Remade in Lace by Clara
# Submission in Lace The text had come at dawn, stark and uncompromising on the glowing screen of his phone. *You have submitted three times. Your training begins in earnest. Arrive at 10:00. You will be remade.* Leo’s breath had fogged
Chapter 1
The text had come at dawn, stark and uncompromising on the glowing screen of his phone.
*You have submitted three times. Your training begins in earnest. Arrive at 10:00. You will be remade.*
Leo’s breath had fogged the bathroom mirror as he read it for the tenth time. Now, standing before the heavy oak door of Clara’s apartment, he felt the familiar, thrilling drop in his stomach. This was different. The word ‘remade’ hummed with a new, terrifying voltage.
He knocked.
The door swung open, and she filled the frame. Clara was a compact storm of pale gold and sharp blue. Her long, blonde hair was swept back in a severe knot, emphasizing the stern set of her full mouth and the glacial intelligence in her eyes. She wore a simple, black leather harness over a bare, curvy torso, the straps cutting into the softness of her hips and the pale swell of her breasts. Below, tight vinyl shorts gleamed.
Her gaze raked over him, from his own long, grey hair tied neatly back, down the plain white t-shirt, to his simple jeans. It was a look that stripped away layers, seeing only the raw material she intended to shape.
“You’re on time,” she stated, her voice a low, smooth alto that brooked no pleasantry. “Remove your shoes. Then, follow.”
The apartment was all cool minimalism—concrete floors, steel furniture, and the faint, clean scent of ozone and leather. She led him not to the familiar playroom, but to her own bedroom. It was dominated by a large, low platform bed with crisp white linings. Laid out upon it was not rope or chain, but fabric.
A set of delicate, black lace lingerie. Stockings with intricate seams. A gossamer babydoll. A pair of towering, patent leather heels.
“Your obedience has been satisfactory,” Clara said, turning to face him, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. “Now, we test your devotion. You wish to serve a woman? To understand submission? You will first learn to become one. To see yourself through my eyes.”
She pointed a manicured finger at the bed. “Undress. Everything. Then you will put on what I have chosen for you. Slowly. I want to see every moment of your… transformation.”
The air grew thick. Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was the obstacle, far greater than any physical restraint: the surrender of his own image. He met her unwavering blue stare, saw the playful challenge beneath the serious, dominant command. This was the edge, and she was waiting to see if he would step over.
With trembling fingers, he obeyed.
Chapter 2
“I’ve always wanted this,” Leo breathed, the admission slipping out as he stared at the delicate lace. His hands were steady now, driven by a deep, thrilling honesty.
Clara’s stern mouth softened into a knowing, playful smirk. “I know you have,” she said, her voice a low purr. “That’s why we’re here. Now show me.”
He stripped, the cool air kissing his skin, his shaved cock already beginning to thicken with anticipation. The stockings came first. He sat on the edge of the bed, rolling the sheer black silk up his calves, his thighs, securing them with the clips. The sensation was electric, the seams a perfect, straight line up the back of his legs.
“Stand,” Clara commanded. He obeyed, and she handed him the babydoll. The black lace whispered over his chest, the flimsy cups doing little to conceal his flat pectorals, the hem brushing his thighs. It was an absurd, beautiful contrast. Next, the heels. He wobbled as he stepped into them, the patent leather creaking, forcing his posture into a precarious, elegant arch.
“Good,” she murmured, circling him. “But we’re not finished. Sit at the vanity.”
He followed, his reflection a shocking stranger in the mirror—a man in lace and heels, breath caught in his throat. Clara stood behind him, her hands firm on his shoulders. She loosened the tie holding his long grey hair, letting it fall. With a brush and pins, she began to work, her fingers deft and sure.
“You will wear your hair up,” she stated, gathering the strands into an elegant, twisted knot at his crown. “A sophisticated chignon. It exposes the neck. A vulnerable, submissive line.”
Leo watched, mesmerized, as his masculine features were framed by the feminine style. Clara leaned close, her breath warm on his ear. “Now, the final touch.” She produced a tube of lipstick, a deep, violent crimson. “Open your mouth. Just slightly.”
