SADISTIC SECRETARY
THIS IS A FEMALE DOMINATION STORY DO NOT READ IT UNLESS YOU LIKE
STORIES ABOUT SLAVE HUSBANDS,DOMINANT WIVES, CHASTITY BELTS, TEASING AND DENIAL COCK AND BALL TORTURE WHIPPINGS,HEEL WORSHIP, BONDAGE, SISSIES,BDSM, DISCIPLINE, SADISM MASOCHISM AND THE LIKE…IF YOU ENJOY THIS STORY YOU CAN SEE LOTS OF THEM AT:
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THE SECRETARY SEES IT
Driving home, Darrell Plunkett certainly hoped that Bootsie had changed her mind. He knew that Bootsie was jealous of Thelma; Darrell’s secretary was quite a dish, and sweet and charming in a way that his wife wasn’t though of course Bootsie served Darrell’s needs well.
“You know it depends on you, Darrell.” Bootsie had said, smiling the night before. “If you want to have a release, you have to do it on my terms. We’ve always done it that way, and if you want to continue with your chastity training, we always will!”
Darrell was, or at least he thought, a normal, athletic guy—he loved football, darts, and had been the president of his fraternity. But he’d had a need, an almost pressuring need to be a slave boy. It had really fucked with him growing up.
When he’d asked his wife to experiment with playing dominatrix, Bootsie had been quite skeptical. “Why is it” she’d asked “that a man will order you to dominate him, and he’s still in charge? That’s the way it always is, isn’t it?”
“I just need discipline.” Darrell had said at first, and Bootsie had raised her eyebrows. Bootsie was an attractive woman, she was no Thelma , but she had thick red curls, and formidable breasts…and Darrell had had to take her out many times before he’d been allowed to touch them!
When they’d married, the practical Elizabeth “Bootsie “ Cottrell, daughter of a famous financier, had taken Darrell’s debt-ridden credit cards and cut them up—there were way too many old debts for liquor stores, strip-clubs and “working girls”
Bootsie had not been judgmental, but she’d told Darrell—“I’ll pay all this off, all seven thousand dollars in debt, and you give me your paycheck, and I’ll give you a reasonable allowance.”
So Bootsie had known that Darrell had disciplinary needs. But it had been a surprise to her how he proposed she deal with them. Darrell had brought in a thin plank of wood from the back yard, and had handed it to her.
“My mom used to spank me with something like this.” Darrell had said. “It hurts, but doesn’t do a lot of permanent damage.” How Freudian, Bootsie had thought. But she’d tapped the thin plank in her hands and looked expectantly at Darrell, who had then taken off all his clothes and lay across her desk.
Bootsie had stood up, tucking in her sweater, which emphasized her full breasts, and told Darrell what a lazy, good for nothing he was, and he’d nodded reluctantly. And then she’d begun whipping him!
After seven swats, Darrell was blubbering, after twelve; he was banging his fists on the desk, begging her to stop, but at no time did he take the plank away from Bootsie as he might have done.
Because, Darrell was an athlete, he’d been a high school varsity fullback, and Bootsie weighed about one hundred twelve soaking wet. But he’d just banged his fists and begged her to stop, and after she saw the first trickle of blood on his damaged bottom, she’d reluctantly put down the plank.
Apparently Bootsie had a lot of anger!
And then Darrell, instead of bitch-slapping Bootsie for going too far as some men would do, had bent over on his knees and kissed her feet, and thanked her for making him a better man… and he’d taken her to bed and gone down on her for an hour!
A week later, Bootsie had brought out the plank again, on her own volition, because Darrell had stayed out too late with his male co-workers and came home with Scotch on his breath.
She’d told him when they married that she wanted him to drink only with her at parties and special occasions, but of course Darrell was difficult to reach at times. “Take down your pants, Darrell. You’re going to learn to listen to your wife.”
The whipping she’d given Darrell had made him howl and cry, and then she’d sent him to the corner while she’d enjoyed a gin and tonic. And then of course he’d performed between her legs again, penitently, and he’d not even argued when she’d made him quit the darts league and the bowling club…he could stay home with her instead.
“What do you mean, cock and ball torture?” Bootsie asked to Darrell’s next request. He was standing in front of her, looking rather foolish with his penis hanging out in front of her, and she’d began toying with his penis.
