5 comments/ 19711 views/ 8 favorites BINGO! Ch. 01 By: rikkitampa2014 Alexis, I believe her name is, cornered me in the short hallway leading off the vestibule to the downstairs bathroom, from which she was returning. "Ooooo!" she cried, sliding her hand under the lace hem of a frilly and diaphanous little top that barely hung to the lace of my thigh-highs. "I never knew a man could feel so good in women's panties." I smiled, grimly. She was treating my balls, in their microfiber second-skin, like a pair of small oval stress-relievers. "Will you come be my maid someday?" "Sure," I replied, my voice up an octave and my silver slings' heels off the ground in response to the groping. I'm pretty sure, in another context, it would've constituted reverse-gender sexual abuse. Although this being my own home and not a workplace, and given that I was head-to-toe dressed as a woman, the circumstances were mitigating. Alexis and her hand departed, thankfully, leaving me a moment to catch my breath. Then it was on to tidy up the "powder room" and make sure it was ready for the next female guest. The "apple wood" scented candle had gone out, for one thing. I relighted it. And while I was at it took a moment to straighten my blonde wig and refresh my crimson lipstick with the gold tube I kept tucked inside black bra's otherwise, and unfortunate, empty right B-cup. Then it was back to the grind. Not even counting all the time I'd spent cleaning that morning ("Everything has to be spotless. Spotless!" -my wife Astral), I'd spent the past two-and-a-half hours or so playing greeter/waitress/maid for Astral and her merry band of five affluent female friends. And by affluent I mean so wealthy they can afford to take three hours out on a midday weekday to get drunk on champagne (the real stuff) and expensive wine at a luncheon. And then spend another three sleeping it off. The part of me playing the role of crossdressing maid was, of course, Astral's idea. She'd broken it to me while tied up on the bed (me, that is) in the middle of our weekly, and sometimes bi-weekly, Dom/sub whipping session. Astral was in her leathers and with her purple jelly strap-on, to that point in the evening unused, bobbing with each whack of her riding crop. She paused. I was grateful. Distracted by her thoughts, she'd hit the same burning patch of ass-flesh three consecutive times. Our safe word—Bingo!—was on my lips... "I just had a thought." "What?" "For the lunch party I'm planning for the girls..." "I know, I know," I said. "You need me around to help clean beforehand." "No, this would be during." I was wearing nothing but panties and nude pantyhose and they, of course, had been yanked down with a rip to my wide-spread knees. Another pair of No Nonsense down the drain... "Hunh?" on my elbows, wrists bound, looking back. Not that I could see much beyond my own pale ass perched in midair. "During," she repeated. "You could dress up like you did for the Temps' Halloween party. Remember?" How could I forget? For one thing it was less than three months ago. For another, how could a husband forget having spent five interminable hours wandering around a mansion's ground floor wearing a costume that consisted of: a blonde wig, makeup, a black lace bra, pink lace panties, lace-topped black thigh-highs (that came all the way up to my balls) and a pair of silver half-heel "fuck me" slings. With the added touch of a squiggly little pink garter around the middle of my left thigh. As if other Halloween guests were going to be tucking spare dollar bills in it (a few did). For "decency's" sake, since otherwise I would've spent the evening walking around in nothing but underwear, as if I were in a bordello, Astral draped me from shoulders to crotch in a flimsy pink chemise-type thing. But since it was see-through, and lighter than air, I might as well have been clopping around like a whorehouse hooker... The Halloween get-up was Astral's "inspired" idea, and it won for me—us—top prize for the night's Sexiest Costume as well as, despite its lack of originality, third prize for Best Overall Costume. This being a largely liberal crowd, I think I scored heavily with the cross-gender sympathy vote. And had I received a Franklin for every person—women mostly, but a few men as well—who came up to me and said, while giving my pantied ass a pat or caress or firm squeeze, "Wow, and I thought Caitlyn Jenner was sexy!" I would have left the party with a hell of a lot more than two cheap plastic trophies—which I immediately threw in the trash upon arriving home. Astral: "You don't want your awards?" "No." "Why not?" "They're stupid." "You were the hit of the party!" "It was...humiliating." "How so? I thought you looked cute. What a great idea of mine!" "All those people pawing me, putting their hands on me, groping me..." "Now you know what it feels like to be a woman, darling!" Despite the lateness of the hour that October night, Astral was still jacked up on, she claimed, Red Bull and vodka. Though I suspected cocaine. She'd chattered nonstop the whole drive home about all the men she'd been with that night. Now she wanted to go upstairs, strap on her dildo and "do" me. And since I was already dressed as a woman and she in her leathers, it kind of made perfect sense. Well, contextual sense. Astral had gone to the party dressed in her black-leather zip-up "teddy" and black-leather boots for the second straight year. And while it garnered her no prizes, she did set some kind of record for leading middle-aged men up the stairs who wanted to submit to an attractive Dominatrix for twenty minutes or so. Everytime I asked a party guest if she or he had seen my wife I got the evasive reply: "Um, I don't know. Last time I saw her she