Garnet: a Story of Submission Ch. 01

1. First Approach

I was no stranger to night time internet sites and chat rooms. It was my habit to trawl or 'surf' through them when I couldn't sleep – and that recently had been with increasing regularity. The invitation had struck a chord deep within me, an invitation for 'a co-operative submissive, willing to submit her or himself to the directions of a trio of Mistresses' to make immediate contact.

Still, in addition to the vague but insistent prompting from within to respond, a cautionary note also entered my mind. 'What, if anything, would I become involved in? Something I could neither control nor escape from? Don't be daft,' I told my self! 'How could anyone make you do anything you don't want to – from the other end of an anonymous computer link?'

'What exactly would this involve?' I eventually sent, without signature.

The reply came back 'adventures and experiences of a sexual nature.'

Perhaps I'd better introduce myself, fill in some background, so to speak. At the age of 28, at that time I'd recently come to London from a provincial city, to take up a middle management post in a company selling fine art via the internet. As often as not, I worked from home; mine was a lonely existence. Only five feet seven inches tall, with a slim body weighing less than nine stones, with proportionately small hands and feet, I'm hardly 'God's gift to women.' Particularly when you add my fresh faced, fair skinned complexion and curly blond locks. Altogether, I'd never had much success with girls, except as friends – girls were inclined to treat me almost as one of their own sex, even to the extent of sharing quite intimate details of their personal lives.

When I tried to form a relationship it would start out fine, as I deferred to her wishes and allowed her to make any and all decisions; but she would soon tire of that and become irritated by my indecisiveness, and so the relationship would founder.

Other men didn't seem to be able to regard me as anything other than a useful, amiable idiot, onto whom they could offload unwanted tasks or make up a foursome, to be paired off with some unwanted additional female: I'd spent much of my leisure time alone, since I came to London. I have to admit that my attitude to both men and women was highly coloured by my previous family life. My father was a bully of the highest order, given to physically abusing my mother and frightening the life me – for whom he had only the utmost contempt, due to my lack of stature, my minimal physical presence and my inability to partake successfully in any form of sport.

The only member of our family he couldn't control was my sister, eighteen months older and two inches taller than me, with fiery red hair and a body and a temper to match. She stood up to him alright and, strangely, he respected her for it – but it was no use, I couldn't emulate her.

The only decent thing he did for us was to depart this life early, leaving my mother reasonably well off and the three of us to fend for ourselves as best we could. But by then I was incapable of independent thought or action. It wasn't a case of having had my self confidence diminished; I'd never had the opportunity to develop any! I settled to a suddenly peaceful life under the protection of my sister and, to a lesser extent, our mother. It wasn't until four years after his death that I'd managed to acquire some degree of self esteem and moved to an independent life in London – such as it was.

'A trio of Mistresses,' the thought kept nagging; it took me a long time to screw up enough nerve to continue. Even then it wasn't really a world shattering response, 'I'd like to explore this further. J.'

'Okay, we might be willing,' the response came back, 'but who are we talking to? If you have a webcam, plug it in and let's have a look at you.'

With that, an image appeared on my screen. There were indeed three women. Dressed alike in all but colour in lacy satin corselets, panties and bras', with nylon clad legs supported by three suspender straps aside, emanating from the lace hem of the corselet. Their feet were clad in plain court shoes and they wore satin hoods that fitted tight around their heads, with eye slots that left only their nostrils, mouths and chins free.

The one on the left was in shades of yellow, the one in the centre blue and third green. The exposed lower face, shoulders, arms and thighs of the one in blue were as fresh and fair as my own; the one in green had the same pink, slightly freckled complexion as my sister; and the skin of the one in yellow glowed in a glorious golden tan that indicated a sub-continental or maybe Caribbean origin.

I set up my camera link and waited.

The next response, the first instruction, arrived quickly. 'If you are serious, remove your clothes, carefully.'

Had I switched off then things would have been different, but I didn't, I complied. Naked I stood in front of the camera, my face turned down my hands shielding my cock. 'Hands to your sides and turn slowly in front of the camera, so that we can get a good look at you,' the new message read. Again I complied.

I didn't expect the next order: 'Masturbate for us.'

