me up as well. My cock twitched and I moaned as her finger slid into me, and I pushed my ass toward her.

"So eager, my little slut? I hope you're still eager when my cock is pounding into your ass like a piston. Now, put your hands behind your back. I think you need to find out what it's like to get fucked while you're helpless to resist." I complied with a shudder, and with a series of clicks she cuffed my hands behind my back. To be honest, though, even without the cuffs I would have been helpless to resist her. I knew I had to get fucked. And after sucking her cock, I needed to get fucked, and I wanted to get fucked. 

She obliged me. She'd set a pillow on the floor, and without my hands to support me, my face was shoved into it. I felt the tip of her cock against my hole, and I moaned through the gag. She slowly slid it in, little by little. The full feeling in my ass was overwhelming, and I tried to wriggle away. She just boomed, "Stay still!" and she dug her fingernails into my hips. She slowly slid out of me, and as her confidence grew, her strokes became more forceful. I grunted with each thrust, and as she pulled out my moans mingled with hers. She must have been getting enough clitoral stimulation to be moving toward orgasm. Finally she began to pound into me, and I cried out through the gag with each thrust. My cock bounced in time with her thrusts, and it slapped my midsection.

Her cries became even more pronounced until finally she yelled, and she left the cock buried in my ass as she screamed her orgasm into my back. I felt her collapse on top of me, and all I could do was turn my head so I could breathe.  

After a short time she roused herself. She pulled out of me, but I stayed where I was, too weak, too cowed to move. I felt her hands on my back, and she rolled me over. She'd taken the harness off her, and she held the dildo in her hand. She pushed my legs up, and she slid the cock back inside of me. She let my legs down, quickly removed the gag from my mouth and said, "Your lipstick is smeared all over, baby. You were such a good fuck, and it's time for your reward."

She took my cock in her hands, and she stroked me roughly. With my hands still cuffed there was little I could do. I was so hard and so turned on that I couldn't hold back. As my cock throbbed I cried out, and she moved her hands so that she could catch my cum in them, though quite a bit overshot them and hit me in the neck and face. "That's perfect, baby," she said. "A good cock-sucking slut like you deserved the reward for your efforts." She smeared the cum over my face and chest, rubbing it into my skin like moisturizer. When I moaned, she stuck fingers into my mouth and said, "Lick it clean like a good slut." I licked obediently, not minding the salty taste. She ran her hands over my legs, and then she reached up to the bed and took up the camera one last time. She took a number of pictures of my cum-smeared face.  

When she set down the camera, she pulled the dildo out of my ass, and then she helped me to my feet. I was very unsteady and sore, though not unpleasantly so. She led me slowly over to the mirror and said, "I wanted you to see this, baby. I've never seen you sexier, my love." As I stared at myself, she released my hands from the cuffs.  

I was amazed at what I saw. My lipstick was smeared horribly, making me resemble Heath Ledger in Batman. The cum smeared on my face and chest had begun to congeal, leaving streaks all over me. And somehow, that wig had stayed on my head. Even so, I looked like I'd been the loser in the sexual battle of a lifetime.  

On second thought, I knew I was the winner.  

"C'mon," she said, taking my arm, "let's get cleaned up." As she led me toward the bathroom she said, "Did you have fun?"

"Honey," I replied, "I'll be your cock-sucking cum-slut anytime!"


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