He's Her Sister!

Sometimes it’s fun being twins, the way my sister, Joan, and I are, but other times it can lead to weird and embarrassing complications, as you will see.

When we were little, everybody thought it was very cute, our looking so much alike even though we were boy and girl, and our parents even dressed us alike much of the time. But by the time we were adolescents in high school there could be no doubt in anyone’s mind that I was John and a boy, while my sister was Joan, a girl.

But in many ways we were still very much alike; we were both blondes, we both had almost identical oval faces, and we both were the same height within an inch or less. For a girl, Joan was rather husky, although she had a lovely feminine figure, while I was on the slender side for an active and athletic young fellow. And, as I said, our faces were almost exactly alike in every feature.

Joan was quite athletic, and her senior year in high school she was captain of the girls’ tennis team, and could give any member of the boys’ team a real work-out on the court. That same year I was captain of the swimming team and had an impressive number of wins in the fifty-yard and hundred-yard sprints. After the winter swimming season, I used to play a lot of tennis, some of it with Joan, and I could beat her most of the time if I really worked at it. And this was what got me into the terrible mess I’m going to tell you about.

It was a big weekend, late in the spring of my senior

year at high school, and there were lots of sports planned, including a tennis match between our girls’ team and the freshman girls’ team from nearby State College. On the schedule were lots of parties and dances and picnics, as well as the athletic events. Our girls’ tennis team was all psyched up and determined to win their match, and I think my sister, Joan, would have been ready to cut her own throat if she lost her match against the captain of State College’s freshman (or freshgirl) team.

They played the girls doubles on Saturday morning, and Joan and her partner managed to win. During the couple of hours break for lunch, Joan had the accident that got me into the most horrible predicament of my whole life. While running down some steps, Joan tripped and twisted her ankle badly. Immediately the whole side of her foot began to swell up and turn purple. It must have hurt her a lot even as we were carrying her to the girl’s dressing-room in the am, but what upset Joan most was the fact that she obviously would not be able to play in her singles match that afternoon.

While waiting for the doctor to arrive all the girls were talking at once, wondering how they could juggle the matches around so that we would have a chance of winning. As a joke, someone suggested that I should take her place and play her singles match. At least I thought it was a joke, but everyone was studying me seriously, wondering if the deception could be made to work.

I seemed to have no choice in the matter; all the girls went to work on my disguise. Before I could object, I was stripped down to my jockey-shorts, and one of the girls was busy shaving my hairy legs. While I protested, another girl was deftly shaving my armpits. A big girl dove into her locker and came up with a padded bra which would fit me, and then proceeded to fill out the cups even more with extra padding securely taped in. Joan’s tiny gold panties were stripped off her slimly rounded hips and dragged onto me where they fitted my loins too tightly for comfort.

Then I found a short-skirted white tennis dress, almost identical with the one Joan was wearing, that I could get into, and I was almost ready for this prank of substitution before I had agreed to do it. The doctor had taken Joan off to the hospital to have her ankle X-rayed, and the remaining girls went to work completing my disguise.

As I mentioned, Joan and I both have blonde hair. She wears hers fairly short for a girl, so that it won’t get in her way on the tennis court. She always wears a headband to keep her hair under control while playing. My hair was fairly long, the way lots of fellows wear their hair nowadays, so my make-up assistants had some material to work with in their attempted deception. The headband would help, and our faces were almost identical to begin with, as I have said.

Lipstick, face-powder, and eye-shadow were deftly applied by the eager girls, and when they let me see myself in a full-length mirror, I was truly startled at how much ] resembled my twin-sister. The way the extremely short flaring skirt kept swirling and flipping up around my hips, revealing the gaudy little gold panties that so snugly encased my hips distracted and embarrassed me, but my critical audience of helpful girls assured me that everything was perfect and I’d soon get used to this intimate exposure, Just as all girls did.

We still had an hour or so to go until it was time for Joan’s (my) singles match, so I spent the time trying to get accustomed to looking and acting like a girl. I still thought of the whole deal as a sort of prank or harmless hoax, where everybody would soon discover the substitution and we’d all have a good laugh about it. My main worry was hoping that Joan’s ankle was not badly broken so she’d be on crutches and miss a lot of fun over the summer vacation.

Not many people seemed to have heard about Joan’s accident, so when her match was announced and I went out onto the court, there was the usual cheering and encouragement that she would have gotten. The group from State College certainly didn’t suspect anything, I’m sure. At least not then.

Even as I warmed up before starting the match, I Kept feeling the shame and embarrassment of having my legs
exposed so completely. The tiny gold panties clasped my crotch so snugly that I was aware of their grip all the time, but my legs were completely bare all the way up to where they joined my body, a condition that men and boys are not accustomed to, although girls experience this sexual exposure frequently, in tennis, in swimming, in cheerleading, in show business. And I found it distracting to have the ersatz breasts bulging out from my chest where my arms kept brushing against them as I ran and stroked the ball.

He's Her Sister

Once the match started and I was really playing hard, I could more or less ignore my revealing girlish costume, even though I knew that the extremely short skirt Kept flipping up to expose the bright gold of my sexy panties.

Sometimes the bra cramped the movements of my arms and shoulders, but I tried to ignore it and ardently hoped that it would not break a strap and reveal my imposture as a girl.

When I sat down to rest between sets I was acutely aware that the gleaming gold in my crotch was attracting attention, but by keeping my thighs clamped close together I hoped I was hiding the fact that I had much more of a bulge there than any girl should have. Even so, my masculinity was compressed uncomfortably tight, for the tiny firm panties were designed to be snug over a much less voluminous area.

Ever since I’d left the locker-room I had been speaking

as little as possible, and what few words I said, I tried to keep my voice as high and light as possible so my true sex would not be revealed. Even so, as the match progressed I noted that members of the State College group were staring at me questioningly, as though they suspected that something was wrong but couldn’t figure out just what it was.

Eventually I won the match, and I heaved a sigh of relief that my ordeal of public transvestism was over. I wanted only to get out of this ultra-feminine costume, find out how Joan’s ankle was, and get on with my plans for the big weekend of fun. The girl I had beaten came over to congratulate me, and, as many females do on meeting or parting, she kissed me lightly on the cheek.

Suddenly an alarmed expression came over her face, and I knew that my deception had been discovered. I had shaved that morning, but by mid-afternoon there was bound to be a definite stubble of whiskers, easily identifiable by any girl kissing me.

Mary, my former tennis opponent, ran back to her team-mates, and I saw them whispering excitedly together. I started for the gym to change out of my girlish disguise. As I glanced worriedly over my shoulder, I saw the whole group of a dozen State College girls coming after me, running. Our joke was discovered.

I stopped and waited for them, ready to admit my guilt, and we’d all have a good laugh over it. So I thought,

but as they gathered around me I realized that they did not consider my substituting for my twin sister a laughing matter at all. The other girls felt my stubbly face and then grasped my ersatz breasts, confirming their suspicions that I was not a girl, in spite of the dainty feminine tennis costume I was wearing.

“OK, girls. You’ve found me out,” I told them lightly.

“I’ll have to forfeit the match. I only did it because my twin-sister, Joan, twisted her ankle at lunch time. Let me get back into my regular clothes, and we can all go and join in the parties planned for this afternoon.”

“T think we’d like another kind of party,” announced Mary as all the girls glared threateningly at me. “WE don’t think it’s a laughing matter when a fellow gets dressed up as a girl and competes against us.”

“Don’t get all uptight about it,” I told them, trying to calm their anger at discovering my deception. “It was only a gag. No harm done. Except to Joan’s ankle.”

“You can figure it that way if you want to,” said one of the girls. “But we are still going to take you to our special party back at college, where you’ll sort of be the guest of honor. We’ll give you lots of very special attention.”
They started to lead me over toward the parking lot, and I couldn’t resist without actually fighting with them, something I could not bring myself to do. After all, I was guilty as charged. But they were over-reacting to what I considered a joke.

When we got to their car, they opened the trunk and told me to get in. As I started to protest at being kidnapped this way, half a dozen girls got behind me and boosted me into the gaping metal cavern. The lid was slammed down and I was a helpless prisoner. When we arrived at State College after a short but very uncomfortable ride for me, the trunk was unlocked and the lid rose a few inches.

“Stick out one of your hands,” came the stern order. “And don’t try anything tricky or you’ll regret it.”

Reluctantly I thrust out one hand, and my wrist was immediately encircled with a steel chain slave-bracelet such as many girls and some fellows wear. But instead of a normal catch, this was held in place by a small but strong padlock. Then came the next command, “Now stick out the other hand. We’ll have you all fancied up with jewelry like the sexy feminine girl you’ve been imitating.”

As the second slave-bracelet was fastened around my wrist, the two manacles were secured together by a double-ended snap-hook so that I was in effect wearing decorative but very real handcufts. The trunk lid was now raised and I was told to get out. Surrounded by my captors, we looked like any group of girls as I was led into the nearby building, a girls dormitory on the State College.

They took me to a sizable double-room on the second floor, where one of the leaders, a big girl named Doris, said, “Now, Joannie, we want you to take off that darling tennis dress and those cute gold panties, so we can find out exactly what our guest of honor looks like. Don’t be shy. After all, we’re all girls together, aren’t we?”

