Changes in Store, Part One

Shopping:

"Satin and Silk Sissy." Gordon muttered the name of the store to himself. Odd name for a woman's clothing store, he thought, but it's the place Hillary said she wanted her birthday present from. He continued to examine the storefront, barely noticing the fine print below the name of the shop: "A Division of IGR".

Cocking his head in decision, he entered the place, finding himself surrounded by a vast array of feminine attire. There seemed to be no one "theme" to the place--in one area there were the kinky leathers and vinyls preferred by the youthful downtown set, in another the bare-midriff styles favored by the high-schoolers, in still another the tight-waisted, petticoated look of two generations past.

"May I help you?"

The voice from behind caught him by surprise. Gordon whirled to see an attractive woman in her early thirties, dressed in a somewhat outdated business suit with a perky hat perched in her dark curls. She raised her hand and gestured around the store. "See anything you like?"

Gordon shivered. Something in her tone--and the question--seemed "wrong"...but he shook it off as just nerves. He hated shopping in a place like this. "I'm--I'm looking for a birthday present for my wife, Hillary Conover. I believe you might know her--"

"Of course, Mrs. Conover is one of our best customers," the woman replied. "You must be Gordon. My name is Mistr--that is, Lillian. I'm the manager." She extended her hand in a ladylike movement. He took it lightly and shook hands.

"I'm quite aware of Mrs. Conover's tastes," Lillian continued. "But perhaps you prefer to surprise her? We have a video presentation of our entire line you might find useful. Would you like to see it?"

Gordon had to admit that he had little experience with picking women's clothes. Perhaps the presentation would be a good idea? "Yes, that'll be fine," he told the manager. She led him to a cubicle off the main sales floor and seated him in a comfortable leather recliner. As he settled in, she placed a pair of headphones over his ears. "Are these really necessary?" he asked.

"They keep the sound away from our other customers...and prevent you from being distracted as well," Lillian advised.

Satisfied, Gordon sat back and watched the big-screen TV as the lights in the cubicle dimmed.

Lillian went to her office and picked up the phone. She dialed and got an answer almost immediately. "Hillary? Yes, he's here and already in front of the programmer. No, of course he has no idea what's really happening to him...yet. It'll take at least two visits before he's anywhere near the level you want, but rest assured--by your birthday, Guinevere will be ready to fulfill your every desire."

In the cubicle, Gordon watched intently as a series of various outfits were displayed, everything from lingerie to high-heeled shoes in varying styles to dresses and skirts. In his ears, a soothing "New Age" music played, accompanied by occasional descriptions of the clothes. In time, Gordon drifted into the trance state the music was designed to induce and the descriptions turned from just the clothes to the feeling of wearing the clothes...and Gordon noticed--in a distracted way--that the faces on all the models now resembled a feminized version of himself!

Sissies love the feel of nylon, satin and lace against their skin, the voice was saying. Look at the pictures, my little sissy! Feel the fabric against you, see the sleek loveliness of your legs on the high heels, feel your sissy-cock swell in your panties!

As the program ended, Lillian entered the cubicle and watched as the prospective sissy awakened from his trance. She noted the look of joy on his face and the bulge at his crotch. "Soon, Guinevere, very soon," she murmured. Aloud, she asked, "Well, Mr. Conover, see anything you like?"

Still mildly dazed, Gordon was slow to answer, as Lillian knew he would be. So, she produced a bra and panty set from behind her back, one much like the ones Gordon had seen his feminized self where in the series of programmed images. "What do you think of these?" she asked.

Gordon's eyes widened. I've never seen anything so sexy. "They're quite lovely," he stammered.

"Want to try them...on?" Lillian asked.

Try them on? Yes..."Yes--I mean, no!" Gordon was confused by his own reactions.

"Changing room." Lillian pointed to the curtained alcove at the back. Without further thought, Gordon took the lingerie and retreated there. Moments later, he returned, posing prettily in the satin and lace.

"Very lovely, Guinevere," Lillian complimented him. "Now, put on your suit and go home. All sales are final."

Gordon dressed as ordered, and left. He awoke from his trance upon leaving the store, remaining unaware of the new attire he wore beneath his male clothes...or of the changes already made or still in store for him.

Next: Buying

Sure It Is, Jon...

...sure it is...



...and what are you wearing under that shirt?

Women We'd Love to Be--Round Two, Week 19

[Women We'd Love to Be is taking a two-week hiatus for the holidays; the next poll will be posted on January 9, with the results announced on January 16. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!]

Stage Mistress, Chapter Three

Clark awoke at 7:00 the next morning, surprised to find that he was completely himself--despite being dressed in the most feminine of nightwear. He felt the smooth pink satin of his babydoll nightie float against his bare thighs, shuddered as it slid across his sensitive nipples, and found his hand straying to his crotch, to caress his engorged cock through the fabric of the matching panties.

He turned to his left and saw his Mistress Miranda on the bed beside him, still sound asleep. She was completely naked and her nakedness aroused him. Suddenly, he was seized by a compulsion to bury his face in her crotch, to service her pussy until she came shudderingly awake in orgasm. He did so, the smell and taste of her sex furthering his own arousal, as he rubbed his swollen, pantie-covered crotch against the satin sheets.

