From 4r8t8.labrat@onr.com Mon Mar 24 17:12:13 1997
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From: 4r8t8.labrat@onr.com (Karen Mitchell)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.tg
Subject: Story - Putting Her On - Part 2
Date: Mon, 24 Mar 1997 16:12:13 -0600
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This is being reposted at the request of another of the major 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 2
Corey drove slowly and carefully, worried only about avoiding both
drunk drivers and the police. He was not at all nervous about going
out in public as a woman, not because his disguise was nearly perfect,
but because the false self the suit gave him, superficial though it
was, made his appearance seem natural to him. A few blocks from his
place he had realized that he was driving without a license, but he
went on: no police officer would believe that he was a man named Corey,
that he was not a beautiful if rather tall woman. It didn't strike him
that he could take the costume off for the police and look like the
picture on his license again, and he decided, illogically, to take the
small risk of being detained past his grace period and justifying any
belief in his womanhood.
It was five after two when Corey parked in the shopping-center lot,
now almost empty, just outside the drugstore. He got out, locked his
car, crammed the keys into his tiny purse, and walked the few steps to
the store's entrance doors. As he went in, a stockboy, twentyish and
lanky, wheeling a cart stacked with boxes of tampons, looked at him in
amazement, and he smiled seductively at the guy, not realizing that he
was being more than friendly. Corey had expected to be confused, but
he found himself selecting makeup as if he knew what he was doing. Soon
his hands were full, but the stockboy, grinning sheepishly, wheeled
one of the store's little shopping carts over to him, saying, "Here you
are, ma'am."
Without meaning to, Corey gave him another please-fuck-me smile
and said, "Oh, thank you!" in a higher voice than he had yet used.
"My pleasure, ma'am," he said, and retreated.
Corey, fingers clumsy in their disguise, dropped lipstick, blusher,
foundation makeup, mascara, and so on into the cart clumsily, then found
and added hairpins and barettes. He looked through several aisles, tried
ten different perfumes and chose three. In the end he had to use his
ATM card to get another hundred dollars, and what he bought cost all
the money he had taken from his wallet plus seventy dollars of the added
hundred. A weary-looking young black woman, about Corey's height but
pudgy, dark-skinned, and homely, looked at her remarkably beautiful
customer with undisguised envy as she rang up his purchases.
Out in the parking lot, a man approached Corey. He was fortyish,
pasty-skinned, and obviously drunk -- Corey could also smell the booze
as he approached -- and leered at him. "Say, miss," he said, as Corey
reached the driver's door of his car, "how much for a blowjob?"
"I'm not a hooker," said Corey, all prim schoolteacher, unlocking
the door. His voice seemed to be stuck in a high register.
"Oh, sorry," said the man, "but you're kinda dressed like one, and
at this time of night, and...I'll pay you for one anyway. God, you're
beautiful. I get a hard-on just looking at your face, not to mention--"
"No, thank you," said Corey, getting in, and when the man tried to
keep him from shutting the door, Corey, his muscles still his own
underneath the girl-suit, slammed the car door on his hand. The man
yelped with the pain, cringed aside when Corey opened the door a crack
to free him, and howled half-coherent curses at Corey as Corey slammed
and locked the door and drove off.
As Corey left the parking lot he noticed the time on his car's
clock: 3:01 AM. Usually the car clock was within a minute of being
correct, so he would have to strip off his sexy female clothes in
a hurry when he got back, then get out of the 2800T as quickly as
possible. Probably he would be okay, but he'd been careless with
the estimation program, and for all he knew he was already starting
a permanent change into a real woman. He forced himself not to speed.
He turned a corner and saw that a slow freight train was blocking
the way home. "Oh, *shit*!" he said, quite the enraged woman. By
this time the train would be blocking all nearby streets parallel to
the one he was on, and he couldn't think of a practical route around it.
The car clock read 3:22 by the time the crossing gates went up,
and Corey, afraid now, made it home in under five minutes, left his
purchases in the car, and started removing his woman clothes the moment
he was in his front hallway, scattering sandals, purse, jewelry, hose,
sexy dress, and so on as he proceeded towards the bathroom. As he all
but tore off his woman's watch he saw how late it was: well after 3:30.
He massaged the slender female throat that was perhaps now his real one,
and after forty seconds or so it opened up, to his great relief. He
clawed at the woman-skin on his chest, and the slit began to open. The
suit stuck to him, reluctant to let go, and in a few places on his chest
and abdomen his skin ached and looked slightly flushed, but in another
minute the slit was open to the crotch.