He did. With a surgeon’s precision, she painted his lips, the waxy scent filling his senses. She turned his face back to the mirror. “Look,” she commanded, her voice thick with dominance. “Look at my beautiful girl.”
The sight sent a jolt straight to his groin. The lace, the heels, the hair, the perfect red lips on his bearded face—it was the fantasy made flesh. He was utterly remade.
“You are exquisite,” Clara said, her hand sliding from his shoulder down the lace of his chest, her fingers tracing a slow, possessive path lower. “This is just the beginning. Now, my girl will learn to present herself.” Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his lace panties. “On your knees. Show me your devotion.”
Chapter 3
Leo’s breath hitched as Clara’s fingers tightened in the lace at his hips. He sank to his knees on the cool concrete floor, the patent heels clacking softly. From this angle, he could see the dark, clean-shaven triangle of her pussy through the harness straps, a powerful, intimate sight that made his mouth water.
“Good girl,” she purred, her voice rich with approval. “Now, show me what a good girl does for her Mistress.”
Leo understood. He leaned forward, his painted lips parting. He nuzzled first, inhaling her clean, musky scent, his cock straining painfully against the delicate lace of the panties. Then his tongue found her. He traced the outer lips, lapping slowly, deliberately, savoring the taste of her skin and the faint, sharp hint of her arousal.
“Yes,” Clara sighed, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, her fingers threading through his elegant chignon. “Use that tongue. Show me your devotion isn’t just lace-deep.”
He obeyed, diving deeper, his tongue circling her clit before plunging into her opening. She was wet, and the raw, organic taste of her flooded his senses. He fucked her with his tongue, his own hips rocking slightly in the air, the movement absurd and desperate in the heels and babydoll. The sounds were obscene in the quiet room—his hungry slurps, her ragged sighs.
“You look beautiful like this,” she moaned, her grip tightening in his hair. “My pretty girl, on her knees, serving her Mistress. Does that make your little cock ache?”
He groaned against her, the vibration making her shudder. He could only nod, his world reduced to the feel of her, the taste, the exquisite humiliation of his own appearance.
“Tell me,” she commanded, pulling his head back just enough to break contact. A glossy thread of her wetness connected his red lips to her skin. “Tell me what you are.”
He panted, looking up at her flushed face, her dominant blue eyes blazing down at him. “I’m your girl,” he gasped, the words a thrilling surrender. “Your good girl.”
Clara smiled, a predatory flash of teeth. “You are.” She guided his mouth back to her. “Now finish what you started. Make me feel it.”
Leo redoubled his efforts, licking and sucking with a fervent, focused hunger. He felt her thighs begin to tremble, heard her breath catch in a high, tight whine. He was a instrument of her pleasure, remade and perfected for this single purpose. The lace hugged his body, his cock wept inside it, and all that existed was the building tension in her muscles and the glorious, wet heat of her pussy on his devoted tongue.
Chapter 4
Clara’s satisfied sigh was a tangible thing, a warm vibration in the air as she pulled Leo’s mouth from her slick heat. She ran her thumb over his red-stained lips, smearing them further, then turned and retrieved the tube of crimson lipstick from the vanity. She uncapped it with a soft click.
“Stay just like that, on your knees,” she commanded, her voice husky. She knelt before him, the scent of her arousal mingling with the waxy perfume of the cosmetic. With deliberate, possessive strokes, she wrote on the pale skin above his lace-covered chest. The cool, slick sensation made him shiver. When she was done, she leaned back to admire her work: *Good Girl* in elegant, flowing script.
“Perfect,” she purred. “We need pictures of my good girl. I’m going to get you to do some poses for me.”
She fetched her phone from the nightstand. The soft *click* of the camera app opening sounded obscenely loud. “First pose. Arch your back. Present that pretty, dripping pussy for the camera. Show me how wet you are for your Mistress.”
Leo obeyed, shifting his weight back onto his heels, thrusting his hips forward. The delicate lace of the babydoll rode up, and the soaked, transparent panel of his panties was laid bare, his hard, shaved cock a clear outline beneath. He heard the shutter snap.
