[Update: a reader found that lost art, so I've put it in!]
PART ONE: THE SPELL BEGINS
As most submissives know, finding the right dominant woman can be a real challenge--and it becomes even harder when your "interests" include cross-dressing. It had always seemed to me that most of the dominants I met didn't really understand the submissive transvestite's need for cross-dressing as humiliation. Perhaps their own beliefs in female superiority just didn't allow them to see how dressing as a woman could be humiliating.
At any rate, I was fairly certain I had found my ultimate mistress in Samantha. Tall, with long dark hair and a model's face and figure, Mistress Samantha and I had met at a party about two months ago. At the time, I didn't know she was a dominant--we had simply found a mutual interest in the study of ancient religions and ceremonies.
But that interest had led Mistress Samantha into a particular variation of Goddess worship--one in which all women are aspects of the Goddess and, as such, deserve worship by men. When she proposed that relationship to me on our third or fourth date, I readily agreed. The following week, I told her about my own needs for cross-dressing (and simple bondage at times) as a form of humiliation and submission.
"Hmmm," she mused, "that sounds like it could be quite interesting, Carl. Let me do some research and I may have a way for us to have some real 'fun' with that.
"In the meantime," she ordered, "on your knees and worship me in the way I enjoy!"
That was a month ago. And though I often asked my Mistress how her research was progressing, she always laughed it off--saying she was still searching for the right books to make her little idea work.
Then, this afternoon, Mistress Samantha called me at work and commanded me to attend her that evening. It was a Friday and I had the weekend to look forward to--spending it in servitude to Mistress Samantha would be heaven.
So, here I was, at the door to Mistress Samantha's penthouse apartment--precisely at 7:00 pm, as she ordered. I rang the bell, and she answered the door. She was dressed in what I had come to think of as her domination costume--a tight-fitting black leather dress that revealed her trim figure superbly, with a hem that stopped five inches above her knees, revealing her splendid long legs, clad in sheer black stockings and perched on black patent-leather pumps with six-inch heels. Tonight, however, a new article had been added to the outfit--over all the rest she wore an open, flowing robe of black satin with arcane symbols on the back and the sleeves.
"Come in, Carl," she cooed. "Everything's ready. Come into the bedroom."
In the bedroom, she had moved the bed against one wall to make room for a kind of brazier, in which was burning a pungent incense of some sort. On the bed lay a range of feminine clothing--lingerie, dresses, blouses and skirts, as well as several pairs of high heels standing on the floor. I looked at Mistress Samantha with obvious wonder on my face.
"I've completed my research," she told me. "Since the dawn of time, the sisters of the priesthood of the Goddess have practiced the casting of spells. Many of those enchantments involve transformations. I have studied the ancient arts until I learned such a spell."
"Transformation?" I asked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I can not only make you look like a woman by putting on these clothes--but by mystically changing the way you look in reality," she replied.
"But, Mistress, I don't want to be a woman," I protested, "only to look like one."
"I know that, Carl," she answered. "I said I could change the way you look, not what you actually are. Physically and mentally you will remain male--only your outer appearance will change."
"The spell can be reversed?" I asked. (Assuming it actually works, I thought to myself. Magic?)
"Of course," she replied. "Now, come, the spell requires that you be dressed in the clothes of the person you wish to become. I'll help you get into these things."
First, Mistress Samantha aided me in putting on the lacy white demi-bra. A C-cup, it hung loosely on my flat chest. Next came a matching garter belt; it was tight around my still male-thick waist. That was followed by a pair of sheer stockings, stretched over-tight to attach to the clips of the garter belt. After that she helped me put on a pair of shiny white tap pants with lace around the leg openings. Despite their somewhat tight fit, they felt extremely sensuous as they slithered over my nylon-clad legs and hips. The final touch was to squeeze a pair of white satin pumps with five-inch heels onto my feet.
"Mistress, what about the outer clothes?" I asked.
"Unnecessary for the spell to operate," Mistress Samantha said. "Besides, I want to see what you'll look like when it's done." She turned and picked up a roll of cloth, spreading it out on the floor. On the cloth was painted a pentagram, the inverted star surrounded by a circle and mystic symbols familiar from media presentations of witch's ceremonies.
"Stand in the center of the design, Carl, dear," Mistress Samantha directed. "The pentagram will prevent the magic of the enchantment from escaping and affecting me or anyone else within range." I did as she directed.
She went to the desk and opened a large, leather-bound book to a previously marked page. Throwing some more incense on the brazier, which sent up a new pall of smoke, she began to read from the book.
I didn't understand the words--but I recognized the sound of the language, or thought I did. It was vaguely Latin in construction, but with pronunciations that sounded Gaelic or Welsh at times, and Hebrew or Arabic at others. As she weaved the spell, I noticed a tingling beginning in my nipples and my buttocks, a feeling that spread to my hands, my feet, in time to my entire body.
