Sister's Makeup Surprise - 2

I visited Susan again last week. Unfortunately, she had the day off. Oh,
well! While I was there, however, I noticed that Melissa was working the Lancôme counter, so I decided to pay her a visit. Business was slow, so we had some time to talk. It was simply wonderful to see Melissa again, especially after the little "event" she'd enjoyed with Susan's brother, Michael. Melissa was ecstatic to have a little company at the store to pass the time, and we quickly caught-up on what we'd been up to since we last spoke.

I must say, Melissa looked absolutely stunning behind the counter. Even on a day she must have known would be sluggish, business-wise, she had made every effort to look her best. She was wearing a seductive little dress in emerald green, with a shirred, halter bodice and a beautifully flared skirt that ended just above the knee. The satiny hue of the dress highlighted her light red hair magnificently. And, true to form, her makeup looked as though she were ready for a night on the town! She looked hot enough to eat, which, not incidentally, crossed my mind as she playfully batted her eyelashes as we talked.

The most interesting part of our conversation involved Michael (or "Michelle", as she had so aptly named him). It seems that Melissa and Michael have developed a bit of a . . . well, a bit of a relationship. His desire to be with her, to pamper her, to serve her, fit very nicely with her desire to be pampered and served. And, of course, her expertise with fashion and cosmetics is ideal for Michael, whose longing for such things we know very well, indeed. In the past few months, Melissa has not washed a single dish, not ironed a single blouse, not even touched the bathroom with a sponge or scrub brush. She's had a very willing sissy slave to do all these things -- and more -- for her. "He's such a hot little tart," she told me, "all painted and perfumed. I insist that he keep his lips wet with color at all times, so he's constantly primping in the mirror with his lipstick and gloss. And with his fetish for makeup, you can imagine how aroused he gets doing that!" She laughed, and I could tell she was reliving in her mind some scene she'd experienced with Michael. "You should see what I make him wear," she continued, touching my arm lightly. "It's a skimpy little satin thing, just enough to barely cover his lingerie, so his state of arousal is unmistakable. He presents such a lewd image . . . walking around in his high heels, his hips thrust forward ever so slightly . . . with that thing dripping constantly! He has a perpetual wet spot on the front of his panties, but hell, I like having him that way. It keeps his attention on me, and I can use his tongue whenever I feel like it."

She was on a roll, so I hated to interrupt her, but I had to know. "So, do you ever sleep with him? Tell the truth!"

"Absolutely not!" she said, emphatically, almost offended. "But he's so eager to pleasure me with his mouth whenever I wish, it's not even a consideration. I let him play with himself every few days or so, under my supervision, of course." She added that last bit with emphasis! "So it's not like he goes unfulfilled. And if I catch him touching himself without permission, he gets punished. Which, as it happens, occurs rather frequently."

"Oh, really!" I said, my curiosity piqued. "Tell me more!"

"Oh, yes, indeed," she replied. "I have a couple of 'toys' I use on him... a paddle, a crop, a penis whip. As a matter of fact, I owe him a good one tonight. He was doing the dishes after breakfast this morning, and I caught him rubbing himself against the kitchen cabinet! Actually, in his high heels, he was so tall he actually was using the counter-top as a little masturbation device. Disgusting! I mean, the kitchen counter-top! Well, I had to get to work, so I couldn't deal with the situation right then. But he's in for it when I get home." She paused for a moment, thinking. "In fact," she said, "why don't you join us? I could use your help. And Susan will be there."

"His sister?" This was really getting interesting! "Oh, yes," she confirmed. "She's seen me punish him before. She gets-off on it."

"I'd love to join you," I replied. I felt myself getting moist at the thought. "Would you mind if I brought Laura? She's been helping me dress a few guys, and I think she could learn a few things."

"By all means, bring her along. We'll make a little party out of it! See you at seven."

Laura was extremely excited at the prospect of witnessing a little discipline. A very worldly 22, she's a tall, lithe beauty, with full lips and lively eyes. Her slightly punky page-boy haircut befitted her outfit perfectly: black leather miniskirt, black satin tee, fishnet stockings and heels that were even higher than mine. The garter tabs holding her stockings peeked from under her skirt as she slid into the car. An accomplished equestrian, the thought of a using a riding crop on something other than a horse intrigued her. I could swear I detected the aroma of arousal as she sat next to me. We were running a little late, so I hoped we hadn't missed anything at Melissa's. As we pulled into the driveway, Laura grasped my wrist and looked straight at me.