“Good. Now, on your hands and knees. Look back over your shoulder at me. Let me see that ‘Good Girl’ on your chest.”
He moved, the patent heels making the position awkward, exquisitely humiliating. The concrete was cool against his palms. He turned his head, meeting the lens of her phone, his painted lips parted. Clara circled him, capturing every angle.
“Tell me what you are while I take your picture,” she said, her tone a blend of command and sensual play.
“I’m your good girl,” Leo breathed, the admission feeding the fire in his groin.
“Louder.”
“I’m your good girl!” he gasped, as the shutter clicked again.
She came closer, crouching down. The phone’s lens focused on the damp lace clinging to his ass. “And what does my good girl want?”
His mind swam. “To serve you. To be yours.”
Clara’s free hand snaked between his thighs from behind, her fingers pressing firmly against the soaked fabric, against the trapped, throbbing heat of his cock. “She wants to come, doesn’t she?” she whispered, her voice hot in his ear. “She’s aching for it. But beautiful pictures require patience. We’re not done.”
Her fingers rubbed in a slow, torturous circle, the pressure just shy of what he needed. Leo whimpered, pushing back against her hand, his entire body a taut string of desperate, denied pleasure.
Chapter 5
Clara’s phone hit the sheets with a soft thud. She kept her hand between his thighs, her fingers a persistent, maddening pressure. “You’re so wet for me, my good girl,” she whispered, her other hand stroking the elegant knot of his hair. “All this lace, this pretty makeup… and this desperate, leaking little cock. It’s a perfect picture of submission.”
Leo moaned, pushing back against her hand, the sheer need making him tremble. “Please, Mistress,” he gasped, the words muffled against the bedspread.
“Please what?” she demanded, her fingers stilling. “Use your words. Tell me what this aching girl needs.”
He gathered his breath, the humiliation a sweet fuel. “Please… let me feel you. Directly. No lace between us.”
Clara made a low, approving sound. “Such a polite request.” With a sharp tug, she ripped the soaked lace panel of his panties aside. The cool air on his exposed, slick cock was a shock. Her bare palm cupped him fully, her skin hot against his fevered flesh. “Is that better?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he choked out.
“Good. Now stay still.” She began to stroke him, her grip firm and knowing, her thumb smearing the pre-cum beading at his tip. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming—the rough texture of her calloused palm, the smooth glide of his own wetness. “Look at you,” she cooed, her pace deliberate, not fast enough to tip him over, but deep and possessive. “My creation. My pretty thing. Does my girl like how my hand feels on her?”
“God, yes,” Leo panted, his hips twitching, trying to drive himself deeper into her fist. The visual was absurd, devastating: his ass in the air, the torn lace, the stockings and heels, and her dominant hand working his cock with brutal expertise.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” she murmured, leaning over him, her breasts pressing against his back. “I can feel you swelling, tightening. You want to spill all over my nice, clean floor.”
He could only nod, a desperate, jerky motion. The peak was a roaring wave just offshore.
Clara’s lips brushed his ear. “Not yet.” Her hand stopped, squeezing him at the root, a punishing, perfect clamp that held the eruption at bay. A tortured sob escaped him. “Patience,” she said, releasing him slowly. “The night is young, and I have more uses for my good girl. On your back. Now.”
Shaking, Leo rolled over, his hard, wet cock standing stark against the black lace of the ruined babydoll. Clara stood over him, her blue eyes dark with power and pleasure. She unbuckled the leather harness, letting it fall, and climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips. Her shaved pussy hovered just above his aching flesh, a breath away from contact. “You see what you’ve earned?” she said, her voice thick. “This is your reward. But you don’t take it until I say. You look, and you wait.”
He stared up, mesmerized by the glistening, intimate sight of her so close to him, the promise of her heat an exquisite torture. The ‘Good Girl’ scripted on his chest rose and fell with his ragged breaths.
Chapter 6
“You need to be completely open to me,” Clara declared, her voice leaving no room for discussion. She retrieved two long, soft leather cuffs from a drawer and moved with purpose. “Give me your wrists.”
