Dressing for Kicks

dress for kicks

I mean, it all started simply enough. A bunch of us were sitting around the frat house. It was slow just then. The nervousness of beginning a new semester was over and midterms were still a month or so away.

The main topic, as usual, was girls.

“Geez,” Joe said, “ever since that key club opened up and Audrey started working as a bunny, it’s been terrible.
She’s always nagging about how she makes more working two nights a week than I make in four hours a day at the garage.

“Yeah, Bobbi, too,” said Eddie. “Not only that, but she keeps goin’ on about what a glamorous job it is and how could anybody stand to work 1n a machine shop.” “It doesn’t matter where you work,” I said. “Leshe keeps rubbing it in about how little I make at the bookstore. I tell her I have to stay in school somehow, but then she just comes back at me with how dull it must be and how she saw this or that celebrity at the club last night. I know she doesn’t mean to make me feel bad, but ….”

“Ah, they’re all a bunch a dumb broads,” grunted Floyd, our resident jock.

“It’s like Howard says,” sighed Eddie, pointing in my direction, “it really makes a guy feel small. I mean, whatta they got that we haven’t got?”

“Tits,” said Floyd.

“Shut up, Floyd,” Joe said.

Eddie looked around the room. “Really, though,” he said, “there isn’t that much difference. Anybody could look good under all the makeup those bunnies wear.” “Even you?” snickered Floyd. “Haw, haw, haw ….”

“Don’t be a drip, Floyd.”

“Yeah, Floyd, don’t be stupid. Or at any rate, don’t be stupider.”

“Watch it, bozo,” said Floyd, climbing out of his chair, “or I’ll fix 1t so ya’ look like ya’ been in a wreck.”

Dressing for Kicks“Wait a minute, you guys,” I said, loud enough so Floyd stopped moving toward Eddie. “I’ll bet Eddie’s right.
With makeup and, ummm, stuff, we could look Just as glamorous as the girls. When I was in San Francisco last summer, my sister and her husband took me to a place called
…..Pinocchio’s, or something like that. Anyway, the whole show is female impersonators and they really look good. But my brother-in-law knows one of them, and we went for pizza after the shows and without the makeup, he’s, well, ordinary.”

“Aw, a bunch a’ fags.”

“Shut up, Floyd.

In spite of Floyd, we got talking about it and from a joke, mostly, it got to a possibility, and from a possibility, it got to seeming like a pretty good idea.

The big Halloween party was coming up, and we made plans to show the girls that if we used the same tricks they did, we could look just as glamorous, and that it wasn’t all that hard to look like a bunny.

We decided we’d meet a week before the party to “practice”. Eddie’s family lived close to campus and they were all going to be away for the weekend, so we planned to get together there. Except for Floyd, who said we must be a “bunch a’ fairies” and wouldn’t have anything to do with it.

The big night came. We’d each been assigned certain jobs. Mine was to ask a friend in the drama department about makeup. I’d practiced on myself, and you Know, it kind of gave me a funny feeling inside when I looked 1n the mirror and here was this girl looking back. I mean, not Brigitte Bardot by any means, but… well… a girl!

When I got there, the first thing Eddie asked was, “Do you think we really ought to do this?”

“Why not?” I said, setting down the makeup.

“Well… maybe the girls will think we really are, you know … strange.”

“I don’t Know about you and Bobbi, but I think Leslie knows me well enough not to worry about that. And once we let them know why we’re doing it, then I think they’ll get the point and won’t bug us so much with this bunny business.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Did you bring the stuff you were supposed to get?”

“Well, I’ve got dresses and shoes. Aunt Sophie was real good about letting me borrow them. I suppose since they’re second hand anyway, it doesn’t matter if they get worn one more time. But I think we ought to have them cleaned before they go back.”

“Fair enough.” There was a chime in the background.

“Is that the phone?”

“Doorbell. Probably Joe.”

It was Joe, carrying a good-sized box.

“Boy,” he said, “this stuff is expensive!”

“I thought you had a sister-in-law in the business,”

“I do, and it’s still expensive!”

“Well, if it makes the point, it’ll be worth it.” We settled down to business pretty quickly after that.

I started out doing makeup. I’d gotten pretty good at it if I do say so, and my friend in the drama department had loaned me three wigs.

I did Joe first, then Eddie, then I did my own face. I think Joe was the biggest surprise to me. He has one of those broad, slightly blank faces that looks like the sort of guy you might picture as a lifeguard or a boxboy.

Definitely nothing special. But put some eye makeup and

lipstick on him and with a blonde wig he really looked terrific.
Then Joe opened the box. First he took out three flat cellophane envelopes.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Pantyhose,” he said.

“Gee,” I said, “I always thought they came in plastic eggs.”

“You,” said Joe, looking me up and down, “got no class.
None at all.”

“Do these go on over or under?” asked Joe, picking up an envelope gingerly.

“I think you suit yourself,” said Joe. “I really didn’t ask about it.”

“What about the rest of the stuff?”

“Well, I got three brassieres. “Ya’ know, Louise, that’s my sister-in-law, says a lot of guys buy this stuff. They say it’s for their wives or sisters, but Louise, she says she can always tell. Hey, Howard, remember that show you saw?”


“Louise says there’s a show like that right in town. Not so big, but the same kind of thing. She says this is the kind of brassiere most of the guys in the show buy. It makes ’em look like they got… uh ….something there when they really don’t.”

As it turned out, Joe was right. Between the brassieres and the padding, I think we could have raised cleavage on a stringbean. The funny thing was the brassiere was a little thing – about half-satin and half-lace. You wouldn’t have thought it could have done that, but it sure did.

Then we put on the pantyhose. Joe opened the box again. “These are the bottom half,” he said.

“But there’s nothing to it!” cried Eddie. And it was a whispy bikini, in colors to match the bra.

“Well, you don’t wear jockey shorts with stuff like this, dummy,” Joe said.

“They’re really kind of nice,” I said, picking up a pair and putting them on, “soft and everything. After all, if we’re going to do it, we might as well do it right.” As I slipped on the bikinis and thought how I must look, I got the oddest feeling, partly in the pit of my stomach and partly all over. It wasn’t a bad feeling. In fact, it was sort of warm and pleasant and

“How about the dresses,” Joe said. “I feel naked in this stuff.”

“Not yet, not until you try on the shoes and get the hang of ’em. I don’t want you guys falling all over the house in Aunt Sophie’s dresses. She could hardly put them back in the shop all torn up.”

Joe complained, but eventually agreed. As for me, I was kind of interested by this time to see how it would feel.

All the shoes were high heels. Joe found a pair of black patent leather pumps that fit with only a little squeezing.
Eddie had already picked out a pair in imitation alligator, and I found a pair covered with a pretty brocade which fit me as though they were made for me. I slipped them on and suddenly realized I was breathing faster than usual and my hands were sweaty. Either I was coming down with flu, or there was definitely something to this dressing up business.

At first, we did fall down a fair amount, but after a half-hour or so, we got the hang of it pretty well. That was when we began horsing around, pinching each other on the behinds and making rude remarks. We were all laughing pretty hard, which is, I suppose, why we didn’t hear the car drive up.

Suddenly, the front door burst open. There stood Audrey and Bobbi and Leslie. I’ll never forget that moment. All I could think of was Leslie’s eyes on me as I stood there in high heels, pantyhose, bra and bikini panties.

Dressing for KicksBobbi spoke first. “Well, I’m certainly glad you gave me that key, Eddie. If you hadn’t, I’d never have found out what kind of guy I was mixed up with. And it certainly looks like “mixed up” is the right phrase.”

“Look at the little darlings,” Audrey said. “We do seem to have been involved with some gay birds.”

Leslie didn’t say anything, but I saw shock in her face and something I couldn’t identify.

“But how did you….”

Joe began, “who told….”

Then, from out in the car, I heard a male voice say, “What I tell ya’! A bunch a’ pansies!”

“Now wait ….” Joe started again.

“Shut up, blondie!” snapped Audrey. “My God, you look silly.” She and Bobbi started to laugh, but it wasn’t very pleasant laughter. Leslie didn’t really join in.

“Look, Bobbi….” Eddie said.

“You shut up, too!” Bobbi yelled. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, seeing you standing there in panties. And I thought you were a real man….”

It went on like that for awhile. We tried to dish it out as well as take it, but a guy’s at a disadvantage in underwear, especially when it’s the kind he isn’t supposed to wear.

Finally, the girls turned and walked out. I heard Floyd laughing as they drove off. We got cleaned up and Eddie and I went home. Nobody said much.

I tried to keep a low profile on campus for the next week or so. I’ll say this for the girls, they didn’t seem to want to spread the story around. I guess they had each other to commiserate with. Or maybe they were worried about being associated with such “perverts”.

I should have known I couldn’t avoid contact for ever, though. I was sitting in a corner of the student union, being inconspicuous and feeling crummy, when someone slid into the seat next to me. It was Leslie.

“Now look,” I began, “I can understand you’re pretty angry, but….”

“Im not. I’m not angry now. I just don’t understand it.
Why would you want to make fun of women like that?”

“I wasn’t! I’ve never tried to make fun of women. If you really want to know, the whole idea was to make a point.”

Leslie was taken aback. “What point?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

I explained as well as I could. “So you see,” I finished, “I realize you thought I looked pretty silly dressed up like that, so….”

Leslie put her hand on mine. “But I didn’t!” she said. “Really. I thought honestly, I thought you made a very pretty woman.”

To say I was surprised was putting it mildly. I started to say something but she hushed me.

“And more than that …Eddie and Joe looked awkward in their things, but you looked… I guess comfortable is the best I can do. You looked as though you felt good about yourself.”
“No, no,” I protested, “it was all just a joke to make a point about your bunny job ….”

“Oh, Howard, don’t try to lie to me. I Know you well enough. Look, the important thing I’m trying to tell you 1s that it doesn’t matter, at least not to me.”

“Leslie!” I tried to keep my voice down, but it wasn’t easy. “Do you mean that? I mean, really mean it?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking straight into my eyes, “I do”

I tried to look at her just as steadily. “Then I guess I ought to tell you… yes, I did enjoy… that is, it, somehow, dressing up like that felt good … I don’t know if you could understand it ….”

“Why not?” she said. “I know I wouldn’t want to give up the kinds of things I wear for what you wear.”

“But you don’t think that makes me….”

“I don’t care what it makes you! You have to be you, not my idea of you, or anybody else’s idea of you. You have to be what you are, not what someone else thinks you ought to be! The only right I have is the right to know whether you still care about me.”

“Care? Of course I do… but ….”

“And vice versa is also true, you know. You have no right to tell me what I should do, only the right to know if, after the other night, I still care.”

“And do you?”

“Of course, dopey. Why else do you think I’ve been going through all this?!” and she smiled an impish little smile I hadn’t seen before.

“And you know what?”

“No, what?” I asked warily.

She looked me straight in the eyes again and I noticed how very blue hers were. “Since you’ve been honest with me, I think it’s only fair I be honest with you. When I saw you dressed like that, I thought you looked very… sexy.”

You could have knocked me over with a feather (and I know some people who would have done it if they’d been there.)

Leslie’s eyes went down and her voice dropped. “I suppose I should tell you too, that I’ve occasionally wondered about myself and …. well … some of the other bunnies at the club, I think, like other girls, you know, as bed partners … I’ve never … but sometimes I think I could if it was the right person. Now do you still care?”

I took her hand. “Of course, how could I not,” I said.

She smiled one of the nicest smiles I’ ever seen.

Then she leaned over to me and whispered, “And now we’re going to my place to get freshened up and …uh … changed. Then we’re going out to dinner and back to my place for … dessert. Okay?” And she nibbled my ear so there’d be no doubt what she had 1n mind for dessert. That was the second time I had that funny “pit-of-the-stomach” feeling.

Dressing for Kicks

When we got to the apartment, the first thing Leslie said was “Look in the bedroom.”

For a moment I thought it was awfully quick work, but then I did look, and there on the bed was a familiar cardboard box.

“How in the world did you get that?” I asked.

“I got it from Audrey who took it away from Joe after he told her it was all a joke and he’d never do it again.”

I thought about what the box meant. “You must have been pretty confident,” I said.

“Not really, Howard.” and she came over and took my hands. She looked up at me, “But I was hoping. If you had been doing this just to ridicule us … l don’t think I could have gone on seeing you, but somehow I didn’t think that was it, at least not for you.”

“Of course not, and remember, you really had been giving me a hard time about your bunny job.” “I realize that, and I think I can find a way to make it up to you….”


“I’ll tell you after dinner. Right now, let’s get you dressed.”
“But I am …” “No, silly, I mean dressed right! I can’t be seen with a girlfriend who wears jeans and a crummy old

Navy jacket and men’s shoes. People would think I’m a lesbian.” She patted my behind. “And I guess they’d be right, at least in certain cases.”

This time, Leslie helped me with the makeup and it came out better than ever. She had a couple of wigs and she tried one on me. It was black, shoulder-length, done in a flip.

“I lke your own color better,” she said, “but this is a good length on you. Now then, what to wear.”

“Do you have the dresses Eddie brought?”

“No, they went back to Aunt Sophie. Besides, they weren’t right … they were evening dresses and we’re hardly going to the Ritz. I did manage to go by Sophie’s shop and get your shoes, though. It was a good thing they were easy to spot.