He pulled the suit's head off. Something in his throat stretched
and let go, joining itself to the inside of the suit's lips. His own
lips had chapped, the skin and flesh over his cheekbones felt pinched,
his throat ached dully inside and out, his eyes stung a little from
the suit's version of contact lenses, but the head had indeed come off,
as if under protest, and Corey looked with relief at his own face in
the mirror -- and with a touch of diappointment. Her face, he thought,
is much nicer to look at.
Corey had to pull hard to free his arms and legs, but although the
bond had been tight the skin wasn't sore. His genitals, embedded in
something tough, had to be eased out, and afterwards his foreskin was
almost raw and his testicles ached as if they had been squeezed gently
but with increasing force the whole time he had worn the guise of a
young woman. Corey scooped up the 2800T from the floor and dropped it
into the cold water that remained in the bathtub, not bothering to
rinse it out after use as suggested in the manual. He was exhausted
and went to bed, masturbating briefly, despite his sore foreskin, to
fantasies about having sex with the woman he had just impersonated.
Soon afterwards he was asleep.
Corey woke and looked at the clock on his nightstand. He had not
set the alarm, and he was amazed that it was just after six in the
morning. He felt refreshed, fully rested, as if his time in the suit
had been sleep. His mind seemed unusually clear, and an idea sprang
up in it.
Jogging, he thought. Dave will be jogging this morning, and he'll
be out of his house a bit after seven, late because it's a Saturday.
Dave's the one, artsy Dave. He's not a fag but he'd be better off as
a girl. I'm going to meet him on the jogging trail -- as her. She
eats breakfast with him, she gets him to take her on some dates, then
I take her off and put him inside her and don't let him out. It's a
beautiful body already, but with Dave in it, it will be *fuckable*.
No fair that all my friends are other guys. Dave can fucking well be
my girlfriend instead. He got out of bed and headed for the bathroom,
everything a little blurry because he had left his glasses there when
puting on the 2800T.
The suit lay in the bathtub, half-floating in the stagnant water.
He pulld the plug, let the tub empty, stepped in, drew the curtain,
started the shower, and rinsed the suit inside and out. He hung it from
a towel bar and took his usual shower, but instead of drying himself he
took the suit down and slipped into it. It had conformed to him, and
he fitted into it easily, almost naturally. After shutting the seal he
began to force the suit against his body, hoping to make the changes
happen as quickly as possible. He pressed the scalp and forehead,
pushed and pinched the nose, rammed the heels of his hands against the
cheeks and then the jaw-line, and almost strangled himself trying to
squeeze the neck into womanly slenderness. By pushing with his legs
he mashed the breasts between his chest and a wall, tried to encircle
the waist with his hands, put the crotch to the corner of his bed
and leaned on it, squeezed the arms and legs, kneaded the feet. When
the voice-changing projection extended itself into his mouth he inhaled
it eagerly, and as an experiment sang a few bars in a falsetto voice
before breaking into coughing. With a sharp but very brief pain,
something inside his larynx locked it into a very unfamilar but oddly
comfortable position. He tried to speak but at first could not, then
found himself able to say, "Oh, fuck, I thought I'd--" in a resonant
and beautiful soprano, and then "Holy shit!"
Corey looked at the woman in the mirror. His efforts seemed to have
been worthwhile: this time her face was already entirely feminine, her
neck deliciously slender (though he felt on the verge of strangulation),
her breasts high and firm, her waist almost girlish, her solid buttocks
a part of his own flesh, her legs unquestionably a woman's. Corey's self
looked out of her eyes, but otherwise she was someone else. "Oh, God,"
Corey made her say, feminine allure in her voice, "I can't wait until
Dave gets like this," and he lowered her form to the toilet seat, sat,
urinated like a woman, then defecated. Long, strong, but feminine
fingers tore a few squares of toilet paper from the roll, wiped the
urine off her pubic hair, and wiped a trace of feces from her pale
brown skin, the skin that extended right to Corey's anal sphincter.
Now apparently a tall, beautiful, well-muscled young woman, Corey
rummaged through the clothes he wore for exercising and sports. The
box from New Selves had had only the sports bra, now snug over his fake
breasts, and the pink running shoes, which even without socks were just
slightly too small. "Oh, shit," said Corey aloud in the girlish wail
that arouses the protective instincts of many men, "this'll take forever!
Why the fuck didn't I figure out what she'd wear before I put her on?"
