PARTY FROCKS FOR THEIR FIRST DATE
from Prim

Malcolm Renshaw wished he was anywhere but here in the entrance hall, watching Velma in her glittering apple green cocktail dress rush to the door to let in the visitors. She was riding a wave of excitement, starting from the effort she had put into her hair and make-up, and it could only be for one thing. She wanted to throw herself into the arms of Caroline.
The door opened, and before the women had even said hello, they blended together in a steamy, clinching kiss. The jealousy stung into his heart. He couldn’t look – and he didn’t want to look at Philippe Harmiston either. Why oh why did the guy allow his wife to drag him here, bringing a day of aching misery to both husbands? He caught a glimpse of him: she had him wearing her coat, in off-white wool with a huge belt, short enough to reveal that he was in a tight skirt to the knee. Malcolm turned away, to sweep himself off into another life away from the humiliating hours that lay ahead. He looked down his front and knew that now his back was turned, his pretend ‘sweetheart’ would be eyeing him up and down in this white silk top of Velma’s, and the silver satin, wide legged trousers she had bought for partying now that she and Caroline were an item.

Pictures forced their way into his mind – of him and Philippe becoming more and more intimate under the smirking supervision of their wives, and a moan of shame escaped his throat. His emotion drew their attention to him.

“Oh I see,” snapped Velma, stepping across and seizing his hand, “you’ve seen your boyfriend and you can’t wait to get fresh with him? Come on, Caroline, bring your drizzle-wick into the sitting room and we’ll decide how we’re going to get them ready for each other.”

Caroline took Philippe’s hand and hauled him after her. “Darling, I love him in your satin pants. They make him so feminine!” she cried. “That one of mine can’t wait for us to dress him so that he can feel turned on and cosy with his sweetheart. He’s wearing my chiffon blouse,” and Malcolm couldn’t help joining his wife in watching as the huge coat buckle was undone and the white wool coat was opened and slipped off his shoulders to reveal a blouse of palest blue silk chiffon over a flat chested white training bra. He wore the blouse out, over the waist of a narrow charcoal skirt, and he swung round to hide the shame on his face.

“Turn this way. Don’t be so rude. Velma wants to see your embarrassment, don’t you darling? And you’d better get used to looking that sissy in the eye since you’re both going to get very close as the day goes on. Sit there next to him, where we can see you both in our things.”

Malcolm’s nerves wilted. Partly because his flesh was prickling with arousal at being so close to Philippe, but more because his whole manhood was dragged down and trodden underfoot under the contempt of both women combined. His heart bled for his pretend sweetheart: he must be feeling exactly the same. Worse, because he’d been dragged into Velma’s house, all on foreign ground, and he was in a blouse and skirt with pale pink patent high heels. He was like Malcolm himself: suffering in silence, too meek to object, caught in a spiral of downward humiliation now that these two women saw that they could do whatever they wanted to their husbands without even a protest.

“Look at them,” said Velma: “two sexless effeminates, as weak as kittens and docile like little girls.”

Caroline snorted her agreement. “That’s why we’re going to put you both into little dresses today. So that from now on you can see each other as your little girlfriend.”

Malcolm hung his head. This was a bolt out of the blue. How cruel their wives were.
“We’ve decided the pair of you can date each other whenever Caroline and I want to meet up, which is going to be a lot.”

“So we’ve made a start,” said Caroline, “by getting some proper girly frills for your new sweetheart closet, which is going to be right here in Velma’s house.” Malcolm’s misery sank even lower, while beside him, Philippe cried a little whimper and put his hand over his nose and mouth to prevent any further sounds of shame.

Velma picked up a bag from beside the settee and fished inside. “Philippe,” she said, “stand up and come and sit by me.” His hesitation lasted no more than a second, then he did as he was told. She produced a smooth, round feeding bottle, half the size of a baby’s but fitted with a feeding teat in a white plastic screw top, and followed it with a second which she passed to Caroline. “You will both need plenty of energy drinks to help you through your first date today. Now, turn your back to me, get yourself closer, and lean back over my lap. That’s right, put your high heels up on the settee so that you’re not twisted. Now, open.”

Malcolm watched, breathless, as Philippe opened his mouth and was given a drink. He saw his throat gulp and swallow, again and again, and the white liquid – was it milk? – bubbled up and down in the bottle. Then the worst happened. “Come on,” said Caroline, “you’re sitting here with me.” His pulse raced as he found himself walking across the carpet and seating his satin trousers on the settee beside her. “Turn round the same,” she said, “and put your head across my knee.”