In moments, Miranda stirred and mummered, "Oh, that's very good, darling. Keep it up." Clark applied his tongue to her clit with greater effort as she reached down and began to play with his nipples through the satin. "Oh, you're very good at this, sweetness," she complimented him, through her ragged breathing. Seconds later, her orgasm claimed her and she screamed, "Come with me, my beauty!"

With that, the second part of the post-hypnotic suggestion she had planted in Clark's mind at bedtime took over, and he filled his panties with cum as his mind surrendered to the feminine personality of Clare.

*****

After breakfast, Clare changed into a white dress with a short full skirt, bouncing over her thighs on a froth of petticoats. She was enjoying the way her six-inch heels shortened her stride to an engaging mince when the doorbell rang.

"That should be the client I told you about," Miranda called from the next room. "Get the door, please, Clare love?"

Clare opened the door and was surprised to find a tall good-looking young executive type standing there alone. He had a garment bag and a small overnight case with him. This is a guy who wants to be made into a girl? she thought. Following the hyper-feminine instincts instilled by Miranda's hypnotic suggestions, Clare curtseyed and introduced herself.

"Nice to meet you, Clare," the man replied. "I'm Walter."

Miranda entered and stood beside Clare. "Are you certain you're ready for this step, Walter?"

"Absolutely, Mistress."

As they settled themselves in Miranda's study, the hypnotist explained how she came to know the young executive. "Like you, Walter was in the audience at one of my shows. Unlike you, however, I had not picked him for a stage appearance--but his eagerness to experience the erotic nature of trance was so strong that he fell under my spell anyway. As I did with you, I had used my abilities to transform a young man into a young woman that evening...and Walter felt the power of that transformation as well."

Walter picked up the story. "After Mistress Miranda broke the trance, I went to her dressing room and begged for the opportunity to really be transformed by her. She put me under again and we explored my fantasies. She's never told me what I revealed to her...but she gave me a post-hypnotic suggestion to acquire certain items"--he indicated the bags he had brought with him--"and bring them today. I still don't know what I bought."

Miranda nodded. She looked directly at Walter and said, "School's in session." His head dropped to his chest and he fell back under her spell.

"Wanda," she addressed him, "are you ready for class?"

"No, Mistress," he replied, his voice now soft and breathy, "I am not dressed properly."

"No, you are not," she affirmed. "You will go into the bedroom and dress for school. Clare will assist you."

Taking the bags with them, the newly christened Wanda and Clare went to the bedroom. Wanda stripped out of her male clothing and began to dress in the clothing she had brought. First came a well-padded white bra, giving her a 36C bust, then came a matching pair of panties with lots of lace and frills. On her already shaved legs went, not stockings or pantihose, but a pair of white nylon knee socks. Her blouse was a man-tailored white satin; over it went a navy blue jumper with a school crest on the front and a scandalously short skirt that threatened to reveal her ruffle-bedecked ass and crotch with every movement. On her feet she slipped a pair of navy blue patent-leather pumps with six-inch heels. The final step was a man's school tie.

Next, following hypnotic commands planted weeks ago by Miranda, Wanda sat at the vanity and made up her face in a manner that suggested a cross between a high-school coed and a showgirl. Her lips were full and red, her eyes brought out with shadow and mascara and liner. The final touch was a long, black curly wig, tied into pigtails by white satin ribbons.

The physical transformation complete, Wanda and Clare returned to the study so that Miranda could complete the mental changes.

Miranda smiled broadly as her latest subject swayed into the room. "Wanda, you're absolutely lovely!" she cried.

"Thank you, Mistress," the school-girl clad executive answered.

Miranda reached forward and moved her hand across Wanda's face, from top to bottom, and Wanda returned to a deep trance state. "Wanda, in these clothes and this look, you will always be a flirtatious lesbian cock-tease. You will delight in luring men with your charms, only to reject them in favor of some lovely woman. You will eventually have a pack of men at your beck-and-call, each of whom will know that he can never have you...but eternally try nevertheless.

"You will always be aware that you are really Walter, and will be able to return to his psyche merely by changing clothes, just as you will become Wanda by wearing these teen-age sexpot outfits."

Miranda again passed her hand over Wanda's face, from bottom to top this time, and Wanda became completely awake.

"Thank you, Mistress Miranda--thank you for giving me this," Wanda exploded, and pressed her lips against Miranda's in a deep kiss. "How is it this is what I always wanted--and yet never realized?"

"Many of us desire things we can't admit to," Miranda explained. "My power is to give you the power to know and use those desires."

*****

That evening, as Miranda and Clare lay in bed after another satisfying session of female dominant sex, Clare asked, "Mistress, could you give me what you gave Walter? The ability to go back and forth between Clark and Clare at will?"

"No, Clare, I cannot." Miranda answered.

Clare scowled. "Why not?"

"Because it isn't what you truly want," she replied. "Do you remember the questions I asked you when I first brought you on stage?"

"About flirting, about being proud of my tits and the way my clothes made me look and feel? Yes, I remember."

"I didn't make you feel that way, Clare darling...anymore than I made you so submissive to my desires," Miranda grinned. "That's the real you. If anything, Clark was the disguise, one you had forced yourself to wear most of your life.