Pretty well hypnotised by now I obeyed, my hands going to my already stiffening and thickening cock, working, caressing with increasing rhythm and frequency until I felt the build up then, suddenly a little devil of my own entering my mind, as I erupted I aimed at the camera spilling my load over the lens, reflected of course in the image now over the screen.

'Time for introductions,' came up on the screen, 'I am Miss Topaz and my two companions, all of whom you must regard as your mistresses, are Miss Emerald and Miss Sapphire. Tomorrow you will acquire four outfits similar to the ones we're wearing, except that yours will be in shades of pink and crimson, and you will log on again tomorrow morning at exactly 1.15am properly dressed – as we are. You will use the name Garnet.'

The screen went blank as a small nervous pulse of excitement started in my groin; tomorrow, or rather today, was Saturday. I could, of course, have ignored the directive I'd received; treated the whole thing as some kind of silly fantasy on my part – to be taken no further, instantly discarded. But I knew that I wouldn't ... or couldn't, somehow I knew I was compelled to obey.

Perhaps the pre-emptory demand made upon me, the obvious expectation of my compliance, re-awoke the feelings of security I'd experienced so recently under, the admittedly benign, domination and direction of my immediate female relatives – and particularly that of my sister – that dictated my response. Whatever, I knew that I would be spending a large part of it tracking down an outlet that would supply me with four sets of lingerie similar to those that were imprinted on my mine and that, as directed, at 1.15am Sunday I would be logging on as Garnet, dressed in some newly acquired femininity.

[Topaz made an error, of course; she should have said 'Today you will acquire ......' history of the emergence of Miss Topaz, and her two companions, can be found in 'Velvet, a Story of Obedience, Parts 1 to 4'fp]

And so it proved: I'd never bought women's underwear before and it took me some time to screw up the courage to even enter a shop that sold lingerie and, when I finally did, I was completely bewildered by the range and femininity of the garments on display – but somehow excited and aroused too, by the thought that I was buying such garments for myself!

After a while and having made some tentative, shamefaced inquiries it became apparent – even to me – that what I was seeking was outside the compass of most of the outlets I was confining myself to. Then I had a brain wave! I live in an apartment near Camden Lock but my office, when I used it, was in Bow Street, just off Long Acre – and there in Long Acre I'd seen an Ann Summers, with a window full of exotic and erotic female finery.

It still took me a while to summon up enough nerve to enter. And when I did I was confronted by a woman of about my own age, bearing the name tab Genevieve, who wanted to know if I needed 'any assistance.' Extremely haltingly I explained that I wanted to buy an outfit for my girlfriend and, somewhat encouraged by her apparent imperturbability, went on to describe the outfit I'd been ordered to acquire. Her next inquiry floored me.

'Fine,' she said, 'we can do that for you. What size is she?'

Flummoxed, all I could think of saying was 'I don't know ... but she's much the same size as me.'

'Well,' came her reply, 'we'd better measure you then.'

And measure me she did. It was a curious feeling, but if I thought that was it I was soon disillusioned.

'Now, how big are her breasts? We need to ensure the bra' fits okay.'

I gulped, 'pretty small,' was all I could think of in retort, 'a lot smaller than yours.'

She looked at me hard, as if trying to make her mind up about something, then 'look; there isn't really a girl friend is there. These are for you aren't they. What's happened? Has your Mistress sent you out to get an outfit for yourself?'

Scarlet faced and nearly in tears, but hypnotised into telling the truth, I nodded.

'Well, why didn't you say so in the first place, instead of telling lies? It makes it so much easier. Into the changing room with you – and get your clothes off. Now I know the truth I can make sure of a good fit.'

And, as I scurried into the cubicle to do as I was bid, she went back to the racks, before following me in bearing a selection of lacy, satin lingerie and made me try on a variety of corselets, panties and bra's until she was satisfied with the size. Then, as she dictated my bra' size and cup capacity, she produced a selection of breasts forms, slipping them in and out until she was, again, satisfied – something I'd not thought of. Finally, she departed, leaving me stood in my femininity to return after a period with stockings, court shoes and a hood.

I had to admit that my completed costume conformed pretty accurately to the pattern set for me by my trio of Mistresses; and even the incongruity of an erection tenting out the front of my lacy satin panties didn't negate the girlish image portrayed in the cubicle mirrors.

