Clothes Maketh The Man — Part 55.

From my room I could see cars arriving, as I changed. From some of the cars a couple would emerge, from others two or three men and there were the occasional lone drivers parking in the courtyard.

I looked at the high-end vehicles and wondered what on earth I had got myself into. Below me I could see Mr. Butterworth who we’d bumped into in the town drawing up in his station wagon. This time he was with a severe looking woman, likely his wife, though his son was apparently not invited to the evenings event.

At that moment I heard a knock at my door and 22 leaned in to chivy me along.

“Ten minutes, 38. Get a move on,” she said. Her make up was perfect and she wore a tight black leather catsuit.

She disappeared back into the corridor, with a clacking of high heels and I heard her knock on another door. Dressing quickly I pulled on the suspender belt and then the tiny panties, black and sheer. They barely covered the shiny metal form of the chastity cage. It did seem terribly small now, I thought as I looked at it. And what it so efficiently enclosed also seemed a little emaciated. I wondered if my dick would ever be as proud as once it had been. To my surprise I found I was not concerned about this. After all, the excitement I felt so strongly centred about me being used by someone else, and my masculine self…