"You are Clare, dear--the sweet, submissive transvestite with a taste for flirty clothes and hot, wet pussy in your mouth," she concluded. "Now, all this talk of your submission has made me horny again." She guided Clare's head down to her crotch. "Get to work!"

THE END

Stage Mistress, Chapter Two

Clark stood, almost unknowing, at the door to the lavish brownstone in the most fashionable part of the city. He rang the bell, heard a buzzer, then pushed the door open. He walked, almost unseeing, to the second floor bedroom. There, Miranda awaited him.

"Thank you for coming," she said, smiling at the pretense that he had any choice. She gestured to the clothing laid out on the bed. "Why don't you change?" she asked.

Clark stripped out of his male clothes and picked up the lacy white panties. As he pulled them up around his loins, he wiggled his ass in a sexy, feminine manner. Then came the matching garter belt. He hooked it around his waist, and slid his hands down his sides, feeling the slimness of his body. Next were stockings, also white, with delicate clocking at the ankles. Again his hands reveled in the sleekness of his feminized legs. They were followed by white patent pumps with six-inch heels, thrusting his hips forward and turning his stride into a mincing walk. He picked up the bra that matched the panties and garter belt, padded to a 36C cup, and hooked it around his chest. He cupped his "breasts" from underneath and played with the artificial nipples as if they were real.

Now Miranda handed him a white cocktail dress, with a daring hemline that merely grazed his stocking tops. He slipped it on. She guided him to the dressing table, where under her advisings, he painted his face carefully, bringing out the most feminine of his features. With the bright red lipstick in place, Miranda looked him in the eye and said, "Are you almost ready?"

His voice was again breathy, feminine and sexual. "Yes, Mistress Miranda. I am ready."

"Then stand." He stood, not wobbling at all in the skyscraper heels. Again, as at the show the day before, Miranda moved her hand before his face, from chin to forehead, and his glazed eyes brightened. "How do you feel, Clare?"

"I feel wonderful, Mistress," the transformed man responded. "Thank you for giving me this."

"I love doing it," she said. "The moment I first hypnotized you before the show last night, I knew you were one of that small group of men who would love becoming a woman in appearance. I was right, wasn't I?"

"Yes, Mistress," Clare answered.

"Excellent," Miranda exclaimed. She lounged on the couch and raised her skirt, revealing her naked pussy. "Now come here, I have much to teach you."

*****

Some hours later, Miranda explained more of her life to Clare. "I not only perform at the club," she said, "but I also assist men and women with transformations like yours. However, not all of my subjects are as happy with their changes as you are. One of those is coming this afternoon--I want you to watch."

She led the cross-dressed man to a small room next to her office. A large window seemed to look in on the office. "This is a one-way mirror--from the other side, it merely reflects. You'll be able to see and hear everything we do there. I'm sure you'll find it somewhat arousing."

She walked out of the secret room and Clare saw her enter the office, accompanied by an attractive woman and a somewhat cowed man. "Now--you're sure this is what you want, Laura?" Miranda asked.

"Absolutely!" the woman affirmed. "The judge said I could get any treatment for Patrick that I wanted...and when I saw your show a few weeks ago, I knew what his punishment had to be!"

"Very well." Miranda moved to her desk and lifted a jeweled pendant from a display case. She dangled it from the chain and approached Patrick. "Isn't this a lovely thing, Patrick?" she asked. She started it spinning and moved it like a pendulum before his eyes. "See how it glitters in the light? You can hardly take your eyes off it, can you?"

Patrick, already half-captured by Miranda's spell, silently shook his head, his eyes never leaving the pendant. In moments, he was completely entranced.

"Laura, the clothing you requested is in the closet beside the mirror," Miranda advised. Laura moved to the left, out of Clare's vision, and came back with a mass of pink and white satin in her arms. In the meantime, Miranda had stripped Patrick completely out of his male clothes. Without wasting any time, the two women soon had the hapless husband in a well-padded pink bra, a matching garter belt and panties. Long black seamed stockings were drawn up his hairless legs. A froth of several white petticoats came rustling down over it all, followed by the incredibly short pink satin dress of a maid, completely with apron and cap. Black patent pumps with six-inch heels were placed on his feet.

As he sat unseeing, they made up his face, bringing out his eyes with shadow, eyeliner and mascara; highlighting his cheeks with blush, making his lips look soft and kissable with coral lipstick. Upon his head was settled a blonde pageboy wig.

Miranda ordered the transformed man to stand. "Now, listen carefully: There is no Patrick. There is only Trish, the devoted maid. Trish will do anything Laura asks of her--chores domestic and erotic. Only one thing will return Patrick to reality--when Laura says, Are you happy, Patrick? every memory of your life as Trish will be yours and you will report how you feel in your new role."

She turned to Laura. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Oh, yes, Miranda, she's beautiful!" Laura gushed.

"Very well." Miranda turned again to the newly created Trish. "Trish, walk to Laura. I want you to kiss her deeply and passionately...and when the kiss breaks, you will awaken as the submissive maid, until Laura or I break the spell."

Behind the secret window, Clare could barely contain herself. As the lovely maid minced to her new mistress, she found her hands straying to her own crotch and nipples. As Laura and Trish mashed their reddened lips together, she shuddered, remembering her own lovemaking with Miranda.

Laura pulled away from Trish, almost reluctantly. Instantly, Trish performed a neat curtsey and asked, "How else may I serve, Miss Laura?"

