Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Having feminized and bimbo-ized the Justice League, I figure it's only fair to play the same game on the Avengers. Here's a sneak peak at their new leader.
Monday, July 30, 2007
The next day, Sharon drove Chrissy-Poo and Danielle to the city. Chrissy-Poo was dressed in her most elegantly bizarre clothes. On the outside, it seemed as though her skintight jump suit was shining red satin; but the satin covered only the outer surface. Beneath it was a form-hugging rubber suit. Under that outre outfit, Chrissy-Poo wore her usual corset, laced to a breath-tightening 19 inches, 37C false boobs, and rubber panties. Her shoes were red patent leather pumps with seven-inch heels; they were secured to her feet with tiny padlocks--"so you don't kick them off when you get uncomfortable," Sharon advised her. In order to prepare her for the bondage she might sometimes have to display in her new position at Michelle's shop, Sharon had also laced Chrissy-Poo into a single glove, her elbows tightly bound in the small of her back.
Danielle, on the other hand, appeared to be the epitome of youthful femininity. The transformed boy wore a white cotton dress with lots of lace on its Buster-Brown collar, cuffs and hem. The skirt of the dress stopped six inches above her knees and was thrust out at nearly right angles by the three layers of white taffeta petticoats that rustled beneath it. Despite her youth, her bust had also been padded out--though not to the same extreme as her erst-while father's. Beneath the dress she was all in satin--satin camisole, satin garter belt, satin panties. Her sheer white nylons made her legs look both sleek and childlike--especially with the pink-trimmed ankle socks and white patent Mary Janes she wore on her feet.
Both boy-girls had been artfully made up. Chrissy-Poo's face looked adult and sensuous--but innocent as well, with her cheeks rouged to imitate the embarrassed blush of a woman ashamed of her flaunted femininity. Danielle's make up, though, was subtle and gentle, making the 12-year-old boy look the picture of shy youth. Still, she was beautiful, certain to attract the eye of any young lad--and be the envy of the customers for whom she would model in Michelle's store.
Sharon parked the car near Broadway and 79th on Manhattan's fashionable West Side and directed the two "girls" to follow her. They were greeted at the shop door by Michelle, who clapped her hands in delight at the sight of her two new employees.
"Sharon, honey, they're wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I just love what you've done with Chrissy-Poo's bondage. And Danielle--her dress is just darling!" The shop owner reached down and took the skirt of the youthful boy-girl's dress in her hands, rustling the petticoats across Danielle's legs. Beneath her panties, Danielle could feel her cock grow from the stimulation.
"Now, you just leave them to me," she continued. "I close the shop at six. You can come and pick them up then. Enjoy your day in the city."
Two hours later, both boy-girls were well into their respective jobs. Danielle was modeling for one of Michelle's exclusive customers, a young matron who had petticoated her own little boy.
She was outfitted in a red velvet party dress with white lace collar and cuffs. Her hands were tightly encased in white cotton gloves. Like the dress in which she had come to the store, the skirt was buoyed by the three starched petticoats beneath it. Her legs were bare, with just white ankle socks with a red satin ribbon through the cuff and red patent leather strapless pumps upon her feet. This customer preferred to keep her charge in mild bondage, so Michelle had demonstrated how this pretty party outfit could be accessorized with white satin ribbon wrapped tightly around Danielle's wrists tied in a big bow, keeping her hands locked tightly together, while the ribbons in her socks had been tied together as well, restricting her step to a scant eight inches.
The young matron looked thoughtfully at the bound vision Danielle made--and then glanced at her own "daughter," sitting beside her, with her neck immobilized by a punishment collar so that she had no choice but to look at her counterpart, despite her deep desire to avoid knowing her fate.
Chrissy-Poo, on the other hand, was modeling even more bizarre clothing for a professional mistress who frequently ordered her cross-dressed clients to accompany her to Michelle's shop. The dominatrix had one such slave with her today. He was dressed in tight-fitting green sheath which set off his red wig beautifully. The extremely tight corset he wore was perfectly obvious beneath the sheath, as were his garters and stocking tops below the short tight skirt. He wore eight-inch heels, in which he couldn't really walk. He was completely at his mistress' mercy.
Chrissy-Poo, perched on a pedestal in the center of the shop, was equally at Michelle's mercy. She was still in her corset, but now her clothing consisted of a black leather miniskirt and white satin halter. Her hands were chained in front of her, locked to the belt of the skirt. She could move them perhaps three inches in any direction. Her legs were tightly encased in white patent leather, thigh-high boots with six-inch heels. They had been carefully posed in a feminine gesture--one foot slightly in front of the other, toe pointed, knee slightly bent. To ensure that she could not change her position, Chrissy-Poo's feet were chained to the pedestal.
Michelle stood next to her, demonstrating the various bondage gear sold in the shop. Finally, when she wished to prove how helpless a cross-dressed slave could be in this outfit, she began to massage Chrissy-Poo's breasts, hips and crotch, stroking the transformed man's body through the sensuous leather and lace. Chrissy-Poo's growing excitement was obvious.
Oh God! Chris thought. Even under this skirt, my cock must be visible! It feels so big! Please, Michelle, don't make me come! Not here, not now! Michelle leaned over and whispered in Chrissy-Poo's ear, "Now come for me, little Chrissy-Poo."
She shuddered and came, unable to resist the power of the implant that turned Chris Martin into one of the Stepton slaves.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Your Score: Avarage Joe!
You scored 18 Masculinity, 62 Feminimity, 34 Tranvestic, and 16 Drag!
Well.. Your are a normal cisgendered sort! But you should know that this is neither a good thing nor a bad thing. Every day people who are effeminant get pummeled and bullied each day! stand up for the weak and be the knight in shinning armor for all!!
|Link: The Inner gender (genetic male) Test written by Merielpup on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test|
A short time later, Sharon led Chrissy-Poo, in her tight, short, white satin dress, sheer stockings, white ankle socks with frilly lace cuffs, and white five-inch high heels, into the beauty salon. They were met by Carla, who was the owner as well as leader of the feminizers of Stepton.
"Well, doesn't Chrissy-Poo look precious in her satin dress?" Carla teased.
I ought to slap her one for that...
"Thank you, Mistress Carla. I am pleased you like the way I look," Chris replied. The cross-dressed slave looked around the beauty salon. It was obvious that all the staff--and a goodly number of the customers--were implant-dominated transvestites like himself. All the staff members wore tight pink mini-dresses, exceedingly short: The hems revealed their stocking tops and garters. Unlike most of Stepton's cross-dressed male population, they did not wear their hair long or have wigs on. Instead, their short male hair was laced with matching pink ribbons.
Hey--isn't that one just a boy? Chris's gaze was locked on a child of 14 or 15, seated in one of the salon's chairs. He could tell the customer was young, despite the sophisticated way in which "she" was dressed--silk wraparound dress, patterned stockings, black patent leather pumps with six-inch heels. The boy-girl's hair was platinum blonde, done in flowing waves around her face, which was made up beautifully beyond her years. Her figure had obviously been trained and surgically remade as well, giving her a 37-24-35 shape. Is that's what in store for Danny?
"Ahhh...I see you've noticed little Allison," Carla commented. "Allison's mother has decided that the child should earn her way in the world--in the only way such an unruly little thing can. Since Allison has no abilities at school or typical domestic work, her mother has turned her into a call girl. This is her day off, but normally Allison goes to New York each day, where she earns her keep as a high-priced escort for men who appreciate her looks--and her abilities at cock-sucking."
Allison was not the only exotic sight in the salon. In another chair sat an obvious male in a tight corset, black hose and seven-inch heels. His arms were bound to the chair and his ankles were connected by a ten-inch length of chain--obviously meant to train his gait to a ladylike mincing step. One of the attendants was coating his nails with red polish while another powdered his exposed, hairless chest and rouged the nipples. He seemed to be totally embarrassed.
Even Sharon spotted this one. "Why is he bound? Doesn't his implant work?" she asked Carla.
"Oh, it works perfectly," Carla replied. "That's Gretchen's little Marsha. Her implant is designed to merely reinforce her submissive nature...and her aversion to femininity. That's why she's so humiliated by her current situation. Gretchen doesn't want just a feminized slave--she wants one who is completely aware of what has happened to him...and the humiliation he experiences as a result."
As they spoke, the attendants completed their work on Marsha, unbound her wrists and helped her out of the chair. Gretchen entered then, and produced a bondage glove. She pulled her slave's arms behind her back, thrust them into the tight leather glove and tightened it until Marsha's elbows met in the small of her back. Next she pushed a ball gag into Marsha's mouth, buckling it behind her head. That was followed by a collar with a leash attached. Gretchen took the leash in hand and led the half-naked, half-feminized slave out of the salon, past the gaping Sharon and Chrissy-Poo. Marsha's eyes implored the others to understand his situation and not to laugh. Sharon couldn't help but smile--someday she would have to experiment with bondage on Chris.
"Come along, Chrissy-Poo," Carla said, taking the new TV slave by the hand. "It's time to complete your transformation." The satin-clad man-woman was seated in one of the salon's comfortable chairs and a lovely staff member came up to begin work on his hair.
"Wait!" Sharon halted the process. "I want Chris to be aware of what's going on. Get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo!" That was the code phrase that would permit Sharon to impose specific, unopposable orders upon Chris through the implant. "Until I reactivate your implant," she ordered, "you are Chris again. Carla, perhaps you'd best tie him down as you did Marsha."