But not fifteen minutes after wiping her buttocks, the woman Corey wore
was dressed for jogging. Corey's white terrycloth sweatband looked good
against her dusky forehead, the black tank-top that didn't fit him was
perfect over her breasts, the black Spandex shorts Corey had worn once and
put aside in shame fitted well even if they revealed the contours of her
crotch, and Corey's short white socks and new white running shoes looked
unisex and perfectly natural for her to wear.
Corey put his sports watch on his costumed wrist and noted the time:
he had nearly ten more minutes, he figured. He untied his shoes, took
out their white laces, and replaced them with the pink laces of the
shoes from the New Selves box. He went out to the garage for the bag
of his early-morning purchases, rummaging through it as he headed back
to the bathroom. He found and applied a hint of eyeshadow, just a little
darker and ruddier than his false skin, sweat-proof mascara, and some
lightly-tinted lip gloss guaranteed not to smear. He dabbed perfume,
a clone of "Shalimar," behind the false earlobes, at the wrists, and
just above the sports bra. He went back to the living room, found in
the jewelry box a pair of little earrings with pink cabochons --
rhodochrosite? -- put them through the holes in the lobes, fastened them.
Corey was about to leave when he remembered that he needed something
to serve as a purse. A minute of rummaging in a closet turned up a fanny
pack in bright red nylon, into which he stuffed money and his ATM card
before fastening its strap around his waist, the pack to the front, and
then unfastening it to tighten its strap. Fastened again, the strap was
snug but comfortable, and Corey snatched up his keys and left, catching
a glimpse of beautiful woman in the hall mirror on the way out.
Corey jogged down the street towards an entrance to the jogging trail,
again entirely at ease looking and acting and dressing like a woman.
His watch read 6:56. Shit, he thought, I didn't notice when I put her on.
Figure 6:20, so it's home by maybe 9:30, 9:45 if I feel lucky -- do ya
feel lucky, punk? do ya feel lucky, girl? -- and without Dave. Can't
tell how warm it is except from the air I'm breathing. All cozy, wrapped
in pretty girl. If I wasn't I'd be cold wearing this little. Shit, but
it's comfortable in here. I'm in better shape than I thought. Wonder
what happens when I sweat? Forgot the deodorant. Maybe the suit keeps
in the stink. Maybe Dave will just smell the perfume and stare at my
lovely fake tits. Does he like his women this big and tall? He used
to date a volleyball player my height.
He got onto the trail and kept moving. A fiftyish man approached
from the other direction, Corey's appearance making him stare, his lust
thinly disguised with a friendly smile. "Good morning!" cried the man.
Corey batted his eyelashes -- the mascara made upper and lower cling
just a little to each other -- and smiled saucily. "Good morning," he said,
voice girlish and pert. A few yards further on, a thirtyish woman, lean
and wiry, all but flat-chested, forced a smile to her plain, acne-scarred
face as she approached. "Beautiful morning, isn't it?" said Corey, pity
dripping from his false face and voice, and the woman scowled as they
passed. "I'm such a bitch," whispered Corey to himself.
He quickened his pace as he passed the point where Dave usually got
on the trail. After that point, Corey knew, the trail sloped upward onto
a lightly-wooded hill and took a series of curves. On one curve was
a bench where he could sit and watch Dave enter the trail. If Dave
went the way Corey had come, Corey could run after him; if he went
towards him, his usual way, Corey could jog slowly and let Dave meet him.
Corey was short of breath when he reached the bench, but comfortable.
His disguise made his panting into erotic little feminine noises, and
its hair and sweatband were sodden and its other clothes growing damp.
He put its face to the smooth brown of its left armpit, with ease despite
his constricted neck: just a slight musk, and the spiciness of the perfume.
Its buttocks padded the bench as he sat, the image of a beautiful woman
catching her breath, deliciously vulnerable in her exhaustion.
Dave got on the trail and headed towards him. With an adorable
little sigh, Corey got up and started to jog onwards, rather slowly.
In a few minutes he heard Dave approaching, and kept going, turning
his beautiful-girl head to look back at Dave, a pleading expression
on its face.
Dave looked surprised at first, then contented. "Are you all right,
Miss?" he asked, all concern and helpfulness. They stopped and faced
each other. Dave's eyes took in with delight every detail of the womanly
form that concealed Corey.
"I didn't think I was so out of shape," said Corey, his wistful
smile and panting breaths made adorable by his disguise. "I can barely
handle a short jog now."
"You look like an athlete," said Dave, and looked politely at what
masked Corey's wiry arms and legs, less so at what masked his buttocks
and chest.
