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Chapter 8: The Blushing Bride

White.

I positively glowed in the light of the dressing room, the gemstones set into the gauzy fabric of my lingerie throwing twinkling points of light across the wood-paneled walls. Frilled lace brushed against my thighs as I twisted my hips in front of the mirror.

There was a hard lump in my throat and my stomach was full of butterflies as I examined myself in the mirror. My freshly-shaved legs were coated in dewy sheer stockings, all white with tall lace tops punctuated with small blue bows circling with thigh. They were tugged upwards by the structured arch of my garter belt, all sheer white with rows of ruffles marching up passed my navel. Over it was a matching pair of panties; sheer and ruffled in the front, but completely open in the back.

I turned and popped my hip in the mirror, watching the ribbons of a large blue bow set over my rear trace through the air. Just putting it on made me feel sexy and vulnerable — wrapping myself up in white silk to be used by Katrina.

A sissy for her Mistress.

The top was a flowing babydoll nightie, the high neckline in the front tied with another blue bow. Large, puffy balloon sleeves draped over my arms, trimmed in more ruffles, my arms emerging from lace and ribbon. The back was cut low and open, swooping down and grazing the top of my garter belt. All of it was sheer and white, just opaque enough to hint at the lingerie I wore beneath.

I had even experimented with make-up, applying a glossy pink to my lips and a soft red to my cheeks. Just enough to make tonight special — there would be plenty of time to learn how to do more after our honeymoon.

I stepped awkwardly into the white stilettos and fastened the strap behind my ankle. The heels were nowhere near as tall as what Katrina wore, but they made me feel feminine and sexy anyway. Just like my make-up, I knew more practice in taller heels was in my future. After all, I was certain that's what my Mistress wanted.

And it's what I wanted to provide.

I took a long, steadying breath as I examined myself one final time in the mirror, then pushed open the door. Cool air flowed into the dressing room while light spilled out into our suite. Only candles lit our room, their flickering light casting shadows over the figure laying on the bed.

Katrina. My wife.

My Mistress.

"I want you."

Her voice floated through the air and sent a charge through my body. Already, I was stiffening in my tiny white panties. Just the knowledge of what we were doing — what tonight meant for us — was enough to get me excited. And that was before I saw her.

Where my lingerie was flamboyant, hers was reserved. Where mine was girlish, hers was almost masculine. I drowned in lace and frills, while she was structured in angular straps. Everything about her communicated power and control, from the blood-red of her nails to the heavy eyeliner to the slender, knife-like rod run through the knot of hair at the back of her head.

She was reclined on the bed, the light around her making her skin glow. She was statuesque, all long limbs and strong features. Laying on the bed made me want to pounce on her, take her and show her my love and my passion. I wanted to worship at her altar.

But I was sure she was going to make me beg to do that.

I glided over to her, letting her take in my full appearance as I drank in hers. A black corset made of tightly crosshatched straps thrust up her breasts, turning them into perfect, curving mounds. Her hips were sculpted and arched, thick garter straps descending from them and reaching opaque black stockings. They disappeared into shiny black boots that completely covered her calves.

Around her neck was an elaborate, twinkling necklace studded with jewels. Her earrings dripped with glittering gems. Both were feminine contrasts to the stern, aggressive lingerie she wore — but that wasn't was most strange or surprising about her outfit. My eyes were drawn down between her legs, where there was something long and thick where there should have been nothing.

"Oh my god," I gasped, covering my mouth. "Is that a cock?"

"My beautiful, blushing bride," she grinned. "My sissy bride. You look radiant, darling."

"Th— thank you," I stammered, eyes glued to her strap-on. "Why do you — what's that for?"

"Tonight, sissy girl," she purred. "We're going to re-do our wedding night."

She sat up and slid off the bed, spreading her feet apart, the shiny black cock wagging in the air between us. She grinned and curled her finger, beckoning me over.

"The way it should have been."