"We'll let that wait until we get home, I think, Trish dearest." She turned to Miranda and pressed a check into her hands. "Thank you so much."

"Enjoy her, Laura--she is precious." With that, Miranda escorted the couple out, then returned to Clare in the secret room, unsurprised to find her own special subject in such an aroused state.

"I thought you'd enjoy that," she smiled. "Tomorrow, we'll meet one of my more voluntary clients."

More to come

Stage Mistress, Chapter One

The lovely young woman, clad casually in jeans and a white blouse, circulated through the audience in the nightclub. She stopped at several tables, talked quietly to the occupants and finally wound up at Clark's table. He was alone, as he almost always was, it seemed, since moving to the city.

"Hello, sorry to disturb you," she began. "My name is Miranda. I'm one of the performers tonight and I need a few volunteers. I do a hypnosis act and I'd like to ask if I can quickly put you under and see if you're suited to being on stage."

Clark looked into her ink-black eyes and nodded. It seemed to him as if her calm, contralto voice had already half-entranced him. Indeed, only a moment later, apparently, he awoke to a snap of her fingers. She smiled again. "I've given you a post-hypnotic trigger, different from any of the ones I've given to the other volunteers. You don't remember it now, or what I've told you to do when you hear it--but don't worry, you'll recall it when it's time."

Miranda hurried backstage and Clark settled in to his dinner, enjoying the big band music from the house orchestra.

Once most of the diners were done, the orchestra sounded a fanfare and a hidden announcer presented, "Miranda, Mistress of the Mind!"

Miranda strode confidently on stage. She'd been attractive when circulating in the audience before the show, she was glorious now. She wore a sexy version of a man's formal tuxedo, the cutaway coat revealing an open white shirt, the pants transformed into a leotard and fishnet stockings atop five-inch black patent heels. It seemed to Clark she had half the audience--the male half--mesmerized already.

Miranda began a brief patter of explanation and then, clearly and pointedly, said, "Barnyard." Three of the diners--two female and one male--arose from their seats and joined her on stage. She smiled as she positioned them and then said, "Sunrise."

Instantly, the man perched himself on a chair, flapped his arms like wings and let out a resounding crow. The women began to cackle and peck at the ground, and the audience, including Clark, chuckled in response. When the scene had run its course, Miranda brought the erstwhile chickens out of their trances, carefully removed the trigger words, and sent them back to their seats.

The show went on that way for about half-an-hour, with one man reduced to a boy playing baseball, convinced he had broken a neighbor's window; a woman became a little girl playing hopscotch; and so on.

When the last participant finished, there was a drum roll and a spotlight fell upon Miranda again on the darkened stage. "Now the climax of our show." She looked out into the audience, caught Clark's eye and said, "Beauty."

He rose silently from his seat and went to the stage. "I have found that, in the right person, hypnosis is so powerful a force as to allow the creation of an entirely new identity, when guided properly," Miranda explained to the audience. "What better way to demonstrate the strength of this ability than to transform this young man into a sexy young woman." The crowd gasped and chuckled.

In the darkness behind Miranda and Clark, stagehands had brought in a variety of props and clothing, and a number of female assistants had joined them as well. "Let the magic begin!" Miranda declared and the lights went back up.

She guided Clark to the comfortable chair and helped him strip to the waist. Now the assistants, all trained beauticians, began their work. "Feel the cosmetics enhance your face, dear," Miranda said to Clark. "Feel them sculpt your masculine features to a feminine look." As one of the assistants painted his lips a brilliant red, she added, "Feel the scarlet of your lips affect your voice, making it breathy and feminine and sexy.

"You want to be feminine and sexy, don't you?" she asked.

Yes," Clark answered, in the voice Miranda had described, "I want to be feminine and sexy."

Next, the assistants helped the beautified Clark out of the chair, and one of them placed a well-padded, lacy black bra around his chest, carefully fitting it to him. "Feel the bra caress your tits," Miranda continued, "feel them grow to fill the cups and make you proud.

"You're proud of your big, lovely tits, aren't you?"

"I'm proud of my tits," he responded, cupping his hands beneath the ersatz globes.

Now Miranda led the entranced Clark behind a translucent screen and her assistants helped him out of his pants, shorts and shoes. Miranda handed them panties and a garter belt that matched the bra, as well as sheer black stockings and a pair of black patent-leather pumps with four-inch heels. As the assistants helped Clark into them, Miranda continued her suggestions: "The panties hug your luscious ass, making your hips grow wider and womanly; the garter belt shrinks your waist, giving you an hourglass figure; the stockings sleek your legs, the shoes make your walk sexy and feminine, your hips swinging, your feet mincing."

Clark emerged from behind the screen, completely dressed in the lingerie, his walk the essence of femininity.

"You like the way your hips sway, the way your heels make your legs an object of attention, don't you?" Miranda asked.

"Yes, I love to be feminine and attractive," Clark answered in his new, breathy whisper.

The final touch was a black cocktail dress, with a hem a daring six-inches above Clark's nyloned knees. "Feel the skirt float over your thighs," Miranda said. "Feel it as it flirts and teases with hints of your feminine secrets.

"You like flirting, don't you?"

"I love to flirt," Clark replied.

