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Susan's Stories
"The Male Model"

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"How would you like," she said, "To be a model for me?"

"Eh?" he had no idea what she meant.

"I mean," she went on, "To demonstrate some clothes for me next week. You see, Iím having a clothes party for the girls and I need a man for some of the things."

He was a bit hesitant. "Iíd be too embarrassed," he said.

She laughed. "Donít be silly. Anyway, I think youíll like it. Youíll get the chance to see us in all sorts of outfits - some of them donít leave too much to the imagination."

"Anyway," she went on, "You think about it and let me know tomorrow."

He did think about it. In fact, he could hardly stop thinking about it. He knew most of her friends although he had only ever talked to a few of them. Imagining them wearing various outfits, and from what she had implied some of them revealing rather a lot, kept his mind busy for the rest of the day and most of the night.

"OK," he said next day. "Iíll do it."

"You sure you wonít be embarrassed?" she mocked him, "Iíll have you dressed up in all sorts of outfits you havenít worn before."

Again he hesitated, but the thought of what he might miss if he said no was too much.

"Iíll be there," he confirmed.


He rang her doorbell and waited.

He could hear the sound of female laughter from inside the house.

The door opened.

"Come in," she said, "Weíve been waiting for you."

"Now go in there and put this on - just this. Weíll be in the living room when youíre ready." She handed him a small leather pouch.

"But......" It wouldnít cover a lot, he realised, and he really was going to be highly embarrassed if all those women saw him wearing nothing but that.

She raised her eyebrows. "You can always change your mind, "she said, "You can go home now, and youíll never know what youíve missed."

That was the trouble. He had already imagined what he might miss if he didnít do it. It was too good to miss; too good to be true.

He took the pouch, and she pointed him at the ground-floor bedroom. "Get changed in there, " she said.

As he had suspected, the pouch did not hide a lot. It fastened with a pop stud at each side although he struggled to get his manhood into it particularly as he thought excitedly of what he would see when those women started trying their clothes. When he had eventually managed to squeeze himself into it and press the pop studs together, he found it surprisingly comfortable despite the thin strip of leather that ran up between his buttocks. Nervously he headed towards the living room.

He pushed open the door and went in, feeling rather odd and worrying more about where he should be putting his hands: at his sides? In front of him? It suddenly seemed terribly important!

The talking and laughter stopped. It was a few seconds before he realised what he was seeing.

As he turned, horrified, to get out of the door, two of her larger friends slammed it and stood in front of it, blocking his escape.

No-one said a word. Silently both his arms were grasped firmly and he was pulled forward over the back of an armchair. Hands grabbed the leather pouch and ripped it from him.

He hardly had time to moan as the first of the women came up behind him. He felt his buttocks pulled apart and the blunt end of her greased, vibrating strapon push firmly and persistently into him.

In pain, fear and horror he tried to shake his head and tell them it was impossible, that they couldnít do it. He tried to look into their faces and beg them to let him go, but his eyes just returned to the strapons worn by every one of these women, dressed, as she had promised, in all sorts of outfits.......

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