There wasn’t much room so he found his back across her dress and his head resting on her arm. It was strangely thrilling to look up into her face from below: her eyes were blue and her lipstick bright red, and she had a pointed nose, all the sharper because her hair was pulled back into a chignon. Her dress had a gorgeous white collar and a pretty bow across her bust, and he felt her push the teat between his lips. He opened, it felt small in his mouth, nothing like filling it, but she lifted her chin to look down on him, as if telling him to obey, so he squeezed the teat between his tongue and palate and drank in cold squirts. He felt a frightening excitement in the gusset of his satin trousers. She was making him her baby. He watched her eyes, thickly lined in black, which were almost smiling at him. Her lips pursed as he drank, and one of her fingers left the bottle to stroke him affectionately on the cheek. He liked it. He was her baby, and he was feeling happy and rosy under her control.

Their drinks were short and their wives made them sit up. “We’ve fed you with Fem-Aggra,” declared Velma. “You’ll soon start feeling the effects: a nice wish to be effeminate, which will gradually flood through all your system.” “And keep you going far into the evening, I should think,” said Caroline with a chuckle.

“Bring him upstairs to my room,” said Velma as she drew Philippe Harmiston after her towards the hall, “and we’ll get the two of them ready to feel sweet and affectionate for each other.”

Malcolm followed Caroline, glad to have her hand round his, wishing he could have lain back across her knee for another hour or so. “Come along dear,” she said, still close to a smile but he felt the disdain in her eyes, “it’ll be so nice when you’re both soft and girly, won’t it honeykins?”

Up in Velma’s room, all lilac and white, they made the two husbands stand side by side in the wide space between the bed and the dressing table. Malcolm cringed as Caroline went past Velma’s bed to his crib in the corner, all white bars and with a barred lid.

“Oh Caroline, is this his new bed? It’s gorgeous, all ready for a super-girly baby occupant!” He’d been sleeping in it for a month now, but his wife had just got him all that pink satin-and-lace bedding. His heart ached with shame as she picked up one of the pink lace heart-shaped cushions. “You’re going to be Mommy Velma’s little baby girl, I can see, darling.”
“Starting tonight,” replied Velma as she undid Philippe’s blouse for him. “It remains to be seen whether he’ll be in it on his own,” and the blouse slipped off her visitor’s arms, “or whether they’ll be ready to occupy it together.”

“That’s something we’re all going to see this afternoon, isn’t it girls?” said Caroline, returning to Malcolm and undoing the waist of his trousers. “We know how feminine you’re both going to feel, and how attractive to each other.”

Malcolm knew something was happening to him as the visitor removed his clothes. His legs and his abdomen were warm and he felt strangely alert, as if his nerve endings were ultra-sensitive all over his body. The perfumed air of the bedroom caressed the nakedness of his flesh and he quivered with the realization that he felt a girlish softness in his limgs. Caroline made him sit on the bed, and she unclipped his stockings and rolled them down and off his feet. When she stripped him of Velma’s panties, she paused with an “Oh!” as if startled at his cock.

It wasn’t erect, it sat on top of his testes in its smallness, unable to stiffen under the gaze of a female. “How cute!” she gasped. “Your cock is no bigger than Philippe’s. I think the two of you have been getting ready for your girlhood, and your sexual places are showing us how much you are longing to be side by side.”

“That’s right,” agreed Velma. She had left Philippe sitting stark naked on the edge of the bed and was standing at the pink closet with the door open. She reached up and drew into sight a handful of hangers parcelled together in the prettiest of see-thru clothes bags. “It’s time to get them ready to be together, side by side, in their dainty, girly clothes. You’ll like that, won’t you, Philippe?” She fed one hanger after another from the bottom of the bag and spread three white silk petticoats out on the bed, one or two of them crinolines so that they stood in deep layers, gleaming with little pink ribbons at intervals round the skirts.

“Come on,” said Caroline, “on your feet. I’m going to get you ready for your girlfriend.”

Malcolm cringed with shame as he let out a flurry of soft whimpers. He did as she told him and she took him by the hand and led him to the pink closet. The cluster of prettiness she brought out was every bit as delicate and rustly as Philippe’s lingerie, and soon the two husbands had a pool of pretty frillies laid out on opposite sides of the bed.