Instantly, Carla and the attendant strapped the hapless Chris into the chair. He pleaded with his wife. "Sharon, why are you doing this?"
"When I met Carla while house-hunting," she explained, "I discovered that the women of Stepton had the best of everything. About half of them own their own very successful businesses--like Carla here--and have no need of a traditional 'breadwinner' as a husband. The others all have husbands whose jobs, like yours, do not require them to be seen frequently in public. Hence, it was simple for them to develop this feminization process."
"Most of us are confirmed lesbians or bi, anyway," Carla interjected. "Certainly I can testify that Sharon is--or didn't you know that when you married her?"
The women all laughed at the surprise that registered on Chris's face at that assertion. But now, the final steps in his transformation began. One of the boy-girl attendants appeared and introduced herself. "Hi Chrissy-Poo, my name is Francie. I'll be washing and setting your hair. I'm also told that your mistress has instructed that it be frosted."
Chris gulped. How far was Sharon going to go with this? He felt the chair fall backward as his head was lowered into the sink. Francie began washing his hair.
Meanwhile, at the high school, Sharon and Chris' 15-year-old daughter Karen was getting her indoctrination to the joys of petticoating and dominating young men. She was meeting with the leaders of the school's "domination team," who had brought along their personal slaves--all boys who also attended the school in feminine disguise--to demonstrate their control over the male sex.
The girls, like their mothers, favored leather clothing--while the boys, like their hapless fathers, were dressed in the most feminine of styles. The leader of the team was Melinda, Gretchen's daughter, who wore a clinging outfit of black leather jacket and jeans, with spiked-heel knee-length boots. The other two girls, Sondra and Kathryn, wore similar outfits. They had all lent leather clothing to newcomer Karen, so she would not look out of place.
"C'mon, Misty, show Karen how you greet your mistress," Melinda ordered her slave, a mincing 17-year-old senior once named Michael. He was dressed in Parisian high fashion, as Melinda preferred him to be: silk blouse, tight slim-cut navy skirt, topped by a fitted jacket. Underneath, she had him dressed in what she termed "slut lingerie"--black lacy half-bra, black lacy crotchless panties, matching garter belt and black seamed stockings. He was perched on six-inch-heeled black patent pumps.
Misty fell to her knees at Melinda's feet, pressing her red glossy lips against the gleaming leather of the teen-age dominatrix's boots. She ran her tongue up the length of each boot. Then Melinda took the cross-dressed boy's scarlet-nailed hands and drew him to her face, planting a passionate French kiss upon him, thrusting her tongue deep into the boy-girl's lipsticked mouth. She reached down and rubbed her hand over the growing mound beneath the navy skirt Melinda wore. Then she pushed him away, nearly sprawling him on the ground.
Misty's hands strayed toward her turgid cock. "Don't you dare!" commanded Melinda. "Who does that little dicky thing belong to?" she asked.
"To you and you alone, Mistress," Misty responded, blushing.
"Drop your skirt, Misty," Melinda demanded. The embarrassed femme obeyed. "Pull out your dicky thing." Again Misty complied. "Now jerk off!"
Melinda turned to her compatriots. "Janice," she cooed, "don't you think your little Judy would like a taste of come? I know she loves it."
All eyes turned to Judy, nee Jules, a petite young slave dressed in little girl drag: taffeta party dress with ruffled petticoats, smooth bare legs with white ankle socks. The little-girl look was belied by the size of his breast implants and the seven-inch white heels he was forced to wear. He looked to his mistress, a tall well-built black girl.
"Well, you heard Mistress Melinda," she told him. "Suck that cock," she ordered, pointing to Misty's still-swollen member. The little-girl TV dropped to her knees and took the cock in her mouth, sucking off the other cross-dressed lad until he shuddered with pleasure.
Melinda turned to the stunned but smiling Karen. "You see, Karen, the implants make them unable to defy us. All you have to do is make your pick of the unattached femmes in the school."
At Carla's beauty salon, Chris was just seeing the results of Francie's efforts. His hair was now a coppery red, falling into gentle waves to his shoulders. His eyebrows had been reshaped into ladylike arches; even his ears had been pierced. Little gold studs now graced his lobes. His face had been artfully made up, with eyeshadow, mascara, blush, lipstick and powder. He couldn't believe his eyes. He actually looked like a woman--albeit a bizarre one, given the satin outfit he was still wearing.
In the mirror, he saw Sharon come up from behind him. "Well, Chrissy-Poo, now you know that the women of Stepton mean what they say. You'll stay a man-woman from now on."
He turned to face her and began to speak. She put her hand to his lips and whispered, "Get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo." Oh no! I'm helpless! What's she done to me?
"Now, Chrissy-Poo," said Sharon, settling into one of the salon's chairs, "I'm horny. Satisfy me."
"Yes, Mistress," he responded, burying his face in Sharon's hot pussy. Why am I so excited? What can't I stop? What's happening to me?
Later that day, Chrissy-Poo and Sharon arrived home. Though the implant permitted no outward sign of it, the transformed sissy was shocked to find Carla, her own little boy-girl Charlotte and her maid-husband Deirdre waiting for them in the living room. What are they doing here?
The answer came in a moment, as the three stepped aside to reveal Chris and Sharon's son Danny--looking very little like a son at the moment. Laid out on the couch, he was dressed in a pink taffeta party dress, with starched white crinolines and opaque white stockings underneath. He wore charming black patent leather Mary Janes with a two-inch heel upon his feet and white lace gloves upon his hands, folded neatly below his childish bosom. His face was artfully made up to disguise his masculinity, a disguise furthered by the curly, shoulder-length blonde wig he wore. Oh no! thought Chris, has Danny already had the implant done? Is it too late for him?
"I thought you were going to wait for us to get home to transform Danny?" Sharon asked.
"Oh, this is just a preliminary stage," Carla replied. "Charlotte was visiting--under my orders--and slipped a drugged juice drink to little Danielle here. We've found that the implant works particularly well on adolescents if they are already in a transformed state."
"Good," Sharon commented. "I want to be here to establish the proper pecking order among my little transformed beauties."
What does she mean by that? Is Sharon planning something even more bizarre with Danny?
While Chrissy-Poo pondered, Carla prepared the implant injector. She pressed the "muzzle" of the air-gun against the back of the cross-dressed Danny and pulled the "trigger." There was a brief hiss and she withdrew the device. "It's done," she announced.
"Get the little dear to his feet," Sharon requested, "and wake him up." Charlotte and Deirdre hauled the still-sleeping boy-girl off the couch and shook him to rouse him.
"Huh--what's goin' on...Mom? What is all this...." he mumbled, blearily.
His mother turned to Carla. "What's his activation phrase?" Carla whispered in Sharon's ear. "Oh, that's good." She turned back to Danny, who was starting to notice how he was dressed--and how his erstwhile father was dressed as well.
"Dad? Why are you in those clothes? What's happening?"
"Danielle, blow me a kiss!" Sharon announced.
Danny stopped speaking in mid-sentence, pursed his lips and blew a kiss to his domineering mother. "May I do anything else for you, Mother?" he asked, in feminine tones.
Oh God! Chris thought. She's done it--now we're both helpless. We're just boy-girl sex slaves...just like every other male in Stepton!
"Danielle, Carla informs me that her friend Michelle needs a model for her children's clothing store in New York," Sharon informed her transformed son. "I have told her you would be happy to take the job. Naturally, all your salary will be turned over to me."
"Oh, Mother, that's wonderful! I so love to wear pretty clothes!" Danielle enthused.
I hate hearing him talk like that--but partly because I want to be the one wearing those clothes, Chris realized. What else does Sharon have planned for us?
Sharon turned to her husband-slave. "As for you, Chrissy-Poo, Michelle also has a section of the store that sells exotic and bizarre clothing for transformed males like yourself. I have told her you would be pleased to act as a sales girl--and model--for her."
"Oh, I can't wait, Mistress Sharon," Chrissy-Poo exclaimed. And the horrible thing was that he couldn't.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Here's another sneak peek at that project I talked about earlier. The preliminary work is almost done. I expect to post the final version at A Bimbo's Sanctuary (link at right) next week sometime. I'll also post a larger version here, probably.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
"How are you feeling, Chris?" Sharon asked.
"A little better," he replied.
"Then why don't you get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo?"
Chrissy-Poo? Since when does Sharon call me Chrissy-P--
"Yes, Mistress Sharon," Chris replied, in a soft, husky voice. "How would you like me to dress?"
Sharon was flabbergasted--Carla's implant was remarkable. Chris' every movement was entirely feminine--and he was obviously ready to obey any request she might make of him. "Go to the closet, Chrissy-Poo. There's a white satin mini-dress I'd like to see you in. You'll find the proper undergarments in the second drawer of the dresser."
Sharon must be crazy. There's no way I'm going to wear a dress--
Chris crossed to the closet and got out the dress Sharon indicated. It was designed to be very tight, its shimmering fabric would cling tightly to Chris' every curve; curves that would soon be apparent, thanks to the corset, bra, and panties he found in the dresser. "But, Mistress, I can't wear this dress and this lovely lingerie with hair all over my body," he said.
"Of course not," Sharon replied. "Go to the bathroom, draw yourself a nice warm bubble-bath and shave yourself entirely. Then get dressed and come down to see me in the living room."
Half an hour later, Chris (now Chrissy-Poo) appeared in the living room door. He curtsied to his mistress-wife, saying, "Am I satisfactory, Mistress Sharon?"
