Part 1: The Interview
Eliza Cole had always carried an air of quiet confidence, the kind of self-assurance that hinted at untapped potential. On the surface, she was an ordinary woman—a freelance graphic designer and the go-to person in her circle of friends for advice. But beneath the polite smiles and casual small talk lay a woman who had discovered her true power in an unconventional way.
Eliza’s desires weren’t typical, and they never had been. She had always been on the prowl to satisfy a specific need—humiliation. It wasn’t about cruelty or domination for domination’s sake; it was about the release, the thrill of knowing she could strip a man of his confidence, layer by layer, until he was completely exposed and dependent on her for validation. It was the vulnerability, the delicate balance between arousal and shame, that she craved.
When Eliza met Michael at a gallery opening, she wasn’t immediately taken by his looks, but rather his presence—his eagerness to please, his charming, slightly naïve air. It was that vulnerability she was drawn to, that untapped potential for submission. He was the perfect candidate for her carefully crafted dynamic.
Convinced that Michael was manipulatable, Eliza invited him to her apartment that night. It wasn’t like other dates where the tension would slowly build. For Eliza, the game started the moment Michael walked through the door. She wasn’t interested in waiting. She had a plan—one that began with control.
She had a system she privately referred to as the “Bra Test,” a subtle way of gauging how vulnerable a man might be to her brand of dominance. She had Michael remove her bra, but not without teasing him. Her words sliced through the moment, her voice laced with mockery, testing his patience and his confidence.
“Still struggling with the basics, I see,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Maybe I should find someone more… competent to handle this.”
Her words influenced Michael. He fumbled, his hands shaking, and the usual excitement of a new connection turned into a scramble to meet her expectations. He eventually succeeded, but not before the seed of self-doubt was planted in his mind.
But the true turning point came moments later when she made a calculated move. As they continued, she pushed him further—not just physically, but mentally, attacking his sense of masculinity.
“Is this really all you’ve got?” she whispered while looking down at his crotch. “I thought you were supposed to be the man here.”
Michael’s confidence wavered. The teasing remarks, the deliberate targeting of his inadequacies—each word dug deeper, causing his performance to falter. And then it happened—he couldn’t perform. For the first time in his life, he was unable to attain an erection.
The humiliation was immediate. His face flushed, his mind raced with self-loathing. He had failed her, failed himself. What he didn’t realize, in that moment, was how much it would fuel Eliza.
For Eliza, the sight of Michael’s failure was a rush, a heady mixture of arousal and power. She thrived on the vulnerability that the dysfunction exposed. It wasn’t about cruelty; it was about control. The fact that her words could have such an effect on him stirred something dark and thrilling within her.
She leaned in, her voice soft but commanding. “Seems like you can’t even handle this, Michael,” she purred. “Maybe I should be the one to take over. Perhaps I should be the man in the bedroom.”
Michael’s throat tightened, his mind racing as her words echoed in his ears. Deep down, he couldn’t deny the truth of her dominance—at least in the context of their bedroom dynamic. And as much as it stung, he found himself drawn even deeper into her web, his desire to please her outweighing his wounded pride.
From that moment on, their roles solidified in a way that left no room for doubt. Eliza’s dominance became the foundation of their intimacy. Running her fingers through his hair and said in a domineering voice, “Perhaps if you wore something sexy, more feminine, I could get it up.”
Michael blinked up at her, unsure of what she meant, but Eliza’s expression was unreadable. Crawling out of the bed, Eliza went to her closet and returned with a silky camisole, matching panties, and a lacy robe.
“Try these on,” she said, her tone firm.
Michael hesitated, his cheeks flushing. “I… don’t think—”
“It’s not up for debate,” Eliza interrupted. Her gaze was steady, and there was no room for argument. “This is part of accepting who we are now.”
Reluctantly, Michael changed into the outfit, the soft fabric foreign against his skin. When he returned to the bedroom, Eliza’s eyes lit up with approval. She guided him to sit at the edge of the bed, brushing a lock of his hair away from his face.
“You look perfect,” she said, her voice tinged with satisfaction. “Now, let’s make sure you know your place.”
Michael sat at the edge of the bed, his legs trembling slightly in the delicate fabric of the lingerie. The satin clung to his body in ways he wasn’t used to, unfamiliar and uncomfortable, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the storm of emotions raging inside him. He had never been in a situation like this before—uncertain, exposed, and overwhelmed by Eliza’s steady gaze.