was heading up the stairs..." Then they let go of my ass and walked away. I did experience one semi-tender moment that night. I was sitting on the couch with crossed thighs staring off into space (I'd been drinking Mezcal) when a woman approached me tentatively, smiled and asked if the cushion next to me was taken. "Half a seat," I said. She was pretty. Prettier than Astral though not as well built. And like many of the women at the party that night she wore a huge rock on her ring finger. "I just wanted to say...," she began haltingly. "I really respect what you're doing. What you're going through..." "What that?" It was the Mezcal talking. Not the Mezcal so much as all that lime. And sea salt. My tongue felt bloated, swollen. "Your transition..." I sat up straighter. "Tranthithen?" "You know?" her smile wan, her eyes sympathetic. "Sex change...?" "Seth think?" I shook my head, generated some salty saliva. "No, Aim not...I'm not gonna thange my sex." The woman looked startled. "You're not?" "No! Ith just an outfit. A costume." "Oh," the sympathy, not to mention any interest in me, draining from her whiskered face. She was costumed as an old-school cast member from Cats. Can you say...trite? "I like being a man." She gave it one more shot. "Still, but...to dress up like this. There must be some interest..." At that moment, in a flash, I saw myself from the vantage of the bedroom ceiling at home. Me on my knees and elbows with my wrists bound with white nylon rope and my widespread ankles tied off on the footboard posts. I'm dressed in panties and pantyhose but they've long since been yanked down to my knees. My ass is burning bright from the whipping and now Astral is guiding her lubricated dildo inside my hole. My face drops nearly to my bound wrists. I moan... With the first thrust I moan again. My voice is high-pitched. To my own ears I sound like a girl. I feel like a girl at that penetrative moment. I moan and moan again. I moan for the next half hour... "Bitch," I say, echoing my wife in my outer-body-experience revelry. The woman dressed as a cat looked startled. "WHAT?" "No, I mean...I was just...This whole thing," dismissively gesturing at my own seated body, "was my wife's idea. It's just a costume." The woman was rising. "Well, if you say so. At any rate," she said, with an indifferent backwards glance, "good luck with whatever you're...going through." I nodded. What was that all about? So, yes. I well-remembered dressing up in women's lingerie at the recent Halloween party. Now my wife Astral, in the middle of our BDSM session, she being the leathered Dom, was proposing I dress up again—for her own luncheon in two weeks' time. "You could wear the same outfit," Astral said, giving my burning ass cheeks a comforting caress. "Again?" "Nobody coming to my party was at the Temps' Halloween party I don't think. And that way we wouldn't have to buy anything." "My thigh-highs have runs in them..." Astral clucked her tongue. "So OK I'll buy you a new pair of thigh-highs. Jesus! I'll go online tonight. I'm talking about the rest of the outfit. The general gist of your girly look." "I don't get it. You want me to dress up in the same outfit while I'm cleaning house for you that morning?" "No. Don't be dense. I want you to dress up in the outfit in front of my guests. I want us to be your maid," she added. "Hunh?" "You know what I mean: want you to be our maid. For the duration of the party." "What would I do?" I asked meekly. I was in no position to be forceful, that's for sure. "What do you mean what would you do. Everything! Greet my guests at the door with a glass of champagne. Keep their glasses full. Then when it comes time for the sit-down part...serve the table. Soup course then salad then the main course...keep the wine flowing...followed by dessert and coffee. Being served by a man in drag? The girls would love it!" My bowed head was shaking. "I don't think so," I said. "Why not?" Astral's crop lightly tapping a "virgin" spot of my otherwise red ass. "Because. It would be beyond humiliating." "No it wouldn't. It would be fun!" "For you guys, maybe..." "For you too!" Astral was giving me the hard sell. "You love dressing up in girly stuff. This would be your chance to show it off." "I DID show it off! In front of a hundred and fifty people at a fucking Halloween party." Another tap, from close range. This one stung. "Don't raise your voice to me." Following another tap: "I'm sorry. Dear." "You better be." She then went back to her selling mode. "This will be different. More...intimate. The girls are nice. You'll like them. And they'll certainly like you!" "No," I said. Astral swung her crop. "Yes!" "Ow! No. Please..." Another whack. "I say yes!" "No. Darling?" "Don't darling me you faggot. Yes!" swinging her crop again, same spot. "OW!" I was already close to Bingo. "Say yes!" "Oh, please!" How could I think, let alone speak, when the pain from her crop was so intense. She'd hit the same exact spot four consecutive times now. Was that a liquid sensation I felt? Running from the impact point down the round of my shaved buttock to my thigh? She hit it again. "Say yes you little sissy prick and I'll stop!" "Bingo!" "Fuck Bingo!" Another liquidy whack. "Say yes!" "YES!" Astral exhaled triumphantly. All the meanness draining from her tone. She caressed my left buttock. It was the right one she'd been hammering, however. "That's more like it. You'll enjoy it. You'll have fun. You'll be the star of the show." Then: "Sorry, darling, but I kinda broke skin with that last one. I'll go get a towel...to mop up the blood. It's nothing serious." Proving once again that my wife Astral was a regular Florence Nightingale...as long as she got her way. To be continued...