Victoria's text message, received at 9am exactly, was succinct.
Wear shorts, T-shirt, socks and trainers. Nothing else. Be at Staines Station at 12noon. Bring £80.
Stephen re-read the message several times, unsure of what games Victoria had planned. Staines was a large town, on the very edge of the London metropolitan area, and near Heathrow Airport. Twelve miles away from their small Surrey suburb, he had to change buses as there was no direct service. It took almost an hour, and as he had allowed plenty of time, he walked from the bus station next to the expansive shopping mail on the banks of the River Thames to grab a coffee and peruse the shops.
Victoria was waiting for him beside the train station when he meandered to their rendezvous point, and he beamed warmly at her. "Hiya. How are you doing?"
"You're late."
"It's ten to twelve. You're early." Victoria's eyes narrowed, and she put her book in her bag. "Where are we going?"
"We're going to go shopping. And then you are going to buy me lunch. And then we are going to do a bit more shopping. Then you are going to take me home." Stephen gulped as Victoria pushed herself upright, smirked, and strode onto the path that led from the train station to the town centre.
Stephen ran to keep up with her. "Did you have a good journey? My bus wasn't too bad, actually. I thought it would take longer, but it didn't. I'm ..."
"Shut up!" Victoria snapped. "Shut up now." She walked past a young couple who looked at the rude domme, striding past them on the busy Saturday. Sun broke through the breaks in the buildings until they reached the car park, and then the shopping centre.
The first shop they entered was a discount fashion chain. The expansive premises catered for all ages and genders with a mix of value items. It was not where Stephen expected Victoria to take him. Staines did not have a reputation for its exhaustive range of designer boutiques, but the cheap store was for inexpensive, everyday items.
"Wait here," she told him gruffly outside the shop and clicked her fingers. "Wallet?"
He passed her his black leather wallet, and she sauntered through the front door as he waited, along with the Labrador that had been tied up by its owner. He peered through the window, but his companion walked to the back of the shop and out of sight. Victoria took twenty minutes to purchase what she needed and held a plastic bag as she rejoined him. She said nothing as she strode past him, but just clicked her fingers and Stephen dutifully followed her towards the pedestrianised shopping precinct.
The next shop was in an open High Street in the sunshine. She sauntered into the fashionable chain, catering for the teenage female market. The shop was mostly empty of customers, and Victoria hummed to herself as she looked through the fashion styles. He hesitated at the front of the shop and watched Victoria navigate the store.
She never looked at Stephen and didn't acknowledge his presence. She simply selected a short tartan kilt and continued to walk around the shop. Then, as she approached the till, she beckoned him over and pushed the plastic bag and kilt into his midriff. "Try those on. Put your shorts in the bag and bring out the labels."
"But..." Stephen squealed. The shop assistant, bereft of customers, watched the two teenagers as Victoria grabbed him by the earlobe and marched him to the changing rooms.
"Go!" She ordered. She gave a half-hearted smile to the junior assistant. Stephen panted inside the claustrophobic changing room. His hands shivered as he looked at the garment in his hand and then opened the bag to see a pair of thigh high woollen stockings.
He couldn't do this. He couldn't walk out of the changing room while wearing a skirt. The young man poked his head out of the thin curtain separating the changing room from the shop and saw Victoria at the other side of the store. He called her name, and she ignored him.
He sent her a text. "This is too much. Please."
"Do it, Stephen," came the response, which she followed with "trust me."
Stephen gulped and kicked his shoes and socks off his ankles. His boardwalk shorts hit the floor, and he stood in front of a full-length mirror in just his T-shirt and chastity cage.
He took a deep breath, and turned the red and black tartan kilt, pleated at the back, in his hands. It reached his mid-thigh as he pulled the rough fabric up his legs so the thick waistband reached his waist. He looked in the mirror once more. It didn't look any different from a normal kilt. He looked almost passable, and he unfurled the first black stocking up his hairless legs to his mid-thigh.