"This is going to be good, isn't it?" Her eyes were animated, anticipating quite a scene.

I nodded. "I think so," I told her.

"Let's see."

Susan answered the door, which surprised me. I had expected the little "maid" to assume such a duty. When we entered the living room, I understood why. Michael was on his knees in the middle of the room, a look of sheer horror on his face. Apparently, he had not expected company, much less a pair of unfamiliar women dressed as we were. Except for a small table lamp in the corner, the only light in the room was provided by several large candles, but it was more than adequate to fully appreciate the form kneeling before us. Melissa was standing next to him, a very long, very thin riding crop in her right hand. She set the crop down and walked over to greet us. After introductions had been made, and wine served, we made ourselves comfortable on the sofa, directly in front of Michael. By now, he was blushing furiously, but hadn't spoken a word. Melissa and Susan had obviously spent some time doing him up to exaggerate his humiliation, and they had done an excellent job. Every trace of hair, save his head, had been removed, so his skin was absolutely smooth. Stretched across his chest was a bright pink brassiere made entirely of exquisite, scalloped lace. The bra seemed a bit tight and restrictive, even more so because the cups had been stuffed with what appeared to be satin lace panties. Around his waist was a garter belt, also pink, which looked as though it matched the bra perfectly. The garter belt held his pink stockings tightly against his thighs, and contrasted his lily white skin beautifully.

The pink heels on his feet had to be at least 41/2 inches and as thin as pencils. He'd have trouble walking in these. The panties he was wearing were crotchless and quite beautiful . . . a delightful pink confection of satin and lace, the legs trimmed with little flutters of shiny material that caught the light. Protruding from the front of the panties, however, was a most lewd and vulgar appendage. They had bound Michael's genitals with a pink stocking, wrapping it around the base and separating his testicles from his body and from each other. The purple organ pulsed obscenely with each heartbeat, and despite the tightness of his bondage, he had begun dripping on the carpet beneath him.

Someone had coated the entire head of his penis with hot pink lipstick, in a shade, of course, that matched his lips exactly. All of his makeup, in fact, had been carefully chosen and applied in an almost extreme manner. I counted at least five shades of eyeshadow that extended up and out from his eyes: from light pink, to various shades of rose, to violet, to a dark purple in the crease of his eyelid. His eyebrows had been plucked to an extremely thin, feminine arch, and the violet eyeliner he was wearing matched the mascara that coated his lashes. His blush, although heavy, was blended perfectly. Although his makeup was quite dramatic, it had been applied with the taste and aplomb of two professional makeup artists; Susan and Melissa had done a wonderful job. Completing Michael's look were a pair of heavy gold earrings that dangled past his neck and brushed his shoulders lightly. They moved to and fro, unencumbered by his hair, which was pulled back into a simple pony tail. Our trance was broken by Melissa, who grabbed Michael by his pony tail, pulling his head back so that he was looking up at her. "Little Michelle was caught playing with herself this morning, ladies," Melissa announced, as if she were a prosecutor at the Inquisition. "It was a most disgusting affair." She spoke to Michael, "And what happens to little girls who play with themselves without permission?" He responded with a sentence or two, but I could barely hear him, his voice was so subdued. It apparently wasn't clear enough for Melissa, either. "I can't hear you, Michelle," she said, sarcastically. "Tell our guests what happens when I catch you playing with yourself."

"I must apologize profusely," he said, a bit louder this time. "And I must ask to be punished." Despite his predicament, he continued to drip amply, his erection diminished not one bit.

Laura grasped my arm again, lightly. "This is so hot!" she whispered. Susan seemed to be enjoying herself, as well. She had managed to snake her hand underneath her miniskirt, stroking herself freely. Laura and I noticed this simultaneously, taking it as an invitation to make ourselves very comfortable, as well. And that, we did. Melissa was circling Michael, now, lightly flicking the crop against her thigh as she went.

