Lydia


                                                         by  Cindy  V

I returned to my job on Monday after taking Friday off when I hadn't
felt well, and to my surprise I couldn't unlock my file cabinet.
Someone had changed the lock!  So I went to the keeper of all such
knowledge, Lydia, the department secretary.  "Lydia, did someone change
the file cabinet lock while I was out?"

Our department has a single secretary that we all use when we need her.
Lydia is 24, tall and thin, with dark hair that she wears teased in a
complicated tangle of curls and waves that somehow makes it down her
shoulders.  She is not well-endowed, but makes up for it with her long
legs and with skirts that are never quite short enough for my tastes.
And a cute face.  She always wears mascara and eyeliner, and a little
too much blusher.  She is a woman who enjoys changing her lipstick
shades, from a high gloss frosted pink that seems more appropriate to a
16 year old, to a brick red that gives her a serious in-charge look.
And with her sassy personality, she is in charge, and we know not to
cross her when we really need her to do something.

"Why, yes, Andy" Lydia replied.  "Didn't you read the e-mail note I
sent you?" Since I had been out ill on Friday, I guess I hadn't read
it.  "Because of all the break-ins, all the locks were changed on
Friday.  Here's your new key."

I thanked her for the key, and I rushed back to my office to try it.
It worked.  I opened the file drawers, and everything seemed to be in
order.  Everything.  Including a fairly large gym bag.

Sigh.  I am a closet crossdresser.  My wife does not know, and would
not approve.  I own a simple skirt and blouse, a pair of low heels,
some lingerie, a wig, and some makeup.  Once in a while I will wear
panties under my suit at work.  I don't travel much for work, just a
professional convention now and then, but when I go to one I will bring
my clothes to dress in the privacy of my hotel room.  I am not passable
- I look like a guy in a dress.  But I love the idea of dressing, the
feel of lingerie, the feeling of a skirt.  And I love to wear makeup.
It is my special fetish.  Generally I will watch a little television
while I am dressed and made up in my hotel room, and I will masturbate
to my own image.  It's my little secret.  No harm, no foul, right?

For a while I kept my female things at home.  A large gym bag seemed
like a perfect hiding place.  But I was always in fear that my wife
would open it one day to wash any dirty laundry, and then I would be
found out.  So I brought the bag to work and locked it in my file
cabinet.  Nobody would be going through my file cabinet but me, and
even if they did, they would only find a gym bag.  So I felt
comfortable with this hiding place.

And while my heart skipped a beat about this new change in locks, the
bag seemed fine.  So I went back to work, and didn't give this a second
thought.

I don't get to dress very often, so my gym bag stays closed for a long
time.  Occasionally I will buy another panty to add to my little
collection.  Occasionally I will find an ad for a free trial size
cosmetic, and as embarrassing as it is, I will go to the mall to get it
to add to my little collection.

In fact, that is what happened recently.  One of the cosmetics
companies put an ad in the Sunday newspaper offering a free trial size
lipstick.  Since they were nice enough to offer it, I took them up on
their offer.  A beautifully made up saleswoman waited on me as I fibbed
to her that my wife had sent me to pick up their free lipstick.  We
examined their various shades on the back of her hand - I wished she
would have tried them on me and I'm sure I must have blushed as I
imagined theses shades on me.  I picked a shade called blackberry as
something different from anything "my wife" had in her collection,
thanked the saleswoman, and left.

The next day I opened my gym bag in the file cabinet to put my new
trial sized lipstick away.  And there was a little handwritten note on
yellow sticky paper:  "Please see me immediately; L."

Oh no!  Somehow Lydia had opened my gym bag, probably when the locks
were changed, and she discovered my secret!  She could ruin me!  Damn!

But what if I just ignored her note?  And what if I simply denied the
contents of my bag?  What could she really do?  And how would she know
that I had found her note?  I decided to just ignore the note.

I passed Lydia's desk several times that day.  I looked for some
indication that she knew I had found her note, but she just smiled
sweetly at me.  Was I blushing?  Did she really know?  I couldn't be
sure.

