From 0w5s1.labrat@onr.com Mon Mar 24 17:15:33 1997 Path: news1.infoave.net!news-out.internetmci.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!news.onr.com!usenet From: 0w5s1.labrat@onr.com (Karen Mitchell) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.tg Subject: Story - Putting Her On - Part 1 Date: Mon, 24 Mar 1997 16:15:33 -0600 Organization: Onramp Access, Inc. 512-322-9200 Lines: 2636 Message-ID: <F0vNzY9GAIJO092yn@onr.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: onramp8-3.onr.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit This is being reposted at the request of another of the major posters to the group. Enjoy. My address now contains a 5 character random string to help stop email spam which will need to be removed before replying. I did not write this and you must be 18 or over to read it as it may contain a great deal of adult explicit sexuality. If this is offensive do not read - delete file. For those of us who enjoy .... enjoy! Please do not ask for files by e-mail - I can barely keep up with what I have now. Sorry about the forged header, but it does help keeping down on the junk mail. Karen Mitchell author unknown Corey noticed the package on the doorstep of his condo as he hit the button of his garage-door opener and turned his car onto his driveway. United Parcel had, as usual, put his big coco-fiber doormat over the box to disguise it as a box covered by a doormat. He drove into his garage, parked, got out of the car, opened the door to the rest of the condo as he hit the control button to close the garage door, and went in. He walked up four steps to the entryway, walked to the front door and opened it, retrieved the box, and put the mat back in place before shutting the door. The box had been on its side; with its top on top it was about two feet square and three high. Corey looked at the labels: standard UPS stuff, the sender one "N. S., Inc." in a suburb of Dallas. He had ordered nothing of late, his birthday had been months before, and no holiday was coming soon, but there it was, twenty-some pounds in the usual brown cardboard. He picked it up and carried it into his living room, noting with a glance that there were no messages on his answering machine. From the right pocket of his slacks he took his Swiss army knife, opened out the smallest blade, and slit the tape holding shut the top of the box. Inside, atop everything else, was a clear plastic bag, open on one edge: a packet of information? Through the bag Corey saw a booklet that looked like a magazine. Its full-color glossy cover showed a young brunette, adorably cute to his taste but not unusually beautiful, in white blouse with frilly blue bow, long blue skirt, white pantyhose, and low-heeled blue sandals: a tall girl in the library of a Victorian mansion, smiling at the camera. "New Selves, Inc.," read the text. "New Woman 2800T Series with Tryout Mode. Instruction Manual." Corey picked up the plastic bag with the packet. Underneath it, snug in the box, was a silvery block. Its surfaces were irregular, with the reflective layer covered in tough clear plastic. It was like a block of freeze-dried, vacuum-packed food. Corey put the information packet on the floor and with difficulty wiggled the block out of the box. It was about a foot thick. Under it, each sealed in its own bag of clear, tough plastic, were items of women's clothing: a pair of large pink running shoes, a pair of large sandals like those on the woman on the manual's cover, two bras -- one a sports bra in plum-colored Lycra, the other an underwire in black lace -- both unremarkable at size 34B, pantyhose, panties, a bikini, at least one dress...Corey didn't make an inventory. He took the instruction manual from its bag and went over to his favorite armchair to read it. He sat, opened it, and read: Congratulations! You have purchased or been given the finest in new-identity suits from New Selves, Inc.! In the five years we have offered New Woman suits, thousands of satisfied customers have put them on, changing themselves permanently from men into attractive, fully-functional women, now happy in all walks of life, from acting and modeling to business to homemaking, and as wives and mothers. The 2800 Series second-generation suits offer swift, almost painless metamorphoses, with indistinguishability from natural-born women within six months, and the possibility of extreme changes in physical form and/or personality. The 2800T suits, as do all new-identity suits from New Selves with a "T" in their series number, feature a Test Mode that lets the customer wear them for short periods (four to six hours at most, depending on a number of factors) before true metamorphosis begins, yet within moments closely resemble the final form. The closer the physical match between the wearer's form and the final form, the longer the suit can be worn before metamorphosis starts. A potential woman who is satisfied with relatively small skeletal changes can try many different female forms (of his current build but of various races, ages, figures, etc.) before deciding on what woman he will become. With care, a transvestite can use his 2800T repeatedly, to become, for periods of a few hours, compellingly female apart from an impenetrable vagina, because exposure to the suit is not cumulative. With a 2800T (or better yet, several), the transvestite can make the most of his few hours as a woman, unencumbered by wigs, heavy makeup, artificial breasts and other padding prone to come off, and most importantly fear of discovery: the 2800T automatically provides nuances of feminine poise and behavior that are difficult for most men to learn. Corey, incredulous, put down the instruction manual. New Selves? he thought. Suits that change you into someone else, a guy into a woman? Bullshit. That Test Mode sounds like fun. I mean, I'm not a fag or anything, but it'd be cool to go around as a broad for a couple hours. Too bad it's gotta be only a joke. The vacuum-packed thing is supposed to be my very own 2800T, I bet. Fascinated nevertheless, Corey kept reading, skipping around a little: Your 2800T is shipped freeze-dried and vacuum-packed. To prepare it for use, cut the red corner of its package to break the vacuum-seal and then pull the packaging apart at a seam. The suit will have a grisly appearance, as of an actual human skin carefully removed from a body cleaned, compressed, and freeze-dried. Do not attempt to stretch it into another shape: it will be leathery, but in places brittle enough to break, and a damaged suit will not function properly if at all. Put your 2800T in ten gallons or more of water for at least four hours. Overnight is best, and although the exact time is not critical, the suit will be ready to put on when the breasts have the texture of actual female breasts. Water temperature should not exceed 100 degrees F., but water below 40 F may retard the reconstitution. Distilled water is preferable for repeated use (see also the "Instructions for Transvestites"), but any potable water will suffice. A bathtub, preferably cleaned carefully with any cleansers then rinsed away thoroughly, is suggested. Corey skipped to "Instructions for Transvestites," and began to read: Your 2800T can be worn repeatedly for short periods. The swift initial action of suits in the T series, including the extension of a temporary growth into your mouth and down your throat to alter your voice and raise its pitch appropriately, means that you may find that within five minutes of sealing the suit, you resemble closely the woman that you would become if you were to leave the suit on. With practice you may be able to return home after work and within half an hour leave for a date as an attractive woman. A temporary masking persona goes into action within moments, providing natural- looking feminine poise and subconscious cues that identify a person as female, as well as a rudimentary but convincing female personality. A difficulty is that the precise time between your sealing your suit and te beginning of your permanent metamorphosis into the woman your 2800T "wants" you to become can be determined only by experiment. This is called the "grace period." For the purposes of this explanation your alter-ego's name is Jane. As mentioned elsewhere in this manual, the grace period depends on a number of factors, but overwhelmingly on physical similarities between you and Jane. Loosely speaking, the more closely you resemble Jane, the less "need" your 2800T "feels" to do more than provide a remarkably realistic head-to-toe Jane mask. In the packet containing this manual is a Physical Description Sheet for Jane, giving her height, weight, various other physical measurements, blood type, racial background, and so on. Obtain as much of this information as you can about your own body, taking measurements as accurately as you can. Appendix II of this manual is a worksheet to help you determine the minimum length of your grace period, and in the packet are two 3.5" flexible discs, one for computers running MS-DOS and the other for Macintosh machines, that provide the worksheet as a computer program. Determine your grace period both with the manual worksheet and with at least one of the programs. The results should be identical: if not, check your work and try again. If the results still do not match, take the shorter time as your grace period. If you are unsure of any piece of data, assume the worst. For instance, if Jane is entirely of European ancestry and you think that you might have some but are unsure, assume that you have none. If you do not know your blood type, give it as Unknown and accept the reduction in grace period that this will cause. Always err on the side of caution. The formula on the worksheet and in the computer programs is believed to be very conservative, but it does not always hold. Grace period by experiment: The above method provides only an estimate. For serious use, determine an accurate time by experiment. Don your 2800T for 15 minutes longer than your grace period, and then remove it completely. As usual, manipulation of the throat seal is the best way to begin removal. Check for signs of incipient transformation into Jane: most common is a slight discomfort in the skin, like the beginning of a mild sunburn, when you remove your 2800T. This indicates that the suit is attempting to incorporate your skin into itself -- to combine itself with you as the first step in creating Jane. After every attempt, leave the 2800T off for at least ten minutes before you don it again. A warning sign that you can detect before removing the suit is increased sensitivity in your Jane "skin." Within seconds of your donning a 2800T, the suit will no longer feel entirely like a suit: you will seem to have a slight sense of touch at its surface. If at any time this increases and the sense of touch in your actual skin decreases, remove the suit as quickly as you can. (Note that the 2800T adapts its thickness as necessary -- to about that of a latex condom when no padding is needed -- so that the distance between the suit's surface and your actual skin will vary. Do not let this mislead you about changes in sensitivity.) By attempting longer and longer stays in your 2800, you can determine how long your grace period actually is. Never extend the trial period by more than fifteen minutes at a time. If you do a series of trials in a row, remember to remove the 2800T completely every time and leave it off for ten minutes or longer before the next trial. When you reach a length of time at which you begin to feel discomfort, subtract fifteen minutes from that and take the result as your actual grace period. Having your cake and eating it: A transvestite may become tempted to spend a night or weekend as Jane with, say, a sexual partner unaware of his true gender, using menstruation as an excuse not to provide vaginal sex. Grace periods of over five hours are rare, over six unknown. With ingenuity and claims of menstrual problems, a transvestite in a 2800T may be able to spend fifteen to twenty minutes alone in, say, a bathroom at regular intervals, sufficient time to remove the 2800T entirely, wait ten minutes, don it again, and wait until he again resembles Jane sufficiently to show himself. This is risky: one can fall asleep and wake eight hours later, the 2800T joined irreversibly to one's body and a future as Jane a certainty. Attempts to extend the grace period by opening the neck seal and immediately re-closing it are not suggested; experiments indicate that anything from a slight loss of grace period to a gain of several hours is possible, even with the same wearer of the same suit. The mask sticks: If after wearing your 2800T for longer than your grace period you cannot remove it without severe pain (or at all), DO NOT REMOVE IT. Pain of removal worse than a moderate sunburn, or inability to remove it, means that although your internal metamorphosis is not yet complete, YOU ARE NOW JANE. If you began removing your 2800T, PUT IT BACK ON ENTIRELY AND SEAL IT AT ONCE. Attempts at removal will grow more difficult, painful, and dangerous as you proceed, and CAN BE FATAL. ACCEPT YOUR NEW IDENTITY. With your information packet is a blister-pack with two liquid-filled gel capsules: at any time you desire while wearing your 2800T, but especially after a failed removal, take the capsules to ensure a faster, safer, more comfortable metamorphosis into Jane. Chew the capsules in an emergency. The active compound is absorbed to some degree through the lining of your mouth and will put the metamorphosis on track within several minutes, whether after a failed removal or just moments after donning the 2800T. If after this you wish to become someone other than Jane, call New Selves' toll-free customer service number, given on the inside front cover of this manual. Especially if your 2800T was a gift or an unsolicited free sample, we might be able to give you a new self once your metamorphosis to Jane is complete. Restoration of your original self is not possible at present, but we may be able to provide someone similar, or at least help you to establish yourself as Jane. Corey looked at the inside front cover, and there indeed was an 800 number, with Central-Time hours for customer-service people and the phrase, "at other times, leave voice mail." He was in the Eastern time zone, and it was after hours, so he called to hear the message. "You have reached NSI's voice mail," said a woman's voice, a very pretty voice: Corey wondered if it was supposed to be the voice of a man changed to a woman by a Series 2800. "If you're having a problem as the result of using one of our products, please leave a message after the tone with your name and phone number." Corey hung up, not sure of what to say: heckle them? ask who had sent the supposed 2800T to him? He went on reading: Care of the 2800T under repeated use: Your 2800T is best stored in water, even if you intend not to wear it for long periods (a week or longer). A plastic, glass, or stainless-steel container of sufficient size to hold the suit and enough water to cover it, preferably one with a tight-fitting lid, is suggested. The water should be distilled; add one ounce per gallon of ordinary household bleach (5% sodium hypochlorite solution with no scent added); be sure that the bleach is mixed thoroughly with the water before the water is added to the container. Exposure of the suit to too much bleach will damage it. Every other day or after wearing, rinse the suit and replace the water entirely. After wearing, cleaning the interior of the suit with a mild soap suitable for use on your skin is suggested (avoid deodorant soaps and soaps with moisturizers, perfumes, and other additives). With continuous water storage and the regular care, it should last at least one year before you should either discard it or use it in a permanent metamorphosis. Fading or the start of degeneration will indicate when it has reached this point. If for a period of a week or more you do not intend to wear your 2800T, you may air-dry it. Hang it on a hard-plastic hanger, by the shoulders with the head behind, as if it were a jumpsuit with an integrated hood, in a dry place with free circulation of air. Watch for growth of mold or mildew: at the first signs it should be returned to water storage and within ten days used either for a permanent metamorphosis or discarded. With careful drying and storage in a cool, dry place, you should be able to reconstitute it and use it even after five to six years. What the hell, thought Corey, the bathtub needs cleaning anyway. This has got to be bullshit, and maybe there's some sort of "Candid Camera" type lurking around, filming me making a fool of myself, but screw it. Over a hasty dinner of frozen burritos heated in the microwave and washed down with light beer, Corey looked at the Physical Description Sheet for his "Jane." It was not a bad match. She was supposedly 5' 10", like himself, though her waist was some inches narrower. With a shredded-beef burrito in one hand he rummaged through a kitchen drawer and found a six-foot steel measuring tape, and took measurements of himself: arms a bit longer, hips much narrower, legs about as long as its. "Hey, hey, long grace period," he said aloud. The age on the sheet was 21 to his 28, the ethnic background mostly Italian and French but a quarter black (he was part Italian, part Irish, and not sure what else), and the blood type O (he had no idea of his own). From under his kitchen sink Corey got a misshapen, dried-up old cellulose sponge of an insincere blue, some effective-smelling liquid cleaner, and the brush he used on dishes, and took them to his bathroom. He rarely took baths: the tub, pale blue ceramic on steel, was effectively the bottom of his shower stall. A mixture of discolored soap scum and strands of his own black hair -- he worried about going bald -- coated its sides. He bunched the shower curtain and pulled it as far from the faucet as he could, and made sure its bottom edge fell outside the tub. After some splashing of water, squirting of cleaner, and angry ineffectual scrubbing, he stripped and got into the tub, put the bottom of the curtain back in, pulled the curtain across the tub, and turned the shower on, cleaning the tub as he rinsed himself off. When he climbed out and toweled himself dry, the tub was as clean as he'd seen it, and he plugged the drain, put the shower curtain aside once more although it still dripped, and turned on the faucet so as to fill the tub with lukewarm water. He put on his bathrobe -- terrycloth, once white -- and went down- stairs. With his Swiss army knife he cut off the corner of the vacuum- pack