Then the right leg.
He twirled on the spot, watching his reflection in the mirror. Excited and apprehensive. Victoria had taken him further than he had thought he could go, but there was no mistaking the fact that he looked different. There were few Scotsmen in Staines, and none of them were in the town centre wearing short kilts designed for teenage girls.
Victoria cooed when he stepped into the shop. "Perfect," she called out to him and clicked her fingers. "Pay the lady, please." Stephen placed the labels on the counter and stared at the floor as the shop assistant scanned the barcode.
"That's fifteen pounds ninety-nine," she said with a giggle in her voice, and Stephen held out two ten-pound notes from his wallet. "Thank you!" She cried loudly as Stephen stepped away with his change.
"Thank you!" Victoria shouted back.
"Of course, to wear a kilt properly," the young female sales assistant giggled as the two teenagers stepped towards the exit. "You need garter belts too."
Victoria stopped her partner with a palm on his chest, and she turned to face the fresh-faced blonde girl standing behind the till. "To wear a kilt properly is without underwear," she called back, and lifted the hem of Stephen's kilt at the back to expose his bare bum. He shrieked and pulled his clothing down to just below the tops of his stockings.
"Did you have to do that!" He snapped as they left the store. She giggled and patted him on the butt.
"I can do what I want this afternoon. You're mine, numbnuts. Don't forget I have oodles of pictures and videos of you. I thought we could invite a few friends round for a porno evening. Hugh can come too, have you in the maid outfit. I know you suck cock very well!"
She spoke loudly and two groups of teenagers turned to stare at the blushing Stephen walking through the shopping centre. "Keep your voice down!"
"Oh Stephen," Victoria simpered, and walked into a chain pub. "You do suck cock very well." She sat down at a table and picked up a menu. Stephen slid into a seat beside her and picked up a menu as well. She smiled at him as she clicked her fingers. "Wallet."
He passed his black wallet over to her, and she rose from her seated position. "Can I have the..."
"You will get what I order you," she interrupted, and walked to the bar to order their food and drinks. The cool breeze from the open door swirled across his caged cock and uncovered balls, although the smoothness of the thin-knit cotton against his glabrous legs was a luxurious feeling. He watched the vicious teenager laugh as she ordered their meal and returned to the table holding a glass of fruit cider. "Your drink is coming with your meal."
She took out her phone as Stephen went to speak. "Ssshh," she interrupted and giggled as she read messages on her device. He waited. "One of the several hundred stories you and Hugh exchanged was about a teenage student who was forced to go shopping with his dominatrix girlfriend. And she bought him a skirt and made him wear it to the cafe. The author promised a part two, but he got bored and never wrote it."
Stephen gulped. "I don't remember."
"It was something like The Adventures With My College Dominatrix, which is damn silly, because the word 'my' conveys ownership of the domme. And a woman in a healthy relationship owns the man, not the other way around." She glanced up at her squirming partner and reached into her bag and put a condom, a big black butt plug and a small vial of lube on the table. "Go into the toilets, and put that where I want it. Because when we get home, you are going to write that Part Two for me."
Stephen gulped and grabbed the sex toy from the table; he looked around the pub, hoping that nobody had seen the black plug in open view on the table. She sipped her drink, and he slipped into a cubicle in the gents' toilets.
It stank, but he didn't care. His mind whirred as he unwrapped the condom and slid it over the bulbous head of the rubber dong. The room echoed; his nervousness magnified every sound in his eardrums. The bang of a door, or the cheer of a football fan, raised the hairs on his skin as his fingers quivered.
He spread a large dollop of lubricant over the sheathed buttplug, and he put his right leg on the toilet seat and squatted slightly. The kilt offered no barrier, and he pressed the condom-covered bulb against his puckering whorl and applied gentle pressure to his parting bud.
Too much.
Deep breaths.
Slowly.
He gently worked the toy in further and further. He'd taken bigger toys over the last couple of days, and he'd enjoyed it.