Eliza’s voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the authority behind it. “Look at you. You’re perfect in this. So delicate, so willing to let me take control.”
Michael swallowed hard. The silence in the room was deafening, his heartbeat the only sound. He wanted to protest, to take the outfit off and run, but something inside him—perhaps the desire to please, perhaps the need to understand this new dynamic—kept him rooted in place.
Eliza slowly walked around him, her fingers trailing lightly over his shoulders, across his back. The soft touch should have been comforting, but it only made him feel more vulnerable. It was a feeling that he couldn’t escape, not here, not with her.
She stood before him and tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet her gaze. “You’ve already proven that you’re not the man I thought you were,” she said, her voice low and steady. “But I think you’ve got the potential to be something better. Something more suited to my needs.”
Michael’s heart raced. What did she mean by that? He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He felt small, ashamed, but at the same time, there was a strange sense of longing, a desire to be consumed by the moment, by Eliza.
“Don’t speak yet,” Eliza whispered, her lips barely brushing his ear. “I’m not done with you.”
She turned, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she moved toward the dresser. Michael watched her intently, his mind struggling to piece together the overwhelming sensation of humiliation and arousal. He wasn’t sure if he hated it or craved it.
When Eliza returned, she had a soft leather collar in her hand. She knelt in front of him, the collar glistening in the dim light of the room. Without asking, she fastened it around his neck, her fingers brushing his skin as she did.
Michael gasped, his breath catching in his throat. The coldness of the leather against his skin seemed to anchor him in the moment, but it was the weight of what it symbolized that made his chest tighten. He was hers now. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally.
“There,” Eliza said, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Now you look like someone who knows their place.”
Michael’s cheeks flushed, but he felt an odd sense of relief. As much as the humiliation stung, there was something in his mind, deep down, that wanted to accept this. He wanted to feel validated, to know that he was pleasing her in some way, even if it meant losing a part of himself.
Eliza wasn’t finished emasculating Michael that evening. Before returning to bed, she once more visited her closet, this time retuning with a strap-on., For her, the strap-on was not as a tool for punishment, but as another step along the path of humiliating Michael.
For Michael, it was just another step in surrender to Eliza. His thoughts were scattered as the tension between humiliation and arousal deepened. What had started as a simple encounter was now a web from which he couldn’t escape.
Eliza crawled into bed and revealed her true intentions, “Relax,” she murmured. “I’m going to show you how much more I can take from you.”
The use of the strap-on on Michael was transformative. Something in Michael shifted. He no longer saw himself as the man he had been before—strong, confident, eager to please. Now, he was becoming something new, something Eliza had created. She had taken away his confidence, stripped it down, and replaced it with her own expectations, her own desires.
Part 2: A Wardrobe
The following days passed in a blur as Michael fell deeper under Eliza’s control. By the end of the first week after meeting her, he moved in her place, and she established new rules that stripped him of his autonomy. At home, he was expected to be naked most of the time, except for the chastity device she had locked him into. His nakedness became a constant reminder of his submission, his helplessness. No clothes, no shield to hide behind—just his body, exposed and vulnerable.
The chastity device was an ever-present symbol of his powerlessness. His masculinity was locked away, his desire restricted by the small metal cage. Eliza, however, made it clear that this wasn’t just about sexual control—it was about power over every part of his life. The device was as much a psychological tool as it was a physical one, reminding Michael constantly that he was hers.
Eliza used this dynamic to humiliate him further, reinforcing his position as her servant. When he did the dishes, cleaned the apartment, or cooked, he was naked. When he bent over to vacuum or scrub the floors, his body was on display, a vulnerable exhibition of his submission. Sometimes, Eliza would walk by, commenting on how weak he looked, how especially small his penis looked. She’d mock him for doing the simplest tasks, reminding him that he was doing nothing more than fulfilling her needs.
Always seeking new ways to humiliate Michael, she sometimes had him wear female clothing. However, what she had did not fit him, so she decided to take him shopping. Even shopping turned into an opportunity to strip him of his dignity.
Eliza led Michael through a nearby boutique with purposeful steps, her presence commanding, and every moment unfolding exactly as she desired. Michael, following closely behind, could feel the familiar rush of submission stir within him, his thoughts clouding as he watched Eliza move with such confidence.