Why am I doing this? Why can't I stop myself? What have these women done to me--and why is my cock so swollen with excitement?
Sharon surveyed her newly transformed spouse. Chrissy-Poo was dressed in the tight white satin dress, its hem stopping a full eight inches above her knees. Under the dress, her corset was pulled in to 24 inches (from Chris' normal 34), and her bra was padded to create a 36C bosom. Below the hem of the dress, Chrissy-Poo wore sheer stockings, held up by the garters of her corset, white ankle socks with frilly lace cuffs, and white high heels, with five-inch heels and a strap across the instep.
What's going on? How did I get into this predicament? Is it something about this town, about Stepton?
As Chris Martin drove his family into the small suburban town of Stepton, he began to wonder if it had been a good idea to let his wife choose the site of their new home. The place seemed so pristine, almost Norman-Rockwell-like--very different from the gritty big city where they had lived and where Chris had grown up.
Something about the scene passing by outside the car windows also disturbed Chris, but he couldn't quite place the problem immediately. Then it dawned on him: he hadn't seen a single male--adult or child--since passing the town limits. He turned to ask his wife, Sharon, about it, but she was busy pointing out the town's highlights to their 15-year-old daughter Karen and 12-year-old son Danny. Chris shrugged--it was probably nothing to worry about, anyway.
A short time later, they pulled into the driveway of their new home. The lack of male faces continued to play on Chris' mind: all up and down the tree-lined street, he saw nothing but women and girls. All the people working in their yards were female; all the children playing were neatly dressed girls of varying ages.
Still, Chris thought, as he lugged in the last of the family's possessions, Stepton has a great reputation--good schools, low crime rate, no juvenile delinquency at all. It's going to be a great place to raise the kids. And the long commute back to the city was no problem. Chris was a freelance writer; he rarely had face-to-face contact with his editors, and nearly all of his work was sent to the publishers via modem.
The next morning, after a tiring day of hauling boxes and setting up furniture, Sharon asked Chris to take Danny to the local supermarket while she and Karen played host to the town's welcoming committee of women. Not wanting to be surrounded by gabbing women, Chris readily agreed.
As he headed out the door for the car, he nearly bumped into the first of the welcoming committee to arrive. A tall, dark woman whose stunning figure was not hidden by her black-leather business suit and red satin blouse, she introduced herself as Carla. "Sorry, I have to run, Carla," Chris excused himself, "but the shopping needs doing. The pantry is empty."
"That's quite all right, Chris," Carla replied. She smiled mysteriously, "I know we'll be seeing more of each other soon." Then she walked confidently into the house on her six-inch black patent pumps.
Chris, his own confidence a bit shaken by the run-in with the intriguing Carla, climbed into the car beside Danny and headed for the supermarket.
The supermarket was another new experience for Chris. There was seemingly not a single male in the place--not even on the staff. And all the women shoppers were dressed in the most extravagantly feminine manner--flouncy dresses and blouses, miniskirts, five-, six- and seven-inch heels. A few were even dressed in the classic French maid's uniform: low-cut, short-skirted black satin dresses with bouncy petticoats; sheer black hose (often with a hint of garter showing); black patent high-heeled pumps, all topped with a lacy apron and cap. Chris assumed they were servants in some of the richer households, out doing the shopping.
Chris was surprised to find that the experience of being surrounded by so much femininity was arousing him, engorging his cock. As a particularly scrumptious beauty passed him, Chris followed her with his eyes--and found that he had pushed the shopping cart into one of the frilly French maids.
"Ooops! Pardon me," he apologized.
The young lady in the extremely short outfit smiled prettily in return. "Oh, it's quite all right," she replied. "This place can get pretty crowded at times." She held out her hand, adorned with a set of gold rings and long, perfectly shaped red nails. "I'm Deirdre."
Chris took her hand in his, noting the heavy gold band around her wrist. Was that a lock on it? "Pleased to meet you, Deirdre. I'm Chris Martin and this is Danny." The absolute femininity of this vision before him had Chris blushing.
Meanwhile, back at the house, Sharon had dozens of questions for Carla and her other guests. "But I still can't believe that someone as masculine as Chris can be made into a woman that simply," she protested.
"Not a 'woman,' please, Sharon," Carla corrected. "He'll still be male in body, but female in outward appearance and temperament.
"And believe me," she continued, "it can be done. Why, my little Deirdre was just as manly as Chris back when she was David. Now the dear is a perfect French maid--and she wouldn't think of being anything else."
"And Deirdre--just like all our husbands--is completely submissive to women," interjected Michelle, another of the guests. "Carla's little implants are a work of genius."
Carla went on to explain the implants. The electronic devices, when placed against the spinal cord, transmitted a specially prepared "program" into the subject's unconscious mind. The program could be nearly anything--from a command to stop smoking to dance instruction (as long as it did not threaten the subject's life)--but Carla and her fellow Stepton wives had chosen to use them to enslave the men of the town, turning them into sweetly submissive false females.
"But not all of the men are like Deirdre," Sharon pointed out.
"Of course not," replied Susan, another guest. "Sweet as Deirdre and the other French maids look in their outfits, not all of us are into that scene. Most of us are just happy to see our little darlings in the most feminine of normal street clothing. None of them are ever permitted to wear pants--except tight little short-shorts in summer. We all agreed to that when we signed our little pact."
"But a few of us have gone even further than Carla has with Deirdre," put in Gretchen. She was dressed in a very severe, yet sexy, black outfit, and carried a short whip, hanging from her belt. "I came to Stepton, like you, when I heard of Carla's implants through the grapevine. I had already imposed my will on Marshall--now Marsha--but I wanted to make his enslavement permanent. She now spends her days in lingerie and mild bondage in our home, only seeing others when we entertain. Perhaps you'd like to visit someday soon?"
Back at the supermarket, Chris and Danny were just checking out when Deirdre approached them again. "Please, let me invite you to visit my Mistress Carla and me," she offered. "I'll check with her when I arrive home. I'm sure she'll find you just charming."
"Well, thank you, Deirdre," Chris replied. "I'm looking forward to it."
Mistress? He watched the frilly figure mince toward her car. What kind of town is Stepton anyway?
At the women's meeting, Sharon had one last question. "What about Danny? I haven't seen any boys in town at all--have they all been transformed too?"
"Certainly, my dear," Carla answered. "My own son Charlie is about Danny's age. I put an implant in him two years ago--now little Charlotte is a perfect angel. We've found the implants work even better on pre-teen and teenaged boys. They almost seem to want the transformation. We'll handle Danny this summer, before school starts. We wouldn't want him disrupting the other boy-girls."
At that moment, Chris and Danny entered the house with the groceries. "Hello, everyone," he greeted them. "Oh, Carla--I ran into your maid, Deirdre, at the market. She sort of invited me to visit you."
"Wonderful, Chris," Carla purred. "Shall we say tomorrow--about 11:00?" She leaned toward Sharon and whispered: "Deirdre was ordered to make that invitation if she ran into Chris. It will give me an excellent chance to do the implant."
The next day, Chris rang the bell at Carla's door. Moments later, he was led into the living room by the ever-ravishing Deirdre. Today the maid was dressed in a pink-satin uniform with white hose and six-inch-heeled pink sandals, which let her red-polished toenails wink through. She curtsied prettily to Chris and told him, "Mistress Carla will be here shortly. Let me make you a drink; then sit back and relax." She went to the bar, returning with Chris' requested Bloody Mary a few moments later.
After a short while, after Chris had had a few sips of his drink, Carla appeared. As usual, she was dressed in leather and satin. Today, everything was red: red leather miniskirt, red satin blouse, red hose, red patent-leather heels. The effect, against Carla's dark brunette beauty, was every bit as devastating as she'd hoped it would be.
Carla put out her hand for Chris' greeting. "Thank you for coming, Chris."
"Thanks for having me....." Suddenly, Chris felt his knees go out from under him as his mind swam. He collapsed into Carla's arms.
"Quickly, Deirdre," she ordered her transformed maid-husband. "Help me get him into the surgery. The effects of that drugged drink won't last very long." The two hefted Chris into the next room, which was set up much like a doctor's examining room. They placed him carefully on the table.
Carla brought a special device out of a cabinet. She fit one of her special implants into the air gun-like device and placed it against the back of Chris' neck. She pulled the "trigger," and a slight hiss of air indicated the procedure was over. As she removed the gun from his neck, the only sign of Chris' implant was a slight red mark just below his hairline.
Now Carla and Deirdre brought the rapidly recovering man back into the living room. "Whew," he breathed, "what happened to me?" He rubbed his stiff neck.
"I've no idea," Carla smiled. "Perhaps the vodka in your drink was stronger than you're used to."
"Yeah, well, maybe I'd better go on home. Sorry to ruin our get-together, Carla," Chris apologized.
"No problem," she replied. "And be sure and say hello to Sharon for me."
Not long after, Chris arrived home, still rubbing the back of his neck. Sharon greeted him at the door and helped to their bedroom to lie down.
Then she picked up the phone and called Carla.
"Are you sure the implant is working?" she asked. "Chris doesn't seem to be any different."
"The implant's programming doesn't begin to operate until you activate it," Carla explained. "The activation phrase is 'Get dressed for me, Chrissy-Poo.' Say that to him and watch what happens. It can also be used to give irrevocable commands once the implant is activated."
So Sharon activated the implant and ordered Chris to get dressed in the little-girlish outfit and present himself to her.