bag, and air whooshed in. He pulled it open and there, just as the manual had said, was what looked like the skin of a woman, carefully removed from her body, washed clean of blood, compressed into a block, and freeze-dried. The skin, if it was skin, had an excellent complexion of a light, even brown, and part of the block's surface was covered with loose, frizzy light-brown curls. He picked up the block -- it was cool and dry, the apparent skin like the dry skin on a callus -- carried it to the tub, and eased it in. When the water began to trickle into the overflow hole, he shut off the faucet. For the rest of the evening, Corey watched television and drank beer. After all, it was a Friday. Around midnight his curiosity got the better of him and he went to have a look at the thing soaking in the tub. It had swollen up and stretched out. For a moment Corey thought that he was looking at the dead body of a young woman with pale brown skin and frizzy hair, floating face-down in his bathtub, its head near the faucet. He gave it a hesitant touch on its back: cold, dead, wet skin, but no body inside that. Almost nauseated, he turned the thing face-up, not easy because it was floppy, slit from neck to crotch down its front, and a mere skin in some places but thick and waterlogged in the thighs and breasts. With no flesh and bone behind it, its face was misshapen but feminine, an amalgam of European and African features that Corey found beautiful. Its cheeks were high, its ears large but delicate, its nose broad but with a pert turned-up tip, its lips fashionably pouty around a wide mouth. Corey felt its breasts. They were cold but they felt like a real woman's. The supposed 2800T was ready for him to put on. He slipped out of the bathrobe and stepped into the cold water of the tub, feeling like a fool. He wrestled the thing into position -- inside and out it felt like cold wet human skin -- and began to put it on, shivering from its clammy touch: left leg, right leg, penis and scrotum into a tough little sac at the crotch, left arm, right arm. His hands and feet slid in smoothly, the water inside the suit's own hands and feet seeming to vanish at the same time, the chilliness vanishing. The suit was not rubbery or elastic, but somehow it stretched just enough to let him put it on with ease. With hands gloved in what looked like light-brown human skin he began to pinch the slit shut, starting just above the false vagina. He took off his glasses and pulled the head on, wondering how they would look on a woman's face if by some chance the suit actually worked. The head slid neatly into place, nostrils and mouth and ears fitting as naturally over Corey's as if the suit had been molded over a cast of his head. Behind each set of false eyelids was a brown film, and by some instinct he reached up and with a fingertip pressed one into each eye. They popped in comfortably, like contact lenses. Corey began to pinch the suit shut, proceeding upwards. When he came to the false breasts he, again as if by instinct, put one brown- gloved hand over each and pressed both into place on his chest, where their inner surfaces at once adhered. Then he pinched the rest of the slit shut, sealing it at the neck. "Comfortable, anyway," said Corey aloud, in his own voice. He looked down at his costumed body: it looked disturbingly feminine, and he felt the start of an erection. Something at his crotch clamped his penis, squeezing the blood out of it and keeping it limp. "Oh, shit!" he said. "This is for real!" Over a few seconds his eyesight became clear, as if he were looking through binoculars that someone was adjusting to the proper focus, and the filmy things in his eyes seemed to grow thicker as it happened. Something in the costume pinched in his waist, and the costume's padding in the thighs and buttocks clung tightly, as if trying to become part of his flesh. Without stepping out of the tub, Corey turned towards the bathroom mirror on the opposite wall. A tall young woman with pale brown skin, wet curly hair, adequate breasts on a rather mannish figure looked back. At first her face, stretched tight over Corey's, was simply his with a different complexion. Then for a few moments Corey felt slime flow over his face, and as he watched the woman's face shifted into a beauty's, far lovelier than the boneless face Corey had admired when the suit floated in the tub. He made the reflection raise her hand to it and through the false skin -- very thin -- that made his hand hers, he probed its features. Over his jaw the covering was also thin, but near his mouth it was thick, forming her pouty lips. He pressed against what looked like impossibly high cheekbones, and felt them shift slightly: the false skin had made the real flesh over his own cheekbones become remarkably firm, covered it with a hard layer of its own, and then provided false muscle attached to this "cheekbone." Yet when he tried out expressions on the woman's face, the skin and supposed muscle moved in an entirely natural way. Unless he pressed very hard against the false bone, the illusion was flawless. He made the woman smile, frown, grimace, open her mouth wide as if to scream, wrinkle her nose, raised her eyebrows: her face did everything perfectly, showing no sign that it was not a real face, a real woman's. Something at the corner of the false mouth wriggled inside, stretched, avoided his attempts to bite it, and sent a projection down his throat. He coughed a few times as it tickled him, but that was no use. His larynx began to feel peculiar, and he felt several brief pains he could not localize. The entire neck of the suit began to tighten, but he did not feel as if he were being strangled -- not quite. The neck of the reflection seemed to become longer and more slender. Various parts of the suit began to get thicker, or thinner, or tighter, or looser. Corey felt trapped inside a bag of oozing slime, but he watched in amazement as his appearance changed from woman-faced but androgynous to entirely female, head to toe. Perhaps ten seconds after the changes stopped, the suit became perfectly comfortable. Corey put his woman-skinned right hand to his false left breast, and found that the manual had been right: the surface of the suit now sent his nervous system slight sensations of touch, augmenting those of his real skin. The rest of the suit was entirely numb, though it clung to him as if part of his own flesh. Corey examined the woman he appeared to be: tall, unusually pretty, naked. Her crotch would have bulged with Corey's erection had the mechanism of the suit allowed it. She looked Italian and French and one-quarter black, as the physical data sheet had said. Her dark- brown hair fell to her shoulders, and as it dried it revealed something between curls and frizziness. Her eyes seemed slightly too large for her face, deep brown and alluring. Her forehead was high, aristocratic, and smooth, with the skull beneath curving back well below her hairline, giving it a touch of the mask. Her nose was broad, but its tip turned up and Corey wanted to kiss it. She had remarkably high cheekbones, a full mouth with pouting lips, and a deliciously stubborn chin that was almost entirely Corey's own. Her ears were delicately-shaped if slightly large for her head, and the piercings in their lobes did not go through Corey's flesh. She had broad shoulders, but they were square though Corey's sloped. Her breasts were not especially large but very high and firm, her armpits carefully shaven, and her strong arms and legs were sleek and womanly where Corey's were wiry. Her waist looked pinched-in, as if she wore an invisible corset, and although inside her Corey was being squeezed in half, he could feel nothing but skin over hard muscle when he probed her waist with her fingers. Her crotch seemed an ordinary woman's, but Corey spread the lips of her vagina and examined the space with with a delicate-looking forefinger. He felt only a slick furrow, very shallow. Her buttocks and thighs were perhaps slightly plump, her feet large for a woman's but in proportion to her size, and her shaved legs were arousingly feminine. They even had a few little patches of razor stubble, a touch of realism Corey found disconcerting. "Fuck it," said Corey in her voice: higher than his own, more resonant, definitely feminine. It seemed to have an accent to it, one that he couldn't place just then. "This thing really does work. Except for the cunt I'm just like a real babe." He reached for a towel and rubbed his false skin and hair dry. After that the hair looked messy, and he brushed it into some sort of order. He hefted his false breasts, finding that they felt just like a real woman's, except that they moved against his chest and sent a faint but pleasurable sense of touch from their surfaces. He tried rubbing his false clitoris, but it was too numb for the touch to be stimulating. He saw that he'd left his watch on the bathroom counter. Twelve twenty-five, already Saturday. It was a sports watch, more or less unisex, and he put it on his left wrist, over a patch of brown false skin slightly paler than the rest. The "woman's" wrist seemed more delicate than his own, but the watch's buckle used the same hole in the strap as usual. He addressed the beautiful naked woman in the mirror. To him she was remarkably desirable. "I wanna fuck you, babe," he said, and smiled. Her voice thrilled him. He placed her accent. It was that of an American midwesterner half-covering a delicious West Indian lilt, and her smile was womanly with a touch of mischievous little girl. Corey nearly panicked at how her self had taken possession of him, but then he remembered what the manual had said about false personalities: the suit was masking his self and behavior with female ones that matched his appearance. "I'm in yo' skin now, baby," he told his reflection, faking a "black" accent. It sounded phony and he dropped it before going on. "Black is beautiful. Uh-oh, I gotta see how long I can stay you." But he automatically rubbed the end of his stick of unscented deodorant on the shaven armpits, just as he did on his own after a shower, before he went off to get the physical data sheet for this form and the floppy for the Mac version of the grace-period program. Corey drew the drapes in the extra bedroom he used as a computer room -- though why should he care if any neighbor up this late saw a pretty woman, stark naked, at his computer? He turned on the computer and ran the program right off the floppy, typing in the data for the woman he now resembled and the man he really was. The suit had given him fingernails a little longer than his own, making typing difficult at first, but soon they caused no trouble. On many questions he had to guess -- he didn't want to take off this sexy female shape and measure himself, and after all he could always run the program again or work it out by hand -- but at least he had an answer in under ten minutes: minimum grace period, three and one-quarter hours. He ejected the floppy and shut down the Mac. He looked at the watch -- was the wrist really more delicate and feminine than his own? he wondered, but of course the strap fitted snugly at its usual notch -- and found that it was past one. Well, he thought, figure at most an hour since I started putting her on -- ha ha, double meaning there. Be conservative. Get out by three. Two more hours, if I like, looking like a hot babe of a woman. I like. I'm not a fag or anything, but this is fun. Corey went to the box that the suit had come in and got out and unwrapped the clothes. New Selves had fitted quite a wardrobe into the package, much more than he had noticed before. In seconds he'd chosen a pair of low-heeled black sandals, black pantyhose with built-in panties, a strapless black bra, and a tiny wine-red dress, strapless and low-cut and very short-skirted. He found the jewelry box and took from it a pair of dangling garnet earrings and a pendant on a heavy gold-colored chain, a heart an inch and a half across covered with a few dozen garnets like those in the earrings. The garnets matched the dress perfectly. There was a tiny gold-colored watch, too, and Corey set it to the correct time and replaced his sports watch with it on the brown wrist. Putting on the women's clothes was almost automatic, and again Corey was disconcerted until he remembered that the suit was helping him behave like a woman. He fastened the pendant's chain around the neck and slipped the hooks of the earrings into the piercings as if he did such things almost daily, and without thinking tied back his false hair with a frilly black elasticized ring he snatched from the pile of clothes, pulling the hair tightly back as if to stretch the false high forehead more tightly against his own. Only the sandals, which he could barely fit onto his feet even with the straps let all the way out, gave him the least trouble. He looked at himself in the hall mirror. The reflection seemed entirely that of a woman, and Corey's seeing his own expression on her face, her whole form moving as he moved, would have given him a painful erection had the suit not forced his penis to stay limp. Her pale brown skin, from face to low decolletage, from shoulders to fingers, looked warm and inviting and flawless. Her tiny dress was tight against the breasts and waist, and its skirt barely covered her crotch; her legs were sleek in their black pantyhose. "I'm beautiful," he said, and though that voice was deep, almost a tenor, it could not have been a man's. He smiled at the woman in the mirror, who smiled back, a wistful little aren't-I-sweet smile that made him want to hug her. He wrapped his own arms, sheathed in her flesh and skin, around her form, hugging her as best he could. "I could go for you in a big way," he said to the reflection, trying to sound like himself but instead sounding like a woman trying to seduce a man. "Ah, fuck you," he said. "I'm going to put someone else inside you and make sure he doesn't get out, and then I'll have you for myself." That sounded absurd and Corey found himself giggling deliciously. "Fuck it," he growled, still womanly. What now? Corey looked at the delicate little watch: almost 1:45. He had an hour and fifteen minutes, maybe an hour and a half, maybe more if he felt like staying this way indefinitely. He could fondle his false breasts: they hadn't much sensation even at the nipples, but the coverings on his fingertips were thin and it would be rather like fondling any ordinary woman's breasts -- except that these were attached to his body. Masturbation wouldn't work: his penis, embedded somewhere in false woman-flesh, felt almost as numb as the suit's well-shaped clitoris and rudimentary vagina. Corey decided to go shopping. It was ten minutes' drive to a huge all-night drugstore, and he was already thinking: maybe I can use this suit to seduce someone. Some guy I know, some friend. Knock him out, take the suit off, put him inside, let him stay in till he's turned into her, and comfort and look after the poor confused girl. She'll be so grateful. Instant girlfriend. Some makeup and perfume wouldn't hurt. New Selves didn't think I needed them, I guess. The dress had no pockets, but among the clothes was a tiny black purse, a rigid semicircular box with a shoulder strap. He lengthened the strap to hang at his waist, got his wallet from its usual place in the drawer of the hall table, and stuffed all the cash in it and his ATM card into the little purse. He found his keys, blew a kiss to the woman he saw in the hall mirror as he went past, and went into the garage. end of part 1 -- Karen Mitchell labrat 'at' onr 'dot' com o·From: 8p3i7.labrat@onr.com (Karen Mitchell) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.tg Subject: Story - Putting Her On - Part 3 Date: Mon, 24 Mar 1997 16:17:34 -0600 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Message-ID: <+1vNzY9GAwIN092yn@onr.com> Lines: 471 This is being reposted at the request of another of the posters to this newsgroup. Enjoy. My address now contains a 5 character random string to help stop email spam which will need to be removed before replying. I did not write this and you must be 18 or over to read it as it may contain a great deal of adult explicit sexuality. If this is offensive do not read - delete file. For those of us who enjoy .... enjoy! Please do not ask for files by e-mail - I can barely keep up with what I have now. Sorry about the forged header, but it does help keeping down on the junk mail. Karen Mitchell Putting Her ON Part 3 Around one o'clock, Dave was cleaning his house when the phone rang. He wrung out his mop and picked up the receiver in the kitchen on the third ring. "Hello," he said. "Dave?" It was Carol's voice. "Yeah," said Dave. "Carol, is that you?" "Uh-huh," said the person on the other end, perhaps more Carol now than Corey. "Dave, I forgot. I've got something I can't miss on Sunday night." Dave sighed audibly. "Oh, that's too bad. I was really looking forward--" "How about tonight instead?" Feminine allure. "Well--" Dave began. "Short notice, I know," said Corey in his best Carol purr, "but I really want to see you again, so why not sooner instead of later?" "All right," said Dave. "Blue Parrot, seven, tonight" said Corey. "I'll make reservations." "You'll call back if you can't get them, right?" asked Dave. Giggle. "Right. 