Miranda stepped closer to her now completely transformed subject. "In a moment, I will pass my hand before your face. When I do, you will awake from your trance, but you will remain in your feminized state. You will no longer be Clark, you will be Clare."

"I will be Clare," he murmured.

"You will continue to look and speak and behave as a beautiful, flirtatious woman until I cancel my suggestions to you. You will return to your table and enjoy the rest of the evening as Clare.

"When the show is over, you will return to my dressing room where I will remove my spell."

She placed her hand just below his chin and moved it slowly across his face. As it passed his eyes, she saw the light of consciousness return to them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a big round of applause for Clare!" Miranda announced. The audience exploded into a cacophony of clapping, wolf whistles and laughter, a sound that only intensified when "Clare" curtsied in acknowledgment. She minced to her table and settled in, ordering a Pink Lady, as Miranda closed out her performance.

Miranda's performance was followed by a singer and then a few more songs from the band. Clare sat and enjoyed the show, as well as the stares from her fellow diners. In the back of her mind, she knew something was not quite right, but she pushed it aside and continued watching the show.

Finally, about midnight, the announcer concluded the proceedings. Clare rose, inquired the whereabouts of Miranda's dressing room and went there. A few moments later, Clark departed. He was completely aware of the experience he'd had and chuckled to himself at how ridiculous he must have looked. He hadn't noticed one thing very important, however--Miranda never removed his knowledge of her trigger words.

The next morning, a Saturday, Clark was awakened by the phone beside his bed. He picked it up and said, sleepily, "Hello?"

"Beauty," came the voice from the other end.

More to come

"Happy Christmas to All..."

[I first posted this last year and it seems appropriate to make it my annual holiday greeting.]



...and to all a Good Night!"...as Clement Clark Moore wrote. (And, yes, he did write "Happy Christmas," not "Merry....")

I'll probably not be blogging very much over the next few weeks, so Happy New Year as well. I thought this was an opportunity to thank everybody who has commented here, who has linked to here, who reads here regularly.

And a chance to talk about how I feel about Christmas. I'm with Charles Dickens, who put these words into the mouth of Scrooge's nephew, Fred: "I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"

There is practically no version of A Christmas Carol that I cannot stand to watch at least once, although I have a favorite--the 1984 TV version starring George C. Scott, which I consider closest to both the spirit and the letter of Dickens' work. I will confess a soft spot for The Muppet Christmas Carol, in part because my kids love it so (despite their being in college and grad school now).

So I will close this post with the immortal words of Tiny Tim:

God bless us, everyone!

Women We'd Love to Be--Round Two, Week 18

For a long while, Gwyneth really didn't do much for me...then she started wearing these short tight outfits and outrageously high heels--and she got my attention.

Actually, the woman in her family I've always loved to be is her mom, Blythe Danner.

2008--Last Call

This is definitely the final set of pictures for 2008. Expect a new batch in mid-January at the earliest...although I'll try to post other stuff often in the ensuing weeks.



I wanted to try a different setting, hence the staircase. Not sure if the angle and perspective work...although it made the knockers in that first shot really prominent.

More pics are here.

Bettie Page, RIP

Many of you will have already seen the news, but I couldn't let it pass without comment. Bondage pin-up queen Bettie Page has passed away at the age of 85. A full obituary is here, and some interesting commentary can also be found here.

I didn't discover Bettie until well after she had "retired". I saw her pictures in some old bondage mags I found in Times Square shops in the late '60s and early '70s and only later found out her history. But like so many before and since, I was captivated.

Rest easy, Bettie.

A Few New Pix

Got dressed yesterday for most of the day and took some more pictures to close out the year (may have time for another set on Friday, but that will undoubtedly be the last until 2009).



I converted the portrait here to black and white for effect. There's something elegant about monochrome sometimes.



Last shot is an attempt to get some more "animation" into the pictures. I wish I could have somebody just take shots while I moved around, creating a more candid look to these.

More pics are here.

"Male Lesbian"

Check out this post on Transvestite Faggotry Addict for an academic look at what I have always considered myself to be.

Second Year Begins

This week is probably my last chance to dress for 2008 (kids are coming home from school next week), so I threw on a few things this evening. I realized I'd never done either of these outfits with the blonde wig:






And since this is my first dressing after my "birthday", these are saved into a new album called "Dani Year 2"

Women We'd Love to Be--Round Two, Week 17

Even when I first saw her as the young tomboyish Sam on Who's the Boss?, I suspected Alyssa Milano was a beauty about to blossom. I was right. There's something about watching such lovely young things grow up that makes them individuals to emulate, isn't there?

Dani's First Year

One year ago today, I completed my first outfit of female clothes in 30 years. From this point forward, I'm considering this "Dani's Birthday". To celebrate, I've created a slideshow of my various looks throughout the last 12 months:

I intend to post one of these every year on this date.

Playing the Sissy Slut

Unexpectedly got the chance to dress today (it's a long story) and I was feeling especially sexy, silly, and slutty...so out came the pink miniskirt and fishnets.





How turned on was I? Well, let me put it this way--there's nothing artificial or enhanced about the bulge in that skirt! (Have to remember to wear tighter panties with it!)

More pics are in this album. And speaking of albums, I've also started an album on Flickr...since it seems that place gets a lot more traffic than Photobucket. So far, only the "portraits" are over there.

