1 comments/ 39571 views/ 3 favorites Garnet: a Story of Submission Ch. 01 By: frillypanty 1. First Approach I was no stranger to night time internet sites and chat rooms. It was my habit to trawl or 'surf' through them when I couldn't sleep – and that recently had been with increasing regularity. The invitation had struck a chord deep within me, an invitation for 'a co-operative submissive, willing to submit her or himself to the directions of a trio of Mistresses' to make immediate contact. Still, in addition to the vague but insistent prompting from within to respond, a cautionary note also entered my mind. 'What, if anything, would I become involved in? Something I could neither control nor escape from? Don't be daft,' I told my self! 'How could anyone make you do anything you don't want to – from the other end of an anonymous computer link?' 'What exactly would this involve?' I eventually sent, without signature. The reply came back 'adventures and experiences of a sexual nature.' Perhaps I'd better introduce myself, fill in some background, so to speak. At the age of 28, at that time I'd recently come to London from a provincial city, to take up a middle management post in a company selling fine art via the internet. As often as not, I worked from home; mine was a lonely existence. Only five feet seven inches tall, with a slim body weighing less than nine stones, with proportionately small hands and feet, I'm hardly 'God's gift to women.' Particularly when you add my fresh faced, fair skinned complexion and curly blond locks. Altogether, I'd never had much success with girls, except as friends – girls were inclined to treat me almost as one of their own sex, even to the extent of sharing quite intimate details of their personal lives. When I tried to form a relationship it would start out fine, as I deferred to her wishes and allowed her to make any and all decisions; but she would soon tire of that and become irritated by my indecisiveness, and so the relationship would founder. Other men didn't seem to be able to regard me as anything other than a useful, amiable idiot, onto whom they could offload unwanted tasks or make up a foursome, to be paired off with some unwanted additional female: I'd spent much of my leisure time alone, since I came to London. I have to admit that my attitude to both men and women was highly coloured by my previous family life. My father was a bully of the highest order, given to physically abusing my mother and frightening the life me – for whom he had only the utmost contempt, due to my lack of stature, my minimal physical presence and my inability to partake successfully in any form of sport. The only member of our family he couldn't control was my sister, eighteen months older and two inches taller than me, with fiery red hair and a body and a temper to match. She stood up to him alright and, strangely, he respected her for it – but it was no use, I couldn't emulate her. The only decent thing he did for us was to depart this life early, leaving my mother reasonably well off and the three of us to fend for ourselves as best we could. But by then I was incapable of independent thought or action. It wasn't a case of having had my self confidence diminished; I'd never had the opportunity to develop any! I settled to a suddenly peaceful life under the protection of my sister and, to a lesser extent, our mother. It wasn't until four years after his death that I'd managed to acquire some degree of self esteem and moved to an independent life in London – such as it was. 'A trio of Mistresses,' the thought kept nagging; it took me a long time to screw up enough nerve to continue. Even then it wasn't really a world shattering response, 'I'd like to explore this further. J.' 'Okay, we might be willing,' the response came back, 'but who are we talking to? If you have a webcam, plug it in and let's have a look at you.' With that, an image appeared on my screen. There were indeed three women. Dressed alike in all but colour in lacy satin corselets, panties and bras', with nylon clad legs supported by three suspender straps aside, emanating from the lace hem of the corselet. Their feet were clad in plain court shoes and they wore satin hoods that fitted tight around their heads, with eye slots that left only their nostrils, mouths and chins free. The one on the left was in shades of yellow, the one in the centre blue and third green. The exposed lower face, shoulders, arms and thighs of the one in blue were as fresh and fair as my own; the one in green had the same pink, slightly freckled complexion as my sister; and the skin of the one in yellow glowed in a glorious golden tan that indicated a sub-continental or maybe Caribbean origin. I set up my camera link and waited. The next response, the first instruction, arrived quickly. 'If you are serious, remove your clothes, carefully.' Had I switched off then things would have been different, but I didn't, I complied. Naked I stood in front of the camera, my face turned down my hands shielding my cock. 'Hands to your sides and turn slowly in front of the camera, so that we can get a good look at you,' the new message read. Again I complied. I didn't expect the next order: 'Masturbate for us.' Pretty well hypnotised by now I obeyed, my hands going to my already stiffening and thickening cock, working, caressing with increasing rhythm and frequency until I felt the build up then, suddenly a little devil of my own entering my mind, as I erupted I aimed at the camera spilling my load over the lens, reflected of course in the image now over the screen. 