Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
She combines a gamin girl-next-door with the mildly exotic, all on top of a body to die for. Like a certain presidential candidate, Halle Berry transcends race, becoming a sexual icon for all ethnicities...even cross-dressers!
[Note on the new poll: Because I'll be away for the holiday weekend, I'm closing the poll a day earlier than usual.]
Monday, June 23, 2008
And more, he remembered all the time his mother, Janet, spent with Mary on her hobby--sewing clothes for the little fashion models, seeking out just the right fabrics and colors for the array of dresses, skirts, blouses and gowns she made for them.
Geoff's father, on the other hand, was frequently absent. On the road as a salesman, he never showed up for Geoff's baseball games or, later, for his triumphs on stage in the high school musicals.
And then the worst happened--Janet divorced her husband, after discovering that many of his "sales trips" had, instead, been liaisons with another woman in another state. Geoff was alone in an otherwise all-female household, one in which the only other male figure was not only in disgrace but spoken of in the worst of derogatory terms.
He was 16. He was alone. He was lonely...and angry. He was searching through the attic for some of his old stuff when he came across the chest filled with Mary's doll things. He opened it--and the sight of all those little clothes and figures flooded him with rage at the neglect he felt. He began pulling the stuff from the chest and systematically ripping it to shreds. He had the fateful Saucy Suzie doll in his hands, prepared to pull the head from the statuesque body when he heard:
"Geoff! What are you doing?" Mary screamed and pushed him away from the chest, carefully packing away the articles he hadn't already destroyed and crying over the remains of those he had.
Geoff looked to the attic stairs, and saw his mother staring at him.
Over the next two weeks, neither Janet nor Mary spoke to him, but they spent a lot of time whispering together and in secretive phone calls.
Then, just two weeks after the incident in the attic, Geoff awoke to find them both standing over his bed. "Wake up, sleepy head," Janet urged. "We have a lot to do today."
Mary pulled something from behind her back. It was one of the dolls, dressed in its "original" bathing suit outfit.
Mary held the doll before his face. "This is my old Saucy Suzie doll, Geoff," she said. "Isn't she just beautiful?" Geoff looked at the plastic face, with its high arched eyebrows, pert nose and red pouting lips. Then something odd happened--the eyes of the doll began to glow and Geoff discovered he couldn't look away from them. "That's it, Geoff," Mary urged him. "Keep looking at her eyes, stare at her eyes, fall into her eyes....."
Geoff awoke, and found himself looking at the doll again. But it wasn't the doll, he realized. Despite the eyebrows, the lips, this was real. This face lived and breathed. The eyes blinked, the lips parted, the cheeks blushed.
"Oh, my god," he thought. "That's me!"
He was staring into a mirror, his image reflecting a life-sized replica of Saucy Suzie. A pair of feminine laughs came from behind him and Mary and Janet stepped into his view in the mirror. "You're just beautiful, Sissy Suzie!" his mother announced. The comment caused him to look down at his body, clad in a duplicate of one of Saucy Suzie's outfits, right down to the high spike heels that forced his feet into what should have been a painful arch.
He tried to step out of the shoes. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," his sister advised. Yet he continued...and discovered that he couldn't get his heel to the floor. It hurt like hell when he tried.
Mary explained. "We've placed a hypnotic block on your muscles, darling. You're incapable of walking or standing in anything less than a five-inch heel." She smiled mischievously. "Don't despair, Sissy Suzie. It makes your legs look so sexy!"
Geoff found his voice. "Mary, Mom? Why have you done thith to me? I don't want to be a thitthy!" Was that his voice? It was so soft and breathy--and what was wrong with his tongue and teeth?
"Oh, Mom, you were right!" Mary exclaimed. "The lisp makes him sound so much more girlish!"
"What have you done to me?" Geoff pleaded. "Whath going on?"
"After your father left us," Janet explained, "Mary and I decided we were never going to deal with males again. Your destructive attitude toward her beloved dolls simply gave us a way to make the changes we wanted.
"Simply put," she continued, "you are no longer my son, Geoff. You are now our plaything, our doll, called Sissy Suzie. Yes, I said doll. You may occasionally be permitted to act and seem like a normal teenage girl, but most of the time you will simply be our full-size dress-up model. Let me demonstrate."