"You look lovely, Chrissy-Poo," Sharon told him. "The only thing missing is your makeup and hairstyle. But I have the answer to that--your appointment at the beauty salon downtown is in 20 minutes. Let's go."
And she took the cross-dressed submissive by the hand and led him to the door.
No! NO! I don't want to go to a beauty salon! But I do--and the very thought of having pretty hair and makeup is driving me wild. Why? WHY?
More to come
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Here's a sneak peek at the beginning of a major project I'm getting ready for A Bimbo's Sanctuary (link at right).
Basically, a short vignette Justice League tale, it explains how Kal-El and all his male companions are converted to submissive, feminized slaves. Here's a look at "Superslut."
I have to admit, for me, it's always been the high heels. That slightly wobbly feeling, that abrupt change in posture, has always said to me, "OK, now you're looking and acting like a woman!" That's probably why I have always worn heels when dressing...without them, the whole experience doesn't seem complete.
New poll asks about how often you dress.
Monday, July 23, 2007
CHAPTER FIVE: Dani Forever
"This should be the most exciting night of your life," Mistress Jennifer told me. "We'll be celebrating Sissy Dani's first 'birthday.'"
It was true. A full year had gone by since Jennifer had first used her secret hypnotic designs to implant within my mind the personality of Sissy Dani, a simpering, submissive male lesbian who craved being both beautiful and bound. In that year, she had also aided many of her dominant friends to successfully transform the men in their lives into submissive feminine slaves as well. Many of them would be at the party tonight.
"Let's get you into your birthday dress," Jennifer said, holding out the special creation.
"Can't that wait?" I asked petulantly. I had noted over the last several months that even as Daniel I was becoming increasingly girlish--my voice was higher, softer; my gestures and walk more feminine. This "persona seepage," as I had come to think of it, had seemingly begun the evening Jennifer had imposed a second set of posthypnotic commands upon me. I was now compelled to wear feminine undergarments and a light coating of makeup at all times, whether dressed and acting as Daniel or Dani. I was now reluctant to wear female clothing when the Daniel persona was in charge--for fear the "seepage" would increase.
Jennifer, of course, had the solution to my reluctance. "Don't you want to be pretty, Sissy Dani?" Those were the code words, the special message that would activate in full the feminine psyche hidden within my own. As usual, the switch was instantaneous.
Unable to resist (though within, I knew how humiliating the entire scenario was), I dropped my gaze and held out my arms, wrists touching. "Transform me, Mistress," I pleaded. "Bind me into your service as Sissy Dani."
Jennifer ordered me to remove my male outer clothes and the black lace undies I was also wearing. She strapped me into a plain white strapless padded bra and then added white panties. No garterbelt this time--the sheer white stockings she gave me to put on my hairless legs were designed to stay up by themselves. When she handed me the dress Sissy Dani was to wear I understood why my lingerie was so simple.
The dress was elegant, sexy, and tight as tight could be. Its silver-white fabric clung to every one of Sissy Dani's curves. It wasn't low-cut, but it still made my ersatz boobs look larger and bouncier than ever. The hem was among the shortest Sissy Dani had ever worn--nearly eight inches above the knee. The tightness of the skirt made it seem even shorter, seemingly revealing even more of the legs than usual.
Now came the shoes--the barest of sandals with seven-inch heels and two-inch platform soles. Fortunately, in preparation for the party, Jennifer had made me (as both Daniel and Dani) practice walking in even higher eight-inch heels for the past month. In comparison, these were like flats. I looked down at my feet, and the Sissy Dani persona was enchanted by the sight of my red-painted toenails winking through the straps of the sandals. It was an extremely sexy sight.
Fully dressed for the party (or so I thought at the time), I was seated at my vanity for a makeup job. In keeping with the sexy yet virginal white of my outfit, Mistress Jennifer emphasized the little-girl look of my face without neglecting the need to make me the center of attention she wanted me to be that evening. The final effect--with ultra-long lashes, carefully shaded pale colors in the eyeshadow, a deep coral lipstick, and my usual embarrassed blush--left the impression of a Monroe-like sexpot trying to masquerade as a pre-teenager. Jennifer was certain I would be a hit.
My usual bondage jewelry was also added--locked collar, bracelets, ankle bracelets.
She faced me toward the mirror and snapped her fingers. Instantly, my male persona reasserted itself. I gazed at my reflection--as the hypnotic effect of Jennifer's commands combined with the "persona seepage" left me with a raging hard-on. Jennifer recognized the look of longing on my face.
"Concentrate on other things, Danielle," she cooed. "For example, I have a big birthday surprise waiting for you at the party this evening." She grinned evilly--and I shuddered, half in fear, half in anticipation.
"Time to go," she told me, producing my "outerwear," such as it was. First came a pair of opera-length white satin gloves, exceedingly tight and fetishistic. So tight, in fact, that I could scarcely move my elbows or fingers once they were on. She forced my arms behind my back and demonstrated the gloves' other secret: The two halves of a nylon zipper ran up the inner side of each glove. Forcing my arms close together, she closed the zipper, imprisoning my arms as if they were bound in a single glove.
Over this elegant bondage she placed a white satin cape that fell to my waist, mostly hiding my imprisoned arms--but leaving just enough showing to make it interesting should anyone notice my awkward condition. "Now you just stand here like that and get used to it," Jennifer advised, "while I get into my own party outfit."
Moments later, she reappeared. Involuntarily I gasped--she was beautiful. Her dress was a classic evening gown--halter-collared, bare-backed, clinging in all the right places, with a slit up the side to reveal her gorgeous legs--but made entirely of red kid leather. Her stockings were also red, and her shoes were of matching leather in a six-inch heeled pump.
Jennifer clipped a gold chain leash to my collar and tugged lightly. "Let's go, Dani--your public awaits."
The party was held at Mistress Susan's home. Mistress Susan was the sister of Teasing Tammy (nee Tommy), and was the instigator of his transformation into that alluring teenager whose purpose was to gain new "recruits" to the growing legion of feminized submissives. Among the guests at this birthday party for my own imposed female persona were Tammy, Little Miss Mandy and "her" mother Carla, and Busty Barbie and "her" wife-mistress Maria. Each of the three had, I was told, prepared an entertainment for the celebration.
When everyone had arrived, the festivities began. First into the spotlight was Tammy. Susan had outfitted her little "sister" in a dressy version of her usual teenage sexpot attire. The buxom little redhead wore a pink sequined mini-dress with a diagonal-cut hem: It started at knee-length on her left side and rose to stocking-tops (revealing a hint of garter) on the right. Along the outside of the right leg her specially made pink stockings had an inscription, running from the thigh to the ankle: "Cockteaser." She also wore six-inch pink pumps.
Like me, Tammy was only a part-time submissive. Susan brought her out for special occasions like these or for missions to lure in prospective feminization victims. Also like me, Tammy's other self, Tommy, was acutely aware of everything he was forced to undergo when in the thrall of the Teasing Tammy persona--so I understood the humiliation he would feel after the party when Susan released him from her control.
Tammy's act consisted of her playing up sexually to one of the un-feminized male submissives at the party, while singing--in a Betty Boop-ish voice--"I Want to Be Loved by You." Her instructions were to turn the man on as much as possible--both for her own humiliation and his, since he would be forbidden to relieve his frustration by his own mistress.
The act was a rousing success. The party-goers loved it--and the poor submissive ended up with a raging erection; but tied to a chair as he was, he could only long for release--in more ways than one.
Completing her number, Tammy curtseyed and retreated to Susan's side, where she was immediately returned to her own bondage--silver handcuffs behind the back and leg restraints--and then Susan played a little trick of her own: Snapping her fingers, she returned Tammy to Tommy. As the realization of what he had just done hit him, Tommy turned bright red and would have run from the room had Susan not restrained him.
Next on the makeshift stage was Little Miss Mandy. Unlike most of the other feminized slaves in our little circle, Mandy had not been transformed through hypnosis but through rigorous training by his mother Carla instead. She had turned down the mesmerizing route, thinking it would be more fun (and more embarrassing to the former Martin) if the 14-year-old boy were constantly aware of his increasingly feminized appearance and personality.
Normally, Carla kept Mandy dressed in sissy-boy attire (velvet or satin shorts, satin shirts, big bows, etc.) rather than full female regalia, but tonight she had gone all out. Mandy gave the appearance of an oversized eight-year-old girl in a pale blue party dress with lace and ruffles all over it, little puffed sleeves, opaque white stockings and white patent-leather Mary Janes with three-inch heels. The effect was emphasized by a little organdy apron tied over his skirt, with a big bow showing at the rear.
Still there remained a touch of the androgynous to his appearance, since Carla had chosen to forego a wig for the crossdressed boy, simply curling his short black hair lightly and affixing a large pale blue ribbon to the left side. His face was lightly touched with cosmetics, just enough to soften his features. Many of the other "little-girl" submissives were clearly jealous of his femininity.
For her performance, Mandy sang the classic "I'm a Little Teapot," replete with the appropriate gestures. When completed, she curtseyed, then (as ordered) stuck her thumb in her mouth little-girl fashion. The audience ate it up.
Last up was Busty Barbie. Once known as Bob, he was the only adult in our group of fem-slaves who lived full-time as a woman. How could he do otherwise? His wife, Maria, perturbed by his obsession with big-breasted women, had used a combination of hypnosis, special drugs and breast implants to turn him into a heart-stopping version of what he loved most.