'Time for introductions,' came up on the screen, 'I am Miss Topaz and my two companions, all of whom you must regard as your mistresses, are Miss Emerald and Miss Sapphire. Tomorrow you will acquire four outfits similar to the ones we're wearing, except that yours will be in shades of pink and crimson, and you will log on again tomorrow morning at exactly 1.15am properly dressed – as we are. You will use the name Garnet.' The screen went blank as a small nervous pulse of excitement started in my groin; tomorrow, or rather today, was Saturday. I could, of course, have ignored the directive I'd received; treated the whole thing as some kind of silly fantasy on my part – to be taken no further, instantly discarded. But I knew that I wouldn't ... or couldn't, somehow I knew I was compelled to obey. Perhaps the pre-emptory demand made upon me, the obvious expectation of my compliance, re-awoke the feelings of security I'd experienced so recently under, the admittedly benign, domination and direction of my immediate female relatives – and particularly that of my sister – that dictated my response. Whatever, I knew that I would be spending a large part of it tracking down an outlet that would supply me with four sets of lingerie similar to those that were imprinted on my mine and that, as directed, at 1.15am Sunday I would be logging on as Garnet, dressed in some newly acquired femininity. [Topaz made an error, of course; she should have said 'Today you will acquire ......' history of the emergence of Miss Topaz, and her two companions, can be found in 'Velvet, a Story of Obedience, Parts 1 to 4' fp] Garnet: a Story of Submission Ch. 02 2. Second Commission I thought long and hard how I was going to accomplish this. It wouldn't be the same as my first experience in buying girls clothes for myself; that time the exotic nature of the costume I'd been ordered to acquire necessitated a visit to an Anne Summers outlet, where the young woman who'd served me hadn't 'batted an eyelid' at the concept of a young man being clad in corselet, bra, panties, stockings, high heels and a mask, and had been both helpful at the time and informative as to the sizes I would need to purchase, if my Mistresses ordered me to extend my feminine wardrobe. Well, they'd done just that. Only, this time, the clothes I was required to buy were of a far more conventional nature, and I'd have to visit the more traditional stores – at least, as I considered the commission in a more detached and less panicky frame of mind, I would need to do so for some of them! This time I had been directed to buy myself three changes of outfit for each of three different scenarios: their first requirement was that I present myself in the persona of a young business woman; the second that I assume the personality of a pretty, innocent young provincial girl; and, the third that I turn myself into a slut. In considering the problems of acquiring the necessary wardrobes, with the minimum embarrassment to myself I'd become transfixed by the order in which my Mistresses had dictated their desires. It suddenly occurred to me that I could reverse the order in which I fulfilled my mission and start with the clothes I needed to become a slut! For that purpose I could return to the scene of my earlier expedition and, maybe, even secure the assistance of my earlier mentor, Genevieve. After all, surely an Anne Summers shop would be able to transform into a slut if anywhere could! It didn't occur to me that I didn't have to change myself into a female of any kind for any one, if I didn't want to; I suppose, having experienced the excitement of dressing in my previously prescribed femininity and presenting myself in that role on the web, at least subconsciously, I wanted to – change myself into some kind of female, that is! Perhaps I'd better explain myself. A childhood spent under the domination of an overbearing bully of a father had prevented me from developing any form of self confidence or self worth. Even after my father died I allowed myself to succumb to the admittedly far kinder and well meaning domination of my sister and, to a lesser extent, my mother. It wasn't until the age of 28 that I managed to summon up sufficient courage to start a separate life in London, buying and selling antiques on the inter-net, still leading a more or less solitary life, trying to find fulfilment at one remove on the web. I was easy prey to my three newly acquired inter-net Mistresses – Miss Emerald, Miss Sapphire and Miss Topaz. It was they who'd induced me to transform myself into a lingerie clad trollop and to expose myself on the net four times weekly. It was from them, too, that I had received my latest orders. [The account of Garnet's first encounter with his three mistresses can be found in 'Garnet: a Story of Submission, Ch 1' fp] ********* Early that summer Saturday morning I made my way to Long Acre just as the shop was opening and, to my relief, found that Genevieve was working that day and that she wasn't at all surprised to see me. 'I thought you might be back,' she said. 'What is it? Have you received another commission from your mistress?' Somewhat shamefaced, despite my relief at finding her available, I explained my mission, detailing the three different outfits I was now images I was directed to achieve, each one in triplicate, with the added requirement to 'remember my specified colour scheme'. Genevieve considered the problem before acknowledging that there would be no difficulty in turning me into a slut. 'For the other outfits you'll need to go to more conventional outlets, Debenham's and such,' she told me. 'Look, it's my Saturday afternoon off today, if you like I'll meet you at Oxford Circus after I finish here and we'll spend the afternoon sorting you out.' As you can guess, I accepted her offer with alacrity. In a business like manner Genevieve ushered me into one of the changing rooms before, after telling me to strip, hightailing it back into the shop. Left to myself, I removed my clothes as bid and sat, acutely conscious of my state of nudity and my obvious masculinity, for what seemed like an age but was I suppose no more than ten minutes before she returned with a her arms full of what appeared to be highly exotic assorted feminine outer and underwear. I wasn't mistaken – the underwear particularly proved to be highly exotic! 'Three sets of clothes, you said,' Genevieve commented, as she proceeded to hang garments of on the hooks attached to the wall of the cubicle. 