As Darrell had become more aroused, Bootsie had asked him questions about CBT, about points of contact on the testicles, and she’d stroked his thickening penis. “This certainly is interesting, this punishment business.”
“Well, you could just stroke it.” Darrell said, as he closed his eyes, thinking how pleasant hand jobs could be. TWANK! Darrell’s eyes opened all of a sudden, Darrell’s penis had been assaulted by…what was it?
Jesus, she’d taken off her heavy gold chain and looped it in one hand while stroking his balls with the other, and then SWUNG it on his dick! SWACK! Again, the heavy gold chain hit the knob of Darrell’s penis.
Darrell had gritted his teeth, and then he smiled “Honey, you don’t have to um, start so hard…you can go gently you know.” Bootsie looked up and smiled at him.
She resumed the gentle stroking, her soft fingers finding the vulnerable spots on his swollen penis, and again, he foolishly closed his eyes…that was nice…maybe she would be nice now.
BONK! WHAPPITY WHAP! Darrell’s eyes opened in new horror. “Don’t move, I’ve got something going on here” Bootsie had said. Long an intolerant critic of Darrell’s “wasted” hours spent playing the drums with his old college chums, Bootsie had borrowed the sticks.
Bootsie drummed Darrell’s penis excitedly with the drumsticks, the tips of the sticks banging and jabbing at his hard cock. Darrell tried to move back, but Bootsie reached out and whacked his bare hip with one of the sticks.
“Don’t you move back. I’ve got a rhythm here.” Bootsie slammed away at Darrell’s unfortunate penis with the sticks, harder and harder. “Can’t get no satisfaction” Bootsie sung…finally she threw the sticks down, and guided Darrell by the ear to the bedroom, where she ordered him to lie on the bed on his back.
Bootsie tied Darrell’s wrists to the headboard and sat down, stroking his wounded penis. “I know this is going to be a true learning experience for me….I’m very excited about feeding your perversion..”
“Paraphilia” Darrell amended. Bootsie smiled and continued to stroke his penis. “Whatever you call it, darling. I certainly have noticed that you are more interested in me when I mistreat you, and that’s peculiar. But hey, I learn something new every day.”
Bootsie reached down and pulled Darrell’s long leather belt out of the loops of his discarded pants, and doubled it in her delicate little hand. “Your penis looks so white and vulnerable, doesn’t it honey?” she’d asked.
Darrell didn’t know what to respond so he just lay there. Sometimes that was just the safest thing. Or not! WHACK! THWACK! The belt came down. Oh no, buckle first.
Darrell tried to move, but of course he was locked against the headboard.
“Its fun, watching you dance” Bootsie said as she slammed the tip of Darrell’s dick with the leather belt. “You can really move around a lot while locked to that headboard. It might be good aerobics for you, you know?”
And when it came to chastity training, which really excited Darrell, and he talked about it ad nauseum to his lovely wife, she’d opened his package from the PainCafe’s Dungeonopolis gift shop. “You’re sure about this?”
Darrell had nodded his head, and she’d locked it on him. The first time, she’d kept him in chastity for eighteen agonizing days. “You know, you’re supposed to start with like, three days or maybe a week locking me up.” Darrell had hinted broadly.
“Topping from the bottom?” Bootsie had asked, smiling broadly. “I don’t think so.”
About a week into his eighteen day stretch, Bootsie tied Darrell’s naked body to the kitchen stool, and she unlocked the chastity belt and stroked his dick for awhile. “What’s it like not being able to play with your pee-pee, Darrell?”
Darrell was insane with lust, it seemed. He had been a habitual masturbator since elementary school, and had gotten laid with a variety of different women in high school and college. In fact, after Bootsie had locked him in chastity, he’d had to break off with a waitress he’d been fooling around with.
Darrell tried to recall why it was he’d asked Bootsie to lock him up. He’d read all those BDSM chastity sites, that was part of it, and it really excited him…but the reality of day after day of no orgasms was incredible.
And sometimes he awoke at midnight with a hard on, and it couldn’t get completely erect, and it was horribly painful! Now his cock felt so free, being stroked by his wife’s long, sexy fingers. It was free for the first time in days…but of course she hadn’t let him cum!
The next night she’d unlocked him again, and stroked him some more. He’d whined so much when she’d locked him back up and sent him to bed the first night, he was surprised that she let him loose again, but of course his hands were tied.