Barbie was now a lust-inducing buxom brunette, her boobs expanded to a 38D. The hypnotic commands that created the Barbie personality had several interesting twists: The more often she saw herself with big breasts, the bigger she wanted her boobs to get (although Maria had recently "turned off" that command--she didn't want Barbie to get gross); Bob, when released from his Barbie persona, was compelled to gaze upon the vision of Barbie he had become--and come in his panties; finally, Bob had constant awareness of all that happened to Barbie--and Maria frequently ordered him to report on his reactions to it. He had told me it was a greatly humiliating experience.
And that was to be his "act" this evening. Barbie wiggled and jiggled her way into the performance area. She wore a see-through red blouse, through which her large tits, carefully powdered and rouged, showed provocatively. Her skirt was a tight, black-leather mini, considerably hampering her ability to walk freely, especially in the six-inch heeled pumps she also wore. Her dark hair hung below her shoulders in a Farrah-like wave, framing a skillfully made-up face with bee-stung red lips.
"I have been--requested," she began, "to describe my activities and my feelings as I prepared for this evening's gathering.
"As usual when appearing in public, I began with a long bubble-bath. As I stripped naked, I found my hands again straying to my breasts, tweaking the nipples, heaving the heavy globes together. My mind had struggled to prevent my body from teasing myself so, but without effect. My Mistress' hypnotic commands are too strong. After successfully causing my cock to harden, I stepped into the bath.
"An hour later," she continued, "powdered and dried from the bath, I began dressing for the party. I started with my black satin panties, garterbelt and black sheer stockings. Then I stepped--struggled, really--into the exquisite tightness of my leather skirt. My body thrilled at the feel of it across my hips and thighs; my mind tried to push those feelings away, again without success. Finally, I slipped on my six-inch pumps.
"Then I sat at my vanity to begin my makeup. I accented my eyes with long false eyelashes, and deep green shadow, and carefully touched up my plucked and arched eyebrows. Next came a rose blush, followed by a coat of glistening red lipstick. I freshened my nail polish with the same red color.
"Now, came the part my body loved and my mind most detested. I could feel my arms and hands shake as my conscious struggled with my unconscious. But, as always, the unconscious won--my hands picked up the powder and lipstick again, accenting the white of my giant boobs and the red of the nipples. Looking at my luscious tits in the mirror, I felt my cock begin to stir again.
"Now came the finishing touch--the blouse that would both hide and reveal my breasts to the world. Once it was in place, Mistress Maria entered my room and snapped her fingers. Barbie was gone--Bob took her place within my mind. I stared at the reflection in the mirror and--as it had every day for the past several months--my cock shot its load into my panties at the sight of my transformed self."
The entertainment complete, Mistress Jennifer announced it was time for my surprise. Suddenly, from behind, I felt a pair of hands thrust a ball-gag into my mouth, tying it tightly. Next I felt the zipper on my dress being pulled down. Shortly, the dress fell in a bundle to my feet. Now, Mistress Jennifer reached behind me and undid the hooks on my bra. It, too, fell to the floor.
I stood there, half-naked in my sheer white hose and high white sandals, unable to move because of the way my arms were bound by the white satin gloves, unable to protest because of the way my mouth was gagged. Jennifer smiled--the smile I knew meant additional humiliation for me. "You look so pretty, Sissy Dani."
Instantly. I no longer cared how I looked. I actually longed for the humiliation I was receiving. Such was the effect of the Sissy Dani persona upon me. Now, Jennifer produced a syringe from her bag. "This, Sissy Dani, is the same drug which produced such wonderful results in Busty Barbie." She stuck the needle under each of my breasts, as my eyes gaped.
"Oh no, Dani," she responded to my unasked question, "we're not going to make you as buxom as Barbie. Just enough to give you cute little boobs for the rest of your life.
"After all," Jennifer continued, "you're going to need them. From this point forward, the sound of snapping fingers will no longer return Daniel to control of your mind." She demonstrated. Indeed, the switch in personas I expected did not occur. But did that mean--
"Yes, Dani, this is the end of your double life," she went on, as I felt and watched my tits begin to grow. "From now on, you're Pretty Sissy Dani forever!"
Coming Next: The Stepton Slaves
Friday, July 20, 2007
In a previous series of "visual postings," I presented a sort of essay on the use of fetishistic images in comics, focusing on a series of heroines and villainesses--Black Canary, Zatanna, Star Sapphire, Catwoman, and Wonder Woman.
I turn now to a particular artist--Howard Chaykin. Beginning with his seminal American Flag and continuing through the straight-forwardly fetishist Black Kiss, as well as his own versions of The Shadow and Blackhawk, right on into more recent works like City Of Tomorrow and American Century, this comics artist...influenced by everything from Eneg and Stanton to the commercial advertising art of the 1930s to colleagues such as Alex Toth...has brought the garter belt, the seamed stocking, and the red lipsticked mouth back into four-color vogue.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
CHAPTER FOUR: The Breast of Everything
"He's obsessed with boobs," complained Maria, a new recruit to Mistress Jennifer's cadre of dominant feminizers of hapless men. "My husband Bob just stares at any woman with a full figure--the fuller the better."
It was easy to see why this disturbed her. Maria, though extremely attractive, was a petite, small-boned woman who was far from buxom. I was privy to this conversation, along with Teasing Tammy, because Jennifer, Maria, and Tammy's sister and dominatrix, Susan, intended to use us to bring the unsuspecting Bob into a trap--a trap that would deprive him of his manliness forever, it seemed.
Tammy, though only 16, had been designed by Susan and Jennifer as the ultimate cocktease, with full 35C breasts. Although my own alternate persona, Sissy Dani, was generally less well-endowed, for this adventure I was also padded out to Playmate-like dimensions.
We were sent out to meet Bob at one of his favorite hangouts, a bar that specialized in attracting men who "appreciated" bosomy types. I was dressed for "bear"--a skin-tight white satin cocktail dress that played up my bogus breasts with a very short skirt, five-inch white satin heels, and dramatic makeup. Tammy had also been dressed to look older: She wore a black leather outfit, also extremely tight and short, with six-inch heels and equally dramatic makeup.
Our instructions (enforced by the posthypnotic suggestions that created our submissive personalities) were to approach Bob, get him to buy us drinks, and then get him back to Jennifer's house for his own transformation.
Within minutes after we arrived, I spotted Bob at the bar. "Well, hello there," I cooed as I approached him, playing up my charms as much as I could.
"Hello yourself, little lady," Bob replied, smiling. He looked me up and down, pausing noticeably (as expected) at my bust line. "And who's this little heartbreaker?" he asked, as Tammy sidled up to his other side.
"That's my sister, Tammy," I replied. "I'm Dani."
He put his arms around our waists, in the process letting his hands graze our "boobs." I suggested he buy us a round of drinks. He made the order, and I told him and Tammy to find a quiet table and I would bring the drinks when they were ready. Bob readily agreed, seeing a chance, I suppose, to make a little time with the enticing Tammy while alone.
A short time later, the drinks were placed on the bar. I carefully blocked Bob's view while I doctored his martini with the colorless, odorless potion Jennifer and her friends frequently used to render their potential she-slaves helpless. The drug--a combination sedative and mind-control potion--had been developed by one of Jennifer and Susan's dominant friends.
I wiggled my way over to the table, setting down the drinks, urging Bob to try his, "to make sure the bartender got it right, sweetheart," I told him. He took a big gulp, pronounced it great, then suddenly a blank look came over him.
"Wow, that stuff works quickly, doesn't it?" Tammy remarked.
"It certainly does," I answered. "Now, quiet, I have to give him the preliminary instructions that will get him into our Mistresses' clutches."
I turned to Bob. "Can you hear me, Bob?"
"Yes," he replied in a monotone.
"Good. In a few moments, you will awaken, feeling quite refreshed. When you do so, you will follow these instructions exactly. You will agree to my suggestion that I drive us back to my place. Once there, I will turn you over to your 'trainers.' The phrase, 'Sleep, Bob,' will return you to this hypnotic state. Is this all clear?"
"Yes," he replied again.
"Excellent. Wake up," I commanded.
Bob instantly came out of the spell and soon joined Tammy and me on our way to Jennifer's. I rang the doorbell and Jennifer answered the door, with Bob's wife, Maria, at her side. Before Bob could completely take in the consequences of what was going on, Maria said, "Sleep, Bob," and he was once again entranced.
The mesmerized Bob was led inside to the room that had become Jennifer's "transformation suite." There he was made to lie upon a comfortable bed, headphones were placed on his ears, and Jennifer began a new technique for transforming a male's psyche to the one she desired--sleep learning.
"While he sleeps there overnight," she told Maria, "the tapes will impress upon him his new persona--'Busty Barbie.' Just like Sissy Dani and Teasing Tammy, she will be completely submissive to all women--and especially to you--and she will have her own special twist: an innate desire to be as buxom as possible, the bigger the better. In addition, she will be compelled to display those 'charms' to their best advantage at all times.
"But inwardly," Jennifer continued, "Bob will be completely conscious of what is happening to him. If you request, he will explain his humiliation to you for your enjoyment. He can be brought in and out of his transformed personality by the following method--the phrase 'Touch your boobs, Busty Barbie' will activate the submissive mode; a simple snap of your fingers will bring back Bob, who will be completely aware of everything that has happened to him as Barbie. In addition, in either mode, the phrase 'Sleep, Bob' or 'Sleep, Barbie' will permit new posthypnotic instructions to be given.
"Does that satisfy your desire for revenge?"
"Completely," Maria replied. "I can't wait for morning!"