'We'll start with these. I've brought you a set of more conventional knickers and bra' to start with, so that we can chose the outfits first before we concentrate on the appropriate underwear. As you can see, everything I've selected is in shades of pink ands crimson, as directed.' The 'more conventional knickers and bra'' proved to be only more conventional in comparison with the other underwear Genevieve had selected – the knickers were a pair of flimsy, lacy, more or less transparent pale pink panties that held my cock and scrotum in position but did nothing to disguise their outline or screen them from view. The matching bra' was equally inadequate in concealing my masculine chest and nipples. Without comment Genevieve produced a pair of breast forms similar in size to those she'd previously sold me, but these were augmented with realistic nipples and aureole – the nipples projecting in a 'half engorged' condition suggesting, the beginnings, at least, of arousal; an arousal that I was rapidly echoing in my pulsing, stiffening masculinity. The first of the outfits that Genevieve eventually settled on comprised a vivid shocking pink leatherette micro-skirt, the hem of which fell less than three inches below the point of my crotch; with a semi-transparent blouse bearing a ruched collar and front that buttoned only to slightly above my diaphragm, allowing clear sight of the centre strap and the inside of the cups of my bra'. With the blouse tucked into the waist band of my skirt the material was flimsy enough to allow the rest of my bra' to shadow through and, to allow the imprint of my false nipples to be clearly discernable. The second outfit was a startlingly short full skirted micro-tunic, again barely covering my bum, in filmy deep crimson voile. The top was both collarless and sleeveless with the sides open to the waist. When, to Genevieve's direction, I twirled and gyrated as if 'at a disco' the skirt flew up around me to expose, momentarily of course, my barely concealed cock now straining more than ever against the insubstantial confines of the flimsy femininity of my panties. I was relieved to see that the pale pink, slender fitting skirt of the third outfit fell to below my knees; that is, until I appreciated that the back was split to within about three inches of the waist band, this time allowing glimpses of the back of my delicate panties every time I moved. The blouse that accompanied it was an even paler pink and virtually transparent – far more so than the first. My bra' and the imprint of my nipples were clearly visible. Satisfied with the outer garments, Genevieve now produced a welter of underwear from which she eventually chose three sets 'to compliment the outfits'. As I say, Genevieve made all the choices; I didn't have any say in it. The three sets she chose were all in filmy, crimson nylon, decorated with pink lace trims. All three bras' were the same with under-wired cups that supported the breast forms, holding them firmly in place. The cups of each were split vertically, with the splits wired and trimmed in pink lace each side, uncovering the nipples of my breast form allowing them to press through the splits against the fabric of my blouses and the bodice of my tunic. The three suspender-belts matched the bras'. As did the knickers although the three pairs selected were of completely different styles; 'to compliment your three different outfits'. For under the pink leatherette micro-skirt Genevieve chose a miniscule thong, with a waist band and back strap in pink lace, far too small to contain my cock and scrotum, leaving them hanging out of the side. To go under the flared skirt of my tunic-dress her choice was a pair of panty-briefs, with the front split and trimmed with lace, similar to the cups of my bra', through which my masculinity spilled dangling down over the cill of the lace trimmed crotch. Selected for the long fitting, back split, skirt was a pair of full panties trimmed as before but with additional bands of pink lace, set in layers, across the back panel. It was only too obvious why Genevieve considered the styles matching to my outfits! I knew only to well what would be on display, both in terms of my false bosom and my ill-disguised masculinity, if I ever wore any of the outfits in public! But, I consoled myself that was unlikely – even if my internet exposure continued; at least that was anonymous. Little did I know! Genevieve completed the undertaking by adding a selection of pink and crimson stockings, and by duplicating the bras' and suspender-belts and triplicating the knickers. 'You never know with underwear,' she added, somewhat cryptically. 'We'll have to consider appropriate shoes this afternoon; now off home with you. Meet me at Oxford Circus at one-thirty. You'd better wear the ordinary panties and bra', with your ordinary breast forms, under tee-shirt and jeans. That way you'll stand a better chance of being taken for a girl, while we sort out the rest of your order.' My heart quailed. Accustomed as I'd become to sitting in my own flat, in front of a webcam dressed in lingerie, exposed to anyone who chose to visit the site, at least then I was masked! The prospect of travelling around London dressed in female underwear to enhance the chances of being taken for a girl – albeit under the androgynous uniform of tee-shirt and jeans – suddenly brought home to me the enormity of what I was allowing myself to submit to! Did I really want to allow a trio of anonymous women to prescribe my lifestyle? Even to the extent of allowing them to feminise me in the way they so obviously intended? I could, of course, have broken the whole thing off there and then. Neither my mistresses nor Genevieve knew where I lived. I could simply ditch my morning's purchases, along with my web-site costumes, and forget the whole thing! However, clasping my newly acquired apparel, like an obedient child I set out for my flat at Camden Lock knowing full well that, despite my severe misgivings ... almost heart stopping fears, I would be waiting for her at Oxford Circus as she had directed. ********* Sitting in front of a computer masked and clad like some fantasy of a dominatrix, even allowing a personable young woman to clothe you in exotic and erotic femininity, is one thing; stepping outside into the public arena conscious that underneath a conventional exterior clad in a set of flimsy, filmy women's underwear was another, particularly as the unisex nature of the outer apparel and the modest but perceptible twin bulges of my contrived bust-line were all intended to mislead others as to my gender. Additionally, of course, the whole nature of the adventure plus the pull of my lacy panties across my genitalia was causing me untold problems in trying to contain an arousal that seriously threatened to destroy the whole illusion – if illusion there was. Genevieve was waiting as I emerged from the underground station into the bright, warm summer's day. 