They watched hours of television, and she’d stroke him, and then get lost in whatever program it was, and forget…and then pick up the slack again during the commercials. It was rather intimate, Bootsie thought.
“Before we started this nonsense up, you used to surf porn while I watched the Lifetime Channel, or you’d go watch sports upstairs. Now I have you aware, awake and interested. It’s quite pleasant.”
At one point, she got a bit horny, and she pulled Darrell down to his knees and had him lick her, his head between her legs, while she watched “Project Runway” and told him what pigs the judges were. He was so horny, he almost had the hots for some of the effeminate gay judges.
At the end of the evening, before they went to bed, Bootsie stripped to her bra and panties and laid the bound Darrell on the bed, and jacked him hard with the lube…faster and faster, just stopping short of him having an orgasm. She actually laughed rather loudly when Darrell began weeping out of desperation.
Then she’d gone to sleep and not unlocked Darrell, warning him that if he wanted to pee, he should hold it until morning, or she would give it to him hard with the plank. Darrell had spent the evening horny as anything, thinking seriously of rolling off onto the bed and rubbing his dick on the carpet, hoping the friction would give him an orgasm.
Why had she neglected that night to lock him back up? He’d never quite figured that one out. Bootsie had locked him back up the next morning, and he’d gone to work, just bulging in the device, wondering if he’d ever get to touch himself again.
Darrell’s mother had had a war with him against masturbation…she’d been a strict Catholic, and had only gotten married because the three different convents she’d applied to to be a nun had deemed her mentally unstable.
When Darrell had begun his teenage masturbation, his mother, Mrs. Plunkett had tried punishing him in a variety of ways. First, because Darrell had this macho self-image, she’d made him parade around the block wearing a garter belt and panties, to the laughter of his stick-ball playing buddies….
After she’d caught him jerking off again, Mrs. Plunkett had taken stinging nettles and wrapped them around his cock and balls and tied him to the kitchen table to endure it for a while. This had driven young Darrell almost out of his mind with pain and agony, but it had not kept him from touching his “bad thing” as Mrs. Plunkett called it.
Then Mrs. Plunkett worried that it might be hygiene. So she had put Darrell in the bathtub every morning before he went off to high school and she’d carefully bathed his cock and balls, shaving the icky, manly hair and rubbing hot Ben Gay on his dick…and this also had done nothing for him…in fact he became even more excited!
Mrs. Plunkett had found a “Playboy” magazine in Darrell’s room in his junior year and had almost gone out of her mind. She had pulled his pants down in front of his brothers and sisters and she’d caned his cock severely with an old bamboo ash plant that the family had had around…his penis had bled, but he’d kept toying with it!
Sometimes late on Saturday nights, Darrell would be necking with a girl in his parent’s old Datsun, and Mrs. Plunkett would crawl up to the car on her hands and knees, and surprise them suddenly, throwing cold water on the couple. This had not done much for Darrell’s dating reputation, but it had given him a healthy dose of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
When Darrell came home from being out with a girl, Mrs. Plunkett would often pull his pants down in front of the family, and feel his testicles to ensure herself that they were as full as when he left. Otherwise, she would strip him naked and thrash his balls with a long willow switch until he cried and howled with absolute agony.
Under Mrs. Plunkett’s strict regimen Darrell’s three other brothers had become priests, and he might have given up also, but she had been committed to a mental hospital in the midst of his high school years after attacking a traffic cop who had “suggestively” waved his baton at her, and Darrell had been able to have a peaceful remainder of high school, and of course college…
But he’d never stopped masturbating!
And it was hell, this business of being locked in the chastity belt…though Darrell suspected that if Mrs. Plunkett, locked in a rubber room in the State Hospital knew, she might approve!
At the end of eighteen days, Bootsie had allowed Darrell to fuck her…and it had been quite a fuckfest! But then, just before they went to sleep, happy but exhausted, she’d locked the belt back on.
The second time, she’d not unlocked it for forty-two days. This time, Darrell had come to her with begging eyes again and again, and whenever he’d gotten too much on Bootsie’s nerves, she’d given him a blistering bare bottom paddling with his racquetball racquet, and extended his chastity time.
Finally, when it had been his time to cum, Bootsie had told Darrell that she didn’t feel like making love, and that he could masturbate. But he had to do it quickly, because she was going out with a friend.