Leo obeyed, his heart hammering as she secured one cuff to his left wrist, then the other, pulling his arms wide to the bedposts. The process was repeated with his ankles, the leather cool and firm against his skin. He was laid bare, stretched out in the black lace and seamed stockings, utterly vulnerable. The “Good Girl” script on his chest felt like a brand.
Clara climbed onto the bed, her movements deliberate. She didn’t straddle his face immediately. Instead, she positioned herself above him, her shaved pussy hovering just inches from his mouth. “Look at what you’re being given,” she commanded, her blue eyes dark with dominance. “My perfect, pretty girl gets the ultimate reward. You will taste me until I am satisfied. And you,” she said, shifting her weight to lower herself, aligning her mouth with his aching, exposed cock, “will learn what it is to be consumed.”
The first touch of her tongue was electric. Leo gasped as her hot, wet mouth engulfed him, her technique masterful and relentless. The dual sensation was overwhelming: the intense, rhythmic pressure of her lips and tongue on his cock, and the intoxicating, musky scent of her sex filling his nostrils. He obeyed her silent command, lifting his head to press his mouth against her.
“Use your tongue, girl,” Clara ordered, her voice muffled against his flesh. “Don’t be shy. Show me how grateful you are.”
Leo moaned, the vibration passing into her as he licked a slow, devoted path through her slick folds. The taste of her was dark and addictive. He focused entirely on the task, mimicking the fervent attention she was giving him, lost in the shared, carnal rhythm.
“Yes,” she hissed, pausing her ministrations to speak, her breath hot on his wet skin. “Just like that. You’re a natural. My good girl knows how to please her Mistress.” She resumed with renewed vigor, her hand cupping his balls, rolling them gently as she took him deep.
The mutual servicing built a feedback loop of desperate pleasure. Leo’s world narrowed to the points of connection: the exquisite suction of her mouth, the soft, giving flesh under his tongue. He was hurtling toward the edge, his body tensing, a low groan building in his chest.
Clara felt it. She pulled her mouth away with a wet pop, leaving him throbbing and exposed to the cool air. “Not yet,” she whispered, her own breathing ragged. She lowered herself fully onto his face, grinding gently against his mouth. “I’m not done with you. Keep going. Bring me there first.”
Denied his own release, Leo poured all his focus into hers, his tongue circling and plunging, driven by a submissive fervor to feel her come apart above him.
Chapter 7
Clara pulled her mouth away, leaving Leo gasping, his cock slick and twitching. She climbed off his face, her own breath coming in short, sharp pants. “Enough,” she said, her voice thick with a control that was fraying at the edges. “You’re too close.”
With swift, practiced motions, she untied the leather cuffs from the bedposts. “Stand up,” she commanded, her blue eyes glinting. “I want a few more pictures. Then, maybe, you will be rewarded for your submission.”
Leo’s limbs trembled as he obeyed, the lace of the torn babydoll clinging to his damp skin. Clara retrieved her camera from the nightstand, its lens catching the low light. She then picked up a large, red rubber ball gag.
“Open,” she ordered. Leo complied, and she fitted the gag between his teeth, securing the strap tightly behind his head. His world narrowed to the stretch of his jaw and the musky taste of her still on his tongue. “Now, lean over the foot of the bed. Present yourself to me.”
He bent forward, resting his torso on the cool duvet, his lace-clad ass raised in offering. He heard the slick sound of lubricant, then felt the cool, firm pressure of the plug’s tip against his hole.
“Relax,” Clara murmured, her tone a mix of command and dark reassurance. She pressed slowly, inexorably, until the widest part stretched him open with a burning fullness that stole his breath. A soft, muffled groan escaped the gag.
“Good girl,” she purred, her hand stroking his flank. “So pretty like this.” Her touch left him, and he heard the soft *swish* of air. The first crack of the paddle was a bright, shocking pain that bloomed across his left cheek. He jerked, a choked sound caught in his throat.
“Stay still,” Clara said, her voice calm. The camera shutter clicked. Another sharp smack landed on his right cheek, the sting radiating deep, mixing with the profound fullness inside him. Click. She circled him, delivering measured, stinging blows, each followed by the capture of the shutter. Click. The pain began to transform, melting into a heavy, submissive heat that pooled in his groin. Click. His cock, still hard and neglected, wept onto the black lace stockings.