'Not bad,' she commented, 'but I think we can do better than that.' With that somewhat enigmatic remark she plunged into a nearby boutique, leaving me standing on the pavement outside, to emerge some ten minutes later bearing a crop-top which she thrust into my hands with instructions to 'swap that for the tee-shirt'. I looked at her in amazement, totally undecided as to what I was expected to do next. 'Come on,' she said, 'no-ones going to bat an eyelid in this day and age at a girl swapping her top in the street. You've got a bra' on haven't you? For goodness sake, girl, get on with it!' At that, not at that time registering that she had addressed me as female, I reluctantly stripped my shirt off replacing it as quickly as possible with the proffered garment; getting a wolf whistle from a couple of passing lads as I did so. I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or pleased ... on the whole, as the adventure suddenly now took a new turn, I settled for 'pleased'. 'Let your jeans slide down over hips a bit,' Genevieve breathed in my ear, as she led me along Oxford Street, 'it'll display a bit more of your tummy, and allow the waist band of your panties to show above your jeans.' Startled, but again unexpectedly but pleasurably surprised at the prospect of increasing my subterfuge, I did my best comply. Genevieve, supervising my acquisitions of course, chose Debenham's to fulfil the second part my mission, turning me into an innocent provincial girl. For my third persona, the young business woman, she went 'up market'. It was in Debenham's, ushered by Genevieve into the changing room along with an armful of clothes, complying with the instruction to 'get your jeans and top off', that I revealed what I had feared. In trying, not always successfully, to control my arousal my panties had become initially soaked and consequently stained with pre-come ... at least, I hoped it was only 'pre-come'. Genevieve looked at the mess critically. 'That won't do,' she said, 'we can't have you trying on clothes over those.' Kneeling in front of me she grasped the waist band of my panties and slid them down over my legs and off my feet – which, shamefaced, I lifted one at time to assist her in so doing. Still kneeling she grasped my throbbing and solid, if not rigid, cock and closed her lips and mouth around it. My arousal was instantaneously transformed into a raging hard-on which exploded in floods into her receptive mouth, all of which she swallowed with every sign of comfort and even enjoyment. It was the first time I'd ever been fellated. After sucking me dry she used my already soiled panties to clean around her mouth and around my genitalia. Standing, she bent slightly to slide her hands up under her skirt and divest her-self of her own pale lemon, lacy panties which she handed to me with the obvious inference. Wordlessly, I bent to step into them and pull them up around me. It was yet another new sensation; I was beginning to get used to wearing girl's knickers but, so far, they'd always been my own knickers – now here I was wearing someone else's knickers, still warm from their body. After what Genevieve had done for me, and to me, I was incapable of raising an erection! Even the knowledge of the secret hidden in my panties, and the intriguing thought that Genevieve was now knickerless under her skirt, couldn't raise any response – for the time being; so at least I had no more trouble with uncontrollable arousal for the rest of the afternoon, which was spent in a welter of clothes buying. ********* When we finally left the West End for my flat, I was the possessor of six more outfits, with underwear to match, duplicated and triplicated as Genevieve had previously prescribed, with an accompaniment of stockings, shoes and make-up. We needed a taxi. 'Hells teeth,' was the driver's comment, 'you girls certainly know how to go on spree, don't you. What was it a 'shop till you drop bet' or something?' We made a play of ignoring him, but managed to encourage him into a bout of verbal flirtation for the rest of the journey. Again I was surprised at how secretly thrilled I was to be taken as feminine – and, presumably one worth flirting with at that. Later, when I added up the cost of the expedition, I realised that – so far – complying with my mistresses demands had cost me the best part of two-and-half thousand pounds. It was as well that my hitherto solitary and rather frugal life style, funded by a relatively well paid job, had given me the wherewithal to afford it. Back in my flat Genevieve wanted me to try model my new outfits. To be honest I didn't take much persuading. After the experience of buying them, and the strange but pleasurable feelings the whole escapade had roused, I was only too willing to begin my life as a girl; even though I imagined, at that stage, that it would be some kind of alternative life style that would only be exposed on the web and that I'd be able to turn on and off as I wanted. And so, after a rigorous shower supervised but not shared by Genevieve, I modelled my newly acquired femininity. As a provincial girl, Genevieve had provided me with two skirt and blouse outfits and one dress, all three demurely reaching to just above my knees and covering my throat and arms. My corresponding underwear was in printed delicate cotton, trimmed with broderie anglaise as opposed to lace, and consisted of matching