I am Miss Elaine. Day thirty-eight was the first whole workday he spent in my stockings, and the only thing that nearly gave him away was a shirt tail. August The stockings started in August, a week or two after he locked. When the questions began I did not have a name yet. I was still becoming myself, and what I was becoming, mostly, was curious. He let me question him. Yes or no, nothing else allowed, about an hour at a time. Have you ever. Would you. Did you want to, once,

He locked himself out of my mailbox and left me the only way in.

I am Miss Elaine. Day fifty’s almost did not fall out of the sky. It fell out of a Saturday night list. His cock — cute, little, locked — has lived in steel for weeks. The key is stored where he cannot get to it without my permission. He asks to come out. I nearly always say no. That is the weather. Now the specific weather that made the harness. He will write some of this up too, under his own name — James — when the subject is practical rather than how it felt. Gear that ac