Of course there was no way I could find out.  So I decided to stay as
far away from Lydia as I could, hoping she would forget about the note.

This meant doing all of my own typing.  But many of us did our own
typing anyway.  This was not a big deal to me.  Until one day I needed
to type something with lots of mathematical symbols in it.  I had never
mastered the math module of the word processor, and I did not have time
to master it now.  Darn!  I was leaving that evening for a three day
convention.  I would have to approach Lydia.

"Uh, Lydia?  Would you type something for me?  I'm going to need it
before I leave for the convention tonight."

"Why sure, Andy," she replied with a twinkle in her eye.  "I can do
this in no time at all.  But you know, Andy, you never got back to me
on that little note I left for you.  You know - in your gym bag?"

I'm sure I blushed beet red at the thought of Lydia having found my
stash of female clothes.  I considered denying it when Lydia piped up
with "I made a copy of one of your bills - from a mail order company.
So don't even think of insulting me by denying anything." I swallowed a
large gulp of air as I waited to hear what might come next.  "Why don't
you take me out to lunch?  I have a few things I want to talk to you
about."

So I took her to lunch.  Mine is not the kind of job where I can pay
for a secretary's lunch and charge it to an expense account, but I
figured I had better see what she wanted to talk about.  We went to a
nice place.  I ordered some wine for us, but she would only drink club
soda.  We made small talk about work and about her husband, and after a
while my glass of wine made me feel a little more relaxed.  That's when
Lydia got a little more commanding.

"Andy, DEAR." She would never address me as 'dear' under normal
circumstances.  "Remember when we changed the locks on the file
cabinets?  You were sick that day, so I had to use my key to open
yours.  That's when I saw your gym bag.  And I wondered what could be
so important that a gym bag would be kept in a locked file cabinet.  So
I opened your gym bag.  I saw everything."

I was too stunned to say a word, so I kept my lips tightly shut.

Lydia went on.  "So you like to dress up as a woman, Andy?  That's not
so terrible.  A harmless little fantasy.  I won't tell anyone ...  "

I sighed a breath of relief.

" ...  if you let me see you when you're dressed.  Do you look pretty
when you're all dressed, Andy?"

"Well, uh, I ...  ," I stammered.  "No, I really look awful dressed.
And I'd be too embarrassed to ever let you see me."

"I could help you to look better," Lydia offered.  "I think I have a
good clothes sense, don't you think?" And without waiting for an
answer, she followed that question with, "And I'm sure I could help you
with makeup.  Blackberry lipstick?  Are you going for the vamp look?
Come on now!"

I blushed deeply.  As I had a moment to collect my thoughts, I decided
I could never allow this to happen.  "No Lydia, I won't let you see me
dressed."

Lydia smiled at me.  "Now Andy.  I don't want to be cruel here.  But
let's not forget I have a copy of one of your mail order bills.  So you
shop at a large woman's store?  I can photocopy that bill and send it
around in the inter-office mail, you know."

"As I said, Andy, I don't want to be cruel.  OK, I can see it would be
too embarrassing for you to dress in front of me.  How about this:
what if you went somewhere where they dressed you, and had a picture
taken?  I bet if you had a professional makeup job done, no one would
recognize you.  Then I would be satisfied and you would remain
anonymous."

This sounded like a pretty fair compromise.  "But I don't know any
place like that," I whined.

"Oh, but I do," replied Lydia helpfully.  "Glamour Shots.  They do
makeovers, glamorous clothing, and photos.  I bet if I called, they
would do you up as a woman.  I guarantee they would make you up to be
so pretty that no one would recognize you.  And I happen to know there
is one right near the convention.  Why don't you think about which way
you'd rather do this, letting me see you all dressed, or going to
Glamour Shots by yourself and bringing me a picture?  I need to go to
the ladies room.  When I come back, I want your answer."

