After therapy (3/3) (m/m, crossdressing, nylon, noncon)
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Daniel stood in the middle of his cramped apartment, surrounded by the evidence of a life he was desperate to leave behind. Two oversized suitcases sat open on the floor, stuffed to the brim with every scrap of his secret wardrobe—slinky dresses in satin and lace, sheer pantyhose in every shade from black to nude, and towering high heels that clicked like a siren’s call. His hands trembled as he folded a black sequined gown, the memory of Dr. Harper’s “therapy” crashing into him like a tidal wave. Just the thought of slipping into that dress—or the feel of nylon against his skin—sent phantom tickles skittering across his feet, a visceral echo of Joe’s relentless fingers. It wasn’t sexy anymore. It was torture. He zipped the first suitcase shut with a grunt, determined to haul it all to the dumpster and be done with it.
The doorbell buzzed, sharp and unexpected, jolting him from his task. He froze, his pulse spiking. No one ever came by unannounced—not his coworkers, not his family. He wiped sweaty palms on his faded jeans and crossed to the door, peering through the peephole. His stomach dropped. Joe stood there, leaning casually against the frame, a smirk playing on his lips. How the hell did he know where Daniel lived?
Swallowing hard, Daniel cracked the door open, keeping the chain latched. “Joe? What are you doing here?”
Joe’s dark eyes flicked over him, taking in the plain t-shirt and jeans with a mock pout. “Oh, back to man’s outfits, huh? Such a pity. You were so good as my sexy nylon ticklee.”
Daniel’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger surging through him. “How do you even know where I live? This isn’t—this isn’t okay.”
Joe shrugged, unfazed, his grin widening as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Relax, man. Dr. Harper might’ve let it slip during our last session. Said you were ‘making progress.’ Guess I wanted to see for myself.” His gaze darted past Daniel, landing on the suitcases spilling over with feminine finery. “Whoa, what’s all that? Spring cleaning?”
“They’re going in the trash,” Daniel snapped, gripping the door tighter. “I’m done with it. All of it.”
Joe let out a low whistle, stepping back but not breaking eye contact. “Trash? That’s a damn shame. Those legs of yours in pantyhose? Fucking art. And those heels—man, I could’ve tickled you senseless in ‘em for hours.”
The words hit Daniel like a punch, his feet tingling involuntarily as the memory of that soundproof room flooded back—Joe’s rough hands, the slick nylon, the unbearable laughter ripping out of him until he’d blacked out. He shook his head, forcing the image away. “Just leave, Joe. I don’t want this anymore.”
Joe raised his hands in mock surrender, but the glint in his eyes said he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Alright, alright. Your loss, princess. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. Those feet of yours? Still the best I’ve ever had.”
He turned to go, tossing a wink over his shoulder as he sauntered down the hall. Daniel slammed the door shut, his breath ragged, and leaned against it, staring at the suitcases. For a moment, he wavered—the shimmer of a black stiletto peeking out of the pile almost beckoned him. But then his soles prickled again, a ghost of Joe’s torment, and he clenched his jaw. No more.
Grabbing the suitcases, he dragged them out to the curb, the wheels rumbling against the pavement. The dumpster loomed ahead, and with a final heave, he hurled the first bag in, then the second, the thud of fabric and metal echoing in the quiet night. He stood there, chest heaving, hands empty, feeling lighter than he had in years. The tickling had won—he was free.
Daniel lingered by the dumpster, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he watched the last remnants of his old life disappear into the shadows. His shoulders slumped with relief, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He turned toward his car parked a few feet away, keys jingling in his hand, ready to drive off into a new chapter. The street was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of leaves skittering across the pavement. He didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late.
A strong arm snaked around his chest from behind, pinning his arms to his sides with bruising force. Before he could shout, a thick, damp cloth clamped over his nose and mouth, the sharp, chemical stench flooding his senses. Panic surged through him, his legs kicking wildly as he thrashed against the iron grip. “Mmph—let go!” he tried to yell, but the sound muffled into the fabric. His hands clawed at the air, fingers brushing the rough texture of a jacket, but his strength was fading fast. The world tilted, his vision swimming, and through the haze, he caught a glimpse of a familiar shadow—broad shoulders, dark hair, that cocky tilt of the head. Joe. He knew it was Joe. A weak groan escaped him as his knees buckled, the drug pulling him under, and everything went black.