She looked him straight in the eye and said, "In the box." Instantly, Geoff felt his body go rigid, his arms held to his sides with bent elbows and wrists, his legs stiff and straight on their six-inch heels. It was a perfect imitation of the pose a Saucy Suzie took when displayed in her box.
"There are other commands you have been hypnotically conditioned to follow, too," Mary said. "Some of them are quite funny, some quite sexy. And you can't disobey us in anything. If you do, we just put you 'in the box' and give you a hypnotic trigger."
"Off the shelf." With those words from his mother, Geoff regained some control of his body, though he quickly discovered that every move he made was a parody of utter femininity. There was nothing he did or said that seemed masculine.
Now the two women went into high gear, pulling out a selection of clothing, all of them full-sized versions of famous Saucy Suzie outfits. Using a variety of triggers, they had their Sissy Suzie wear and model them.
It started with a bright yellow sundress with four layers of starched petticoats beneath, its halter neckline displaying Suzie's outsized boobs. Next was an imitation of a '60s style suit, with a hem that fell four inches above Suzie's knees and a jacket cut tight into her wasp-like waist. The final item was a figure-hugging gown with a slit up the side that revealed her long, sleek legs perched on seven-inch platform sandals.
Seeing herself in this last outfit, Suzie came to a revelation. "My boobth! They're real!?" she cried.
"Not exactly--but they might be in the future," Janet replied. "Those are the most realistic semi-permanent glue-on prosthetics money could buy--nothing but the best for our little Suzie doll! Of course, you can't tell they're phony...you're hypnotically compelled to see and feel them as real. Very real. Watch."
She reached forward and began to play with Suzie's nipples. The dollboy wriggled in response and felt a stirring at his crotch. "Ahh, is our sissy-clit getting big when I play with our tits?" his mother asked. "Excellent! All your sexual responses are now tied to your feminine attributes. Of course, in full 'doll' mode, you'll feel the sexual heat but your body won't react to it at all. Pose, Suzie."
Geoff felt his body become stiff but still movable. And though he still wriggled with pleasure at his mother's touch to his nipples, he no longer felt anything at his crotch. Like any Saucy Suzie doll, below the waist he was now sexless.
They left him that way until bedtime, when he was dressed in a fullsize version of Saucy Suzie's famous babydoll nightie and maribou mules. "Off the shelf,," Mary said, as she placed him into the new ruffled poster bed in his room. Immediately, his sissy-clit, as they called it, sprang back to life, bulging the satiny confines of his panties. "Need some relief, sweetie?" his sister asked. "Get saucy, Suzie." His come filled his panties...and his sister left.
He awoke promptly at seven AM and felt compelled to remove and wash out his sticky panties. He donned just a new pair of panties and a bra, followed by his maribou-trimmed dressing gown and minced into breakfast.
"Good morning, Sissy Suzie," his mother and sister greeted him.
"Good morning, Mother; good morning Thithter Janet," he lisped in response, as they had programmed him. After a light meal, Mary met her dollboy's eyes and said, "Pose, Suzie"...and they began to dress him once again, aided by his stiff, plastic-like movements.
This time, he wore one of the doll's '70s outfits--a form-fitting jersey knit minidress in a Mondrian-like pattern of color blocks. The hemline was incredibly short, ending six inches above his knees and the shoes he wore with it were neutral colored pumps with five-inch heels.
They led him to the car, where Mary coached him in the ladylike way to sit in such an abbreviated outfit. "Off to the mall, now, Sissy Suzie!" Janet announced. "There's a specialty shop there that has been working for weeks on a new outfit for you!"
Once at that mall, the tall figure who looked so much like a Saucy Suzie doll attracted a lot of attention, particularly when it became clear that the dollboy--still under the "pose" trigger--moved in a stiff, doll-like fashion.
Mary was delighted when they met a group of her schoolfriends. "Yes, we really did it," she advised them. "This is Sizzy Suzie," she introduced her transformed brother. "Say hello to Sarah and Stephanie, sweetie."
"Hello, Tharah, hello, Thtephanie," Geoff was forced to lisp. "Pleathed to meet you."
"So where are you off to?" Sarah asked.
"It's a surprise for Suzie," Mary said, then leaned in to whisper in her friends' ears. They giggled in response.
"Can we come along?"
