Page 135 - PENTHOUSE LETTERS 2018 Writer Of The Year Award Jim McCartan

because all along, beneath the robe,
she’d been wearing a breathtaking PVC
corset, thigh-high stockings and nothing
else. Instinctively, on seeing this vision
of supreme womanhood, I dropped to
my knees and helped my mistress into
her stilettos. Elevated by her don’t-fuck-
with-me heels, her formidable figure
became even more daunting, casting a
shadow over my kneeling form.
The vision of her and her imperious
attitude made my cock breathtakingly
hard.
She looked down at me, and I felt
a shiver of delicious fear reverberate
throughout my entire body.
“Now be a good girl, and go change,”
said Miranda, “or else you can’t come to
the party.”
“Party? What party?” I asked,
examining my disheveled shirt. I took it
off, but I still had no intention of dressing
like a girl.
“I’m having a night in with friends,”
explained Miranda, “and it’s strictly girls-
only.” She spoke softly and clearly, her
manner quite friendly until she gripped
my hair and bellowed, “Strip!”
She was completely unable—and
unwilling—to hide her dissatisfaction
with the petulant slave who had dared to
answer back. Stunned by her outburst,
I hurriedly stripped naked, even though
the thought of dressing up was making
me more nervous by the second. It
was embarrassing enough being
sissified in front of my mistress, but her
girlfriends would be seeing me, too. Yet,
my cock began to swell as I imagined
the possibilities. I was frightened and
aroused, thrilled that she knew how to
push my buttons in the perfect way.
Miranda didn’t share any of my
concerns, that was clear. She was
already handing me clothes to wear,
in addition to my frilly outfit. First, she
dressed me in a pair of her too tight,
dirty panties, then she fastened a garter
belt around my waist and prettified my
legs with fishnet stockings. It was such a

133