“Squeak-screech, squeak-screech, squeak-screech, squeak-screech…”
It was shortly before 3am on a Wednesday night…I was only able to fall into a halfway-decent sleep about 4 hours ago. I have a few important work meetings coming up in the next few hours, and as such, I was hoping to be focused and fresh for the workday. About 2 months ago, I moved into a quaint 8-unit apartment building. It had a charming 1970’s vibe; avocado green bathroom tile, stucco ceilings and accents of pressed wood paneling in the common areas. It was close enough to the city to yield an urban lifestyle, yet far enough to feel that I am stepping away from the fast life every now and then. Most importantly, the price was right, and up until a few nights ago, it was about as quiet and peaceful as a multi-unit residence could be. I had the option of a lower floor or an upper floor unit when I moved in, and to save a few dollars I opted for the lower floor unit…I suppose leaving the temperament of upstairs neighbors’ to fate was a wild card in exchange for cheaper rent.
While I have not become too familiar with my neighbors & their daily lives, it seems that some new activities, either of the hardcore pound-off, masturbatory kind, or of the straight up rodeo-style fucking kind have been taking place. If it is the latter as opposed to the former, good on them. Still, it’s annoying to be consistently woken up, on a weekday no less, and with a 40-50 hour a week job which requires the type of focus and attention that benefits from a good night’s sleep. Annoying even more so from a potential activity that could greatly benefit from a bit of discipline and finesse, at least from my viewpoint.
I’m new in town…moved to the city as a result of taking a job that seemed to be a good fit to my original course of professional study. I graduated with an engineering degree about 10 years ago and, officially, this is my first career-dedicated job directly related to the years of engineering studies that was put in to earn that degree. While I was able to take on some associate-level work and a few special engineering projects back out on the east coast over the years, it was never my main source of income. While moving to the Midwest and focusing on the professional aspects of my body of work seems to be the responsible thing to do, it is a big shift, both in the type of work and the amount of money made, to how I made my living over the years.
Like a handful of people, I stumbled upon my money-making gig as a result of trying to find a means to pay tuition and college housing, keep food on the table, and have enough to stay entertained in-between studies. My parents helped where they could during my freshman year, but considering they spent their lives in the working-class, doing what they could to keep mouths fed and the lights on, they were not capable, nor were they expected, to take the majority of those expenses. My older sister Jenna, under similar family circumstances, was the first in the family to get a college degree, a fine arts degree specifically, and it was her design friends that led me to my income source, among a few other things, throughout my 20’s and early 30’s.
Having run track and cross-country in high school, it’s fair to say I was in lean and athletic shape entering my college years. I only hit the weight room about once a week during my high school years so I wasn’t overly bulky. My physical shape, along with an incident my sister shared with her friends involving my 12 year-old self, awkwardness and all, going into her room and slipping into some of her prom wear while she was in high school, ultimately led to some unique modeling work.
Some of Jenna’s clique consisted of alternative fashion designers, photographers, and media publication professionals that, while niche and focused to certain clientele, yielded lucrative opportunities; decent cash for a few photo shoots, modeling sessions, and media events covered college expenses after freshman year and throughout my college career. My first experience in this social circle came from a good designer friend of my sister’s, Claire, who wanted to try out some androgynous, mostly female-leaning fashions with a male(ish) body…I became a candidate upon a recommendation from my sister, underpinned by her sharing the prom garments incident in our younger years. Our first meeting was at a local coffee shop a few blocks off the campus grounds. Once there, I met Claire. She was tall, around 6′ even in the leather ballet flats she was wearing, with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes, and fair skin with an athletic, toned body. She was dressed in dark denim skinny jeans, and a black canvas utility jacket over a fitted white shirt. After brief pleasantries we sat down and ordered drinks.
“So, I hear that you have a thing for dancing around in stockings, heels, and lacey little panties. I’d like to hear more,” Claire casually said in-between sips of a chai latte she ordered from the shop we met up at.
“I wouldn’t go as far as saying I have a thing, and it’s not like I rocked out the whole outfit, dress and all. I noticed a few things on her bed that I’ve never manisa escort really seen before as I walked by, and my curiosity at the time compelled me to try a few things on. Tell me, what’s your interest with my childhood curiosity?” I replied in as confident of a tone as I could under Claire’s open, yet dominant presence.
