Three
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.