I objected to stripping before this bunch of angry sneering girls, and before I realized what they were up to, they had looped a rope between my fettered hands and pulled the rope over the top of a closet door, and slammed the door, jamming the rope tightly. I was held upright against the door, my hands stretched over my head, and defenseless.

When I tried to kick out to hold them off, they reached up under my short flaring skirt and pulled my gold panties and my jockey shorts down around my Knees, making my legs useless for defense. With a big pair of scissors they cut the shoulder-straps of the dress I was wearing, and that fell about my ankles. When they unsnapped the padded bra and hitched that bizarre feminine garment up around my neck, I was naked and shamed before my tormentors. They all stared at my exposed masculinity and laughed heartily at my embarrassing state of helpless nudity.

Doris, the boldest of the girls, reached out and grabbed my flaccidly dangling male member, shaking it vigorously as she giggled, “That’s a funny thing our Joannie is wearing. I wonder what she uses it for? Tell us how you use this little gadget, Joannie.”

I blushed and groaned in embarrassment and then Mary, my tennis opponent of an hour before, said, “Let’s us get undressed, too, so we can see if Joannie is so much different from us.”

Within seconds I was surrounded by half a dozen naked girls who crowded around me, rubbing and pressing their warm smooth flesh against me on the pretense of comparing our bodies. Under the carnal stimulation of all this visual and tactile provocation, I felt my body begin to respond in typical masculine fashion. The girls, of course, noticed my reaction immediately, and giggled as they further increased their attentions, adding to my humiliation.

They teased me some more in my shamed state of rigid arousal, and then Doris suggested, “We’re all hot and sweaty from playing tennis. Let’s all take a shower together, and we can make sure that Joannie gets clean all Over,”

They unlatched the door, releasing the rope that held my fettered arms. Then, be fore leading me to the shower, the naked girls made me step through my manacles so that my hands were now helpless behind me, with no way of protecting the more vulnerable areas of my nude body.

Under the warm sluicing water, they all delighted in rubbing plump slippery breasts, hips, bellies, and buttocks against me and using questing hands to make sure that my body was well lathered, especially in places embarrassing to me. What, under other circumstances would have been a heaven of sensual thrills was now a hell of frustration and humiliation.

As the final portion of this act of my ordeal, the girls used a strong depilatory cream all over my body except the hair on my head. When this bizarre treatment was completed there was not a single hair left on my face, my arms, my legs, or my torso, and I felt as smooth as a newborn baby. Female hands continued to explore my body most intimately as my cruel captors made sure that I experienced that maximum of stimulation just short of providing relief.

When I was finally clean, hairless, and dry, they went to work with eager imagination to transform me into the most ultra-feminine sexy girl possible. The first item of my transvestite costume was a waist-cinch. They placed this around my normally slim middle and then began to lace it up the back. I tried to protest, but the girls told me that since I wanted to dress and look like a girl, they were just carrying out my perverse desires to the ultimate degree. With their knees braced against my back they kept drawing the terrible cinch tighter and tighter until I felt as if I was being cut in half.

When they had finally nipped my waist in as far as they could, I caught a glimpse of myself in a full-length mirror. The effect was most astonishing, for I really had almost an hour-glass figure; the excess volume which had been squeezed from my waist now was added feminine fullness on my hips. In addition to the feeling of terrible stringent compression at my waist, there was a strange sense of internal warmth and fullness permeating my pelvis and loins, a sensation I had never experienced before. Maybe this was part of what it felt like to be a sexy girl.

While this had been going on, Mary had been making further additions in the padded bra I had worn during the tennis match. She had neatly and securely sewed another set of padded cups on the outside of the already wellstuffed original cups, thus providing an artificial bosom of truly stupendous proportions. The inside of the cups, where they pressed tightly against my newly hairless chest, were covered with coarse, stiffly bristled material almost like a coco doormat.

Before installing this bizarre bra on my chest, they roughly rubbed the tender depilated skin with strong perfume, an operation that stung my sensitized flesh sharply and left it painfully alive and aware to the slightest touch on the surface. With this exotic garment installed on my chest, in the mirror I saw myself as exaggeratedly feminine from my hips up, and deep feelings of alarm began to flash through my whole body.

My captors now held a conference among themselves as to what type of external clothing I was to be forced to wear. Even under these strange and frightening conditions I found my masculinity in a perpetual state of at least semi-arousal from my continuing exposure in my nakedness to this group of girls who kept flaunting their own nudity before me and using their hands to keep me excited.

They quickly decided that I should be costumed as a cheerleader, a common enough outfit among attractive girls during this weekend of high school and college sports. First I had to put on a very snug form-fitting sweater with the college initials woven into the front of it. And what a front I presented to any onlooker, for the extra padding in the over-stuffed bra gave me a bosom that was truly amazing and attention-getting in both volume and forward projection.

The next item of my costume was a very short white skirt of flannel, deeply pleated all around so that it swirled and flipped up to my hips at every step. As the girls made me swirl and prance before the big mirror, my uncovered pelvis continually revealed my essential maleness, causing my cruel captors to jeer and giggle at me, to my blushing embarrassment. The persistent semi-rigidity of my member bulged out the front of the very short skirt even when that brief garment was hanging normally when I stood still. This bizarre contradiction in my appearance added further fuel to their amusement and my painful humiliation.

The girls realized that they would have to do something about this discordant note in my feminized appearance, and Doris came up with a horribly effective answer. I was made to stand facing the closet door, about a yard from it, while my slave-braceleted wrists were again fastened together behind my back. A rope was led upward from my fettered hands and pulled taut, then the rope went over the top of the door which was slammed shut. This held me bent sharply forward to relieve the strain on my arms and shoulders. Now my short pleated skirt was flipped up over my back and I was ordered to spread my feet as wide apart as possible.

This humiliating pose completely exposed my nude buttocks and pelvis for their further attentions. Doris now slipped a noose of strong cord over the end of my male member and then forcefully pulled the cord down and back between my spread legs. Finally the cord was pulled up between my buttocks and tightly fastened to the back of my straining waist-cinch. This bizarre bondage not only hid all evidence of my fundamental maleness at the front of my tiny skirt, but also kept a continuous and nagging unnatural pressure on all my masculine equipment, especially when it tended to react to the carnally stimulating situations to which I was being exposed at all times.

While still held in this bent-over pose, my captors pulled gossamer nylon pantyhose up my hairless legs, fitting the top snugly over my hips and bondaged pelvis. To partially cover and conceal their fiendish method of immobilizing my male equipment, they next put on mea set of tiny, bright red, bikini panties which hid the details of what was between my thighs but attracted maximum attention to the area by their brilliant color. The short pleated skirt offered me little or no protection since it swirled and flipped upward with every movement of its wearer.

Now the girls released my fettered hands from the door and allowed me to stand erect while they fitted kneehigh, high-heeled, white leather boots onto my feet. These were uncomfortably snug on my feet but the principal hardship they gave me was getting used to the high heels. All the time I was wearing them, whether standing still or walking, I kept feeling as if I was about to pitch forward onto my face. And the awkward gait which they enforced upon me made my short skirt bounce up on my hips even more provocatively, exposing my little red panties.

The girls now had me parade around so they could get an overall picture of how my disguise was coming along.
They seemed to approve so far, and as I passed back and forth in front of the big mirror I was startled to see what an exaggeratedly feminine appearance had been forced upon me. Not only did I have a deliciously feminine figure with my huge out-thrusting breasts, my tightly-slimmed waistline, and my well-rounded hips, but the combination of the waist-cinch, the high heels, and the genital bondage, all made me walk with a mincing, swivel-hipped manner that was so girlish that it alarmed me and added to my humiliation. My synthetic breasts bounced realistically, irritating the sensitized skin of by hairless chest by the rough lining of the bra. And with each step my thighs squeezed and painfully massaged my genitals which were so cruelly imprisoned between them.

Now the girls went to work with cosmetics and nail polish to complete my transformation into an exotic and exhibitionistic sex-goddess. My depilated cheeks were smoothed with make-up and crimson lipstick accentuated the outlines of my mouth. Eye-shadow enhanced my femininity with sensual contrast, and bright red nailpolish drew attention away from the heavier, more masculine shape of my hands. My hair was coiffed into a fairly short but feminine style very similar to what my sister, Joan, wore, further emphasizing our similarities.

The final addition to my costume was a set of large colorful button earrings which were screwed onto my lobes. But the vengeful girls had carefully removed the little plates on the ends of the screws, so that the pointed tips dug painfully into that sensitive flesh, continually reminding me of my enforced transvestism.

While these last details were being attended to, Mary and Doris has been conferring in whispers, evidently about their future plans for me. Suddenly there was a gasp and then they burst into gales of laughter. I had no idea of what they had in mind, but I did hear Doris say, “If we can make it work out night, it will be the perfect revenge on him. With the proper build-up, I’m sure we can get them together, and then let Nature take its course. We’re pretty sure about Butch, and our transformed Joannie will have to do whatever we tell him/her to do.”

Now that my disguise was complete, we all piled into the cars and went back the few miles of my high school where the weekend festivities would be getting into full swing. All the way back Mary and Doris kept emphasizing to me the awful things that would happen to me if I blew my cover, failed in my transvestite impersonation, and tried to blame any of it on them. To the few girls who were already aware of my brother-sister deception, I was to claim that I was voluntarily continuing the role of feminine deception. To all others, I was a sexy, show-off girl, probably my sister, Joan. And woe betide me If I let anyone discover the truth.

