Agrees to Hold Off

Elena let the silence settle, continuing to clench around him in slow pulses, milking him without rhythm, while she waited for an answer. Jordan’s chest heaved; the plug shifted with every ragged inhale. She cupped his jaw—her thumb brushing the faint fuzz that had crept in.

“Last chance to change your mind, Joanne.” Her voice stayed soft. “Cum now, or carry this ache?”

Jordan swallowed, his words barely audible. “I’ll wait.”

Elena’s smile curved sharp. “Good girl.”

She eased him off her, his cock sliding free with a wet sound that made him flush hotter. The plug pressed deeper as he sat up; he bit his lip to stifle the groan. Elena rose, naked and padded to the en-suite. Water roared into the shower.

“Come.”

Jordan’s legs trembled as he followed. Steam already fogged the mirror. Elena tested the spray with her wrist, then beckoned. “In. We have time, but not much. Sarah expects us at six, and I refuse to rush perfection.”

He stepped under the cascade. Hot water poured over his shoulders, down his chest. Elena handed him the razor first. “I want a close shave. Not even the peach fuzz tonight.”

Jordan lathered his face, where a few hair had started to return—he only needed the razor once a week, tops. Elena watched closely, arms folded, water beading on her breasts. When he nicked himself under the jaw she took the razor, tilted his chin, finished the job with steady strokes.

“Better. Now legs. Sit on the bench.”

He perched on the built-in seat, water pounding his back. Elena knelt, guiding the razor up his calves, behind his knees, along his thighs. “Smooth strokes. No pressure. Like this.” Her hand over his, demonstrating. “You’ll do your own next time.”

“Next time?” His voice pitched high. “Elena, this is one week. Then I’m—”

“Then you’ll do whatever I say for seven days.” She met his eyes, razor pausing. “We agreed. Joanne doesn’t just vanish after tonight.”

He swallowed. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look edible.” She finished the last stroke, rinsed his leg and turned the shower off. “Stand. Nair next," she said, picking a bottle from the shelf. "Arms up, Joanne. Let me see what I’m working with.”

Cool cream painted his underarms, a stripe down each arm, across the faint shadow on his chest. The chemical scent cut through the steam. "Let's take care of something else, while we wait," she said, crouching down and picking up the razor again. “Spread your legs a little.”

Jordan’s eyes widened. “Elena, no—not there—”

“Shh.” She lathered a fresh handful of shaving cream, the foam cool and thick. “Hold still. I want you smooth everywhere.”

He gripped the shower bar, knuckles white. “It’s too much. I feel—”

“Exposed?” She glanced up, eyes gleaming. “That’s the point.” Her fingers parted his thighs gently, spreading the cream in careful circles over the mound, down the sides, along the base of his shaft. The razor followed with slow, deliberate strokes removing every trace of hair. She tilted him slightly, shaving the skin behind his balls, her breath warm against his thigh.

Another pass, the razor gliding over the newly smooth skin until it was baby-soft, pink from the heat. “Turn. Bend a little, and spread your cheeks.”

He froze.

“Now, Joanne.”

He turned, cheeks spread. With steady hands, Elena scraped the light hair near his hole—one pass.

"All done."

Jordan’s voice cracked, “people will notice if—”

“No one’s looking down here—unless you want them to.” She rinsed the blade, resumed. “But I will know. And you’ll feel it every time the lace shifts.”

“Please,” he whispered, hips twitching involuntarily. “It’s humiliating.”

“It’s perfect. Time to rinse everything off.” Elena stood up, and turned the shower back on, and guided him under the spray. The spray hit the bare skin; he gasped at the raw sensitivity. Hair swirled down the drain in dark ribbons. She traced a finger over the bare mound, satisfied. “Not a hair left. Smooth as a baby.”

She tilted his chin, “look down.”

He did. The difference was stark. He never had thick hair to begin with, but now—bare skin, too smooth and too wrong. His cock jerked, already half-hard and shaking. Heat crawled up his neck; mingling with the throb of the plug.

Elena smiled. “Now soap.” She squeezed her soap, bergamot plus vanilla, into her palm and worked it between her hands until it foamed thick.

She washed him like a doll. Circles over his chest, thumbs flicking the nipples until they peaked again. Down his sides, over his hips. She knelt again, soaping each leg from thigh to ankle, lifting his feet one at a time to rinse between his toes. When she reached his groin she was clinical and efficient—lifting his cock, washing beneath, ignoring the way it twitched.

“Look how hard you are,” she observed, voice amused. “Can't deny, you like it.”

Jordan’s face burned. “Elena, I can’t go like this. Every move—”

“Every move will remind you who you belong to tonight.” She stood, water streaming down her breasts. “Out.”

She wrapped him in a towel, patted him dry with efficient swipes, then led him to the vanity. The plug made every step a reminder; he walked gingerly, thighs brushing. Elena pumped the shea butter lotion into her palms and smoothed it over his arms, his chest, down each leg until his soft skin gleamed, smelling like rose.

“Sit. Let's do your hair first.”

The stool was cool under his bare thighs. She sectioned his hair, blew it dry in soft waves, then pinned the front back with a tiny gold clip. “Waves suit you. Innocent but flirty.”

His stomach twisted—shame and something darker, hotter. “What if Sarah's family sees through it? What if I slip?”