sets of bra', panties, suspender-belt and half-slip. Having become accustomed to the feel of more exotic fabrics against my body I was surprised how arousing the touch of the delicate cotton could be – being cotton I suppose I'd anticipated that it would feel very little different to my own conventional masculine underwear. To provide me with a business girl persona Genevieve had chosen two suits and another dress. This time the slim tailored skirts fell to below my knees and, although the jackets covered my arms, the high necked dress was finished in short sleeves that left my arms bare. Underwear this time was in matching sets of lace trimmed and panelled satin. The underskirts were replaced by full length slips held over my shoulders by spaghetti straps, with lace panelled cups over my false breasts – which Genevieve pronounced would suffice without the addition of a blouse or alternative top. Instead of panties, each set was completed by loose legged French knickers. All six sets were, of course, strictly in accordance with my prescribed colour code and accompanied by matching stockings and shoes. ********* Genevieve stopped me from reluctantly removing my final set of satin underwear and I remained clad in crimson lacy satin as she instructed me in removing sales tickets and storing my newly acquired attire in 'a proper manner'. Fortunately my flat had been previously occupied by the lesbian couple who remained as my landlords ... ladies and there was both a spare wardrobe and a spare dressing table in my bedroom. These proved perfectly adequate to house my femininity, even leaving room for 'further expansion' as Genevieve obscurely commented. My dresses, skirts, blouses and full slips now hanging sedately in the wardrobe; my matching sets of knickers, panties, bras', suspender-belts, stockings and underskirts all neatly residing in separate draws – according to their classification; and my shoes all tidily arrayed in the bottom of my wardrobe; Genevieve took my hand and led me over to my bed where she laid me down and arranged me in an orderly manner down the middle. Restraining any movement on my part she raised the hem of my slip, tucking it up around my waist to expose my lace trimmed and panelled knickers the loose leg of which my cock, already stirring in anticipation, was beginning to lift and displace. Bending over me she took my cock in her mouth for the second time that day but, this time, she was gentler in her application and contented herself – and me – with brining me a condition of throbbing readiness. Satisfied with the result she stood and shed her own outer clothes, skirt and blouse, and reaching behind her back she unclipped and a shrugged off her bra'. Already knickerless, since she'd sacrificed her panties to my necessity, she was now naked – apart from suspender-belt and stockings. Garnet: a Story of Submission Ch. 02 Climbing onto the bed she straddled my upper chest and shoulders, presenting her delicious, already salivating, quim under its neatly trimmed bush to my inexpert manipulations. Another new experience; the first time I'd licked a girl out, although I'd seen it done on internet videos – mostly by girl-on-girl. I must have provided some degree of satisfaction because eventually she sighed and slid backwards down my body until she was straddling my thighs and could grasp my rigid member, now standing up proudly from a welter of crimson lace, and feed it into the beautiful, warm, moist, velvet slit between her thighs. I was a virgin no more! But after we'd made progressively more urgent and turbulent love for a while ... or, rather, she'd made more urgent and turbulent love to me, it was midnight and time for me to prepare to submit myself to my three internet mistresses, in the manner which they dictated. Garnet: a Story of Submission Ch. 03 3. A fashion parade and the appointment of a fourth Mistress The image of my three internet mistresses came up true to time, immediately after I'd logged on at 1.15am on the Sunday morning following my second shopping expedition to extend my feminine wardrobe – as directed by them. Like me all three were clad in lace trimmed and panelled underwear – bra', corselet and panties – completed in each case with matching head mask, stockings and court shoes. The three of them in shades of blue, green and yellow respectively, as befitted their pseudonyms Miss Emerald, Miss Sapphire and Miss Topaz; as 'Garnet' I was clad in shades of pink and crimson. Genevieve stood to the side of my computer, out of range of the web-cam but in a position that gave her sight of the screen. The image of the three of them faded from the screen as it was superseded by a video recording portraying the outside of my apartment block in Camden Lock. My surprise at the scene had barely had time to register before the shock was compounded by the image of me leaving my front door and walking, followed by the camera, to the tube station. It rapidly became clear that the film was to an edited version of the previous day's quest. I was shown entering the underground system followed by a couple of shots 'in transit', before emerging at Long Acre and the Ann Summers outlet where Genevieve worked. Quickly, I was shown emerging from the shop with my first purchases – to depart back to Camden, only to re-emerge and make my way to Oxford Street, to be greeted by Genevieve. The episode of Genevieve purchasing a crop-top and persuading ... instructing me to exchange it for my tee-shirt, in full view of any interested passers by, giving them sight of my bra', was faithfully recorded; as was an extended shot of the lacy top of my panties emerging above the waist-band of my jeans, as we made our way to Debenhams. Finally, we were shown entering a taxi, again burdened with my afternoon acquisitions. The film closed with a large question mark superimposed over a close up of Genevieve. "Who is this?" My mistresses demanded. Haltingly, at first, I explained that she was an assistant at the Ann Summers branch where I'd made my initial purchases – the lingerie in which I was currently clad – and had advised me over