'Bye, Dave." "'Bye, Carol." Corey hung up the phone -- Carol's delicate-looking brown fingers letting the receiver fall into place -- and laughed Carol's laugh. He meant to make the laugh malicious, but it wasn't. Anyone watching and listening would have noticed only a tall woman with perfect pale brown skin and endearingly frizzy hair and lovely voice, naked, talking pleasantly on the phone, then laughing afterwards in anticipation of a pleasant evening. Corey picked up the phone book, found the number of the Blue Parrot restaurant in the white pages, and called. "Blue Parrot," said a man's voice. French accent, faint but artificial. "Hello," said Carol's voice with more charm and Jamaican accent than usual. "I'd like reservations for two, for tonight, at seven. The name is Lasalle." "Ah," said the man. "Let me see. Seven might be difficult--" "Oh, please." Damsel in distress. "It's a special occasion. Just a little table for two." After a few seconds, the man said, "Certainly. Yes, seven o'clock." "Non-smoking?" asked Corey. "We allow smoking only in a separate lounge, madamoiselle." "Thank you *so* much," said Corey. "'Bye!" He hung up. Corey put the touches on his plan for making Dave into Carol. He got into Carol, chose what she would wear that evening -- pretty much what he had put on her for going to the drugstore the night before -- and after putting the clothes on Carol, he made up her face lightly, with cosmetics supposed to be smudge-proof. Then he practiced undressing as Carol, taking her off, waiting ten minutes, putting her on again, and then dressing again once he had completely resumed her form. After the third try he could do it all in just over sixteen minutes if he simply brushed Carol's hair out afterwards. The secret, he found, was to stay calm and open the slit with a constant pull, working methodically from neck down to crotch. He noticed that even after all the practice, Carol's makeup seemed none the worse for wear. After practicing, Corey stood at the bathroom mirror, gazing at the reflection of Carol. So beautiful, he thought, so fucking beautiful. He put a fuck-me smile on Carol's face, and his first reaction was that he was practicing something he shouldn't, that any face he wore shouldn't smile like that unless he meant it. Ah, fuck, he thought, I'm thinking like *her* again. Only a few more hours. With a beautiful sigh he began, slowly, to take Carol's clothes off her form. It was another ten minutes before he could bring himself to take off Carol herself. It took some searching through boxes and closets before he was finished preparing for the evening. "I'm Ca--, uh, Corey Soler," said Corey to the desk clerk at the hotel next to the Blue Parrot. "I have a reservation." He set down a small suitcase with Carol's clothes in it, and an old duffel bag with Carol's skin wrapped in large damp towels. The clerk was a tall bleached-blonde woman, thirtyish and a little shopworn. Somehow her masculine gray suit and blue bowtie, standard uniform for the hotel chain. made her look more feminine, even adorable. Corey found himself wishing that he had such a suit to wear -- for Carol to wear -- that night, and resolved to buy one for herself -- for Carol, once Carol had taken over Dave's body. "Yes, it's all in order," she said. "You've got my credit card number already from over the phone, right?" said Corey. "Yes, sir," said the clerk. "Now, if you'll fill out this form..." "Of course," said Corey. He did and gave it to her, and she didn't seem to find it odd that Corey lived in town. Probably seen enough people renting rooms for affairs, he thought. Day rooms for lunchtime fucks, too, I bet. "Your car's in our garage already?" asked the clerk. "I'll validate the ticket." "Thanks." Corey fished it out of his shirt pocket and handed it over. "Okay," the clerk said a few moments later, "here's the ticket, and here's your room key. Room five-twenty-eight. Take the nearest elevator, just at that end of the lobby." She gestured towards it. "Enjoy your stay, sir." "Thanks," said Corey, taking ticket and key. "I will." At twenty to seven, Corey was on the bed, wearing only his glasses, watching TV. Carol's clothes were laid out next to him, ready for her to put on, and her skin was softening in the warm water of the tub. His own clothes were in the overnight bag, and although the duffel bag had only the damp towels in it, it was zipped up and ready to take away. "Mission: Impossible" was on the set, and a female member of the team had just put on a mask and wig and disguised herself convincingly as a Japanese woman. "How do I look?" asked her voice in synch with the lips of the real Japanese actress playing the character she was impersonating. Corey fumbled for the remote control, shut off the set, got up, and went to the bathroom to get into Carol. At about four to seven, Corey took a final look in the mirror before leaving. Carol's hair was up, showing off her lovely slender neck, but with a few endearing wisps falling in front of her ears. She looked to him as if she would be cold that evening, her arms and shoulders bare and her chest half-covered, but inside her Corey was warm. Corey dabbed perfume behind Carol's ears and at her wrists, put the room key in her purse, and left, exactly the Carol he wanted Dave to see that night. He took the elevator down to the level of the garage where he had parked, walked to the car next to his and pretended to check whether it was locked, and then went to another elevator that took him to the end of the hotel lobby nearest the Blue Parrot. Do just what you'd do if this was for real, he thought, making Carol smile knowlingly; that's the way to make these things work. Dave, standing in the waiting area of the Blue Parrot and staring into space, was brought back to reality by the sound of legs wearing pantyhose brushing against each other. He looked up and saw Carol's face smiling at him, an expanse of flawless pale brown above a tiny strapless dress with almost no skirt to it, perfectly-shaped long legs in the black pantyhose that had made the noise. "Carol!" said Dave. "You look magnificent tonight!" The smile on the facebroadened, grew delightfully mischievous. "Sorry I'm late," said Corey, making Carol's voice jocularly penitent. It was about six after seven, and they were in the waiting area of the Blue Parrot. Carol's lips pressed against Dave's left cheek, and Corey shocked himself by licking Dave for a split second with just the tip of his own tongue. "No problem," said Dave. "Hardly what I'd call late, anyhow. I told the maitre-d' you'd made the reservations..." A waiter bowed to them and led them to a table, helped Corey position his fine Carol buttocks in a chair, gave them menus, and left. "Sorry about the short notice," said Corey. "Nothing to apologize about," said Dave. "Carol, you're truly a fascinating woman and I'd like to get to know you as soon as I can." A giggle came from Carol's mouth, and the words, "Who knows? You might get to know me more intimately that you could ever imagine. Maybe sooner than you'd expected." "You must be cold, Carol," said Dave. He and Corey had just left the Blue Parrot after an excellent dinner. Corey had remembered reading, in some woman's magazine that had been the only thing left to read in a doctor's waiting room, that men find a healthy appetite in a woman especially sexy. It had never struck Corey as true, but he had eaten little that day and was willing to try the suggestion, so an appetizer, good wine, a generous entree, and a rich dessert had all gone past Carol's pouty lips that evening and into Corey's stomach. I could get used to this, thought Corey, what with Dave insisting on paying for all that. It's past nine-thirty, though. Have to take her off soon or I never will. "I'm fine," said Corey, knowing that a real Carol would be shivering in the brisk evening breeze. "Are you sure you don't want my jacket?" asked Dave. Corey shook his Carol head. "The real question is, `My place or yours?'" Dave smiled. "Whichever you like." "Yours," said Corey. "All right," said Dave. "Taking your own car? Let me tell you how to get there." He did, and sketched a crude map on the back of another business card. Of course Corey didn't need it, but he thanked Dave and with a delicate-looking brown hand slipped the card into Carol's purse. "Look, I have to drop by my place to get a few things," Corey went on. "I might take maybe twenty minutes." "No problem," said Dave. Corey had expected an objection. "I'll wait for you at my place." "My car's in the hotel garage," said Corey, as they approached the hotel's main doors. "I've parked down the street," said Dave. "So it's goodbye for now." They kissed, Dave's parted lips against Carol's, and Corey found himself, or rather Carol's self, putting his tongue into Dave's mouth as far she could, if briefly. They separated, Dave opened a lobby door for Carol, and with Carol's sleek legs Corey stepped through. Back in Corey's room, Carol's hands undid her clothes quickly and neatly. In moments her skin was bare: Corey felt smug for having thought of practicing. His sports watch, set to stopwatch mode, was on the hotel dresser, ready to ensure he spent enough time as himself. With Carol's fingers Corey massaged her throat, slit open her front, and began to remove her. When she was just a suit again, he started the watch. He paced for a few minutes, went to the bathroom and urinated, and paced again, looking at the watch again and again. Out of caution he waited for twelve minutes instead of ten before he stopped the watch and slipped into Carol again with relief. He sealed himself inside her, pressed and prodded her into her best shape, put her clothes on her, and let down her hair and brushed it out. He took her lipstick from her purse and touched up her lips, picked up the bags, and left. Corey went to the garage and soon found his car. He put the duffel bag into the trunk but took with him Carol's purse and the overnight bag with his own clothes, tossing them into the passenger seat. He drove down to the exit booth. "Ticket, please," said the attendant, a fiftyish black man. Corey rummaged in Carol's purse with Carol's fingers. "Oh, dear," he said with a little sigh, "I don't seem--" "Sorry, ma'am," said the attendant, "but--" "No, wait!" said Corey. He unzipped the overnight bag and felt in it for his pants -- he was getting used to the gloved feeling of wearing Carol's skin -- and in a few seconds had extracted the ticket, a bit crumpled, from a pocket. "Here you are!" The man seemed almost disappointed that the ticket had a hotel validation, but he smiled at the beautiful thing he thought a woman's face and said, "Thanks, ma'am. G'night." It smiled back. "Good night." Corey parked nearly a block from Dave's house -- it wouldn't do for Dave to see his car until Dave was no longer Dave. He took the overnight bag, got out, and walked. Even clothed in Carol's skin he soon felt the evening chill. He looked down at the bag. Not the sort of luggage a real Carol would want to use, he thought. Oh, well, it won't matter. Soon Carol's forefinger was pressing the doorbell button at Dave's front door. Dave was there at once, and noticed the bag. "Planning on spending the night?" he said, as he welcomed in his dinner companion. "You never know," said Corey, making Carol's voice seductive. "I forgot a jacket again -- it really is getting cold." He set down the bag in the front hallway. "Something to drink?" asked Dave. "I'm kind of into ports and sherries these days. Or Madeira, if you'd like." Corey didn't like sweet wines -- Dave had inflicted a few on him the previous week -- but as Carol he said, "Sherry would be *lovely*, Dave." "There's a sideboard in the living room with decanters--" began Dave, and Carol's giggle was adorable. "Okay, so it's a stereotype. Half a glass of port for me, and get what you like. Sorry, I have to use the bathroom." "Okay," said Corey, as Dave went off. Corey thought that the speech sounded affected, even rehearsed, but he put that down to Dave's occasional nervousness with beautiful women. Corey went to Dave's living room, took out two glasses from a cupboard in the sideboard, and took from Carol's purse the little vial that had caused him so much trouble to prepare that afternoon. He had stolen some chloral hydrate, long the key ingredient of a Mickey Finn, from a chemistry lab back in college, and it had taken him an hour to find it and make a little concentrated solution. He popped open the vial and poured its contents into one glass, then added port from a decanter. The other glass he filled nearly to the brim with a sherry paler than the one Dave had given him last week. He hoped it was a dry one. Dave returned to see Carol's form sitting on his love seat, its long legs, womanly in their black pantyhose, crossed, its left hand holding Carol's glass of sweet sherry to its pouty lips. Its right hand gestured towards the side table where its wearer had put Dave's doped glass of port. Dave sat next to it, then picked up the glass. Man and false woman looked at each other with desire, each wanting, though in rather different ways, the other to be a real version of the imposter. "To us," said Carol's voice, the delicate-looking hand raising her glass of sherry. "To us," Dave repeated, and they sipped their drinks. "Something's odd about this port," said Dave, and took another sip, more generous. "What's wrong?" Carol's tones were those of the concerned woman. The hand wearing Carol's skin raised her glass to her lips and poured through them into Corey the rest of her drink. Dave finished his glass, slowly. "Some sort of odd, bitter taste to it. It shouldn't be there. I just had some port yesterday from that decanter, and it was fine. I'll try a clean glass and have another taste." "Good idea." False heartiness marred Carol's voice. "Here, let me try some too." Dave took Carol's glass from the fingers holding it, and watched her lips form a smile. He went to the sideboard, got another glass, and filled it halfway with more port. He took a sip. "It tastes just fine now," he said, filling the other glass. "That's odd." He went over to the love seat, put his glass on an end table, let the Carol fingers take the other, and sat, his thigh brushing against the black pantyhose and the short skirt of the dress. "You know, you are a remarkably beautiful and desirable woman," said Dave. A big sip of port went past the pouty lips. To the tongue inside, it tasted like cough syrup, but the self appreciated the alcohol just then. "Why, thanks," that self said in Carol's voice. "That's sweet of you." "It's simply the truth," said Dave, "not a matter of being sweet." "I'm big and tall enough to be a man." The Carol voice was pitched low, yet still sounded completely like a woman's. The brown fingers set down Carol's glass. "Yet you're a woman," said Dave. "All woman. A beautiful, beautiful woman..." He caressed the Carol-skin under the stubborn chin, gazing into the brown Carol eyes. "Do you have any idea of how sexy that is? Tall, strong, sleek, but all woman." "You're wonderful, too, Dave." Carol's fingers ruffled his hair. Dave fell forward onto his lovely guest's lap, apparently unconscious. Feminine but strong arms took hold of his shoulders and pushed him away so that he sprawled over most of the love seat. Dave's guest got up and began to undress, quickly and methodically, enjoying the relief from taking off those tight sandals, the feel of the nylons on shaven legs, the caress of the dress' soft fabric slipping against skin, the bounce of breasts that accompanied unhooking and removing the bra, the feel against neck and chest of the locket and the links of its chain, of the earring wires being pulled through the little piercings in the ears-- "Fuck it!" shouted the beautiful naked girl, for she was no longer Corey, and she knew it. The suit was no longer a suit -- it was a skin, her skin! She touched the leather of a chair with her left hand: the double sensation, Corey's own sense of touch and the false skin's faint sense, had reversed: she was feeling with her own pale brown skin, with Carol's skin, and Corey's own skin was almost gone, absorbed! "No! No!" cried the woman who had been Corey and was now Carol. "I can't have changed! I've got *hours* to go! I'm not Carol!" She knew she was lying to herself, yet she massaged her slender, womanly neck frenetically, though nothing happened except that slowly both neck and fingertips lost what remained of their double sense of touch as her skin became the normal skin of a woman. She kept trying until her fingertips were sore and welts were about to appear on the skin of her neck. Then she burst into tears and sank to the floor. Carol sat sobbing on the floor of Dave's living room for some minutes. Eventually she stopped crying and got up. She finished her glass of port in a gulp. It tasted better than before: either the start of her change from a disguised Corey to a genuine Carol had altered her tastes already, or maybe she just needed a drink. She went to the sideboard, filled her glass to the brim with Madeira, and drained it -- not bad, she thought. Dry for a Madeira. Think I'll have another. She did. After that, Carol put down her glass, and went, still naked, to the bathroom. Her appearance hadn't changed much with the onset of her metamorphosis -- the crying had had more effect -- but her neck and fingers and feet seemed more delicate now that she was becoming her real self instead of Corey in a 2800T suit. She caressed herself, enjoying her bare fingertips, felt on and feeling what was all her own skin. She smoothed back her hair, felt the bones of her face -- all real now -- and then hefted her breasts. As she did, the last feeling of numbness in them passed away: they were all hers now, and their nipples were at least as sensitive as Corey's had been. She massaged her abdomen and proceeded to her crotch, fingering her clitoris, now more sensitive than the glans of Corey's penis had been. She probed her vagina with a forefinger. She was not quite all woman there, but the inch or so of depth was already a great improvement over the moist patch of the disguised Corey. Her buttocks still had a patch of numbness inside, but her thighs and legs were apparently all her own, no longer Corey's covered with padding. It looks like I'm stuck as Carol now, she thought, stepping back from the mirror for a fuller view of her new body. She wriggled in sheer delight at her own beauty. If when I was Corey, anyone'd told me I'd rather be a pretty woman, I'd have laughed, sneered. But this is so much *better*. Why? I don't know. It's just right for me, as if I should have been a woman, this woman, Carol Lasalle, all along. "I'm Carol Lasalle," said Carol, smiling at her reflection. Carol went back to the living room. Dave was still in his drugged sleep. He had slipped mostly to the floor, and with difficulty Carol hauled him up onto the love seat, one arm under his head and the other under his knees. Her muscles were weaker, she knew, becoming a woman's. Corey would have had no trouble shifting Dave. She put her clothes on again. Everything fitted better, especially her sandals, and she liked the feel of her clothes on her real skin. She took her purse with her to the bathroom, where at the mirror she touched up her makeup. That was easier for her now that her skin was her own, not a mask over some man's body. To the living room again. Dave showed no signs of waking. What now? She could leave, get into Corey's car, and drive to Corey's condo -- she couldn't think of them as her own, or of herself as ever having been Corey or indeed anyone but Carol. She had Corey's memories, but they seemed like someone else's, a store of information somehow put into her mind, perhaps useful but not necessarily relevant to her own life, her own self. Carol looked down at Dave's drugged body, feeling pity and something more. I'm in love with him, she thought. I really am. I think I was in love with him