“Sit here,” said Velma, “close to each other, so that you can feel how girly your sweetheart is becoming as we dress him in his lovely under-things.” She made Philippe sit on the bed, and Caroline manoeuvred Malcolm so that the two males were sitting on the end of the bed, almost touching elbows. Their wives had pairs of white socks and patent Mary Jane shoes to put on their feet. He felt somehow light and dreamy, especially when Caroline held a little white tank top bodice for his hands and dropped it over his head. Then she had a pair of full cut white silk panties, softly frilled round the wide legs and with a pink ribbon bow at the front of the waist. She got him to his feet and his legs shivered with excitement as the panty slid up his nakedness and enclosed his genitals in its smooth, cold gusset so that they began to ache and stretch alarmingly.

Next she lifted a flurry of silk from the bed and presented him with his petticoat. It was a simple white shift with three inches of lace round the hem and narrow ribbons in the troughs of his shoulders. His next petticoat was waisted, with a two tier skirt of frills spreading wide. As it dropped over him in shimmering white, the skirts spread around his hips and hid his legs from his view. He was aware of flutters of white lace and nylon beside him, and Philippe disappeared in a voluminous petticoat, before reappearing, hanging his head, his eyes closed with horror, as his petticoat was fluffed and fussed by Velma’s busy hands.

“It’s time for your make-up,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him to the dressing table. “I know make-up is not recommended for little girls, but in your case, my little fairies, the important thing is to be attractive to your partner.” Caroline laughed and brought Malcolm too. Luckily Velma’s stool was wide, or was it unlucky? The two ‘sweethearts’ were made to sit, their bare shoulders touching, and face the glass, where it became difficult not to catch their partner’s eye. They were both blushing a shade of rose pink, which stood out against the brilliant white of their petticoat bodices. The wives drew up a chair each beside their friend’s husband and launched into the preparations Velma had laid out for them.

Caroline brushed a light dusting of blush to Malcolm’s eyelids and temples, then spread a creamy moisturizer over his cheeks. “Oh the texture!” she cried, looking with him into the mirror, where his lips drooped with shame. “I think we need a little peach powder finish to calm that bloom and add a sexual allure.”

“Your husband suits this Beauty Balm by Clarins, darling,” said Velma, chuckling and holding his face up with a finger under his chin so that all eyes could see what she meant. “And these trembling lips are just asking for my glazed Lancome lipstick.”

When their make-over was complete, their hair was done. The women spent fifteen minutes with combs, sprays and blows until their husbands could see for themselves that they looked girly and very young. Almost like a pair of seven or eight year olds. And the truly worrying thing was that, as they were led back to the bed, they were both feeling delicate, submissive and very pretty. It was as if they wanted to melt into a sweetheart’s embrace. The women stood their girls in their petticoats at the foot of the bed again, and opened the pink closet once more.

Malcolm knew what was coming. They were standing in their petticoats and Mary Janes, so all that was missing was the dresses they would wear for their first date. Then he mewled with anguish as the dresses came into view. Pink and white satin, and apricot satin with white edging and puffed white sleeves. Caroline chose the apricot satin, and came towards him, this time her face smirking with contempt. She fed her arms under its wide skirt, sizzling up inside the white satin lining, until it was gathered for him to thread his hands through the sleeves and ready to be fed carefully over his hair-do and dropped over his petticoats.

The rush of satins thrilled him, sizzling here and there as she pulled his dress this way and that to settle it around his petticoats. The warm girlishness he had felt earlier grew and grew as she stood behind him to do up the back of his bodice and to fasten his ribbons into a deep satin bow. Then he caught sight of Phillipe. Ohhh his dress was so wide, so filled with petticoats and so little girly. He loved it. Ohhh what was he thinking! He mustn’t love it – but he wanted to be close to it, and it made him feel so sweet. Velma was tying his white ribbons into a big bow high up behind his waist and she had a broad smile on her face. She caught her husband looking.

“Well, do you like your girlfriend in her lovely pink dress?” Philippe’s head was bowed with embarrassment but she turned him by the big puffed sleeves at his shoulders and moved him forward until the little girls’ dresses rustled against each other in their wideness.

“I think they would like to sit side by side, Velma darling,” said Caroline. “If I’m not mistaken, they want nothing more than to sit close beside their pretty new girlfriend.”

Malcolm’s heart pattered furiously beneath his satin dress, because that was just how he WAS feeling. He half risked a look at his girlfriend, in the hope that she wanted to sit up close to him too, and a sudden rush of sweetness seemed to burst over him. In a beautiful moment of girlishness, he knew he wanted to wear the clothes out of the pink closet, so that he could be a lovely sweetheart that Philippe would fall in love with.
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