They passed racks of clothing, each piece more delicate than the last. But it wasn’t until they reached the more daring section that Michael felt a deeper sense of unease. He could feel the weight of the fabric in the air, each item a reminder of how small he had become.
A young female employee stood nearby, her sharp eyes immediately assessing Michael as he approached. There was an unspoken understanding between her and Eliza, a quiet exchange of knowing glances and smirks that made Michael feel even smaller. His every movement was now scrutinized, leaving him feeling naked even before he had undressed.
The employee smiled, but there was an underlying layer of condescension that Michael couldn’t quite ignore. “Can I help you?” she asked sweetly, her voice silky but laced with judgment. Her gaze flickered from Eliza to Michael, lingering just a moment too long.
Eliza returned the smile, cool and composed, her voice smooth with control. “Yes,” she said, her words dripping with authority. “We’re looking for something… special. Something that will make Michael feel truly girly.”
The employee’s smile widened, her eyes flickering with something deeper, something that Michael couldn’t quite place but could feel in the pit of his stomach. “Of course,” she replied, her tone far too eager, and she disappeared into the racks. Moments later, she returned with a piece that made Michael’s blood run cold—a tight, strapless, red corset dress. The fabric was sheer and unforgiving, exposing far more than Michael could bear to show. It felt like a declaration of everything he had become under Eliza’s control.
“Perfect,” Eliza purred, her voice rich with satisfaction. She turned to Michael, her eyes gleaming with a dark promise. “You’ll wear this.”
Michael’s stomach churned, but he said nothing. Refusal was never an option—Eliza was in control. His place was clear.
“Try it on,” Eliza ordered, her voice sharp and unwavering.
As Michael stepped toward the dressing room, the weight of his submission seemed to grow heavier with each step. Eliza followed closely behind, the employee lingering at a distance, her gaze fixed on Michael with an intensity that left him feeling exposed. Her eyes, a mix of curiosity and amusement, followed every movement of his. There was something about her—something almost alluring—that made Michael feel even more humiliated. She was exactly the type of woman he used to be attracted to, a reminder of everything he had lost. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through him, but not in the way it once would have.
Inside the dressing room, Eliza handed him the dress with the cold finality of someone who knew exactly how things would unfold. “Get changed,” she commanded, her expression unwavering. The silence inside the dressing room was thick with tension. Michael undressed slowly, his skin prickling with a mix of humiliation and shame. When the red dress finally slid onto his body, it was as if it had always belonged there—tight, a second skin that clung to him. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, but he couldn’t escape the reality either. The man who had walked into the boutique no longer existed—he was a shell of himself, exposed and vulnerable.
To further humiliate Michael, Eliza opened the dressing room door, revealing the employee who waited just outside. The employee’s eyes immediately fell on Michael. Her gaze lingered over him, slowly taking in every detail. Her eyes took note of the dress, how it clung to Michael’s body, and the exposed chastity device beneath it. A slow smile curved on her lips as her eyes focused on the chastity cage. She now had a complete understanding of the control Eliza had over him.
Still staring at the chastity cage, she said softly, “You look cute.” The words directed at Michael, but the meaning was clear—they were meant for Eliza as much as for him. Her voice was sweet, but laced with mockery. “Such a delicate little thing.”
Eliza’s smile widened, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. She gave a small nod, the approval clear in her gaze. “Thank you,” she said calmly, her voice dripping with cold satisfaction.
Eliza turned to Michael then, her eyes flashing with cruel amusement. She had taken immense pleasure in watching him crumble under her control, and now, she would push him further.
“Now, let’s see how well you move in it,” she commanded, her voice sharp and unwavering. “Bend over and pretend to scrub the floor. Show us how well you serve me in that.”
The employee, standing just behind her, couldn’t help but chuckle softly. She took another step forward, her gaze never leaving Michael’s exposed form. There was a slight gleam of amusement in her eyes, as if she were watching a performance.
“Perfect,” she whispered, her tone almost approving. “He’s truly suited for a life of obedience, isn’t he?”
Michael, his heart pounding in his chest, had no choice but to obey. His body trembled as he bent forward, the tight fabric of the dress stretching over his exposed form. Every muscle in his body screamed with humiliation, but he obeyed—just as Eliza knew he would.
The employee exchanged a glance with Eliza, the silent understanding between them palpable. Michael had become nothing more than a puppet, his movements controlled by Eliza, and now, by their shared gaze. He was a creation—her creation—and there was no escaping what he had become.
