Message-ID: <15780eli$9810010529@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15780.txt>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {Pervette} TG:The Girl Inside 1/5 M/F M/M CD femdom
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Authentication-Warning: philabs-gw.philabs.research.philips.com: smap set sender to <vickietern@aol.com> using -f
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <19980930140943.11770.00004248@ng-fa1.aol.com>



{Pervette}TG: The Girl Inside (1/5) (M/F, M/M, CD, femdom)
This story was written by Princess Pervette.  Despite a 
certain compatibility, I am not the author.  I am posting it for 
Princess Pervette because she can't.  -- Vickie Tern

Warning:
Contains adult material.  Not to be read or downloaded by persons
considered underage in the jurisdiction in which they live.

May be posted to any appropriate newsgroup; may be archived on
any not-for-pay Web site.





The Girl Inside
by Princess Pervette

Part 1


"So, why do you want to submit to me?"

This was it.

I had met her on a femdom newsgroup.  I was looking for just that--a woman
to submit to.  Not to beat me, but to dominate me, to control my life.  It
was a need I had felt for as long as I could remember.  I had read a number
of her posts, and she was the one person on the group who lived in the same
city as I did and sounded as if she was interested in the same kind of
domination I was interested in.

I had courted her discreetly for a couple of weeks by responding to her
posts in a manner that suggested that we had common interests and might
find each another congenial.  Then, once I judged that I was no longer an
unknown quantity, I sent her an e-mail.  I was concerned to make the proper
impression, as someone who seriously wanted to meet her and not just some
fool looking for a cheap thrill.  I must have gone over that letter a dozen
times, checking its tone, changing the wording, altering the emphasis,
trying to write something that would elicit a response.  Favorable or
unfavorable, but a response.

To my vast relief, her reply was friendly.  So we chatted by e-mail for
another couple of weeks, and then she proposed that we get together.
We went out for dinner two or three times by way of getting acquainted.
I think I was under her spell from the very first time.  She was a
striking woman.  A redhead, slim, with a good body.  Not beautiful in any
conventional sense, but not plain, either.  Attractive.  Attractive? ...No,
I decided the second time we met; bewitching, with eyes that held yours
and seemed to see everything inside you.  Over those first dinners, we
discovered common interests--early music, fast cars, opera--but every time
I tried to bring up the question of submission, she sidestepped the issue.

Until to-night.  The conversation had been the same as the other times,
until we reached dessert and coffee.  Then, abruptly, that question: "So,
why do you want to submit to me?"

I couldn't answer it.  Why does a man want to place himself completely
under the domination of a woman?  These impulses spring from the depths
of the unconscious; you just know that, for some reason, that's what you
want.  I was a take-charge kind of guy in daily life.  My supervisors told
me I had what they called "leadership potential."  And I liked that.  But
maybe...maybe I wanted to be able to drop the take-charge persona and give
it a rest.  I fumbled out an answer along these lines, ending with, "I've
just always longed for it, that's all."

"I won't be an easy Mistress," she said.  "I have to warn you about that
right away."

I felt an adrenaline rush.  I tried to laugh it off.  "You mean, whips and
chains?"

"You know perfectly well I don't mean that, Ted.  We've already discussed
that by e-mail.  But I will be demanding.  You think you want someone to
take control.  Well, I will take control, but it may not be entirely to
your liking."

She went on.  "Have you ever done this before?"

"No.  I've dreamed about it, I've had fantasies about it, but I've never
found anybody whose interests were...compatible."

We had gone over some of these questions by e-mail, of course, but she must
have wanted to observe my responses as we talked about it face-to-face.

Then, abruptly, she asked, "What was your mother like?"

"Oh...you mean, dominating?  No, not at all.  Very affectionate and easy-
going.  And devoted to Dad."

"So maybe you're looking for something you didn't get back then.  Well...
we'll see.

"But you mentioned fantasies.  You know, our fantasies and realities don't
always jibe.  You may try something that's always been a hot fantasy and
discover that the reality is not fun at all.  Not exciting.  Maybe even
quite disagreeable.  How do you know that this won't be the same?  I told
you that I won't be easy."

"Well...perhaps we could, er, set something up on a trial basis...."

She cut me off.  "No.  I'm not interested in fooling around.  I want a
positive, binding commitment.  Anything else is a waste of my time.  And
yours."