Lydia took her purse and got up to visit the ladies room.  There was no
way I would dress in front of her.  But Glamour Shots?  Maybe that
wouldn't be so bad.  Hey, it might even be fun.

Lydia came back and sat quietly, waiting for me to talk first.  "OK,
you win," I announced reluctantly.  "Glamour Shots it is."

She smiled at me triumphantly.  "It will be an experience you won't
forget, Andy," she said.

And then her face got serious.  "OK, dear, but you have some work to do
first.  You are going to have shave about an inch of hair down your
chest, or else your chest hair will show from the neckline.  You won't
be wearing a shirt buttoned at the neck, you know.  And you'll have to
shave the hair off your hands, a little past the wrists.  We can't have
that showing either.

I considered for a moment how I would explain this at home, but before
I could object Lydia followed up with, "And your eyebrows really need
some work, too.  You were going to get a haircut after lunch anyway.  I
want you to have them wax your eyebrows while you are there."

Before I could open my mouth to complain, Lydia said, "Now don't worry,
I just want them to clean up the little hairs below your eyebrows.  You
really will look a lot neater, even if you weren't going to Glamour
Shots.  Agreed?"

"Well, OK, Lydia."

Lydia continued.  "I want you to do one more thing for me.  I want you
to be in the right mood for the makeover and the clothes and the
photos.  I want you to go into the men's room right now and put these
panties on." And with that she handed me a crumpled pair of black lace
panties.  They were warm and slightly pungent.  That's when I realized
she must have taken them off when she went into the ladies' room.  "Put
them on, dear, and give me your underpants so I know you're wearing
them.  I'll wait for you outside the men's room door." And she stood
up, waiting for me to go.

I don't know why, but I followed her command.  They were too small, of
course, but they were silk and they felt wonderful against my skin.  I
emerged from the men's room and handed her my underpants, hoping no one
would see the transaction.  I paid the bill, and we left to return to
work.

When she got back to her desk, Lydia wanted me to listen while she
telephoned Glamour Shots to make an appointment for me.

"Hello, my name is Lydia.  Do you have any appointments available for
this evening?" I held my breath, hoping the answer would be 'no'.  "You
do?  Seven-thirty?  Yes, that would be fine." She grinned at me
wickedly.

"Oh no, it's not for me, it's for a guy named Andy.  I'm his secretary,
and I'm requiring him to go.  You do guys, right?  Uh huh.  That's
right.  Oh no, I think you misunderstand.  I want you to make him up
and dress him as a woman."

There was a long pause at the other end of the phone conversation.
Then Lydia continued.

"Oh, you have done guys as women, before?  Great!  What does he need to
bring?  A wig, OK. And false eyelashes?  Hmm, I wouldn't have thought
of that.  And you supply large size clothes above the waist, right?"

Lydia started to get creative.  "Will you do his nails, too?  No, you
don't do nails?  Darn.  OK, I'll have him take care of that himself."
This was getting more complicated, and I was liking it less and less.
"OK, so we're set for seven-thirty?" Then to me, "Andy, they need your
credit card number." I reluctantly gave it to her to read over the
phone.  "And one last thing:  Feel free to tease him and embarrass him
as much as you like.  Have a good time with him!  Bye."

Lydia's eyes positively sparkled with mischievousness.  She had me, but
good, and she knew it.  "Oh Andy, I only wish I could go with you on
your convention to be there with you." This Glamour Shot thing was
going to be embarrassing enough; thank goodness she wasn't going there
with me!

"Now Andy, don't forget I want you to get your eyebrows waxed when you
get your haircut.  And pack your wig.  I happen to know you have one in
your gym bag, right?  And you need to go to a drug store to buy false
eyelashes and really red nail polish.  They said they wouldn't do your
nails, so you will have to do them yourself.  Do them in your car, just
before your 7:30 appointment.  And when I see your pictures, if you
left out the eyebrow waxing, or the false eyelashes, or the nail
polish, well, then our deal is off and I will send that copy of your
mail order bill around to everybody.  Get it?" I nodded, shamefacedly.