“But if you don’t have those dresses ….” I began.

“You’re a little too big for my clothes, but I have a cousin whose about your size, and she gave me some things a while ago. Now get into your bra and panties.”

I got dressed, this time relaxing and letting myself enjoy the sensuous feeling of the smooth fabric against my skin.

By the time I’d put on my heels, Leslie was back in the room with an armload of clothes.

“Grrrrrrr!” she said, but it was more a purr than a growl.

Her cousin’s things fit fine, and after a touch-up to my lipstick and a light spray of cologne which nearly caused a complete sensory overload, we went to dinner, both looking very stylish. We picked a quiet place a fair distance from campus. Even so, my nerves were so strung out I could hardly eat, but everything went fine.

Back at the apartment, Leslie started to undress me.

“Hey, wait!” I said.

“Relax,” she said, unbuttoning my blouse, “enjoy …”

“It is nice,” I admitted.

“I’ve always liked it when you did it to me.”

“That’s a swell idea,” I said, and I began to unbutton hers.

Her fingers were running up and down my back under the blouse. I caressed her waist, Just at the lovely hollow before the flair of her hips.

“You’re very distracting,” I said, “but what was this idea of yours you promised to tell me?”

“Well,” she said, nuzzling my shoulder and somehow at the same time slipping my blouse off, “If you really want to have atry at being a bunny,” and now her hands were at the back of my skirt, “I’ll help you.”

“That’s an interesting thought,” I said, unzipping her skirt. It fell to her ankles and we were standing there, arms around each other, 1n bras and bikinis. Through the sheer fabric of her bra I could see her nipples, erect and excited.

“Chilly out, is it?” I said.

“That’s not the reason, silly,” she said. “Let me show you.”

She unhooked my bra; I unhooked hers.

“A bunny,” I said, “that’s a very interesting idea.” And then her hands, warm and gentle, were taking down my panties.

And if she does help me have a try at being a bunny, I’ll let you know all about it. For the moment, though, I’m well… otherwise occupied.



He’s Her Sister!

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

Additional Reading

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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!
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Maid to Order

Kathy and Janet are becoming bored with their everyday routine, so they decide to dress up in their kinkiest costumes. Only issue is they need a sissy maid!
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It had been a tough year for Norman. But things really took a turn when she transformed him into her sexy sissy step-sister!
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Trained to Be a Girl

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Panty Punishment

Don just wanted to look at the pretty panties, not wear them. But now he had to be punished in them!
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Maid to Order

maid to order

Kathy and Janet are becoming bored with their everyday routine, so they decide to dress up in their kinkiest costumes.

The only problem is that once they are in the mood, dressing-up is not enough. They will need a third partner for what they have in mind…

She Made Him Her Pretty Teenage Step-Sister

She Made Him Her Pretty Teenage Step-Sister

Written by Karen Jensen – Illustrations by ENEG

Chapter 1 – Transformation

It had been a tough year for Norman Malone. His mother had died when he was an infant and his father had just remarried the beginning of last year. He had moved to another town to live with his new wife and left Norman with friends to finish the school year. When summer arrived and school let out, Norman also moved, leaving his friends behind. He was there just a few weeks when his father suddenly died of a massive heart attack.

Now he was living with his step mother and step sister Andrea, who at 17 was the same age as Norman. He felt like he was living with two strangers. His stepmother was nice enough to him, and tried to make him feel welcome in her home, but Andrea made no pretense of liking him at all and looked upon him as an intruder in her life. She went out of her way to make his life miserable and it seemed that no matter what Norman did for her, it was not enough.

It was a couple of weeks after the funeral. His step mother had gone away for the weekend to try to get over her grief. Norman was downtown having a soda, also trying to forget his sorrow. He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to see Lois, his sister’s friend, a girl Norman developed a crush on the first time he met her.

“Hi, Norman. I’m really sorry about your dad. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Oh, uh, no thanks Lois. I’m just drowning my sorrow in a soda. Can I buy you one?”

Lois sat down and they talked for awhile.

“Look, Norman, no one is home at my house. My folks went away for the weekend. Would you like to come over and go swimming with me?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

It was a short walk to her house. Norman’s spirits picked up immediately and he considered himself to be very lucky to be spending the afternoon with a beautiful girl like Lois. “Just go into the bathroom and get undressed. I’ll get you a swim suit and hand it to you through the door.”

Norman was really excited and in no time at all was standing there naked. Spending time alone with Lois was more than he dared dream.

“I have a suit for you, give me your clothes and I’ll hang them up while your changing.” She took his clothes, and gave him what she had, and went to put away his clothes.

After he did as he was told and she handed him the bathing suit. He was stunned when he realized she had given him a girl’s bathing suit. It was a one piece purple bathing suit with little pink flowers on it.

“Hey, I can’t wear this. Don’t you have a boy’s suit?”

“None that are clean. Who’s gonna see you besides me. I think you’ll look cute. Why don’t you try it on and see. I promise I won’t tell anyone” Norman was at a loss. He really wanted to be with Lois and she seemed pretty anxious for him to put on the bathing suit. He was embarrassed at the prospect of having to wear a girls swim suit, but he knew he couldn’t very well walk around naked.

“Hey Norman, what’s taking so long. Come on out. I promise I won’t laugh.”

Reluctantly he slipped on the girl’s swimsuit and shyly stepped out of the bathroom.

“Wow, you do look really cute”, Lois exclaimed. “Let me give you some finishing touches, so you’ll look better in it. I am going to put some water proof eye makeup on you and this bathing cap. This way if anyone does come over, they will think you are a girl.

If the neighbors see you, they won’t think I had a boy come over alone and tell my parents.”

She put her water proof mascara and eyeliner on his eyes, and a touch of eye shadow on his eyelids. She adjusted his bathing cap, and then quickly applied a coat of light red glossy lip stick to his lips, making him look like a real attractive teenage girl with sensual kissable lips. She inserted a pair of foam shaped pads into the top of his swimsuit and adjusted the cups so they looked natural in appearance on him if he were a real girl.

Norman was shocked at her moves and her suggestion but offered no resistance. What she said made some sense to him, and wearing the suit wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, though he wouldn’t admit it, he kind of liked the way the it felt.

The two of them played and swam, and Norman was less aware of how he was dressed. He winced when she started calling him Nancy, but as she explained, if anyone did come over, they would hardly think he was a girl with a name like Norman. They were enjoying themselves so much that they were unaware of the passing of time when they heard the gate open and looked up to see Andrea staring at them.

“Who is your new friend, Lois? I don’t believe I have met a girl like her before. Why it looks like my step brother Norman in drag”, she laughed.

Norman was mortified. If Andrea told his stepmother about him wearing girl’s clothing, she might throw him out of the house. And then where would he go?

“Look, Andrea, I can explain.”

“Save your breath Nancy. When I get these pictures developed, you’ll be the laughing stock of the school. Good job Lois. Did you have any trouble with HER?”

“None at all. It was easy.”

As the realization that the whole thing had been planned by Lois and his step sister hit him, he was crushed and wanted to cry. He had been having such a good time with Lois, and he thought she was really interested in him. All she wanted was to help his step sister humiliate him. He realized he somehow had to deal with Andrea, and convince her not to show the pictures, she was taking of him.

“Please, Andrea, I’ll do anything. Don’t show anyone those pictures”.

“I’m sure you will brother, or should I say sister? From now on you will obey me and do as I say, or these pictures will be spread around school. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Andrea, I understand” he said submissively.

“Now get out of those clothes. We have something more appropriate for you to wear.”

Norman was soon standing naked in front of the two girls. His face was red from the unbelievable embarrassment he felt. He didn’t know what they were going to do with him or why, and was afraid to ask.

“Norman, you know that Lois and I are having a party tomorrow night. Mother insisted that we invite you. She didn’t, however specify how you were to be dressed. Since we are short one girl, we decided that you would be her. We are going to dress you as a girl and teach you to be a girl. Who knows, tomorrow night you may meet Mr. Right”, she laughed.

“The first thing we have to do is remove any unsightly hair from your body. We’ll do it with this cream” said Lois.

She proceeded to rub the depilatory all over his body. She spared no part except his head, and even rubbed his genital area, which responded predictably.

After a few minutes, he felt a burning sensation and was relieved when at last they let him shower. As the cream was rinsed away, so was all his body hair. He was hairless like a new born baby. His skin was as smooth as that of any girl.

After drying himself he stepped into the bedroom where his new clothes were laid out for him. Andrea handed him one garment at a time. He was almost grateful for the cover the panties provided him, and only after they were on did he notice the lace trim. Lois helped him into the yellow bra which matched the panties perfectly. She padded the cups for him.

Next was a slip to match that came barely to mid thigh. She helped him put on his pantyhose and a short yellow dress with a wide black patent leather belt, and a flared skirt that only just covered the slip. They even had a shinny black pair of spiked high heeled shoes which he slipped on to his stockinged feet. Andrea led him to the vanity where she proceeded to make him up.
Foundation, rouge, eye shadow, liner, mascara and a glossy red lipstick soon covered his face. His longish hair was combed into a more feminine style. When she had finished she turned to Lois and said, “I give you Nancy”.

Norman was stunned when he looked into the mirror. The face staring back at him was that of a very cute teenage girl. Though not a beauty queen, certainly an attractive one. He felt all kinds of emotions. Shock, embarrassment, and excitement at the adventure he was to have. The girls had made it clear that for the next 24 hours he would live, act, dress and be a girl. He wasn’t sure what it would entail, but he was beginning to think it might not be so unpleasant, after all.

Chapter 2 – Penetration

“Come, Nancy, we are going for a ride”.

As the reality of his predicament hit him, Norman became extremely nervous and was about to refuse. He remembered, however, his sister’s threat to show the pictures and thought better of it. And, she had taken additional pictures of him dressing in the feminine garments that would only add to his humiliation.

“Where are we going?” Nancy asked as they pulled out of the driveway.

“Well, we thought you might like a new dress to wear to the party tomorrow,” Andrea replied, “and since you have been saving your money, you can afford to buy one”

Nancy became angry as he saw that Andrea had the wallet in which he was saving his money.

“I was saving up for a new stereo. I am not gonna use it to buy a dress”.

“Don’t be silly, a girl would much rather have a new dress, and, in any case, I don’t remember asking you.” “I’m not a girl!”

“Lois, stop the car and we’ll ask a perfect stranger if Nancy is a boy or girl?”

“No! Don’t do that. I’ll buy the dress” he said meekly.

Nancy found herself holding back tears as she wondered why his step sister hated him so much and how far she would go to humiliate him. He knew better than to argue at this point.

Lois parked the car and the three girls got out. Walking very self consciously between Andrea and Lois, Nancy kept her eyes to the ground and dared not look at anyone they passed. She was mortified she would be recognized as a boy.

She was taken into a dress shop, whose name she recognized since Andrea had talked about it. It was where she usually bought her dresses. The owner greeted the two girls by name.

“This is my step brother Norman. He likes and insist he has to dress up like a girl at all times, or at least most of the time. Lois and I agreed to take him shopping here for a new dress and other things he can wear to a party tomorrow night. He insists we call him Nancy.”

Norman was horrified and if he could have found a hole to crawl into he would have.

“Well, I am used to boys coming in here to try on dresses. You would be amazed at how many like to dress up like girls, though many are not here voluntarily. I will let my best salesgirl handle Nancy. She has had much experience with this sort of thing.”

“Maureen, this is Norman, who prefers Nancy. Will you help her to pick out a dress for a party she will be attending tomorrow night?”

She led Nancy to a rack full of party dresses. After taking some measurements, she picked out a couple of dresses and led Nancy to the dressing room.

It was furnished with a comfortable couch and a rack with hangars for the clothes.

“Alright Nancy, take off your dress so that you can try some of these on.”

She started to explain that wearing the feminine attire was not her idea, but Maureen didn’t seem interested. She removed her dress and stood there in the minislip she was wearing, feeling very vulnerable. She tried on several dresses, finally settling on a purple and white see-through. Maureen left the room and came back with a white slip.

“Put this on, it will look better under the dress.”

Nancy was embarrassed to strip that far, but her protests fell on deaf ears. As she removed her slip, Maureen could see the excitement Nancy was feeling.

Maureen locked the dressing room door and moved towards Nancy, who was wearing only her bra and panties. She removed her dress and slip as she advanced on the feminized boy. She reached into Nancy’s panties and grabbed her throbbing cock.

Nancy moaned and found herself being pushed back on the sofa. She reached for Maureen’s tits and soon had one in between her glossy reds lips and gentle sucked it into her mouth. Maureen kept stroking Nancy’s cock, causing her great pleasure but not enough to allow her to come. Suddenly Maureen stopped and climbed on top of Nancy placing her womanhood right over Nancy’s red lips and mouth.

“Eat me!” she said.

It was a command, not a request. Nancy had never done anything like this and was not sure she wanted to, but before she could protest, she found her head buried in Maureen’s muff. With her hands stroking Maurteen’s tits and her tongue working feverishly on her clit, Nancy did not have time to think of her own needs. Suddenly, Maureen stiffened and squeezed her thighs around Nancy’s head. Her juices were running down Nancy’s face, ruining her makeup. Maureen let out a scream, and fell limp on top of the sissified boy.