I didn't know what to say.  She was asking me to step into a relationship
blindly.  I wasn't sure whether that was wise.  On the other hand, this was
the first possibility I had ever encountered.  I was 23; I had been looking
in one way or another since I was a boy and first realized my desires.  If
I ducked out of this, how long would I have to wait before my next chance?

Before I could come up with an answer, she said, "My ideas about control
...they may not be what you're expecting.  Tell me...have your fantasies
ever included feminization?  Forced feminization?  Being made to dress up
and act like a girl?  To live like one?"

They hadn't.  The idea caught me completely off guard.  That hadn't been
what I thought of as domination at all.  Then I tried to think what I had
imagined, what specifics.  And I realized that I had never thought of that.
Only of some woman taking charge of me.  And of my life.

Feminization.  The idea was vaguely off-putting.  I was a man, after all,
and I liked being a man.  Not a macho stud, but someone with a quiet,
unforced masculinity.  Or so I liked to think, anyway.  But again...what if
I let this opportunity slip?  She was offering me, or seemed to be offering
me, the control I so badly wanted.  Mightn't it be worth a dress?

She interrupted my thoughts.  "That's my kind of domination.  Not whips and
chains...well, not necessarily, but that's not my preferred thing.  I like
to make the men in my charge into girls.  The more masculine they are, the
better I like it.  I'm very good at it.  I've done it many times, and none
of my `girls' has ever complained.  I'm experienced enough to know exactly
how to go about it.  You'll be in the hands of an expert."

I was torn.  The idea...it was a little frightening, but maybe that was
what made it suddenly interesting.  But I was uncertain.

"Well...can I think about it?  I never thought of submission in those terms
before, and I...well, I'd like to think about it."

"I insist that you think about it.  Even if your answer was an unhesitating
Yes, I would insist that you think about it.  Because if we do this, if we
work together, you and I, there will be no turning back.  I will change
your life completely.  Think about that: You will never be the same again.
You must know that and consider it.  I'm not interested in any half
measures."

She continued.  "You told me you live with someone."

"Yes.  Chuck.  We share an apartment."

"Does he know about your interest in submission?"

"Well, yes, he does...."

"What does he think about it?"

"He doesn't understand it.  But he's gay.  He's not interested in women
at all.  I think it's the woman aspect of the thing that strikes him as
strange, not the submission business."

"Are you gay?"

"No.  Not at all."

"Then why do you live with a gay man?"

"Chuck and I were roomies in college.  I was one of the few guys who would
accept him."  I hesitated, then added, "As a roommate, I mean.  And when we
graduated, we both ended up working here, and so we're roommates again.  We
get along well together."  I fell back on the old clich‚:  "We're just good
friends."

"Do you have a girl?"

"Yes."

"How about her?  Does she have any sympathy for your desires?"

"I tried sounding her out--well, vaguely--a couple of times.  Her reaction
wasn't favorable."

"What do you mean, `vaguely'?"

"Oh, I said something about reading an article about men who submitted to
women.  As if I was only idly intellectually curious."

"You deceived her, you mean.  Ted, I've got to tell you this right now:
Don't deceive me.  Don't even think about it.  I will require absolute
honesty from you.  I'm not normally into whips and chains, as you so
charmingly put it, but if I'm crossed, I punish."

Then, after a pause, she asked, "What was her reaction?"

"At first she thought I meant henpecked husbands.  Then when I explained,
she said that was sick.  That she couldn't understand men who wanted things
like that."

By this time we had finished our coffee.  As we waited for the check, she
said, "Ted, think this over.  I'll give you a week.  You can e-mail me any
questions you may want to ask.  If I don't hear from you within a week,
I'll assume your answer is No.  But remember that we will be playing for
keeps.  You will become my feminized servant.  Ultimately, my feminized
slave--if you measure up.  This isn't going to be just little kids playing
dress-up.  We're adults, and this is an adult situation you'll be getting
into.  I will control every aspect of your life.  All of it.  I will put
you into dresses.  Panties, dresses, everything.  Think about it."

****

When I got back home, Chuck was on the computer.  I think he was on a gay
chat room, as usual.  I wondered sometimes whether he ever talked about his
strange, straight roommate with the submission fantasy.  When he saw me, he
logged out of the chat room and turned to me.

"Well, did she finally come to the boil?"