"Then get back to work, dear.  You have a couple of more hours before
you need to leave."

I did have a couple of more hours, but I could barely concentrate I
felt so embarrassed about what Lydia had set me up for.  I sneaked out
when she wasn't looking so I wouldn't have to face her one more time
that day.

I had planned to get a haircut, although I usually go to one of those
nine dollar haircut places.  That barber would laugh me out if I asked
about eyebrow waxing.  I knew of a unisex salon; they would probably do
it.  I went there, and they did have an opening for a haircut.  I sat
in the chair and the stylist was a cute brunette about 25.  We made
small talk and then I asked her, "Uh, I'm having some photos taken.
Would it be possible to have someone remove a little hair from under my
eyebrows?" "You mean, like have them waxed?," she asked.  "Sure, we
have someone who will do that for you." And when the haircut was
finished, she showed me to a backroom.

A very pretty redheaded girl, also about 25, sat me down, and asked me
what I wanted.  She was lovely.  Long dark eyelashes, and beautifully
shaped and groomed eyebrows.  I was wondering whether she colored those
eyebrows or not.  She leaned my head way back in the chair, and started
painting a hot goop under my eyebrows.  "Is it too hot?," she asked.  I
replied 'no'.  She then placed some long paper-like strips on my eyes.
"Do you like my eyebrows?," she asked, "because in a moment yours will
look just like mine." And before I could respond she quickly yanked the
strip of paper off my left eye, and then did the same with my right.
The speed of the whole thing shocked me, and my eyes stung.  "She
smiled at me as her words sunk in.  "Only kidding - I just took a tiny
bit off you," she said.  She then leaned in very close with a tweezers
and removed a few more stray hairs.  "There - take a look." I did.
They looked quite a bit neater, and she had not done feminine arches at
all.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

I paid my salon bill and tipped the stylist and the eyebrow waxer.
Next stop was the drug store.  False eyelashes and nail polish.  Really
red nail polish, I seem to recall.  OK, that wasn't hard to find.  And
although Lydia didn't volunteer it, I bought nail polish remover too.
I knew just enough that it didn't come off with soap and water.  False
eyelashes were a little harder to find.  There wasn't a huge display
like the nail polish.  I had to ask.  A young girl looked like she
worked there, maybe 16, with dark red, almost black lipstick.  "Uh,
where would I find false eyelashes?" She gave me a funny look, like
what was I doing buying false eyelashes, but she showed me where they
were.  I picked out a pair, paid for my purchases, and left the store.
Then I drove the two hour drive to the convention site.

I checked in at the hotel, dropped off my bags, and put my wig and my
new purchases in a shopping bag.  I had just enough time to shave my
face, and also my hands and an inch off my chest as Lydia said.
Shaving the backs of my hands up to my wrists was a new sensation.
They seemed so nice and smooth.  I couldn't imagine why guys never
shave them.

I dressed and put Lydia's panties back on.  They did help get me in the
right frame of mind for this.  I had brought a pair of opaque black
thigh high stockings with me, and I figured, what the heck, so I put
them on too.  I went down to the lobby and asked for directions to the
mall where this Glamour Shots was.  It was about a twenty minute drive,
which would put me there at about 7 PM. I guessed that would give me
enough time to put on the nail polish in my car, and still make it for
the 7:30 appointment.  I arrived at the mall, found the Glamour Shots,
and found a nearby parking spot with plenty of lighting.  So I opened
up the bottle of nail polish.  Revlon "Red After Dark" - seems like an
appropriate choice!  I started stroking it on my nails.  Wow - I was
startled by the sudden brightness of the color.  I tried to be careful
not to get the nail polish over anything else.  But I was being too
careful and was not getting the edges of my nails painted.  So I got a
little more daring and made sure to get the edges, although in doing so
I got a little of my fingers too.  Eventually I got one hand done, let
it dry, and did the other.  And when the second hand dried, it was
almost 7:30.