"Sure, the more the merrier. Come along, Suzie."
They moved off down the mall, coming at last to a small boutique, Ms. Frill's Frocks and Gowns. Janet and Mary guided their charge into the shop, lined with silks, satins, tulle, and other fabrics meant for elegant formal wear. The walls of the store were covered with pictures of Ms. Frill's many gown designs.
"In the box," Janet ordered, and Sissy Suzie froze into her "packaged" attitude, while Sarah and Stephanie giggled again. "She's completely entranced that way," Janet explained, "so we can discuss our plans without her knowing."
Together with Ms. Frill, they laid out a program of action. In time, Geoff was again in a new dress, a fateful one that was destined to permanently change his life. And Janet encoded new programming into his mind, strengthening the doll-like femininity imposed upon him.
"Off the shelf." The words brought Geoff back to consciousness as he stared at the full-length mirror before him. Sissy Suzie had been transformed once again, this time into the image of every little girl's dreams--the Saucy Suzie wedding ensemble! Her hair was pulled back into a bun and atop it was a big white satin bow with a short veil attached. Her dress had a sweetheart neckline and little puff sleeves. The skirt was a knee-length A-line atop six layers of rustling petticoats, a sash around the cinched-in waist with another satin bow on the left hip. Wrist-length gloves, whitre kid pumps with six-inch heels, and bouquet of white roses completed the ensemble.
The girls gathered around him, an informal circle of "bridesmaids". "Oh, it's darling, Suzie. You make such a lovely bride!" Stephanie exclaimed.
"Thank you, Thtephanie," Suzie lisped in reply, curtseying as well. The programming had worked. Deep inside, Geoff was still humiliated and embarrassed by his plaything appearance, but outwardly, his only persona was a sissyish dollboy. And he felt his sissy-clit grow as his inner conflict grew--he was intensely turned on by both his appearance and his humiliation!
"Well, time we let this little doll have her fun," Janet decided. "Get saucy, Suzie!"
Laughter filled the little boutique as Sissy Suzie shuddered with the most explosive orgasm of her life, the first of many in her new doll existence!
Friday, June 20, 2008
She is, possibly, the most classically beautiful famous woman of her generation...and talented and smart, to boot. Who wouldn't want to be like Natalie?
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
After a completely humiliating, but--thanks to Mistress Alyssa's programming--arousing afternoon and evening being fitted for
and modeling a complete wardrobe of feminine attire, including a few kinky items I buried in the bottom of my luggage, I took the 8:30 train for the northern suburbs and got to the town where the suspected kidnappers' estate was by mid-morning.
My sources had been right--it was ritzy. The whole town was. Without an income in the mid-six figures, you couldn't afford to breathe here, let alone live. I rented a car and drove out to the estate, just to have a look around. It was walled in...I couldn't get within a half-mile of the house itself.
Fortunately, I had another "in." Mistress Alyssa had pointed me to the local sex scene, centered on a club called The Cavern. She told me it operated virtually 24 hours, since it was owned and operated by the town's moneyed class, who saw no reason to deprive themselves of any chance for their kinky fun. She said it was almost certain the kidnappers would be part of the scene.
I headed back to town and found the place. I entered and discovered a place unlike any sex club I had encountered in my days on the force. This was no dive--this was a country club with an SM theme. I ordered a drink and settled in to wait.
"Happy to be here, Connie?" I froze at the sound of the voice from behind me. I mean that--literally froze. My body wouldn't obey my need to turn and see who was speaking. Then the speaker walked around my table and faced me. It was Mistress Alyssa!
"Surprised, huh?" she asked. "You are so naive for a detective, Connie love. This was all my work--from the kidnapping to sending Claire to you. I knew you were the one P-I with the nerve...and the contacts...to hunt little Monica down. The only way to prevent that was to put you under my control." She paused and smiled. "Go ahead, say something, you can talk."
"You are such a bi--" I started to say. But I couldn't get the words out. "Thank you, Mistress Alyssa," I said instead. "How else may I serve you?"
And I did. An hour later, I was the center of attention on the stage of the club's auditorium. Alyssa put me back into deep trance, so that I was completely pliant as the town's top two feminizers went to work on me.
