Difference between revisions of "2T4U/Jack/Aaron Sissy/Attic/Force Panties/Change Behind Shelf/Toss Skirt"

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(Created page with "You don't want him to look too boyish, but you also don't want him chickening out at the last minute. A skirt should be just the right middle ground. ''This will give a whole...")
 
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You don't want him to look too boyish, but you also don't want him chickening out at the last minute. A skirt should be just the right middle ground. ''This will give a whole new meaning to "chasing skirts",'' you chuckle before opening the third box. Pushing the dresses aside you pull out a few promising items. Stretching the waistbands carefully you guesstimate whether or not they'll fit until you find one that looks right.
You don't want him to look too boyish, but you also don't want him chickening out at the last minute. A skirt should be just the right middle ground. ''This will give a whole new meaning to "chasing skirts",'' you chuckle before opening the third box, which is as arduous as the first. Finally tearing that bitch open you push the dresses aside and pull out a few promising items. Stretching the waistbands carefully you guesstimate whether or not they'll fit until you find one that looks right.


"Try that one. Tell me if it's too tight," you order, tossing the garment just inside his reach at the edge of the shelf. You watch his arm reach out to snatch the garment before you hear the rustle of clothing once again. After a moment he whispers unnecessarily, "uh, Jack, it's not too tight, but, um . . . "
"Try that one. Tell me if it's too tight," you order, tossing the garment just inside his reach at the edge of the shelf. You watch his arm reach out to snatch the garment before you hear the rustle of clothing once again. After a moment he whispers unnecessarily, "uh, Jack, it's not too tight, but, um . . . "
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"No, n-no! I like it, but, um, it doesn't really . . fit. It's too big, it keeps sliding down." Oh. OH. ''I'm fucking dumb. But does that mean Melony was fat once or that he's just skinnier than her? Why the fuck am I asking like it matters?'' Diving back into the box you find one that stretches a bit less than the first one. A nice purple affair covered with lighter splotches in a vague flower shape. "Okay, try this one."
"No, n-no! I like it, but, um, it doesn't really . . fit. It's too big, it keeps sliding down." Oh. OH. ''I'm fucking dumb. But does that mean Melony was fat once or that he's just skinnier than her? Why the fuck am I asking like it matters?'' Diving back into the box you find one that stretches a bit less than the first one. A nice purple affair covered with lighter splotches in a vague flower shape. "Okay, try this one."


Once again, a snatch, a shuffle, and a timid whisper. "It, um, it fits."
Once again, a snatch, a shuffle, and a timid whisper. "It, um, it fits." Turning toward the second box you sigh as it looks as nigh impregnable as the last two. Suddenly you have an idea on how to cheer yourself up.
 
"Is it pretty," you ask him. "The skirt, I mean. Is it pretty enough for a cutie like you or should I look for another one?" You hold your breath and wait for his reply, noticing the very subtle sound of shifting clothes. ''I bet he's waving those hips for me again. Little slut.''
 
He finally lets out a squeak followed by a dainty cough as he tries to speak, before he responds in a rushed, husky whisper, "Uh, um, y-yeah. Yeah. It's pretty. I like it. I mean, it's pretty enough for-for me." ''Damn right,'' you think. Having successfully cheered yourself up to tear open the second stupidfuckingpieceofshitsonofa-ohit'sopen box you peruse its contents, being extra careful to choose something neither too ''small'' nor too ''large''. Before long you find a pink t-shirt with frilly ruffles at its edges. With a hope and a smirk you toss it his way.
 
 


'''WIP'''
'''WIP'''

Revision as of 01:24, 26 February 2016

You don't want him to look too boyish, but you also don't want him chickening out at the last minute. A skirt should be just the right middle ground. This will give a whole new meaning to "chasing skirts", you chuckle before opening the third box, which is as arduous as the first. Finally tearing that bitch open you push the dresses aside and pull out a few promising items. Stretching the waistbands carefully you guesstimate whether or not they'll fit until you find one that looks right.

"Try that one. Tell me if it's too tight," you order, tossing the garment just inside his reach at the edge of the shelf. You watch his arm reach out to snatch the garment before you hear the rustle of clothing once again. After a moment he whispers unnecessarily, "uh, Jack, it's not too tight, but, um . . . "

You raise your eyebrow, thinking to yourself, Here we fucking go again. How many times do I need to convince this sissy brat? Out loud you teasingly reply, "What, don't like skirts?"

"No, n-no! I like it, but, um, it doesn't really . . fit. It's too big, it keeps sliding down." Oh. OH. I'm fucking dumb. But does that mean Melony was fat once or that he's just skinnier than her? Why the fuck am I asking like it matters? Diving back into the box you find one that stretches a bit less than the first one. A nice purple affair covered with lighter splotches in a vague flower shape. "Okay, try this one."

Once again, a snatch, a shuffle, and a timid whisper. "It, um, it fits." Turning toward the second box you sigh as it looks as nigh impregnable as the last two. Suddenly you have an idea on how to cheer yourself up.

"Is it pretty," you ask him. "The skirt, I mean. Is it pretty enough for a cutie like you or should I look for another one?" You hold your breath and wait for his reply, noticing the very subtle sound of shifting clothes. I bet he's waving those hips for me again. Little slut.

He finally lets out a squeak followed by a dainty cough as he tries to speak, before he responds in a rushed, husky whisper, "Uh, um, y-yeah. Yeah. It's pretty. I like it. I mean, it's pretty enough for-for me." Damn right, you think. Having successfully cheered yourself up to tear open the second stupidfuckingpieceofshitsonofa-ohit'sopen box you peruse its contents, being extra careful to choose something neither too small nor too large. Before long you find a pink t-shirt with frilly ruffles at its edges. With a hope and a smirk you toss it his way.


WIP