The beautiful face demanded the consolation of a strong man. "I
was," said Corey, false brown eyes moist with false tears, a catch in
his high voice, "but it's all gone now and I don't see how I'll get it
back." The feminine personality was manipulating Dave with skill, and
though Corey was frightened he kept calm and let it stay in charge.
Dave looked concerned, but, Corey thought, more than a bit lustful.
Dave said, "Look, why don't you take it slowly for now? Don't worry,
I'll keep you company."
Corey shook his girl head, shedding a few drops of the sweat that had
filtered through its false scalp. "I couldn't have you do that!" he cried
in a lovely soprano squeal. "You won't get enough exercise."
Dave smiled back and put out his right hand. With both the suit's
sense of touch and his own, Corey felt Dave's hand caress his left
shoulder. "Don't worry," said Dave, "one day off won't matter."
"All right," said Corey with a little oh-thank-you smile, and they
proceeded slowly up the hill.
Around eight o'clock Corey's beautiful-woman face wore an exhausted
look, and Dave said, "Had breakfast yet? As you might know, there's a
little place near here with a juice bar."
Corey knew. "I'm new in town. I'd love some breakfast."
"Okay," said Dave. "Just a little further. Let's walk." They did.
"My name's Dave, Dave Ellis."
Corey panted a few times while racking his brains for a name. Coral?
Cora? "I'm Carol Lasalle," said a woman's voice from inside him, as if
on its own. For a moment, Corey felt that it was telling the truth, that
this was his -- her? -- real name.
"You have a lovely accent, Carol," said Dave, guiding Corey off the
trail and to a sidewalk that had been hidden by shrubbery. "I can't
place it."
"Really?" said Corey. "I've been trying to shake it. My parents
moved from Jamaica to Chicago when I was a little girl." Corey had
visited Jamaica twice, knew Chicago well, and told himself that he
could fake things for long enough -- if not, he could pose as a mystery
woman with a secret past. One way or another, Dave would stay interested
and Corey would soon have him inside the suit, changing permanently into
"Carol Lasalle."
"I suppose you wanted to fit in when you were in school," said Dave,
leading Corey around a corner both knew well, "but now it's a crying
shame to hide it."
"I guess if you put on a mask and keep it on," said Corey, "after
a while it sticks and you can't take it off. I can't change it back."
Corey didn't catch the look of triumph in Dave's eyes. "Some people
would be better off if their masks stuck to their faces," said Dave,
"but when it comes to your accent it's a pity."
The restaurant with the juice bar, The Natural Place, was an old
building once a small factory, big wooden beams cleaned and varnished and
their steel fittings painted dove-gray, leaky skylights re-built, wooden
chairs and tables on the concrete floor and on a second level of wood
decking. Corey ordered an orange-and-yogurt drink and a blueberry muffin,
Dave a giant-sized cafe latte and one each of two types of bran muffin.
They sat and talked, Corey diverting the conversation to Dave, who loved
talking about himself. After Dave's trip to the restroom, Corey had to
explain his assumed surname (requiring the creation of a great-grandfather
born on Martinique), but soon steered the conversation to a safe path.
Corey was very hungry, but he nursed the drink and muffin, having
decided that to eat more would be out of character for Carol. "Are
you sure you don't want anything else?" said Dave, just after ordering
more, a cranberry-walnut muffin and a pitcher of water.
"No," said Corey in a polite-schoolgirl voice, "no thanks."
"You're a tall woman, Carol" said Dave, "and you're not at all fat.
That's no kind of breakfast."
"I never eat much breakfast," said Corey, and looked at his watch.
It was almost 9:15. "Oh, no!" he cried. "I forgot. I have to meet
someone in fifteen minutes."
"On a Saturday morning?" asked Dave. Corey nodded his Carol head.
"Can't it wait?"
"I wish it could," said Corey, Carol's voice full of apparent regret.
"I'll get a taxi. What's my share of the bill?"
"Nothing," said Dave. "My treat. I'll even leave a good tip. I'd
love to see you again, too."
Corey thought for a moment. "Is the Blue Parrot a good restaurant?"
he asked Dave. "Someone told me it was, but like I said I'm new here."
Dave smiled. "One of my favorites."
"Sunday evening at seven? Meet you there?" asked Corey.
"Sure," said Dave, and took out his wallet and extracted a business
card. "Home number on there, too. Let me know if something comes up."
He did not ask for Carol's number or address.