Joe smirked down at Daniel’s limp form, slumped against him on the pavement. “Told you it was a pity,” he muttered, hoisting Daniel over his shoulder with a grunt. The guy was lighter than he’d expected, all lean muscle and nervous energy, now dead weight in his arms. Joe’s eyes flicked to the dumpster, then to the suitcases he’d already fished out while Daniel had stood there, oblivious. No way was he letting that treasure trove go to waste.
He hauled Daniel to the car, propping him in the passenger seat and buckling him in like a ragdoll. The keys were still clutched in Daniel’s slack hand; Joe pried them free and slid into the driver’s seat, the engine rumbling to life. The suitcases were already crammed in the trunk—every dress, every pair of pantyhose, every stiletto accounted for. He glanced at Daniel’s unconscious face, the smeared remnants of that heavy makeup still clinging to his lashes and lips. “You’re gonna thank me later, princess,” Joe said, chuckling to himself as he pulled onto the road.
The drive to his secret house took about an hour, a rundown cabin tucked deep in the woods, far from prying eyes. It was his hideaway, a place he’d fixed up with a few… special additions. He parked Daniel’s car behind the shed, out of sight, and carried him inside, the floorboards creaking under his boots. The main room was sparse—old couch, wood stove—but a heavy door in the corner led to his real playground. He kicked it open, revealing a soundproofed basement, lit by a single flickering bulb. A sturdy wooden table sat in the center, fitted with leather straps and metal rings. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with ropes, cuffs, and a few feather-tipped tools he’d collected over the years.
Joe dumped Daniel onto the table, his head lolling to the side, still out cold. “Time to get comfy,” he said, dragging the suitcases in and unzipping them with a grin. He pulled out the sheer black nightdress Daniel had worn last time, the fabric slithering through his fingers, and a fresh pair of glossy black pantyhose. Working quickly, he stripped Daniel’s jeans and t-shirt off, leaving him in his boxers, then slid the nightdress over his head, the hem settling just above his knees. The pantyhose came next, Joe’s hands lingering as he rolled them up Daniel’s legs, savoring the way the nylon hugged every curve. He finished with a pair of strappy black heels, buckling them onto Daniel’s feet with a satisfied nod. “There we go. Back where you belong.”
He stepped back to admire his work, then grabbed the ropes. He tied Daniel’s wrists to the table’s upper rings, pulling them taut above his head, and secured his ankles to the lower ones, spreading his legs just enough to arch his feet upward. The nylon gleamed under the dim light, the heels forcing Daniel’s soles into a perfect, ticklish curve. Joe licked his lips, anticipation buzzing through him. This was his plan—his own private ticklee, dressed up and helpless, all for his pleasure.
Daniel stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips as the drug began to wear off. His eyelids fluttered, then snapped open, panic flooding his face as he registered the ropes, the dress, the heels. “What—where—Joe?!” His voice cracked, hoarse and desperate, as he yanked against the restraints.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Joe said, leaning over him with a wicked grin. “Welcome to my place. Thought I’d keep you around a while. You threw out some prime stuff, man—couldn’t let that happen.”
“Let me go, you psycho!” Daniel shouted, his body twisting futilely, the nightdress riding up to expose the tops of his thighs.
“Nah,” Joe replied, picking up a long, stiff feather from the shelf. “You’re mine now. And these feet?” He dragged the feather lightly along Daniel’s nylon-clad sole, drawing a sharp, involuntary yelp. “They’re gonna keep me real happy.”
Daniel’s laughter erupted, wild and frantic, as Joe went to work, the feather dancing over his arches, then dipping under his toes. The nylon amplified every stroke, turning the sensation into pure, unrelenting torment. Joe’s grin widened, his free hand pinning Daniel’s ankle as he teased, “Scream all you want, princess. No one’s gonna hear you out here.”
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This is a story helped by AI, but the storyline exists in my mind for a long time. Hope you enjoy this story. Also tell me if you have any scenery want to share. I might write it into a story in the future.