The encounter with the saleslady left Michael shaken, but it was only a harbinger of what was to come. The boutique trip stretched on, each moment tightening the chains of Eliza’s control around him. The red corset dress was just the beginning; it opened a floodgate of selections that Michael had no say in.
Eliza led him through the store with precision, picking items that made Michael’s stomach twist in knots. Delicate skirts, lacy camisoles, and sheer blouses found their way into the growing pile of purchases. Eliza’s choices were deliberate, each piece designed to chip away at any lingering shred of masculinity Michael might have clung to.
The saleslady, still hovering with her sharp, knowing eyes, seemed to relish every moment. She offered suggestions unprompted, her tone always laced with that faintly mocking sweetness. “Oh, this would look stunning on him,” she’d say, holding up a pair of lacy black boyshorts or a silky slip. “He has just the frame for it.”
Michael could feel the weight of her gaze on him every time she spoke. It wasn’t just the clothes that humiliated him—it was how natural she made it seem, as though his role as Eliza’s doll was inevitable. Her presence underscored his helplessness, and with every passing minute, he found himself sinking deeper into the reality Eliza was constructing around him.
By the time they reached the counter, the pile of clothing and lingerie Eliza had selected was overwhelming. Michael couldn’t bring himself to meet the saleslady’s eyes as she began ringing up the items. The steady beep of the scanner felt like a countdown, each tone a reminder of how far he had fallen.
But then, as the saleslady folded the last item, Michael noticed something strange. Not all of the outfits were shown to him. He saw Eliza slip several items toward the saleslady with a subtle gesture, keeping them out of Michael’s line of sight. The saleslady’s smirk widened as she tucked the garments into the bag, her eyes darting toward Michael for the briefest moment before she tied the bag shut.
Michael’s heart sank. Whatever those items were, he knew they weren’t meant for his comfort or approval. They were a promise—a quiet threat—that Eliza’s plans for him extended far beyond what he could see.
The drive home was silent, but the air between them was charged. Michael sat in the passenger seat, the bags of clothing at his feet feeling heavier than they should. Eliza drove with her usual confidence, her lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile, as though savoring a secret she had no intention of sharing.
Part 3: Domestication
The shopping trip was just the beginning. When they returned home, Eliza wasted no time incorporating the clothes into Michael’s daily life. Some outfits were specifically for housework: short skirts paired with transparent panties, sheer tops that did nothing to hide the delicate bras beneath. The skirt she often selected for his chores was so short that whenever he bent over to scrub or tidy, his chastity cage was fully exposed through the transparent panties. Eliza seemed to take immense pleasure in these moments, watching him squirm under her gaze.
The outfits she had purchased for the bedroom, however, were a different matter entirely. One night, she called him into her room, her tone both sweet and commanding. Laid out on the bed was one of her favorite ensembles for him: a sheer white teddy with delicate lace trim, crotchless panties, and thigh-high stockings. The sight of it made his heart race with a mix of dread and anticipation.
“Put it on,” she ordered, her voice leaving no room for hesitation.
Once he was dressed, Eliza stepped forward, her presence overwhelming. She reached out, her fingers tracing the lace on his chest. “Perfect,” she murmured.
Then, with deliberate movements, she retrieved the familiar leather harness from her dresser. Michael’s breath hitched as she strapped it on. It looked like the same one she had used on their first date, a symbol of her dominance, but something was different about. The dildo was larger, much larger.
“You remember this, don’t you?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with authority. “This is where it all began.”
Michael nodded, his cheeks flushing as memories of that night flooded back.
Responding to the change in complexion, she said, “Good,” her tone sharp. “Because tonight, you’re going to show me just how much you’ve learned about being a woman.”
She guided him to the bed, positioning him on all fours. The teddy barely covered him, the lace riding up to leave him completely exposed. Eliza’s hand pressed against his lower back, forcing him to arch as her control became absolute.
“Doggie is so demeaning for the woman, don’t you agree?”, Eliza prodded. Michael did not respond.
“Your pussy belongs to me,” she whispered, her tone a dangerous mix of sweetness and authority. “Every part of you belongs to me.”
Grabbing his hips, she began to force the dildo into his rectum. Michael felt the overwhelming weight of her dominance, amplified by the pain of his stretching anus. Her movements were unyielding, calculated to remind him of his place. She whispered commands, each word cutting through his submission and reinforcing the power dynamic between them.