I locked the car and started walking towards Glamour Shots.  The
brilliant color was really shocking.  Should I walk with both hands in
my pockets?  No, that would look ridiculous.  I tried to walk casually,
but with both my hands in fists so that only the nails of my thumbs and
pinky fingers would show.  No one looked too closely, and this worked
OK.

I entered Glamour Shots.  There were two receptionists, but they were
both busy talking to customers.  I waited patiently.  Then one of them
finished and asked if she could help me.  "Hi.  I'm Andy, and I have a
7:30 appointment," I said.  She looked at her clipboard and found my
name.  "Yeah, here you are.  Would you fill out this form and then
we'll get you started?"

So I reached for her paper, and of course my brightly polished nails
came right into her view.  She smiled a huge smile as she saw them,
then looked at her clipboard again.  She must have thought to herself,
"so this is the one who wants to be done as a woman?," but she said
nothing to me.  I filled out the form and gave it back to her.  Then
she brought a very cute young woman over to me and introduced her as
Vanessa.  "Vanessa will do your makeup, Andy."

Vanessa was maybe 20.  Short, straight blonde hair, long, long
eyelashes, makeup that appeared a little too thick to me, and full and
lightly glossed lips.  Very cute.  She wore a miniskirt with black
tights and heels.  She smiled and reached out her hand to me.  Then she
saw my nail polish.

"Oooh, look at this girls," she said to the other makeup artists.
Isn't this just so precious?" Already she had me blushing.  "But
Sweetie, next time you do your nails, try to stay within the lines, OK?
So, you want to be a girl?"

I tried to explain, "No, I really didn't want to be a girl, but this
secretary Lydia ...  ." Vanessa really wasn't interested.  "Sweetie, go
into the men's room, take your shirt off, and put on one of those tube
tops so that it covers your titties.  That's what all the girls wear."
There didn't seem to be much point in refusing, so I did.  Then Vanessa
sat me down in her chair.

I looked around.  There was a huge mirror, with all sorts of bottles
and powders and brushes.  There was a chair to my left, but it was
empty.  There was also a chair to my right, and sitting in it was a
very pretty blonde woman who was having her makeup done by another
makeup artist.  The other makeup artist introduced herself to me as
Janey, and introduced her blonde client as Francine.  Francine looked
at me in my tube top and my painted nails, and you could see she was
disgusted with me.  I said "hi" to both of them, and told Francine I
thought she was very pretty.  She did not acknowledge me, feeling that
my opinion was of no importance to her.

Vanessa started working on me.  She asked what kind of image I wanted.
The choices were basically between a natural look and a glamour look.
Somehow natural didn't seem to make sense, and I had an awful feeling
that Lydia wouldn't like that after seeing the pictures, and would make
me go back for glamorous anyway.  So I chose glamorous.  I asked to
have a few moles and things covered up, and I asked if she could narrow
what I consider my too broad nose.  Vanessa said "no problem," and
merrily worked away.

She sponged on foundation in what she called a medium light olive
shade.  She kept sponging and blending until I was amazed how even my
face looked.  She applied a translucent powder to set the foundation.
She applied some dark brown powder to the sides of my nose, which she
explained would shadow and narrow it.  She lengthened my eyebrows and
gave a slight arch to them with a dark pencil.  She applied more shades
of eyeshadow than I could keep track of, both dark and light shades,
giving me dramatic, deep set eyes.

Meanwhile as the other makeup artists would pass by, they all made a
point of saying something to me.  "The girl in you is really starting
to come out." "His eyes are looking prettier than mine." "You go,
girl."

I think Francine, next to me, was getting jealous of the attention I
was getting.  She was doing some of her own makeup, which I didn't
understand - isn't that part of the reason to come to a place like
Glamour Shots, so that someone else can do your makeup?  I asked her
that, but she ignored me.

Meanwhile she was asking all the makeup artists for their advice,
including mine.  "Should I wear blue eyeliner?  Should I wear my hair
up?" I asked my makeup artist, Vanesssa, if she would mind getting back
to me.  I could see Francine getting angry at me, as if her makeup and
time were more important than mine, because after all she was the real
female.