The Spy Who Dragged Me, Chapter Three

It was an informal embassy party, with the guests in a range of clothing. But all eyes fell on the willowy brunette in the white leather suit with the skirt that ended six inches above her shapely knees, the lower part of her legs in a pair of white boots with platform soles and six-inch heels. She'd been introduced only as "Belinda"--no one was quite sure who she was, but she had an invitation and she was quite the hit.

As she smiled and flirted with all the male attendees, her hypnotic instructions from Professor Fabricantfille swirled through her mind. Make friends with all the men, ma petite. We may never know when one of them will be of use to us. But keep a special eye out for Menerov; reserve your special abilities for him!

As had been the case ever since her transformation, such flirtatious, teasing behavior aroused Belinda, making her nipples hard and her pussy-cock engorged. That arousal only increased her desire to find Menerov and begin his enslavement and feminization. She searched the crowd of people holding their drinks and gossiping about the latest scandals in the Alkzakhstan government. Then she saw him...and her pussy-cock twitched in anticipation of what she was about to do!

She idled her way to him, hips swaying, hair swinging, lips curving into an intriguing smile. She stopped just outside his circle of conversation but within his eyesight. When he looked her way, she smiled again, licking her lips sensuously. She saw him lean over to his aide and whisper. A moment later, he was by her side.

"Mamselle Belinda," he began, "what an honor to meet you."

"The honor is mine, Mr. Prime Minister," she responded. She looked him deep in the eyes and her special abilities came into play. To the politician's eyes, her gaze seemed to take on a violet glow, a glow that matched the color of her mistress's hypnotic jewel. He could not take his eyes off hers. "Mr. Menerov," she whispered, "you are mine! Follow me!"

Without a word to anyone else at the affair, waving off protests from his aides, Menerov followed the bewitching Belinda to her car. There, she removed a pair of satin panties from her purse and handed them to him. "Put these on. From this moment on, you will never wear anything except satin panties and you will find that your own pussy-cock is hard and hungry whenever you wear them!"

Stripping off his pants and underpants, Menerov obeyed as the car sped along toward an unknown destination. True to Belinda's hypnotic command, he found that his cock was indeed aroused the moment it touched the smooth satin of the panties. He couldn't resist touching it through them.

"That's it, my little Lexi," Belinda commended him, using a feminine form of his name. "Yes, play with your pussy-cock as I continue your transformation." She felt her own arousal growing as his feminization commenced. Mistress was right, she thought, there is no thrill like making a beautiful woman out of a powerful man!

She removed his tie and opened his the collar of his shirt. Then she produced a heavy golden collar. She placed it carefully around his neck. "This is the symbol of your feminization, little Lexi. When you wear it, you are female and under my control. Only I can remove it. Go ahead, try."

Menerov reached up and found the clasp of the collar...but he couldn't make it work. Belinda's hypnotic control prevented him from understanding the simple mechanism. He bowed his head in defeat. "I am yours, Mistress Belinda--your sissy slave," he admitted.

"Of course you are, dearest," she answered, smiling, feeling her own pussy-cock twitch once again at this acknowledgement of her power over him. She raised her hand and passed it over his eyes. "Now sleep, darling." He fell into a deep trance.

"Awake, Lexi love."

His mistress's voice brought him out of the trance, but he couldn't find her in the darkened room. He still wore the panties and felt his cock harden again at that realization...but the all-important collar had been removed. He was male again...for the moment.

Then a spotlight snapped on and another vision of feminine loveliness appeared before him. He recognized her immediately from security briefings. Professor Fabricantfille wore a black satin gown with a scoop neck, spaghetti straps and a long slit up the right side. She towered over him in her black platform sandals with the seven-inch heels. And then a second light caught the gleam of her violet pendant...and Menerov's eyes glazed over, once again entranced as Belinda had entranced him.

"Well done, Belinda," the professor praised her protege. Now she turned to her new victim. "Lexi, ma petite, it is time to complete your transformation." Two assistants entered the room. "Please follow these lovelies." Menerov stood and followed with unseeing eyes.

A few hours later, a new vision of loveliness returned to the room. Her hair, still short, had been teased into a slightly punk spiky 'do; her body had otherwise had every bit of hair removed. Her smooth, satiny skin was revealed at the arms and one shoulder by the shiny mini-dress she wore, with its diagonal cut hemline revealing her long, smooth, slender legs perched on the six-inch heels of her open-toed, ankle-strap shoes.

"Awake, Lexi love," came the command, and Menerov awoke...but without the all-important collar, he was still male in psyche and stumbled in the unfamiliar heels.

"What is this? What do you want of me?" he asked.

Professor Fabricantfille and Belinda stepped into the light. "Soon it will be more 'what do you want of us', my dear," the professor began. "You see, your mind has been altered, so that--once you are fully female in mind--you will crave the sensations of your false femininity. Once that happens, you will respond eagerly to any request we make of you, so that you can again experience these erotic feelings. We at Garcon commes Filles will control your government through you."

She gestured to Belinda, who picked up the collar and snapped it around the transformed prime minister's neck.

Instantly, the tall slender figure took on a completely girlish demeanor. She shuddered with her orgasmic reaction to her new feminine wiles. "What is your first wish, mistresses?"