There were still hundreds of people, mostly kids and students, milling around the high school when we got there. As I was turned loose to fend for myself under these terrible humiliating and dangerous conditions, I found that one or more of my girl captors was always close by to make sure I behaved myself as ordered, and to alert the others if danger seemed imminent.

I soon encountered one of Joan’s friends who had helped in the original deception involving the tennis match. She looked at me oddly and then said, “We’ve been looking for you, John. What happened? How come you’re all dressed up like that, and not back in your regular male clothes?”

I was very much aware that Doris was standing right behind me so I replied, “I sort of like dressing up like this, so I thought I’d Keep it up for a while.”

The girl glanced at me disapprovingly and said, “Doing it for the tennis match is one thing, John. But now you’ve gone overboard in your female impersonation. Did you have to go THAT far to satisfy whatever urges you have in that direction? Maybe having a twin-sister isn’t healthy for you? What will Joan think when she sees you?”

“By the way, how is Joan? How Is her ankle?” I asked eagerly; glad to change the subject from my bizarre appearance.

“Her ankle’s broken, and they have it in a cast. She’ll be home this evening, but she’ll be on crutches for a couple of months,” answered Joan’s friend slowly. “But I think that the way you’re behaving is going to be more of a shock to her, and to all of us, than her broken ankle. I’m surprised and disappointed to find you’re that kind of a fellow.”

I heard a snicker of amusement from Doris behind me, and I had to turn and walk away from Joan’s friend. To have tried to explain my real predicament would only have made things much worse for me. I was about ready to die of shame when I heard Doris whisper threateningly, “Stick out your chest, Joannie, and wiggle your bottom very sexily. Remember you’re meant to be showing off your real self for all the girls to envy and for all the fellows to whistle at. Strut your stuff, Joannie, or we’ll make things really hot for you around here.”

As I continued to circulate around the school, I couldn’t help noticing how people kept staring at me. As far as I could tell, there was nothing wrong with my costume. It was just that the transformation was too successful and my costume too noticeable.

So I had to continue parading around, attracting adverse and unwanted attention. To make things even worse for me, my spectacular costume was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to wear. The rough textured bra-cups were chafing my chest and nipples, keeping me aware of this feminine aspect of my appearance. My high heels were putting unaccustomed strains on my legs and hips as I struggled to maintain my balance and my strutting walk. To keep my fanny twitching rhythmically as Doris commanded seemed to aggravate the tur moil and congestion that I felt all through my loins and pelvis as a result of the very tight waist-cinch. And with every step, all my bondaged male equipment was being squeezed and compressed and crushed most painfully between my thighs.

Just as I was about to plead with Doris for some relief from all my tribulations, I saw Mary approaching, accompanied by a tall rather handsome fellow, probably in his mid dle twenties. He was wearing motor-cycle boots, dark tight-fitting slacks, and a shiny black leather jacket with metallic ornaments at the shoulders and pockets.

This fellow wasn’t as tough-looking as the Hell’s Angel types you see in the papers and magazines, but he definitely had a rugged, aggressive look.

“Oh, I’m glad I found you, Joannie,” said Mary sweetly. “We want you to meet Butch. He is going to be your date for most of this weekend. You two should get to know each other. Don’t stray too far away, Joannie. In a little while we’ll be going back to the dormitory to change clothes before we go to the cook-out and barbecue later. Pick you up soon, dear.”

As Mary and Doris left us, I glanced up at Butch who was looking me over carefully. To my surprise he looked almost as awkward and uncomfortable in this situation as I felt. From my own experience as a young male, most fellows would be very pleased to have a sexy cute girl for a date, and would quickly begin trying to arrange to get to know her better, much better, intimately so. Any such carnal efforts by a fellow would make my enforced transvestite situation much worse, of course, so I was glad that this Butch wasn’t obviously trying to promote anything with me.

A little later Mary and Doris collected me to go back to State College and change clothes for the coming barbecue. They told Butch to meet us at the dormitory in an hour and he accepted the invitation even though it sounded more like an unwelcome order for him.

Upstairs in the big bedroom a number of the girls gathered around to heckle and tease me while I was commanded to perform a strip-tease for their amusement. First I had to take off the short pleated skirt and par ade around before them displaying the tiny red bikini panties which encased me loins. Then I removed the panties and showed myself off in just the snug transparent pantyhose, to my terrible shame and humiliation.

Next it was time to take off the tight sweater which had displayed my false breasts so voluptuously. Then the girls made me mas sage and squeeze those lushly protruding hemispheres as if I was amusing myself sensuously and flaunting those symbols of my assumed femininity. Not only was this terribly embarrassing for me, but it also kept me painfully aware of my hairless and chafed chest beneath.

Now I had to remove the high-heeled boots and the filmy pantyhose, and then parade around among the jeering and critical audience wearing only the too-tight waist-cinch and the cord attaching my masculinity to the cinch in back. The girls made me keep playing with my breasts while their hands seductively inspected the effectiveness of the noose and cord in keeping my genitals down and pulled tightly back between my thighs.

While this many-handed caressing was going on, Mary and Doris began criticizing and berating me for not sticking out my chest enough and not wiggling my seat enough when I had been strutting saucily around at the

high school. They claimed that since I had wanted to be a girl, they wore going to insist that I be the most feminine and enticing and exhibitionistic girl possible. And since I had disobeyed them, I would have to be punished.

After tightening up the waist-cinch some more until I could hardly breathe, they fastened my wrists together again behind my back. A rope was looped around my wrists and pulled tight over the top of the closet door before it was slammed shut, thus holding me bent forward with my head against the door and my buttocks stuck out bare and unprotected toward the girls in the room.

Now each of my tormentors got a weapon to punish my bottom with, some had ping-pong paddles. Others had leather belts. One had a riding-switch. Another had a doubled dog-leash, while another had a long flat ruler. The most imaginative had a tennis racquet, to remind me of what had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

“Now, Joannie,” said Doris severely. “Like any bad girl, youre going to get a spanking on your bare bottom, to teach you that you have to obey orders. And you’ll get another spanking whenever you disobey, such as if you are not very nice and affectionate with Butch, during your date with him over this weekend.”

I quaked in my strained, bent-over pose at the possibilities that this plan might involve, but Doris was continuing to threaten me, “I Know this spanking is going to hurt, and make your cute bottom all hot and red, but we

can’t have you yelling and crying here. If you make any resistance or make any noise, we’ll take you outside, nearly naked as you are, and with your hands fastened behind your back, and turn you loose on the campus. Then you can see how you make out.”

I had visions of being arrested or otherwise discovered in this terrible condition. The humiliation would be awful, and my reputation would be ruined for life. I knew I have to bear in silence whatever she wanted to inflict upon me.

Now the spanking began. The girls walked past me in a line, each girl delivering a stinging swat with her particular instrument of punishment before circling back to the end of the line for another chance at abusing my out-thrust seat. The brisk scalding blows seemed to come in unending succession, landing continuously on my hips, my buttocks, my lower back, and my upper thighs. The heat of inflammation rose within my whole pelvis and it felt as if flames were licking hungrily at every surface.

Finally they finished but that did not mean that this part of my ordeal was over. I was still forced to hold my bent-over pose while my tormentors used their hands and eyes to inspect the results of their punishment. They giggled at how red the whole area was and the snickered with pleasure at how hot my exposed flesh felt to the touch.

In preparation for my next transvestite costume, my ultra-tight waist-cinch was now removed, which meant

that the cruel bondage on my masculine equipment also came off. Then the rope holding my hands up and back was released, the girls took sadistic pleasure in fondling my maleness, making me respond to these intimate caresses but frustrating any relief for me in that department.

Now I was handed a small, flesh-colored, elastic panty-brief and told to put it on. The garment was so tiny and the rubberized stretchability so strong that I had a difficult time getting it up my legs and settling it about my loins. My genitals were stringently compressed and hauled down between my thighs. This was very uncomfortable for me as you can imagine, and insured that there would be no revealing bulge in the front of whatever exterior garment I would be wearing. High-heeled sandals were put on my feet and securely laced up around my ankles and calves so that there could be no chance of my being able to take them off. All this time I could feel my spanked bottom glowing hotly and pinkly as a symbol of helplessness in the power of these angry girls.

To cover the lower half of my body they gave me some low-waisted, hip-hugger denim dungarees to wear. Again it was a struggle to get them on and buttoned up, for they were a size to fit a much smaller girl that I was masquerading as. These jeans clung to my hips and thighs as if they had been painted on me and the swelling of my spanked seat filled them very tightly.

The upper half of my body, over the exaggeratedly padded brassiere, was now adorned with a short blouse of white satin. This exotic garment had a stand-up collar that encircled my neck, and a two-inch band that encircled my chest just below my bra. It buttoned down the back so that the front of my upper torso was a facade of gleaming satin with the twin mountains of my ersatz breasts jutting out proudly from in between the bottom of the blouse and the waist band of my hip-hugger slacks was a broad expanse of bare flesh, including my belly-button and my hairless tummy. The blouse had long full sleeves with wide buttoned cuffs, to hide the essentially masculine shape of my arms.

After repairing my cosmetic make-up and rearranging my hair into an upswept effect that fully exposed my ears, the girls brought out the earrings I was to wear for this next stage of my transvestite ordeal.