They had me in a chair as they stripped me to my corset, hose and
heels. Working with a variety of implements, they permanently changed me--tattooing my lips a deep red, arching my eyebrows, piercing my ears and my nipples. I'd never be able to appear as a complete male again.
The audience applauded when I was re-presented and Mistress Alyssa went to the stage to claim me. Still unable to balk at any command she gave, I went to her car and we drove to the estate.
Thursday, 6:00 PM:
I spent the rest of the day entranced, with a set of earphones filling my mind with my new life. By the time I was brought out of my spell, I was a completely different person--who still remembered being Conway the private eye...and still had all his skills, if needed.
At dinner time, I was presented to the assembled company. "Welcome to Connie, the newest member of our household," Mistress Alyssa announced. "She's just a silly little sissy, but she has expertise in certain areas that I'm sure will come in handy as we progress with our plans."
At that moment, two others walked in. Even with my new personality I gasped. "Oh, of course, Connie--you know one of these two lovelies...and you've seen the other in pictures. Say hello to Connie, dears."
It was Claire Osborne and Montgomery--that is, Monica--Albertson. Claire was no longer the beautiful young
businesswoman she'd appeared as in my office...she was dressed almost as sexily as Mistress Alyssa, in a blue merry widow with matching stockings, her blonded hair a wild mane and her makeup a mask of severity. Monica was in a gold lace pants outfit with matching sandals.
"You seem surprised, Connie darling," Claire noted. "Didn't you realize there was never any kidnapping? Monica is here because I want her here. Alyssa has used her wiles to make my rich fiance into precisely the kind of sissified hubby I've always wanted. Isn't that right, Monica?"
The feminized millionaire fell to one knee and placed his painted lips on the toe of Claire's patent-leather pump. "I am your lesbian love slave, Mistress Claire," he declared in a breathy contralto.
"And I saw Claire's scheme as the perfect opportunity to get you where I have always wanted you, Connie sweets," Mistress Alyssa explained. "Ever since your days as a cop, I've known I could turn you into a perfect little fetish sissy if I got the chance...and still have the use of all your detecting skills.
"You see, I virtually own this town...and now, with Monica's money and your abilities, I intend to make it the county--and maybe even the state." She paused. "Won't that be lovely, Connie?"
"Yes, Mistress Alyssa," I answered. And deep inside, I knew I meant it now.
Three months later:
So that was it. The whole thing had been a double-cross...to get me deep into their little plan to change society piece by piece...and make me want it as much as they did.
In the past months, I'd been through so much and helped them so many ways. But still, my greatest pleasure still came when Mistress Alyssa would display and humiliate me for the insiders at The Cavern. Tonight, I had been laced into a corset that brought my waist down to a startling 16 inches. My hair had been allowed to grow and was now waist-length and coppery red. (Although color was a
sometime thing--I'd been everything from platinum blonde to ebony black.) I knelt on the floor of the stage, my arms bound behind me.
I should have been in agony, but I was in ecstasy, my rampant cock pressing hard against the constraints of my satin panties and the corset.
"Who do you love, Connie my dear?" asked the mistress.
"You, Mistress Alyssa, and all the ladies who make me a beautiful sissy for their enjoyment," I answered. I glanced to the audience, where Mistress Claire sat at the front of the crowd, with my "sister" Monica kneeling at her side, her head resting in her domme's lap. We were well on our way to making the whole world just like us.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
As a TV who loves legs, I couldn't let her passing go unremarked.
She was born Tula Finklea in Texas in 1921 and gained the last name Charise (with one "R") from her first husband. "Cyd" was a childhood nickname (her brother couldn't say "Sis"). She is survived by her second husband, singer Tony Martin, and two children, Nicholas Charise and Tony Martin Jr.
She sat on the couch in my waiting room, the very epitome of class. Though she smiled, I could see the strain in her lovely face. "OK," I said, "come in and tell me what's wrong."
She followed me into my office, settled herself in the chair in front of my desk and pulled some notes and a folder from her briefcase. "My name is Claire Osborne. I'm the personal assistant to Montgomery Albertson...." Her voice trailed off and she paused.
"All right," I said. "I read the papers. Albertson is supposed to have disappeared two weeks ago. The cops are baffled."
