Catherine's Girl

My reverence for Her Majesty placed her clothes in a different perspective. Forcing me to wear her clothes constituted a pure power play to dominate and humiliate me. But her clothes were also fetishes, filled with the magic of her power. God only knows what "fetish" means on the Internet these days, but the original fetish was an object that conveyed power, like a voodoo doll.

Mrs. Roman's stockings were potent. When I picked them up and rubbed them against my cheeks, I could feel her energy and see the dynamic beauty of her legs. I spread her dress across my chest and pressed it to me with my hands as if hugging Mrs. Roman. Picking up her girdle, black and shiny like her hair, I buried my face in it. To me, a part of Mrs. Roman still resided in all of these garments.

I lifted my head and my voice, as if Mrs. Roman were a heavenly deity instead of an earthly Goddess, and proclaimed, "I am yours. Take me, keep me, use me." The impromptu ritual reminded me vaguely of saying grace over a meal.

And then I began my sensory feast by stepping into her girdle. The tight, stretchy open-bottom foundation reminded me of a woman's pussy, and I was a giant cock sliding inside. The sensual feel of elastic squeezing my upper thighs, belly, and ass massaged me into budding arousal. I pulled the girdle up, past my crotch, allowing my cock to stand erect.

Remembering Mrs. Roman's warning about accidents, I took a condom from the pack and slid it on. The sensation of being inside my Goddess's girdle linked so firmly with the thought of being inside her that I wanted to jerk off. But I forced myself to think about her hose.

When I rolled the first stocking up my leg, I came close to ejaculating without touching my cock. The ticklish, creepy encroachment of the second stocking up my thigh heightened my rush. By the time I hooked the garters on her stockings, I was beside myself with lust.

But I concentrated long enough to slip into her dress. I pulled it over my head and tried to let the shiny material shimmer down, but I needed to tug at it. The cool, slippery material sent tingles through me. Although my waist curved out and my hips were flat—contrasting with Catherine the Great's slim waist and gracefully curved hips—even my body looked better in the glimmering material.