And with that question, Belinda too felt her arousal reach its peak and climax. She had successfully transformed her first sissy-slave. She turned to the professor, the spy who had "dragged" her.

"When is my next assignment?"

THE END

Jonesing...

For a variety of reasons--family obligations, holidays, work--I haven't dressed (not even so much as a pair of panties) in two weeks...and I find myself jonesing for the chance to do so!

After three decades of not dressing, I never thought I would again feel the need so urgently. It's not quite sexual, per se...more a desire to fill an inner emptiness. Unfortunately, it'll be at least another week before I get the chance again--and then probably another two weeks (kids home for Christmas break) before the opportunity arises again.

Women We'd Love to Be--Round Two, Week 16

Birthday for My Boobs

One year ago today, I posted the following:

Knockers Up!

There was a follow-up post filled with pictures, but they were all links to my album that don't work any longer.

Dani in Bondage, Part Three

Last one. Here are the base images:



And the result:



Usual work on adjusting the facial tones to get a better match. I was fortunate that the lighting matched and I didn't need to create additional shadows.

Much bigger boobs, with added very prominent nipples. And a very prominent bulge in those tight panties. When I see and manipulate shots like this one, I like to imagine those hands behind her are holding a big vibrator she is forced to insert into her ass-pussy before she's bound.

Thoughts? Comments?

Dani in Bondage, Part Two

Here's another one. First the two base images:



And the completed result:



Lot of additional work here: After getting the face in position and in the right color balance, I decided I wanted to preserve something of the expression in the original. So, I changed the angle of the eyebrows and enlarged the eyes to make them wide and staring, then moved the pupils to stare into the "camera".

I also improved the figure, giving it larger breasts with prominent nipples and sculpted the waist a bit.

Thoughts? Comments?

Dani in Bondage, Part One

Every once in a while, I like to test my digital editing skills by trying something really difficult. Since I occasionally like to imagine myself as a bondage sissy, for this set of images, I worked at inserting myself into some sexy tie-ups.

Here are the two "base" images, of the original bondage model and my own feminized portrait:



And here's the result of the merger:



Here's a little of what I did: After pasting my face in a new layer, I adjusted it to the angle of the original, and fixed the skintones to be closer. Then I put the ball-gagged mouth on a separate layer and moved it into position on my face, adjusting the color of the lips to my own bright red. Then I also fixed it so the hair fell properly, including a moderate change in the line of the brow.

Satisfied with the face, I enlarged the boobs a little and adjusted the ropes to match. Finally, I added the cock cream leaking from around the ball-gag, a fave touch of my own.

Thoughts? Comments? More to come.

53% Female

According to this site--Gender Analyzer--enTRANSed is "written by a woman (53%), however it's quite gender neutral."

Most be all those references to clothes, huh?

Hat tip to Barb Talbot for the link.

The Spy Who Dragged Me, Chapter Two

Over the next month, Belinda grew more accustomed to her new self...but still worried over what plans Professor Fabricantfille and her mysterious organization had for her. Whatever they were, if they included using any of her male self's skills and abilities, she would find them unaltered.

She remained a master linguist, fluent in nearly all the languages of Europe, as well as several Asian tongues. Her fighting abilities, though reduced somewhat by the weight-loss program she'd been made to undergo, were still phenomenal. And she was still a crack shot, with handgun, rifle, crossbow or any other form of firearm.

In fact, other than her physical appearance, the only change seemed to be in her favored style of dress, as well as her attitude toward women. Bellows had been considered something of a "cocksman," dominating the women he deigned to spend time with, dumping them quickly if they became too attached. But Belinda was completely submissive to nearly any woman she met and had developed a hopeless crush on the professor...a crush the professor used to control her, granting her access only when some new concession was needed.

And her clothes! Belinda felt absolutely awful in anything except the shortest of skirts, the highest of heels! She quickly learned how to handle herself in both social and professional circumstances in the tight-fitting outfits the professor gave her to wear. More over, the professor seemed to delight in amorous public displays, displays that invariably resulted in Belinda's pussy-cock (the term she had been taught to use) becoming inescapably noticeable. Even worse, the very humiliation of these displays only aroused Belinda more. She began to seek them out, which only heightened her attachment to her transformer!

Belinda had begun to think she had merely been created to be Professor Fabricant's own little plaything. Then, one evening, she was summoned to the professor's laboratory. It was empty, but the professor's voice seemed to radiate from the very walls.

"Bon soir, ma petite! The time has come for your first mission. Direct your attention to the screen on your right." Belinda turned as a large flat-screen TV came to life, showing a picture of a handsome middle-aged man. "This is Alexei Menerov, the prime minister of Alkzakhstan, one of the tiny central Asian republics created when the Soviet Union collapsed. Garcons comme Filles has been hired to make him more, shall we say, amenable to certain entreaties being made to his government.

"Our job--your job--will be to capture and remake Mr. Menerov as you have been remade...but with somewhat more subtlety. He will be feminized, but only in private; he will be submissive to our control, but only when we trigger his submission."

Despite the overwhelming desire she had to please the woman she had come to know as her mistress, Belinda turned away from the screen. "I could never do that!" she cried.