‘That was wonderful”, she said. “I am going to reciprocate. I will show you what you can expect from the boys at the party”

Nancy didn’t knew what Maureen was talking about. All she knew was she was hard as a rock and needed some release. Maureen removed a plastic dildo from a drawer which she tied around her waist. She applied a coating of lubricant to it and she was now ready.

“Now my dear, I am going to fuck you now, much like a boy would fuck a girl. If you are going to be a girl, you must learn to fuck like one”.

Nancy found herself trembling, but was too frightened to move, as Maureen advanced toward her with that huge cock sticking out. Nancy could guess what she was going to do with that cock, and though scared, lay there as if frozen to the spot.

Once again, Maureen mounted Nancy, only this time she stuck her false penis into Nancy’s rectum. She screamed as the long dick penetrated her asshole. She was lying on her back with her legs in the air and instinctively, she wrapped them around Maureen’s waist. Slowly, Maureen humped her, gradually increasing the depth of her penetration. Despite the discomfort Nancy felt, she was also experiencing a sense of excitement like none she had ever imagined. She could feel her own dick getting harder and harder. As she was approaching a point of no return, Maureen penetrated deeper and deeper until Nancy took the whole length of her dick. The mixed emotions Nancy was feeling caused her to weep and finally when she thought she could take no more, Maureen stopped. Nancy wanted the release that an orgasm would bring, but Maureen was not about to cooperate.

Nancy reached for her manhood, thinking she would finish herself, but Maureen grabbed her hand first. “We’ll have none of that here.”

Before Nancy could protest, she found herself propelled into a cold shower, with her panties around her knees. She was aware of the great embarrassment she had felt before as her excitement subsided, and had to fight to hold back tears as Maureen helped her dress and repaired her makeup.

Chapter 3 – Her First Date

As the three girls left the dress shop, Nancy carried the bag with her new purchases. They got in the car and drove off. Two more stops resulted in new heels, hose and lingerie to go with her new dress. Her stereo fund had a large dent in it.

“Well Nancy, that’s all the purchases for today”, Andrea laughed, as they got into the car and headed for home, or so Nancy thought. Her head was filled with thoughts of her encounter with Maureen, and she was not paying attention to the direction they took. The car came to a stop.

“Alright girls, we’re here. Let’s get a bite to eat. Nancy has enough money left to treat!” said Andrea.

Nancy looked up with a start. They were parked outside the local hamburger hangout. There would certainly be a bunch of kids from school there.

“I’m not really hungry, can’t we please go home, Andrea?”

“No, Lois and I want to eat, and besides, I think it fitting that you treat us for taking you shopping”

The girls went inside and sat down at a table. Lois and Andrea ordered their food. Nancy sat quietly looking down at the table, praying that no one would realize she was not a girl. She only wanted to get out of there and go home.

“Hi Lois, Andrea, who’s your cute friend?”

“Oh, hi Harold. This is my step sister Nancy. She’s visiting me for a few days”, said Andrea.

Nancy was mortified, certain that at these close quarters her gender would be read.

“Would you like to join us, Harold?”, asked Lois.

“Sure, I was just about to get a burger and fries, myself’ he replied, sliding into the booth next to Nancy.

“Hey, are you girls busy tonight? I’m looking for someone to go to the show with.”

“Well, unfortunately, Lois and I are tied up with preparations for the party tomorrow night. I’m unhappy about leaving Nancy alone tonight. I’m sure she would like to go with you, wouldn’t you Nancy?”

Nancy could not believe what she was hearing. She did not want a date with a boy, but the tone of Andrea’s voice made it clear that she could not refuse. In the short time she had been there, she had heard of Harold’s reputation as a ladies’ man, and she wasn’t sure she would know what to do if he made any advances towards her.

“I’ll eat my dinner and we’ll go to the drive-in. We should just make it in time for the show.”

Before Nancy could protest, Lois and Andrea got up to leave. Both Of them with huge smiles on their faces.

“Thanks for taking Nancy tonight, Harold. Please drop her at Lois’ house. Her folks are out of town, and Nancy and I are sleeping there tonight. We’ll see you tomorrow at the party”

Soon they were in Harold’s car on their way to the drive-in. Nancy was quiet, responding to Harold in a soft voice, praying she wouldn’t give herself away.

Harold was much bigger and stronger than she was, and she shuddered to think what would happen if he discovered that he was actually on a date with another male.

Shortly after the movie started, Harold moved close to Nancy. “The steering wheel is in my way”, he said. “I need a bit more leg room.”

Nancy nodded nervously and tried to concentrate on the movie. Maybe he won’t try anything on a first date, she thought, and it might work out ok.

Soon Nancy felt Harold’s arm around her shoulder. His other hand was on her bare thigh. The mini-dress she wore provided little cover. She felt both afraid and excited. She didn’t understand the emotions running through her. She offered no resistance as Harold placed his lips on her shinny glossy red ones of hers. Soon his tongue was on her gums and searching every part of her mouth. In spite of herself, Nancy found herself uncontrollably responding. She could feel his hard dick against her thigh. Harold took her well manicured hand with the long feminine highly polished nails and placed it on his groin.

‘Take it out, Nancy!”

She pulled her hand back. Harold unzipped his fly and took her lovely feminine hand again, placing it on his groin. Frightened of him, she reached slowly for his erection and began to gently stroke it.

The realization of what was happening hit her. She was a boy. She couldn’t make love to another male. She could feel the tears in her eyes. She had to get away from him.

“But how?”, she wondered. “I can’t run away dressed like this.”

“What’s the matter sweetheart?”, asked Harold.

“I..I can’t” stammered Nancy.

“Why not? weren’t you enjoying it?”

“Yes, I was. I just … just can’t tonight”

“Is it that time of the month?”

Nancy breathed a sight of relief. He had given her the perfect excuse.

“Yes, that’s it. I am having my period”

“That’s alright” said Harold, as he put his arms around her again. Before she could protest, he was kissing her as passionately as before. He took her hand and put it back on his prick.

“Stroke it baby, just stroke it”

Nancy did as he requested. She was trapped and decided to make the best of the situation. She thought that if she could make him cum, that would be the end of it.

“Now suck it Nancy”, Harold said, as he gently pushed her head down towards his crotch. Nancy had never imagined anything so big as Harold’s prick. She felt helpless in his arms. She tentatively licked his long pole with her tongue.

“That’s good Nancy. Now take it into your mouth. I want you to taste my cum.”

With that, he grabbed her head with both hands, and forced his penis to slid between her glossy red lips and into her mouth. Nancy thought she would choke on it, but gradually got used to it. As she sucked on his dick, with a steady up and down motion, she could hear him moan. It was obviously giving him a great deal of pleasure. To her surprise, Nancy found her own penis was hard as a rock and felt like it would burst through the flimsy panties she was wearing. At that moment, she felt him spasm, and globs of his warm liquid filled her mouth.

“Swallow it. Swallow all of it”

Nancy tried her best to comply with his request. She took huge gulps of his cum, but despite her efforts, it ran down the sides of her shinny lips and out of her mouth and dripping onto her dress. Leaving its small telltale signs of evidence, of what she had just done to his cock.

Finally, Harold was spent, and he leaned back gasping for breath, still holding Nancy’s head down with his penis in her sexy feminine looking mouth.

“That was wonderful Nancy. I wish I could reciprocate. Maybe when your period is over, you’ll let me do the same for you”

Nancy could only nod as she sat up. She had needs of her own and was not sure how to fulfill them. She realized that she had better hide her own hardon from Harold. She quickly crossed her legs and adjusted her skirt to hide the evidence from him. If he found out she was a male, well, she shuddered to think about it.

“It looks like the movie is over Nancy. I had better take you home. It’s late and I’ll see you tomorrow at the party, won’t I?” She nodded. As they drove home, Nancy thought about her day. She had never dreamed when she got up that morning as Norman, that she would end the day as Nancy, wearing a pretty yellow dress and giving another male head. Harold walked her to the door of Lois’ house. He put his arms around Nancy’s waist and bent over to kiss her. She felt herself getting hard all over again as his tongue entered her mouth. She finally managed to break away from him.

“Good night, Harold”, she whispered, “I’ll see you tomorrow”, and she slipped inside the house.

Chapter 4 – Girls’ Playgirl

“Well, well, well, look who finally came home. Did you enjoy your date with Harold?”, asked Andrea. “I guess you did from the looks of it” she laughed as she stared at the bulge in his dress. “I would say something has turned on our little girl. I wonder what it was. What do you think, Lois?”

Nancy was greatly embarrassed and could feel her face turning a deep shade of red. She was also feeling a great need to satisfy the tension that had built up in her groin. If only it wasn’t so obvious to his stepsister and Lois.

“I think our little friend has tasted something other than her dinner” said Lois. “How do you think her lipstick got smudged and what do you suppose this white stuff is on her face, and also on her dress? This was one of my favorite dresses. You now owe me for a new dress!”

“That’s too bad”, said Andrea, “as I recall she spent all her money today on a new dress for herself, and taking us out to dinner. Maybe she can work it off. She could be your personal maid.”

“Good idea”, said Lois. “She can start right now!”

Nancy was stripped down to her bra and panties, which were still bulging from her unsatisfied needs. She was given a short yellow nightie to put on and led upstairs to the bedroom.

“We can’t have her mess up the sheets”, said Lois. “That thing of hers looks like it will burst any minute.”

“What should we do?” asked Andrea.

Lois got some rope, and soon Nancy’s hands were tied to his thighs.

“You’ll sleep on your back, and don’t try anything during the night”, said Lois.

She was led to the bed where she was ordered to lie on her back in the middle. With her hands tied, it was not a very comfortable position.

“Please untie my hands. I promise I won’t make a mess”, she said.

Her plea was ignored by the two girls, who disappeared into another room. They returned shortly, ready for bed. Both wore sexy babydoll pajamas, with no panties, which only caused Nancy more discomfort, as she could clearly see both girl’s bodies through the transparent material.

Lois got into bed first. She lay next to Nancy, and stroked the inside of her thigh, while kissing her. It was designed to arouse Nancy and it succeeded.

Nancy was delirious with her need. If only Lois would touch her dick, she would explode right there. But Lois had no such intention. She watched as Lois got to her knees. She crawled on top of Nancy, positioning herself over her face.

The feminized male knew what was expected of him. As Lois lowered herself, his tongue strained to reach the honey box of the girl on top. Lois moved around, allowing Nancy’s tongue to find and caress her whole vaginal area. He found her clit, and heard Lois moan in ecstasy. Nancy continued to caress the clit as Lois was beside herself with ecstasy. He then found her vagina and inserted his tongue inside. Lois put all her weight on Nancy’s face, with the bound girl’s tongue in her vagina. She moved her tongue in and out, simulating the action of a prick. Lois moaned again at the great pleasure she was experiencing. She could feel herself building up to a climax as Nancy once again found her clit.

Then Lois tensed, locking her knees around his face, squeezing as hard as she could. Nancy felt the intense pressure, as the girl’s juices ran over her face.

Lois would not let up as her orgasm continued, sending her to new heights. The pain Nancy felt caused tears to come to her eyes and stream down her cheeks, mixing with the vaginal juices of Lois. Finally, Lois reached her climax, and collapsed on top of the bound girl. Nancy lay there weeping, from the pain caused by Lois, and from her own frustration of not being allowed to orgasm.

Her penis was sticking straight up, as hard as it had ever been, but would know no relief tonight.

She lay there, wide awake and frustrated. Lois and Andrea were asleep on either side of her. Her muscles ached from being kept in the one position and her own needs and desires had not been met. She could feel the tears in her eyes as she relived the day.

“I haven’t cried this much since I was a little girl, er boy”, she thought.

“If only I hadn’t put on that girl’s bathing suit, none of this would have happened. But I did enjoy playing with Lois in the pool, and wearing a dress wasn’t all that bad. Yes it was! What am I thinking. I’m a boy and I don’t want to wear a dress”.

Yet his mind wandered to the pretty dress he had bought for the party, and he found himself getting excited thinking about it. He also thought about his date with Harold. He really had enjoyed being held and kissed by the boy and even had enjoyed sucking his prick. He had really thought of himself as a girl, when he had the boy’s prick in his mouth. He found himself thinking of the party, when he would be able to dance with Harold, and felt ashamed. He knew he had to stop thinking like that, but could not stop himself. Then his mind roamed to the dressing room, and his session with Maureen. He imagined he could feel the dildo she used in his ass, and remembered the excitement he had felt. He could taste her sweet juices. He could also taste Lois. She had been the one who he had dressed for in the first place, and he had enjoyed giving her pleasure. He finally had to admit to himself that he was looking forward to the new day. He didn’t know for sure what his stepsister and Lois had in store for him, but he knew it would be as Nancy, and he anticipated it, with both fear and excitement.

Chapter 5 – Queen for a Day

“Well sleeping beauty, it’s time to get up. You have allot of work to do to get ready for the party.”

Nancy woke up, feeling that she had hardly slept at all. She was aware of the ache in her arms, as they remained securely tied to the sides of her body. The girls untied her and led her to the bathroom. They added to her humiliation as they watched her relieve herself, sitting like a girl, and then bathed her, leaving no part of her body untouched. The frustration she had felt yesterday was reborn, but the girls had no intention of satisfying Nancy’s needs.