Vanessa went back to me.  She applied some thick black eyeliner to both
my upper and lower eyelids.  She darkened my eyelashes with thick black
mascara, and then called someone else over to attach my false
eyelashes.  This was a guy, who must have been a crossdresser himself,
because he said my false eyelashes were much shorter than the ones he
wears.  He glued my false eyelashes on me, which really weighed my eyes
down.

A guy in a suit appeared next to Francine, apparently her boyfriend.
She called him David.  Apparently she and David were going to be in
some pictures together.  David must have arrived through another door,
since nobody had seen him here.  He was wearing a small amount of
foundation, so he must have had his makeup sitting, and wanted
Francine's advice on which tie he should wear.

David started teasing Francine, asking how much longer she would need
to be in the makeup chair - it hadn't taken him that long.  Now
Francine, despite the fact that she had done her own mascara and
eyeliner, really looked gorgeous, in my humble opinion, although David
had not acknowledged that.  Francine didn't say anything in response to
David, and I felt kind of badly for her.  So I said, "sometimes guys
don't realize how long it takes to look nice for them." I meant this
more as a little support for Francine, but David really scowled at me,
probably thinking that I was gay and that I was being made up so I
would look nice for some guy!.  I don't think Francine appreciated my
remark either.

One of the other makeup artists got into the act too, telling David
"You'd better be nice.  Sometimes we have to strap the men down in
order to make them up nice."

Vanessa continued on me.  Some dark blush, streaked a little too far
and not blended enough, making its effect obvious and cheap.  Then she
looked at my nails and said, "Well, we have to find a matching lipstick
color, don't we?" She slowly lined my lips with a pencil and then used
a brush to color my lips a serious red in a wet texture.  She kept
applying more and more lipstick until she was satisfied with the
results, and then had me blot my lips with a tissue.

While Vanessa combed out my wig, making it bigger and bigger, I saw
Francine again.  She was in a dark blue jacket and skirt.  With all the
sexy clothes they have there, I was amazed someone as beautiful as she
would choose that.  I couldn't resist saying something to her.  "It's
so conservative!" She replied in an annoyed tone as if to say it was
none of my business, "I'm a lawyer," implying she would damn well wear
what she wanted, not my fantasy of what she should wear.

Francine and David went off to the photographer's part of the studio to
have their pictures done, while Vanessa put my wig on me.  She kept
playing with it, making it fuller and fuller, until I had a bigger head
of curls than I had ever gotten that wig to look before.  Then she
sprayed me all over with hair spray, including my face which I'm sure
was on purpose for the discomfort of it.  The complete look, however,
of the wig with the makeup was astounding.  It was me in the mirror,
but it wasn't me.  And I wasn't a bad looking girl!

Then Vanessa showed me the clothes they had.  They have blouses and
jackets, fake furs, silk wraps, and so on, all for above the waist.
There was a selection of extra large sizes, although not as much as for
more normal women's sizes.  They give you four choices, and you take
four photos with each outfit.  So we found four outfits and I was about
to go into the try-on room to put on the first one when another of the
makeup artists came by.  Her nametag said Megan.  She was kind of
heavy, but with a very pretty face and lots of elaborate eye makeup.

"Oh, Vanessa, he's so darling, you did a wonderful job with him." And
she held my hand to examine my nails.  "I love the nail polish too."

"Thanks, Megan," replied Vanessa.  "I really wish I could dress him up
all the way, but we don't have dresses here."

Megan looked me up and down.  "I have an extra black skirt of mine in
the back.  I wonder if he would fit in it." And with that Megan and
Vanessa hustled me into a back room.  Before I could protest they had
unbuckled my belt and were sliding my pants down.  Of course they saw
my panties - wait they were Lydia's panties - and my black stockings.

