Part 3
*************
I did finally get some sleep. It was almost noon when Joan came in to release me.
She was all dressed up and I wondered what was planned. No clues were forthcom-
ing while she unlocked the spreader bar and removed my mittens. She unlocked the
chain from my belt and told me to shower, put on make-up and be ready for her to
supervise my dressing in ten minutes.
Groggy from sleep and stiff from being bound all night, I went stumbling to the bath-
room.
The shower revived me. I tried not to get my hair wet, to save time. As soon as I was
towelled off, I ran back to my room. There I did a fast make-up job on my face. I was
just dabbing on the perfume when she walked in with the air of a sergeant-major. As
I put the perfume bottle back on the dresser, I saw the dildo and harness again. I
wondered when I would be able to work up the courage to cope with that.
"We will be shopping today, dear. Your wardrobe needs a few additions."
Joan went to the closet and tossed out my red silk blouse and a black A-line skirt
that came well above the knee. I gulped. The blouse was OK but I had never worn a
garter belt under that skirt because my stocking tops showed through the rear slit.
Since I hadn't been spoken to, I couldn't object without risking a punishment. I de-
cided that showing a little stocking wasn't as bad as what Joan could hand out.
I took too long to think about all this. Joan grabbed a garter belt and a new pair of
stockings, still in the package, and handed them to me. She leaned against the door
frame while I struggled with the belt. Joan looked on with amusement.
"Hurry, now, dear. You don't want me to assign you another punishment for tardi-
ness, now do you?"
Finally the belt was on and I sat on the floor to work on the stockings. They were
black and had the reinforced heels that make some men slobber. I would be a sight,
alright, especially in the four inch, black spike pumps that Joan was holding.
Once I had the stockings on and fastened, I stood up and immediately felt this
damned rough panty rub my crotch. I let out a little gasp and Joan noticed.
I looked up at her with the most blank face I could muster. I hated the pressure she
had me under.
It took a few minutes before I got my seams straight. Having Joan stare at me didn't
help my concentration. Every so often I stole a glance at the waiting dildo and it's
harness. It didn't look as big as some I had seen. Perversely, I wondered how it
would feel to have that locked inside me for four hours.
The skirt barely fit over my hips and bottom. A chill ran down my spine as I looked in
the mirror. Surely everyone would guess my secret with just one glance. The fear of
discovery made me gasp. Joan cleared her throat as a warning.
I took the shoes from Joan and slipped them on. It felt so strange to feel so sexy in
one sense and so bound up in another. I knew I looked good from the outside but
the small item between my legs and the heat generated by unfulfilled desire damp-
ened any vanity.
Joan inspected me and even made me turn around so she could judge my seams. It
was worse than being busted. She even made me take a few steps.
"You'll be happy to know that the tops of your stockings just show through the slit in
your skirt" she said lightly.
I blushed by way of response.
I looked for my purse and Joan reminded me:
"Take some make-up if you want. And don't forget your little toy on the dresser!"
She watched the look of horror on my face for a few seconds and then slipped out
the door. It was almost more than I could bear. I felt tears form in my eyes while I
stared at the dildo and its harness. I couldn't cry or it would mean another make-up
job, and a delay, that might mean another punishment. I sniffled back my tears,
picked up the dildo and shoved it deep inside the purse. I hated to touch it. Then I
hurriedly followed Joan.
I suddenly realized how much I had come to think in terms of avoiding a punishment,
even though I had yet to experience my first one!
Joan had prepared a light breakfast. I just managed to stop myself from sitting at the
table. I took my food and a large cup of coffee and slipped out of my pumps before
kneeling on the floor. Joan cleared her throat and pointed to the shoes. I sadly
guessed her meaning and stepped into them again before kneeling. Nothing helped
pad my bottom from the sharp heels that dug into it, and there was no help for my
feet, who protested painfully at being made to kneel in high heels. Joan wouldn't let
me up until I had drained two cups of coffee.