"She certainly did.  She's interested, all right.  And very much in
charge."  I grinned.  "I guess I passed muster."

"And you're going to go through with it?"

"She wants me to think it over for a week.  She said there would be no
turning back."

"Good idea, Ted.  But I'll bet you'll say Yes.  I've seen enough of you to
know.  It reminds me of when I came out.  First I thought I would, then I
thought I wouldn't.  But finally, when I was in my first lover's arms, that
was it.  And she's right: there's no turning back.  There never was for me."

"Chuck...have you ever worn drag?"

"Is that what she's into?"

"She says she feminizes the men she controls.  It's her thing."

"You mean, bra and panties and things like that?"

Bra and panties....  She had said panties, dresses and everything.  That
had been disconcerting.  But coming from Chuck, seen through his eyes, it
was much more disturbing.  Frightening, even.  My God, and probably garter
belts and stockings.  And high heels.  And who knew what else?

I hesitated.  "Well...she didn't go into specifics, but...well, I guess
that would be the kind of thing she wants."

"And does that appeal to you?"

"Chuck, it scares me.  I mean, I'm not a drag queen.  I'm a man."

"You're a man who's going to submit to a woman who's `very much in charge.'
And who wants to feminize you.  Make you into a girl.  Or a woman."

I went and poured myself a drink.  When I came back, I said, "Chuck, I just
don't know.  I've been looking for this--I mean, for a dominant woman, not
for drag--for years.  Almost as long as I can remember.  Even when I was a
little boy.  Sometimes I'd play with girls, and I always liked the bossy
ones the best.  And now this is my chance.  But being made into a girl...I
don't know.  Is that the price I have to pay?"

"What price would you rather pay?  Would you rather have her tie you up and
whip you?"

"Well...no, I've never dreamed of that.  Or not very often."

"Ted, it strikes me that you don't know what you want.  Other than this
vague notion of submitting to a dominant woman.  Have you ever thought
about just what kind of submission you would expect?  What kind you would
want?"

"I...well, I just thought of the psychological situation, I guess.  The
thrill of...well, submission.  Oh, and sexual servitude.  That very
definitely.  That's a turn on."

"You mean eating her out."  He made a face.  The idea obviously didn't
appeal to him.

"Well, yes."

"So you're going to let her put you into evening gowns just so you can get
a taste of her pussy."

I didn't know.  To change the subject, I repeated my earlier question:
"Chuck, you've worn drag, haven't you?"

"Ted, it isn't like that.  Being gay and being a transvestite are two
different things.  Oh, yes, there are a few gay guys who go for drag, here
and there.  But the whole effeminate gay thing...that was back in the
thirties and forties.  That's history.  These days gay guys just aren't
into that.  We've found ourselves since then, and we know that we're men.
Most of us, anyway.  Nearly all of us.

"And to answer your question, no.  I've never felt the least desire to
dress up in drag.  That's for straight guys like you."

****

It was a difficult week.  My project at work was a challenging one,
adapting software that monitored all the data movement over a local area
network and presenting it to a user in a meaningful form.  Statistics,
traffic analysis, graphical displays, even a simple query language.  It
had been hard and absorbing, and the project had gone well.  But this
week progress slowed to a snail's pace.  I couldn't concentrate.  I kept
thinking about the things Laura had said.  Forcibly feminized...did I
really want that?  To be put in dresses...the word "petticoated" came to
mind.  I had read fantasies on the Net about petticoated boys, but they
had never excited me.  Would she want to petticoat me?

But the allure....  "I won't be an easy Mistress," she had said.  That
one sentence summed up everything that attracted me to her.  That was
everything I had been looking for.  Remembering that one sentence was
enough to bring the blood to my face and set my heart racing again.
But...feminization?  Being put into women's clothes?  That was deeply
unsettling.  There must be, in the male psyche, some deep-rooted aversion
to this.  A fear of emasculation, I suppose it must be, even if only a
figurative, symbolic emasculation.

I thought I was fairly secure in my own masculinity.  Secure enough that I
could share an apartment with a gay guy without feeling threatened.  But
this was a threat of a different order.  Right from the start I had sensed
an inherent decency--a delicacy, I would call it--in Chuck's nature, so
that I knew, without his having to say anything, that he would keep his
hands off me.  I was safe from any threat from that quarter.  But Laura had
no intention of keeping her hands off.  She was going to be in control, and
if she wanted to put me in women's clothes, she would do it.  Not an easy
Mistress.  A Mistress who would take my cherished masculinity away from me.