She swallowed, then nodded. "They're baffled because they don't know everything. I can't tell them everything without putting Mr. Albertson in further danger--at least that's what the kidnappers have told me." She laid the materials she'd brought with her on my desk. "Mr. Conway, I got this package a week ago. I followed the directions and made the phone call they wanted. I spoke to Mr. Albertson...I know it was him."
The instructions she'd been given came with a photo. It was Albertson--I could recognize him from the pictures the papers had run with the story. But it was difficult because he was very changed. Instead of the young, well-dressed business executive, this photo showed what could have been June Cleaver: short-cropped, curled hair, exquisitely done makeup, smiling red lips, and a dress style that had gone out of fashion in 1965. It was Montgomery Albertson--but the kidnappers' notes called him (or her) "Monica".
I read the note:
The lovely Monica has been transformed to act as my servant and love slave. Be assured she is happy and actually aroused by this change in her life. I hold her power of attorney. If you wish to ensure her continued happiness, do not contact the police. But you may assure yourself of her condition by phoning this number: 800-555-DOMM."What do want me to do?" I asked.
"Find him, rescue him," she pleaded. "Mr. Albertson--Montgomery--was more than my boss. We had planned on getting married!" She pulled out a checkbook. "I can give you a retainer of $500 for your first two days' work."
I nodded agreement. I already had a plan. The kidnappers had made a fatal mistake. That 800-number could be traced. A private citizen couldn't do it. And maybe they thought Claire would be too distraught to think about a way around the "no cops" angle. But as a private eye, I had resources she didn't. And one of them included a friend who could supply some assistance she probably hadn't thought of, either.
She handed me the check and smiled wanly. "Thank you, Mr. Conway. When can I expect to hear from you again?"
"Like you said, two days," I answered. "If I haven't got anything by then, figure it's a dead end."
Wednesday, 5:00 PM:
Alyssa was a contact from my days on the force. She'd been busted for running a brothel and I'd gotten the case thrown out by truthfully testifying that no sexual contact had occurred between us--she was a dominatrix and she didn't allow sex with clients. Her specialty was the submissive transvestite, the guy who wanted to be made to look like a pretty girl (or as close as possible) and humiliated. She often kidded me that I'd make a really beautiful woman, if only I'd admit that was what I really wanted.
Before meeting her at her townhouse, I'd done the trace on the 800 number. It belonged to a shell corporation of some kind, and it was connected to a place upstate. My phone company source said it was reputed to be a real ritzy place--over 25 acres with all the top amenities. Further digging told me the owners were deep into the kinky sex scene in the area. With a little luck--and Alyssa's help--I expected to be able to get close enough to possibly even get inside the place.
I walked up the driveway of Alyssa's posh home. She was standing by her little sports car. Even in "street clothes" she looked every inch the domme. Maybe it was the riding crop?
"Well, hello there, sweetie," she purred. "Come to finally let me make you into what you should be?"
I blushed. In one sense, that was exactly why I had come. "Let's go inside and I'll tell you everything," I said.
We settled into her office, all done out in leather, and I explained the case I'd been handed and my plan to infiltrate the kidnappers' lair. "So, that's it, Alyssa. I need you to perform your 'magic'--make me pass as a submissive crossdresser."
She smiled--a secret kind of smile. "Lovely, just lovely," she mused. She stood up and walked around me in her spike heels, occasionally stroking my cheek or tilting my chin. "I can certainly do the physical part of it, Conway darling." She walked to the door and gestured out. "Shall we get started?"
The next several hours were a blur to me, filled with touches, looks and smells I'd never experienced before. Alyssa stripped me to the skin and removed every bit of hair from my body, except for a small patch around my privates. She covered me in lace and satin lingerie and a dress in black jersey with a swirly skirt that ended four inches above my knees. My legs were sheathed in sheer white nylons and perched on clear plastic mules with five-inch heels. Then she plopped me down into a salon chair and did my make-up--foundation, powder, dark pink lipstick, mascara, false lashes, rouge. The works. She topped it off with an ash-blonde wig in a shoulder-length pageboy. She turned me to the mirror and I couldn't believe the finished product.
"Didn't I tell you you'd be beautiful?" Alyssa asked. "Now, get up and walk."
I stood and nearly fell off the heels. Regaining my balance, I stumbled around the room. "That'll never do," Alyssa said. "Normally, I give my TV subs weeks of practice to learn to move like a lady--or a slut. But you haven't got time for that. There's only one answer."