They were huge, with bright red faceted glass prisms bigger than an olive dangling from chains about an inch long. When these were screwed painfully tight onto the lobes of my ears, I was not only aware of the pain of having that sensitive flesh crushed, but the weight of the heavy earrings kept a constant drag on my lobes that hurt a lot.

I immediately discovered that each slightest movement of my head sent these glass pendants flying around wildly, glinting flashes of red in all directions. This was bad enough, but now to my horror, they brought out

four more of the shiny red glass baubles on chains, and one without any chain. They pinned one of the scintillating red jewels onto the front of my white satin blouse right at the summit of each tautly bulging synthetic breast. The other two dangling red brilliants were pinned onto the seat of my skin-tight jeans, right on the most prominent areas of my swollen buttocks.

While I was still dismayed at these bizarre ornaments to my already exotic transvestite costume, my captors filled my belly-button with some quick-drying glue and then stuck the unmounted red-glass into that depression where it immediately was glued in place. And now, with each breath and with each movement of my hips or torso, that jewel winked its blood-red glitter to attract attention to my transformed body.

Now once more I was ordered to parade around for the entertainment of my tormentors. As I moved and posed in front of the big mirror, I was truly horrified at what I saw my head was feminized by the upswept hair-do, the carefully applied cosmetics, and the heavy, glinting, dangling earrings. My upper body was exaggeratedly girlish because of the shiny white satin blouse which concealed my arms but emphasized the huge bold mounds of my padded bra. My slim bare midriff with its blinking red jeweled eye was the ultimate in feminine glamour. The high-heeled sandals exaggerated the length and curves of my legs in typically female fashion.

But the worst part of all was the skin-tight hip-hugger jeans which so snugly encased the region of my hips. Clinging to my flesh with hardly a wrinkle, they surged out over the curve of my inflamed and swollen buttocks. They were so tight that the fabric was drawn deeply in between my spanked bottom-cheeks, emphasizing their prominence and separation. My hips seemed femininely broad within the tight revealing material. In the front, the sleek denim curved down from well below my navel, accentuating the curve of my lower belly. But where the clinging dungarees passed between my thighs was the most emasculating sight of all.

The painfully tight elastic panty-brief that served as underwear was crushing all my masculine equipment up and back so rigorously that there was no expected male bulge visible to my startled eyes. In fact, there was even a shallow valley where the front center seam passed down out of sight between my thighs to join the deeper seam which was separating my swollen buttocks. And with each step I took, those sensitive elements so tightly compressed between my legs were buffed and massaged strongly.

It was nearly dark outside now, and I had to accompany the dominant girls to a wooded area on the outskirts of the campus where the cook-out and barbecue was to be held. Altogether there would be about twenty-five girls and a similar number of fellows. There was a large charcoal grill where ham burgers could be cooked, along with plenty of french-fries and lots of beer and soda.

After this informal supper, there would be a big dance in the gymnasium, with live music from a rock band.

There were several of these very bright gasoline lanterns for and almost everyone had his or her own flashlight. The general mood was of gay festivity, even though I was frightened and resentful at what was being inflicted upon me because of what I had considered merely a practical joke. I was further alarmed when I spotted Butch coming toward me, even though his whole manner was far from menacing and he seemed nearly as uncomfortable about the whole situation as i felt. He was big and very handsome, but I somehow got the idea that he disliked or was afraid of girls. As far as I was concerned, that suited me perfectly, since I was his date.

When everyone had had all the beer and hamburgers they wanted, Doris stood up in the light of the bright lanterns and called for attention. When the whole group could hear her, she announced, “We’ve got some special entertainment for you this evening before we all go to the gym. As you know, our freshman tennis captain lost her singles match this afternoon to the captain of the high school girls’ tennis team. Mary was beaten because her opponent played a more powerful, almost a masculine type of game. Mary was beaten by Joannie, who is here with us now. To amuse you, Joannie is going to perform in her favorite hobby, belly-dancing. So let’s give Joannie a big hand, and turn all our lights on her as she dances for our entertainment now.”

I was stunned. I wanted to die, or sink into the ground and disappear. So that was why I was wearing the glittering red spangles and the gleaming stone in my navel. I knew nothing about belly-dancing, but if I did not obey orders, the girls would reveal my true sex and identity, and I would be lucky to get out of this mess alive.

A couple of people present had guitars, and the rest began clapping their hands for rhythm, as I was shoved out into the center with all the lights aimed at me. In desperation I began to shuffle my feet and swing my legs in time to the music, and all the audience began to cheer as they clapped.

My dangling pendant earrings were twirling wildly, sending out showers of red sparks from the reflected light. The chained sparklers attached to what were meant to be my jutting nipples were whirling and glittering hotly with every movement. I knew that the pendants fastened to the seat of my tight dungarees must have been performing similar Technicolor acrobatics as my buttocks squirmed and clenched to the rhythm. Red flashes were also coming from my stomach where the jewel implanted in my bellybutton refracted and reflected the lights trained on me.

“Swing it, Joannie. Whirl it around,” called voices from the surrounding group. “Bounce those beautiful mounds, girlie. Wiggle your cute round bottom, make your bellybutton really light up the party.”

Gradually I increased the violence of my dancing in time to the music and clapping. The crowd was cheering me on, and that was much better than having them sufficiently antagonistic toward me to discover my true identity. I felt horribly humiliated and shamed by the contortions I was performing and the transvestite costume I was wearing, but this was infinitely better than what would surely happen if my imposture was discovered.

Now I stood with my feet in their high heels widespread and firmly planted. With my hands held high I began to weave my hips sinuously. I thrust my pelvis back and forward, and heaved it from side to side. This caused painful pressures and constrictions within my too-tight jeans, but I continued because only their continuing approval could save me from discovery and disaster. The jewel in my navel was winking mischievously at my audience, and I knew that the bouncing swaying red reflectors on my buttocks were sending exotic signals that the crowd was enjoying immensely.

Now I began to rotate my shoulders back and forth in short rhythmic arcs. This made my earrings dance and glitter in the bright lghts, and made the reflecting pendants attached to the tips of my well-padded bra-cups spin and twinkle like fireworks. Suddenly I began to know the inner warmth and satisfaction that any girl performer must know when her act is greeted with enthusiasm by watching girls and by mounting carnal desire by the watching males.

Now Doris was pushing Butch out into the open lighted area to dance with me. It was evident that he was objecting vigorously but she was forcing him to obey. The audience cheered wildly, and Butch realized that he had to go along with the idea, the way I had. I was still standing with my feet spread and my pelvis thrust forward, swirling my hips and twitching my shoulders, to make all my flashing red reflectors give the most startling effects. To my surprise, Butch did not approach me from the front to do his part of our dancing together. Instead he eased around behind me where he made no effort to touch my heaving bounding false breasts. He put his hands on my waist and began his own rhythmic thrustings and swivelings to the sensuous beat of the music and clapping.

As a finale for this wild dance, all the watching fellows and girls arose and began to dance together in the welllighted clearing. Some of the girls danced more gracefully than I had, but none of them was costumed to accentuate her ultimate femininity as I was, even though all of mine was false and my performance was unwilling. Soon this part of the weekend festivities was over, and all the fellows and girls left to get ready for the big dance in the gym. I had managed to get through this latest embarrassing ordeal without being discovered for the transvestite impostor that I was, even though I was playing that role unwillingly.

As I was led back to the girls’ dormitory, I saw that Butch was coming along with us. Doris was talking

seriously to him, evidently giving him orders of some sort. For his part, Butch seemed to be protesting, claiming that he either would not, or could not do something that Doris was demanding. Whatever it was, I had a terrible feeling that it would turn out to be bad news for me. In any event Butch soon left after promising to meet us at the gym later.

Upstairs in the big room which had been the scene of all my transvestite costuming I was ordered to strip, for I had another role to play before we all went to the dance. The girls all laughed derisively at me as I obeyed, knowing my humiliation and frustration. Then I was told that I was to be their ladies’ personal maid, helping them all out of their present clothes, then helping in every detail as they showered, and finally helping them get dressed for the big late party. I was sternly warned that if I did anything wrong, or if I showed any normal male reactions to so much naked and available female flesh, I would be thrown out of the building naked, and have to find my way home as best I could.

I was too worried about my bizarre plight to have much carnal interest even when my tormentors teased and tantalized my natural male libido by rubbing against me most intimately, and flaunting their most provocative feminine charms right before my hands and eyes. In the shower I had to soap and then rinse each of the several girls, an experience that put a terrible strain on my ability to control myself and my reactions.

The worst part came when they had me kneel down and then sit back onto my heels so that they could give me a shampoo. This position placed my face right at the level of their several sets of warm smooth hips, so that I was continually forced to stare at the masculine image of the Promised Land, without any chance of satisfying my normal masculine desires.

When I was out of the shower and all dried and powdered, they pinned a pert lacy cap on my heal and tied a tiny lacy apron around my waist. Then black pompoms were glued onto my chest, simulating female breasts with frivolous coverings. Black high-heeled shoes on my feet completed my costume of an exotic ladies-maid, and I was ready for my feminizing duties in helping the girls prepare for the big dance.

I helped some of my captors put on filmy pantyhose, making sure that they fitted perfectly all the way up, including in the crotch and around their hips and buttocks. Others wore garter-belts and regular nylons which it was my duty to adjust and fasten to the wearer’s satisfaction. Then there were dainty panties for me to hold while the girls casually and revealingly stepped into them, and bras to adjust and snap into place. And all the while I was wearing only those pompoms, and the transparent little apron to cover my naked hairless male loins.

