Cross dressed slavery

Oh just try it on, don’t act so…stereotypical.”

I started to protest again, I mean I was not trying to be a jerk, but I did not feel like serving as Leena’s dress dummy all afternoon. I felt uncomfortable enough around her and her clothes. The way she dressed made me crazy and I knew she would tease me all afternoon if I let her. It was my own fault really, I approached her at her last ‘fashion show’ and offered to take some pictures. I really did like her designs, but mostly because of my own peculiar fetishes. Leena worked a lot with sweaters and wool, knit creations she called them, and those creations did something to me. I remember clearly her first show, and the first model, coming out in a striped wool tube dress that started at the chin and descended all the way to her ankles. It gave me goose bumps. So I had become friends with her, even shot some photos, but I did not think I could try any of her clothes on without revealing my…peculiarities. And here she was asking me to stand in for her model, while she finished her latest dress: an angora sweater dress that looked like something Morticia Adams would wear. I stammered another excuse and Leena let me off the hook for the moment. She did have a way of getting what she wanted though, grinning up at you from under her dark severe bangs. She was short, and very buxom, and dressed in her own clothes she was VERY attractive. I may love sweaters, but it is a tight sweater on a full-figured woman that really kills me.

She smiled again at my obvious embarrassment, and offered me a glass of wine. Big mistake. Three glasses later I was no longer embarrassed. It kept raining outside Leena’s studio, which was usually packed with assistants and models but not tonight. She asked me again to help her out, and this time I barely hesitated, hopping up on the platform to hold some pins. She and I worked like that for a while, and each time her sweatered breasts (she was wearing a soft cashmere cardigan over a tight little black sweater) brushed my body I felt a thrill run through me. Finally she asked again if I would try the dress on, sighing with frustration, “If I don’t see it on someone I won’t know what it looks like.”