my morning's purchases; and that she had volunteered to assist me again during the afternoon. "Is she with you now?" Came the peremptory demand. I admitted that such was the case and, at their demand, introduced Genevieve to the three of them. "Are you lovers?" Again the query was short – if not too sweet. Again, I admitted to that development in our relationship. "Prepare a video fashion show of your new costumes, all of them, for Monday night. Genevieve should be with you – from now on, in our conversations, she will be known as 'Amber' and, at least when she appears 'on screen', she will be suitably attired – as we are. You will notice that some forty minutes remain of your allotted screen time; during that interval you will wank into your panties as previously directed, remove them and use them to clean yourself up, remove your bra' and sit exposed in full view of your web-cam until it's time to log off." I could of course have called a halt to the whole escapade at that stage, even though it was now obvious that my three mistresses knew where I lived. But I didn't. I was too far under their control to extricate myself now. Meekly, with a scarlet face under my mask, and under the interested scrutiny of Genevieve, I did as I was bid – spending some twenty five minutes sitting, more or less motionless, with my exposed cock and meagre masculine bosom pictured on the screen, still clad in pink satin mask, corselet and stockings – my soiled and saturated lacy panties and my matching bra' laying discarded on the desk top. As I sat there I mused as to what Genevieve ... Amber would regard as 'suitably attired'; what kind of costume approximating to mine she would choose to set off the flawless rich dark, almost black, complexion that was the stunning bequest of her Sudanese ancestry. I was soon to find out. ********* Maybe I should explain myself a little. I left home to work in London as an internet antique dealer, largely working from my own home office. The son of an overbearing and boorish father, I had never had the opportunity to develop any kind of self confidence; and this wasn't helped when my father died by the continued, although much more kindly, domination of my sister – the only one in the family to successfully stand up to my father – and, to a lesser extent, my mother. Until I met Genevieve my existence had been more or less solitary. Hence I hade been easy prey for my three dominant internet mistresses who had introduced me to the erotic joys of acceding to their efforts to feminise me. By now, I was 'hooked' on the excitement and engendered by wearing female clothes – I don't think I could have called a halt to the process by then, even if I'd been certain of finding a way to extricate myself, now that they obviously knew who I was, and where I lived. [The account of Garnet's first encounter with Miss Emerald, Miss Sapphire and Miss Topaz; and of his initial feminisation with the assistance of Genevieve; can be found in Chapters 1 and 2 of Garnet: a Story of Submission ... fp] "Who do you think is the principal of those three?" Genevieve asked me, as we relaxed on my bed after another bout of love making. "I assume it's Topaz," I replied, after a moment's reflection, "she appears to be the one who leads any interchange we have, and to me with their issue instructions." "I'm not so sure," she said, "I wouldn't be surprised if it was the shemale, Miss Sapphire, the other two seemed to me to be deferring to her before anything was said." "Shemale!" I exclaimed. "What makes you think Miss Sapphire's a Shemale?" "Well, strictly speaking, I don't think she ... he is." Genevieve relied. "A true Shemale takes some form of medication to soften his contours, assume a more feminine form and encourage the formation of breasts. Some even ultimately undergo operation to re-assign their genitalia, but that's relatively rare. I think Sapphire is probably a transvestite. I don't think his boobs are any more real than yours and I think he carries a similar surprise to you in his panties." "A slender man like you with small hands and feet, particularly one with a fair and fresh complexion again like yours, can dress very successfully as a woman," Genevieve continued, "and will deceive anyone – even another woman – given adequate attention to hair and make-up. Once again if, like you, his body and facial hair is almost non-existent he doesn't even need much in the way of cosmetics. But problems occur when he starts to undress. Without his outer clothes the differences in his body shape at the waist and hips are apparent and no matter how well he chooses his panties and tucks himself in, there's always a tell-tale bulge in the front of his knickers. In some ways a pretty man in lingerie looks more feminine without his knickers, with his cock on show than if he keeps them on." "A pre-op Shemale usually looks best wearing a pair of pretty knickers that highlights the incongruity of his cock without actually fully exposing it, as an adjunct to an otherwise feminine body," she added, almost as an afterthought. I deferred to her superior knowledge on the subject and tried to revise my perceptions of my three mistresses, accordingly. After all, working as she was she had far more experience of the comparative male and female form than me, and her ready acquiescence to my initial feminisation mission suggested that I wasn't the first young man to visit the shop in search of exotic lingerie for himself. Now I was faced with another decision. Should I continue with this experience or call a halt to the whole thing now? And if I continued, what about the fashion show? Even as I pondered, as now seemed the norm Genevieve took the decision out of my hands. "We have a studio over the shop that we use to mount small fashion shows," she said. "Come down to the shop this evening, about six, things'll have quietened down by then. Bring all your clothes with you and we'll mount the show. I'll find some-one to record it." ********* Genevieve opened the door to me and led me through the shop and up a flight of stairs to the next level, into a fair sized room set