The screen and the room went dark. Belinda heard a door open and then a spotlight flashed on, a spotlight that focused her attention on the professor. Professor Fabricant wore a black latex gown, cut to reveal her glamorous legs on their six-inch heels, with a keyhole cut out over her massive breasts...where the all-important violet stone rested once more.

Belinda could no longer turn away. "Ma petite jeunne fille," said the professor, and Belinda fell once more into trance. "It is time for new instructions. Being feminine yourself is no longer sufficient for your sexual happiness. You now wish to transform others like you, ma petite. Seeing another male made into a feminized plaything of women arouses you as nothing else could. You will eagerly accept any assignment that permits you to feminize a male under my direction." She covered the jewel...and Belinda awoke from her trance.

"Oh, professor," the once-male spy sighed. "Mr. Menerov will make a beautiful sissy for us to play with!"

More to come

Women We'd Love to Be--Round Two, Week 15

One Year Ago

Exactly one year ago, I bought my first pair of high heels in about 25 years, and posted about it:

Five-Inch Heels

and a follow-up:

Five-Inch Heels, Follow-Up

More "anniversary" posts to come.

Album Notice

I'm in the midst of re-arranging my albums on Photobucket, so many of the links to there in older posts will no longer work. Sorry for inconvenience...but I really needed to have the thing make more sense.

A Missed Anniversary

I just realized that I missed an anniversary last week. It was November 13, 2007 that I bought and wore panties for the first time in nearly 30 years and posted this:

Wearing Panties

and this:

Wearing Panties, Part Two

A second anniversary in my return to dressing occurs tomorrow. More on that then.

The Spy Who Dragged Me, Chapter One

Bellows had fallen into a trap that the greenest rookie straight out of Langley should have seen coming. He had no one but himself to blame.

The beautiful blonde in the low-cut lounging suit had been coming on to him all night. He should have smelled something about her interest, but his masculine pride wouldn't let him admit that it was anything except his own personality that attracted her. It was only when she drew his attention to the large violet stone on her pendant that alarms went off in his head...but by then it was too late.

"Very good, ma aimee," she purred as he realized he couldn't tear his eyes away from the glow of the jewel, nestled in her ample cleavage. "Now, let the jewel fill your mind as it has filled your eyes, let it bring you rest and relaxation and sleep." Her voice grew firmer. "Sleep now, my little one."

Now Bellows found himself bound to a surprisingly comfortable chair in what was clearly a woman's boudoir--her boudoir. He knew who she was now--the notorious Professor Fabricantfille, chief counter-agent operative for the organization he was supposed to be infiltrating, Garcons comme Filles. The international agency, based in Paris, had been replacing low-level, but influential, government officials throughout Europe with its own gender-bent members. His assignment was to find out how they did it...and now he feared he was going to find out, the hard way.

She strode confidently, but sexily, into his view. "Ahh, you're awake now, ma petite fille?" Already she spoke of him in the feminine. "You don't like that term of affection, eh?" she asked in her French-accented but otherwise impeccable English. "But it fits you so well--or it will soon," she laughed.

From a pocket she pulled out the fateful pendant. "Remember this?" She waved it carelessly before him. Bellows tried to look away, but found his head was secured so that he could only look straight forward. He tried to close his eyes...but still the glow of the jewel seemed to penetrate. He gave up trying as the professor came closer, her perfume filling his nostrils, the violet jewel filling his vision.

"Ma petite jeunne fille," she said...and Bellows felt a tremendous change go through him. Professor Fabricantfille smiled. "Belinda, you are with us now, non?" Bellows nodded. Belinda was his name? Yes, it felt right. "But you are dressed so strangely, ma aimee," she continued. "Let us get you into your proper garments!"

She released her captive from his bonds, and stripped him naked. From a dresser, she pulled out a bra, filling it with realistic falsies; a matching set of panties and garter belt; sheer stockings.

She sat him on the bench of the vanity and made up his face, highlighting his bright blue eyes (now somewhat glazed in his trance state), bringing out his high cheekbones and giving his lips a sleek shine of dark pink. It was all topped off with an ebony wig of shoulder-length curls.

Then came the outer clothes--a shockingly short dress in white leather with a high collar, and silver sling-back heels. "Stand, my sexy one. Réveiller-vous!" Belinda came out of her trance, staring at her transformed self in the mirror. Even in her feminized state, she knew how revealing her extremely short hem was and attempted to tug it lower. "Non, ma petite!" the professor exclaimed. "Let everyone see the beauty of your legs, your body!"

Belinda obeyed. Deep within her, Bellows knew who he was and what had happened to him, but he could do nothing. She's remade me...now I know how Garcons comme Filles succeeds! Their agents aren't new officials--they are the original ones feminized and controlled by the organization...as I am now controlled! What plans do they have for me?

More to come

"Realign the Dilithium Crystals..."

Sorry, my inner Trekkie was coming through...but it was the first thing that came to mind with this new top. These are the last of the photos from Thursday's dressing session.





A few more pics are here.

Women We'd Love to Be--Round Two, Week 14

"...the fair Miss Frigidaire..." Frank Sinatra (and Cole Porter) once called her in song, but can anyone deny the cool passion she displays in the seduction scene (with fireworks) in To Catch a Thief? It's that range, combined with her classic beauty, and the gorgeous clothes she always wore, that makes Grace Kelly a woman we'd love to be.