“Then you smile and say ‘excuse me, I’m still adjusting to heels.’” Elena capped the polish. “We'll practice walking. You’ll manage.”

She fetched a bowl from the bedroom. “Time to tuck you properly. Ice.”

Jordan hissed as she pressed a cube to his cock; it shrank obediently. Quick, practiced motions—testicles up, shaft back, medical tape snug but not cruel. A thin sanitary pad went into fresh panties—white lace tonight, high-cut to hide the pad’s outline. The matching padded bra followed, cups adjusted until the swell looked natural. Next she put a pair of thigh-high stockings, with white lace bands.

“Stand and take a look.”

He rose. The mirror showed a cute girl in underwear and stockings, her hair glossy, skin luminous. The plug’s base nestled between his cheeks, invisible beneath the lace. Jordan’s breath caught. “I don’t recognize myself.”

“That’s the point.” Elena stepped behind him, rested her chin on his shoulder. “Sarah’s family is going to adore their shy little neighbor. And you’ll shine.”

The navy dress waited on a hanger. Elena slipped it over his head, tied the sash snug at his waist. The fabric skimmed his hips, ended just above the knee, barely covering the lace bands. She adjusted the neckline, smoothed the skirt. “Twirl.”

He turned. The dress flared, settled. The plug shifted; he stifled a gasp.

“Perfect. Now my turn.”

Elena stepped into her own dress—emerald silk that wrapped and tied, hugging her waist before flaring over her hips. The neckline dipped to reveal the curve of her breasts; the hem stopped mid-thigh. She added gold hoops, a spritz of perfume at her wrists and throat.

“Makeup. Sit and learn.”

She sat him at the vanity. Foundation first, blended with a sponge until his skin looked airbrushed. Concealer under the eyes, a touch of blush high on the cheeks. Eyeliner—a thin wing that made his eyes look huge. Mascara, two coats.

Elena coached in murmurs. “Blend up, not out. Curl the lashes before mascara. Blot—don’t rub.” She guided his hand, steadying the liner when it wobbled. “Steady. You’re doing fine.”

Next, she applied soft coral nail polish on his fingers and toes. She blew on each nail, watching him fidget. Finally, lipstick—soft rose that matched his nails.

When she was finished with Jordan, Elena finished her own makeup and stood up. She slipped into her heels—three inches, strappy black. “Shoes.”

She handed him the low-heeled flats. Jordan lowered himself to the bench to slip them on—and sat too hard. The plug drove deeper; a sharp gasp tore from his throat.

Elena’s eyes sparkled. “Careful. That’s staying in until dessert.”

He clutched the bench, breathing through the jolt. “I—sorry.”

“Up.” She spun him towards the full-length his-and-her mirrors. Side by side they stood—Elena tall and regal in emerald, Jordan petite and flushed in navy. The contrast hit like a slap: her curves confident, his manufactured but convincing.

Jordan stared at his reflection—no trace of the man who’d walked into the festival only 24 hours ago. His knees buckled.

“Elena, look at us. I’m— I’m tiny next to you.”

“You’re delicate. It’s charming.”

She offered a hand, and brought him into the bedroom. “Walk for me.” He took a tentative step. The plug shifted; the pad crinkled faintly. Another step. The dress swished against his thighs. Elena watched, eyes dark.

Jordan tripped halfway, catching himself on the bedpost.

“Again. Shoulders back. Smaller steps. Imagine you’re on a runway, but don’t overdo it.”

He obeyed, pacing the length of the bedroom. The gait felt less foreign with each pass. Ultimately she nodded her approval.

“Purse.” She pressed a small clutch into his hand—his phone, lipstick, a spare pad, tissues. “Sarah’s few doors down. We’re walking.”

Jordan froze. “Outside? People will see.” He hadn't thought about that.

“They will only see two beautiful ladies heading to dinner. Smile.” She opened the bedroom door. “After you.”

He stepped into the hallway, heels clicking softly on hardwood. The front door waited, golden evening light spilling through the sidelights. Elena’s hand settled at the small of his back, thumb brushing the dress’s sash.

They crossed the threshold into the warm summer air.

Jordan's heart pounded with a mix of dread and that unsettling thrill. He was no stranger to feeling out of place, but tonight, as Joanne, it felt like he was stepping into a spotlight he couldn't escape.

“You’re shaking,” she said. “Nervous?”

“Terrified,” Jordan whispered, panic in his voice.

“Don't be. You're perfect, Joanne.” her voice kind.

The sidewalk was alive—kids on bikes, a couple watering flowers, Mr. Henderson mowing his lawn across the street. A jogger approached, earbuds in, but glanced up with a friendly nod. “Evening, ladies.” Elena smiled. “Beautiful night.” Jordan managed a squeak. “Hi.” The plug throbbed with every step.

Halfway down the road, a woman pushing a stroller waved. “Hi Elena! New friend?”

“My sister-in-law, Joanne. Visiting us for few days.”

“Hi Joanne, I am Linda. Welcome.”

Jordan’s cheeks burned. “Th-thank you.”

They approached the craftsman-style house, its porch light welcoming in the fading daylight.

He whispered, "Elena, please. We can still back out." Elena flashed a mischievous smile, her hand grazing his bare arm, and sending a shiver through him.

"You're too cute to back out now, Joanne," she murmured, ringing the doorbell, her voice low and teasing.

“Breathe. You’ve got this. And I’ve got you.”