“Oh honey, I wouldn’t go as far as saying it’s an interest in your actions, specifically,” recited in a dismissive voice with a slight smirk. “Parts of my work take me to outlying, fringe-areas, creatively. Some of that work has a loose relation to the incident your sister shared with me, and considering the good word she put in on your behalf, I thought it might be worth a photo session for something I’m working on.” After another sip of her drink, she looked up with a bigger smile and said, “you’re the type of fresh meat that could push some of my work forward, so if you’re willing to tap into that childhood experience again and slip into some of my femme gear, it will be worth your time.”
“Of course. Honestly it would help with education expenses, and it beats delivering pizzas and waiting tables. I’m in.” I answered, again somewhat shakingly, but trying to portray some degree of coolness and confidence in her presence.
“Great!” Claire handed me a card, “be at this address at 6pm sharp on Thursday.”
I arrived at the address; a converted old warehouse which Claire rented for design studio space. She greeted me upon entry and introduced me to her photographer, Ashley. We walked over to a table where some items of clothing were laid out and which she succinctly described as we approached the area. There was an exquisite, black corset top of a unique stretch nappa leather Claire had been working on with some material designers. The top had gunmetal-colored, tribal embroidery throughout the piece. While it was not a true corset with steel boning, it did lace up the back and did shape the waist down a bit. To contrast the corset top, a black lace garter belt with 4 garters rested on the table next to a leather brief with a lace up front and a v-shaped back, which, aside from keeping plumbers crack to a minimum, kept the ass cheeks free and exposed. Claire assured me that the leather was the same as the corset top, allowing enough stretch to handle everything from, bulbous lady lips, to a micro penis, to a ‘foot-long Jamaican cock’ in her own words.
“Don’t worry, your package will be the first to christen it,” Claire whispered to my ear.
Accenting the ensemble were gunmetal grey silk stockings, long enough to accommodate the legs on my 6’2 frame. Next to the stockings were a black leather riding crop with heavy crystal accents at the end of the handle, and a pair of wrist-length, dove grey leather gloves with a snap across the wrist and cutouts at the base of each knuckle. Each finger had perforations on the front and back, and the snap button and wrist ending was crystal accented like the crop.
“Looks like you went a little crazy with your bedazzling kit, Claire.” I said as I gently picked up the crop.
“I’m pretty sure the insurance company would care a lot less about a few of these items if I did, in fact, bedazzle the shit out of them. That said, remember your ass is going to be exposed to fresh air once you’re in my gear; and I won’t hesitate to use the crop, the gloves, or a combination of each on it. Besides, I have one more surprise for our shoot,” she said as she pulled a box from under the display table.
Claire then opened the box and pulled out a pair of ankle boots made of a soft, medium grey suede. They had a back zipper, a shaft that peaked around 1 inch above the ankle and sloped down to the vamp. They were single-soled and rested on a 4 ½ inch stiletto heel.
“Once we’re done with the shoot, I hope you’ll slip off that cock pouch and do a little penis windmill dance for me in those stilettos. Although they’re a shade taller than what most of the good girls wear at a high school prom, I’m sure you can make due,” Claire sultrily muttered with a smirk on her face. Obviously, my sister shared a few details of the prom wear incident with her that we didn’t discuss in our first meeting.
“I’m sure your Jamaican friend would flop out a much better penis windmill than me…honestly, I’ve been out of practice since my younger days”. In trying to sound confident, I was genuinely a bit intimidated by the shoes; at the time my biggest worry was my face plowing to the concrete floor, and Claire had a point; in going back to the day I rocked some of my sister’s stuff, her shoes were kid’s play. “Before we start snapping the pics, please let me take a lap. I don’t want to appear as a wobbling baby flamingo, you know, with first impressions and all.”
“Of course.” Claire reassured me. “Besides, take a look at the sole, I’ve placed a slip-resistant patch, and some inserts for comfort. Jenna mentioned that you’re a true size 41, these booties are a 42, so you should adjust fine to them. It’s not like you’re a rookie in heels…after the first time, it’s like riding a bike. Anyway, strip down, take a shower, we’ll do a bit mavişehir escort more prep work and then we’ll get started.”
I headed to the bathroom area, which had a walk-in shower. After washing up I stepped out into the open area in a bath towel wrapped around my waist.