When Darrell had tried reasoning with her, pointing out that for forty-two days he’d taken over the lion’s share of the housework and gone down on her nightly, she’d responded. “We could keep you locked up, and discuss this in two weeks.”
So Darrell had masturbated while Bootsie put on her makeup and did her nails—and then she’d locked him up and gone out with her “friend” a guy who’d pulled up in his convertible to pick her up, honking the horn rudely, something that Darrell had never done.
The next period had been 49 days—this had been just awful for the first twenty days, and then Darrell strangely found he’d gotten used to it. He still missed making love to his wife, and jerking off over the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader calendar….
But his priorities were very re-organized towards productivity, and his boss at Buttermilk Realty had promoted him from a cubicle to a window office, with his own adorable secretary, Thelma.
She was so sweet; a timid brunette with Bambi eyes, friendly and a bit worshipful. She called Darrell MISTER Plunkett and called Darrell’s sales efforts on the industrial and office markets of Buttermilk Falls “Remarkable “
When Darrell asked for the files on the Prather West Professional Building on Buttermilk Boulevard, Thelma would look at him with awe and say “Right away, Mister Plunkett”
And Darrell enjoyed that! And he told his wife at home that it was refreshing to have a woman look up to him in this time of feminism and general sassiness from the gentler sex.
After his 49 days of chastity, Bootsie had told Darrell he could masturbate, but he had to do it in the front yard. At noon, on a Saturday. Darrell had rebelled, and Bootsie had left the belt on for another month. “Okay, I’ll do it in the front yard, for God’s sake,” Darrell had said desperately.
But Bootsie didn’t want that anymore. “I have a new plan for you.” Bootsie had said, smiling at her sexually desperate husband. “I want you to masturbate while cowering naked on the floor in front of your beautiful secretary, the one you talk about who worships you.”
And Darrell had balked again. He had now been chaste for 80 days; it was ghastly, and he was sooo horny. But damn, to be told he couldn’t cum unless he jerked off in front of his secretary! That was sexual harassment…it would ruin him.
“Oh, it won’t ruin you, Darrell.” Bootsie had said, smiling. “And even if it does, you know I’m independently set. I can continue my job and you could just stay home all day and be my houseboy.”
So Darrell just held out. His real estate career meant a lot to him. He wasn't awfully bright, and a rich alumnus had gotten him his realty job. Darrell didn't think there was much else he could do, and he didn't really want to be dependent on Bootsie.
But he also didn't want to go without cumming for the rest of his life. So he brought the problem to his ChasteBois support group, held in the Turquoise Ballroom at the PainCafe on Sunday afternoons. The guys were supportive, but not particularly helpful.
Brad told him to practice Tantric meditation: "Forget about your orgasm. I try to keep Annabel from manipulating me with her chastity key by pretending that I don't know what an orgasm is like. I don't succeed...but I'm really trying to forget the importance of the damn squirt, you know?"
Henrik's lover, Jerome made him jerk off in front of a different embarrassing person each week. "The worst was the Mormon Missionaries."
Fitzie, an earnest sixty year old Irishman advised him to "get the bolt cutters. True, I don't have the nerve to cut off my device--Cathleen would cut me nuts off right after--but you don't have much choice, lad."
Norman told Darrell that he was lucky, as Norm's wife had actually had him castrated the year before. "She got tired of me complaining about my chastity issues."
Grigsby told Darrell that his wife had actually made him jerk off in front of his mother. "And Mom actually laughed. She said that my dick was smaller than my Dad's, but I shouldn't feel bad about it. I was naked and utterly ashamed of everything else but not that?"
Kenny was convinced that Darrell could bribe Bootsie by lending her his credit card to shop, until Darrell reminded Kenny that Bootsie was a multi-millionaire, and had taken all his credit cards anyway.
"My wife made me jerk off in front of all the guys on the landscaping crew I supervise" the burly Haven Howell remembered. "They never really respected me after that, called me faggot, wimp-bitch all that. But an orgasm's an orgasm, and I'd had to wait eleven months for that one."
Troy recommended his buying salt peter and putting it in his food. "This way you don't think about sex all the time...but it only works a little bit. And my wife counters it by putting Viagra in my coffee, so that might not be the best plan."
Haven paused. "Now that my wife has passed, my chastity keys are supervised by my daughters--Haley, Hortense and Hyacinth--and they only let me beat off when they bring a guy home for me to meet...can you imagine? So the prospective boyfriend won't be afraid of Big Bad Dad."
