Clothes Maketh The Man – Part 38

I was pushed into the bedroom, Mandy’s slight but powerful form driving me toward the bed. She was most insistent, like an oversexed yoga ninja that knew what she wanted and would take it at all costs.

“Darling, you’re a little insistent tonight,” I said, steadying myself as she forced me back on the bed.

“Are you going to shut up and put your mouth to good use, or am I going to get the ball gag out?” said Mandy with a cold and unfamiliar firmness.

“But darling,” I said as she straddled my chest, her chemise riding up her thighs, “this is so unlike you!”

Mandy glanced across to the bedside draw and began to reach for it.

“It’s ok,” I said. “I’ll shut up.”

With that she returned to the serious and irresistible business of taking her lover with dubious levels of consent and having him perform to her script. She edged her way higher on my chest until I was face to face with the undeniable inevitability that I would do whatever she instructed.

I twisted as she settled deeper on my face, her fist clenched in my hair and pulling painfully to ensure I didn’t shirk in my duty.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why would I even hint at reluctance in this moment of passion. And I didn’t. Well, not really. Except that it was Davina that was on my mind. As I surrendered to the insistent and driven love making that Mandy demanded, I was nonetheless thinking of Davina. The curve of her neck. The soft curve of her waist. Her midnight black hair cascading over her shoulders.

Mandy’s hardened core strength wrung my body dry. It was, I think in retrospect, like an industrial process. Mandy had dropped all pretence at conviviality and was quite simply using me to satisfy her powerful carnal needs. What drove that insistence I don’t know, but I felt like an object. An object there to satisfy. Like a tool.

And the problem with being a tool is that you don’t get to have much satisfaction in the process. Soon after Mandy climaxed, brought there by my attentions, she rolled over in the bed and began to doze. Just as though I wasn’t even there.

I didn’t even get a cuddle.


Mandy slept soundly. I’d been lying quietly next to her trying not to wake her sleeping form.

She was pretty, strong, and powerful. It was strange, while I was not really emotionally attracted to Mandy, I did like her shoulders and her arms. They were powerful from having seen so many personal trainers and yoga classes.

She was forceful, and my mind drifted back to our love making. I should really say ‘her lovemaking’ as she simply had me do various things for her and to her.  I was incidental, and I didn’t really understand that, but her arms were powerful and her hips strong.  I thought about that a moment longer and felt myself softening.  She could do what she just did – I didn’t have a word for it – to me anytime.

How strange it was, I thought, that I’d never really thought of a partner like that. Wanting them to have strong arms and to be able to flip me over and just use me. The idea was strangely comfortable for me. It dawned on me that this was a new feeling. I wondered about that. Why on earth would I feel like that?

I stared at her powerful shoulders. I felt smaller beside her, and yet that felt ok. It felt fine.

Thoughts of Davina drifted in and out of my mind. And then quite suddenly Mandy was awake.

“That was good,” she said more or less to herself.

I thought that word, ‘good’ was rather mundane.  I would have preferred ‘enjoyable’, or ‘wonderful’. Good sounds so pedestrian. I had hoped for something a little more emotionally loaded. Something with more feeling.

“I’m glad it was ‘good’.” I said petulantly.

Mandy looked at me, and said, “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” I said feeling rather tearful.


Mandy had warmed some milk, poured it into a cup, looked at me and asked why I was still there.

“Oh, I just thought,” but at that point she cut me off.

“Well, don’t. I’m going to bed.  Turn the lights off when you leave.”

She turned and walked into the bedroom, closing the door. 

“You don’t want me to stay?” I said, barely more than a whisper. My question hung in the air but was met only with silence.

It was raining as I pulled out the parking lot and headed home.  The wipers silently cleaned the windscreen as I made my way through the sparse late night traffic.  I was aware of a sadness in my chest and I struggled to place it.  I can only describe it as a melancholy weight that wouldn’t leave me.

As the wipers swept droplets away once more I felt a trickle of water on my cheek and wiped it aside. Had I left a window open?


I found myself crying softly as I drove and for no reason. I sniffled and wished I had a hankie to wipe the tears away as they flowed.

George Michael came on the radio singing ‘Careless Whisper’, and suddenly I was almost overcome with grief. What the hell was wrong with me. How had I become so emotional.

By the time I returned to my apartment I had composed myself. I stripped and had a bath. I put out one or two candles, and a little incense. It seemed to help.  There was also some nice soap I’d bought, with a soft verbena scent. By the time I’d stepped out of the bath, dusted myself with a nice talcum powder and brushed my hair I felt a little better.

As I sat before my mirror putting a little moisturiser on my skin, I sighed, reached for the chastity device and reattached it carefully. Devina would be pleased.

Then I made a little mint tea and took it to bed. I pulled the duvet up around me, cocooned in my little pink negligee I felt a little better. A few minutes later I drifted not sleep.

At that time it didn’t even cross my mind that these emotional shifts might not be entirely natural. Such thoughts couldn’t be further from my mind. I was instead thinking of Devina and her strong arms. Yes, so strong and reassuring. Or was that Mandy. Did it really matter, I wondered. How nice it would be just to be held.


The next episode can be found here.

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