After her bath they dried and powdered her, and even dabbed some perfume on her neck, and then led the feminized boy to the bedroom to dress. Today, she would be in basic black. Black bikini panties with matching bra and slip, black pantyhose, black patent leather shoes with medium heels, and a black dress with a white lace collar that went halfway down her thighs made up the outfit. After applying her makeup and fixing her hair, Andrea produced a white frilly apron and cap. When Nancy looked in the mirror, she realized that she looked like a maid, and that was what she was going to be.

Nancy spent the morning doing housework. She made breakfast for her mistresses, cleaned the kitchen, bathrooms, made the bed, dusted, vacuumed, and washed clothes. Lois or Andrea, or both were there supervising her every move, and forcing her to do it over if she didn’t accomplish the task to expectations.

Several times she was near tears, and only with great effort was Nancy able to hold them back. By lunchtime, she was exhausted, and she wondered what else they would have come up with for her do.

“You did such a good job as our maid, we are going to reward you, Nancy. We will allow you to go outside this afternoon. It is such a beautiful day, and we wouldn’t want you to miss it”, announced Andrea.

“We have an order at the grocery store for the party tonight. Why don’t you go pick it up. Oh, and don’t get any ideas about not coming back. You will not have any money or keys to our house, and you won’t get far dressed like that.”

“You mean I have to go wearing all these fancy looking girls clothes?” asked Nancy.

“Of course not, silly”, said Lois “Do you think we would make you go out looking like a French maid?”

As Norman heaved a sigh of relief, he heard Lois say “Take off your apron and cap. We’ll comb your hair and fix your makeup. Then you can go to the store.”

Soon Nancy found herself outside the house, with instructions to pick up the groceries and return home. If she wasn’t back in 30 minutes, the whole town would learn of her escapades the last 24 hours. Nancy knew she had no choice but to obey. She had no way of getting away, and even if she did, had nowhere to go. To make matters worse, she was starting to enjoy her new role as a female, and the clothes were exciting her. She was not left alone long enough to satisfy what was becoming an urgent need, at least not until now, and she could hardly relieve her frustrations in the street. She walked to the store, certain that everyone who saw her would know she was not a real girl. To her great relief, people accepted her for what she seemed to be, and in fact, one of the grocery clerks flirted with her and insisted on carrying her groceries home.

When they got home, Andrea was sitting on the front porch with a smile on her face.

“Who’s your friend Nancy?” she asked.

“I..Andrea, this is Robert. He insisted on carrying my groceries.

“Well, Robert I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Nancy’s step sister. We are having a party tonight. Would you like to come? We always have room for an extra person.”

“Sure, it sounds like fun and its a pleasure to meet you too, Andrea. Well, I had better get back to work. See you girls tonight. Good bye Nancy.”

“Oh, g..good bye Robert, and thank you”, she stammered.

“Well Nancy, it looks like you won another heart. What are you going to do with two boys fighting over you tonight. Ha ha, I can hardly wait to see how you handle it. I may take notes. Who knows, maybe I’ll learn something.”

Chapter 6 – The Party

Nancy found herself anxiously waiting for the guests to arrive. She was very nervous and kept looking in the mirror to see if she could detect any flaws.

She hadn’t found any, and in fact was amazed at how pretty she looked in the new dress and shoes. The lace bodice of her slip showed through the dress and made her look very sexy. She felt very feminine, indeed, and prayed she could make it through tonight undetected.

As the first guests arrived, Nancy tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. Andrea and Lois made sure that she was introduced to everyone, however, and she had difficulty remaining in the background.

Harold arrived and made a beeline for her. When he reached her, he gave her a big kiss. Nancy could feel a stirring in her loins as Harold led her to the dance floor, and soon she was in his arms, being swept around the floor. She could not understand why she felt so good, but found herself wishing the dance would never end. Then Robert came, and the next dance belonged to him. Nancy’s nervousness gradually abated when she realized that everyone was accepting her as a girl, and she alternated dances with the two young men who were obviously very interested in her. She found herself thinking it would be nice to spend the night with one of them. Only when she caught sight of Andrea smiling at her, was she jolted back to realty. She excused herself and went to the bathroom. She tried to figure out how to extract herself from her predicament.

Having no experience with warding off unwanted advances from males, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. She was certain that Harold would not take no for an answer, particularly after last night.

“That’s it”, she thought. “If I play up to Robert, then Harold will leave me alone, and than I’ll tell Robert that I don’t screw around on a first date.”

When she returned to the party, the lights had been turned down, and it was obvious that the boys and girls had paired up and found places where they could have some privacy. She soon found Robert on one side of her and Harold on the other. They literally dragged her to another room. She could see that they were angry about something, and it occurred to her that Andrea or Lois may have told them the truth about her. She became very frightened.

“It is obvious Nancy, that you have been playing Robert and I against each other. We are friends, and will not allow any girl to come between us. After last night, I know you are no shy wallflower. As I told Robert, you gave the best head I have ever received, and I think it only appropriate that you do the same for my friend.”

She watched Robert drop his pants as Harold kept a firm grip on her arm. He forced her to her knees with her head next to his friend’s prick. Nancy could feel the tears well up in her eyes, and before she could protest, she found a long, thick pole being forced into her mouth. She could hear him moaning as he held her head steady while thrusting his cock in and out of her mouth. She found that she was enjoying it, as she had the night before with Harold. When Robert finally exploded into her mouth, she was ready for him and swallowed every drop of his creamy liquid.

No sooner had she gotten to her feet when Robert took her in his arms and kissed her, then she became aware of a hand caressing her bottom, and felt her skirt being lifted up above her waist. Panic set in when she felt a hand pulling her nylons and panties down in the back. She knew she was in real trouble if they discovered the secret she had in her pants, but was helpless to do anything to prevent it. Miraculously, Harold saw nothing, intent on satisfying his own needs. He was preparing to penetrate her anus, neither one aware of the bulge in the front of her panties. Robert released her and she found herself on the couch with her ass in the air as Harold entered her. Soon they were in the throes of ecstasy. It did not take long for Harold to shoot his load. The pretty boy could feel the warm liquid shooting up his ass. It was an incredible feeling, as Nancy imagined herself a girl, receiving her boyfriend’s sperm in her vagina. She also had an urgent need and wasn’t sure how to take care of it.

The excitement of the past 24 hours was catching up with her, and he realized that she could not contain herself much longer. If she came, she would give away her secret, but she was powerless to prevent it any longer. The friction of her panties rubbing against her erection was enough to cause her to erupt, soaking her new undies with her cum.

Nancy collapsed on the couch with Harold on top of her. She began to cry. Harold slowly lifted himself off the prostrate boy. Nancy rolled off the couch, pulling her dress down in the front, and praying it had not been stained. She got to her feet, pulled up her panties and ran off to the bathroom.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that her cum had not seeped through to her dress. Her new panties were soaked through and her slip was damp. She removed her panties along with her pantyhose. Her first thought was that she hoped they wouldn’t be permanently stained, but realized her first priority was to make it through the rest of the night without being discovered.

Then checking to be sure no one would see her, she made her way to Lois’ bedroom, leaving her cum soaked panties in the bathroom. Fortunately the bedroom was empty. She borrowed a pair of the girl’s panties, realizing that she would probably be punished for it, and replaced her nylons. Then she checked her hair and repaired her makeup, and made her way back to the boys.

When she returned, Robert was gone.

“He has to get up early tomorrow to go to work. He sent his apologies” said Harold. “This means I have you all to myself. Let’s get out of here for a while and go for a walk.”

Figuring that she might be safer outside, Nancy agreed. Holding hands they walked several blocks, coming to a park. They went into the park and stood by the lake watching the moon rise on a beautiful night. She soon found herself in his arms engaged in some heavy kissing. She could feel his erection growing again along with her own. She held her knees tightly together hoping it would subside, but his kisses were exciting her and she realized that her dress was now sticking out like a tent. Before she could stop him, she felt his hand reach under her skirt, caressing the inside of her thigh. He brought his hand up, brushing it against her prick. Then he grabbed it.

“What’s the meaning of this he said?” as he lifted her skirt all the way up, so he could see the bulge in her panties. “Pull down your panties!”

Afraid of him, she dropped them enough so that he could see her erection pop out. She stood there, shivering with fear, as he looked at her with disbelief.

He approached her and surprising her dropped to his knees in front of her. He took her in his mouth and began to suck it. Nancy was shocked, never having had this done to her before and moaned with the pleasure it gave her. When she finally erupted, Harold eagerly drank the warm cum, swallowing every drop. Then they switched positions, and Nancy, anxious to please her new friend did the same. Afterward they embraced, kissing more passionately than before.

“This will be our little secret. Ok?”

“Yes!” Nancy responded. For the first time since her masquerade began, she was totally at ease.

They walked back to the party with Nancy clinging to him. When they got back to the house, the party had broken up. Harold gave her a quick kiss and left. Nancy stared after him as he got in his car and drove off, dreaming about being with him again.

Chapter 7 – Still a Girl

Reality hit her as she walked into the house. Lois and Andrea were waiting for her. They took the hapless boy upstairs and stripped him down to his panties and bra.

“Those are my panties!” said Lois. “What are you doing with them?”

“I..I..I had a little accident” Nancy replied, meekly.

“Did you lose your panties while screwing one of your boyfriends?” asked Andrea sarcastically.

Nancy did not reply, but hung his head in shame realizing the implications of his evening’s activities.

“You have to learn you can’t just take someone else’s possessions!” said Lois.

She grabbed him by the arm and threw him to the ground. Norman was shocked at her strength, and before he could get up, she jumped on his back. She began to spank him, and despite his efforts to throw her, he found he was too weak.

“You’re just a little sissy!” she cried. “Making you wear a dress was just what you wanted, wasn’t it? Maybe we should keep you in skirts all the time. You could even go to school in a dress. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No, no!” he cried. “I wouldn’t. Please stop, you’re hurting me.”

Nancy was crying as his pantied ass became sore from the spanking. Finally she stopped, and ordered him to stand. Still crying he scrambled to his feet, covering his genital area.

“Put your hands at your sides, you sniveling baby!”

He did as ordered, revealing his erection.

“You know, Lois, I believe he enjoyed it. I think he likes dressing up like a girl and being spanked, don’t you Nancy?”
The pantied boy stood there with his head down, trying to stop the flow of tears. The two girls stood there staring at him until he finally gained control of his emotions. His erection, however, had not subsided and was evidenced by the bulge in his panties. Andrea reached into his panties and pulled out his prick.

“Stroke it Nancy!”

Afraid to disobey for fear he would again be spanked, he began to stroke himself. He didn’t want to cum in front of them, but he was too excited, and in spite of his own wishes, his milky liquid shot, splattering on his step sister who stood right in front of him. Once he began to cum, he relaxed a little and enjoyed himself, and didn’t stop stroking himself until he was dry.

Andrea was angry that he had cum on her dress and slapped him hard in the face, again bringing tears to his eyes.

“You better hope it doesn’t stain my dress” she said, “or you’ll owe me a new one!”

The two girls led Nancy to the bathroom where they discovered his cum soaked panties.

“It looks like are little Nancy had a busy night” said Lois, causing him to blush.

“Now wash out my dress!” said Andrea.

“And my panties!” said Lois.

“And you might as well wash those” said Andrea pointing to the panties Nancy left in the bathroom.

Standing there in only his bra, he hand washed the delicate items and hung them to dry. He was then led back to the bed room where he was dressed in light blue baby doll pajamas. Again his hands were tied to his thighs and he was put into bed. The girls were too tired tonight for any extra curricular activity, and it wasn’t long before the three of them were soundly asleep.

Chapter 8 – A Maid Again

They were jarred awake early the next morning by the phone. Lois got up to answer it and when she returned she got the others up.

“It was my folks. They’ll be home by noon. We’ve got to get this place cleaned up!”

They quickly untied Nancy and ordered him to put on the black dress he had worn the previous morning. He would again be the maid. This time, however, the girls pitched in to help and by 11:00, the house was spotless.

“One more thing to do.” said Andrea.

“What’s that?” asked Lois.

“The bathtub in your parent’s bathroom.” “But it’s already clean.”

“It won’t be after we bathe” smiled Andrea.

The two girls and Nancy stripped and got into the huge tub. They relaxed in the bubbles for half an hour before getting out.

Nancy, naked, was ordered to clean the tub. He was dressed in a yellow short sleeved sweater, tight denim miniskirt, yellow bobby sox and tennis sneakers. As he had for the previous day and a half, he looked just like a teenage girl.

“What are you doing?” asked Lois. “You don’t want him to meet my parents dressed like that, do you?”

“Trust me!” said Andrea, as she finished putting on his makeup.

Any fight Nancy had left was taken out of him by the spanking Lois had given him the night before, and he had submitted meekly to their demands this morning. The prospect of meeting her parents while dressed as a girl, shocked him out of his trance, and he began to protest, hoping Lois would side with him.

Andrea, however, was in full control of the situation, and slapped him a few times until he calmed down.

“You will do as I say, little sister, or I will take you over my knee!”

That calmed him down immediately as he realized she was quite capable of doing just that, and would probably enjoy it. The three of them had just gone downstairs when they heard the key in the lock. Nancy was petrified, Lois a bit nervous, but Andrea seemed full of confidence. Her plan was working to perfection.

Lois greeted her parents as they walked in, giving them both a hug and kiss.

Andrea also hugged them and then introduced them to Nancy.