"Why don't you retrieve the stool, Michelle, and place it here in the center of the room?" she told him, firmly. Michael gingerly came to his feet, wobbling on those incredibly high heels. A rope of pre-come flicked into the air, splashing against his stomach as he rose. It was only then that I noticed that Michael's ankles had been hobbled with a short gold chain. I heard Laura gasp at the sight, as she continued to work her hand in her panties with renewed vigor. The stool was a long one, perhaps three feet in length, topped with padded leather, and quite heavy. There was no doubt as to its purpose. Michael carefully dragged the implement to the center of the room, forced to take very small steps because of the hobble chain. "Assume the position," Melissa told him. And assume it he did, bending over the stool so that his backside faced us. As Melissa peeled his panties down to his knees, we couldn't help but notice a pair of tampon strings protruding from his rectum. This was too much simply too much for Susan, who had worked herself into quite a frenzy next to me: she cried out as a climax overwhelmed her. Melissa must have added that little touch with the tampons while Susan wasn't looking!

Michael began to turn around to see what the fuss was all about, but a sharp blow with Melissa's crop got his attention. "Face forward, Michelle!," she said, "and apologize properly to our guests!" Michael managed to do as he was told, and then volunteered the required request for punishment. He begged for it....in fact, begged for it hard. Melissa was only too happy to oblige. She paused momentarily, for effect, measured her stroke, and landed the first punishment blow straight across his backside. Michael jumped slightly and gasped, but otherwise remained in position. Melissa waited a second for the welt to appear. It was perfect -- a thin, pink stripe that extended the width of Michael's buttocks. Twice more, Melissa delivered stinging strokes, pausing after each to allow the color to emerge. The next five strokes were applied in quick succession, giving Michael no time to recover. This brought an audible reaction from him, but to his credit, he remained draped over the stool.

Melissa retrieved a wooden paddle from a nearby table, a beautiful work of art in solid oak, complete with carefully spaced holes to reduce wind resistance (and, not incidentally, to leave delightful little marks on the recipient). I realized that this was going to be very interesting, indeed! Melissa swung the paddle hard, landing the blow with a resounding "thwack!" Michael jumped at this one, and howled! He began to move his hands to his rear to relieve the sting, but thought better of it. Melissa simply pushed him back into place, waited a second, and delivered another blow. She was quite accomplished at this, and I made a mental note to call on her when I needed assistance with a particularly unruly slave. After two more whacks with the paddle, Michael's rear was turning a nice, diffuse red, punctuated beautifully by little circles and the horizontal stripes left by the crop. His breathing was heavy, but judging from his reaction, I do believe he was enjoying this almost as much as we were. Not surprising, actually. I was so mesmerized by what was happening before us, I hadn't noticed that Laura had picked-up the crop and was toying with it as Melissa was busy dealing with Michael.

During a pause in the activities, Melissa looked over at Laura and noticed her playing with the crop. "Would you like to help, Laura? You're welcome to add a few, if you like!" Laura practically leaped from the sofa, thanking Melissa for the opportunity. Michael turned his head slightly and groaned, realizing that his chastisement was not yet complete. As Laura prepared to deliver, Melissa whispered loudly to her, "Give her twelve of your best." Laura pulled back to give him the first cut, but rather than swing her entire arm, she snapped her wrist, bringing the crop out and around at an amazing speed, striking the already-sensitized skin with incredible force.

"Ahh-ahh-ahh! Oh, Mistress!" Michael felt that one, for certain. The remaining eleven were delivered equally well, with a very audible response from Michael after each one. When Laura replaced the crop on the table, Michael turned around and faced all four of us, on his knees. Then, to my surprise, he offered a heartfelt "thank you, Mistress" to Laura. His thanks were genuine, if the physical reaction between his legs was any indication -- he was at full attention, still dripping.

Melissa untied his genital bondage and put him in the corner, standing, legs together and hands behind his back, the results of his punishment in full view of us all. We ladies spent the rest of the evening chatting, enjoying our wine and listening to music. From time-to-time, we'd walk over to Michael, feel the heat from his posterior, and comment on how well he took his punishment. Laura, the little minx, would rake her nails across his tender skin, sending shivers up his spine, but no doubt arousing him even more. Melissa promised to invite us, again, the next time she caught him playing with himself. I imagine, however, that it may be some time before he's foolish enough to try it!