Mistress Samantha's chanting continued, taking on a rhythmic tone. Now a glow began to form about my body, golden in color and shimmering. It seemed almost alive. I noticed that it was taking on a shape different from my own--wider at the chest and the hips and seeming to disappear within my body at the waist. As the chanting continued the glow became brighter, so bright that I had to close my eyes against the glare.
Moments later, Mistress Samantha stopped speaking and I heard her shut the book. Simultaneously, the glow went away. I opened my eyes.
"No--close your eyes again!" my mistress commanded. "I want you to see the result all at once."
She took me by the shoulders and turned me to the left. "Now, open your eyes."
I was facing a full-length mirror on the wall of the bedroom. The figure looking back at me from the reflection was recognizably me--but changed. First of all, it appeared to be a woman. She was some five feet, eight inches tall (I had been 5-10). Her breasts filled the cups of the 36C bra she wore, with some of the flesh peeking over the top provocatively. Her waist was narrower than any man's, her hips wide and womanly. Her legs were as attractive as Mistress Samantha's--if I could be so bold as to make the comparison. I judged her, surprisingly, to weigh about as much as I had before the spell--some 130 pounds or so.
The face was still definitely my own, but somewhat softer in appearance, with larger eyes and fuller lips. The hair was a little longer, giving the look of an uncontrolled bob.
I turned to Mistress Samantha. "What about my, uh--" I hesitated, touching my crotch.
"They are still there, as you can feel," she replied, "and still functional. The spell has changed nothing internally--only the outward appearance."
"Then why didn't it make me smaller, more petite?" I inquired.
"Magic is a part of the natural world, Carl--or perhaps it should be Carol, now--and it must obey many of the same rules that science does," Mistress Samantha explained. "Matter can neither be created nor destroyed--the spell simply took the matter that made up your male body and rearranged it into a female matrix. Some of the flesh that was once your masculine muscles has become the fatty tissue of your breasts and ass. The hair that once covered your chest and legs has been shifted to your head--unfortunately, there was not enough of it to make your hair really long. But that will change."
She looked at her watch. "But, now, it is time to get you dressed in the rest of your outfit--you have an appointment at the beauty parlor."
My heart skipped a beat; my cock twitched in its satiny confines. I had long ago lost count of the number of times I had fantasized about visiting a beauty parlor and leaving it as an attractive woman. Now, it was to happen.
Mistress Samantha handed me a white satin blouse that buttoned up the back with little pearl buttons. I needed help in getting it closed properly--obviously there were things that being a woman entailed that I hadn't thought about. The blouse seemed a touch tight against my breasts--"Nonsense," Mistress Samantha said when I mentioned it. "A girl with lovely boobs like yours should always display them"--but I thrilled to the way it slithered over my hairless arms.
The blouse was followed by a tight, straight miniskirt in faded denim. This skirt was short! The hem grazed the darker bands at my stocking tops.
Now dressed in somewhat presentable fashion (I was still mightily embarrassed by the way the blouse showed off my breasts and the skirt revealed my legs), Mistress Samantha sat me at her vanity for a light going-over with cosmetics. "There's no need for a heavy-duty job right now," she explained. "The girls at the beauty parlor will do a splendid job."
So this was to be a complete "make over"--as if I hadn't had enough of one right here. My cock was stiff as a rod beneath my satin tap pants and short skirt. I was certain it was obvious...and it was.
My mistress placed her hand on the front of my skirt, lightly brushing the concealed head of my cock. "Calm down, Carol--now!" she demanded. Instantly, my member deflated.
"How--how did you do that?" I asked.
"A little part of the spell I didn't explain to you before, Carol dearest," she replied, smiling mischievously. "The magic not only changed your body but your mind as well. I have complete control of your psyche and sexuality. 'Now' is the triggering word, when preceded by a command.
"So," she continued, as I trembled at the words, "unless you want to stay as submissive little Carol for the rest of your life--and I can make you want that, you know--you'll do as I say for the remainder of the weekend, maybe longer. After all, I could fix it so you have no choice!"
Mistress Samantha walked me out to her private elevator, through the lobby and out to her car. We drew many stares, and not just from the men. Most of the women in the lobby and in the garage followed us with their eyes as well, some with unabashed admiration for the way we showed off our "assets," others with equally undisguised jealousy. I was proud I could hold up so well alongside the beautiful Samantha--but also very much aware that she could expose my secret maleness at any moment.
We got into Mistress Samantha's BMW and made it to the beauty parlor without incident. As we parked in front of the shop, I recognized it as Evelyn's--one of the most exclusive beauty salons in town. I knew Mistress Samantha frequented it (I had often met her in the vicinity for one of our dates), but I had no idea she would see fit to bring me here in my transformed state.