“Alright, drop the towel, we need to get you ready and dressed.” With a bit of shyness and reluctance I pulled the towel off my waist, buck ass nude and in front of two attractive women older than I.
“Well, we’re going to have to manage the hair situation. Good thing for you Ashley’s a licensed esthetician. What are you thinking, Ashley? Not much chest hair, but definitely legs, forearms & underarms, with a male version landing strip?”. Ashley responded, “sounds about right. I’ll do the lower tummy as well, just in case the top hits higher on the waist.”
“Give him that treatment, but I’m confident in the measurement,” Claire said as she walked toward the clothing.
Ashley skillfully applied a sweet-scented wax one area at a time. With each application, she applied a canvas-like strip of cloth, and ripped up, revealing a raw yet hairless area of skin for each area for the arms, legs, and torso. She displayed an extra degree of skill around by cock, being sure not to get any wax on the patch that was to remain. Even so, the experience as a whole was slightly painful.
“You handled that like a champ, and your skin isn’t overly irritated,” Ashley said as she grabbed a lotion. “We’ll treat the sensitive areas as there’s a bit of redness in the areas where skin will show, but I can touch up the photos if it’s really apparent”. Ashley seemed to tie in her two skills rather well, and was a bit more at ease as the shoot progressed. As she was cleaning up she advised, “Claire, we’re ready to get the wardrobe on.”
Slipping in to the clothing was a group effort. Sitting naked on the table where the session wardrobe was laid out, I slipped into the top first, with Ashley lacing the back. As she was doing that I brought my feet & legs toward my body, and looped the garter belt around my legs, bringing it as close to the waist as I could while sitting on the table. Once Ashley had the lacing done, I stood up and pulled the garter belt around over my exposed crotch and around my waist, directly below the top. I sat back down, careful not to sit on the garters. Claire and Ashley each had one stocking, and each took a leg to carefully slip each stocking on. Before the garters were attached, I pulled on the lace-up front briefs. Once the leather panties were on and in place, Claire started fastening each of the garters while she instructed Ashley to start prepping the camera equipment. She then grabbed the booties and carefully placed each one on my feet, being careful not to get a deep impression on the suede. Once the shoes were on, I stood up. I wasn’t overly off-balance, but I definitely felt wobbly.
“Alright, take your lap,” Claire instructed, as she grabbed the crop and gloves. I gingerly took a few steps, becoming slightly more sure-footed with each step, but remaining to look down, making sure not to step awkwardly or into a crack in the floor. As I was too focused on walking to know what was going on around me, I suddenly felt a targeted snap of cold leather against my ass, followed by a more substantive smack, like that of a hand. As I took my focus off of the floor, it turned out that Claire snuck up behind me. The gloves were on, and the crop was in hand.
“I just needed to get that out of my system, now hold this,” Claire handed the crop to me, then proceeded to unsnap the button on each glove, after which she gently tugged, one finger at a time, until they slipped off. “Now, I’ll take that, and you take these,” as we traded between the gloves and crop. “Slip those on, then I’ll hand you the crop, and we can get started. Nice job by the way with the heels, I knew you’d handle them like a pro.”
We proceeded with the photo session, following Ashley’s direction as it related to movement and pose. Claire adjusted the clothing as necessary, and after a couple of hours the session wrapped up. A few weeks after our first photo session, Claire invited me back to the studio. She was in her office area, behind her desk, where she had a copy of an underground alt-fashion magazine where the photos were published.
“Thanks to the spread, some clients approached me to do some custom work. They have some deep pockets, so it made the whole thing worthwhile. As a thank you, I have a few gifts.” First, Claire handed me a check for the time. “This should cover your tuition for the rest of the year, but hopefully you don’t go spending it all in one place.” Second, she pulled out a framed copy of one of the pics taken; in this pic, I was standing in a wide-leg stance, with the briefs slightly unlaced, and the shaft of the crop pressing against my crotch, while grabbing both ends of the crop.
“It turns out that this was the photographic moneyshot that landed the work. While I don’t run a smut operation, if you took those gloved fingers to your cock and produced an actual moneyshot, we’d have probably menderes escort made some more cash. Nonetheless, this pic got my new client’s imagination running wild, so it seemed monumental enough to frame. On that note, I have one more gift,” she said as she slid open one of the desk’s top drawers and pulled out the leather gloves, after which she handed them to me.