For outer garments, some of the girls wore glamorous pant-suits, while others wore mini-dresses or long

evening-gowns, depending on their individual preferences. As I moved around performing my various duties for my dominant mistresses, it was a constant source of shame to me the way my tiny lace apron, my only real article of clothing, kept flipping up and around to further expose me to my captors laughter.

Finally it was time to get me dressed in my newest transvestite outfit to go to the dance in the gymnasium of the college. They removed my apron and the pompoms, and then replaced the waist-cinch which I had been forced to wear earlier in the afternoon. Using their Knees to brace against my back, the girls laced up this painfully constricting garment even tighter than before, giving my torso a truly wasp-waist conformation. My chest bulged above this feminizing compression, and my hips curved out exotically below it. I could hardly breathe, and any bending of my body was an effort that rave me strange feelings within my loins.

Next came a shiny black satin garter-belt, to which were tautly fastened sheer black nylon hose that clasped my legs in their smooth silky grip all the way from my feet up to nearly the top of my thighs where they joined my shaven body. This meant that my whole genital area in front, and my inflamed pink buttocks in back, were framed by contrasting black which accentuated my hairless nudity.

Shiny black patent-leather pumps with spiky high heels went on my feet. From the back of each shoe, a slavebracelet chain went around my ankle. This not only carried out the motif of the slave-bracelets on my wrists, but also made sure that I could not take off the shoes, no matter how awkward and distressing the stilt-like heel became.

Now they brought out a black mini-dress made of fairly stiff patent-leather. As I was wondering why they had not put the padded brassiere on me, I saw that the bizarre dress already had large rubber falsies sealed into the front of it in the appropriate places. The top was a halter effect, with a high bib and a collar that snapped around my neck. This left my back bare most of the way down to where my waist-cinch encased me.

There was a zipper up the back, all the way from the hem to well above my waist. This closure was necessary for otherwise I would not have been able to get into the exotic garment at all. At the waist it was very tight, and down over my hips and buttocks it followed my exaggerated curves with faithful accuracy. The hem was about a third of the way down my thighs, very short even for a miniskirt. The skirt was tight on my thighs, almost a hobble-skirt in effect. Fortunately the leather was firm and strong, for I found that with every step I was straining against it as it limited my strides to very short steps.

The combination of the ultra-tight waist-cinch, the too-snug skirt around the upper part of my thighs, and the stilt heels on my shoes, all tended to make me unstable on my feet. Fleetingly I wondered if all girls who wore bizarre fashions felt as bondaged and hampered in their movements as I did. Or did they eventually become accustomed to the exotic attire that they often wore to enhance their appearance and attract men. Maybe the feeling of helplessness and the intentional exaggeration of their feminine charms was enjoyable to them and an integral part of their sensual enjoyment. Surely it increased their allure for men who saw them. And for my present condition, even the symbolic slave-bracelets on my wrists and ankles seemed designed to show my defenseless availability to any man who desired me, whether I wanted It or not.

These philosophical thoughts were soon replaced by intensely practical problems as I was taken to the big dance in the college gymnasium. My false flaunted femininity was already attracting plenty of unwanted masculine attention even before we were inside the building. I could understand this, even if I did not like or approve of it, for I had studied my appearance in the big mirror back at the dormitory, and I knew I was really something to look at.

Within the shiny black leather bodice of the exotic dress, my simulated breasts thrust out boldly as symbols of my flaunted lush girlhood. My bared back revealed that I needed no supporting bra to hold those hemispheres firm and high to tempt all man kind. The long sleek glace kid

gloves which had been worked up shoulder-high on my arms and buttoned snugly at my wrists inside my slavebracelets, offered a sharp and glamorous contrast with the pale flesh of my face, back and shoulders. The inner waistcinch made my middle exaggeratedly slim in contrast to the swelling curves of my swollen hips and bottom.

The tough strong gleaming patent-leather of the skirt tightly covered my hips and upper thighs. With every step, diagonal wrinkles formed across the polished expanse of the front, drawing every eye to focus on my crotch, the center of male desire. Above my high-heeled, black patentleather shoes with their slave-chain anklet fastenings, my legs, their curves accentuated by the heels, were encased in my black nylon hose all the way up to where they disappeared beneath my so brief leather skirt.

Suddenly I froze in alarm. What I had not realized until that moment was that I had been provided with no underwear of any sort for my pelvic region. If I fell, or if I was not extremely careful in sitting down, all the indisputable evidence of my true maleness would be immediately exposed. I would be revealed as a transvestite so glamorously costumed as to exceed any real girl in seductive and exotic appearance.

I tried to tell Mary and Doris about this newly discovered problem, but they smiulingly said they had known it al along. The added difficulties and fear that now burdened me were an intentional part of my punishment,

and I would have to deal with the difficulties of maintaining my role as best I could. If I was discovered, they would insist that I had borrowed the clothes from them because I liked to dress up as a girl and tease fellows.

Another aspect of my present difficulty now occurred to me. Formerly I had always, in my enforced transvestite costumes, been clad in some sort of tight restrainer for my masculine equipment. These male chastity belts had been uncomfortable, but they had effectively kept my masculine gender from revealing itself in case I became erotically aroused during my intimate contacts with my feminine captors. Tonight if I got excited and engorged, there was nothing to keep my disguise from being exposed. Hopefully I wondered if the firm tight leather skirt was long enough and strong enough to conceal any such lack of control on my part this evening.

As we entered the building where the dance was already in full swing, we were met by Butch, who still seemed less than pleased at being stuck with me for a date. Of course I didn’t want a date with him either, or with any fellow, but I didn’t understand why he was so resentful of being paired up with the sexiest and most exotically clad girl there. All the other fellows seemed to be staring at me and practically licking their lips in anticipation of trying to make out with me. My costume was intentionally designed to arouse male carnal excitement, and we all knew it. Everyone was interested but Butch.

As we walked toward the dance-floor in the middle of the big room, Butch courteously put his hand and arm around me to guide me through the crowd. But instead of on my arm, or around my slim waist, his hand went instinctively toward my bottom where he gently clasped one of my swollen rounded buttocks.

Soon we were dancing, and I was finding things even more difficult than I had imagined they could be. In the first place, my straining tight waist-cinch made my whole body stiff and awkward, and the tight leather skirt around the tops of my nylon-clad thighs made it impossible for me to move my legs properly to maintain my balance while dancing. But the worst part of this terrible transvestism was the high heels of the shoes that I was wearing and could not remove because of the chains locking them on my ankles.

Normally I am a fairly good dancer and I usually enjoy it very much, but under these conditions it was a continuous nightmare of fear and frustration. I knew that if I slipped and fell, my skirt would fly up around my waist, and with no underwear, my imposture of being a fellow disguised as a sexy girl would be revealed and I would be mobbed by the hundreds of angry students.

Butch was an amazingly good dancer considering his size and his seeming embarrassment at being with me. For my part, I was ashamed at my enforced awkwardness, due primarily to the extremely high heels which I could not

remove. A number of other fellows cut in and danced with me, and Butch seemed relieved to be rid of my presence.These other fellows were very frank in their admiration of my bizarre costume and what they thought it contained in the way of female delicacies. They kept trying to get me to leave the party with them, or at least make a late-date to meet them after the dance was over. I had to smile and be polite to them, of course, but I explained that I already had a mate for later and all the time I had to be careful that my voice did not give me away in the role I was being forced to play.

When the orchestra took a break, Mary and Doris came over and took me off to one corner of the big gym. They asked me how I was doing in my public masquerade, and how many of the fellows had been propositioning me because of my glamorous appearance. I had to admit that my appeal to the male libido seemed all too successful. The girls laughed said that’s what happened to winning girl tennis-players like me. The more difficulties I got into because of my transvestite disguise the better they enjoyed it as part of my deserved punishment for taking my sister’s place.

When the music started up again, the many non-dancers gathered in a big circle around the lighted area in the center of the gym where most of the dancers were performing. This meant that the distant corners of the gym were dark and practically deserted except for a few romantic couples who were clasped tightly together in slow sensuous mutual enjoyment. The band was playing a slow romantic set, quite different from their previous loud raucous repetitive rhythms.

Now Mary began dancing with me, holding our bodies warmly close while she whispered intimately in my ear.
Her words were not the sweet endearments of normal lovers; they were accurate and detailed descriptions of what ardent, impassioned, and experienced lovers would be doing when in bed together. She described every possible activity of action and reaction in luridly clinical specific particulars. She itemized what she, as a girl, could do for me, as a male, itemizing each act and the expected reaction.

Now she turned me over to Doris as a partner for dancing to the slow sensual rhythm. Doris clung even closer to me, rubbing her breasts against me, and weaving her pelvis against mine. She made me tell her in every detail what Mary had told me, and all the while she was doing her best to stimulate me with her lithe and knowledgeable body. When we were deep in an unlit corner, she even reached one warm groping hand up under my leather skirt, and laughed tauntingly when she discovered how rigidly I was reacting to their teasing. We both then looked down at the front of my skirt and saw that my aroused and unhampered masculinity was straining outward, forming a noticeable lump in the surface of the tough shiny leather.