“Look at you,” she said, pausing to run a cool finger over the warmed skin of his ass. “My perfect, painted picture. Taking your punishment so beautifully.” She delivered one final, harder swat that made his eyes water. Click.
She put the paddle and camera down. Her hands gripped his hips, holding him firmly in place. “You’ve earned your reward, my good girl,” she whispered, her voice a promise against his ear. “But not yet. Not until I say.”
Chapter 8
Her words ignited a final, primal permission in him. Leo’s breath hitched behind the gag. Clara released his hips and moved to stand before him, her blue eyes dark with command and promise. She pulled the ball gag from his mouth.
“Now, my good girl,” she said, her voice a low, urgent rasp. “I’m gonna bend over the bed and you will fuck me from behind.”
She turned, placing her hands flat on the rumpled duvet, arching her back. The sight of her—the pale, perfect curve of her ass, the shaved cleft waiting—was almost too much. He felt the plug within him, a constant, full reminder of his submission.
“Do it,” she ordered, glancing over her shoulder. “Take what’s yours to give. I want your cum on my ass.”
With a ragged groan, Leo moved into position. He guided himself with a trembling hand, the head of his cock catching against her wet heat. He pushed, and the world dissolved into a tight, slick, consuming fire. A guttural moan tore from his throat.
“That’s it,” Clara panted, pushing back against him, taking him deeper. “Fuck your Mistress. Show me how good you can be.”
He set a rhythm, each drive a frantic prayer. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with their harsh breaths and her sharp, approving cries. “Yes! Just like that. You feel so good inside me, my pretty girl.”
Her words coiled around his spine, pulling him tighter toward the edge. The pleasure was a blinding wave, heightened by the plug, by the lace clinging to his skin, by the utter ruin of his control. He was her creature, fucking her with a desperate, devoted intensity.
“I’m close,” he gasped, the words raw.
“Not inside,” she commanded, her voice cracking with her own rising peak. “On me. Mark me. Now!”
With one final, deep thrust, he obeyed. He pulled out just as the climax detonated, a white-hot convulsion that ripped through him. Hot stripes of his release splattered across the small of her back and the perfect cheeks of her ass, just as she shuddered and cried out, her own orgasm clenching around the sudden, empty space he’d left.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing. Then, Clara slowly straightened. She turned, her gaze softening as she looked at him—spent, painted, and utterly hers. She reached out, smearing his cum with her fingers before bringing them to his lips.
“Taste your devotion,” she whispered.
He did, his eyes never leaving hers.
She pulled him down onto the bed, into the mess they’d made, and held him as the tremors subsided. “You are remade,” she said quietly, kissing his forehead. “My good girl. My perfect submissive. This is where you belong.”
And in the quiet aftermath, tangled in lace and shared heat, Leo knew it was true. The journey was complete. He was home.
Chapter 9
The vibration of his phone a few days later was a sweet, secret shock. Leo read Clara’s message in the pale afternoon light of his own kitchen.
*You were so good. So much fun.* He smiled, thumbs flying. *I liked it all. Every second.*
Her reply was swift. *I know you did. I’ve been bragging to my friend Charlotte. Told her all about my good girl. Come over, Leo. I want you to meet her.*
His pulse kicked into a new, dizzying rhythm. This wasn’t a command to submit in private. This was an introduction. A presentation.
When he arrived, Clara answered the door already smiling, a predatory gleam in her blue eyes. “You’re prompt. Good.” She wore a sleek black wrap dress, her hair loose. “Charlotte’s in the living room. Be perfect.”
She led him in. Charlotte was a striking contrast to Clara—tall, with a severe dark bob and sharp, assessing eyes. She leaned against the steel console, a glass of wine in hand, dressed in tailored trousers and a silk blouse.
“So this is the famous good girl,” Charlotte said, her voice a cool, amused murmur. Her gaze travelled over Leo with clinical interest.
“This is her,” Clara confirmed, placing a possessive hand on Leo’s lower back. “Isn’t she pretty?”