But the whole idea was to be a *man* dominated by a woman, not a girl
dominated by one.  But then I thought, Yes--but what more profound
domination could you want than to have your very manhood at the mercy of
your dominatrix?  The whole idea of domination has to involve being made
to do things you don't want to do.  And this was something I very much
didn't want to do.  Hmmm....

What might that be like?  One afternoon I saw Shirley, the department's
secretary, and the thought raced through my mind:  What is she wearing
under that red dress?  I had wondered things like that before, but not in
this way.  I daydreamed.  I imagined the three of us together: Shirley,
Laura, and me.  I imagined Shirley taking off her clothes for Laura and
Laura giving me her underwear to put on.  The office suddenly felt very
warm.

I came back to reality and looked at my code.  I discovered that in a
distracted moment, I had written, "if (i == girl)."  Oh, my God.  Hastily,
embarrassed, I corrected it.  "girl" was supposed to be LASTNODE.  What had
I been thinking?  What if someone had passed by, looked at my monitor, and
seen it?  My God, I thought, what has she done to me?  I haven't even said
Yes and I can't control my thoughts.  When Shirley passed, she smiled at
me.  Had she seen my typo?  Or--worse yet--had she somehow sensed what I
had been thinking?

The nights weren't much better.  I was normally a sound sleeper, but all
that week I had vivid, frightening dreams.  In one, I was on the street in
nothing but a bra and panties, handcuffed to a lamppost, with passers-by
staring at me.  That one woke me up in a cold sweat, and I never got back
to sleep that night.  In another, I and Laura were in some dark place
together, and I was begging her to give me a dress.  The dress was
Shirley's dress, the one I had seen her wearing at work, bright red.  And
Laura had a cruel smile as she told me to keep on begging.  And finally she
said, "No.  You aren't worthy."  And I woke up.  But the worst was one in
which I was strapped to an operating table, and Laura had a knife....

Twice I logged on to my e-mail program, all set to say No.  After the
dream about the knife, I drafted an elaborate, apologetic refusal offline,
uploaded it, and was all set to click the Send button when I stopped and
deleted the message.

But on Thursday, I made my decision.  I wrote a message:  "I have thought
it over.  Yes.  I want to go through with it.  This is probably the one
chance I'll ever have, and I mustn't let it slip.  If I don't do it now, no
matter what your terms, I may never have the chance again...."  There was
more along the same lines, but finally I went back and killed everything
after the "Yes."

Half an hour later the system told me I had mail.  It was Laura with a
message.  I downloaded it and read it offline.  It said,

	Good Baby.  Meet me at Romano's for dinner tomorrow night
	at seven.  Keep the rest of the evening free.

	L.

****

I got to Romano's at five minutes to seven.  At seven precisely Laura came
in.  She sat down and asked, "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

"You've thought it over?"

"Yes."

"And you're willing to put yourself into my hands completely?"

"Yes...."

"Will you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Perfectly?"

"Yes."

"I will require you to do some things you will not want to do.  We're
talking here about forcing, after all.  If that happens, will you obey me?"

I hesitated.  Finally, I said, "Yes."

"I may have to administer punishment if you do not perform to my
satisfaction.  Do you consent to that?  Will you accept that?"

My heart skipped a beat.  "Yes."

She seemed satisfied with my answers.  She beckoned to the waiter and
ordered champagne.

"This is a celebration, Baby.  A new life for you.  After dinner we'll go
back to my place and start work."

Work.  My head was spinning.  This was it.  Working together.  A harmless
word, and yet it was as intoxicating as the champagne.  I hardly heard her
as she went on.

"This is your commitment.  Your dedication."  The champagne arrived.  She
lifted her glass.  "Here's to your new life, Baby.  To your sacrifice."

I felt faint.  A sacrifice.  Yes, that was it.  I drank off the champagne.
Sacrificing control over my life for her.  Sacrificing my masculine image.
She kept talking about working together, about commitment, and about
changing me, but I hardly heard her; visions whirled through my head:
dresses, makeup, lingerie, maybe even petticoats, cologne...but that, I
sensed, was only the beginning.  This was to be forced feminization; what
else would she have in mind?  My imagination failed me.