Laurent suggested that Darrell get a key duplicated "But be careful. When Allesandra caught me in that trick, she tied me up and locked me in the furnace."
Sinclair told Darrell that he should be lucky that he had a wife to lock him up. "I have to send my keys to a guy in Wichita, Kansas...sure I get it back every three weeks, but how sexy is it?"
Algren considered the humiliation factor "You know, it's probably that Bootsie thinks your secretary might think of you as cheating material, and if she sees you whacking off, naked as the day you were born, it'll reduce your masculinity. My wife is very much into reducing my masculinity through breast forms and makeup...she makes me dress up like Lucille Ball at least once a week."
Clement told Darrell that he had been forced to masturbate in front of the Census taker which had been very hard for him, since he was an anti-government zealot. "And then the guy wrote something down on his pad, and I hate to think what Uncle Sam thinks of me now."
Ezekiel thought that Darrell was a whiner. "Ashleagh makes me suck my own dick. She told me that I had to do crunches to take off weight, and I wouldn't cum until I could do the autofellatio...it was thirteen months before I could get a cum, in my mouth, and then Ash invited my big brother, the one whose always told me I was a wimp, to watch...it ended the competition between us for who was coolest, let me tell you!"
Rambert wondered who else might be down the line that Darrell would have to masturbate in front of--"Think of it, she might have you whacking off to everyone at your company picnic. Our wives do get out of hand, you know."
After the meeting, Darrell went for a beer with Alfred Nemirow, his ChasteBois sponsor. "Alf, I don't know what to do." the younger man complained. "This humiliation thing is just the most devious thing that Bootsie's come up with. I realize she's jealous in some way of Thelma, and that's why she wants to debase me in Thel's eyes."
Alfred thought a bit before speaking. "Well, kid, I just know that Fanchon has my best interests at heart, and I'd do anything to please her. See, everything else in life comes and goes, but my relationship with Fanchon is the main event, do you know what I mean? I can't tell you how to manage things with Bootsie, but if Fanchon ordered me to masturbate in front of my secretary, I'd have to say she knew it was good for my psyche."
Darrell thought about this for a long time. His cock and balls weighed him down something terrible. It felt like the congealed back semen between his legs was some sort of albatross he was carrying. It had now been nearly three months, but Bootsie was implacable--she wasn't going to let Darrell have any kind of release except for the one she had proscribed.
This didn't stop her from tying him up every other night and playing with his poor pee-pee. And how adorable she looked in her hot pink body stocking. "Don't you want to cum, honey...these balls are awfully big and blue now." Bootsie would say as she gently fondled his now quite engorged scrotum.
Darrell moaned and stared at her through bleary eyes. God she had a nice rack! Bootsie also was denying him access to her breasts because of his "unreasonableness" concerning the masturbation in front of Thelma issue. What a bitch! But he didn't want to anger Bootsie further.
"Why don't you just give in, Darry, honey. I just want Thelma to know what a cringing slaveboy you are, and it's really a mild condition for your masturbation. Think of what I can give you next. I just was watching "Nightline" , apparently President Antonovich is being investigated because some reporter is convinced that his "handler" a Ms. Scarlett Sharpe makes the President go out in drag as a hooker and blow anonymous homeless guys for $5 bills and when he makes a hundred dollars, he gets to jerk off!"
"That's impossible" Darrell managed, breathing hard as Bootsie's nails scraped his suffering glans. "President Antonovich is a staunch Republican. He doesn't go in for perverted shit like that." He paused, gasping...she's so good. "What the hell's happened to that show? Ever since Ted Koppel left, it's pure tabloid trash."
"Perhaps." Bootsie smiled, as she rubbed Darrell's dick vigorously, pulling her hand away just as he was getting ready to cum. "But it does give me good ideas, doesn't it?"
The next night, Bootsie introduced Darrell to the concept of "Forced Edging". She had him put on her pink body stocking--it stretched it, but oh well--and masturbate with his dick sticking out in front of a webcam.
Apparently Bootsie had joined an online edging group, and the wives were all having their husbands edge to each other on these webcams...and Darrell felt ridiculous.
But it felt so good to have his hand on his cock again, rubbing the lotion in as it poked ridiculously out of the side of the negligee...but then as he approached orgasm, Bootsie swatted the tip of his cock with her cane, and he had to start over again.