out with a stage and a short catwalk and set with small number of theatre type seats. Her first action was to remove the light robe she was wearing to reveal an outfit that was a replica of my own and my mistresses internet satin and lace costumes, but in shades of orange that paid a stunning complement to her beautiful body. My arousal, already reasonably advanced by the thought of what was to happen, increased. Suddenly Genevieve was no longer Genevieve, but truly 'Amber'. And it was Amber who introduced me to a young Asian man, Osborn, who was to be our camera man. I must have looked a bit askance at the introduction of a third person. "You don't need to worry," Amber assured me. "I became ware of Osborn's secret by accident, one day. Working as he has for so long surrounded by exotic femininity eventually he couldn't resist the urge to try the stock for himself. Take your jeans off," the last being directed at Osborne. Meekly, he unshipped his pants, letting them slip down around his knees, to reveal that he was wearing a pair of dainty, translucent, lacy nylon panties that moulded themselves around his sizable cock, displaying it for approval. A growl from Amber, as he made to return his jeans to their accustomed position, resulted in him hastily removing them altogether and he spent the rest of the session, discharging his duties as camera-man, with his incongruous masculinity, contained but not disguised by his pretty panties, on display under a short tee-shirt. Amber directed me remove my street clothes and despite them onto one of two chairs positioned adjacent to some kind of chemical dispenser – the other chair was already the recipient of Osborne's discarded jeans; she then instructed me unpack my feminine wardrobe and to iron and press them all using the adjacent steam iron and board. Once she was satisfied that my clothes were properly prepared she decreed that I should start by modelling my 'Provincial Girl' outfits, accordingly I dressed carefully in a set of my delicate cotton underwear, with stockings and shoes, and was just about to step into my dress when she stopped me to apply make-up to my face and to 'fix' my hair. Only then would she let me finish dressing. And it was at that stage, too, that she completed her own preparations by pulling a matching face mask over her closely cropped hair. After bidding me to listen and react to her words she ushered me on to the stage and the catwalk and began her commentary. "For her visit to the City, Garnet is wearing a rather fetching little dress in light summer cotton, over printed with a pink and crimson floral motif. As you can see, as befits her somewhat reserved and retiring nature, the skirt sits demurely above her knee to protect her modesty as she bends, stretches and sits." In accordance with her instructions I did my best to suit my actions to her implied directions but the next words took me a back a bit, and my hesitation earned me a sharp reproof. "Beneath her dress, Garnets modest nature is again displayed in her choice of underwear." A pause occurred whilst, hastened by the reproof, I removed my dress as gracefully as I could. "Garnets delicate pink cotton half-slip, daintily trimmed with broderie anglaise, and again printed with pink and crimson motif, conceals matching panties and suspender-belt. A matching bra', nylon stockings and matched court shoes complete Garnets outfit." Not waiting to be prompted this time, I removed my underskirt to display my panties and suspender-belt as indicated. I was sent back twice to repeat my image, each time displaying my outer wear – both times a skirt and blouse – and uncovering the underwear beneath. It was at the end of the third display as I stood arrayed in my essential underwear that I received another shock and, again, another reproof for hesitation in complying with the implied direction. "Despite Garnet's modest appearance, she carries a secret within her panties that might be expected to produce quite a reaction from any boy or girl friend that she might invite back to her flat – and which, by virtue of that surprise, might assist her in maintaining her virtue." And here I had to remove my panties as modestly as I could to reveal my, by now rapidly stiffening and thickening, cock standing out from the femininity that framed it – stocking tops below, pretty suspender-belt above, delicate suspender straps each side. A similar pattern followed when Amber next decreed that I should model my 'Business Girl' wardrobe. Again, she addressed the matter of make-up and hair once I'd assumed my underwear before I was allowed to complete my costume. The first display was that including the short sleeved, slim skirted dress. "To reflect her self assurance and desire to achieve in a competitive environment, Career Girl Garnet is wearing a simple, rather severe but smart, linen dress, in crimson with a delicate pink pin-stripe the skirt of which sits below the knee," Amber's commentary started, "beneath her dress Garnet's personality is reflected by her choice of underwear. The silky touch of her expensive and luxurious lace trimmed satin lingerie on her body, enhances her confidence as she moves in her high powered business world. Under the full length slip the matching bra' and suspender-belt are complemented by her choice of French knickers; the whole is completed with matching stockings and court shoes." This time I needed no prompting to remove my dress and slip as carefully as possible, to demonstrate the choice of underwear. Once more the second and third outfits followed, both slim skirted business suits one in pink the other in crimson – over crimson and pink lingerie respectively. As I removed my Jacket, the first time, Amber's commentary indicated that Garnet's confidence was sufficient to enable her "to rely on the bodice of her slip to protect her modesty without further enhancement". And this time I was more-or-less prepared when, once I was reduced to my third set of knickers, bra' and suspender-belt, Amber added "such is Garnet's self assurance that the failure of her loose legged knickers to either contain