Minx shook out the dress. It was heavy, with a full skirt and fitted bust. Something that Lucille Ball would have worn in I Love Lucy. Slipping into the dress was like slipping into another time, which was exactly what Johnnie wanted. Tonight, they were exploring Her 1950s household fantasy.
Minx had already shaved his legs, and loved the smooth feeling of his skin. When he slipped the silk stockings over his legs, he was stunned at how sensitive his skin was. He wanted to stroke his legs, but knew that he still had a lot to do.
After hooking the stockings his pulled on the lace panties, and looked at his reflection. His cock stirred in its lacy confines. He wanted to reach into his own panties and stroke his cock, but Johnnie had ordered him not to. With one last long look, Minx struggled into the dress, trying to avoid messing up his hair or makeup.
The zipper was a struggle, but as it closed inch by inch, the pressure around his torso, the tightness of the dress’s bodice acted almost like a corset. Minx shivered at the feeling. The feeling was more binding than the ropes and chains they usually used.
He slipped his feet into slippers, planning on putting on the heels she’d selected just before she got home. As Minx cooked and prepared a martini for his Mistress, the rustle of his skirt and the slip of his stockings kept distracting him.
Once the food was plated and the drinks poured, he returned to the bedroom. He wanted to; no he had to look at himself.
And that’s how Mistress found him, with his skirt pulled up and spilling over one arm so he could admire the lace of his panties and the tops of his stockings. He rubbed his cock through the panties, loving the way it pressed against the fabric and the small growing wet spot at the tip.
“Aren’t you a different dirty little wife” Mistress’s voice broke through his fascination.
Minx dropped his skirt, smoothing it back down. “Mistress you’re home already.” Even he heard the edge of fear in his voice. Once again, he was in trouble. He turned to face her, and his jaw dropped.
Her three piece suit was impeccable, and her hair was pulled tightly back. But it was the look in her eyes that made him shiver. She was both pleased and angry.
“Did you spend all afternoon looking at yourself?”
Minx shook his head. “No Mistress, everything is ready for dinner just like you ordered.” His cock twitched.
She sat on the bed, and crooked a dinner at him. He stepped toward her. “You are awfully pretty all dressed up” she said. “Let’s see those panties you were so interested in.”
Minx felt himself blushing, but he dutifully lifted his skirt. He knew his erection was outlined through the panties. Her expressionless scrutiny made it even harder to stand still.
“Very pretty,” she said, running a sharp filed fingernail over his cock, “but you’ve still been a bad wife.”
Minx found himself nodding.
She ordered him to bend over the bed and to hold his skirt up. The position and holding his clothing made his anticipation grow and his frustrations start to peak. Even expecting it, he squeaked as the flat of her hand connected. His skin heated and tingled as her hand landed again and again. His cock ached, pressed tight in the lace panties. His Mistress was skilled at spanking, her hand always landing in a new spot, never letting him acclimate to the feeling. He bit his lip, as his legs began to shake.
Finally it stopped, and she sat on the bed and wrapped her arms around his torso. He panted and rested his head in her lap, until his breathing returned to normal. Her hands stroked his hair, careful not to further destroy the curls he’d spent so long getting into his hair.
“Good Minx,” she said. “Now, you are going to clean yourself up, and we will try this again.”
He nodded and wiped his eyes, too late remembering the makeup.
She smiled ruefully at him, and grabbed a tissue to wipe away the mascara tears. “This time, be waiting with my martini, and we will have a nice dinner.” She blotted at his eyes more, “and this time wear your heels.”
Minx nodded, knowing that after his spanking sitting on the hard dining room chairs would be another delicious torture. He tried not to smile.