"What's that?" I asked, apprehensively.
"Hypnosis," Alyssa answered. "I use it on the toughest cases, and on the ones brought to me by their wives and girlfriends for transformation. Are you prepared to go that far?"
I nodded. Falteringly, I followed her back to her office. She got me comfortable on the leather couch and began the hypnotic session. "Just listen to my voice, and look at my eyes," she insisted. Her voice became a drone, lulling me to relaxation. "Now, when I reach five, you will be deep asleep. One...two...three...four...five."
SNAP! The sound of the snapping fingers forced my eyes wide open. "How are you feeling, Connie?" Alyssa asked.
"Just fine, Mistress," I replied. Connie? Mistress?
"Connie's your name now," she explained. "I included a post-hypnotic suggestion that you won't respond to Conway at all, and will deny that it's your name. I also made sure that you didn't give yourself away by acting too aggressive toward women. You're supposed to be a submissive sissy, remember?"
"Yes, Mistress," I said again, surprisingly comfortable with my new-found deference to her. I stood and discovered I was perfectly balanced on the heels and completely at ease in my sexy outfit. More than at ease--I could feel my cock rising.
"Yes--you'll be aroused most of the time, too," Alyssa said. "That's part of what sissies experience after all...a part you'd never be able to fake." She handed me a purse. "All the necessary ID is in there. You'll need a wardrobe--I've arranged appointments for you at some of the places I normally shop." She smiled again. "Good luck."
More to Come
Saturday, June 14, 2008
I have a slightly arthritic knee...not so painful as to be crippling, but definitely noticeable. Usually, by mid-afternoon, I can tell it's there. But, on a day that I spend any considerable time in heels--say, three or more hours--that doesn't happen. It's like being in heels makes the knee less irritable.
Given how we always hear about how bad heels are for our legs and feet, that's odd, don't you think?
The apparent teen beauty stumbled in her heels and nearly fell into the pool. The girls and their gym teacher all but gave themselves away laughing uproariously at the transformed math teacher’s distress.
Christy did her best to mince over to her tormenters. "Why?" the male voice whispered.
"Because we can," Becky smiled. "I want you to realize just how humiliated you would be if we really did let the whole school and the whole town know about your little fetish—and about how you try to extort your students into helping you fulfill your fantasies!"
She looked the TV teenybopper in the eye again and said, "Christy is clueless." Immediately, the man-girl regained control of her feminine self and sashayed out of the pool area, at Becky’s command.
The next day, Becky escorted a new student into the principal’s office to register. "Audrey," she said to the secretary, "this is Chris Ross’s niece, Christy. She’ll be staying with him for a few months, and he asked me to make sure she got registered for classes."
For her first day of classes as a student, Christy wore a black jumper with an incredibly short skirt over a white t-shirt. Her legs were covered in black thigh-highs, and perched on black and white pumps with a half-inch platform and three-inch heels. Her hair was caught in a pair of ponytails. "Where is Mr. Ross, by the way?"
"Let me speak with you in private, Audrey," Becky said. She led the secretary away from Christy and whispered to her. Audrey gasped and shot a look at Christy. She grinned. "Yes, Miss Conners, I’ll see to it that Christy gets all the right classes, including her uncle’s sophomore math class. By the way, can you sub for Mr. Ross today?"
"I’d be happy to, Audrey," Becky replied.
Christy’s school day was uneventful, except for the stares the beautiful and provocatively dressed teenager got from every boy in the building. That is, it was uneventful until sixth period, the first one after lunch…when she walked into what should have been her own sophomore math class, as a student instead of the teacher.
She took a seat, acting all the while as if this were perfectly normal. But deep inside, Chris knew that Becky must have something planned for this period.
Becky walked in at that moment and explained that Mr. Ross was unavoidably absent. She introduced the new student. "Class, this is Mr. Ross’s niece, Christy. Stand up, dear, so everyone can see you." Christy complied, still under the hypnotic compulsion to obey Becky’s every request. Rachel and Sheila giggled, the only students so far aware of the real nature of Mr. Ross’s absence.