when I was Corey, but as Corey I couldn't admit it. Now I'm a woman and I can. Will he love me too? Am I pretty enough? Is my body too big, too much like Corey's? Dave said he liked it, said it was sexy that my body is this way. Is my skin too dark? Maybe Dave really wants a natural blonde. I wish they'd sent the skin of a snuggly little blonde girl instead so I'd've been someone cute for Dave to cuddle. I can't tell Dave I used to be Corey. I need to set up a new identity as me, as Carol Lasalle, but I can't ask him to help me or it'll all come out. Maybe the New Selves people could help. Call them and say, hi, I'm a satisfied customer, so how about some help with a new identity to go with my new body? I'd like to be called Carol Lasalle. No, I don't want to be a man again, not ever, so don't try to change me back, okay? Carol stooped over Dave, took his face in her hands, and kissed him tenderly on the mouth. "Oh, Dave, I love you so much," she said, caressing his cheeks with her delicate fingers. Dave didn't react but simply lay there breathing softly, still too drugged to wake, let alone take notice. Corey gave him too much chloral, she thought. Poor Dave. He'll be out for hours and hours. Carol went to Dave's bedroom, took the woolen blanket from his double bed, brought it downstairs, and draped it over him. She tucked it around his neck and under his feet, kissed him again, and went off to his guest room. She remembered the emergency pills that had come with the suit, the wonderful suit that was making her herself. Corey had put them in her purse, planning to give them to Dave once Dave was in her skin, ensuring that Dave would become her. She giggled aloud at Corey's foolish idea, his silly plots. It's better this way, she thought. Dave could never be as *me* as me. She opened the purse, found the blister pack, popped out the gel-capsules, put them into her mouth, and chewed and swallowed them. Maybe they'll give me a real cunt by morning, she thought, and then Dave and I can make love. She took off her clothes, got into bed, and shut off the lamp on the nightstand. The beginning of her metamorphosis had worn her out, and in moments she was asleep. Carol woke to the smell of breakfast: coffee, bacon and eggs, toast, and so on. She sat up in bed, all but baring her breasts, and saw Dave, unshaven and looking weary but contented, carrying a tray of food into the room. "Oh, Dave," she said, "you didn't have to do that." Dave grinned and set the tray on the nightstand. "Well, it was the least I could do, Carol. I mean, in each decanter I put about fifty times the dose you'd get in those emergency gel-caps. Flavorless -- and harmless unless you're in a New Selves suit. Corey didn't have a chance." Carol gasped. "You-- you--" "Set Corey up," said Dave. "Of course I did. Friend transformed into loving and lovable girlfriend in a matter of hours. He nearly got me with the Mickey Finn -- serves me right." "This is crazy, you know," said Carol. "I should be furious with you. You've robbed me of my body, my identity, made me not want them back, made me into...*this*." She pressed both hands to her chest. The feel of her own breasts reassured her. "But somehow it's all right. It's better than all right -- I'm so happy. I was never so happy when I was Corey." "I hope the cab came in handy yesterday morning," said Dave. Carol shook her head at Corey's naivete. "Corey really didn't have a chance against you," she said. "Sorry to have made you into Carol without your permission," said Dave, "but I think it's a great improvement. Physically you're only about twenty years old, you're a hell of a lot prettier than Corey, and much less likely to be stuck at home alone on a Friday night. I needed a girlfriend, Corey doesn't any more now that he's you, Carol. Two birds with one stone." "But I'll make you pay for this," said Carol. "I'll--" "You'll do what?" asked Dave, stooping over her. "Be honest, Carol. What do you really want to do to me?" "Seduce you," said Carol, seizing him, pulling him down to the bed, and crushing her lips against his. They nibbled at the cold breakfast afterwards. They had enjoyed sex even though Carol's vagina had not yet grown enough to accomodate Dave's penis properly. "Dave," said Carol, "I *am* going to become a woman entirely, right?" "The New Selves people say so," said Dave. "They've had nursing mothers who used to be men. Just a matter of a few months." "Good," said Carol. "I'm going to love having a baby -- your baby, Dave -- and nursing it. You know, this is me. The real me. I really am Carol, Carol Lasalle. I never should have been Corey." "It's all a cosmic mistake you can forget now, Carol. You're *you* at last, the woman you should have been. You're my darling Carol." "I can't thank you enough for rescuing me," she said. "Trapped in that lonely, nerdy man, stuck with his mind in his body -- it was horrible! I might never have gotten out!" "I knew you were in there, Carol, inside Corey, screaming to get out." said Dave. "I had to get you out of his body, his personality. Even then I loved you so much, but what could I do until Corey was out of the way?" "I love you, Dave," said Carol. They kissed for a long time. "Happy with your looks, babe?" asked Dave. "We can get you a new skin and try again." "I like every part of me," said Carol, "or I will, once it's all finished. Dave, do you mind that I'm so big and tall? That I'm, well, strictly speaking, black?" Dave chucked her under her chin, a chin less stubborn now that she had almost reached her true form externally and was no longer Corey in a costume. "Carol, you're the girl of my dreams. You're just who I've always wanted, in every detail, your hair and skin and size, your voice and cute accent, your body and soul." "That settles it then," said Carol, and snuggled against him. end of part 3, end of story -- Karen Mitchell labrat 'at' onr 'dot' com ‰From: 9d6p4.labrat@onr.com (Karen Mitchell) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.tg Subject: Re: About Jodie's Reposts - Story - Weekend.txt (102K) Date: Sat, 04 May 1996 17:23:16 -0500 Organization: I-Link Reply-To: LabRat@i-link.net (Karen Mitchell) MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Message-ID: <Uj9ixY5faBuN090yn@i-link.net> Lines: 1549 Article 1384 of alt.sex.stories.tg posted by karenauala@aol.com (KARENAUALA): > Although this request is not about tg stories it is about Fem Dom. If >anyone has a copy of the story Country Life if they would repost it or >e-mail it to me i would be most thankful. I don't know if this is the requested story, but this seems close. Maybe you'll like it anyway. I did not write this and you must be 18 or over to read it as it may contain a great deal of adult explicit sexuality. If this is offensive do not read - delete file. For those of us who enjoy .... enjoy! Please do not ask for files by e-mail - I can barely keep up with what I have now. Part I "Be at my place at 7:00 slave," said the husky, seductive voice on the phone, "and I know you won't be late." The sound was both thrilling and chilling at the same time; its matter-of-fact yet hypnotic tone searing into my mind. It was Joan, the beautiful woman who had taken control of my life. "Bring your bag of 'toys' and plan on spending the weekend. Just bring your shaver and toilet articles. Don't bother to pack any clothes, you won't be needing any." I didn't even hear the click of the receiver; it took the sound of the dial tone to jar me back to reality. The call to my office phone was over almost before it had begun. But it left me off balance the rest of that Friday afternoon. How typical of Joan. Thoughts of her and what might lay ahead filled my mind as I drove to Joan's house near the outskirts of town. Not long ago she was merely the attractive, assertive women I had met in a bar one night. Now she seemed to control my life. I couldn't help but notice her as she had entered the bar, her 5'11", leggy height accentuated by her high-heeled pumps. She wore a tight silk blouse and a dark slit skirt. I admired her from a distance; watching as she made her way down the length of the bar. She sipped a drink casually; listening with bored disinterest to the come-ons that various men threw her way. I was surprised when she took the stool next to me. I'm an average looking guy, although I keep my hard, muscular body in excellent shape with regular workouts. She appeared to be out of my league and besides, probably didn't have the type of personality I so secretly craved . She immediately initiated a conversation. At first I found myself staring at the braless hard nipples of her medium size breasts and the way the curve of her firm thighs was exposed as she crossed her legs. She had long dark hair framing her full shiny lips and the deep brown eyes that seemed to penetrate so. I was soon lost in those eyes. It was she that controlled the conversation; brazenly probing the darkest corners of my personality and eventually inviting me to her place. With Joan as the aggressor, the evening was filled with a special passion that occupies the grey area between seduction and rape. In our subsequent meetings I had experienced things that had surpassed my wildest of secret desires. She must have sensed early on my submissive nature and she exploited and expanded it every time we were together. Although it wasn't expressly stated, there never was any question of who was in command. Now, only a few weeks later I was her sexual slave: helpless, yet willing to obey her desires. My mind snapped back to the present as I turned into the driveway of her suburban home. In my excitement I almost forgot to get the bag from the trunk before I started up the walk. The 'toys' inside, as Joan had so innocently referred to them, were my modest collection of leather bondage cuffs and straps. She seemed to get a special thrill from seeing a man tightly bound and helpless and, the fact that it turned me on so, heightened the pleasure for the both of us. Under Joan's direction, the bag's contents were growing but still did not compare with her seemingly endless assortment of restraints and devices. As I walked somewhat shakily to the door, I wondered what surprises she had planned for me this time. Before my finger could reach the doorbell, Joan's voice rang out, "Come in." As I walked into the living room I saw her, with drink in hand, leaning casually against the bar. "Remove your clothes so I can get a better look at you," she said calmly. That was her special appeal. She was not loud and demanding like the professional Mistresses that I had read about and had occasionally paid to visit. Yet I found myself so strangely submissive and often speechless in her presence. She was always so cool and confident; taking her dominant position as an obvious role that was to be expected and naturally obeyed. It was this matter-of-fact quality about her mastery over me that was so exciting and unnerving. She had lured me into her control so smoothly and quickly. It was as if she always seemed to know my thoughts and my weaknesses. I was under her spell and couldn't have resisted even if had ever wanted to. And I never had. I put the bag on the coffee table and quickly peeled off my sport shirt and jeans, my eyes eagerly scanning her body. As always, Joan was dressed in a way that emphasized the curves of her lush form. She was wearing a sleeveless black leotard of a leather-like cire material with a deeply plunging neckline that featured her firm, high breasts. Silky red jogging shorts clung tightly to her hips; revealing as much as they concealed of her well rounded ass and a thin gold belt accented her slim waist. Her long legs were encased in shiny black tights that ended in red spike-heeled sandals. Those penetrating eyes of hers followed my every move and she allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction as she noticed my cock swell when I freed it from my shorts. When I stood there completely naked, Joan put down her drink and walked slowly towards me. Her hands ran appreciatively over my muscled body as she passed and my cock grew harder in response. I admired her luscious legs and ass as she bent to rummage briefly in my bag but averted them quickly as she turned holding a leather strap. "This will do for now ," she remarked as she firmly pulled my wrists behind me and fastened them securely. The now familiar shiver of helplessness went through me and even her breathing seemed to quicken slightly as she eyed my vulnerable form. Joan had at least a inch of height on me anyway and the five inch heels she favored made her tower over me. Staring deeply into my eyes, she slowly leaned down and kissed me hard; her sweet tongue exploring my mouth insistently. As I savored the taste of her lipstick, her hands slid down to my ass and groin. She murmured with satisfaction as she felt my cock twitch and stiffen even more as she ran her long, polished fingernails down its length and caressed my aching balls. "My, how my little plaything loves to be ied and teased," she cooed, "you won't believe what I've got planned for you . Besides, your helpless to do anything about it aren't you ?" Blushing and uncertain as to how or whether to respond, I could barely break my silence with a whispered, "Yes". She chuckled lightly in triumph at my embarrassment. In an eternity that lasted but a few minutes she again had me under her spell. She grabbed a piece of rope from the bag. "Come on, it's time to get you ready," she remarked, motioning with a toss of her head. I stared at the rhythmic swaying of her hips in the shiny shorts as I followed her into the bathroom. I wondered for what -- or who -- I was being prepared. Once in the bathroom Joan drew back the shower curtain and motioned me into the tub. Grabbing my shoulders, she spun me around; tieing one end of the rope to the strap that held my wrists. She wrapped the other end around the shower head, pulling my bound arms up uncomfortably. "This will keep you from causing trouble," she said giving it an extra tug as she tied the end. I stood there forced by the bondage to bow down my head and shoulders slightly. I was covered with goose bumps as much from the helplessness as from the cold enamel beneath my feet. Running her fingers through the thick hair on my chest she sighed, "Too bad, but this will have to go." Reaching into the cabinet under the sink she pulled out several bottles. My eyes widened as I saw the label 'Nair'. I finally found my voice. "Wait...you can't...people will notice," I protested, drawing as far back as the rope would allow. "Oh, I CAN'T !" Joan said mocking me; grabbing my balls and squeezing with her long nails for emphasis. "I CAN and WILL do whatever I want. I know that and so do you. So let's cut the complaining. Or, if you prefer, you can be gagged." I found I could only silently lower my head further in acknowledgement of her power. Smiling broadly, she sensuously pulled on a pair of thin latex rubber gloves. She worked quickly, spreading the thick pink lotion over my entire body from the neck down. She covered every inch of my torso and limbs; careful not to exclude the area under the strap at my wrists or even the crack of my ass. The combination of the warm rubber gloves and cool lotion felt highly erotic on my flesh. I was allowed only slight satisfaction as she dwelled briefly on my groin area, massaging the cream into my swollen balls. Joan liked to keep me in a continual state of raging arousal; once remarking, "After all, what good is a cock if it isn't hard ?" After snapping off her gloves and inspecting her handiwork, she chuckled, "Don't go away...I'll be right back." Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she wheeled into the hall, leaving me in my humiliation. She returned in a few moments bearing two glasses and a lit joint. "Since you've decided to behave I brought you a little reward. As she held the drink to my lips, I drank as best I could given my bound condition. I coughed and choked some on what tasted like straight bourbon. She shared the joint as well and I soon felt a mellow glow that helped me relax. Joan gently rubbed and caressed my hard cock as we finished the drinks. I was grateful for the distractions because my entire body had begun to sting and feel warm. "Well I've got some things to do, " Joan said excusing herself. I was left alone to consider my condition. I looked down at my pink-covered body. The stinging of the depilatory had become an intense burning and I writhed in torment at the feeling of thousands of tiny needles pricking my flesh. The rope holding my arms denied me much movement or relief. My mind raced as I thought of how I would explain my lack of body hair to my friends at the athletic club. None of the possible excuses I came up with seemed very plausible. After what seemed like an eternity of itching, Joan returned. She turned on the water and I gratefully maneuvered myself under the spray. I watched in astonishment as my once luxuriant body hair fell off and disappeared down the drain. My chest, arms, and legs were now completely smooth and my erect cock and balls seemed bigger than ever without their nest of curly hair. Once I was completely clean Joan untied the rope from the shower head and toweled me off. I sighed from relief and arousal as she then massaged my body with lotion to remove the residual redness and stinging. I was amazed at how sensitive my hairless skin had become. "Let's go, " Joan announced, heading towards the bedroom. As we entered, I noticed an array of clothes laid on the bed. I didn't recognize all of them but gulped as I realized they were women's undergarments. Noticing my discomfort she smiled, "Well you don't want to go traveling naked, do you ?" Again finding my voice I asked, "Traveling ? Where are we going ? " "Oh, didn't I tell you we're taking a trip ? It must have slipped my mind." she said with mock innocence. "And you're going to be my female slave this weekend." Anticipating my questions, she continued, "You'll find out when we get there. Now let's get you dressed." While under her intense gaze I knew that I could only respond by bowing my head in silence. Picking up a strapless, long-line bra Joan stepped behind me and wrapped it around me. I squirmed as she hooked the back of the black garment. My bound hands grazed her silken crotch and I felt the warmth between her legs. Teasingly, she ground her pelvis against my fingers and pressed her breasts into my back. Just as I was enjoying the firmness of her nipples, she finished her task. She jerked back suddenly, yanking the breath from me as she pulled the last hook tightly into place. She walked around to face me and survey her