‘This is my new step sister, Nancy!”

“But I thought you had a step brother. Your mother said nothing about a girl?” Lois mother said.

“You must have misunderstood. Nancy is definitely a girl, aren’t you?” she said as she turned to the skirted boy. He nodded but said nothing.

“We have to go home now. Lois, I’ll see you tomorrow. Come on Nancy, let’s go!”

She grabbed him by the arm and threw him to the ground. Norman was shocked at her strength, and before he could get up, she jumped on his back. She began to spank him, and despite his efforts to throw her, he found he was too weak.

“You’re just a little sissy!” she cried. “Making you wear a dress was just what you wanted, wasn’t it? Maybe we should keep you in skirts all the time. You could even go to school in a dress. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No, no!” he cried. “I wouldn’t. Please stop, you’re hurting me.”

Nancy was crying as his pantied ass became sore from the spanking. Finally she stopped, and ordered him to stand. Still crying he scrambled to his feet, covering his genital area.

“Put your hands at your sides, you sniveling baby!”

He did as ordered, revealing his erection.

“You know, Lois, I believe he enjoyed it. I think he likes dressing up like a girl and being spanked, don’t you Nancy?”
The pantied boy stood there with his head down, trying to stop the flow of tears. The two girls stood there staring at him until he finally gained control of his emotions. His erection, however, had not subsided and was evidenced by the bulge in his panties. Andrea reached into his panties and pulled out his prick.

“Stroke it Nancy!”

Afraid to disobey for fear he would again be spanked, he began to stroke himself. He didn’t want to cum in front of them, but he was too excited, and in spite of his own wishes, his milky liquid shot, splattering on his step sister who stood right in front of him. Once he began to cum, he relaxed a little and enjoyed himself, and didn’t stop stroking himself until he was dry.

Andrea was angry that he had cum on her dress and slapped him hard in the face, again bringing tears to his eyes.

“You better hope it doesn’t stain my dress” she said, “or you’ll owe me a new one!”

The two girls led Nancy to the bathroom where they discovered his cum soaked panties.

“It looks like are little Nancy had a busy night” said Lois, causing him to blush.

“Now wash out my dress!” said Andrea.

“And my panties!” said Lois.

“And you might as well wash those” said Andrea pointing to the panties Nancy left in the bathroom.

Standing there in only his bra, he hand washed the delicate items and hung them to dry. He was then led back to the bed room where he was dressed in light blue baby doll pajamas. Again his hands were tied to his thighs and he was put into bed. The girls were too tired tonight for any extra curricular activity, and it wasn’t long before the three of them were soundly asleep.

Chapter 9 – Auntie’s New Niece

On the walk home they met several people Andrea knew. She introduced to Nancy to all of them as her step sister. They also ran into some of the kids who were at the party the previous night. Nancy wondered how she could ever appear in town as Norman. Everyone would know he had been dressing like a girl. The more he thought about it, the more depressed he became. By the time they got home, he felt like crying.

“Don’t even think about changing your clothes, Nancy!”

He was sufficiently afraid of his step sister by now that he meekly obeyed her, and the two of them were sitting in the living room when Andrea’s mother arrived home. She noticed Nancy sitting there, but did not recognize her. After greeting her daughter she asked about Norman and wanted to meet Andrea’s new friend.

‘This is Norman, mother, though when he dresses like this he wants to be called Nancy.”

Mrs. Malone stood there stunned. She stared at the pretty girl sitting on the sofa, looking sad and afraid. Finally, she realized that the feminine looking creature with the shapely legs showing beneath her miniskirt was, indeed, her stepson.

“What’s the meaning of this, Norman?”

Norman wanted to die right there. Before he could answer, Andrea spoke up, and he was forced to listen to her distorted story about his feminization.

“I can explain, mother” said Andrea, “please sit down. It started Friday afternoon. Lois invited him to go swimming but Norman used it as an excuse to get undressed and try on her clothes. I came over and there he was, wearing one of Lois’ dresses. Not only that, but her underwear and makeup.”

‘That’s not the way it was!” cried Norman.

“Quiet! Are you calling Andrea a liar? Continue dear!”

“He apologized for putting on her dress and begged us to get him some girl’s clothing of his own. Maybe we were wrong, mother, but we felt sorry for him and took him shopping. We bought him a complete outfit. He has been dressed like a girl since then, even going to the party as a girl. I think he made out with Harold, last night. I loaned him the outfit he’s wearing, after he begged me.

Please don’t be hard on him. He’s just confused.”

“So, all of the kids at the party, the same ones he’ll go to school with, thinks he is a girl” her mother said.

“Also Lois’ folks and several other people we met today on the way home. Almost everyone thought you said you had a step son, but he convinced them you had a step daughter. I don’t know how you’ll explain it.”

Mrs. Malone sat there quietly for awhile, looking at her sissy step son. He sat there demurely with his legs crossed, a touch of lace from his pretty white slip showing and looking very self conscious.

“He really does look like a girl” she thought to herself. “He needs some instruction in female mannerisms and behavior, but he is very feminine.”

“Alright” she said. “Nancy, you will remain in the house for the next several days while I decide what to do. During that time you will wear only girl’s clothing which you will borrow from Andrea. Andrea, you will lend Nancy any clothes she wants. Is this clear to both of you?”

“Yes mother” they both responded together.

Chapter 10 – Decision Day

Several days later, Mrs. Malone called the girls together to tell them of her decision.

“Nancy, I have decided that you will remain a girl. The two of you will take all of your male clothing and put it in boxes. It will be given to charity. We will shop for a new wardrobe of girls’ clothing for you over the next week. I have scheduled you for a breast implant next week. Whether or not we ultimately change your sex will be decided at a later date.”

Hearing that, Norman began to cry. This had gone a lot farther than he ever thought it would. He begged his step mother to reconsider, but she said that her decision was final, and that he had brought it all on himself, when he decided to wear all those frilly and pretty girls clothes.

“Furthermore” she continued, you have been enrolled at Ms. Kate’s School for Young Ladies as has your sister. The two of you will be roommates, since we can’t very well have Nancy rooming with another girl.”

Now it was Andrea’s turn to object, but she too found her mother was adamant.

Mrs. Malone did not think Andrea’s story rang true and had suspected that Andrea was behind the whole affair. She felt that the damage done, however, could not be easily undone and that keeping her step son in skirts was the best solution.

Sending Andrea to school with Nancy was her way of punishing her, since she knew her daughter would object.

As promised, Nancy’s wardrobe was replaced with skirts, blouses, dresses, lingerie, and all of the accessories appropriate for a seventeen year old girl.

He was told he would finish high school as a girl, and if he chose to move away at that time, he could again resume his male identity.

Nancy never did wear pants again, though he still has his male equipment. Lois was sworn to secrecy as were the two women in the dress shop. It took awhile for him to accept his fate, but once he did he learned to enjoy his femininity.

Andrea, once over her anger, treated him like the sister he had become, sharing her clothes with her, giving her advice about boys, and became very protective of her sister. Nancy and Harold dated when she was home on school breaks.

After college they were married. Though she cannot have children, he revels in being Harold’s wife and taking care of him, as a good wife should.

The End

Trained to Be a Girl

Trained to be a girl
It was just to be a romantic, ordinary kind of evening, but little did this macho horndog realize the spell of femininity Ava would have him under. Make-up, panty girdle, garter belt, real silk hose, sling backs. She knows how to make him a “her”, to play with just the way She wants. Her little bitch whore is doing everything she is told!

A Maid is Made

a maid is made!

“Damn, Damn, Damn,” Jeff exclaimed as he threw the classified section of the morning paper on his bedroom floor. “To get a job today you gotta be a broad!”

Jeff Peatrie was an unemployed actor and had been out of work, any kind of work, for three months. He usually worked in Broadway musicals, but the musicians had been on strike for a long time, so that avenue had been cut offto him. Worse than that, the job situation for males in Manhattan was virtually non-existent.

“Secretaries, department store help, household cooks –that’s what they want. Maids … maids … that might be an idea. My girl friends tell me that I’m too pretty for their tastes, and there was the show that I developed that high, falsetto voice,” Jeff mused with his chin thoughtfully in his hand. “Falsies, a dress, a wig … make-up will be no problem with my show-biz training.”

Three hours later Jeff returned with an armload of packages. He went into the bedroom and lay them down on the bed, thinking as he removed a pair of opera-length white kid gloves from a slender box, “I hated to spend the money for these, but my arms are just too masculine. I’d be spotted in a second.”

He opened the packages and spread the contents on the bed. There was an extremely large white lace bra, and an equally large pair of falsies to fill it, an exquisite white leather corset to squeeze in his mid-section and thrust out his bottomcheeks, a skimpy pair of white nylon panties, a

black satin maid’s uniform with a frilly white cap and apron. Sheer black nylons and skyscraper-heeled black patent leather sling-back pumps completed the array that he spread out on his bed.

Jeff had been repulsed at the idea of dressing up in female clothing. But as he handled the silky garments, felt their wondrously smooth texture, his penis began to swell in his trousers as he thought about having these garments next to his skin.

“The corset’s going to be the toughest, I’d better start with that,” he mused as he stripped quickly, startled to see his penis ramrod-stiff and swaying ponderously to and fro in front of him. “Oh, you like the idea, do you, Buster?” he laughed.

Fortunately the corset was multi-boned, so it stood up by itself as Jeff wrapped it around his waist. Lacing proved very difficult. He just couldn’t find the eyelets with the rawhide lace. He solved this by standing with his back to a mirror. It was difficult to exert the proper amount of pressure with his arms awkwardly behind his back, but Jeff was strong and somehow he managed it, little chilis coursing up and down his spine at the wonderful sensation of the fine leather on his bare flesh.

With the greatest difficulty he managed a bow at the top, and then he stepped back from the mirror to survey the result.

“My God, if it wasn’t for old Buster wagging back and forth with approval, I’d take you for a girl already,” he grinned, for the squeezing qualities of the corset had given him an hour-glass shape. He knew that the addition of falsies and bra would make him sensational.

There was one package that he hadn’t opened, and he took this into the bathroom. He took out a short, black wig, and some make-up paraphernalia. Looking in the bathroom mirror, he painted his lips richly, going over his own outline and creating a Cupid’s bow effect. Expertly he added some light blue eye shadow, then brushed mascara on his lashes. Finally he rubbed some rouge into his cheeks briskly. When he added the close-fitting wig, Jeff Peatrie had been transformed into a ravishing woman.

“If I can keep from getting a hard on, I’U never be spotted,” he chuckled as he returned to the bedroom and began the difficult task of tugging on the long white kid gloves.

He had noticed how women work each finger individually into a glove before tugging the remaining portion over their arms, so he copied them and it worked beautifully. Then it was the pair of white nylon panties’ turn. Immediately he realized that he should have bought a larger pair. These were not designed to contain the bulk of a man’s genitals, especially those in the swollen state of Jeff’s. It was an impossible task. He let them snap shut over his testicles, and he chuckled at the erotic effect of his rigid manhood swaying over his panty-clad testicles.

A Maid is Made

Blood coursed hotly through his veins, and his pulse raced as he tugged on the dusky nylon stockings. The taut effect of the tissue-thin fabric on his legs was just as sensational to him as the tightness of his corset and gloves, and his erect penis beat the air with renewed vigor.
He drew down the elasticised garter straps and clipped them to the tops of the hose, they in turn stretching the sheer nylons upwards into inverted V’s. The sleek black nylons had made his legs shapely, devastating, completely feminine, and when he slipped the sling-back pumps on his feet, the six inch heels lengthened his legs, making them even more sensational.

Then Jeff turned his attention to the bra. When it was on the cups hung limply on his chest, but the falsies soon solved this problem. He practised walking in the unfamiliar stilt-heels. It was awkward at first, forcing him to walk in little mincing steps, but after fifteen minutes of walking around his bedroom, he had mastered the art sufficiently to venture forth.

The black satin maid’s uniform fitted his now completely feminine body like wet tissue paper. Putting the white cap and apron into a purse that he had purchased, Jeff left his apartment, ready as he ever would be … for action. What kind of action he couldn’t imagine.

Claire Vantassel was in a black mood. Her advertisement in the Times for a personal maid had gone unanswered for three days. “Times certainly have changed. Nowdays a girl would rather go on unemployment or relief before she’d be a personal maid to anyone,” she thought as she stormed back and forth in her bedroom, her floor-length black lace negligee flowing behind her, her huge breasts jiggling enticingly in the confines of her matching lace black longline bra.

She wouldn’t have been quite so upset if she had known that at that moment someone was approaching her posh apartment house in the east eighties, coming to apply for the job.

On the sidewalk outside, Jeff was getting a charge out of the effect he was having on the male onlookers as he passed by, his legs flashing in their sheathing of black nylon as they reflected the rays of the mid-day sun, the big, falsie-stuffed bra thrusting arrogantly at the front of his high-necked uniform. He almost stopped traffic. Cabbies honked their horns, truck drivers whistled.

As he approached a building under construction, Jeff noticed a group of hard-hats sitting along a high wood fence that ran along the sidwalk, eating their lunch. His tendency was to cross the street and avoid trouble, but he decided to continue on past them. If anyone could tell he was a fraud, it would be a group of close-inspecting, horny hard-hats.