“Tell me how much you enjoy being a girl in the bedroom.”, she whispered. He remained silent. Thrusting forcefully, she demanded, “Tell me!”
“I love it,” Michael confessed, his words trembling but apparently honest.
Eliza’s smile was triumphant. “That’s right. Never forget who you are, mu bitch.”
Eliza’s control over Michael unfolded in layers, each more intricate than the last. Every decision she made was deliberate, each piece of clothing a symbol, a carefully chosen puzzle piece that erased his former self, bit by bit. The clothes were no longer just fabric—they were tools of transformation, reminders of his submission.
While the outfits for housework and bedroom play were constant reminders of his humiliation, Eliza had something more in store: a third outfit designed to take him out into the world, beyond the privacy of their home. This was not merely a public display; it was a marker, a moment where Michael’s submission would be exposed to strangers, forcing him to confront his transformation in the harsh light of day.
“We’re going to get you ready to do some yardwork, Michael.” She dressed in a sundress adorned with wildflowers. The dress was innocent in appearance, its cheerful pattern at odds with the heavy weight of the control Eliza had over him.
She had made another decision: a blonde wig, long and silky, to complete the look. The wig was not merely a choice of fashion; it was the final stroke of a public transformation, a way to further erase any remnants of Michael’s former identity. The wig seemed to embody everything that was now expected of him—soft, delicate, and completely at Eliza’s command.
“Put it on,” she said, her voice calm yet commanding.
Michael hesitated, his hands trembling as he took the wig. It was heavier than he expected, the weight of his submission more tangible than ever as he placed it on his head. The strands cascaded around his face, softening his features, and for a moment, he could hardly recognize the reflection staring back at him. Who was this person? The face in the mirror was no longer the one he had known. It was someone else entirely—someone exposed, someone vulnerable.
Eliza stepped back, her eyes scanning him with a deliberate, approving gaze. “Perfect,” she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Now, go tend to the flowers.”
And so he did. Every pull of the weeds, every bend of his body, reminded Michael of his place. His movements were soft, graceful even, as he worked under the weight of Eliza’s control, each task a reminder that he no longer had the power to choose. He was exactly what she wanted him to be.
As he bent down, he heard footsteps approaching. The mailman, walking down the street, paused as his eyes took in Michael’s figure. His gaze lingered just a little too long, and Michael felt a sharp pang of humiliation. The mailman stepped closer, offering the usual package of letters, but this time, his smile seemed different—knowing, amused, as if he understood exactly what was happening.
“Mail for you,” the mailman said casually, though his eyes betrayed an undeniable curiosity.
Michael’s hands shook as he took the mail, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The mailman’s smile widened ever so slightly, as though recognizing Michael’s hidden reality—seeing through the dress and the wig to the person beneath it.
“Have a nice day,” the mailman added, his tone warm, yet with a trace of something deeper, something unspoken.
As the mailman walked away, his laughter echoed faintly in the distance. Michael stood frozen, his heart pounding. The mailman had seen through him, understood his place in this delicate, humiliating dance. There was no hiding now, no escaping from the person he had become.
Eliza, watching from the window, knew exactly what had happened. Her control was complete. Michael was no longer just hers in private; he was hers in the world, exposed and marked by his submission. He had no choice but to accept it.
As he returned to his task, the realization sank in: he had become exactly what Eliza wanted. And there was no escape now. Every movement, every action, was a reflection of his complete obedience. He was hers, inside and out. And he could do nothing but embrace it.
Part 4: The Party
It was a few weeks later when Eliza decided to host a small gathering at her apartment. Her friends were curious about her new relationship, and she was eager to show them just how much control she had over Michael. The party was set to be casual, a few close friends and acquaintances, all women, none of whom were really familiar with Eliza’s personal life. For Michael, it was a night of intense humiliation that he wasn’t prepared for.
Michael was instructed to clean the house and to prepare the food for the evening, naked as except for the chastity device. As Michael worked, he fretted over the thought he might be naked in front of Eliza’s guests. However, before the party began, Eliza brought Michael a “maid’s outfit” that comprised a sheer top and a shirt. The outfit did not include underwear.
As Eliza’s guests began to arrive, Michael was still at work in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and setting the table, fully aware that at any moment he could be the subject of ridicule. He was hiding from the guests, but he knew Eliza would eventually insist that he meet them.