"Okay," said Corey, and as he got up, Dave got up as well and kissed
him on the brown material masking his left cheek, just under the false
cheekbone, gently but firmly. Corey pressed Carol's lips against Dave's,
if briefly. They said their goodbyes and Corey rushed out to catch a taxi.
Corey was lucky that morning, it seemed, because a taxi was waiting
outside. "Do you have a fare already?" Corey asked the cabbie.
The cabbie, his skin a shade darker than the Carol suit, smiled
broadly, enjoying Carol's shape. "Alice somebody," he said, "but she's
kept me waiting ten minutes without showing up. Hop in, ma'am." Corey
did, giving his own address, figuring that concealment mattered less
than getting out of the suit in time.
"I don't think I've had a prettier woman in my cab in months," said
the cabbie, after a few blocks.
"Why, thank you," said Corey, and giggled.
"You're a fashion model, right?"
Corey laughed prettily. "Heck, no. Too much meat on my bones. You
don't think a fashion model can have this kind of figure and get jobs,
do you?"
The cabbie laughed. "It's a great figure. I'd hire you any day."
The cab pulled into the driveway of Corey's condo, and Corey got
out, handed the man the fare and a generous tip, and with Carol's lips
gave him a little peck on his cheek. "You're trying to break my heart,"
he said as Corey waved good-bye and went to the door. He fished the key
from his pack and fumbled with the lock, fingers numbed by their layer
of Carol skin, as the cab drove off.
Inside, he checked his watch: 9:34. He stopped in front of the hall
mirror and looked at his false face as he began to undress, and gave an
adorable little gasp. There was no trace of Corey in the face. His own
features were gone, the expression the face wore was entirely a woman's
and a stranger's. Corey's self had gazed back so reassuringly at him
three hours before, but now it had been replaced, it seemed, with a
woman's. Carol Lasalle's self. He was becoming Carol Lasalle.
Corey panicked. He all but clawed at Carol's delicate-looking neck
with Carol's delicate-looking hands, and after thirty seconds it opened.
Only then did he tear off the sweatband from her forehead, pull off the
tank top, fumble with and eventually remove the sports bra. He forced
the slit to open down Carol's front to her crotch, and with her fingers
took hold of her head and pulled. The voice-changer popped out, but
Carol's face and scalp came off slowly, as if now unwilling to do without
his flesh and bone underneath. The brown membranes of her eyes were wet
on both sides by the time he had her head off, as if she wept at her own
unmaking. Strangely, Corey's face was barely sore at all. Corey sighed
with relief, a girl's sigh. He was about to scream when with a moment
of pain something shifted in his throat. "Oh, God, don't let it--" he
began, but the voice was his own.
Corey took off the rest of the clothes and then removed the rest
of the suit. Naked, he took the suit to the bathroom and into the
shower, washing it inside and out with some liquid "natural" soap with
a faint mint scent. He let it hang from a towel rack and washed himself.
Once clean, he found himself reaching for the suit again. He
hesitated for a moment, then took hold of it and dragged it into the
tub stall with him and began to get into it. It was only his third time
in the suit, but already he found it easy, almost natural to put on.
After he sealed its neck, he firmly but gently pressed the suit against
his body, proceeding downward slowly from scalp to feet. When he felt
the voice-changer wriggle into his mouth, he promptly inhaled it and
began talking in falsetto; again he felt the odd shift in his throat.
"Hello, Carol," he said aloud in her beautiful soprano voice. "It's
lovely to see you again. To *be* you again." Somehow he didn't feel
foolish saying it.
Although his own body and the suit were both clean now, Corey took
a shower as Carol, exactly as if he were really Carol Lasalle just back
from jogging, rinsing off her sweat. Through the thinner parts of the
Carol suit he could feel the temperature of the water. That faint
sense of touch that the suit provided might as well have been absent:
Corey's sensations were those of a man washing a suit he was enclosed
in, not those of a woman washing herself. Yet he shampooed Carol's hair,
soaped and scrubbed her skin, behaved just if he were really Carol.
He shut off the water, stepped out, dried Carol the way a woman dries
herself, and wrapped Carol's hair in a towel. Anyone watching Corey
showering in the suit would have thought it all perfectly ordinary,
noticed only a tall, very pretty woman taking a shower.
Corey, smiling, turned and looked into the mirror. Carol, naked
but with her hair wrapped in a towel, smiled back, not a hint in her
appearance or expression that she was a shell of a woman, an elaborate,
exquisite mask with Corey inside, or had ever been anyone but herself.
