TO ALL-
Love the forum, and all the sweatered lust spilled out onto the net. I have written many stories - mostly about crossdressing and sweaters. Below is one short one,one that actually came true.
LEt me know if you like it,
Sian Seteyan

P.S. Does anyone know of any actual WOMEN who have a sweater fetish? Or an actual sweater mistress? Whatever became of Tabitha? 

What kind of place was this? As a real estate photographer, I had photographed some strange apartments but this one took the cake.  Huge closets packed with clothes, but clothes like I had only dreamed of. Fetish wear. Latex. Rubber. And a dozen pairs of stiletto heels. I was more than a little excited. The woman who had let me in, the maid I think, she said she was going out for an hour. I wondered if I could...I had been an addicted crossdresser for years now, and even though I thought I had stopped, the sight of all of these clothes, and the sense of illicitness - I was sure after a moment that there was nothing I could do, I had to try some of these clothes on. I wondered if I could lock the door, I thought, as I tore my clothes off.  Maybe I had fifteen minutes, that would be enough.  I looked in the full length mirror, at my skinny, naked body, such a familiar sight, and shivered with anticipation.  I tore into the lingerie first, it was all over the place, tossed into drawers and boxes. Then I found a fishnet bodystocking and I tugged that on over a thong that barely covered my hard-on.  I arched my body in front of the mirror. Beautiful. Then I saw it, in the back of the closet, a big, black angora sweater, thrown carelessly into a drawer.  I pulled it out, shivering with excitement. 
It was not so big, it went onto me like a second skin, and I inhaled the deep pervading scent of wool. When I looked at myself I was shocked, I looked so sexy.  The sweater came down to just below my crotch. My long, thin legs descended to the floor, swimming in fishnet. And the sweater, the sweater was so soft, so sensual. My penis throbbed with excitement; I thought I was going to cum. I looked around in a panic. I had to find a bathroom. I couldn¼t believe I had only lasted a few minutes, that I was this affected by these clothes.  And then I heard the door open.  My heart almost leapt out of my chest. A gloved hand slowly eased the door all of the way open. My blood boiled in my ears. I looked around like a caged animal, sure that I had to escape.  And then SHE was there, standing in the doorway, a vision from my dreams, or my nightmares. She was tall, beautiful, hair cut like Louis Brooks, dressed in black latex that molded around her lithe body. Her red lips were twisted into a cruel smile.  She walked in on her enormous heels, like a cat stalking her prey. 
„What have we here?¾ Her voice was sweet like rock candy, but full of control.  „You seem to have found my closet¾, she said, „but I don¼t remember telling you to try on my clothes.¾  I stammered an apology, my face as hot and red as the sun, trying to get the sweater off without revealing the even more feminine clothes underneath. She was not having any of it.  One of my arms was stuck inside the sweater when she glided to a stop in front of me. Her gloved hand shot out and she caught the loose sleeve, and with a quick jerk of her hand she looped it around my neck, and jerked hard. I felt the soft fabric  tighten around my throat.  She stared at me hard, appraising me,  further shaming me as I cast my eyes around the room. All of my efforts to get undressed were stopped.  She smiled again, and loosened her grip, let the sleeve roll back down my body. I dared to breathe for one second, and then she lashed out, reaching between my legs, grabbing the loose sleeve and pulling, forcing my shoulder down.  She lifted up on the sleeve and I found myself on my knees, barely catching myself with my free right hand.  She quickly jerked that away, so that I pitched forward, my face almost hitting the ground, and then she was looping the loose sleeve around the extra fabric of  my right sleeve, tying my arm behind my back. Some noise escaped my lips, a groan of protest, and she hissed at me to shut up.  Her knee sank onto the small of my back and I was pinned on the floor, a jumble of angora and fishnet and shame.
„I wonder if you know what you have done, breaking in here.¾ I started to protest, but she cut me off.  „You don¼t know who I am¾, she said, „I am not a person you want to cross.¾
Again I started to mumble an apology, but her knee dug into my back.  I tried to hold my face up with my free hand inside the sweater. „You are a cross dresser. You are in my house. You will play by my rules. Now you will not say a word unless I ask you a direct question, Do YOU UNDERSTAND?¾ I was stunned, but managed a feeble yes. She stood up, and the weight was gone from my back. I straightened up, but she was right there, standing over me, and I knew I had better stay on my knees.  „Now,¾ she said, „why are you wearing that sweater?¾  I gulped at a reply but nothing would come out.  „You could not help yourself I am guessing.¾ She was right.  „And I bet you secretly want to try on all my clothes, to dress like a woman.¾ I did not say anything. 
„Not only that but you have stretched one of my best sweaters, and that body stocking.¾ I looked at the sweater, the sleeves stretched behind my back.  There was something undeniably exciting about the feel of the soft fabric and the restriction, and a second wave of arousal spread through me.  It came at  the worst possible moment, and she felt it, like a cat sensing her prey.  And in that moment of weakness  - she had me.
„It¼s the sweater isn¼t it?¾ Her mouth whispered the words inches from my ear.  „That¼s it.¾   I shook my head back and forth suddenly terrified.  But she knew.  And she would make me pay for my incursion. She was, after all, a professional.  
I stood in front of her, dressed now in the most terrifyingly beautiful outfit I could have ever dreamt of. It was days later, or maybe only moments, there was no sense of reality, or freewill. It was like a nightmare.  She had torn the clothes off of me, and looked at my naked frame with an appraising glance.  Then I was tucked into a corset or girdle, that sucked the male attributes of my body inward, while supporting two of the largest and realest breast forms in a trussed-up brassiere.  She had then attached two patterned stockings to the rubber garters hanging off of my new waist, my padded ass. And fit me with a rubber hood that framed my face, and even had a blond ponytail hanging off of the back. Better than the bondage hood she had kept me in while dressing, the one with the attached ball gag and blindfold.  I was forced to speak like a girl, in as high a voice as I could manage, forced to beg, and then finally silenced with a rubber insert wedged between my red lips. The shoes were even worse, tall, thick spikes that stretched my body awkwardly, forcing my false breasts out in front of me.  And then she had me march through her closet, tottering on my new legs, and try on sweater after sweater. She would ask me about each one, and when I answered in my own voice, or failed to admit my attraction, she would smack my ass, threaten me with severe punishments, or even worse threaten to stop.  Now I was hers.  She knew it. When she was finished, I was dressed in a tight angora sweater, with a second cardigan, two sizes too small, and a tight hobble skirt that kept my walking to a minimum.  She had also fastened my arms and hands behind my back so that my breasts were thrust forward and the false nipples showed clearly.  My ass stung from the long over the knee spanking I had received, but she had not deflowered me as yet - she showed me the butt plug that she would force on me, that she would strap inside me, so no part of my body was left untouched...  
Finally  she found my camera equipment.  Hopefully the red lipstick she made me wear will not clash with my sweaters. Maybe next time I will bring my own.