Attention Whore

Don't forget to choose the man you think makes a prettier girl (details here)!

Sissy Club

As I've noted before, some scenes just write themselves. All these figures are from a 1920s-vintage sewing pattern package, and they just screamed for this dialogue.

Don't forget to choose the man you think makes a prettier girl (details here)!

Spurt Spray

Don't forget to choose the man you think makes a prettier girl (details here)!

Men We'd Love to See Feminized ~ Round 2, Week 6

Who do you think makes the prettier girl...

Michael J. Fox?

or Daniel Radcliffe?

Make your choice in the poll to the right.

Men We'd Love to See Feminized ~ Round 2, Week 5 Results

In another squeaker, Adam Sandler beat out Emilio Estevez as prettier:

Mincing Maid, Miss Mandee

[Another "lost" story....]

This story was inspired by a really sweet sissy I met on the net. The physical description is really close, especially those dark curly locks. Indeed, she does have a really prim ladylike posture. Sweet, submissive, cute and shy? Read on. Why do you think the title spells mmmm?

"Amanda, Amanda Lynn!?" Cynthia was calling.

She sounded like she meant business. Calling me Amanda meant she was being formal. Amanda Lynn though. That could mean ‘over the knee’ time. Or she could just be trying to scare me.

I minced primly into the living room. It’s easy to mince really primly when I’m wearing four inch heels and a ‘trainer sized’ butt plug. My posture so perfect and ladylike, arms at my sides, hands at my thighs, held limply at the wrists.

At the time, I was doing light housework so my heels were only four inches. Serving casual guests, or a formal party, would mean even taller heels. I actually look forward to heavy housework days. That means I can wear something with a three-inch heel or less. Less meaning inch-and-a-half for outside work.

I reach Mistress Cynthia. She’s seated on the living room couch, using a file to touch up her gleaming nails. About six feet from her I stop, curtsey smartly, and say, "Yes Miss Cindy."

I don’t mean to confuse you.

Sometimes my lady is Mistress, other times Miss, ma’am even. She can be called Cynthia, Cindy, or in moments of passion, dear, darling or Cyn. She’s not fussy. As long as I’m respectful, know my place, and stay in character.

You see, we’re married. We’re lovers also. I’m the wife of course. She plays the role of domme. To me it’s simple.

Why did she feminize me? No special reason. She didn’t need one then. She doesn’t need one now. She’ll even shrug her shoulders when asked and answer, "I just felt like doing it."

"There you are Mandee. What have you been doing?" She looks up from her nails.

"Ironing ma’am." I punctuate it with yet another curtsey.

"Okay, hold still for a moment. Before we do our weekly maid and house inspection, I have some news for you." She sets her file on the lamp table next to her, and continues. "I just got off my cellular with Lauren Best. You remember her, don’t you precious?" She looks at me for my reaction. I gulp and nod, unable to speak.

"I thought you would. Her and her daughter, Jessica, will be flying in from Chicago, this coming Friday. I’ll be meeting them. They’ll be with us for a full week. As you may recall you were very rude to them during their last visit." She paused for effect and went on.

"Well, they will take into consideration, the fact, you had yet to undergo your lovely transition. You will, however apologize to them. They in turn may decide to discipline you. I’ll discuss, and approve any chastisement with them privately. Understood dear?" She asked with a slight raise of the eyebrows.

"Yes. Of course, Miss Cynthia," I managed to say, my breath coming in little gasps.

"Compose yourself Mandee. "They won’t be here for another five days. Besides, what could they possibly do to you that I haven’t already done several times? Oh, by the by love. Can you believe it? Jessica is 22 already. Just like her mother too, according to Lauren." She then motioned for me to pay attention to her and turn around so she could inspect me.

"Looks nice", she said. Getting up she motioned for me to follow her on her inspection of the entire house.

She was in a really good mood. I’d made sure I had on my prettiest French style afternoon dress, with a pert tiara shaped headpiece. Just the right amount of lace showing. I was wearing her favorite perfume. Because I have dark curly hair, I wear really red lipstick and nail polish. Dark eye make-up also.