or restrain her unusual appendage, is of no consequence. Should she invite either a male or female lover into her domain, she is be fully aware of her ability to control any situation that may arise." At these words I made sure that my arousal, standing out from the lace trim around the leg of my knickers, was fully visible. My third set of outfits; that Amber described as 'Disco Slut Garnet', was more or less a free for all! Amber had me prancing and gyrating on the catwalk, in pseudo disco movements, that sent both the flared skirt of my tunic and, in turn, the back-split skirt dancing and lifting – facilitating extended sightings of my cock, spilling out of the lace trimmed split front my panties under the tunic, and of the lacy bands across the back of my panties under the skirt. Additionally, both the open sided tunic top and the almost transparent blouse that matched my skirt were sufficiently tight to mould the semi-erect nipples of my false breasts, as they pressed through the front-split cups of my bras'. Again, of course, Amber had me removing my skimpy outer garments to demonstrate the inadequacies of my underwear in detail. The third outfit for 'Disco Slut Garnet'; the shocking pink leatherette micro-skirt, the semi-transparent blouse with the ruched collar and low-cut front over a nylon and lace micro-thong, the split-cup bra', suspender-belt, stockings and disco sandals; the ridiculously short length of my skirt meant that my cock, spilling sideways out of the thong, was on more or less permanent display. Amber commented, "bi-sexual Disco Garnet is intent on displaying her wares in advance, in order that there may be no mistakes. Anyone who picks her up is left in no illusion as to what they can expect once they get her stripped and ready to service any demands made of her." With that the show concluded; a show that, as signified, Osborne had recorded carefully to Amber's direction and was now ready for submission to my three inter-net mistresses. Turning to retrieve my street clothes I found, to my horror, that the dispenser had somehow leaked, or a line had burst or something and my clothes were saturated with some kind of corrosive chemical beyond any hope of recovery and were now unwearable – as were Osborne's jeans. ********* Amber picked up and discarded the ruined garments, one by one. "No hope for it, you'll have to wear one of your outfits home. You'll probably be safest as Garnet the Country Girl," she told me. "And we'll have to find something from the shop for you, too," she said to Osborne. With that she swept off downstairs leaving Osborne stood sheepishly in his pretty panties and short tee-shirt, awaiting her convenience, and me contemplating making my way back to home dressed as unmistakably female. Only the previous day I'd travelled to Oxford Circus and the length of Oxford Street wearing panties and bra' under jeans and tee-shirt – which had been quickly substituted for a crop top; but Amber had been with me, and at least I'd been wearing my own trousers, which didn't seem quite the same. Now I was faced with a journey wearing a skirt and stockings. Still, as Amber had pointed out, there seemed no hope for it. By the time Amber returned with skirt, a bra' and a pair of self supporting stockings for Osborne, I'd removed the remnants of my last Disco Slut Garnet outfit and clad myself in one of my prim skirts and blouses over my delicate cotton undies and a pair of stockings and shoes. After ushering Osborne into the remainder of his outfit, Amber addressed make-up and hair for both of us, called and paid for a taxi for us to share, before she shed her face mask and climbed into a set of motorcycle leathers. As the taxi departed Long Acre with its two rather nervous apparently female passengers, she donned a helmet and roared off without a backward glance on a powerful Japanese machine. The taxi driver deposited Osborne at his Nine Elms flat first, with a courteous "evening miss." And he extended the same civility to me as he deposited in Camden Lock. The first test was accomplished, at least in the relative gloom of the inside of a taxi on a late summer evening my charade had not been discovered. Back in my flat I retained my femininity as I unpacked and stowed away the rest of my clothes, setting aside some the items of underwear for washing, other items for pressing, and prepared and ate a light evening meal. I didn't even wipe off my make-up or do anything to disarrange my hair. Whilst I unpacking I discovered that someone ... Amber ... had added three 'shortie nighties' to my wardrobe. All in an essentially transparent chiffonous material – in crimson, rose-pink and pale pink respectively, with contrasting satin bows a threaded ribbon; each complete with three pairs of equally diaphanous matching panties. I took the hint and that night I lay in my bed clad in one of my new prizes and reviewed the whole evening: Amber dressed in her lingerie; Osborne with his substantial cock surrounded encased in delicate femininity; and my own assorted costumes and the final taxi ride home. As I did so I found my hand automatically caressing and massaging my rapidly stiffening and thickening cock through the delicious daintiness of my panties – and, I confess, exploding into my panties as I attained a much needed and satisfactory relief. Garnet: a Story of Submission Ch. 03 The nightie, the panties and my bed linen had to be added to my laundry pile the next morning. ********* At 1.15am the next morning Amber and I sat in front of my computer, masked and dressed in our matching lingerie, as the video of the fashion show was broadcast on the net. I must say it was a pretty professional job. Amber had managed to bully and direct me into some reasonable semblance of a cat-walk model, and Osborn's camera work was good. Certainly, Miss Emerald, Miss Sapphire and Miss Topaz expressed satisfaction ... in fact, more than satisfaction. "From now on," they told me, "you must consider you have four Mistresses. We three of course, and Miss Amber will act directly as our proxy. You will obey her as you would us. We shall know!"