"Now we're all going to do it with our left hands!" came some dominant wife's voice on the speaker, as if it was Step Aerobics...so Darrell began jerking his dick with his southpaw, but of course even with that weak hand, he was so horny (Four months and counting) that he came quite close to cumming once again, and Bootsie had to rap his dick sharply TWICE to calm his wiener down.
And then the other guys--Bootsie had on multiple webcams--all began cumming after an hour of this nonsense, and poor weeping Darrell had to get locked up again.
"Honey, just give in. It's inevitable. Your secretary is going to see you playing with your dingie, or you can take the chastity belt off, and we can go back to being normal husband and wife...but I get the feeling you like it this way. Don't you?" Bootsie was trying to be reasonable, Darrell supposed, but it was a bit tough for him.
Sometimes he stared at Thelma, as she was looking through his files, and doing general clerical stuff, and realized that if she didn't quit or get him fired, their relationship would probably always be so different. She'd be grossed out, or feel sorry for him. He'd already had the humiliating experience of having a waitress burst into tears when Bootsie had ordered him oatmeal once while she devoured a 16 ounce strip steak!
WHAT NEXT? justincbenedict@yahoo.com
Glue Gun
Guo Pei Haute Couture Spring/Summer 2010
Comme des Garçons Fall 2009
Is just HOOCHIE: Season 9 Contestant Viktor Luna created the dress above which somehow ended up in the middle. It was BAD. Not Middle Bad but Bottom Bad. She is SO NOT Avant Garde. She looks more like she thought she was going to get into the BET Awards and still didn't. Also...
Straight-jacket creation also ended up in the Middle is beyond me. This Avant-Nasty gown was created by Bryce Black, who for sure, should go home next week, just because I said so! I think even Nicki Minaj would have passed on this if it was on a rack for her perusal...
Bert Keeder--yes, the "old guy" who hates all the "inexperienced untalented kids" in the workroom--made this gray "Empire-waist" pleated "carrot" pants ensemble with geometric padded brightly colored pieces. It was a bit of a miss, in it's Why-Does-She-Have-a-Baby-Bump shape--but then again, its color scheme and idea could have easily been part of the Christian Dior Haute Couture Fall 2011 Collection inspired by Frank Gehry, Jean-Michel Frank, and the Memphis movement of the eighties. I "get it", and so did Miss Heidi, who liked it as well.
Was romantic and kinda pretty I admit, but A) Not Avant Garde (maybe the hair and make-up); B) Not original; and C) On a similar note, very close to a low-rent knock off of...
Project Runway Season 4 Winner Christian Siriano would have done WITHOUT the GLUE Gun--One of Siriano's gowns from his Spring 2009 Collection above.
Was Anthony Ryan Auld's brushstroke-inspired gown, which was the best of the bunch according to the judges. After seeing all the others (it was "Slim Pickins" as they say!) , I guessed that this one would win.
However, I want to see A.R. do something more other than a basic base of a dress in which he "piles" stuff on it--his Avant Garde creation reminded me just a little bit...of what he did for the "Make a Garment from the Pet Store" challenge (above photo).
HUUUUNEEEYYY!!!! Poor thang: Designer/contestant Olivier Green--and his model! Olivier has been so blah and uninspired lately, I can almost hear crickets as the model comes down the runway! So, for this Avant Garde Challenge--in which he was inspired by a very colorful painting--he decided to be "Sexy Blah". It was GRAY and Sad. Not just gray but the color of PUTTY! And then, if you look closely at his model...
The opening was so high, her UNDERWEAR-panty strap was showing!!! (photo above). This was ALL THINGS WRONG!!!! It reminded me of one of...
Those Stripper-like "gowns" some past Miss Universe Pageant contestants decide (against their better judgement) to wear.
But the worst was Joshua Christensen's creation. Josh C. was lucky to have been "invited back" after being eliminated (and you KNOW he was happy to see his boyfriend, "Mean Girls Josh M.) so this was his chance to "step it up".
He was inspired by a painting of a wolf-like creature (above w/ Tim Gunn in the Parsons Workroom). When he began--after Mood Fabrics shopping---he had faux fur and from his sketch, it looked like it would be a gown of some sort. But then, it went into a territory best described as a cross between something one can find in a local mall (Hello Bebe!!) and...
A Hofbräu Waitress Costume