It seemed like only seconds when the dinner was over.  She was looking at
me with concern.  "Relax, Baby.  This is going to be a wonderful experience
for you.  A dream come true.  You don't have to be afraid."

****

We went out to our cars, and I followed her as she drove to her place.  A
private house in an ordinary residential neighborhood.  She led me into
small vestibule and stopped.

She looked at me.  At this moment she seemed like a priestess.  She spoke
like one, too, with great emphasis and great solemnity.  "In this house,
you will never, ever dress like a man.  For you, this house is a special
place.  A temple.  A temple of femininity."  She was a priestess.  Maybe
even a goddess.  "A space set apart, dedicated to your complete
feminization.  You are here to give up your manhood to me, and you're
always going to stop being a man the moment you enter that door.

"Take off your clothes.  Right now.  Leave them out here; you can pick them
up and put them back on when you leave."

I stripped, my heart pounding.  She opened a parcel on the bench, took out
a pair of panties, and handed them to me.

Panties, I thought.  Just what Chuck had said.  What she had said, too.
And a bra was probably next.  I swallowed hard and stepped into them.

I remembered one of the things she had said over dinner.  "When you arrive,
you will change clothes completely.  To mark the occasion.  I'll provide
what you will change into."

And she had provided the panties.  A very plain pair, white, not pink, &
not sexy, unadorned, not satin but just plain cotton-spandex.  But as she
handed them to me, a thrill went through me.  Plain as they were, these
were my first panties.  "The first panties for the New Me," I thought.  As
I drew them on, my head was awhirl.  But it wasn't the panties; it was
being controlled...finally.  That was it; her control was beginning right
now.  To my embarrassment, I felt myself getting hard.

And that thrill...it was as if I had sipped some strange, drugged drink or
had inhaled some rare, exotic opiate.  As I fought my erection back down, I
realized that I would do anything to feel this thrill.  Anything she wanted
of me.

"I'm your girl now," I said.

"No.  You're just a man in a pair of panties."  That made me squirm.  "You
aren't worthy to be called a girl."  With a shock, I remembered that dream
in which she had said I wasn't worthy to wear Shirley's dress.  "Not yet.
You still have a long way to go, Baby.  This is only the beginning."

I was naked now, except for the panties.  We went into the house.  She took
me upstairs and into a bedroom.  It was fitted up like a woman's bedroom,
with a bed, a vanity, a huge closet.  Everything was ruffles and lace, and
the colors were pink and pale blue.

"This will be our workplace, Baby," she said.

She got a scarf out of the dresser.  "I'm going to have to blindfold you
at first, Baby.  Take the panties back off and lie down on the bed.  Face
down."  I lay down, blindfolded and buck naked.  "Stretch your hands over
your head.  That's right."  I felt something being tied to each wrist.
They were soft; later I learned that they were more scarves.  Then, shortly
afterward, she tied another pair of scarves being tied to my ankles.
"Stretch out, Baby," she said.  I felt my arms and legs being pulled out
until I was lying spread-eagle on the bed.

She said, "This doesn't need to be a regular feature of our work together,
Baby.  Not if you cooperate.  But I'm going to have to, well, tenderize you
at the start.  In our work together, you're going to have to submit to me
totally.  And this will be your first act of submission."  Suddenly, I felt
a stinging blow on my buttocks.  I cried out.

I writhed with pain as she hit me.  "Relax, Baby.  It's only a belt.  But
don't squirm, or I'll have to use the end with the buckle."

I gritted my teeth and struggled to be quiet.  Submission.  Yes, that was
part of being forced, wasn't it?  And in the midst of the pain, I felt a
sudden excitement.  I was getting hard again.  Was I really a masochist?
I had never had any kind of S&M fantasies, never in my life.  Through the
haze of pain, I tried to think about it.  No; it wasn't the pain.  It was
that word, submission.  She was going to be my Mistress.  And this, I
realized, was her first real act of control.  And the excitement...it
didn't make me forget the pain.  Nothing could make me ignore it; it was
too intense.  But it gave the pain a different dimension, a different
meaning.  It was almost as if the pain were her gift to me.

She set the belt aside and released me.  "There, that wasn't so bad, was
it?  But we have to know who's boss here."

"Yes, Mistress."  The title slipped out automatically.  I never called her
Laura again, except once when I slipped.  Nothing was said, but there was
a tacit agreement that from now on that would be her title: Mistress.