work. "An improvement," she remarked as she ran her hands over my cinched waist, "but kind of flat." She laughed, jabbing a finger at the empty silk cups that now hung from my chest. I wiggled slightly, trying to gain some relief from the pressure on my rib cage. I quickly stopped when she lovingly grabbed my rock-hard cock as said, "But we'll have to get rid of this." Tugging me by my organ, Joan led me to the bed. She picked up what looked like a small leather pouch with a thin strap attached to the closed end. Without warning she suddenly dug her nails hard into my cock. I yelped in pain and my erection wilted. In an instant, she stuffed my genitals into the pouch and tightly closed the small buckle strap at the top of the pouch around the base of my cock and balls. She then attached a tiny padlock to prevent removal of the pouch. Moving quickly, she stepped behind me; reached between my legs; and grabbed the strap at the bottom end of the pouch. She pulled the thin strap up between the cheeks of my ass. In the process my cock and balls were dragged up and under my torso. In one last movement, she drew the ends of the strap, which came to a 'T', around my waist and buckled them tightly at the top of my hips. Another small lock made the whole apparatus secure. Before I had been able to blink back my tears my male organs had been bound out of sight between my legs. Moving her body against mine and fondling my bare ass, Joan cooed soothingly into my ear, "I sorry if that hurt a little but I couldn't have my girl slave have such an ugly thing sticking out of her cunt, could I." She rubbed her other hand over the now empty crotch were my male organ normally hung. I felt a somewhat uneasy heaviness in my groin. The slight discomfort turned to pleasure as she continued her caress. The tightness of the pouch prevented an erection, making the arousal I felt somehow more intense in its frustration. When Joan backed away I looked down. At first glance it appeared as if my hairless crotch had been castrated. Next Joan picked up a pair of panties that matched the black bra. She teasingly drew the soft fabric across my face; letting me inhale its lightly perfumed scent. As I raised one leg at a time, she drew the silk bikini up my legs; taking the opportunity to run her hands along my smooth limbs. Again, I was amazed at how sensitive my hairless skin had become. Maybe it was the "buzz" from the liquor and pot, but I found my knees shaking as she nestled the panties snug around my hips. "Sit down," she instructed; reaching for a pair a dark brown pantyhose. Dropping to one knee, she slowly stretched each leg of the stockings along my own; taking her time as she smoothed the fabric in place with her hands. As I stood shakily in my bondage, she rubbed the crotch of the pantyhose into mine and let the waistband snap into place. Moving against me, she slid her nylon-covered leg along mine. "Such soft, sexy legs," she growled. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you," she smiled. I found myself surprised at how much I was. I looked down at my legs which seemed softer and more feminine now that they were hairless and sheathed in the sheer nylon. On occasion I had fantasized about dressing in women's clothes but never dreamed it would be this exciting. The soft yet restraining garments were turning me on incredibly. And it was all enhanced by the fact that I was helplessly bound before this erotic woman who was rubbing the spike heel of her shoe on my calf. Joan picked up the last item from the bed. "This will give you some nice curves," she remarked as she held it up for me to see. It was a black panty girdle with foam rubber padding in the seat and sides. It appeared to be far too small to ever fit me and it almost was. But with considerable pulling and tugging and, aided by the smoothness of my nyloned legs and the 'emptiness' of my crotch, it finally settled into place around my middle. The girdle fit tightly, putting added pressure on my groin. "Such a nice round ass," she whispered in my ear as she reached her arms around me to feel my behind. After stepping back to admire the results she released the strap that bound my wrists behind me. "I'll be right back," she said as she strode out of the room. As I rubbed my wrists and flexed my stiff shoulders, I marvelled at the soft feel and appearance of my hairless arms. I ran my hands all over my transformed body. My cinched waist narrowed sharply and then broadened into my enlarged hips. I tried in vain to loosen the bra but I was held so rigidly that I was unable to even reach the hooks. I was particularly fascinated by the look and feel of my legs. The lack of hair and the dark, sheer pantyhose gave me shivers as I slid my hands up and around my thighs. I moved one hand up between my legs and rubbed firmly in an effort to ease my maddening arousal. My head felt like it was spinning. "Playing with yourself, I see," Joan said from the doorway of the room. "Such a naughty girl you are !" I blushed deeply and quickly dropped my hands to my sides. "Here... you can put these on while I get ready," she laughed at my embarrassment. She tossed my pants and shirt at my feet and left the room again. As much as I was enjoying my new attire, I was glad to see my own outer clothes, particularly if we were going somewhere as Joan had mentioned. I pulled on my knit sport shirt. I've always bought my shirts a little small in order to show off my muscular torso. Now I cursed my vanity. The shirt clung to me, highlighting my narrowed waist. The bra was faintly visible and I tried to smooth down the empty cups as much as possible. Despite my efforts, they puckered up slightly; I could only hope not too noticeably. I picked up my jeans and noted that my wallet and car keys were gone. They slid up easily over my nylon covered legs but it was a real struggle to fit them over my padded girdle. I finally managed to pull them into place and button them. They were stretched tightly over my hips and ass and, as a result, they zippered deeply into my groin. It was now obvious to even a casual observer that my male genitals were gone. As I dressed I began to feel strangely light-headed. The 'high' from the joint seemed to be intensifying. My body seemed to tingle slightly and I felt somehow more aware of the feel of the nylon and silk against my skin. It was almost as if all my senses were magnified. Joan walked into the room and as I looked at her my vision seemed to vary off and on from slightly fuzzy to intensely focused. I found myself staring numbly at her breasts as she approached me. She again bound my hands behind me with a leather strap. My muscles seemed drained of their strength as she attached leather cuffs to my biceps and drew my elbows together with another strap. My mind felt slightly clouded yet I was acutely conscious of what was happening. Sensing my befuddlement, Joan gently turned me around to face her and wrapped her arms around my neck. Her eyes bore into mine with an intensity that is indescribable. I found I was unable to avert my gaze. Her voice echoed with a hypnotic quality. "You see, I drugged your drink," she whispered. Her smile was at the same time warmly comforting and frightening. "Don't be alarmed. It won't hurt you," she continued, "It was just a little something to keep you from resisting me. By the time I'm done, your mind will be as helplessly mine as your body." Part II "Well it's about time to go," she said taking my arm and starting towards the door. "What about my shoes ?" I asked, my voice sounding to me like it was coming from somewhere far away. "Oh, how could I forget," Joan said heading not to the living room, where I had undressed, but to the closet. "Here we go... I bought your size." she said, turning with a pair of women's pumps. I could only manage a small groan as I realized that any hope I had of concealing my embarrassing attire was vanishing. I sat meekly on the bed as she knelt and slipped the black heels on my feet. They had a narrow strap across the instep which she buckled snugly. Now I couldn't even kick off the shoes if I wanted to. Joan helped me to my feet and giggled as I stumbled on the three inch heels. "You'd better practice a bit," she suggested. I walked unsteadily about the room under her amused gaze. I felt pitched unnaturally forward and was forced to take small mincing steps in order to retain my balance. After I'd improved somewhat, Joan announced, "One more thing." Producing a box from a dresser drawer, she revealed a pair of falsies. Pulling my shirt back, she inserted them in the cups of my bra and nestled them into place. They were cloth-covered rubber bags filled with silicone that had the shape, feel, and weight of real female breasts. My bondage made them thrust out prominently from my chest. I was in a complete daze from both the drug and my complete humiliation. Joan turned to close the open drawer and suddenly remarked, "Now that's a thought !" Pulling me to the small bench in front of the dresser she sat me down. I watched meekly in horror as she glued a pair of long fake eyelashes onto my own. She then applied waterproof black mascara and eyeliner to finish her task. Laughing, she held a small mirror up in front of me. My eyes were now darkly outlined and stood out dramatically. The long, full lashes fluttered as I blinked in disbelief. Anyone's gaze, even if they saw me from a distance, would be drawn to my eyes and would immediately recognize that they were heavily made up. Joan picked up a lipstick; then, on second thought, put it down. I let out a small sigh of relief. "We'll trim your eyebrows and do the rest later," she said, leading me back to the living room. Once there, she thrust the bag of bondage gear into my bound hands. "You can carry this," she announced, picking up a suitcase and my overnight bag. I followed her to the garage. I was getting accustomed to walking in my high heels. In fact, I found myself enjoying the way my new breasts jiggled on my chest with each step. My enlarged hips and ass seemed to give me a lower center of gravity that swayed sensuously from side to side as I walked. My genitals felt almost as if they were tucked inside of me. As I walked they were kept maddeningly stimulated, but in a different yet more intense way than I was used to. We stopped briefly as Joan unlocked the garage door. I caught a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror in the hall. There I stood; obviously a broad-shouldered, muscular male. But jutting from my front were two large female breasts complete, I noticed for the first time, with erect nipples. They were forced out in there full glory by my bound arms. My thin waist broadened out into well-rounded hips. I turned slightly to see the full curve of my behind. My thoughts began to drift as I savored the sight of this strangely erotic creature with the kewpie doll-like eyes and perched upon those sexy high heels. Part of my mind knew it was me; yet somehow I seemed like someone else. I was so wildly turned on by this new persona that my breathing began to quicken. I don't know how long I stood there staring; it could have been moments or hours. When I suddenly snapped back to reality, I turned and saw Joan silently watching me with a broad grin spread across her face. I blushed deeply and again followed her. I offered a silent prayer of thanks that her house had an attached garage. Taking the bag from me, she helped me into passenger's side of her sports car. She buckled the seat belt snugly, fixing the shoulder harness so that it held tight and wouldn't give any slack. I was forced to sit upright with my bound arms behind me; unable to lean or slide forward to avoid being seen through the windows. As an added measure, she pulled another leather strap from the bag and lashed my ankles together above my high heeled-shoes. After throwing the bags into the trunk, she got in and started the engine. As she opened the garage door and backed into the street, I hoped that the twilight would quickly turn to darkness before my embarrassing condition was noticed. At first we took only largely deserted side streets. My heart sank as she turned toward the heavier traffic of the freeway. Just as we started up the on ramp, Joan added another shock. Reaching into her purse, she slid a pair of large wrap-around sunglasses onto my face. At first I was grateful that they would conceal my made-up eyes. Then I was stunned to find that the insides of the lenses had been painted black. I was effectively blinded; only by straining could I look down to see the tops of my breasts at the bottom and Joan's firm thighs to the side. I wasn't sure what was worse; seeing my humiliation or not knowing when or how it was happening. The trip seemed to last an eternity. Most of the time I was made to suffer my fate in silence; my drugged mind drifting. I considered my condition. Here I was, obviously a male, dressed in women's underwear. I was completely bound and helpless; unable to do much more than rub my nyloned legs together in an effort to ease my sexual frustration. Even if I could make my escape; how would I return home without any shoes but these high heels and lacking any money or I.D.? How would I explain my attire and hairless body? I couldn't even rid myself of the tightly hooked bra, let alone free my imprisoned genitals. And I didn't even know where I was or where I was being taken. I was constantly reminded of my soft breasts as they swayed and bounced with every turn and bump in the road; the strap of the shoulder harness drawing the attention of passing drivers to my cleavage. I was glad that at least my long lashes were hidden behind the sunglasses. At times my thoughts drifted in arousal. I was becoming used to and enjoying the feel of the silky fabrics against my soft skin. My broad hips and round ass now felt almost normal. I no longer minded the tight bra; in fact I was some how proud of the way it narrowed my waist and thrust my breasts out invitingly. I even found myself regretting that Joan had not applied the lipstick and imagining how I would look when fully made up. It seemed that my every nerve ending was vibrating at a fever pitch. I was turned on like never before; both by my helpless state and by the very thought of my erotic reflection in the mirror. From time to time Joan brought me back to reality. Occasionally she would reach over unexpectedly to fondle my breasts or rub between my legs; causing me to first flinch in surprise in my sightless state, then to moan in unfulfilled torment. Or she would laugh as she described to me the amused reactions of passing motorists when they saw my female breasts. At one point a semi drove alongside us on the right for some time before honking and pulling away. Joan delighted in relating the driver's lecherous stares and obscene gestures. She teased about waving him over at the next wayside. "I'll bet you'd really get off on kneeling helplessly before him and sucking his big hard cock. Wouldn't you, you horny bitch." I blushed deeply in embarrassment; but, dressed as I was, I oddly found myself even more aroused at the thought. Finally, after slowing down and turning onto what seemed to be a dirt road, Joan stopped the car. She came around to my side of the car, released my seat belt, and unstrapped my ankles. Removing the sunglasses, she remarked, "I see my girlfriend-slave survived the trip O.K. I'm sure you'll enjoy our weekend ...and all the fun things I have planned for you." Shaking my head and blinking my eyes in a vain attempt to recover full control of my senses, I managed to ask, "Where are we?" "Oh, just a little weekend hide- away," she replied, "We won't be bothered here." She helped me from the car. I was a little unsteady on my feet from the bondage and the odd weak feeling in my muscles. The heels didn't seem to be much of a problem though; I was amazed at how adept I had become in them in such a short time. Joan got the bags from the trunk and, as before, gave one to me to carry behind me in my still bound hands. I followed her up a gravel path. In the darkness that had fallen I could just make out the outline of a small cottage. As we approached I could hear the gentle lapping of waves on shore from behind it. She open the door, turned on the lights, and led me inside. It was a modern cottage, really a small lake home, with two bedrooms, kitchenette and bath, and a living room complete with fireplace. In back, I was to learn later, was a deck overlooking a lake. It was surrounded on three sides by trees and set back in a small bay. Joan put the suitcases in one of the bedrooms and took the bag from my bound hands. "Let's get these dull male things off you," she said, "It's time for us to have some fun." Reaching into her purse, she extracted a pocket knife; opening it as she approached me. Startled, I stepped back quickly; almost losing my balance in my high heels. "Don't be afraid... You won't get hurt unless you don't stand still," she cautioned. Dropping to one knee, Joan inserted the knife up one pants leg and drew it upward. The razor- sharp blade sliced easily through the tough denim. She repeated the process on the other leg, taking the opportunity to slide her hands on my limbs. "Mmm... such smooth sexy legs you have," she cooed. Her soft hands along the nylons on my hairless skin sent tremors of excitement through my groin. As she peeled away my tattered jeans her hand ran along my crotch. My cock strained even more in its bondage. "I can't wait to rub this sweet cunt of yours against mine," she whispered, sticking her tongue into my ear. She then used the knife on my shirt. When it had joined my jeans in shreds on the floor, she wrapped her arms around my waist. Leaning into me she rubbed her firm breasts into my newly acquired ones. "Your nipples are so hard...I can't help it; I've got to feel them against mine." My concerns over losing the last of my male clothes vanished as she thrust her tongue deep into my mouth and writhed our bodies together. I almost fell over when Joan released her hold on me and stepped back an eternity later. My mind and body reeled with passionate lust and my breath came in short gasps. My arms strained in their bounds. In desperation, I pleaded, "Oh God, you've got to let me come...please...I can't stand it any more...please... I can't..." Suddenly angry, Joan cut me off with a sharp laugh. "Ha...you have such a short memory. You forget who's in charge here." Jabbing a fingernail into my chest, she continued, "You may, just MAY, be allowed to come and then only when I say so. And AFTER you've satisfied me. Our times together have always been mutually pleasurable. After all that and after