The party began with light conversation, laughter, and wine flowing freely. But soon, the topic shifted to relationships. Eliza, ever the provocateur, grinned and leaned into the conversation, inviting the women to visit Michael in the kitchen.
The woman were shocked to see Michael in his maid outfit. Some of them smiled and others laughed outright.
“So, Michael,” Eliza began, turning to him with a smirk. “What’s it like, being my little pet?”
The room fell silent as the other women waited for his answer, their eyes locked on him. Michael’s heart raced. He wanted to shrink into the floor, to disappear, but Eliza’s gaze held him in place.
He could feel the weight of their stares, their judgment. He swallowed hard, his voice shaking. “It’s… it’s what she wants,” he muttered, his face burning with embarrassment.
Eliza chuckled. “Oh, but it’s so much more than that. It’s not just about me wanting it, is it Michael? You’ve learned to need it. To crave it. You love being my little pet, don’t you?”
The room was dead quiet now, all eyes on Michael. His face flushed red, his stomach churned with shame, but there was an undeniable part of him that couldn’t deny her words. The humiliation washed over him, and he felt something stir deep inside—an awful longing for more.
Eliza presence commanding the room. “Michael,” she said, her voice steady and firm, “why don’t you show my friends what you’re wearing under your skirt?”
Michael froze. His heart skipped a beat as the realization hit him: she wanted him to expose himself, to show her friends how utterly controlled he was. It was one thing for Eliza to have him naked in the privacy of their home, but this was different. The thought of being so vulnerable in front of others made him want to flee, but he knew he couldn’t.
“Come on, Michael,” she coaxed with a smirk, “don’t be shy. You’re mine. Show them.”
His hands shook as he slowly lifted the skirt he was wearing. The room went quiet, all eyes on the chastity device that was locked firmly around his genitals. His body trembled, his legs weak, as his humiliation became tangible in the air.
“Don’t hide it,” Eliza said, her voice firm. “Let them see.”
With no choice but to obey, Michael stood there, fully exposing the small metal cage that kept his masculinity imprisoned. He could feel the heat of the women’s gazes, the quiet awe mixed with judgment. It was the ultimate exposure, the deepest humiliation he had ever experienced.
“See,” Eliza said, her tone playful, “Michael here is such a good boy. He wears this for me. It reminds him of his place.” She turned to the women, her smile growing. “And I think he enjoys it.”
The women exchanged glances, their faces a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Naomi, always the most outspoken of Eliza’s friends, was the first to speak.
“Does he really enjoy this?” she asked, her voice laced with intrigue. She spoke as if he was not in the room.
Michael’s face turned crimson as Eliza nodded, her smirk widening.
“Oh, yes,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “He loves it. He loves being my plaything.”
As the conversation continued, Eliza leaned in closer to Michael, her lips brushing against his ear. “How does it feel, Michael?” she whispered, loud enough for the women to hear. “To be exposed, to be my toy, my pet? Tell them. Let them know how much you love being humiliated.”
Michael’s voice faltered as he mumbled what he thought she wanted to hear, “I… I love it. I need it. I can’t stop. I belong to you.”
Eliza’s smile widened as she turned back to the group. “That’s right,” she said, “he’s mine. And he knows it.”
Elize turned to her guests and told them that Michael is not always allowed to wear clothes in the house. Then she turned to Michael and said, “I guess the cat’s out of the bag. You might as well take off that silly outfit and serve us some more drinks in the living room.
Michael was unresponsive, so she tugged on the outfit. “Right now.” As Michael complied, he thought it was even more embarrassing to strip in front of the women than if he was naked to begin with. He thought, I suppose that was the point of the performance.
As the night wore on, Michael became more and more aware of how deep his submission had gone. The humiliation, the control—it had all become a part of him. And while a small voice in his mind screamed for escape, another voice, one he couldn’t ignore, whispered that he belonged here, to Eliza, exposed and entirely under her power.
Eliza had not only stripped him of his clothes and his masculinity, she had molded him into someone new—someone who lived to please her, to obey her commands, and to embrace the humiliation that kept him bound to her.
The chastity device, the constant exposure, and the unrelenting control—it was all part of the beautiful, twisted submission he had surrendered to. And as the party came to an end, Michael knew deep down that this was just the beginning.