" Let me out of here!" Mark screamed while trying to shake himself loose. "I don't want to wear a dress, and I don't want to look like a girl. Stop what you're doing right now." Oh, Jill," Janet laughed. "You're such a joker."Mark felt a mass of hair fall from his head as the helmet was removed. Janet ran it's cold, mechanical hands through his hair, sending a chill up his spine. The robot grabbed one end of the suit and wheeled it over to a sink."What - what are you doing now?" Mark questioned, as the body suit got a little tighter around his hips."We need to wash and style your hair," Janet explained cheerfully. "I'm going to give you a mass of curls. Oh, you're going to look so pretty, Jill." No - no," Mark panicked. "No curls. Please, just let me go. I'm not a girl! I'm a man, for Pete's sake. Let me out of this suit and I'll show you I'm a man. Please, stop this before it goes any farther."The mechanical robot just giggled at Mark's protests, and proceeded to wash his hair twice.. His face was in shadow as usual, a strong light casting halos through his dark hair so I never managed to catch a glimpse of his features. I both hated and loved kneeling on my haunches for him. He always made me do things. Despicable things. Degrading acts solely for his own twisted amusement while I was tied up; a helpless pawn in his kinky fantasies. Yet I adored feeling the path that every drop of hot, liquid honey took as it spiralled its way to pool between my spread thighs. Loved being controlled, used and treated as a mere object. An expanse of soft skin and a selection of holes, available and willing to accept whatever he wished. While my magical, red-soled Louboutin heels often brought out Little Miss Wicked, there was something intoxicating about being out of control; one word away from safety, yet choosing not to exercise that right. Sometimes I wanted nothing more than to be told what to do, what to wear, what to touch, and when. To be at his total mercy until he was.
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