Meanwhile Mary had found Butch and brought him over to our secluded corner. This shocked and alarmed me for it seemed that the girls were determined to reveal my unwanted transvestite masquerade. Maybe Butch suspected something already, and that was why he was so reluctant to be with me. After more half-hidden stroking of her hand beneath my skirt to make sure that I was fully excited, Doris thrust me at Butch and insisted that I dance with him while they watched to make sure that I did not avoid exposing my super-sexy girlish appearance to him.

To my horror I found that my stimulated maleness was being pressed firmly down by the firm front of my skirt. This was not only very uncomfortable for me, but it also mean that it would be practically impossible for my carnal excitement to relax as long as the rhythmic pressures of dancing kept stimulating It.

While Butch and I were still dancing the band began to play “Auld Lang Syne”, indicating that the party was officially over. I hoped that this would mean the end of my or deal for the evening, but that was far from the fact, as it turned out. Butch had his car there, and Mary and Doris insisted that I go for a drive with him before he brought me back to the dormitory.

Just as we were leaving, Mary spoke to me privately, while Doris spoke to Butch. To me Mary said that I was to continue to behave like a seductive girl toward Butch, and was to go along as far as possible in exciting him and

satisfying his desires. When I protested at these commands, Mary said I had to obey, and if my masquerade was discovered, that was just too bad for me.

Just as we rejoined Butch and Doris, I heard Doris say threateningly to him, “Remember what I told you, Butch. You have to do it whether you want to or not. If you disobey us, you’ll be in so much trouble that you’ll never forget it, I promise. Do it, that’s all.”

Obviously I was frightened as we drove silently away from the gymnasium. It seemed that both Butch and I were in some kind of a serious bind, and were completely in the power of the two vengeful girls. Neither of us knew what the other’s problem was, but we both were being forced into a situation that we both feared and hated.
Maybe if we got to know a little more about each other we could work out something to defeat our tormentors and escape public humiliation.

“Those girls seem set on giving us a bad time,” I said quietly as we drove along.

“Yeah,” replied Butch, glancing at me and my exotic appearance.

“Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem,” I suggested.

“I don’t see how they could be any worse,” he said sourly. “Unless I refuse to obey them.”

“That’s the way it is with me, too,” I told him. When he offered no response, I said quietly, “You know, thingsaren’t always what they seem. I mean maybe our problems aren’t really that bad.”

“I have to do something, and I can think of only one way that I’d want to do it,” Butch told me bitterly.

“And you’re about as far away from being the right answer as anyone I can imagine.”

“And you’re almost exactly what I don’t want for what they’re making me do,” I told him seriously. “What is it you have to do with me that you hate so? Maybe we could fake it somehow, and fool Mary and Dorls.”

Butch was silent for a long while before he answered me. Finally he slowed down and parked the car at the curb, and I noticed that we were right behind the dormitory where the girls had been perpetrating their transvestite revenge on me. Butch turned and looked searchingly at my whole body and then said, “I’m meant to rape you if you won’t let me have sex with you. I shouldn’t be telling you, but there it is.”

I studied his big husky masculine form and then I said, “I’m meant to let you. What I don’t understand is why getting intimate with me, the way I look, should be so terrible for you?”

Again there was a long pause, with us sitting there worriedly in the parked car. Finally Butch said, “I can’t fake it to fool them. They’d know instantly whether I’ve done it to you or not. And you girls are all alike. You get all dolled up in a sexy revealing costume, and wave your breasts and fanny at the fellows, and you expect us to come swarming all over you like Gang Busters.”

“That’s standard operating procedure,” I admitted, “But there’s one very good reason why I don’t want it to work out that way be tween you and me.”

“Because you’re a virgin?” asked Butch. “That would turn me off even more. Mary and Doris found out about me, and that’s why they are giving me such a rough time by setting you on me to seduce me. I suppose that you, in the exotic outfits that you’ve been wearing today, would have most fellows jumping out of their skins to get at you.”

“But not you. Frankly, Butch, I’m very glad I don’t turn you on in the seduction-rape department,” I assured him. “But why don’t you go for girls in seductive revealing clothes?”

“I don’t go for girls, no matter how they are dressed. Or even if they are undressed. That’s what Mary and Doris are holding over me like a club. But I have to obey them now, or they’ll tell everyone in the college what they discovered about me. That I go for boys, that I’m gay, that I’m a queer, a homosexual.”

Even as he spoke these alarming words, Butch reached across the car-seat and grabbed me around the neck with his right hand. With his free left hand he thrust roughly up under my short leather skirt, prepared to rip off my under panties in preparation for the intended rape if he could get his body to perform.

“But I’m not a girl. I’m a fellow,” I yelled at him just as I felt his grasping fingers close around my unprotected male equipment which had been hidden beneath the skirt. “Those girls have been making me go around disguised as a sexy girl. I’m straight, normal, square, hetero, whatever you want to call it. I’m not dressed like this because I like it. I go for real girls who would dress like this.”

Butch froze into rigid immobility with one arm holding my upper body and his other hand firmly gripping my exposed maleness.

What he had discovered was quickly being digested in his mind. With his right hand still holding my upper body helpless, his left hand flipped up my skirt so his eyes could confirm what his fingers had uncovered. Now his fingers went to work on me, stroking and caressing my sensitive male flesh.

“Hey, cut it out, Butch,” I protested vigorously.

“Remember I’m straight. I don’t dig playing these games with you any more than you dig playing with girls. Stop doing that, and let me go. We’ll work it out with Mary and Doris, somehow.”

“To hell with Mary and Doris,” he muttered hoarsely as his hand continued to stroke me most intimately. Now he released me for a second and thrust his hand inside the bodice of my bizarre shiny leather dress. As soon as he discovered that my seemingly ultra-feminine breasts were actually rubber and sewn to the inside of the dress, hebecame even more excited and demanding. “They told me I had to rape you, and now it will be a pleasure.”

He had my skirt up around my waist so I had no protection from his perversely stimulating hands. When he began to grope at his own fly to free his own equipment for the coming assault, I knew I had to act fast. With one hand I unlatched the car-door on my side, and with my other hand I snatched his fingers away from my exposed hairless groin. Then, in a fraction of a second, I was out of the car and running as fast as I could toward the dubious safety of the girls’ dormitory. The tight skirt hampered my strides as it slid down into place, and my stilt-like heels made my steps very uncertain, but I heard Butch coming after me and that spurred me on to added efforts. I glanced back and saw that I would be in the building before he could catch me.

I was gasping for breath and truly frightened as I blundered my way into the big second-floor room which had been the scene of my transvestite disguises. Mary and Doris were sitting there, evidently awaiting my arrival, and almost in unison they asked, “How did you make out with Butch? What happened?”

“Nothing happened at first, as long as he thought I was a sexy girl,” Itold them slowly as I tried to calm myself even under these strange conditions. “But when he found out that I was a male, even though I was dressed up like a seductive woman, then he really tried to rape me, just like you told him he had to. Even when I told him that I wasn’t that kind of a fellow, he kept coming on strong. I managed to escape from him, and here I am. Will you please let me go now? It’s late, and I’m exhausted from all that’s happened to me today. I just can’t take any more. Please let me go.”

“Not a chance, Joannie,” said Mary firmly. “We have lots more things for you to do before we’re through with you. And lots more sexy girlish costumes for you to wear, so you’ll really find out what it’s like being a girl. You want to be a girl, don’t you, Joannie?”

“No, I don’t. And you Know it,” I protested wearily. “I only pretended to be my twin-sister that one time. And only because she broke her ankle and couldn’t play in that tennis match. I’ll do anything you say if you’ll Just finish this awful masquerade and let me get back to being a man.”

“You’ll do anything we tell you to do, anyway,” Doris informed me sternly. “And we’ll let you go when we get bored with dressing you up like a girl. You’re almost like a doll for us to play with, a real, live baby-doll who has to do anything we want.”

“So Butch was really scared of you as long as he thought you were a girl?” said Mary laughing.

“How did you feel, Joannie, when he discovered your true self, and began to go for you in a big way?”

“It was awful. At first he thought I was scared of him because I was a virgin and didn’t want to be raped,” I said.

“Well, in the way he wants you, I suppose you are a virgin, aren’t your” asked Doris. “Maybe we ought to give him a chance to fix that. I’ll bet he’d like it.”

“Oh, no. You can’t do anything as awful as that to me,” I begged, nearly in tears at the thought of being used and abused so cruelly for the amusement of these vengeful girls.

“We can do anything we want with you,” said Mary. “But now it’s late, way after midnight, so it’s time we got you dressed for the night. Take off all your lovely clothes, Joannie, except your waist-cinch.”

Even after having had to do it several times before, it was still terribly humiliating to me to have to strip and expose my hairless body before these dominant girls. When I was wearing only the painfully tight flesh-colored band around my middle that gave me an accentuated feminine outline, they handed me the too-tight, fleshcolored, tiny elastic panty-brief which had encased and constricted my crotch when I had been forced to do the red-spangled belly-dance at the cook-out. I had to struggle into this, and when it was in place, the pressure on those sensitive tissues between my thighs was extremely uncomfortable, completely emasculating in appearance.