I go and buy you such pretty things to wear; this whining is the thanks I get !" Reaching into the bondage bag she produced a leather trainer with attached ball gag. "I think it's time to show you what can happen when you don't cooperate. "I'm sor...." My attempt to apologize was cut off as she jammed the ball gag into my mouth and buckled it tight at the back. Quickly she fastened the remaining straps of the trainer over the top of my head and under my chin. The trainer encircled my head like a clenched fist; my jaw was forced shut around the hard rubber gag. I was silenced except for a muffled groan. Striding into the bedroom, Joan returned carrying a three inch wide leather collar. She wrapped it around my neck; buckling it in back. It forced my head up rigidly and was just short of being tight enough to inhibit my breathing. She yanked me by my bound arms to the area in front of the fireplace and forced me to the carpet. She lashed my knees together and again did the same with my ankles. With a cord she joined my bound wrists and ankles to each other and forced me to sit upright on my knees. "I'll let you think awhile about how sorry you are. Or maybe you'd prefer it if I dropped you off at the highway to find your way home." In response to the last I shook my head from side to side as vigorously as the collar would allow. Satisfied, she walked from the room; leaving me in my helpless state. I knelt there stiffly; stunned by her sudden anger and determined not to rile her again. My drug-fogged mind raced in panic at the thought of being left to wander the countryside dressed in bra and heels, without money to get home. I could do little more than kneel there rigidly. The straps holding my wrists, arms, knees, and ankles prevented any movement. And the long bra and leather collar forced an erect posture. The trainer-gag muted me completely; my saliva dripping out around the edges of the ball. Despite all this, I found myself even more incredibly turned on. And most surprisingly, my arousal was not centered solely on my groin as it had been in the past. I yearned to have my breasts fondled and my legs stroked; to feel Joan's soft skin in contact with my hairless body. My thoughts again drifted back to my image in the mirror, to the prospect of lipstick on my lips, and to whatever wildly erotic things Joan had planned for me. After a while Joan reappeared. She had changed clothes and was now dressed in a black merry-widow which accentuated her slender waist. The bra top of the corset had half cups which offered her breasts out invitingly, exposing the nipples. Below she wore a skimpy black G string held by silk ribbons tied at the sides. Her long legs were sheathed in black stockings connected to the garters of her corset. She moved casually around the cottage; fixed herself a drink and, selecting a magazine from the coffee table, and sat down on the couch to my right. She ignored me; sipping her cocktail and smoking a joint. Since the wide collar prevented me from turning my head, I could only see her from the corner of my eye. I stared at her voluptuous body; finding myself mesmerized by the swaying of her five inch heeled black pump as she sat there with her long legs crossed. Finishing her drink, Joan rose and walked over to face me. Standing with her hands on her hips she looked down at me and said, "I think you've learned your lesson, young lady." I could only look up at her as she towered over me and attempt to convey my answer with my eyes. She must have been satisfied by my response and she reached down to release the strap connecting my bound wrists and ankles and removed the trainer-gag. Thankful, I wiggled my jaw in an attempt to remove the stiffness and said softly, "I'm sorry for being so ungrateful, Joan." I wished that the collar would allow me to bow my head. "I know you are dear," she said patting my head gently. Returning to the couch, she sat down and continued, "And now you can show me just how sorry you are." I attempted to crawl on my knees towards her. In my haste, and because of my severe bondage, I fell forward . Filled with lust, I wiggled ahead on my stomach, swinging my broad hips from side to side and pushing as best I could with my bound legs. I reveled in the feeling of my full breasts squashed against the carpet. Craning my neck in the tight slave collar, I stared ahead at her glistening high heels. Finally reaching my goal, I planted a wet kiss on the toe of her shoe. Murmuring her agreement, Joan again crossed her legs as if to beckon me upwards with her foot. I twisted and strained in my restricting clothes and straps and finally boosted myself to my knees. "Suck my heel, my little slavegirl," she commanded. Leaning forward, I took the long, thin patent leather spike between my lips. I licked and sucked on it eagerly. I relished my condition. Here I knelt... bound, completely stripped of my maleness, and totally helpless before this beautiful dominant. I felt my curvy, plump ass resting on the backs of my high heels. I trembled with passion at the jiggling of my breasts and the burning desire deep between my legs. Pulling her heel away, Joan complimented, "Very good...you have quite a talented mouth. Let's see where else you can use it." Taking her cue, I began to lick and kiss my way up her legs, enjoying the feeling of the smooth nylon and warm flesh beneath my tongue. As I neared the tops of her stockings, she signaled her satisfaction with my efforts by spreading her legs and untying the ribbons at the sides of G string. As I watched in rapt anticipation, she slowly pulled down the fabric to reveal her juicy cunt. I dove in; plunging my nose and tongue deep into her sweet slit. I lapped and sucked eagerly, savoring her juices. Moaning loudly, she grabbed my head and held me closer; her pungent aroma driving me to increase my efforts. My head spun and my cock swelled and ached with desire as I pictured myself tied and dressed as a woman with my head buried between her luscious legs. Screaming and shaking uncontrollably, she came again and again; almost crushing me with her hot thighs. Finally satiated, she pushed me away feebly and sat there, with eyes closed; her breath coming in deep gasps. I fell back panting; dazed and weakened by my unfulfilled passion. It seemed like a raging fire of lust was burning deep within my groin. After several minutes, Joan regained her composure. Rising somewhat shakily, she complimented, "My little slavegirl is quite a cunt-lapper !" I beamed with pride as I caught my own breath. Helping me to my feet, she released the straps at my knees and ankles and removed the collar from my neck. Taking my arm gently, she led me to the bedroom. As we walked, I found myself proudly wiggling my breasts and swaying my ass as I stepped expertly in my heels. Part III Once in the candle-lit bedroom, Joan untied my arms and slowly wrapped her arms around me. "Now you get yours, my sweet," she said in a throaty whisper. Pushing me back onto the brass bed, she stretched my arms out and tied them with velvet ropes attached to the corners of the bed frame. As she did so, she dangled her breasts over my face. "That's it, slave. Worship my tits," she ordered as I craned my neck upward. My lips found her hard nipples and I eagerly licked and chewed on them as she pressed the soft flesh into my face. Laughing softly, she moved back and kissed me long and deep; then slid her body down along mine, pausing to press our breasts together. She reached down and slowly peeled off my panty girdle and took off my shoes. She drew down my pantyhose and panties, running her hands over my smooth legs as she went. The cool air on my hairless skin sent shivers of pleasure through me. Using a small key on a gold chain around her neck, she removed the small locks from my cock harness but, to my dismay, did not release my aching organs. Turning around, she replaced the shoes on my feet, and proceeded to tie my ankles to the bottom corners of the bed. She turned again on her knees and moved back towards the head of the bed. Straddling my waist, she stared down at me and declared with a husky growl, "Your all mine now...and I'm going to have you." Her deep brown eyes bore into mine as she slowly leaned forward and crushed her breasts into mine. Her tongue plunged deep into my mouth, darting and swirling insistently. I moaned and arched my back to rub my nipples against hers. Joan writhed her still dripping cunt into my hairless crotch as I pleaded, "Oh God...please..." Rising to her knees and kneading my breasts with one hand, she growled, "Now I'm going to take you, my helpless little slave-bitch." With one motion, she freed my straining cock and impaled herself on it. I yelled with pleasure as I felt her slippery walls close around me. It took but a few thrusts before I spasmed uncontrollably as I came. I shrieked in ecstasy, my voice a high-pitched, almost feminine, shrill. My arms pulled frantically at my bonds as I gushed my sperm deep inside her. I seemed to come endlessly, draining my swollen balls. I lay there in a daze, my muscles twitching. I was barely aware of Joan climbing off of me. I sensed her kissing me softly and gently fondling my nipples as I drifted into unconsciousness. When I awoke it was daylight, the sun shining brightly through the curtains of the bedroom window. At first I thought that I had dreamt the previous days adventures. I shook my head and blinked my long lashes, my mind still slightly fuzzy. Then I tried to sit up and found that I was still bound to the bed. Looking down, I confirmed that my body had indeed been denuded of hair and that I was naked except for a pair of white nylon panties. More by sense than by sight, I could also tell the tightly restraining cock and ball harness and been reinstalled. Unable to do much else, I relaxed in my bonds and reviewed last night's experiences. My cock quickly stiffened as I recalled Joan riding atop me in my female attire. As I was fondly remembering the feel of my breasts quivering on my chest; she entered, carrying a tray. "Good morning," she announced, " You slept so soundly, you've hardly stirred at all." Approaching the bed, she spied the aroused look on my face. "Hmm...looks like my little girl is ready to face the day." I blushed in response. "How about some juice and breakfast," she asked changing the subject and setting the tray on the bed next to me. "Thanks," I replied, "What time is it, anyway ?" "Already afternoon," she replied as she leaned across me to release my bonds. She was wearing a very brief terry cloth jumper which barely contained her firm breasts and round ass; and I admired her body as she worked. She helped me sit up on the edge of the bed. I stretched, relieving the stiffness from my muscles. Rubbing my face, I was surprised to feel that it was cleanly shaven. I was about to ask her how, when she spoke. "I just made a poached egg and toast. I know you're watching your waistline." Suddenly realizing how hungry I was, I dug into the somewhat meager breakfast. Joan busied herself with things in her suitcase as I ate. The orange juice tasted oddly bitter but the rest of the meal sure hit the spot. As I ate I happened to glance down at the slightly opened drawer of the nightstand. There I saw a small handkerchief and a bottle labeled 'chloroform'. So that explained my mild headache, I thought to myself. That also must have been how she cleaned and shaved me and re-imprisoned my genitals without wakening me. Seeing that I had finished my breakfast, Joan motioned me over to the end of the bed by the dresser. In her high wedged sandals she stood several inches above me. "Time you got dressed," she remarked, reaching down and stripping the panties off me. Turning to the garments that she had laid out, she chose one. "Here, you go," she said wrapping what at first blush appeared to be a bright blue spandex bra around me. Hooking it in back, she then tied the spaghetti straps around my neck. Next she inserted the falsies I had worn the day before into the cups. "There, that looks much better," she commented. I was pleased to have the full tits as my own again and instinctively moved my hands up to feel their softness. Seeing this, Joan smiled, "So my little slavegirl longs to have her titties massaged...how naughty." Slapping one hand away and twisting the other behind my back, she pushed me face down on the bed. Holding me there briefly, she forced my other wrist back and secured them together with a pair of handcuffs. My groin tingled anew with the thrill of helplessness. When I had managed to twist around and sit on the end of the bed, Joan stood there with the matching bottom to my bra. Looking at the tiny bikini panty, I realized that the garment was just that...a bikini swim suit. Sliding the small panty up my legs, she said, "It's such a beautiful day; I thought we'd get some sun." I was stunned. "I can't go out in that...People will see...And the outline of the suit..." Stretching the spandex waistline and bringing it to rest on my hips, she cut me off matter-of-factly, " Oh there are no houses nearby so we won't be bothered. I know that you'd rather sun in the nude; but you might burn your tender nipples." With the last she reached down and tweaked the points of my false breasts with her long polished fingernails. My objections vanished when I felt a tremor of arousal as she did. "Come over here," she said, moving over to a small chair by the dresser. As I stood a wave of light-headedness swept through me. It was the same feeling I'd had the night before only much more intense. I staggered slightly as a confusing fog descended on my mind. My mind flashed back to the odd taste I'd noticed in the orange juice. The room seem to flow around me as I stepped towards Joan. "Sit down," she ordered, her voice reverberating strangely. My self-resolve and my muscles both seem to weaken; the energy from both drawn from me by the penetrating stare of those deep brown eyes. I looked up at the triumphant smile on that beautiful face way above me. I was so enraptured; unable to resist even if my hands were free. Joan whistled idly as she worked. "We can't have you going out looking like you just crawled out of bed, now can we," she asked rhetorically. She touched up the false eyelashes with more mascara. Then, working with a tweezers, she thinned my bushy eyebrows. In my daze, I barely felt a thing as she plucked away at the errant hairs. My stare fixated on her firm tits and their hard nipples as they bobbled and swayed before me as she moved. I compared them to my own and, upon looking down, I found myself somehow proud that mine were larger. "Heads up, my dear,' Joan cautioned; lifting my chin, "or you'll mess up my work." Next she applied some light brown powder eye shadow; the soft brush tickling delightfully. She then filled in my lips with a soft red color using another small brush. She finished them off with several coats of gloss. "Perfect," she announced, "but we're missing the best sun. We'll do the rest outside." As Joan busied herself loading a large tote bag with items from the dresser, I stood and stepped in front of the mirror. The sight that faced me jarred my numbed brain. There stood a wildly exotic creature; vaguely familiar yet foreign. It was as if I was observing someone else or that I was in another's body. The person looking back at me was a male with muscular arms and legs. But no; the luscious full breasts and smooth skin meant it was a woman. The short male haircut...the way the bottom of the suit fit so snugly between the legs...the broad chest and shoulders.... My mind reeled in confusion; the arched eyebrows and the blinking long lashes of the beautiful eyes in the mirror staring back at me. Suddenly Joan appeared next to the person in the mirror. I felt her hard nipple brush my arm and felt her warm breath as she whispered into the ear of the mirror- person. "I have such a very sexy little slavegirl. I can't keep my hands off her lovely snatch." I saw her rub the crotch in the mirror and felt a rush of pleasure deep between my legs. Somehow that seemed to resolve the questions in my mind for the moment. Joan led me by the arm to the living room and out a sliding glass door. I relished the movement of my full breasts on my chest and the way my suit bottom rode low on my hips. I savored the sweet taste and glossy feel of my lips. I envied the shoes that Joan wore; now I wished that I had a pair to wear to help improve the shape of my legs. We stepped out onto a large deck overlooking a inlet of a lake. The bright sun was dazzling; the blue of the lake and sky and the green of the surrounding trees seemed more vibrant than ever before. I stood there momentarily overwhelmed by it all. "Why don't you sit down," suggested Joan. It wasn't until I reached for the arm of the chaise lounge chair that I realized that my hands were free. I hadn't even noticed her removing the handcuffs. I settled into the chair and inhaled the fresh air deeply, my breasts rising proudly in front of me. Joan busied herself applying Q.T. suntan oil on my face, torso, and limbs. She had removed her jumper to reveal a microscopic black bikini and I took the opportunity to enjoy the sight of her gorgeous body. The cool lotion was heavenly on my sensitive flesh; causing me to sigh heavily. "Now I'm going to have you keep your hands still for a while," she explained rummaging through the tote bag. I watched as if from afar as she placed my wrist on the arm of my chair and proceeded to wrap several turns of wide clear tape, like the type used by moving companies to seal boxes, around both. She proceeded to do likewise with the other and then moved down and secured my ankles to the sides of the lounger in the same way. I tested my bonds more inquisitively than out of fear. I didn't sense the usual rush of excitement from the bondage. It was still an immense turn-on but was now one of a warm, comfortable, more 'secure', nature than before. As I luxuriated in the sun, Joan pulled a chair alongside mine and went to work on my hands. She carefully attached a set of artificial nailtips to my own. As she trimmed and filed, she explained, "These will make your hands feminine and much more elegant. But you'll learn that you have to use the pads of your fingers rather than the nails themselves." Her voice seemed to drone somewhere deep inside my brain; fading in and out of the conscious portion. The brightness of the cloudless sky and the warmth of the sun forced me to close my eyes. "... and I think you'll like the end result," I heard faintly, stirring me back to the present. I had no idea how much time had past. I blinked my long lashes a few times and looked down