A Maid is Made

Men stopped chewing, their mouths dropped open, as Jeff swivel-hipped his way by them, his spike-heels clicking on the sidewalk. A handsome, muscular blond worker rose and as Jeff passed by he pinched his rump, grinning, “How about it, baby? Ya got a date tonight?” Jeff turned and lowered his right fist almost to the sidewalk, then with all of the power in his strong arm he smashed the impudent worker on the point of his jaw, with an uppercut sending him flying into the board fence, where he crashed down in a heap, unconscious. The workers on that particular site were to talk of nothing else for the next few weeks other than the broad with the unbelievable punch.

Claire Vantassel was quite impressed with the lovely young woman who applied for the job. Perhaps she was a bit too lovely, a bit too sexually appealing. After all, she had a husband, and he was all male. She had better keep on eye on him. She had introduced herself as Bobette, and she had a delightful French accent. A bit throaty perhaps, but after all hadn’t every French chanteuse she had ever heard been on the throaty side?

To Jeff’s horror he found his manhood rising to a whopping erection as he drank in Mrs. Van-tassel’s incredible pulchritude, so devastatingly revealed by her close-fitting, black-lace negligee, black mesh stockings and long-line bra, her garter straps deliciously framing a massive black pelt that ran upwards almost to her navel.

Quickly he damped his purse over his groin.

She offered him a chair, and he sat down, his legs spread, his purse held firmly in his lap, for if he hadn’t it would have been dancing all over the place.

“Your duties actually will be very simple,” Mrs. Vantassel was saying. “You’11 tend to my wardrobe, see that everything is clean and pressed at all times. When I rise in the mornings I will tell you what I intend to wear.

You will lay it out on my bed and then assist me with my bath. Then you will help me dress.”
Jeff’s knees grew weak. He had to apply additional pressure on the purse or it would have flown to the ceiling.

The prospect of bathing this ravishing blonde creature, then dressing her, was a bit too much for him to take all at once.

Suddenly Jeff’s new employer took a pack of cigarettes off of her dressing table and tossed it into his lap, saying, “Give me a cigarette and light it, please.”

Jeff brought his knees together and caught the pack of cigarettes, horrified because he knew that in order to light her cigarette in no way could he hold the purse over his raging boner at the same time. He fumbled in his purse for some matches. When he found one and looked up, he was delighted to find that she was standing directly in front of him, her face almost obscured by her enormous, jutting breasts. He wouldn’t have to rise, so he was safe. He handed her a cigarette, and he couldn’t keep his hand from shaking as he struck a match and offered her a light.

Female-like, she cupped the back of his quivering hand, excitement, racing through him at the delightful contact, her talon-like, brilliantly-painted nails, the type that only a woman of leisure could nurture and grow, resting like a cat’s claws on the back of his hand.

In the privacy of the room that had been set aside for him, Jeff did a lot of thinking that night. If a simple little thing like the touch of her hand on his would cause him to almost blow his mind, he would certainly pass out when he attempted to bathe and dress this awesome-busted woman. His penis would prove a constant problem. He couldn’t carry his purse with him as he performed his duties. The apron would help. It was small but it was frilly and fluffy. It just might do the job.

Other thoughts were bothering him. He liked the feeling of the feminine garments on his body. Walking along the street he had loved the tautness of his hose and garter straps, the way the straps tightened, stretching his stockings to the bursting point, then loosened with his steps. He was thrilled by the sensation of the cold garter clasps as they dug into his thigh. He even liked the constricting feeling of his corset and gloves. Jeff had heard much about transvestites and had always been disgusted at the thought of them … was he becoming one? The following morning, Jeff was startled to find that he just couldn’t wait to get into the array of garments that hung neatly over a chair. He managed the corset easier this time. He lingered over his stockings, literally caressing them upwards over his legs, excitedly attaching the garter clasps. Then he ran his hands over his silky limbs, marveling at the sensation of the ivory-smooth nylon, as thrilled as though he were handling a girl’s legs rather than his own. In short, Jeff was a very confused young man when he approached his employer’s bedroom.
Mrs. Vantassel was awake, stretching, as Jeff carefully opened the door.

“Pour my bath, Bobette. Make it a bubble bath. You’ll find the bottle in the medicine cabinet.”
“Oui, Madame,” Jeff replied in his girlish voice as he went into the master bath and turned on the water, getting the bubble bath liquid from the medicine closet and pouring some into the rapidly filling tub. He turned and almost collapsed on the spot as he saw his ravishing employer appraoching, completely naked, her bare feet padding on the thick shag rug, her gigantic breasts swaying heavily back and forth like two goatskin bags filled with milk, her enormous aureoles and nipples like twin beacons in a storm.

Jeff had an instant erection, but the soft folds of his apron disguised the fact nicely. He breathed a sigh of relief as his mistress settled her awesome assortment of ripe curves into the water. To his utter amazement her great teats floated on the water in front of her, bobbing about in the bubbles like twin beach bails in a frothy surf.

“I-is eet too hot, Madame?” queried Jeff as he had all he could do to resist the temptation to take one of those great, milky globes in his hands and smother it with frantic kisses.

“No, it’s just the way I like it, Bobette. Wash my back for me, please,” she replied sweetly, her gigantic globes bobbing about madly now as she scooped some soapy water on them.

She leaned forward as Jeff began to wash her back with the cloth, her breasts seemingly detached and apart from her as they bobbed further in front of her, the aureoles and nipples a brilliant red and glistening from their sudsy coating.

“Do my breasts for me now, sweetheart,” Mrs. Vantassel smiled when he had finished her back, leaning against the back of the tub now, her great teats riding higher in the sudsy water now.
Jeff’s manhood began to thump against the side of the tub as he hesitated for a moment. Dare he pick one of those enticing morsels up in order to wash it properly? It would seem the thing to do.

Boldly, Jeff slid his right hand beneath a massive globe and hoisted it out of the water, his hand almost disappearing from sight in its pillowing softness. It was tremendously heavy, like a basketball filled with water, as he meticulously washed the upper portion, then repeated the process with its mate.

Later, Jeff was in the bedroom, going through the delicious process of dressing his Mistress. First he had pulled on her stockings, spending much more time than was necessary to accomplish the delightful task. She had chosen a black leather corset with a demi-bra that served to merely cup the undersides of her enormous gourds and shape them upwards and out. The corset he had managed, the laces tied in a bow at the back. Now he was standing behind her attempting to stuff her swollen breasts into their cups. No apron could disguise the boner he now possessed, but fortunately her back was to him.

Suddenly to his horror she thrust her rump backwards and wriggled it against his hard on, forcing it into her ass-cleavage, giggling, “My goodness, but you have a big erection for me this morning … young man.” “Y-Young man?”

“Yes, I’ve known all along,” she smiled wickedly, spinning around and lowering herself to her knees and fumbling for his organ.

“S-Since when?”

“Since you sat down in the chair yesterday.” She inserted her hand into his panties, searching for the erection she knew was there.

“Y-You saw my erection?”

“Not at all. A woman sits with her legs together, or crossed, never with them wide apart.” She had his manhood out now, stroking the taut flesh back and forth easily, licking her full, lips till they shown wickedly.

A Maid is Made

“A … A simple thing like that gave me away?” “Not entirely. I was only suspicious. Did you ever read Huckleberry Finn?”

“I … I think so.”

“Remember the part where Aunt Fanny dropped something into Huck’s lap when he was dressed as a girl, and rather than spreading his legs to catch it as a woman would who is accustomed to wearing a skirt, he gripped it with his knees?”

“Oh yes.”

“Well, you did the same thing with the pack of cigarettes.” The astute Mrs. Vantassel opened her luscious, carmine-laden lips wide apart and swooped forward like a vulture after its prey.


Additional Reading

A Second Job

Second Job

By Jerri Bush

You don’t have to remind me. I promised if Leslie actually did help me try being a bunny, I’d let you know.

I’m almost sorry now that I said it, because things didn’t go at all as we’d planned, but a promise is a promise so here goes.

I imagine, after the first time Leslie helped me dress up, that we were closer than ever before. For one thing we could suddenly talk to each other, without restraint.

We had shared thoughts that were very private, or at least that we’d thought of as private, and by doing that had discovered a lot about ourselves.
I mean, if you’d told me six months earlier that I’d be going out with my gift friend about once a week wearing a dress, bra, bikinis, heels, make-up and a wig, I would have laughed at you, or punched you or something.

But here I was doing it.

I loved all the feminine touches: lipstick (Have you ever noticed that lipstick doesn’t smell like anything else on earth?), nail polish (which actually smells like automotive touch-up paint, but looks neat all the same …), the way my clothes would pick up the scent of my perfume and … well … everything.
The really weird thing, at least to me, was that sex was so much better now, and it had been pretty good before. I think it may be that we were letting ourselves be ourselves, if you get what I mean.

We were lying in bed one morning … well … one afternoon actually, when Leslie brought up the subject of being a bunny again.

“You know,” she began thoughtfully, running a finger from the top of my neck to the base of my spine, “if you’re going to try being a bunny, we’re going to have to make some changes in you.”


“Well, for one thing, you’ll have to let your hair grow.

The wig looks good, and it’s fine for an evening out, but as a bunny you’ll be under close scrutiny, and it will have to be your own hair.”

“Ummm,” I said, considering the idea of close scrutiny for the first time, “maybe it would be better if we don’t…”

“Doesn’t the idea still appeal to you?”

“Well … sure … maybe more than ever.”

“Then I think we ought to give it a try. You’ll hate yourself if you never do it.”
“I don’t know …”

“Oh, I think you can do it if you put yourself in my hands.”

“Now the part about putting myself in your hands, I like.” And suiting action to words, I did just that.

Leslie didn’t insist, but I knew she was right. By now I

knew I was pretty well committed to letting out the feminine side of my personality.

Once I’d begun, I realized it was something I’d been suppressing a long time. I knew, too, that I couldn’t do that any more.

“When,” I said a few days later, “do you think we ought to aim for?”

Leslie looked me up and down. “About nine months from now.”

I was taken aback. “That bad?” I said.

“No, silly,” she laughed, “but it’ll take about that long for your hair to get to the right length. And we’ll have to teach you all about being a bunny. There’s not too much, but we can’t risk your making a mistake over some simple thing you should know.”

“Nine months ..”

“Well, I’m also choosing that time because lots of the gifts are on vacation. That’s when it will be easiest to get you into the club. We’ll have to pick a night when Joyce isn’t around.”


“The Hutch Keeper.”

“The what?”

“You know, I’ve told you about Joyce, the terror of the dressing room.”

“Oh, the one who always gets after you if your locker isn’t neat and stuff like that?”

“She’s the one. I don’t know if I ever told you about her being Hutch Keeper before, but I always thought it was such a silly title.”

“I do think “manager” would be more dignified.” “Dignified isn’t what they were aiming for. Cute is what they were aiming for.”

“In that case they scored a bull’s-eye.”

“Bull’s eye is not quite it.”

“I get your point. Say … isn’t Joyce one of the girls who you thought might.., urn.., well..”

“Take more than a business interest in some of the other girls?”

“I kind of think so. I mean, she’s never made a pass at me or anything, but she’s different somehow. Sometimes I almost feel like she can see right through our bunny outfits.”

“In that case let’s definitely wait until she’s not there!” I said.

So we went to work. I began to learn all the proper techniques for handling trays, writing up checks, fending off customers and so on.

We worked a lot on my voice, using a tape recorder. I

didn’t have to worry a whole lot about what to say, since a bunny’s responses are pretty well standardized.

I went down to the club now and then to see Leslie and her co-workers in action. We’d decided that I’d only do this at the beginning. It wouldn’t do for any of the other girls to get to know me well enough to recognize on sight.
I also saw Joyce now and then. She was a tall woman with a beautiful figure. Leslie said she had started as a bunny herself, and I could believe it. Unfortunately that also meant she had a pretty good idea of what was going on and didn’t let much slip by.

Of course I already knew Bobbi and Audrey, two of the bunnies. In a way they were responsible for this all happening, but I explained all that last time.
Luckily Bobbi was going to start graduate school in another state before our target date which meant we’d only have to worry about Audrey.

I was practicing the “Bunny Bend” one night at Leslie’s (Bunnies bend at the knees not at the waist – no use tempting fate or the customers) and Leslie said, “I hope there’s no trouble about your hair. I love it long, but your boss …”

“Don’t worry about that.” I replied in mid-bend “Long hair in a campus bookstore is about as conspicuous as a pair of jeans. There are a couple of guys on the other shift who have hair longer than I’ll ever have.”

“That’s good to know. What’ll we call you?” “What?”

“Well, Howard is hardly a suitable name for a bunny.” “Yeah, well, I never really thought…”

“I don’t even think there’s a feminine variant of Howard.”

“If there is, I don’t want to know about it.” “How about Helen?”

“Ugh. Sounds too much like a soap opera.” “Well, you think of one. No, wait, how about Hester?” “Too much like something out of first semester American Literature. Just the same … say … what about ‘Heather’?”

“Heather … Heather … you know, that’s not bad. It fits you pretty well, too. Not too frivolous, but not black stockings and sociology texts either. 1 like it if you do.” “I think so. Here’s to Operation Heather!”

Operation Heather, as it was christened that night, swung right along for the next few months.

Then, about seven weeks before we were scheduled to go into action, we had our first setback.