Christy sat again and Becky announced, "Class is in session". That was the trigger that put the man-girl back in a hypnotic trance. "Now, for a little explanation," Becky began. "Mr. Ross is not absent; in fact, he is right here. Christy is not his niece, but Mr. Ross himself." She proceeded to give a somewhat bowdlerized version of events of the past weekend.
Then she spoke to Christy. "Christy, who are you?"
"I am Chris Ross, but I am really Christy, an airhead teenybopper with a love for sexy clothes."
"And who do you love?"
"I love you, Becky Conners."
"Then come here." Christy stood and walked up to the teachers’ desk. "Kiss me—and when you kiss me, the difference between Chris and Christy will disappear. You will always be Christy from now on."
They kissed, Becky’s tongue thrusting itself deep into the transformed instructor’s mouth, her hands roaming sensuously over the once-male body. The students gasped and applauded.
One month later, Chris Ross had resigned from his teaching position and moved in with Becky Conners.
"Oh, Christy, you look just heavenly in that dress…some of the boys are sure to mistake you for a student and try to do a little petting!" Becky exclaimed.
"Just let them try!" Christy laughed. "There’s only one person who gets under my skirts!"
"I know, darling—but imagine the boys’ surprise if they discovered what you really have there!"
Friday, June 13, 2008
On one level, it's no surprise that Catherine Zeta Jones beat out Marilyn on this poll...she is the modern archetype of Hollywood glamour, and has been since her first starring roles over a decade ago. As such, it's also no surprise that she's a woman we'd love to be.
Not much to say here. Pretty standard pose, one I've used lots of times.
The one to the right is slightly manipulated--I "enhanced" the boobs and cleavage a little.
No changes here. I do like to show off my legs, though--wish I could find short skirts in my size!
More subtle manipulation--not just enhanced boobs, but the "package" is a trifle played with as well.
I did quite bit with this one--obviously I applied "digital makeup", but I also played with the boobs and gave myself a manicure!
Over the next couple of days, I think I'll be working on "fantasy" versions of these...attempts to create what I wish Sissy Dani could really look like!
Came home and changed into my black satin pajamas, worked for a while, then slept in the pjs. Got up this morning, went back into the outfit I wore for the errand last night, got breakfast and the papers. By 8AM, I was ready to dress for the day.
Those few of who voted (thanks!) went for the red jersey top and the black skirt, so that's what I'm wearing, with black hose and my Mary-Janes with the 5-inch heels (highest ones I have). Put the white belt on, too, as it helps define my nearly nonexistent waist. Wearing the silver choker and matching earrings. (Wig will come later when I take pictures, too hot otherwise.)
I should be able to stay in this until mid-afternoon (have to pick son up around five or so.)
Thursday, June 12, 2008
lacy pink panties
nude stay-up stockings
white 18-Hour 44C bra filled with my bird-seed boobs
red-and-black paisley blouse
black pinstripe women's slacks with white belt
red open-toed pumps
No wig or jewelry now; I'll save those for photography sessions tomorrow.
Speaking of photography, anyone have any suggestions for poses? I'm a bit tired of the classic hand-on-hip, one foot forward routine. I'm considering the following:
feet together, bending forward (showing off tits), hands on knees;
reclining on couch;
seated on floor, legs curled up
Anybody got other, better ideas? Would a series in various stages of getting dressed be an option?
Please leave a comment.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Wish me luck.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
I was informed that you were the most beautiful woman ever to visit Casablanca. That was a gross understatement.
What more needs to be said? Ingrid Bergman was the epitome of old-world charm, elegance and beauty for two decades in Hollywood. No wonder even today she remains a woman we'd love to be.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
"Yes, Becky, I see myself at 16," the transformed math teacher answered.
"Excellent. Now, I want you to go to the mirror and look at yourself as you are now." Chris went to the mirror and saw his reflection in the teenybopper outfit. "Is that you at 16?"
"No, Becky, I was a boy," Chris responded.
"No, you were not," Becky corrected him. "You were a girl, just like the girl you are today." Chris blinked and shook his head. Becky repeated the phrase. "You were a girl, just like the girl you are today."
Chris blinked again and said, "I was a girl."
"Of course you were a girl, silly," Becky laughed. "You’ve always been a girl, really? Haven’t you?"
"I’ve always been a girl," Chris repeated, no longer questioning the reprogramming Becky was doing to him.