at my hands. I was indeed pleased. Each of my finger tips now came to a long, rounded point, extending almost three quarters of an inch beyond the end. There were painted the same soft red color as my lips. I tentatively tried drumming them on the arm of the chair and found them to feel as hard and natural as my own. As Joan put her things away, I marveled at their new appearance, twisting and turning them as much as the bondage would allow. I also enjoyed the sight of my smooth legs glistening with oil in the sun. "Time to turn over," Joan noted, checking her watch and using a small scissors to cut the binding tape. I arose and she adjusted the back of my chair and positioned it for the angle of the sun. I reclined on my stomach and snuggled my breasts against the chair as she smoothed more oil on my back. I didn't object, in fact I purred aloud with contentment, when she stretched my arms out over my head and taped them to the top of the chair. I spread my legs and wiggled my ass devilishly as she did the same with my ankles. She slapped my bottom playfully, scolding, "Such a tease !" She pulled a chair alongside mine and stretched out. I turned my head and admired her sleek body: the firm tits barely held by the tiny bra of her suit; the flat stomach and slender waist; the long, long glorious legs that met in the sweet vee that I'd tasted the night before. She picked up a women's magazine and began reading aloud an article about "New Ways To Sexual Ecstacy" or something like that. Once again her husky voice bored deep into my subconscious and I drifted off. Part IV It was much later when Joan's hand on my shoulder awakened me. She had already released my bonds. I stood slowly, cautiously testing my legs. The sun was much lower in the sky, starting to dip below the tree line. I shook my head but the mist-like fog remained wrapped around my brain. "That's enough sun for one day," Joan remarked; leading me into the house. "Let's get this oil off of us," she continued, heading to the bathroom. Once there, she began untying the bra of her suit. "I hope you don't mind sharing a shower," she asked off-handedly. "Not at all," I assured her, my voice coming out in a soft, husky unconscious imitation of her own. I soon stood there in only my genital harness. I was saddened to lose my breasts with the top of my suit but was anxious to join this lovely creature in the nude. The hot steamy water felt wonderful as we took turns soaping each other's body. Joan complimented me on my deep tan as she washed my back. I felt strangely uncomfortable about the distinct tan lines left by the outline of my suit. But, in my befuddled state, no matter how I tried to concentrate I couldn't quite figure out why. Besides, I was distracted by Joan's soft hands reaching between my legs and rubbing my smooth crotch. As we toweled off, I was pleased to note that the rich brown color made my smooth legs look sensational. Taking the gold chain from her neck she used the small key to unlock the leather cock and ball harness. She carefully removed the straps and pouch. Then she allowed me a few minutes to use the toilet; embarrassing me more by watching. Following her lead, I wrapped a towel around me and padded after her to the bedroom. In the bedroom, Joan dropped her towel and slipped into a short silk robe and high heeled slippers. I dropped my towel and stood there naked; waiting for her instructions. "I've some real surprises in store for you tonight, my dear. My cock immediately leaped to attention. Until this release, I'd forgotten how turned-on I'd been all day. Just from being hit by the cool air my genitals felt ready to explode in orgasm. Joan sensed this and quickly squeezed my cock firmly just below the head. I felt my urge subside. "We don't want any accidents now or you'll be punished," she warned sternly. The intense look in her eye made my erection wilt slightly. She reached into her suitcase and pulled out a sort of rubber G string. Again giving me a stern look of warning, she picked up a tube of KY jelly and applied a liberal amount to the head and shaft of my cock. The cool sensation of the jelly combined with the caress of her soft hands nearly pushed me over the brink again. My knees buckled and I gasped in frustration as her tight squeeze technique again denied me relief. Moving swiftly, she slipped my cock into a slot-like pouch inside of the G string and pulled it into place. It forced my balls up into their sockets and my erection pointing upward against my abdomen. It had thin rubber straps attached; one ran up the crack of my ass and joined two others that went around my waist, low onTh)Tmy hips. She fastened these together securely. Curiously, the bottom strap had a small metal ring in the middle of it which nestled between my asscheeks. Joan took some time adjusting the straps so that the device fit precisely to her liking. Satisfied at last, she spun me around to face the mirror. My mouth fell open in surprise. There between my legs was a realistic female cunt, complete with a vee of dark curly hair. Only upon a second look would one notice that it was a flesh-colored rubber device. I turned my hips and stared at my middle from several angles. I now had what appeared to be the normal female mound. Underneath my, now ragingly erect, cock was held in a vagina-like slit of its own. As I ran my long fingernails through my new pubic hair I found that the device was just loose enough that, given the stretchy rubber and the lubricating jelly, I could stimulate my cock further by rubbing my new cunt lips. "My you're a naughty girl," Joan's voice rang out suddenly, "How many times must I warn you about playing with yourself. Now you're diddling at your clit." Reaching towards the handcuffs on the dresser, she warned, "Maybe you need to be restrained again." "No, that's not necessary. I'll be good," I promised sincerely. "Okay...for now anyway," she answered, tossing a pair of panties to me, "Here, put these on." I carefully extended the waistband of the panties with my long nails and bent to put them on. They were a deep blue stretch nylon, cut bikini style. They felt marvelous as I slowly slid them up my silky-smooth legs, my deep tan contrasting nicely with the white lace trim. Fitting them snugly on my hips, I noted in the mirror that the outline of my new cunt lips showed provocatively in the crotch. Joan's eyes followed my own and she smiled. She then fastened a matching bra around me, complete with my now familiar false breasts. She them helped me slip into a short lounging robe like her own. "You must be hungry; I know I am. How about a light dinner ?" Joan suggested. My voice again came out in a imitation of her own. "Sounds great," I replied staring wistfully at her high heeled slippers. Reading my mind, she chuckled, "They're a little dressy for lounging but I guess you can wear your pumps." She retrieved them from the closet and handed them to me. I sat down slipped the shoes on. She smiled in triumph as I fumbled to buckle the tiny straps with my long nails. Finally I stood and followed her from the room. As we walked, my cock slid slightly in and out of the rubber vagina with each swing of my hips. This stimulation, along with the dance of my nipples against the shiny front of my gown, caused my erection to grow and harden further. We dined at a small table near the window overlooking the lake. The meal consisted of assorted fruits and cheeses accompanied by white wine. The first glass that Joan poured for me had a faint bitter taste that I recognized from my morning orange juice. I didn't mention it. Not only did I know that it was fruitless to object, but I seemed to lack the will to even want to. We chatted idly about the weather and other irrelevant topics as we ate. No mention was made of the fact that I was sitting there with largeTh)Ttits and in high heels. Soon intense waves of fog were descending on my brain. She must have greatly increased the dose of the drug. I had to strain to concentrate on the subject of our conversation. My muscles felt weakened at the same time that senses seemed energized and heightened. Colors were vibrant and alive; sounds echoed; the bottom of my silk robe felt electrifying on my bare thigh but I was barely conscious of the glass in my hand. I was more aware than ever of my body yet it felt foreign to me. My sense of the passage of time evaporated. I tried in vain to remember exactly who and what I was. Suddenly realizing that we were sitting there in silence, I turned to look at Joan and discovered, to my surprise, that she was gone. Stunned, I looked frantically around the room. When my eyes reached the bedroom doorway, there was Joan . She stood there casually; hands on her hips as if all were normal. She had dramatically changed her outfit. She now wore only a leather corset and panties, her tits hanging invitingly free. Her long, tan legs were bare except for knee-high patent leather boots with five inch spike heels. Her long brown hair fell to her shoulders, framing her face. My eyes met hers and I seemed paralyzed; caught like a deer in a car's headlights. I sat there helpless to avert my gaze. She seemed to move in slow motion as she walked towards me; a Mona Lisa grin spread across her face. Her voice came from far away, "And now for the evening's final act....an end as well as a beginning. Come along, slave." The words hammered on my consciousness. I have never been so excited. I have never been so afraid. Part V Joan led me to the bedroom. I was barely aware of walking; I seemed to float along on my high heels. The room was lit by candles, giving it an eerie glow. Removing my robe, Joan pulled my arms behind me. She slipped them into a leather arm binder; a kind of long tube that extended from my wrists to my armpits, widening as it went. The edges of the binder laced together and she took her time; carefully pulling and tugging on the laces as she worked up my back. When she had completed, my arms were totally imprisoned; held together as if they were one by the unyielding leather. As an added measure, she fastened other straps over the binder at my wrists and above the elbows. Whispering into my ear, she taunted me, "Now my little slut is helpless to resist me. Once you were a man...now you're nothing but my sissy slave." Next Joan stepped to her suitcase and produced a heavily boned blue waist cinch with garters. Pulling it around me, she wasted no time in lacing in my midsection severely. "It's...It's too tight," I gasped, panting for breath. "Oh, that's too bad. Let me help you," she said in mock pity. She tightened the laces further, squeezing the air from me. "Now you have a cute little waist," she remarked, running her hands along my sides. "To go with your broad masculine shoulders...and your sexy tits," she added slowly circling my breasts with a fingernail. My middle felt like it was in a vise. My head spun; both from my shortness of breath and the drug . "And now for some hose," Joan said waving black mesh nylons in from of me like a pair of snakes. "By the time I done with you you'll love dressing like a tramp. In fact you'll beg for it," she laughed. She pushed me backwards onto the bed. I was just able to catch myself in a sitting position without falling over. She dropped to one knee in front of me and removed my shoes, tossing them casually in the corner. "I have some other footwear for you that are even more feminine. You'll like them." "Of course, you'll HAVE to," she added with a laugh. I sat there rigidly, feeling the silky hose sliding up my legs. The corset made it impossible for me to bend over to see clearly what was happening. After the nylons were affixed to my garters, Joan toyed with my vagina. Massaging the front of my panties, her voice reverberated through my head, "You were so proud of that ugly little cock that you had. Now its gone; only a faint memory remains inside you." My arousal built to a new peak as she rubbed my crotch; my erection indeed feeling like it lay deep within me. Joan stood and retrieved her makeup kit from the dresser. Sitting next to me on the bed, she went to work on my face. The false lashes and waterproof mascara had survived the shower so she only needed to touch them up lightly. She added dark eye shadow and heavy eyebrow pencil. "You look like a cheap, five dollar hooker," she taunted as she coated my lips with shiny, bright red lipstick. "See for yourself," she said thrusting a hand mirror in from of my face. My reflection in the flickering light was startling. My short male hair contrasted starkly with the arching, thin eyebrows and dramatic deep-set eyes. And my square jaw seemed out of place below my pouting red lips. "Actually, you look more like a cheap drag queen," Joan observed, delighting in my deep blush. "I mentioned new shoes," Joan said heading for the closet. She returned carrying a box. "You have a real thing for sexy high heels, don't you. I know that from all the times I've caught you staring at mine. And you certainly enjoyed strutting around in them this weekend." Her deep voice seared into my brain and further ignited the fire in my groin. "Well this pair of boots should really turn you on," she continued. I was stunned when she pulled them from the box. They had the highest heels that I'd ever seen, at least six inches. The arch of the shoe bent straight down; I gulped as I wondered how I would ever be able to walk in them. "They're called ballet boots," Joan explained as she began to lace them tightly on my feet, "They really give a sexy curve to your legs." As she knotted the laces just below my knees, she observed, "And I don't think you'll be running away from me in these." She was certainly right. The black patent boots were aptly named; my feet were held in an extreme arch so that my toes were pointed straight down to the floor. She had laced them so firmly that it felt like my lower limbs were encased in concrete. Joan stood and sat on my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. She locked my eyes in her gaze and said in a low throaty whisper, "That about completes your attire. I know that you secretly want me to add a wig, more makeup, and clothes to complete your transformation." She was right of course. Just hearing her say the words caused my groin to twitch. I felt that my entire psyche had been laid bare before her. I knew that she now had me completely vulnerable in a way much more frightening then mere physical bondage. "You're really turned on by your new body," she said leaning her bare breasts into mine for emphasis. "I knew you'd be. This weekend has just been training to reinforce that. But if I'd wanted a pretty little drag queen I'd have picked one up. I selected you because I wanted a very masculine man that I could conquer and reduce to the level I wanted. I've taken all your outward traces of masculinity from you. That turns me on. But I want you to be always aware of what I've made you into. You're nothing but a helpless slave; half man, half woman. You exist only for my pleasure. If you're good you may get pleasure in return; but only when I say and on my terms. Is that understood ?" I sat there; imprisoned as much by her will as by the restrictive clothes and bondage. My mind was numb, my will to resist gone forever. Joan's words echoed through my brain, slowly fading as they melted into my subconscious. It took all the concentration I could muster to nod my head slightly. "Good !" Joan responded, smiling broadly. Without releasing me from her eyes, she leaned forward and kissed me hard. Her strong tongue overcame mine and danced about my mouth. Her lush body pressed against mine. My arousal increased to a crest just short of orgasm. Suddenly she broke off the embrace and stood before me; her hands on her hips, her hard nipples thrust triumphantly toward face. I looked up in awe and submission at the tall goddess who controlled me so completely. "Say good-bye to the last bit of your identity," she ordered as she held a leather bondage helmet in front of me. She pulled it over my head and knelt on the bed behind me to fasten it. She laced the edges together; pulling and smoothing the soft leather until it fit me like a second skin. It covered my skull completely to the bottom of my neck; with only small openings for my eyes and mouth and two holes at my nostrils for breathing. The strong animal smell of the leather permeated my senses. Next Joan put the wide leather collar around my neck and buckled it. "Look at your new self, slave," she commanded, yanking me to my feet. I teetered tentatively on the extreme heels. I stared at the reflection in the dresser mirror. There looking back at me was what I had become, a pitiful creature; my head covered with leather except for my made-up eyes and full red lips, forced into women's clothes with full breasts hanging next to my muscular biceps, my male genitals locked away, and too helplessly bound to do anything about it. The sight of my transformation made my head spin. Losing my balance, I took but a few small, uncertain steps in the bizarre boots before falling. By some miracle, I dropped to my knees and was able to stop myself from falling on my face. I knelt there gasping for breath and trying to overcome the shock of what had befallen me. Peals of laughter, distorted by the leather covering my ears, rang through me. Joan walked over to face me. Looking down at me she snarled, "It's time that my little slave girl learned how to suck cock." She dangled a wide leather strap in front of me. In the center was the end of a large flesh-colored rubber cock. It looked enormous. Holding the back of my head with one hand, she touched in to my lips. With a shove, she jammed in into my mouth and buckled it in the back. I choked slightly and my eyes bulged. The penis gag filled my mouth completely, almost touching the back of my throat, and stifling all but the smallest of moans. I found that by sucking strongly on it I could draw in much needed air through a small hole in its center. Seeing my efforts, Joan taunted me, "That's it my little whore, suck that big hard cock for all you're worth." "There's one more thing you need to experience to complete your initiation as a half-woman," see said in almost a whisper. I felt a chill of dread run up my spine. "You need a big hard cock shoved deep inside you." In shock I tried to sidle away on my knees. She laughed and gave a slight push on my shoulder. I fell forward on my face and, in the unyielding corset and bound as I was, I was unable to right myself. I knelt there with my forehead on the floor and my ass raised. I whimpered softly into the gag at the thought of what was to come. It seemed like I was there for