When morning came, Bob was awakened by a subliminal command on the tapes, fully aware of his new self as Busty Barbie. Maria and Jennifer were waiting for him.
"Barbie," Maria told him. "We have an appointment for you at the beauty parlor. Put on the clothes we've laid out for you and we'll leave shortly."
The now totally submissive man began to dress, with Maria's aid, in a completely bisexual outfit: white satin panties, garterbelt and stockings beneath; topped by a white satin man-tailored blouse and raw silk pleated women's slacks; the shoes were patent-leather low-heeled pumps. Next Maria made up his face lightly: Pale pink blush and lipstick, light blue eyeshadow and the merest hint of mascara. She then teased his hair into a slightly femme style. When completed, any observer would have been hard-pressed to determine Bob/Barbie's gender.
Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the beauty shop run by Jennifer's friend Margaret, the dominant woman who had aided in my own transformation to Sissy Dani. There, "Barbie" was stripped to her panties and strapped into the chair Margaret used for her "special" customers. Once sure that the half-feminized male couldn't escape, Maria leaned over and snapped her fingers in his face.
Instantly, Bob's own persona reasserted itself. He was indignant. "What's going on, Maria? Why am I strapped to this chair in this beauty parlor?" He said the last two words with evident loathing.
"What's happening, 'Barbie,' darling, is that you are about to be transformed into the kind of woman you most desire--a big-breasted, submissive bimbo. The only difference is that you will be submissive only to me and other women," Maria explained. "I fully expect that when you see yourself--as long as I allow you to be Bob and not Barbie--you'll come right in your panties. In fact, I may order you to do just that."
Though he was absolutely livid, Bob realized that he could not fight back in this environment. He settled back and said to Margaret, "Do your worst."
Within an hour, Bob was further transformed into Barbie. His dark hair had been lengthened by the addition of a fall that came to below his shoulders, with attractive curls framing his face. That face no longer looked male in the slightest: His eyes had been accented with long false eyelashes, and deep green eyeshadow, topped by plucked and arched eyebrows. His cheeks were graced by a rose blush and his lips looked full and kissable in their coat of glistening red. His nails had been lengthened and painted the same red color.
Now came the treatment that would give Busty Barbie the figure worthy of her name. Margaret approached him with a wicked-looking syringe.
"What's that?" he cringed.
"This is a special fast-acting breast enlarger, developed by the same sympathetic doctor who came up with the hypnotic drug that allowed Maria to enslave you so effectively last night," the dominant beautician told him, smiling. "Once I've injected you, your breasts will begin to grow as they attract the excess fluid in your body. I'm told a single injection will give you at least a 34C bust line." She pushed the needle into each side of his body, just below the armpit.
"And not only that," Maria interjected. "The result of seeing yourself with a real bosom will interact with your programming to make you want even bigger boobs. In time, you'll look--and want to look--like a brunette Dolly Parton."
Bob could tell it was true. Even in the short time they had been speaking he could see the swelling begin in his chest. He knew it would be less than an hour before he had the huge boobs the two women had described.
As that thought sunk in, Jennifer returned, arms laden with clothes for the "new woman." Deciding caution was in order before releasing Bob from his bonds, Maria spoke the code words, "Touch your boobs, Busty Barbie."
Seeing that the spell had worked, the women unstrapped Barbie from her chair and began her final transformation. Now that her breasts had grown to their full first-injection size, Margaret powdered them and painted the nipples with the same red lipstick she'd used on Barbie's face.
Now came the clothes: The white satin panties, garter belt and stockings were replaced. Over them, a very sheer white blouse, permitting the red nipples to show through provocatively, along with a tight, knee-length white skirt and white patent-leather heels. A collar, much like my own as Sissy Dani, was locked around her neck, as were similar ankle bracelets.
Maria turned to face the transformed Bob. "Sleep, Barbie," she ordered. "In a moment, you will see yourself for the first time as Busty Barbie. I want you to pose so as to show off your boobs as much as possible. When I am satisfied as to your ability to display yourself, I will bring back your male personality. As soon as Bob sees 'Barbie' you are to come in your panties. Now, awake."
Maria spun Barbie to face the mirror. Immediately, the she-male began to run through the most provocative of poses, always with the goal of letting her breasts lead the way. After a short while, Maria snapped her fingers.
Bob was aghast as he at last saw the bizarre creature they had made of him. At the same time, he could not help being turned on by the image in the mirror--in many ways, this was the woman of his dreams: busty and unashamed of it. He couldn't help it: His cock grew large and thick, heavy with the sexual thoughts within him. He struggled against it but could not stop. As Maria had ordered, the image of Busty Barbie--his own transformed image--made him come in his satin panties.
More to come
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
When I ran a similar survey on my old website, the response was quite similar, although there I found a significant number--though still a minority--who developed an interest in CD in high school or college.
New poll begins today.
CHAPTER THREE: Dani and Tammy's "Little Sister"
Mistress Jennifer and Mistress Susan's plans to create an entire "harem" of transformed men and boys continued apace.
The lure of Teasing Tammy (the transformation name of Susan's teenage brother Tommy) proved quite effective. Each of the young men (the youngest just 14, the oldest 22) the little tease brought back to the home we all now shared was turned into a different kind of feminized sex-toy, all designed to please the Mistresses and their dominant friends.
The little 14-year-old--apparently too sexually precocious for his own good--was introduced to Tammy by his mother, who wanted to prevent him from becoming a threat to the girls in his school and neighborhood.
Tammy was a revelation to Martin--his experience with girls was limited to the still-flat-chested, teddy-bear shaped girls in his school. She was dressed in her usual "tease" outfit: frilly pink panties, a generously padded bra (making her at least a 35C), matching garterbelt, sheer hose, a tight pink sweater, pink miniskirt (falling about six inches above her knees), pink ankle socks with lace at the cuffs, and pink patent-leather pumps with four-inch heels.
Well, when Martin saw Teasing Tammy in her frilly but skimpy pink outfit, her ample charms begging him to come home with her, he was lost.
Once at the transformation house, in Tammy's bedroom, the little tease managed to trick Martin into putting on some lingerie--a lacy beige bra and matching panties--with the promise of sucking his cock if he did so. Once the unsuspecting lad was so dressed, Mistress Susan appeared in the door of Tammy's room.
Feigning shock at the scene before her (a scene she had actually instructed Tammy to play out), Susan ordered Tammy out of the room. Dressed in a black leather mini-skirted business suit and lavender satin blouse, with her long legs perched on five-inch black patent-leather heels, the dominant was as attractive to Martin's eyes as her "sister" had been--possibly more so. Susan sat beside him--still dressed in his lingerie and nothing else--and talked to Martin about how he was dressed and how he felt in the girl's underclothes.
"I know you're embarrassed, Martin," she explained. "But you really do look cute in that outfit. I can see why Tammy wanted you to wear it: You're so soft and pink, you almost look like a girl."
The lad blushed--all over--at Susan's words. Now the dominant got stern. "Don't blush! You obviously enjoy wearing those clothes--and you obviously wanted Tammy to suck your cock! Maybe we should let you see what it's like to be a girl--or maybe a very girlish boy!"
Now Martin was scared. What did this very beautiful, but frightening, young woman have in mind? Susan smiled inwardly--very soon Martin would be the submissive girlish sissy his mother wanted. She produced a pill and some water, giving both to Martin.
"Take this, Martin," she advised. "It will calm you."
It certainly would. The drug--a combination sedative and mind-control potion--had been developed by one of Jennifer and Susan's dominant friends. Only moments after he downed the pill, Martin was quiet, breathing deeply and staring straight ahead with unseeing eyes.
At that moment, Mistress Jennifer and Martin's mother, Mistress Carla, entered. "He's all yours, Carla," Susan said. Carla ordered the boy to stand and put on the clothes she laid out for him. First came a satin camisole over the bra and panties, then white hose attached to a matching garterbelt. Next was a white satin blouse with a high collar and bouffant sleeves. On Martin's legs went a pair of tight velvet shorts, followed by a matching vest that laced tightly around him. The finishing touches were black patent-leather Mary Jane shoes with two-inch heels and a black satin bow at his neck.
Now the women went to work on his face--light touches of blush, blue eyeshadow, and pale pink lipstick, topped off with a blonde page-boy wig with a black satin bow in the back.
Commanding the lad to stand before the full-length mirror, Carla brought him out of his trance, but still under her control. "Look at yourself! You are no longer the roughneck boy you once were, but a sweet submissive sissy, who would not think of disobeying. Your name is now Little Miss Mandy. Of course, you will need to undergo a great deal of training for your new role...."
"That's really not necessary," Jennifer interrupted. "You can give him commands that he'll be unable to disobey right now."
"I know that," Carla replied. "But then I'd miss all the fun of training him and watching his embarrassment and humiliation as he finds himself being drawn into my net of feminized obedience." And the three dominant women laughed at the truth of the statement.
Of course, while all this had been going on, Mistress Jennifer had not been idle in my continuing enslavement and feminization as Sissy Dani.
The next step in my "training" came during dinner at an elegant restaurant. I had arrived, as ordered, as Daniel. Shown to the table at which Jennifer sat, I blanched when I saw her. She was dressed all in leather, a sure sign that I was in for a humiliating time. As I sat beside her, she let her hand brush over my chest.
"You're not wearing a bra, are you?" she demanded.
"Of course not. I'm Daniel, not Sissy Dani," I whispered. "You told me to come as my normal self."