“Very. You’ve done excellent work.” Charlotte took a slow sip. “Does she speak?”
Clara’s fingers pressed into his spine. “You may answer, pet.”
“Thank you,” Leo said, his voice quieter than he intended. The heat of their combined attention was a physical weight.
“Polite, too.” Charlotte set her glass down. “Clara says you love the lace. That you beg so sweetly when you’re denied. Is that true?”
“Y-yes.”
Clara stepped in front of him, her playful dominance radiating. “Show Charlotte how you kneel for me.” It wasn’t a request.
Without hesitation, Leo lowered himself to the cool concrete floor, back straight, hands resting on his thighs, eyes downcast. He heard Charlotte’s soft, approving hum.
“Look at that form,” Clara said, circling him. “She practices. Now, my good girl, I want you to tell Charlotte what you want right now. Be explicit.”
Leo’s face flushed. He swallowed, the words thick in his throat. “I want… I want to serve you both. I want to be your pretty thing. I want to feel your hands on me, and… and to make you feel good.” He chanced a glance up at Clara. “I want you to use me.”
Clara’s smile was brilliant. She looked at Charlotte. “See? Devotion. It’s exquisite.” She bent, her fingers tilting Leo’s chin up. “Stand up. I think Charlotte should feel the fabric you wear for me. Let her touch what’s mine.”
Leo rose, his heart pounding against his ribs as the tall, dark-haired woman approached. Her fingers were cool as they traced the line of his jaw, then down his neck, over the collar of his shirt. The air crackled with a new, shared electricity, and Leo surrendered to it completely, his submission deepening under the gaze of two mistresses.
Chapter 10
Clara’s smile was wicked. “A wonderful idea, Charlotte. Go on, pet,” she said, her hand leaving Leo’s back to give him a light pat. “The washroom. You’ll find Charlotte’s selection hanging on the back of the door. I want to see what my friend thinks you should look like.”
Leo’s legs felt weak as he walked down the short hall. The small, impeccably clean washroom was lit by a single harsh bulb. Hanging from the hook was a new costume. It was a sheer, scarlet babydoll with black lace trim, so flimsy it felt like cobwebs in his hands. With it were fishnet stockings and a pair of glossy, red platform heels that looked impossibly high.
He changed quickly, his fingers fumbling with the delicate straps. The sheer fabric did nothing to hide his arousal, the black lace cupping his shaved cock, making it the focal point of the outfit. The fishnets were a complex web against his skin, and the shoes forced his posture into a precarious, arched curve. He looked at his reflection—a blurred, crimson spectre of submission. He took a deep breath and opened the door.
Their conversation halted as he stepped into the living room. Two pairs of eyes, one blue and glacial, one dark and sharp, consumed him.
“Oh, yes,” Charlotte breathed, a slow smile spreading across her face. “That’s the look. Come closer. Turn for us.”
Clara stood, circling him as he complied, the click of his heels loud on the concrete. “Magnificent,” Clara purred. “The red makes your skin look so pale. So… available.” Her fingers snagged in the fishnet at his thigh. “Do you feel slutty, Leo? Do you feel like our pretty little toy?”
“Yes,” he whispered, the word barely audible.
“Louder,” Charlotte commanded from her seat, crossing her legs. “We want to hear you.”
“Yes,” he said, stronger, heat flooding his face. “I feel like your toy.”
Clara stopped in front of him, her gaze dropping to the clear outline of his hard cock against the scarlet lace. “Look at that. Throbbing for us already, just from wearing this.” She looked at Charlotte. “He has such a responsive body. Should we test how responsive?”
“I think we should,” Charlotte said, her voice cool and deliberate. “On your knees, toy. Between us. Let’s see what that mouth is for.”
Clara guided him down with a firm pressure on his shoulder. He knelt on the hard floor, the fishnet biting into his knees, looking up at the two powerful women. Clara settled back on the sofa, spreading her legs just enough. The scent of her, clean and musky, washed over him.
“You may begin,” Clara said, her hand threading into his grey hair. “Service your Mistress. And don’t you dare stop until we’re both satisfied.”