"Oh, shit," she said, revealing her true nature, "what in the fuck
am I doing to myself? I'm a *man*, fuck it! I'm Corey Soler, not
some part-nigger broad!" But Carol's voice, her expressions and poise,
the lovely image in the mirror -- and something deeper inside her than
the male body that made up most of her flesh and all of her bone -- gave
the lie to the words. Inside Carol, Corey blushed, ashamed at what he
had called-- herself?
"I'm not some kinda weirdo transvestite pervert!" said Corey, in
the voice of a pleading Carol. "Dave's going to become this girl, not
me!" None of it rang true. Corey paused and looked at Carol's beautiful
reflection, and Carol herself seemed to take over. She smiled, slowly
and shyly, all woman. "Hi, I'm Carol Lasalle," she said. "I wonder
if Dave will fall in love with me."
Corey screamed Carol's scream and tore at her throat with her own
fingernails. In moments an inch of slit opened. He forced the slit
to open further, all the way down to her crotch, raising welts on his
own skin with Carol's strong nails. The towel over Carol's wet hair
came undone and fell to the floor. Corey pulled Carol's skin from his
head, and the membranes that gave him Carol's perfect brown eyes popped
out painfully, tears on both sides of them. Corey all but turned Carol
inside out in husking himself, and he felt a wrenching pain in his
throat as he lost Carol's voice.
What had made him Carol lay in a heap. He stood next to it, breathing
hard. He put on his glasses, hung his head and looked straight at the
floor. By some odd chance Carol's face, barely distorted, smiled back
at him, mischievous and alluring.
"You fucking bitch," said Corey to the face. "You won't catch me.
You'll catch Dave, and when he's you I'll fuck you till you bleed for
doing this to me!" He plugged the tub and started running warm water
into it, then grabbed the suit, one hand underneath the pile it formed
and the other crushing the Carol face, and threw it in. Corey turned to
face the mirror and barely stifled a scream when he saw his reflection,
for it did not match the body-image established in his mind, the form
that should have been repeated there. His true shape, the young woman
with the high-cheekboned face and frizzy hair and firm breasts and trim
waist and sleek legs clothed in perfect pale-brown skin, had been hideously
transformed into-- a naked man wearing glasses. Transformed into Corey,
in his usual form.
"Oh, shit!" he said aloud. It took most of a minute for Corey to
become comfortable again with his own appearance: looking in the mirror
was bad enough, but looking down and seeing his male chest and crotch
was harder to him to deal with. Then he stamped out of the bathroom and
got dressed in his own clothes, his usual Saturday T-shirt and jeans and
deck shoes.
Corey ate an early lunch: frozen pizza, underbaked. As he finished
he found himself thinking about Carol's date with Dave on Sunday night.
She'll really have to bowl him over, he thought. I should be perfect:
my hair and clothes just right, be a dream woman, someone Dave takes home
and wants to fuck on a first date. I should go out and buy myself some
really sexy clothes that show off my figure, some shoes that fit...get
my hair done one way or another, straightened or properly curled, go to
that makeup place in the mall and have them do a makeover on me--
"Shit!" said Corey, aloud. "That cunt's taking me over!" I'm
thinking like her, he thought, starting to think as if I really am
her, not me at all. If I keep putting her on, by Sunday night there
won't be any me left, just Carol. Maybe I can put her on once, maybe
twice, and still take her off, but sooner or later I'll think I'm
supposed to be her, want to leave her on...and I'll *be* her. Shit. I
gotta speed things up.
It was a little after noon. Corey went to his bedroom, stripped,
and went to the bathroom, where the suit lay in the tub, looking
almost like the prone body of a dead woman. How the fuck did I get
into this? Corey asked himself. Why did I put that thing on at all?
It hasn't been a day yet and I'm already in deep shit -- how come?
It's not like I've ever really wanted to be a girl...okay, it's kinda
fun to see what it's like, but it's not like I'm a fag or a sex-change
case...I'm such a beautiful woman, I mean, she's so beautiful, I love
being Carol-- ah, fuck that...put Dave in her, not me.
He looked in the mirror again. His reflection looked too angular,
too pale, too ugly to belong there. He turned, stepped into the cold
water in the tub, picked up the suit, put it into position, and slipped
his left leg inside.
end of part 2
--
Karen Mitchell
labrat 'at' onr 'dot' com
‹
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
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1
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Message-ID: <F0vNzY9GAIJO092yn@onr.com>
Lines: 594
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
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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
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Reply-To: LabRat@i-link.net (Karen Mitchell)
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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...