Next, two large and very realistic foam-rubber breasts were securely glued onto my hairless chest, adding further feminine curves to my altered shape. As I glanced into the big mirror, I could almost believe that I was looking at a naked girl, for all my obvious male attributes had been completely hidden before any external costume was put on me. This transformation was a terrible shock to my ego, and I vaguely wondered if I would ever be able to get back to looking and feeling like a man. Since the false breasts, the so-snug waist-cinch, and the tight elastic panty-brief were all flesh-colored, it took more than a casual glance to know that the visible girlish contours were not for real.

At first I did not understand their purpose when my tormentors brought out what I was to wear for outer wear clothes for the night. They were two identical long satin nightgowns in a natural skin tone of pink. They had me put on the first one after turning it inside out so that the sleek sensuous surface was against my skin, seeming to caress me wherever it touched me. The second nightgown was put on me normally right side out, so that the shiny glistening exciting surface was outside to shimmer in the light and please the hands that touched it.

Like all form-fitting garments of this sort, the material was cut on the bias, so that when I was standing upright the diagonal pull of the fabric made it cling closely to every curve it adorned. It outlined every lush detail of my falsely feminine figure with lurid and exciting accuracy, accentuating my synthetic carnal appeal.

High-heeled mules of matching pink satin, with feathery pompoms at each instep were provided for my feet, completing the picture of a glamorous and intentionally seductive woman who eagerly sought carnal attention. Because my so-called shoes were backless, I had extreme difficulty walking. I had to stand straight and arch my back. This thrust my breasts and buttocks into exaggerated prominence, and made me walk with a teasingly feminine twitch and curve of my hips.

Again I was forced to parade around the big room, flaunting my assumed femininity for the _ sadistic entertainment of my captors. They felt me all over, caressing the sleek satin of my outer nightgown, at the same time stimulating my flesh with the smooth clinging inner satin surface. Their lewd comments on my appearance and the potentialities for the uses of my transformed body added immensely to my shame and I was continually blushing, adding to my virginal girlish appearance under the circumstances.

The worst shock came when I had to study carefully my reflection in the big mirror. Looking and posing seductively before it I saw my boldly thrusting breasts outlined in lush female curves. My waist was nipped in to emphasize the exciting curves of bosom above and flaring hips below. The length and taut curves of my legs were exaggerated by the high heels of my mules and this exotic footwear forced me to use hip-slung strides that seemed to beg for visual and manual caresses from an appreciative loving male.

Now they made me feel myself with gentle tingling sweeping fingers, tracing my revealed conformations over the sleek satin that thrilled my hands on the outer surfaces and my legs and body with its inner gliding smoothness. As I watched and performed these sensuous activities I began to experience a bizarre dual ambivalent sensation all through me. As a normal heterosexual male I was becoming excited by watching and intimately caressing a seductive nubile and exotically clad female. The sensations of fondling and wantonly petting such a thrilling and passively accepting girl was extremely exciting to my masculine body and soul.

But I was also the girl I was teasing and thrilling with my hands. The tender stimulating touches sent waves of thrilling sensations coursing through my flesh as the sleek shiny satin on the inside caressed and aroused me carnally. I felt strange swellings and urges in my loins, and I knew that this bizarre situation was really getting to me. I was falling wildly and rewardingly in love. The male of my true self was intrigued and infatuated and sexually excited by the girl I was being forced into portraying with such vivid and total accuracy.

I tried to ignore these unwanted feelings and emotions. I tried to bring my sane and rational mind to bear on the situation, telling myself that it was all a terrible hoax being perpetrated on me. It was successful only because I was letting it be so, thrusting away my sensual urges and desires as well as I could, I studied my appearance in the big mirror. I hunted for disillusioning items in my appearance which would help me throw off this aura of bizarre self-love that was confusing my emotions. I studied myself carefully in the mirror, letting my questing hands confirm what my eyes saw.

Medium-long blonde hair was coiffed neatly and attractively on my head, revealing button earrings that pinched my lobes sharply to remind me of my transvestite slavery. Deftly applied cosmetics gave my hairless face a look of sultry seductive allure that would entice any man. Powdered shoulders and arms exposed by my nightgown gave no hint of my basic maleness, for the depilatory cream had completely removed all traces of masculine body hair. The chain slave-bracelets on my wrists were a normal type of feminine jewelry.

From neck to feet I was covered by the sleek clinging satin of the flesh-pink nightgown, glued-on rubber falsies jutted out proudly against the shimmering fabric and seemed to have a thrilling life of their own as I posed and moved in front of the mirror. Their glowing prominence was emphasized by the invisible flesh-colored waist-cinch which gave my revealed form a beautiful and feminine contour. Under this stringent compression my hips swelled out gloriously within the lustrous outlining caress of the sensuous satin. The crampingly tight panty-brief compressed my male genitals into invisibility of color and mass between my thighs, giving no slightest hint of the truth that cringed within.

The long tapering curves of my legs were clearly visible within the clinging bias-cut skirt of the glamorous gown, a Classically seductive sight on any girl who was garbed to greet her lover in bed. There my feet peeked out from beneath the flowing hem of my scintillating long gown, their matching satin finish, their slender high heels, and the dainty fluffy pompoms over my toes, all added together to make me aé perfect specimens of an intentionally seductive and eagerly willing sensual girl.

Now that I was prepared for the night in the matter of glamorous attire, I was as signed the job of helping Mary and Doris get ready for bed. Knowing that I was totally helpless in their power, they delighted in teasing and tempting me as much as possible. Piece by piece I divested them of their clothing which they had worn to the dance, and then helped them with every detail of putting on the shortie baby doll pajamas which they would wear for sleeping.

A couple of other girls came in to see my humiliation of dress and obedience, and my captors delighted in showing off to the newcomers my complete enslavement and loss of any manly prerogative in carnal aggression. Then one of the girls asked casually if I was completely tamed and docile, and could be made to do anything that was demanded of me, Doris assured her that I would be eager to perform any task assigned me in the hope that this would lead to my release from transvestite slavery soon.

Betty thought this over for a moment and then asked if she could borrow me for a while after Mary and Doris were through with me for the night. She promised not to keep me too long, nor to ruin my deliciously feminine costume in any way, but she had some ideas for fun where I might be able to help out most thrillingly.

A few minutes later I was taken by Betty to her room on the same floor of the dormitory. She locked the door behind us and then walked around me, studying every aspect of my transvestite appearance. I was studying her, too, for I was worried as to what type of service she wanted from me. She was about my size, and wearing a set of dark navy-blue pajamas of a rather severe and simple material and design, far from the blatant femininity of my costume.

Now she approached me and began Kissing me passionately, while her hands flowed possessively all over my satin-clad body. Her caresses concentrated on the emotionally significant areas of my transformed figure, and soon she was whispering tensely, “Kiss me, Joannie. Hold me tight and fondle me lovingly. You’re the most beautiful and exciting girl I’ve ever met, and the instant I saw you in that gorgeous lovely nightgown, I Knew I had to have you. Love me, Joannie. Make me flaming hot with your passionate caresses.”

I knew I had to obey, even though I knew that, as a male, there was no chance for me to get any reward from this bizarre encounter. Soon we were on the bed together, and I learned what heated intimate services she demanded from me. It was as Joannie, the exotically sensual girl that I appealed to her deviant emotions. As a man I could mean less than nothing to her.

The shame of the duties I was forced to perform for her keeps me from itemizing them. Without being specific, I can say that by the time I was allowed to leave her an hour or so later, I had been forced to provide every possible carnal stimulation that one girl can give another.And all this with no chance for any relief or pleasure for my own desires. She did not injure me, or even mess up my ultra-feminine costume, but my hands and mouth were kept imaginatively busy under her direction providing optimal rewards for her.

When I got back to Mary and Doris’ big room, I was greeted with derisive snickers and gloating taunts. They evidently knew of Betty’s tendencies, and they asked me what Lesbian duties I had been required to provide. However I was so upset by this ultimate denial of my fundamental young masculinity that I could not talk about it. I was a male and I knew it, but I hart been used as a girl, by a girl, and that was too much for any fellow to have to endure.

I slept the few remaining hours of the night between Mary and Doris in their big bed. Sandwiched between two attractive and scantily clad girls, I was their helpless, passive, impotent prisoner. My body kept responding with rigid, painfully restricted yearnings, but total frustration and futility were my only rewards from my tormentors. The double-layered satin that encased my body Kept teasing me with its slinky stimulation both inside and out, and by morning I was nearly crazy with desire from the bizarre transvestite role that had been forced on me.

In the morning I awoke after a night plagued by nightmares of having to live out the rest of my life cladina wide-skirted ballet-dancers tutu and wearing toe-dancing slippers laced on my feet. As I assisted Mary and Doris to dress for the day, I learned that we were to have another tennis-match, but this time it would be different from the one yesterday when I had beaten Mary in the singles finals-match. Today, Sunday, the two of them as partners experienced at playing together, would be pitted against me alone. And as I was to discover later, the exaggeratedly feminine tennis outfit I was to wear would further limit me ina most painful and humiliating manner.

While they watched with taunting attention and critical remarks, I had to strip off the two satin nightgowns which had teased me all night. Then I had to drag off the tiny tight elasticized panty-brief which had been crushing my male equipment into docile impotence for so long. Wearing only the very snug waist-cinch and the rubber breasts glued onto my chest, I had to stand there in hairless nudity while they carefully inspected my body with eyes and hands, and planned the details of my newest masquerade.