"That doesn't mean you shouldn't always be reminded of your true position," she answered. She reached into her bag and pulled out a package, smiling the sinister smile I recognized so well. The package was from the local boutique that specialized in TV fashions. "Go to the men's room and put on the things you'll find in this package," she ordered.
I peeked inside. The package contained a black bra and panties, garterbelt and sheer stockings. "I can't do that!" I protested.
"You can and you will," she replied. "Unless you'd rather spend the evening as Sissy Dani, down on the floor, eating my pussy instead of dinner?"
I shuddered--I knew she could do it if she wished. Sheepishly I picked up the package and headed for the men's room. "And Daniel," she called after me, "no socks over the stockings."
Moments later, certain the entire restaurant knew what I was wearing beneath my business suit (a real possibility, since my shirt was light enough for the black bra to show through, and my pants short enough for the sheer hose to show at my ankles), I returned to our table. As I sat again, Mistress Jennifer reached for my crotch, deftly pulled open my fly and pulled out a tuft of the black satin panties. She let her leather-covered hand brush over my straining cock. Yes, I was turned on, dammit!
We ordered dinner, with Jennifer, as usual, ordering for me. Though she had a full meal, I had to be content with a salad. "Have to watch your girlish figure," she laughed. After dinner, as we relaxed, Jennifer pulled her makeup out of her purse and began to freshen up. She turned to me as she finished, asking, "Wouldn't you like to freshen your makeup, too, pretty Sissy Dani?"
That was it--the code words that surrendered my personality to that of Sissy Dani, Mistress Jennifer's lesbian slave. Though I could not refuse her commands, I remained aware of what she was doing to me.
"Dani, I think it's silly of you to go about without makeup on, don't you?" she asked. "Yes, Mistress," Dani replied.
"Very well, then. I want you to put on a light coat of pink lipstick, pale blue eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, and just a hint of blush--though you hardly need it. You blush so naturally when you're embarrassed."
Unable to refuse, I did as she asked. When I had finished, she produced a pair of dangling earrings with little bells, and my familiar slave ankle bracelets. "Put these on," she commanded. I obeyed again.
"Very good. Now Dani," she continued, "at all times, whether dressed as Dani or Daniel you will wear the makeup, earrings and ankle bracelets you are now wearing. This is an irrevocable posthypnotic command. Each morning when you dress as Daniel or Dani these things will be a part of your routine. As Dani, of course, you want to be pretty. As Daniel, they will add to the embarrassment you feel from your feminization. The soft ringing of the bells in your ears will remind you constantly that my voice rings in your ears, always ready to command you to do as I wish." She snapped her fingers.
Instantly, I regained control of myself as Daniel. I looked into the mirror next to our table. The sight of my now permanently feminized face brought on moist eyes. "Why?" I asked Jennifer.
"You didn't think I'd be happy with you as just a part-time slave, did you?" she responded. "Now I can hold power over you constantly. You're mine 24 hours a day from now on, even without Sissy Dani. Soon I may impose that simpering personality on you constantly, with no way for you to be released."
I shuddered again--but with fear, or secret delight?
Monday, July 16, 2007
Despite my nearly life-long fascination with it, I've never actually been hypnotized! I've tried--I downloaded mp3 files from various websites, hoping to put myself in trance, but that doesn't seem to work for me! I've discussed this with my on-line friend, Amber, who says she has not only successfully "tranced" in this manner, but is using these recordings in an ongoing program to create a fully feminized version of herself. (She's also working with Selina--whose photos you've seen here--for the same kind of program.)
I think I need at least a phone voice to personally guide me into trance...but current finances and living circumstances don't allow for me to pursue that route. And my attempts to find a local hypnotist--preferably female--to work with me have been futile.
If anyone has any thoughts on how to resolve this difficulty, I'm happy to hear them!
Saturday, July 14, 2007
First, it means we'll get through stories more quickly; second, it means I can have something to post even when I have nothing in particular to say
Continued from last week:
CHAPTER TWO: Teenage Tease
Some six months after Mistress Jennifer first imposed the "Sissy Dani" persona on me through posthypnotic suggestion, our lives had settled into a routine. Most of the week was quite normal--only Jennifer's insistence that I wear a corset and baby-dolls to bed indicated the hold she had over me. Naturally, I complied, since she could always threaten to permanently impose "Sissy Dani" on my mind.
Weekends, however, were generally spent in my transformed bondage. Perhaps a description of one such period will demonstrate the nature of our relationship.
I arrived home from work Friday night and was met by Mistress Jennifer at the door, dressed in her most dominant clothes--black leather bustier, knee-length black leather hobble skirt, black stockings and six-inch heels. She kissed me tenderly and whispered, "Pretty Sissy Dani." Once again, as it had countless times over the past half-year, my personality shifted. I was no longer Daniel, the confident journalist, but now Dani, the sweetly submissive male lesbian. As I had been taught, I dropped my gaze and held out my arms, wrists touching. "Transform me, Mistress," I pleaded. "Bind me into your service as Sissy Dani."
Jennifer smiled the wicked smile I had grown to fear yet love. "At once, Sissy Dani. I have a very special weekend planned for us."
Producing a collar and leash, she bound me to her and led me to Sissy Dani's transformation room. Seating me before the vanity, she told me to begin my change. First came the makeup--eyeshadow, mascara, bright red lipstick and, of course, the blush that gave me the look of constant embarrassment that Mistress Jennifer so enjoyed. She even powdered my breasts, then shadowed my "cleavage" and rouged my nipples, making my otherwise flat chest look quite girlish. She next combed out my hair into the flattering blonde pageboy her friend Mistress Margaret had created when Dani was first "revealed."
Next came the clothes. Jennifer had already laid out the outfit I was to wear for the evening. It consisted of a low-cut red satin blouse (though I had little in the way of natural cleavage, Mistress Jennifer still preferred me to dress in this sexy manner at times), a tight black leather miniskirt (with the hem fully six inches above my knees), a knee-length black leather cape, with red satin lining, and red patent-leather pumps, with towering 6-1/2-inch heels. All this was worn over black lingerie, including a lightly padded bra, satin panties, garterbelt and sheer black stockings.
Sissy Dani (I had, in my lucid moments as Daniel, come to think of her as a separate person) revelled in these sexy, feminine clothes, creating a sexual rush that thickened and hardened my cock. Mistress Jennifer smiled and brushed her hand across the obvious bulge under my skirt. "We'll get to that later, Sissy Dani," she whispered. "Now calm down."
Now Jennifer placed the gold bracelets with the secret locks on my wrists, the matching gold ankle bracelets on my legs and, finally, the gold collar with the visible lock around my neck. Then she took my wrists in her hands and brought them together behind my back. SNAP! The bracelets became handcuffs, effectively binding my hands behind me, hidden beneath the cape.
Now, she clipped the leash again to my collar and led me out to the street. Submissively (Sissy Dani could act no other way), I followed. As we reached the sidewalk, she snapped her fingers before my face. That was the signal--Sissy Dani disappeared and Daniel came back to life.
I stumbled in the towering heels as I came to my senses. As usual, I knew everything Mistress Jennifer had done to me and I was thoroughly humiliated to be bound and crossdressed in public--although certainly no passer-by would guess that the blonde vision in red-and-black was not female.
"Where are we going now?" I asked. She again smiled the secret smile I had come to fear--it always meant humiliation for me.
"One of my dearest dominant friends is having a little party. She asked me to bring Sissy Dani to demonstrate my 'training methods,'" Mistress Jennifer replied. "Her name is Mistress Susan--and you will obey her, and any other dominant woman at the party, as you would me. You know the consequences.
I certainly did. The consequences were to live the rest of my life as Sissy Dani. I was constantly afraid she would carry through on that threat--and secretly desiring it as well. The more time I spent as Sissy Dani, or in "her" clothes, the more I grew to enjoy it. I dared not tell Mistress Jennifer...she would only try to find a new way to humiliate me.
Fortunately the party house was only a few blocks away, so there was little chance for me to be seen by any neighbors. When we reached the door, it was opened by Mistress Susan. At that moment, Jennifer whipped off my cape, exposing the bondage to her sister dominant and all the other party-goers. She announced to the group, "Hello, everyone, this is pretty Sissy Dani!"
With those words, Dani reasserted herself. I blushed (prettily, I'm sure) at my exposure. As I had often been instructed, I dropped to my knees and placed my lips on the toes of Mistress Susan's white patent-leather boots. "Thank you for permitting me to serve you and all the other women here, Mistress Susan," I said.
The lovely blonde dominant, dressed all in white leather, took my hand and raised me back to my feet. "You're quite welcome, Sissy Dani. Come meet my other guests."
The room was filled with dominant women, each attended by one or more submissives. All of the submissives were crossdressed men, in varying states of attire. Several were completely outfitted as French maids, with short, petticoated, black satin minidresses, black silk hose and high, black patent-leather shoes. Others were done up as little girls--in pink or white satin party dresses, bare legs, frilly white socks and Mary Janes. Still others wore nothing but corsets or waist-cinchers with nylons and heels. These were usually also in mild bondage of one sort or another.
The one exception was a boy of about 16, who was completely naked and bound to a chair in the middle of the room. I assumed he had been drugged in some way, because he was relaxed and apparently sleeping. Susan led Jennifer and me over to the bound young man. "Dani, this is my little brother Tommy. He is about to become your sister in spirit--thanks to your lovely Mistress."