She she went to a dresser, rummaged around, and handed be a funny
triangular piece of cloth, with little straps on it.  "This is what's known
as a gaff.  It hides your nasty male organs.  I skipped it when you changed
clothes in the vestibule, but from this moment on, you will normally wear
whenever you're in this house.  Wearing this is going to be the first and
most fundamental step in shedding your masculinity."

It took me some time to figure out just how to work it.  Finally, I pushed
my balls up, and they disappeared into the flesh above my scrotum.  Then I
put on the gaff, pushing my penis back between my legs.  Things kept moving
back as I struggled with it, and as a matter of fact it was to be a couple
of days before I mastered the knack of it.  Within a month, it had become
automatic.

She was right, too.  With the gaff properly in place, I had a wonderfully
smooth contour down there.

"Now, let's start our work together," she said.  "We don't want to rush
things.  We have lots of time ahead of us, Baby.  Undies first."

She went to the dresser and pulled open a drawer.  "The plain whites were
all right for a start.  You had to be shown that femininity isn't all
glamor.  But now...let's try out the glamor."

She got out another pair of panties.  These were a pale blue, with a dark
blue floral pattern printed on them.  Very brief.  I reached for them.

"No, Baby.  You must ask."

"Please, Mistress, may I have them?"

"May you have what?"

"The panties."

"Whose panties?"

I understood.  "My panties."

"That's right, Baby.  But ask for them properly."

I got on my knees before her.  My pulse raced as I realized what I was
doing.  "Please, Mistress, may I have my panties?"

She smiled.  "Okay, Baby.  Here they are."  And she dropped them on my
head.  Their softness covered my face.  They were delicately scented, and
the cologne and the softness made my head swim.  I reached up, took them
off my head, stood up, and stepped into them.

"Very good, Baby.  You're my little boy in his nice girly panties.  Don't
they feel nice?"

"They feel...funny."

"That's because you aren't used to them.  Once you're used to them, there's
nothing like them in the world.  Run your hands over them.  Feel how soft
and smooth they are.  Not like your rough cotton."

She was right, and even as early as that first evening I noticed and liked
their silky feel.  I had never dreamed that underwear could be so soft to
the touch, so sensuous.


"Now this."  She handed me a bra in the same colors.  "I hope this fits.
It was the largest size I could get at short notice."

With fumbling hands I put it around my chest.  "No, Baby," she said.
"Backwards, so the closure is in front."  I turned it around.  The hooks
were about an inch apart.

"Oh, you're big, aren't you?  Here...."  She rummaged in the dresser and
drew out an extender.  "Try this."

I fumbled with the hooks, figured out how they had to go, and finally
snapped it into place.  I rotated the bra so the cups were in front.

They looked strange, hanging there empty.  I guessed at what to say next.
"May I have some...er, stuffing, Mistress, please?  For my bra?"

"Good boy.  Wait a minute."

More rummaging in the dresser.  She found a pair of breast forms and handed
them to me.  I was surprised at how heavy they were.  I held them up to my
chest.

"No, Baby.  These are adhesive.  They go on you before they go in the bra.
Let me show you...."  She pulled the bra a little way down my chest, held
up one of the forms, and eyed me, considering.

"I think...right here."  She put it carefully on my chest and pressed
it into place.  Then she attached the other one.  "Let me see...."  She
examined me some more.  "All right.  They're symmetrical.  Next time,
you're going to learn to attach them yourself."

I felt the weight of them on my body.  Strange.  "Er...how do I get them
off, Mistress?"

"You won't, until I'm ready for you to take them off.  There's a special
solvent that softens the adhesive.  I'm not going to give it to you.
You're going to wear your new boobs all the way home.  All weekend, in
fact."

"All the way home?  But what is Chuck going to say?  What will he think?"

"That's your problem, Baby.  We're into forced feminization here.  That's
what you agreed to.  And I told you I would be asking you to do things you
might not want to do.  This is the first.  Your first test of obedience.
Girls are supposed to be subservient, you know.  You're going to wear these
forms all evening, and you're going to wear them home under your men's
clothes, and you're going to show them to that roommate of yours.  You'll
give him a nice look at your red butt, too.  And I'll remove the forms when
I think it's time.  Probably Sunday night."

end 1/5


-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>