I was sitting in front of the make-up mirror, thinning my eyebrows, when Leslie came in.

“How did it go?” I asked.

“Rotten! Rotten, rotten, rotten!”

“That good, eh? Tell me about it.”

“Gloria is leaving.”

“That’s really terrible. Who’s Gloria?”

“One of the girls at the club. I was counting on using one of her outfits for you. We don’t have anybody else your size.”

“Couldn’t we just make one?”

“Ha. I’ll let you have a good look at one. They’re not something you just whip out on the sewing machine.” Of course Leslie was right. The bunny outfit was as much a piece of corsetry as an outer garment.

“I’m not supposed to have this here,” she said.

“Why not,” I said, “it’s yours isn’t it?”

“No, it belongs to the club. They own them all. They even check our lockers now and then, to make sure they’re all there.”

I thought a minute. “What happens to Gloria’s outfits.

I mean exactly.”

“Well, she’ll leave them when she goes. They’ll send them back and when they hire someone else they’ll have new ones made to the new girl’s measurements.” “Does this happen often?”

“Fairly often. There’s usually someone just leaving or

just coming on.”

“So they might not notice an extra requisition?” “Well I … you may be … Howard, I’ve just figured out one reason I love you.


“You have a devious mind.”

“It’s the company I keep.”

That part of the plan went remarkably smoothly.

Leslie got hold of a requisition form, filled it out with “Heather’s” measurements, and slipped it in with the others for the new girl.

“It was really funny,” she told me later, “the new girl tried out two that were made for her, then she tried on yours. If she hadn’t held onto the top, I think it would have fallen right off her. I told her I’d take care of it.” “Where is it?” I asked.

“Still at the club. I’ll leave it a day or two. Then, if she should happen to mention it to Joyce, I’I1 just say I forgot. I don’t think she will, though, Joyce is kind of intimidating.” “The dreaded Joyce, eh?”

“That’s the one,”

“I’ll have to meet her some day. After Operation Heather!”

The new girl didn’t mention the extra outfit and a few

days later Leslie smuggled it home.

It was beautiful, a sort of deep electric blue satin, At the sides of the chest it was cut to push everything toward the center, a trick their designer has for the bunnies who aren’t … ummm … overly endowed. (Yes, they do hire girls who aren’t. They figure anyone can be padded.) It was cut with a high French leg, too, which gave me the illusion of more hips than I really had. All in all it looked pretty terrific. Even Leslie was impressed.

“Heather, you look gorgeous!”

“Well, I feel gorgeous, so that works out.”

“You should try and wear it about an hour a day, to get used to it.”
“Try and stop me!”

“Well, for right now, I think I’m going to take you out of it.”
I didn’t object at all.

A few days later, Leslie came home in a rush.

“We’re going to have to do Operation Heather this week,” she said, breathless.

“What?! We were supposed to have two weeks more!” “Maybe so, but now’s our chance. There’s flu going around the club, Audrey has it and the doctor says she’ll be out another three days at least.”


“Joyce has it too! Not only does it take care of our biggest obstacle, but it means I’ll be in charge, since I’m senior if they’re both out. It’s perfect! Day after tomorrow, we go!”

Well, at least I didn’t have much time to get nervous.

I took the day off and started to prepare.

I began with a bubble bath and an all over shave. I’ve never had much body hair, but I wanted to be as smooth as possible. After all, a lot shows in those bunny outfits.

After that, I taped, a procedure designed to create cleavage where there really isn’t any.

I’d thought a little about female hormones, but had decided to wait until I was more sure where this was all leading, or, rather, where I wanted it to lead.

Between tape and padding, I managed to raise a fairly respectable cleavage. The club lighting was pretty subdued which was another plus. The more shadows, the more it looked like I had.

I’d said something to Leslie about wishing I didn’t have to pad to fill my bunny costume, but she told me they padded everyone, no matter how big they were.

I did my make-up. Since I’m fair haired I don’t have much problem with my beard. Even if I have a little stubble, it seldom shows because it’s so light.

Since my outfit was blue, and my eyes are, too, I used blue shadow, with charcoal grey. I did my eyes a little heavier than I usually would, but tried not to overdo because the club is very strict about keeping the “girl next door” image.

I’d finished the make-up and was getting into the sheer black tights when Leslie came in.

“Just in time,” I said, “you can help me into my costume.”

“Always happy to oblige. Mmmmmmm …” “Hey, don’t do that or I’ll never fit. It’s pretty snug down there as it is.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll be a good girl, at least until I get you back here tonight.”

“Once we’re back here, you can do that all you want. In fact I encourage it.”

“Goodness and I thought you were a refined young lady.”

“I have my moments.”

Leslie eventually did help me into my costume and I slipped a skirt, blouse and coat over it.

“Now then,” she said, “have you got the timetable down?”

“I come to the back door a half hour after the club opens. You’ll be there. I’ll slip out of these things and into

my ears and cuffs. You’ll put the word out that there’s an extra bunny coming in and I’ll take my station. After an hour, I leave and you’ll tell everyone I got sick, too.” “That’s it. Are you ready?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you look gorgeous, but I’m prejudiced.” Leslie left first. We had to go in separate cars because she wouldn’t finish at the club until several hours after I did.

Or at any rate that was how it was planned.

Everything went as we hoped at first. In fact, it could hardly have gone better. I did my bunny number exactly as I’d learned it. I knew the routine and the other girls accepted me without question.

I moved the way Leslie had taught me and occasionally picked up admiring glances from the customers, and now and then a little envy from the women who were with them.

Through it all my heart was racing with pleasure and excitement. No one could have any idea of how I felt, I thought. It was like having champagne in my veins.

After an hour, Leslie came over.

“Time to go,” she said.

“Oh … come on …” I whispered. “Everything’s going fine. Let me stay. You can certainly use the extra help.”

“Well, that’s true, but I don’t know if it’s a very good idea…”

“Of course it is! Besides, it’s a shame to waste ail this preparation on one hour.”

“I suppose you’re right. Okay, just a little longer.” And that’s how it went the whole evening. Finally, about an hour before closing I agreed it was time to go.

“After all,” Leslie said, “you really can’t change with the other girls, Heather.”
“I suppose not,” I said, “but don’t you think …” “No, now march young lady.”

“Oh, ail right.”

I left the club area and went back into the dressing room. I really regretted having to go. I’d felt good working as a bunny, as good as I’d ever felt in my life.

I went to Leslie’s locker and got my things. I’d taken off my ears and cuffs and started to slip my skirt over my bunny outfit when a throaty contralto voice behind me said, “And what do you think you’re doing, my dear?”

I stood frozen. I tried to say something, but real words wouldn’t come. “Gurk …” was the best I could do. I turned slowly.

There, standing by the office door was Joyce.

“You know the rules,” she said, taking in the fact that a snappy comeback was beyond me.

“The costumes do not leave the club. It’s a good thing I felt well enough to check how things were going.”

“Ulp,” I said.

“You’re new. Are you a replacement?”

I nodded; at least that worked.

“Well, perhaps no one told you.” Her manner softened a little, but only a little. “Here,” she said, “I’ll help you.”

“Unnng,” I managed.

“No, it’s all right, no trouble.”

Joyce walked over and began undoing my costume. I began to pray for a fatal heart attack and didn’t much care whether it hit her or me.

Still, short of trying a quick right to the jaw, there wasn’t much I could do. For one thing I still had my heels on and I knew the odds of out-running her in those. Besides, she looked like the kind of woman who would know karate.

“What?!” she gasped, “What’s going on here?!”

At this point I really felt at a disadvantage. I was standing there in nothing but sheer black tights and heels and a strip of adhesive tape across my chest.

Joyce let go of the bunny costume which slid down to my ankles. No one is in top form in a situation like this.

“Well …” I croaked. At least it was my first real word in some minutes … “actually ..”

Just then the door from the club burst open and Leslie ran in. “Howard,” she called, rounding a bank of lockers, “I just saw Joyce’s car and.., oh … oh … dear…”

I thought this rather an understatement.

A few minutes later we were in Joyce’s office.

“You realize,” she said, “I ought to fire you.” Leslie was almost in tears and I wasn’t in terrific shape even though I’d managed to get back into my skirt and blouse.

“But no harm was done,” I began.

“Just the same, that’s what I should do, isn’t it?” Joyce looked at Leslie. Leslie nodded slowly.

“Now wait,” I said, “I don’t think this is fair. Leslie would never have done it if it wasn’t for me. It was all my idea.” This last wasn’t strictly true, but I felt I should try, anyway.

“What I said,” Joyce looked at me this time “was that I ought to fire her.”

“You mean … aren’t you … but …” Leslie said.

“No I’m not, and I’ll tell you why. But if you ever tell anyone at the club, I’ll have to reconsider.”

“Well, no, of course, but …” I began.

“When I was in Howard’s, ah … Heather’s situation I would never have had the courage to do something like this.”

“Huh?” I said. Leslie and I looked at each other, puzzled. “You mean you, that is, you weren’t…”

“No, I wasn’t. I started life as a boy. I don’t know whether you’ll want to go as far as I have, that’s something only you can decide. But if you can manage Operation Heather you’ll probably succeed whatever you do. I didn’t become a bunny until after my surgery, but then my girl friend didn’t work as a bunny, so I didn’t have inside help.”

At this point Leslie and I really didn’t know what to say.

Actually, everything worked out pretty well. Leslie and I are still together and Joyce has become a good friend too. I’ve had some long talks with her and we’ve gone out a few times as well. She really makes me think about what I’m going to do with my own life. I haven’t decided completely. There are some pretty serious questions to consider.

In the meantime, Heather still works one night a week at the club and after all, everyone can use a little money from a second job.


Additional Reading

Panty Punishment

panty punishment

Don just wanted to look at her panties, not wear them. But he now had to do both!

It all happened on a nice autumn day — my punishment, that is, and my new way of life.

My employer had been called out of town and had decided to close her apparel shop during the early afternoon, leaving me freer than usual. I had gone home, and after resting awhile, began looking out of the window….

It was then that I saw Janet – – my bride-to-be, coming out into her yard across the way, carrying some clothes. My heart thrilled at the sight of her as the mild wind caught the long curls of her blonde hair, and turned the hem of her skirt to reveal a lacy petticoat.

Though at times of a stern and independent turn of mind, Janet was quite feminine, and whether at work or play, she insisted on being attractively dressed that way.

I thought of calling out to her inasmuch as she did not know I was at home, but then decided against doing so, and continued to watch.
Carefully, Janet began hanging the freshly laundered clothes she carried. First, a white blouse, two brassieres – a black one and a white one, and some nylon hosiery. And then a full length white slip, a pair of pale blue panties, and a pair of pink step-ins with open slits at the sides.

To my surprise, she completed the task by pinning to the clothes line a pair of pink silk bloomers — the kind with tunneled elastic legs and waist, which I had thought were only worn in these modern times by women who were either very old or fat. Though I had never seen them before, I knew they belonged to Janet.

They were edged with white lace and had something embroidered on them, making them very beautiful, indeed. As a sales clerk in a ladies dress and lingerie shop, I had seen exquisite underwear, but nothing as charming as these bloomers.

An idea took possession of me as I saw Janet return to the house. This was the time she usually went out to pick up groceries. I’d wait awhile and then have some fun with her.

For an instant I was reminded of my days at college…the time when some students and I conducted a “panty-raid” in the girls’ dormitories. “This will be another one,” I chuckled.

Down the stairs and out across the lawn I went. No one was in sight. It would be a harmless prank, and besides, I had to see those lovely bloomers at close range.

Quickly I went to the clothes line and took them. A bit nervously, I also took the blue colored panties, and then started back, almost in a run.

“HEY — What are you doing? “I froze in a light terror as I heard Janet’s voice cry out.

She hadn’t left the house as I had figured. As I turned my head, I stumbled over a rock in my path. The garments fell from my hands as I tried to protect myself. I heard the clatter of high heels approaching. Looking up from her shining patent leather shoes, I saw Janet — arms akimbo, staring down at me.

My face flushed with embarrassment. It all happened so quickly, I couldn’t think of a sensible thing to say.

Panty Punishment

“WHAT are you doing, Don? Stealing my clothes — my underthings! Are you going nuts or something? Well, SAY something!”

“It was just a j-joke, Janet. Just a gag I was going to play on you. I–I’m sorry, really.”

She gathered up the garments. “Now I have to do them over again. And look, just look at my panties. They’re torn. Oh, Don… you should be spanked!”

I stood up and brushed my clothes, feeling ashamed to look at her.

“Might as well come in and clean up while you’re here. Go ahead, the door’s open,” Janet said, pointing to her place.

I walked in and headed for the bathroom with Janet following. No one was about. Her folks weren’t due until Thursday, three more days.

“Here’s a towel,” she said, handing me one.

“Don Transton I’m surprised at you, acting like a bad little boy. I still say you should be spanked. Yes, that’s what you need.
… some good punishment.”

I felt better now that I was more presentable but I was still sheepish over the whole incident.

“Don, you’re going to get your punishment.” There was a growing gleam in her eyes, as she as she continued, “I know just the thing for you. _And if you refuse, I’ll…I’ll postpone our wedding date, indefinitely!”

“But, Janet… ”

“Just come here and do as I say.”

She led me to the bedroom, opened dresser drawers and a closet, and took out a number of items.

“Get your clothes off and put these on.”