First they clad the upper part of my body with a dainty white blouse. It had cap sleeves to cover my shoulders and the top of my upper arms, and it buttoned down the back. But the most emasculating feminine part was that it had several rows of filmy fluffy ruffles horizontally across my chest at the level of the foam rubber falsies. This emphasized and exaggerated that part of my transvestized form in an area which was already more than adequately prominent for any girl, and much too voluminous to suit my wishes.

Then, to my alarm and surprise, they put a small pillow-case over my head, effectively blinding me to what they would be doing next. Then I was ordered to put my hands on top of my head and keep them there, so that I could not interfere in any way with what was about to happen to me.

A noose of strong cord was slipped around the end of my male member, as they had done yesterday when I had worn the short-skirted cheer-leaders costume and been taken back to our high school. But this time, instead of being dragged backward between my buttocks, the cord was drawn upward onto my hairless belly and securely fastened to the front of my strangling waist-cinch. Immediately the strain was uncomfortable, and I knew that playing active tennis while wearing this taut genital halter would be a most unpleasant experience.

Next I felt them pulling what felt like a pair of shorts up my legs after I had been made to step into them. These shorts felt extremely brief, almost like hot-pants, in that the legs gripped my thighs snugly right where my thighs joined my body. The garment was pulled up very tightly so that the firm crotch pressed much too powerfully between and against my imprisoned masculinity. And the waistband of the shorts seemed high, being broad enough to cover and conceal my flesh-colored waist-cinch. The material seemed firm and unyielding, like denim, where it clasped my hips and buttocks, outlining and accentuating my unnatural curves there.

Now the pillow-case was removed from over my head, and I had to put dainty white angora socks on my feet, followed by white sneakers which had gay colored pompoms as tassels on the ends of the laces. As I looked at myself now in the big mirror, I seemed a typical cute attractive girl clad in a costume appropriate for tennis. The tassels bounced and tossed with each step, adding to my girlish appearance, but I could see nothing odd about the shorts, and I wondered why it had been necessary to blindfold me while they were put on me. They were very short shorts, the legs forming a straight line across the extreme upper limits of my thighs, and the crotch cutting cruelly into my groin while my hips and buttocks were tightly encased, but aside from that, they seemed normal enough.

As I began to move around I realized that these shorts would not be too uncomfortable to wear if I stood still, but when I moved around, as I would have to do playing tennis, the stimulation in my crotch would be both exciting and painful. With each step my genitals were rubbed and squeezed by the movement of the firm material from my flexing thighs. I might look typical and attractive In my snug white shorts and my frilled white blouse, but the shorts were a teasing-torment garment when I was active.

As I was led to a nearby court on the campus, we were joined by Butch, whom I had hoped never to see again. He greeted Mary and Doris courteously, with less fear and resentment than he had shown before. Discovering that I was a fellow, not a girl, and finding that I had to do whatever these girls demanded, evidently made him feel less antagonistic toward them and more pleased with me.

With Butch watching, carefully scrutinizing my appearance and every move, we started playing tennis, with Mary and Doris playing partners against me alone. I had had trouble beating Mary in singles yesterday, and with a partner she began giving me a rough time. They ran me up and back, and right and left chasing the ball, and with each step I felt the stroking and grinding as my shorts rubbed and compressed my imprisoned manhood.

The sensations in my loins alternated between painful pressure and thrilling stimulation. I found it difficult to keep my mind on the game I was playing, because I was continuously reminded of how feminine my whole appearance was, in those tasseled sneakers, the angora socks, the tight, high-waisted shorts, and the frilly ruffled white blouse.

Another thing that kept bothering my mind was wondering what Butch’s presence here this morning really meant. Did my cruel captors intend to turn me over to him so he could satisfy his deviant carnal desires on me? Would I be allowed to resist his unwanted advances, or would they make me become a partner to such horrible actions? And suppose I did become his unwilling victim, just what would I have to do? Or what would be done to me?

While all these thoughts and sensations were whirling through my mind and tormenting my body, the tennis game seemed to be going on forever. I was being badly defeated, but they kept urging me on to play harder, knowlng how I was suffering in body and soul with every passing second. Fleetingly I remembered how, the night before, when wearing the convincing masquerade of the satin nightgown over the totally disguising underwear, I had experienced bizarre feelings of my masculine self falling in love and feeling carnal desire for the feminine Image which I had been made to represent. Was I really becoming emotionally involved so I wanted to dress up like a sexy girl? Where would it end?

My emotional turmoil, combined with my physical exhaustion from playing tennis so long under these terrible conditions, had me completely confused. I seemed to hurt all over, and not know what I really wanted. Maybe it would even be worthwhile to stop fighting against my fate, and just relax and allow myself to be feminized. I had had almost no sleep in over twenty-four hours, I had been very active physically most of that time, and I had endured unbearable emotional strains continuously since noontime yesterday. Fear, shame, and pain were about to overwhelm me, and the only thrilling and rewarding time I had experienced was when I had seen and caressed myself in front of the big mirror last night while I was wearing that ultra-feminine sexy satin nightgown. To feel eood again would be worth almost any sacrifice, I knew.

When at last they allowed me to stop, Butch came out onto the court to compliment me and to help me to a bench to rest. He put an arm protectively around me, as any felow might around a tired girl to show his affection. But he knew from evidence his eyes and hands had given him, that I was not a girl. And before we got to the bench, his hand had slipped downward in back and was tenderly clasping and kneading one of my buttocks within the tight white shorts. There could be no doubt that he still had strong carnal interests in me, and wished to do something about it.

Now that my flaunted lush femininity no longer turned him off emotionally, Butch went out of his way to be nice to me. He kept complimenting me on how cute I looked, how well I played tennis, and how well I had danced last night. He kept staring at the slight bump in the front of my snug shorts, and his hands kept fondling my thighs and buttocks although I kept trying to brush his hands away and avoid his caresses. He kept glancing worrledly at Mary and Doris, to make sure that he still had their permission to continue his seduction. Any uninformed witness to this scene would have thought it was a fellow being very attentive to his beloved but shy girl-friend.

Under orders from the girls, we soon were strolling back to the dormitory, with Butch lovingly close beside me, and Mary and Doris right behind us, giggling and whispering together. I was so tired and so mixed-up in my emotions that I was almost willing to go along with whatever my captors demanded without further protest. Maybe we could all work out a compromise of some sort that would satisfy everyone without subjecting me to carnal rape by Butch.

Back in the room the girls announced that I had to put on a skirt and jacket over my abbreviated athletic costume of shorts and blouse. The skirt was knee length and flaring, made of brilliant scarlet denim. It fastened around my cinched waist with a broad heavy leather belt that was buckled in the back. The jacket was short, stopping above my waist in back, and hanging open in front to display my bulging rubber breasts with their exaggerating ruffles of the blouse. I noticed that the skirt had a wide sewn hem at the bottom, with a sort of rope, like a purse-string, hanging out at the back.

Now my tasseled sneakers were replaced with the knee-high leather boots that I had worn previously with the cheer-leader costume. These heels were so high that I was standing almost on tip-toe, and was very unsteady in my walking and balance. Again I was ordered to parade around to show off my newest transvestite masquerade, and to view myself critically in the big mirror. To my relief I found that it was the most nearly normal and the least revealing of the many feminine outfits I had worn.

Now Doris asked Butch if he still found me a very attractive girl whom he would lke to know more intimately. After a significant pause Butch replied that he found me excitingly attractive, and he certainly would like to get to know me much better in several ways.

Doris then said she would like to demonstrate to Butch several special details of my present costume which he might find useful and interesting for his purposes. She pointed out that because of my stilt-like heels I was very unsteady on my feet. Then, ordering me not to resist, she bent down and quickly pulled my flaring skirt up around my body, till the hem was at the level of my neck. Then with a quick strong yank on the rope I had noticed at the hem, she tightened the hem of the skirt snugly around my neck. This rendered my hands and arms completely useless, enfolding them tightly against my body inside the enveloping fabric of the skirt.

This was alarming in its surprise, but not too shameful, for from my waist down I was still covered by the white shorts I had worn for tennis. Now I had to back toward the mirror and bend way forward, so that I could watch between my spread legs while she showed Butch the final oddity of my costume.

As I watched from my upside-down pose I saw my bottom sticking out, clad in the brief white shorts. Then Doris grabbed a zipper up near the waistband in back and began to pull it slowly down. First the tops of my buttocks were exposed, but as the zipper continued, those tensed mounds separated from the strain of my pose. And still the zipper continued downward.

When it had opened nearly to my navel in front, all my hairless male equipment was fully exposed, and Butch was gasping with delight.

With scissors Doris cut the noosed cord which had been holding my member up to the waist-cinch in front, leaving everything hanging normally. Without another word, Doris quickly pulled the zipper back around my crotch, closing the gap in the shorts which now again looked normal. Then she had me stand erect and loosened the knot which held the hem of my skirt up around my neck, so effectively imprisoning my hands.

“Now Mary and Jane going to leave you, Butch, and you, Joannie, alone. We will be in the bathroom watching what happens between you two,” said Doris with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “When you two have amused us enough by putting on a wild and entertaining show for our benefit, we’ll set you both free. You will be allowed to go back to your normal regular lives, without fear of any more trouble from US in any way. So, get the show going, kids.”

The End

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5 months ago

So this sissy read this on he.r special day this was a very exciting story…one moment you are a brother helping out your sister the next…..