We entered the shop and I found myself in a totally feminine environment. I was at once completely overjoyed and profoundly embarrassed. I had looked forward to this experience since first discovering my submissive side in my late teens--but I was also completely aware of the fact that, deep down, as a male, I did not belong here.
Mistress Samantha pointed to one of the chairs in the waiting area. "Sit down there, Carol; cross your legs and fold your hands prettily in your lap--now!" The spell was as good as Mistress Samantha said it was. Instantly, almost without realizing it, I was seated where she had indicated, in the pose she demanded.
"I'll go tell Evelyn we're here," Mistress Samantha continued, heading for the back of the salon.
As I sat in my extremely feminine posture, waiting for my mistress to return, my eyes fell on the magazine rack beside me. In addition to the usual fashion mags--Glamour, Vogue, Mademoiselle--there were a number of more "unusual" titles, such as Petticoat Power, Leather Fantasies, and Transvestites in Bondage. Somehow, I could not keep my eyes off their lurid covers.
"I see our little transformation candidate has found our library," a voice laughed. I turned to find Mistress Samantha standing there with another lovely young woman, Evelyn I assumed.
"Sam, what a perfectly lovely beginning you've made!" she exclaimed. "Carol, as you can tell, one of our specialties here is helping dominant women to transform their slaves into sissy slaves. But I can't remember when we've ever had such wonderful base material."
I blushed to the roots of my shag-like hair at her compliment. Mistress Samantha gestured for me to get up and follow them. We retreated to the very rear of the shop, where the walls were decorated with poster-size photos of transvestized men--some quite obvious, others very beautiful, so that you had to look closely to be sure they were men. Next, I noted that all the chairs back here, unlike those in the more public part of the salon, had straps at the arms and foot rests.
The perceptive Evelyn again noticed what had caught my eye. "Yes, Carol dear, some of our subjects are less willing than others, requiring us to secure them while we work. That won't be necessary with you, will it?" she asked.
"It better not be," Mistress Samantha answered, eyeing me carefully.
The two dominants helped me into the chair. Evelyn placed a cloth over my clothes and proceeded to get me set for a shampoo. "Christy," she called, "will come give Carol her wash, please?"
A tall, slender young woman in a short pink smock approached, mincing on her six-inch pink heels. As she leaned over me to adjust a towel, I noted the size of her Adam's apple--Christy, lovely as she seemed, was a man, undoubtedly one of Evelyn's earlier conquests and transformations.
Christy finished her careful ministrations, brought the chair back to an upright position, and swung it around so that I faced Evelyn. "Now, the real work begins," the salon mistress announced, brandishing a comb and scissors.
A short time later, it seemed that very little of my hair had been cut (after all, it wasn't very long) and Evelyn began massaging in another treatment. Then she pulled individual clumps of hair and wrapped them in a chemical-soaked foil. "You're going to look so good with frosted hair, Carol," she commented. I blanched--how much of this transformation would remain when the Mistress Samantha removed the spell? How could I go to work on Monday with frosted hair?
Evelyn placed an old-fashioned bonnet-type hair dryer over my head and motioned for Christy to come over again. While my hair dried, the TV salon attendant manicured my nails, shaping them into gentle ovals and painting them a bright red. She then turned her attentions to my toenails, painting them to match my fingernails.
Within half-an-hour Evelyn pulled me from under the dryer and performed her finishing touches on my hair. "Now for the final touches," she said, rolling over a tray of cosmetics. First, she wiped Mistress Samantha's earlier work from my face. "Do you want her to learn how to do this herself?" she asked my mistress.
"Certainly," Mistress Samantha replied. She looked at me. "Carol, you will remember everything Evelyn does in making you up--and remember it, now!" Instantly, my attention was riveted on Evelyn's hands as she went about her work--trimming my eyebrows, putting mascara, eyeliner and shadow on my eyes, brushing on a rosy blush, and outlining then filling in my lips with a creamy red color that matched my nails.
Mistress Samantha took my hand and helped me from the chair, walking me to the full-length mirror in the salon. Once again, I felt stirrings in my cock as I gazed at the woman I had become. My brown hair, now frosted with a golden tone, was cut into a Liza-like look, framing my youthfully made-up face with wispy tendrils. The image's lips parted, revealing the straight white teeth behind the kissable red lips. The woman's body was youthful, but tall and big-boned. The effect was a coltish, appealing, sexy girl. Was I falling in love with myself?
"Like what you see, Carol?" Mistress Samantha asked. I could only nod. "I'm glad. I want you to feel this way whenever you see yourself as a woman--now!"
That was the ultimate command--Mistress Samantha had succeeded in inalterably connecting these passionate sexual stirrings with the sight of myself as a beautiful woman. Where would all this lead?
To be continued
[Don't forget to pick the man you'd love to see feminized (details here)!]
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