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Daniel stood in the middle of his cramped apartment, surrounded by the evidence of a life he was desperate to leave behind. Two oversized suitcases sat open on the floor, stuffed to the brim with every scrap of his secret wardrobe—slinky dresses in satin and lace, sheer pantyhose in every shade from black to nude, and towering high heels that clicked like a siren’s call. His hands trembled as he folded a black sequined gown, the memory of Dr. Harper’s “therapy” crashing into him like a tidal wave. Just the thought of slipping into that dress—or the feel of nylon against his skin—sent phantom tickles skittering across his feet, a visceral echo of Joe’s relentless fingers. It wasn’t sexy anymore. It was torture. He zipped the first suitcase shut with a grunt, determined to haul it all to the dumpster and be done with it.
The doorbell buzzed, sharp and unexpected, jolting him from his task. He froze, his pulse spiking. No one ever came by unannounced—not his coworkers, not his family. He wiped sweaty palms on his faded jeans and crossed to the door, peering through the peephole. His stomach dropped. Joe stood there, leaning casually against the frame, a smirk playing on his lips. How the hell did he know where Daniel lived?
Swallowing hard, Daniel cracked the door open, keeping the chain latched. “Joe? What are you doing here?”
Joe’s dark eyes flicked over him, taking in the plain t-shirt and jeans with a mock pout. “Oh, back to man’s outfits, huh? Such a pity. You were so good as my sexy nylon ticklee.”
Daniel’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger surging through him. “How do you even know where I live? This isn’t—this isn’t okay.”
Joe shrugged, unfazed, his grin widening as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Relax, man. Dr. Harper might’ve let it slip during our last session. Said you were ‘making progress.’ Guess I wanted to see for myself.” His gaze darted past Daniel, landing on the suitcases spilling over with feminine finery. “Whoa, what’s all that? Spring cleaning?”
“They’re going in the trash,” Daniel snapped, gripping the door tighter. “I’m done with it. All of it.”
Joe let out a low whistle, stepping back but not breaking eye contact. “Trash? That’s a damn shame. Those legs of yours in pantyhose? Fucking art. And those heels—man, I could’ve tickled you senseless in ‘em for hours.”
The words hit Daniel like a punch, his feet tingling involuntarily as the memory of that soundproof room flooded back—Joe’s rough hands, the slick nylon, the unbearable laughter ripping out of him until he’d blacked out. He shook his head, forcing the image away. “Just leave, Joe. I don’t want this anymore.”
Joe raised his hands in mock surrender, but the glint in his eyes said he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Alright, alright. Your loss, princess. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. Those feet of yours? Still the best I’ve ever had.”
He turned to go, tossing a wink over his shoulder as he sauntered down the hall. Daniel slammed the door shut, his breath ragged, and leaned against it, staring at the suitcases. For a moment, he wavered—the shimmer of a black stiletto peeking out of the pile almost beckoned him. But then his soles prickled again, a ghost of Joe’s torment, and he clenched his jaw. No more.
Grabbing the suitcases, he dragged them out to the curb, the wheels rumbling against the pavement. The dumpster loomed ahead, and with a final heave, he hurled the first bag in, then the second, the thud of fabric and metal echoing in the quiet night. He stood there, chest heaving, hands empty, feeling lighter than he had in years. The tickling had won—he was free.
Daniel lingered by the dumpster, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he watched the last remnants of his old life disappear into the shadows. His shoulders slumped with relief, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He turned toward his car parked a few feet away, keys jingling in his hand, ready to drive off into a new chapter. The street was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of leaves skittering across the pavement. He didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late.
A strong arm snaked around his chest from behind, pinning his arms to his sides with bruising force. Before he could shout, a thick, damp cloth clamped over his nose and mouth, the sharp, chemical stench flooding his senses. Panic surged through him, his legs kicking wildly as he thrashed against the iron grip. “Mmph—let go!” he tried to yell, but the sound muffled into the fabric. His hands clawed at the air, fingers brushing the rough texture of a jacket, but his strength was fading fast. The world tilted, his vision swimming, and through the haze, he caught a glimpse of a familiar shadow—broad shoulders, dark hair, that cocky tilt of the head. Joe. He knew it was Joe. A weak groan escaped him as his knees buckled, the drug pulling him under, and everything went black.