“I’m flattered, but didn’t you mention that the gloves and crop were insured due to the crystal ornamentation?”
“After the design of the crop was done, I ended up parting ways with it to compensate for the materials, but my new commission gave me flexibility on what to do with these, and since you wore them well…not to mention the fact that I got a good ass smack on you while wearing them, I think you’ve earned them.”
“Thanks. I like them, but they’re too sentimental now, plus they seem too high-end to do any kind of moneyshot, so I’ll save them for special occasions. Of course, if I ever need a good spanking, I’ll hand them back to you.”
Claire smiled, “Do whatever you want with them, they’re yours now. I’ll definitely have more work for you down the line if you’re interested, so by the time you’re ready to walk away from this type of work, you’ll have some serious cash and some serious gear to show for it.”
“I look forward to working with you, Claire.”
As our professional relationship evolved over the years, I became confident and empowered by both her talent and skill in her craft, and our natural chemistry in communication and collaboration. As we continued to work together, we were often mistaken as a couple in public events…probably augmented more by the fact that we were playfully flirtatious with each other. Under different circumstances, I’d like to think a relationship would have happened, but as the years progressed it was Ashley who ultimately sealed the deal; as she and Claire got married and eventually settled down on a nice parcel of land out on the west coast. Even with her confidence and intimidating presence, Claire often mentioned that she struggled with her sexual identity, and that Ashley gave her both a balance to her personality and the feeling of a full, body-and-spirit love, which she was certain she’d never experience with another person.
“You’re young and fierce, yet delightfully well-balanced for an alt-fashion model kiddo,” she told me one day. “When you finally settle, I want to meet the girl that anchors you.”
“What if it’s a guy?” I replied.
“Ha! Just because you rock a corset and stilettos on par with the fiercest of drag queens, there’s no way it’s going to be a guy…both you and I know if it were, that whole thing would have happened by now.”
“I can’t deny that,” I smiled; with a much higher degree of certainty and confidence than when we first met at the coffee shop years ago.
Taking all of that life experience into consideration, I knew I had to come up with a solution to my upstairs-neighbor issues. Having not gotten a bunch of sleep the night before, I pulled out two large wooden chests. Upon opening the first one, a pleasant aroma of oak and leather permeated the air. The first item that immediately caught my attention were a few loose pieces of translucent parchment taped together; the contents being the pair of dove grey, crystal-accented leather gloves Claire had given me after our first shoot. I couldn’t help but unwrap the parchment and slip them on, but to solve the problem at hand, I knew I needed something more dramatic. Gingerly pulling out other, similarly wrapped items I came across the ideal accessory to start this ensemble; a pair of 16-button length black leather gloves, unlined, with a wrist opening which was fastenable by 3 steel buttons. Further down I found a medium-length riding crop of black cowhide, with a simple black flapper and a leather wristloop at the base of the handle. Finally, near the bottom of the chest I pulled out a pair of black suede stiletto boots, knee-length, with a pointed toe and a slender 4 ½ inch heel. “It just like riding a bike…”, Claire’s words echoed in my head. With my dove grey, leather-clad thumb and index finger, I gently pulled the side zipper down to the instep to inspect the inside of the boot. The leather lining was as smooth as ever, and the foot bed, while slightly worn from prior wears, seemed ready for their next act.
With the first pieces of my ensemble selected, I opened the other chest. There, I pulled out a black silk overbust corset accented with red piping around the area of each of the steel bones. The shoulder straps remained in-tact, and when Claire designed this particular piece she added facets to attach 6 suspenders at the base. From there, I pulled out a silk bag which held numerous pairs of silk stockings. To coordinate with the corset, I chose a black pair with red lacing at the top. Near the bottom of the chest was a shallow box nearly the size of the chest’s base. Upon opening the box I pulled out a Volto (full-face) venetian mask with a black & red feather plume toward the top. The mask covered my full face, and aside from a few ruffled feathers was in fine condition. To nearly complete the ensemble, I pulled out a stainless steel anal plug attached to a faux fox tail in red and black. Having only one prior experience with this, I knew I’d need to find lube…but thankfully there was a sex shop a few mlies out of town, and c’mon, a sex shop without lube is like a fountain without water.