Clothes Maketh The Man – Part 58

Part 58

 Find Part 1 here – Chapter list here –

I won’t say I felt violated. Look at this stage, I mean… If I’m not being violated in some despicable way then I’m not really pulling my weight, am I. But this was different.

I lay in my bed the fluffy pink teddy my nightwear. I felt warm and snuggled beneath the duvet. I closed my eyes and thought about the previous night.

I felt so many conflicting feelings. For a start, my discomfort was not around having 30 come in and take advantage of me. I mean, there I was covered in soap one minute and the next burying my face between 30’s buttocks. It’s hardly the actions of someone being violated.

I smiled at the memory of 30’s chastity device knocking against my own.

“You could say we ‘clicked’,” I thought to myself with a rather pathetic sigh as I thought about the sound it made.

“You know,” I thought to myself, “in those first few moments of her coming in and holding you in her arms. They felt pretty good. Really good.”

I could feel the pressure grow inside the chastity cage. Perhaps 30 would be at breakfast. I could sit next to her.

My inner dialogue eased as I got up and washed. I could hear movement out in the corridor. People were getting ready for breakfast, some feet hurrying past my room reminded me that I should check the work roster today to see what duties I’d been assigned.

My memory of the previous night and the party was overshadowed by the events of the shower. It’s almost as though any events on stage with Mr. Butterworth, were an everyday occurrence. And then this cataclysmic thing happened.

I tried to analyse why I felt so confused by the episode. I was acting as though I were a little girl. I felt so silly.

“She held me,” I said quietly. “And I liked it.”

“Not the sex. No, the feeling. The closeness.”

I distinctly remembered I enjoyed the sensation of being desired. This was unlike anything I’d felt in those days behind me when my interests had been directed toward women, as I tried my best to convince myself, and anyone who would listen that I was indeed a man. I pulled on my panties and fastened my bra, as I turned things over in my mind. I brushed my hair for a couple of minutes, my mind wandering. I wondered if perhaps 30 and I could get to work together. That might be fun. Maybe we could find a moment or two…

For what? I stopped myself going further. I tried to formulate an image in my mind of how 30 and I might play. Were they more dominant? What would they want me to do?

My heart quickened at the thought, and I felt myself blushing.  Now, I know that sounds odd – me, who just twelve hours ago had been impaling myself on the pitiful form of Mr. Butterworth, all to his wife’s pleasure. I know, I hardly sound like a delicate flower. And yet these feelings I found myself harboring for 30 were quite literally ‘tender’.

I was overwhelmed by a sudden realisation. What I felt for 30, those confusing emotions, were confusing for good reason. They were the feelings of a woman.


I had always been surprised by girls who had said things like ‘I know I didn’t cum, but I really enjoy sex with you.’ Some had said they’d enjoy it regardless of whether they achieved an orgasm. Quite suddenly I realised I knew exactly what they meant. It was almost as though last night I’d experienced that very sensation. And it was anything but masculine.

It was the most feminine of feelings. As I put on a little make up, and hurried toward breakfast, I caught myself almost skipping along the corridor. At least one other girl glanced at me and smiled.

Oh, my god. They knew.

As I descended the stairs I saw 30 across the hall. She was deep in conversation with 22, they then burst into laughter and in a moment of chance connection I saw 30 turn and meet my eyes across the distance. She hesitated, said something to 22, and then turned and disappeared into the breakfast room.  I felt my heart squirm.

Something was terribly wrong.

I made my way across the hall and into the breakfast room, glancing left and right to catch sight of 30. She was in the queue holding a tray and moving toward the buffet about six people infront of me.

I longed to push people aside and confront 30, but I knew I couldn’t. I bit my lip and told myself to act with some dignity, for god’s sake, but it was all I could do to restrain the tears that burned behind my eyes.

Ahead of me 30 had taken a few items and stepped toward a partially empty table. I quickly poured a coffee and grabbed an apple, then hurried to take a seat beside 30. I felt I would throw myself into the seat to be beside her, but as I pulled the chair out, 30 rose to her feet and turned away.

I felt I would scream. How could she just cut me off like this!

And then she turned and smiled.

“I need coffee!” she said. “Hold my place.”

As she walked over to the coffee and poured herself a cup I swallowed back my tears. I was being so silly. I was being such a girl.


I don’t remember what we talked about at breakfast. All I remember was the way her shoulders looked, and the way she laughed as she told a story about something. I can’t even remember what.

I felt her leg brush mine beneath the table, and the way her eyes met mine and lingered on me a moment more than was quite comfortable, or quite necessary.

And how that made me feel warm inside.

When 30 told me she’d arranged with 22 for us to work together I was so elated I actually bounced up and down in my chair for a moment, before forcing myself to look more stern.

“It’s another day in the stables, I’m afraid,” said 30. “But at least we’re on it together.”

As I acknowledged the feelings, and couldn’t deny them, I realised I was in trouble. These feelings were completely alien. Why was I experiencing this kind of emotion? It couldn’t just be 30. No, something was wrong.

I was falling in love. And as a woman. I’d been in love before, but it was a much more immediate feeling. This was more sensual, something that was intense even across the breakfast table. I could feel a sexual warmth within me, yet I had no trace of an erection. Far from it. I felt this at an almost spiritual level.

And worst of all I had a nagging feeling I was somehow betraying Davina.

Part 59.

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