I was shocked (even as Sissy Dani) to realize that Mistress Jennifer was aiding her friend in enslaving one so young--especially the dominant's brother. The various dominants in the room gathered around as Susan and Jennifer began to dress the drowsing boy in feminine clothes. Apparently the plan was to establish the soon-to-be "Tammy" as a sort of teenage tease. He was dressed in frilly pink panties, a generously padded bra (making him at least a 35C), matching garterbelt, sheer hose, a tight pink sweater, pink miniskirt (fully as short as my own), pink ankle socks with lace at the cuffs, and pink patent-leather pumps with four-inch heels.
Once he was dressed, the assembled dominants made up his face: pale blue eyeshadow, long false lashes, a becoming blush and deep red lipstick. They topped it off with a curly, shoulder-length auburn wig.
Now, at Mistress Jennifer's direction, one of the "maids" brought over a full-length mirror and an amplifier setup, mith microphone and headphones. The headphones were placed over "Tammy's" ears, the microphone given to Jennifer, while the newly crossdressed boy was brought to his feet before the mirror.
"Open your eyes, Tommy," Jennifer spoke into the mike. "This is the new you: Your name is Tammy. You have two goals in life--to serve your Mistress Susan, and to use your feminine wiles to lure other teenage boys like yourself into our clutches, to be feminized and dominated for the enjoyment of these women.
"Naturally, you yourself are much turned-on by this look. You want to look just as pretty and sexy as you can. You glory in the attention--at the same time realizing the humiliation of your position as a toy and sex-lure for your Mistress's purposes.
"Remember, that any time your Mistress wishes to give you instructions, she must only direct you to gaze upon yourself in a mirror, with the words, 'Pose for me, Teasing Tammy.'"
"Now, close your eyes and sleep until I awaken you with the words, 'Wake up, Teasing Tammy.'"
The newly renamed boy-girl sat quietly as even the assembled dominants gasped at the boldness of Jennifer and Susan's scheme. They planned not only to enslave the feminized Tommy, but to use him to recruit other unsuspecting lads to their arms.
Sissy Dani and Teasing Tammy would soon have many "little sisters," it seemed.
More next week
Friday, July 13, 2007
I'm intensely proud of this piece:
And I'm pleased to note that Selina is very happy with it, as she told me in this e-mail:
"Amazing--thats just how I see myself eventually! The hips, boobs hair and face just perfect..."
Working on this project has led me to develop new techniques for some parts of the transformation, which will undoubtedly be useful in future work as well.
Anybody else out there interested in seeing what you could look like? E-mail me.
[Update (7/17/07): At Selina's request, all unaltered pics where her face is clear have been removed from the blog. "Before and after" versions can still be seen at A Bimbo's Sanctuary (link at right).]
Thursday, July 12, 2007
First of all, when I'm dressed, I'm not attracted to men...I remain firmly attracted to women. Since I'm trying to create an illusion of femininity, I figure that makes me a lesbian...and since I still identify internally as male...well, you work it out.
Second, I really enjoy eating pussy. Nothing gets me aroused faster than the taste of a woman's juices. And I get turned on by having my nipples played with. In other words, I have a lot of feminine, lesbian reactions to sex...especially when I'm in the submissive, "serving" position.
OTOH, there is one male reaction that most people would probably consider "gay"--I love having my ass filled with a dildo...especially a vibrator. But I still don't want a real cock in there--I want a woman to take me in the ass, either with a strap-on (though I've never actually experienced that) or with a hand-held dildo (that's happened a few times).
Ultimate fantasy? To be hypnotized, feminized, and have my "ass-pussy" filled while I bring my mistress to orgasm with my mouth.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
CHAPTER ONE: Mesmerized Male Lesbian
I was not aware that my girlfriend had begun studying hypnosis, nor that she harbored ambitions of petticoating me. But I soon discovered that the combination of the two was dangerous to my masculinity.
One afternoon I was sitting in my living room, listening to the stereo through a pair of headphones. It was a warm, sultry day, and after a while I drifted off to sleep. (Much of what follows my girlfriend--now my mistress--explained to me later.) Seeing that I had dozed off, Jennifer saw her chance. She replaced my music tape with one she had prepared in advance.
Through my drifting sleep, my subconscious mind heard Jennifer's voice, presenting me with a set of hypnotic suggestions.
"I want you to sleep, sleep, sleep," whispered the tape. "When I count to 100, you will be in a deep, restful sleep, in which you can hear only my voice." When she reached 100, Jennifer switched to the instructions, designed to impose a submissive, feminine personality upon me. "You love women's clothes. You love dressing and looking like a woman. The feel of satin, silk and nylon arouses you. You are particularly fond of clothes that make you look both sexy and little girlish. Very high heels are a special turn-on.
"You are a sexual submissive. You are compelled to obey the commands and orders of women. You are particularly responsive to those who will dress you in beautiful clothes and keep you in bondage. You want to be a male, lesbian slave. But you will never forget that you are a man, and the great humiliation of your feminine, submissive state.
"When I reach 1, you will awaken. You will not remember being hypnotized, and will show no effects from these instructions. However, whenever you hear the words 'Pretty Sissy Dani,' you will adopt the personality imposed by these instructions. At the snapping of my fingers, you will return to your 'normal' personality, with full memory of the humiliations you have experienced. 100, 99, 98, 97 ...."
According to Mistress Jennifer, I awoke a few minutes later. She told me she had an appointment at her hairdresser's and asked me to drive her there. I agreed (why not?), and we were there within 15 minutes. As we entered the shop, she leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Pretty Sissy Dani."
I could feel the incredible shift in my personality take hold. I looked at my mistress and asked, "Mistress Jennifer, why am I dressed in these horrid male clothes?"
She smiled mischievously and answered, "Don't worry, my pretty slave. The appointment here is for you. And look, here comes Mistress Margaret to perform your transformation." A tall, well-built brunette approached.
"Is this our little male lesbian?" she inquired, smirking. I blushed under her frank gaze. "Well, we'll soon have you looking the part, Danielle." She led me to her working area and settled me into the chair. "Dani, most of our customers find it much more relaxing to strip out of their clothes before we begin work," she told me. "Wouldn't you like to do the same?"
With my new female personality, I was only too happy to get out of the pants and shirt I was wearing. Soon, I was naked, and Margaret wrapped a pink, see-through smock around my slender, nearly hairless body. At that point, Mistress Jennifer approached once again. "Comfy, Dani?" she asked. Then she snapped her fingers.
Instantly, my male persona reasserted itself--but this time I remembered everything I had said and done, and all that had gone on around me. "Why are you doing this, Jennifer?" I cried. She slapped my face.
"Mistress Jennifer is my name--and don't forget it again!" she snapped. "Now be quiet and let Mistress Margaret transform you."
A short while later, my head was under the faucet of the sink, as Mistress Margaret scrubbed my mousy brown hair with a sweet smelling shampoo. Next she rinsed a conditioner through it...or so she said. As I sat in the chair waiting for the conditioner to work, I must have dozed off again.
I was awakened by an odd tickling sensation at my naked feet. I looked down and another woman was stroking bright red nail polish onto my toenails. Shaken, I realized that Mistress Jennifer was truly intent on carrying out her program of transformation. I glanced to the table where my clothes had been left--as I suspected, they were gone.
"Well, Sissy Dani, I see you know I meant what I said," Jennifer laughed, stepping from behind a partition. In her hands, she held a pair of lacy, pink satin tap panties. She reached under my smock and slipped them on me. Strangely, even without my feminine persona at work, my cock began to grow and harden. The mistresses laughed and sneered at my combined excitement and discomfort. "That's just the beginning, Danielle," Margaret smiled. "Look at yourself!" And she whirled the chair around, so that I could see myself in the mirror.
There was only one major change, but it added to my distress. My hair was wrapped tightly in rollers, and the pink of the smock and panties seemed to feminize my slender, hairless form. Margaret now squeezed a foul-smelling liquid onto my rolled-up hair--I knew what it was. I was getting a permanent! "And that's not all," Jennifer laughed. "Danielle's hair will not only be curly--it will be a sweet shade of golden blonde!"
A short time later, after sitting under a dryer, I was having my fingernails filed and polished the same bright red as my toenails, while Margaret combed out my hair, producing a flattering golden blonde pageboy, reaching to just above my shoulders.
While Jennifer went out to pick my clothing, Margaret performed her magic on my face--tweezing the brows into a thin feminine arch; accenting my eyes with blue-green shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. A deep blush stroked on my cheeks gave me an appropriate look of constant embarrassment, while a red lipstick, matching my nails, made my lips look wet, kissable, and desirable. In the end, I was definitely Danielle--absolutely stunning.
By that time, Jennifer had returned. I was released from the chair, and dressed in a pink padded bra, pink garterbelt, sheer white stockings and a pink minislip. Over it all came a lacy white minidress, the skirt stopping a full six inches above my knees. On my feet, Jennifer placed white patent-leather shoes, with a strap across the instep and five-inch heels. They looked like incredibly sexy Mary Janes. Margaret and Jennifer supervised as I practiced walking in them--a full hour, until I had gained a very provocative wiggle.
The finishing touches were the jewelry--big gold clip-on earrings, a heavy gold chain bracelet, and a matching chain around my left ankle. But the real finish came last: a heavy gold collar which Jennifer locked around my neck, hooking the key onto her charm bracelet.
The transformation was complete. Mistress Jennifer paid off her friend Margaret, and we sashayed out to the car. As we drove off, my new mistress whispered in my ear, "Pretty Sissy Dani."
Chapter Two next week