"And what kind of girl were you?" she asked. Chris shook his head—he didn’t know anymore. "Why you were a little ditz queen, weren’t you? A lovely little thing named Christy with no more important duties than shopping and looking pretty and sexy, right? After all, that’s how you learned you got turned on by mini-skirts and heels and crop tops and all, right?
"You are turned on by them, aren’t you?" she asked.
"Yes," Chris answered.
"You’re turned on, now?"
"Very good," Becky said. "Now, do you remember how you were as a teen ditz?" he nodded. "Then when I wake you from your trance with the phrase class dismissed, you will be that girl again, until I tell you Chris has a clue. Then you will return to the normal man you thought you were, although you will continue to have your love for teen clothes and being dressed in them by me.
"And whenever I say to you Christy is clueless, you will again be 16-year-old Christy, the airhead fashion doll," Becky continued. "Oh—one more thing: You will no longer bother any of the girls in your classes about this. And even as Christy, you love only me. You are devoted to me, eager to please me in any way I ask."
"I am devoted to you, Becky," the now-renamed Christy responded. "I’ll do anything you ask."
Sheila and Rachel giggled at their math teacher’s total loss of control to the beautiful gym instructor. "Shhh!" Becky insisted. "It’s time to bring our little teenybopper to reality." She turned again to the cross-dressed teacher. "Class dismissed!" she announced.
Chris’s eyes fluttered and then he saw his beloved Becky. "Oh, thank you, Becky darling!" he exclaimed, in a breathy feminine tone. "I don’t know how I ever lost touch with who I really am like that!"
Becky grinned. "That’s quite all right, Christy love. But now that we have you back the way you belong, Rachel and Sheila have agreed to help take you shopping. We have to rebuild your wardrobe!"
Two hours later, the two girls, their gym teacher and the entranced and controlled Christy had scoured the local mall, picking up every sexy, leg-revealing, tummy-showing, high-heeled and teen-targeted item in the place. They had maxed out Chris Ross’s credit card in the process.
Becky and the girls had insisted that Christy try on every outfit, and delighted in revealing to the sales clerks—many of whom had attended their school and knew Mr. Ross—exactly who it was buying these attention-getting ensembles. The clerks invariably laughed and told their own stories of fighting off Ross’s advances, without then knowing his secret.
Now, with the shopping completed, the four of them sat in the food court, picking at French fries and diet sodas. Christy, now in a white linen dress with a short, tight skirt and matching cardigan, and sexy, strappy sandals, sat primly with her ankles crossed and her knees together. Becky leaned over and whispered to Rachel and Sheila.
"Christy," Rachel began, "you’ll never get noticed sitting that way!"
"Yeah," Sheila said. "No one can see your legs or those hot sandals you have on!"
Becky looked Christy in the eye. "Christy, I want you to turn sideways in your seat, and spread your legs to the aisle, so everyone can see them. I want you to hike your skirt up, so your lovely thighs are showing."
Anything Becky wanted was like a command to Christy. She turned and—half-demurely, half-brazenly—posed as Becky instructed. A group of boys across the way stopped what they were doing as they noticed her long shapely legs.
Becky smiled. "Christy, those boys seem to find you irresistible. Let’s give them something to really watch." She moved her chair directly next to Christy’s, took the boy-girl’s head in one hand and guided his pink-painted lips to her own red ones, thrusting her tongue deep into his mouth. Simultaneously, she pushed her other hand under his skirt, and rubbed his crotch through the satin of his panties.
Moments later, the teenaged boys got up from their own table, blushing and staring back at them. "Wow! Those guys really went nuts when they saw you French kiss Christy like that! I thought they were going to cream their pants!" Rachel exclaimed.
The following day, Saturday, there was something of a commotion at the local country club. A beautiful young girl, her hair swinging in the breeze, looking cool behind her shades, strolled around the pool. Her long bare legs, perched on white sandals with three-inch heels, rose to the incredibly high hemline of her white tennis dress, so short that her matching white panties were revealed with every step.
No male of any age could keep his eyes off her; every woman and girl envied her.
All except for three—Becky, Rachel and Sheila relaxed on their chaise longues, amused at the reaction their creation was getting.
"Christy love," Becky suddenly called out, catching the teenybopper’s attention. "Chris has a clue!"
More to come