an eternity. I could sense Joan moving around behind me but, with my ears covered, could not hear a thing. My torso my held rigid by the corset and the collar. I steadied myself as much as possible with my knees; my feet were of no help in the bondage boots. My mind drifted again; I was aware of little but the swaying of my breasts beneath me. Suddenly, I felt Joan's hand on the waistband of my panties. With a jerk that almost threw me on my back, she ripped the cloth from my waist. My head fell forward with a thud onto the carpet; my bare ass exposed in the air. Every muscle in my body tensed involuntarily. "Now relax. I'll try to be gentle with my little virgin," she cooed behind me. I felt her naked breasts against my back. She reached one hand beneath me to rub my crotch while the other cupped my tits. "Such hard nipples and such a sweet cunt you have...," she murmured. The hypnotic chant of her deep voice and the rising fire in my balls sent my mind reeling. Suddenly, something long and hard plunged deep into my asshole. I screamed into my gag, more from the shock than from pain. It felt like a huge rod was stretching and filling me completely. Joan moved the butt plug around in my ass. As she did, the feeling became highly erotic and I found myself sucking the penis gag harder, almost contentedly. As the butt plug touched against my prostrate, I felt a shock of pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain. Satisfied that she had found the right spot, Joan ceased her manipulations of the plug inside of me. I gasped and sucked in frustration as she fastened the it to the ring attached to the strap from my fake vagina. As extra insurance to prevent me from expelling it, she pulled my knees together and bound them with a leather strap. Then she did the same with my ankles. She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me upright. As I sat back on my heels I felt the plug press deeper inside of me; giving me another intense jolt of arousal. While I tried to recover my breath, she walked slowly around my bound form, surveying her accomplishment. When behind me she reached over my head and silently dropped her leather panties in front of me. Circling to face me, she wordlessly stood there; running her hands over her cunt lips and plunging a finger inside. I watched her actions intently; my groin aching and on fire as never before. I sucked the cock in my mouth; desperately wishing it was her pussy. She caught my eyes with her gaze and again held them. "My poor little slave girl...I bet she's so horny from having a nice hard cock in each end of her that she'd like to fuck me," she teased. Tears running from my eyes, I moaned and pleaded as best I could through the penis gag. "Okay, " she relented, "I'll let you have a try." To my surprise, she produced another rubber penis, much like the one I was lovingly sucking on, but twice as long. She attached it to the front of my gag. It protruded obscenely beneath my nose. "Well, let's see you try," she said walking around me to the bed. Filled with a passion the heights of which I had never imagined, I squirmed and twisted with all my remaining energy. Given the severe bondage I was in it was a formidable task. The arm binder and the straps around my knees and ankles made movements virtually impossible. The tight corset, collar, and the bizarre boots forced me into a rigid posture; making it even more difficult. And with each minute motion, the rigid plug in my ass moved slightly; massaging my prostrate and increasing my frustrating arousal. By the time I had managed to turn myself towards the bed I was sweating and sucking madly on the penis gag as I fought for breath. I was given a new burst of energy by the sight of Joan. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her elbows, her firm breasts and hard nipples seeming to point right at me. Her full, moist lips were formed the most lecherous smile as her eyes stared at me. She had her long legs spread wide; even in the flickering candlelight I could see drops of her sweet dew on the lips of her pussy. I wiggled frantically towards her and, losing my balance, fell forward at her feet. Groaning in pain and frustration, I stared at the tall heels of her boots just inches from my eyes. I heard her loud laughter echoing over me. Using the false penis protruding from my mouth for leverage, I strained to move upward. "This would-be stud is such a tease...rubbing his cock along my legs. Oh, I'm so excited I could faint," she taunted as I struggled. Finally I managed to get my knees under me; resting my chin on the edge of the bed. There before me was the pink wetness of her cunt, beckoning me in. With one last heave of my neck and shoulders, I thrust my head forward and plunged the penis extension into her. Even with my muffled ears I heard her scream with pleasure. I moved in and out, forced by the unyielding corset and collar to rock my entire body from the waist. Joan twisted and moaned as I worked. My eyes closed as I lost myself in passion; nearly overcome by her warm musky smell combined with that of the leather. All the sensations merged into one: the helpless restraint of the bondage, the silken feel of my nylons, the jiggling of my breasts. Spurring me on further, she jammed one of her feet between my bound legs and rubbed the instep of her boot up into my crotch. And all the time I felt and tasted the hard cocks in both my mouth and ass. Joan's hot thighs clenched my leather-covered ears tightly as she writhed and moaned. Grabbing the back of my head with both hands she jammed me deeper into her middle. She screamed and shuddered as she came repeatedly. "Don't stop slave," she yelled; massaging my groin more vigorously with her boot. I lost all touch with reality. I'd become a human dildo; thrust in and out... in and out. "Now you get REALLY fucked," she snarled. Suddenly, the plug in my ass started buzzing and vibrating fiercely against my prostrate. I bucked and strained at my bonds, lunging forward into her cunt and against her boot pressing at my groin. I was spinning into a whirlpool of pleasure. I was buried in her pussy; tasting her juices as I sucked feverishly at her cock filling my mouth; another hard cock throbbing deep in my ass. My body shook with a fiery eruption. I exploded in ecstacy deep inside; my own come gushing again and again into my own pussy. It felt as if my very soul was draining from within me. My muscles collapsed and I slumped backwards to the floor; last threads of consciousness slipping from my grasp. Part VI "Time to get up. Come on, we've got to get going," Joan's voice came to me softly. I forced my eyes open then immediately shut them in the bright light. I reopened them slowly as I gradually became accustomed to the brightness, and sat up. I was completely naked and on the bed in the same room. My head felt as if it was full of cotton candy; like a bad hangover but without the pain. I looked at Joan. She was bra-less in a tiny black satin tank top which displayed her cleavage to great advantage. Below, she wore a microscopic pair of silver spandex hot pants. She had on the high wedge sandals which complimented her long tan legs. Looking around the room, I saw no evidence of what had transpired the night before. Other than, that is, my tanned and hairless body and the vivid memories that were engraved on my mind. "You go shower and shave while I pack," she ordered motioning with her thumb towards the bathroom. "And be quick about it !" I virtually jumped from the bed and headed out the door. Once in the bathroom I noted my shaving gear laid out by the sink. Gratefully, I used the toilet. Then, climbing into the shower; I enjoyed the spray of the hot water as I quickly soaped myself. I again marvelled at how smooth and soft my skin was. The feel of my hands running over my legs soon caused my cock to stiffen and rise. I was sorely tempted to relieve my arousal but thought better of it. Quickly rinsing myself off, I toweled dry. Looking in the mirror as I prepared to shave, I inspected my changed body for the first time. The white outline of a bra showed clearly on my tanned chest. I wondered frantically how long it would show. My lack of body hair might be explained as due to a rash or something but, until the tan marks faded, I would have to avoid the showers at the athletic club. As I shaved I fumbled with my long nails to manipulate the razor. I pondered a more serious problem --- my eyes. I still wore the mascara and false eyelashes, which could be removed. But my eyebrows were now much thinner and more arched. Maybe, I hoped, an eyebrow pencil could be used to minimize the damage. Brushing my teeth, I realized that the more immediate worry was how I would get home without any male clothes. Finished, I packed up my shave kit and hurried back to the bedroom. Joan was just closing up her suitcase and said, "Get dressed while I prepare some breakfast." As she left the room I turned to the clothes she left on the bed for me. I started with a now familiar garment --- a black bra. Slipping my arms through the straps, I bent, turned, and twisted for several minutes before I managed to hook the strap across my back. The false breasts had been sewn into the cups of the bra. I briefly fondled the soft forms that again hung on my chest. Next I donned the pair of matching nylon panties. When I pulled them up to my hips, my genitals bulged prominently in the crotch. It was the first time that I'd felt the soft material directly on my cock and balls and my erection grew; barely contained by the stretched fabric. The last thing left were the pumps. I slipped these on my feet; fastened the straps; and headed to the kitchen. Joan was waiting for me at the table. "Hurry up and eat. I want to get going," she said sipping her coffee. The table was set with croissants and jelly, coffee, and orange juice. "What time is it anyway," I asked taking a chair. "You were such a sleepy-head, it's almost three," she replied. I was shocked; almost tempted to ask what day it was. I had no idea that I'd been out so long. I ate quietly; relieved after my previous experiences that the coffee and juice tasted normal. Finally I summoned the courage to ask, "How am I going to get home without my clothes ?" "You could walk I suppose; but I was planning to give you a ride," she kidded. "Or do you mean that you don't like the pretty things I'm letting you wear ? You could go naked if you'd prefer." "Oh, no, no that's alright..." I said quickly; my voice trailing off. I didn't want to anger her; or she might just make me walk. What I was wearing was better than nothing at all. And, I admitted to myself, I was enjoying the feelings the clothes gave me. When we had finished breakfast and cleared the table, Joan announced, "Well, it's time to get you ready for the road." I wondered what lay ahead for me. Walking behind me, she remarked, "Oh you got your strap fastened wrong." She spent several moments working on the back strap of my bra, apparently tightening it some. Then she wrapped a wide leather belt around my bare waist and buckled it in back. "This is so you won't be playing with yourself in the car," she explained. I knew that this meant I would be restrained again. Taking my right wrist, she fastened it to the side of the belt with a wrist cuff that was attached there. She did the same with my left; leaving me unable to move my hands from my hips. As usual, the delightful yet scary feeling of helplessness turned me on; the head of my erect cock poking out of the top of my panties. Seeing this, Joan ran a fingertip over it and laughed, "I have just the thing for this little fellow." After rummaging in her suitcase for a moment, she produced a small black leather article. She pulled down the front on my panties, tucking the waistband under my balls. My freed cock stood straight out at attention. Joan caressed its length; causing me to moan and tug at my bonds. After she had brought close to the edge of orgasm, she stopped and began attaching the device. Made of black leather, it consisted of a small, soft pouch with a buckling strap next to my abdomen for my aching balls and a stiff tube for my cock. Joan laced the latter tightly around my erect organ, just short of the point of pain. She ran her soft fingertips over the engorged head of my cock which was exposed at the end. She toyed with me this way for some time; starting then stopping her fondling. I writhed in frustration; the devious device prevent both orgasm and any subsiding of my erection. When Joan finally tired of teasing me this way I was sweating and moaning; my hands fluttering helplessly at my sides. Joan then put the leather collar around my neck and attached a dog leash to the small ring on the front of it. Putting the bondage bag in one of my hands and my overnight case in the other, she picked up her suitcase. "Time to go home," she announced, giving a sharp tug on the leash and pulling me towards the door. We stepped out into the bright sunlight; the bags bouncing of my thighs with each swing of my hips as I teetered on my heels. I felt totally exposed in the open air; clad only in the bra and panties and with my leather-bound erection swaying obscenely in front of me. Joan took the bags from me and put them in the trunk of the car. Opening the passenger door she folded the seat forward and, with a tug on the leash, directed me into the small back seat. Bound as I was, it was difficult for me to maneuver into the cramped space. But with some twisting a and few firm shoves from Joan, I eventually fell into place; facing forward on my side in a sort of fetal position. Tucking my feet into the back seat, she strapped my ankles together. Putting the seat back and closing the door, she moved around to the other side of the car. There she tied the leash from my collar to the window handle, preventing me from raising my head. I was now totally immobilized. "Here we go," she remarked cheerfully as she started the engine and roared off. Wedged in as I was on my side, my erect penis in its leather sheath stuck out between the front bucket seats. Joan delighted in teasing and fondling me periodically on the way back. Unable to move, I could only shiver and moan in frustration. After an otherwise uneventful drive, the car finally came to a stop. "We're home," Joan announced. She got out and I heard her getting the bags from the trunk. Opening the passenger door, she unstrapped my ankles. She then leaned across me and removed the collar from my neck, rubbing her breasts into my face as she did. Next she released my cock and balls from the leather harness and tucked what she could of them into the small panties. Then she took off the belt and cuffs, freeing my hands. Tossing my car keys and wallet at me she announced, "You can go now. I'll call you when I want you to serve me next." I sat up as best I could in the tiny seat and looked around cautiously. We were parked across from her house and though it was early evening there was still plenty of daylight. I knew there was no point in arguing or pleading. I mentally checked the distance across the street to my parked car. "Well, get going !" she ordered. I checked up and down the street once more. Fortunately, there was no one in sight. I wiggled feet first out of the back seat and hit the ground running. I took but two steps before tripping over my overnight bag and sprawling spreadeagled on the lawn. Joan's roaring laughter burned in my ears as stumbled to my feet, grabbed the bags, and clicked across the street in my high heels. For what seemed like an eternity, I fumbled with the keys while Joan honked her horn a gave a loud wolf whistle. Finally, I opened my car and scrambled inside. I started the engine and screeched away. My heart pounding, I frantically tried to think of the most deserted route to my apartment. Fortunately I"d left my sunglasses on the dashboard and I slipped them on in hopes they'd conceal my madeup eyes and thin eyebrows. At the first deserted stop sign I took off the shoes and tried to remove my bra. As much as I struggled with it, I was unable to unhook the strap. Joan must have pinned or fastened it somehow when she was adjusting it earlier. I slipped the straps off my shoulders so at least they wouldn't show. Driving by a park, I had a sudden idea. I turned into the service road of the park and drove behind the maintenance building. I felt that no one would be around on a Sunday. After checking that the coast was clear, I jumped out and opened the trunk. There, to my relief, was an old blanket that was left from an earlier picnic. Wrapping it around me, I climbed behind the wheel and again headed towards home. I drove along feeling much better about my situation. But my self-confidence was soon shattered. As I was stopped at the next traffic light I noticed that the man in the car alongside my was staring at me and shaking his head. To my horror, I realized that he was looking at my long, polished fingernails. Blushing deeply, I moved my hands to the bottom of the wheel and continued on. Finally arriving at my apartment building, I drove right to the underground garage. I parked in my usual slot and, wrapping the blanket firmly around me, headed to the elevator. It was difficult to see in the dim light but I didn't dare remove the sunglasses. Luckily, the elevator was empty and I started down the home stretch to safety. When the doors opened on my floor, there was Mrs. Hansen, my elderly neighbor, waiting to get on. "Sure is a pretty day to be by the pool," she said cheerfully, seeing me wrapped in the blanket. "Uh...yeah; it sure is," I responded, moving quickly past her to my apartment down the hall. At my door my long nails again caused me to fumble with my keys. They slipped from my hand to the floor. Hearing voices coming down the hall, I quickly took off my sunglasses and bent down to retrieve them. As I stood, the blanket slid from my shoulders. In a panic, I finally managed to find the key hole just before the voices turned the corner. Pushing open the door, I dashed inside leaving the blanket behind me. Slamming the door, I leaned against it; shaking and gasping for breath. Regaining my composure, I opened my eyes and saw my reflection in the hall mirror. There I stood; doe-eyed, with my large tits heaving on my chest. My eyes traveled down my hairless belly to the hard cock peeking out of the top of my panties. Massaging a breast with one hand, I slid the other down and caressed my balls with my long nails. Stroking the shaft, I felt it grow larger and harder. Throwing my head back, I thought of what had transpired and imagined what was to come as my hot semen gushed at my feet. TO BE CONTINUED...