Clothes Maketh The Man — Part 42.

Waking on the Monday morning I gradually assembled the fragments of my life. Devina, the woman holding the key to the chastity device that almost seemed to be a part of me now. My business, doing surprisingly well under the circumstances. My girlfriend, the lying cheating lesbian bitch — if indeed she could still be called ‘girlfriend’. And now Veronica.

Yes, Veronica. Small and slight and beaten for the least slip on my part should it come to Devina’s ears. Veronica, what little masculine trait there had once been was now suppressed to the point of erasure. Veronica looked as feminine as any woman, and her soft white skin bruised and reddened under the rosewood cane applied to her perfectly contoured buttocks and back.

I thought of Devina’s hand on such a cane. The thought excited me immediately. How very strong and almost reassuring her presence was. Even her presence in my mind as I lay in my bed, getting ready to get up and face the day. The thought of Devina, her sophisticated and statuesque look of control and mastery. I pulled the blankets up around my chin. The thought of Devina was exquisite.

As she had suggested I’d started sleeping in a feminine white night dress. Lying there beneath the covers I felt my body struggling with the thought of Devina. On the one hand I wanted to feel myself harden, yet under the constraints of…