Joe smirked down at Daniel’s limp form, slumped against him on the pavement. “Told you it was a pity,” he muttered, hoisting Daniel over his shoulder with a grunt. The guy was lighter than he’d expected, all lean muscle and nervous energy, now dead weight in his arms. Joe’s eyes flicked to the dumpster, then to the suitcases he’d already fished out while Daniel had stood there, oblivious. No way was he letting that treasure trove go to waste.
He hauled Daniel to the car, propping him in the passenger seat and buckling him in like a ragdoll. The keys were still clutched in Daniel’s slack hand; Joe pried them free and slid into the driver’s seat, the engine rumbling to life. The suitcases were already crammed in the trunk—every dress, every pair of pantyhose, every stiletto accounted for. He glanced at Daniel’s unconscious face, the smeared remnants of that heavy makeup still clinging to his lashes and lips. “You’re gonna thank me later, princess,” Joe said, chuckling to himself as he pulled onto the road.
The drive to his secret house took about an hour, a rundown cabin tucked deep in the woods, far from prying eyes. It was his hideaway, a place he’d fixed up with a few… special additions. He parked Daniel’s car behind the shed, out of sight, and carried him inside, the floorboards creaking under his boots. The main room was sparse—old couch, wood stove—but a heavy door in the corner led to his real playground. He kicked it open, revealing a soundproofed basement, lit by a single flickering bulb. A sturdy wooden table sat in the center, fitted with leather straps and metal rings. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with ropes, cuffs, and a few feather-tipped tools he’d collected over the years.
Joe dumped Daniel onto the table, his head lolling to the side, still out cold. “Time to get comfy,” he said, dragging the suitcases in and unzipping them with a grin. He pulled out the sheer black nightdress Daniel had worn last time, the fabric slithering through his fingers, and a fresh pair of glossy black pantyhose. Working quickly, he stripped Daniel’s jeans and t-shirt off, leaving him in his boxers, then slid the nightdress over his head, the hem settling just above his knees. The pantyhose came next, Joe’s hands lingering as he rolled them up Daniel’s legs, savoring the way the nylon hugged every curve. He finished with a pair of strappy black heels, buckling them onto Daniel’s feet with a satisfied nod. “There we go. Back where you belong.”
He stepped back to admire his work, then grabbed the ropes. He tied Daniel’s wrists to the table’s upper rings, pulling them taut above his head, and secured his ankles to the lower ones, spreading his legs just enough to arch his feet upward. The nylon gleamed under the dim light, the heels forcing Daniel’s soles into a perfect, ticklish curve. Joe licked his lips, anticipation buzzing through him. This was his plan—his own private ticklee, dressed up and helpless, all for his pleasure.
Daniel stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips as the drug began to wear off. His eyelids fluttered, then snapped open, panic flooding his face as he registered the ropes, the dress, the heels. “What—where—Joe?!” His voice cracked, hoarse and desperate, as he yanked against the restraints.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Joe said, leaning over him with a wicked grin. “Welcome to my place. Thought I’d keep you around a while. You threw out some prime stuff, man—couldn’t let that happen.”
“Let me go, you psycho!” Daniel shouted, his body twisting futilely, the nightdress riding up to expose the tops of his thighs.
“Nah,” Joe replied, picking up a long, stiff feather from the shelf. “You’re mine now. And these feet?” He dragged the feather lightly along Daniel’s nylon-clad sole, drawing a sharp, involuntary yelp. “They’re gonna keep me real happy.”
Daniel’s laughter erupted, wild and frantic, as Joe went to work, the feather dancing over his arches, then dipping under his toes. The nylon amplified every stroke, turning the sensation into pure, unrelenting torment. Joe’s grin widened, his free hand pinning Daniel’s ankle as he teased, “Scream all you want, princess. No one’s gonna hear you out here.”
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This is a story helped by AI, but the storyline exists in my mind for a long time. Hope you enjoy this story. Also tell me if you have any scenery want to share. I might write it into a story in the future.