That first experience of wearing women's lingerie on the electrically charged nerve ends of my skin – particularly the silken feel of the satin panties clinging around my buttocks, flanks and only too insistent erection – remains with me to this day. The sheer excitement and wonder at such a glorious feeling, endorsed my previous earlier decision.

I craved the direction of a mistress ... or a trio of mistresses, who would prescribe my every movement, including any demand they might impose that I submit my masculinity to their superior femininity: particularly if the submission included surrendering myself to an outward display of femininity on my own part. My future was determined.

One last thing remained. As, at her bidding, with some reluctance, I meekly disrobed and clad myself in my own clothes, she produced a lipstick that matched my newly acquired costume – again, something I hadn't considered, although I was aware that the lips of three images that had appeared on my screen had matched their outfits.

'I need three more outfits, similar in every detail.' I told her reasoning that, as she'd already divined the truth of my situation, I might as well admit the extent of my servitude, and save myself the trauma of visiting three more outlets in fulfilling my orders.

As she complied with my final request and supplied me with the remainder of my order, she threw out a casual remark, almost an after thought. It proved invaluable to me later. 'By the way, as it's likely your mistress will be requiring you to buy more girls clothes for yourself you'll find that, without your breasts in place you're pretty much a standard size 12; with your bra' padded you might need to go up to a size 14, it'll depend on the cut of the garment."

[UK sizes, of coursefp]

By 1.15 the next morning I was in front of my computer, the camera in place and alive, dressed as instructed. Dressing had taken me considerably longer than I'd anticipated; without Genevieve's assistance the positioning, fastening and adjustment of my bra' and suspender-belt had proved more than a little problematical. But, as I'd started my preparations with some three hours to spare, I was ready in time; 'just as well,' I thought, 'I don't want to start off with a black mark!'

On cue my three Mistresses appeared on my screen and invited ... well, demanded my response. Logging in as directed, in the name of Garnet, I corroborated my obedience by standing to display my feminised figure – the front of my lace trimmed, satin panties tenting outwards to constrain, although not to disguise, my arousal.

A period of silence ensued as, presumably, my Mistresses studied my appearance ... my attempt to conform to the orders I'd received the previous night. Then, with no sign of approval or approbation, I received the order 'take out your cock and masturbate.'

Dutifully, I lowered the waist band of my panties, slipped my hand under my already pulsating cock and lifted it out.

'Stop!' the command came out, 'what do you think you're doing! Disrupting the line of your panties like that! Slide your cock delicately out of the leg!'

Abashed, I complied, restoring the waist band of my panties and smoothing them out over my flanks and buttocks before I gently slid my cock out of the lace trimmed left leg.

Gently at first then as my arousal quickened so did my fingers until I was pumping away at the shaft.

'Stop!' again the command; then, 'don't come yet! Slide your cock back into your panties, then continue to wank yourself through the material.'

Again I dutifully complied with the command, and replaced my panties as best I could around my now straining rod. Now, clasping the silky, lacy material of my panties to the helmet of my cock with the fore-finger and thumb of my left hand, I used the fingers of my right hand to continue caressing my, by now, extraordinarily sensitive shaft – again through the silky, lacy fabric.

Inevitably I exploded, pumping what seemed like gallons of semen into the delicate material which, as I gradually subsided, turned my panties into a sodden, sticky rag.

Another command appeared. 'Take off those disgusting knickers, clean yourself up and find yourself a fresh pair!'

Obedient as before, I removed my panties, cleaned myself as best I could with a handful of tissues and replaced my panties with a clean pair – some instinct telling me that I should do all this in full view of the camera and of my Mistresses.

The only acknowledgement of my performance was to be told to 'log on at the same time on Monday nights, Wednesday nights, Friday nights and Saturday nights. Do not try to contact us we will call you up if we want you. If we do not contact you, stay logged on for an hour-and-a-quarter, sitting as you are now in front of the camera. At the end of the first half-hour, masturbate and change your knickers in the way you have been instructed. After a further half-hour, remove your knickers and bra' and remain seated in your corselet, suspender-belt and stockings and mask until the completion of the stipulated time, ensuring your cock is properly on display.'

With which final instructions the screen went blank and I was left to ponder my continued response. 'Would I be logged on as directed, in two night time?'

I knew I would!