In the weeks that followed, Michael did not leave his basement. It was a prison – its locks the shame of his new costume. Steph brought him food twice a day and a change of panties every morning – always something humiliatingly satin or silky or ruffled. He didn't see Sara once during this time and he began to wonder where she thought he was. Had Steph fed her sister some kind of story? And what had become of his clothes? He imagined his gaoler selling them, or worse, burning them. On the eleventh evening of his sentence, Steph descended the steps to his basement with a red wine dilation in her pupils and a wicked grin on her lips.
“Get on your knees you stupid dope!” She spat and watched him struggle. The heels of the Mary-Janes made it awkward to get down and the best Michael could manage was a crouch with his gloved hands on his stockinged knees. Steph rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You can't even do that, can you? It is no wonder my sister doesn't want to marry you. At least she saw sense eventually...” Michael gave Steph a meek sidelong look from his crouched position. She stood with her hands on her hips, her dark hair tied into a tight bun over an even tighter scowl, and a figure-hugging pencil skirt wrapped around her long legs. Without warning, she too crouched, and without giving Michael even a glimpse of what was beneath, she reached up under her skirt and worked her underwear down her legs. She lifted first one patent leather heel and then the other to remove the black satin thong and then kicked it over to Michael.
“Ah...” Michael sighed with resignation and began to lift his cotton dress to remove his own larger frilled panties to complete the trade.
“No, you idiot!” Steph shook her head with exasperation. “They aren't to wear. They are your reward for being a good little sissy. I want you to sniff them. Breathe in your mistress!” Michael hesitated, his cheeks glowing bright pink before finally he retrieved them and brought the used panties to his nose. He sniffed exaggeratedly. “Good!” Steph sneered. “Now put them in your mouth!”
Michael obliged. They tasted sweaty and stale and he was forced to breathe through his nose. Once more, shame consumed him as he gazed back at Steph, who was smiling back triumphantly. A minute passed and then she strode across the room to where he was still crouched. Turning on her heels, she bent forward and clasped the zipper at the back of her pencil skirt, pulling it up to reveal her bare backside. Before he could react, she grasped the back of his wig laden head and thrust his face between her ass-cheeks, ripping a long squeaky fart that he was helpless to inhale due to the thong stuffed into his mouth.
“Michael!” He heard the surprised voice of Sara from the direction of the basement stairs. He could see nothing but Steph's crack but he knew she had seen everything. “Why didn't you tell me this was what you were into? Things would have been so much easier!”
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