"Oh look, he really IS a sissy," Megan squealed.  "He came prepared
with panties and stockings.  I bet you have a whole outfit.  You should
have worn it when you came in.  You're loving this whole thing, aren't
you?"

They put Megan's black skirt on me, and it fit.  Megan also had a pair
of her heels in the back too, and although they were a little small
they managed to cram my feet into them.  Vanessa brought my pants and
shoes into the men's room for me.  When they put my first change of
clothes on me, a brightly colored jacket that they buttoned all the way
up, I looked completely like a girl from head to toe!

Then they brought me into the photographer's booth.  They introduced me
to Staci.  Staci was about 19, long straight blonde hair, absolutely no
makeup that I could notice although she didn't need any because she was
so naturally pretty, and a minidress.  Wow - the whole staff at this
place was absolutely gorgeous!

Staci smiled at me as Vanessa explained that they wanted these photos
to look as pretty and feminine as possible.  "No problem, just leave
him to me," Staci said with quiet authority.  She picked out some clip
on earrings for me, and then started posing me.  Throughout the sixteen
photos, as she changed me into my other outfits, she put me in the most
humiliating feminine poses - blowing kisses at the camera, hand coyly
under my chin, twirling with my hair, caressing a necklace, wrist
daintily bent, and the worst - batting my eyelashes as I smelled a
rose.  With each picture she urged me on with comments like, "Oh, that
looks so sweet" and "You're doing so well, are you sure you haven't
done this before?" Every now and then Vanessa and Megan would come in
and admire the computer displays of the photos taken so far and giggle
at me.  The last outfit was a brightly colored silk wrap.  Just a long
piece of silk material that they wrapped around me several times,
imprisoning my arms inside the material.  In fact Staci teased me that
she had me in bondage, and that this would make an interesting picture.
Finally the photographing part was done.  Staci removed my earrings and
told me to go into the men's room to remove my clothes and makeup, and
then to come back out when I was dressed in my own clothes to choose my
photos and settle the bill.

So I went into the men's room, and there was David, Francine's
boyfriend.  He had removed his suit and was only wearing his
underpants, bent over the sink washing the makeup off his face.  There
was only one sink in the room, so I waited patiently for him to be
done.  While I was waiting I made some small talk.

"Your girlfriend is really a knockout, you know.  I enjoyed watching
her get made up for your pictures," I remarked casually.

David seemed to dislike me even more than Francine did.  He glared at
me as he dried his face with a towel.  "You little twirp.  You're just
a girlie boy.  Or worse.  You have no right talking about my woman like
that!" And with that he snapped his towel at me.  It hurt, and I
screamed.  He snapped it at me again.  Meanwhile I was trapped by this
damn silk wrap that they had tied around me so I couldn't get my hands
free.  David laughed at me in my inability to defend myself.

"Hey Francine," David yelled, at his girlfriend who must have been in a
nearby room, changing.  "Get in here, you have to see this." And with
that, Francine entered, with a towel wrapped around her because she was
in bra, panties and a slip.  David snapped his towel at me some more,
in front of Francine, no doubt impressing her with his machismo on my
defenseless bound body.  "He's such a girlie boy, isn't he?  Why don't
you do it too?" So Francine removed her towel and started snapping it
at me, and they alternated, enjoying hearing me scream and watching me
unable to get away from them.

When he had had enough, David said to me, "You know, you ought to
apologize to Francine for saying those things about her." I couldn't
recall a single thing to be sorry for, but I apologized anyway.

Francine was not satisfied.  "You know, he was bothering me the whole
time I was being made up.  I think we should make him kneel down in
front of me to apologize." There was a couch, so Francine sat down to
make herself comfortable.  David put his hands on my shoulders and
pushed me into a kneeling position in front of her.  I apologized
again.  Francine seemed to enjoy her position of power over me and
commanded, "Kiss my feet." So I did, grateful that my red lips did not
leave lip prints on her feet.

David thought it would be amusing to subjugate me further.  "That's
enough of that.  Now kiss her higher.  You know where.  Better you than
me, that's for sure."