“But those are_your clothes.”

“Of course, they are, but they will fit you. You seem to like my clothes — especially my underclothes, so I’m giving you a chance to wear them. Now put these things on and be quick about it or you’ll get a bigger spanking.”

I swallowed hard. This was humiliation at its worst, but I could see no escape. I started undressing. All the while janet stood waiting in the doorway. She had placed the clothing on the bed, except for one item she held in her hands.

“This should be all right. I’ll help you with it.” She gave me a pink nylon bra, which she had adjusted for my size. Awkwardly I slipped into it. She fastened it behind me. It felt strange to wear, but I had to admit it held my shoulders back and seemed to help my posture.

“Janet, this is silly.”

“Shut up! Silly is it? I suppose stealing my undies wasn’t silly. And half ruining them, too! Put those stockings and and finish up.”

I sat down on a chair and stepped into the long sheer black hose. They were a bit small for me but I made out the best I could. And then I put on the pink round garters while Janet showed me how to fix them.

“Since you like panties so much, you can wear these. No, wait a moment.”

She left the room and returned.

“…Better yet, put these on.”

She tossed a pair of pink bloomers into my lap, similar to the ones I had seen on the clothes line.

“They are too big for me. They were delivered to me by mistake. But they will fit you.”

Janet watched me. Her rich, firm bosom rose and fell beneath her low cut blouse.

Until now I hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t wearing anything under it, and the vision of her that way aroused my love and admiration.
Unexpectedly, I saw her reach to her side and unzip her black satin skirt. She stepped out of it and began doing the same with her half-slip.

“I’m getting ready for you in case you’re wondering. –I said to put those bloomers on, didn’t I?” she snapped.

Turning away from her, I overcame my hesitation, and dropped the shorts. As rapidly as I could, I got into the silken bloomers and pulled them up. They were tight, but the shimmering feel of them against my skin was deeply satisfying. Women were fortunate to wear such soft and lovely garments, I thought.

I couldn’t help thinking that men’s clothes are dull, in comparison.

“Don’t they feel heavenly, Dear ?” Janet asked. Smiling a little, she went on, “If you wanted some of my underthings, all you had to do was ask.”

I gasped at her beauty, as I took the dress that was laid out on the bed for me. In addition to the blouse, she was wearing the black leather pumps, black nylons held up by a narrow garter belt, and peach colored panties which were gathered in at the thighs with pink ribbon and black lace. I liked the embroidered bloomers, these panties were a revelation to me. I didn’t know such enchanting dainties existed. I pulled the dress over my head and worked it over my hips. It was much too short and revealed the bloomers above my knees.

“Why Don, you know you look good in feminine things. You might even make a nice looking young lady — with proper make-up and maybe a wig.. .”

Again, I swallowed, feeling a blush coming on. I wondered if any fate could be worse than this.

“I don’t like your plain, rough looking underwear…and maybe you don’t either, but that’s no excuse for taking my things, like a thief.”

“One more thing — when I’m finished, you’re going to launder the undies you took.”

In my state of mixed feelings, I told her I was sorry for what I had done.

“All right, you’re forgiven. But from now on you are going to quit wearing male underwear. I see no reason why you shouldn’t wear decently attractive undergarments, and particularly since you look well in them, and since you seem to have a fondness of them. — And that means everything — slips, bras, bloomers, panties, and girdles. DO you understand?”

Already I was beginning to discover the bliss of feminine finery, and the meaning of janet’s remarks hit me with a delightful impact. – Not only would I eventually own my own shop, see and handle beautiful lingerie, but I would also wear lingerie. No longer need I envy women’s privilege in this direction.

No longer embarrassed, but pleasantly exhilarated and filled with a greater love for Janet — I replied, “Yes, YES, Dear.”


Additional Reading

A Visit to Madame Nanette

madame nanette

by Evelyn Adams

The tall, slender figure paused before the bay windows of the exclusive dress shoppe.

A neat window sign, in the shape of a patent leather boot bore the inscription, Madame Nanette — Figure Trainer. “This must be the right place,” said Marie, the silhouette brunette as her velvet gloved fingers secured the knob of the door.

Fortunately, there were no other customers present in this very exclusive salon. Marie had always felt that acquiring a wardrobe was such a personal thing. From the rear a tall, statuesque blonde came toward Marie.

“Good morning,” her voice was sultry, with just the proper amount of barb to tell the customers that she was in authority and that her decisions were not to be contested. “I’m Madame Nanette. Have you come here to obtain advice about a proper gown? Perhaps some hosiery? I have some of the latest designs, just in from Paris.” She brought forth a pair of silky soft hosiery, tinged the color of bright sunset, with tiny little riding crops embroidered in petite diamond arrangement just at the ankles. The double hem contained four equal sets of built-in rubber garter snaps, to be hooked onto a garter belt. Madame Nanette explained, “You see, these stockings are most unusual…they are actually too small for a girl which is to her advantage. Do you wonder why? Because I detest wrinkled silk and when she is squeezed into these stockings, her legs will become like twin columns of pure ivory.”

Marie found herself fascinated with such an ingenious pair of hosiery. She found herself liking this blonde wardrobe mistress -such an Amazonian type she was, and yet, so feminine. Even her heady perfume was most stimulating to the nostrils. “Madame Nanette, my friends tell me that I don’t know how to dress. I thought you could select appropriate items for me and I’ll be glad to follow your advice.”

Madame Nanette’s eyes opened wide with glee. “You’ll find that I’m an excellent teacher. Would you like to discard your present clothing in the dressing room, my dear ? I’ll then be able to make an exact fitting.”

“No…no,” Marie said hastily, ever fearful of such an embarrassing state of being.

“Just take my measurements now and I’ll try the clothing on at home, if you don’t mind.”

Madame Nanette smiled indulgently; at the same time, she clasped her hands together. Her fingers were unbelievably strong, more like talons of a magnificent she-eagle, glittering with huge rings. One ring on her right forefinger was a most unusual bit of jewelry. It consisted of one huge gleaming tiger’s eye, glittering as though from a hidden bush, waiting to spring upon its victim, overpowering its prey. Marie found herself hypnotized by this glittering eye which seemed to probe through her very being, stripping away all that she held personal.

“First, my dear,” Madame Nanette broke into her thoughts, “we shall find a good pair of shoes.” She rummaged among shelves, closets, beneath counters, and finally came forth with a pair of exquisite ankle length boots. “Now, these may look rather strong, as all boots are… but note the delicate craftsmanship.” The boots were made of pure dyed black lizard skin, soft to behold but powerful when opposed. The leather Softly wrapped around the ankle, snugly, imprisoning the twin peaks of the bones. A milk white (rather, it was flesh-white) pair of leather thongs, in stark contrast to the ebony of the leather, bound fast the foot so that there was absolutely no chance for escape such as when walking on a busy street corner. Such things can be a nuisance!

And then the heel. Ah, it was amazing how pencil-thin the heel was, with the very tip covered with just tl~e tiniest scrap of rubber. Embroidered down the inside of this pencil-thin stabbing heel (which measured a perfect 6-3/8 inches) were down-pointed Arabian sabers… and even these beautiful teeny sabers had embroidered upon them even smaller little glittering rhinestones. The vamp held an even greater surprise…a velvet scimitar, entrusted with tiny rubies resembling blood. It was very realistic, reminiscent of the days when Persians ruled their captives. The twin pair of ankle-length boots glistened with a perfect polish, so dazzling to the eyes that even Marie had to blink and stand in reverent awe before such delicately created footwear.

‘ ‘You see,” explained Madame Nanette, “these shoes have a personality all their own. It is said that they contain some ‘magical’ power which endows the wearer with supreme power and exaltation over all. As you know, the Arabians can weave many magic tales.”

Marie agreed. “But they fascinate me. I’II take them.”

“Good,” beamed the other woman. “Now just look at this figure trainer.” She held up what, at first appeared to be a solid sheet of pure sea green silk. But upon closer inspection it appeared to be a very thick, rubberized figure trainer, designed to nip in the floppy folds of flesh just above the hip bone and beneath the breast bone. “These laces,” pointed Nanette, “are made of imported rubber. See how polished and smooth they are. Well, these laces measure 15 inches in length and fasten around to the small of the back. Here, they are secured into special little copper-rivetted hooks and once in place, cannot be easily removed. You’ll need someone to help you into this garment. Perhaps you’d like instruction, right now !”

“Oh, no,” backed away Marie, still rather frightened at such a firm figure trainer. I’ll do it at home.” She examined the pure spongy rubber which looked innocent but she knew that when the rubber figure trainer would enclasp her waist, it would be like the enormous hands of a Persian Gent, squeezing and molding her tender flesh until she could scarcely breathe. But when it was done, her waist would be so nipped in that it would be a perfect hour-glass figure, of the type which gave fame to the Gibson Girl.

When Marie said she’d accept it, she then added, “I’d like to see something in the way of gloves.”

Madame Nanette brought forth a pair of elbow length pure leather gloves! They were baby blue, so delicate that they fooled Marie into thinking they were so innocent. But yet, the fingers felt rather heavy. As Marie slid her hand into the glove, she felt the chain mesh which was secretly woven into the leather lining.

And the tips of the fingers had tiny – – very tiny — little metal tips, just covering the fingertip but very powerful when properly used. To add to the delightful pleasure, there was a secret contraption in each of the thumbs of this baby blue leather pair of gloves. When Marie would slowly stretch out her gloved fingers, from the bottom of each thumb would spring out a tiny little cat’s clawl It was so realistic that it was sure to cause much favorable comment whenever displayed. Such a delicately created pair of gloves was instantly purchased by Marie…money was no object when it came to fashions with a practical point of view.

“During colder weather,” declared Nanette, “you may be in need of a head glove. Yes, it’s surprising to first hear of it, but the most fashionable women today like to wear these gloves. Here’s my favorite…and I think you’d love it!”

It was a charming, flesh-colored leather head glove. Made of very fine, skin-tight kid leather, the glove fit smoothly over the skull, with a demanding tightness because wrinkles were strictly taboo! There were two tiny slits which permitted just the barest glimmer of vision and just one tiny little puncture — just one which allowed some air within the confinements of this skin-tight head glove.

Madame Nanette explained, “Because it gets cold sometimes, with blustery winds, there’s really no need to keep your lips and mouth uncovered; you can get chapped lips that way. Therefore, this unique head glove does not contain a bothersome sllt for a mouth.” She then pointed to the exquisite throat scarf. It resembled soft silk, on the surface, but it, too, was a flesh colored leather covering. It contained buckles which fastened the scarve right in the hollow of the throat. “Note these built-in steel throat trainers,” she pointed to slender bulges which ran in a vertical direction – – three in the front and three in the back. These actually help you to keep your head up, giving you a professional model’s appearance when you walk. If there’s anything I detest,” she hissed, “it’s a slumped head. Well, this set of throat trainers will do wonders for that condition.”

“Do you have a suggestion for a gown, Madame Nanette?”

“Indeed I do. You certainly are quite the clothes horse, my dear. Well, to suit your fancy…and satisfy your wild imagination, here’s an import, direct from London — the home of the finest in leather.”

When Marie beheld the amazing gown, she had to gasp in profound admiration. With tender devotion, she stroked the billowing peasant skirt with almost flexible built-in steel stays running from the waist down to the knee cap — the gown was made of ruby red silk, an embroidered sash around the middle sported a seashore motif with fish hooks and bobbing corks, with fishermen’s nets and even an image of a lovely mermaid being trapped within its confines, along with the other helpless creatures of the deep — the razor sharp tips of the fish hooks cruelly threatening to tear at her satiny soft pink flesh.

The blouse, on the other hand, was black velvet, in stark contrast to the silken red of the skirt. Now, the blouse had an excruciatingly tight bodice, the bosom containing a stitched-in brassiere, made of very pure rubber. When worn, it enveloped a woman’s bosom with a warm and possessive grasp. The rubber bra was soft and yielding, almost like a bosom, but it was hollow and greedily enclasped the proffered bosom of its wearer and creating a stunning buxom effect. It was rumored that some of Hollywood’s most famed bathing beauties would wear such a brassiere which was like a second skin.

Other delightful creations of this blouse included its set of buckles, pure leather with a gleaming silver buckle and notch — there was one buckle on each shoulder, like an epaulet, except that they fastened securely around each armpit. This helped to fluff the short, upper elbow-length sleeves, billowing them out in pure peasant style.

The back of the blouse contained red slashes of soft velvet. Which each movement of the shoulders, the red gaping slashes would part to reveal a tiny set of little polka dots within the slashes. Truly, this was a gown that was created by a master craftsman of the arts.

“There you have it,” Madame Nanet~e wrapped everything in a neat bundle and handed it 1o Marie who eagerly paid for i1. “You know, I always maintain that women just don’t know how to dress. It takes a male designer to be a true fashion expert. However, I design many of my own clothes and some of the gowns in my shoppe. Not bad for a mere female, eh?”

“You’ve done quite well, Madame Nanette” Marie thanked her again and hurried home, eager to try out this new wardrobe.

Shortly afterward, Madame Nanette retired to the rest room in the rear of her shoppe. She locked the door of the room. Then she gazed at herself in the mirror. She smiled, reached up and removed her billowing blonde wig and stared at herself…rather, himself!

Visit to Madame NanetteTHE END


Additional Reading