So David, the macho pig, did not believe in giving oral sex to
Francine.  I on the other hand enjoy doing it.  So I kissed Francine in
the crotch, through her panties.  I tried to push her panties right
into her hole.  She seemed to enjoy this, and she kicked her panties
off, giving me unrestricted access to her pussy.  I kissed and licked
and sucked her like obviously he had never done to her.  She was loving
it.

"Oooh, David, I'm getting so horny," she said to him.  Meanwhile David
had gone out of the room for a moment - and came back with Staci!
David whispered something to Staci, and suddenly Staci came back with a
camcorder and started filming this!  I couldn't believe it!  Meanwhile
I was tonguing Francine for all I was worth, my arms still bound to my
body in that dumb wrap they had tied me into.

"You know, David," Francine said, as she let me come up for air.
"You're not the only one who doesn't like to perform oral sex.  It
grosses me out to do it to you.  Let's see the little sissy do it on
you." So she sat David down on the couch, pulled down his shorts, and
pushed me down in front of him.  "Do it, sissy," she commanded me.  I
shook my head no.  "Do it, or I'll have him shove it up your ass
instead."

I am not bisexual, and I have never had anything up my ass but my
doctor's finger.  But I sensed she was serious and it would not be
pleasant if he fucked my ass.  So I stared at his cock.  I resignedly
gave it a little lick.  It responded to my touch.  I licked it again.
Francine was cheering me on "Go to it, sissy." I put his cockhead in my
lips and rolled my lips over it.  It wasn't so bad.  I took a little
more.  I started sucking him a little at a time.  The sensation was
erotic to me.  I took more and more until I was sucking him in earnest.
David was loving it, and his cock was getting bigger and bigger in my
mouth.

Suddenly David removed his cock from my mouth.  He laid Francine down
on the couch.  He laid me perpendicular to her, with my head under her
crotch and her thighs resting on my head.  This gave me access to her
pussy again.  "Lick her, you sissy," he commanded me.  Then he mounted
her from the other end of the couch.  He started fucking her, with my
head under both her pussy and his cock.  "Keep licking," he commanded.
I was licking her pussy as well as his cock and balls.  He kept pumping
away, and both of them seemed turned on by the extra stimulation I was
providing.  Every now and then out of the corner of my eye I saw
another figure - Staci.  Staci was filming the whole thing!  This was
so humiliating!  David pumped away on Francine until he came.  They
rested for a minute, on my face, and then let me up.  Staci untied me
from the dreadful silk wrap, and they all let me go back in the men's
room to wipe off my makeup and put my own clothes back on.

It took a long time to get the makeup off.  I especially struggled with
the eye makeup, and it seemed that eyeliner would never come off.  Then
I rubbed and rubbed to get the lipstick off.  Although the red color
came off, my lips were pink from rubbing so much.  Then I removed the
nail polish too.  I dressed and came out.

David and Francine were gone.  Staci sat me down and didn't say a word
about what had gone on.  She showed me computer images of my sixteen
photos, discussed prices and how many you can get in various sized
units.  One each of four different poses sounded plenty to me, and I
chose four, with Vanessa and Staci's help as to which made me look the
cutest.  The photos take about two weeks, and they would mail them.  I
paid the bill, tipped Vanessa and Staci, and was about to leave.

The phone rang.  The receptionist picked it up, and it was for me.  It
was Lydia!  "Well, Andy, did you have a good time?  Was it fun?" There
seemed no point in telling her all the details, so I said, "Yes it was
sort of fun."

Then Staci took the phone from my hand.  "Who am I speaking to?  Oh, I
see.  Hi Lydia.  This is Staci, the photographer.  Yes, he was a
wonderful model.  The pictures will come out great.  Oh, you can't wait
to see them?  Well, I'll mail them directly to you then.  He picked out
four.  But then I took a few more shots afterward.  I'll throw a few of
them in too, no extra charge."

Then looking at me, Staci asked, "Won't that be fun when Lydia sees
them?"


Fin