At each room she would enter. I would stop just inside the door and off to the side. She’d check the furniture, the curtains, the floors, all with a critical, trained eye. Then, if satisfied, she’d leave. If not she would have me note the deficiencies she’d found.

I’d then jot these on a small pad I carried in my apron. The insufficiencies would be dealt with later. As she left the room I would bob another curtsey.

On this particular excursion she was really very pleased and very cherry. She would smile and say "lovely" or "very nice, angel", as she looked around the room. She’d comment at how pretty the rooms smelled or point to the sachets or flowers I’d put out, remarking, "such a beautiful touch."

What really made me feel wonderful was her occasional touching or patting of my hand when making her remarks. My body just tingled all over. All Cyn ever had to do was touch me and I wanted to swoon.

The last room she checked was mine, and once she’d looked around, she pointed to the vanity and said, "Set down Mandee. Face the mirror. I want to show you something."

"Removing my maids headpiece, and tossing it on the vanity, she picked up a hair brush and some Bobbie pins. Saying, "Hold these," she put the brush in my right hand and pins in my left. Then she fluffed the curls at my shoulders.

"Now. We’ve let you grow your hair this long, and put a perm in. It really is very pretty. However, the handbook we got from Madame Rosalie (my tutor) prescribes proper hair length for a working maid to be ‘just to the collar, tightly curled or permanently waved, and barely framing the sides of the face.’ So, young lady." She took the brush from me and began style my hair in an up motion.

While brushing she added, "Madame Rosalie will be here, this Wednesday, I believe. We don’t want to disappoint her. She has you down to semi-monthly visits now. She considers you one of her advanced students. Let’s really impress her. Shall we?"

"Oh, yes ma’am. I don’t want to displease Madame," I answered. I knew full well the consequences.

She then continued her discourse on ‘proper hair length and style for a working maid.’

"If the hair is longer, like yours, it should be braided, bunched in pigtails, in a ponytail, or worn up. We’re going put yours up. I want you to keep it like this. Especially if you’re serving food." She began to brush it more vigorously. As she began to fashion the up do, I held out the pins for her to use.

When she was finished she picked up a can of sweet smelling Sebastian hair spray and gave my do a healthy dosing. Finished, she replaced my faux tiara and said proudly, "There, a maid to order! Won’t Ms. Rosalie be proud of you the next time she visits?"

I really didn’t look forward to my lessons with my tutor. She came to the house about twice a month now, down from twice a week. She could be quite the disciplinarian, especially if she felt I’d been remiss in my duties or appearance.

She was not fond of the dark eye make up I wore. Ms. Cynthia didn’t seem to mind. However, when Ms. Rosalie was coming I toned it down a lot.

M reverie was broken as I saw my reflection and Cynthia’s in the mirror. I smiled. It felt so good having her touch me. She placed her hands on my shoulders and squeezed gently. She then kissed my flushed cheek.

"Mmmm, you are so soft and you smell so pretty my little maid. What do you think your mistress should do about that?" she asked is a husky, throaty voice.

"Oh, goodness. Oh Miss Cindy. I feel so helpless when you touch me like this." I panted, out of control, because of her slight ministrations.

"You are the hot little one, aren’t you Mandee? My, my. You get more passionate everyday. Well, it’s a good thing I know how to handle hot young sissies." She began to unbutton my dress, then stopped when she reached my waist. "You take it from there, baby. I’ll take my stuff off and turn down the bed."

"Don’t forget to get your toy box." She added, reminding me of our collection of oils, lotions and sexual aides that was in my closet.

Quickly I got out of my clothing, and going into the closet I got the box, clearly labeled, Mandee’s Play Toys. I placed it on the table by the bed stand, asking, "Will I need to remove my plug, Mistress."

"You may as well. Keep it out for that matter. I’ll tell you when to put it back in again." She pointed towards the bathroom, and I entered, closing the door behind me, and going about the business of taking out my butt plug.

After washing my hands I entered the bedroom to the lovely sight of Cynthia seated on the bed, her chin length light auburn hair done in pretty curls around her face.

She motioned for me to come to her. I noted she had several toys out of the box and near her on the lamp table next to her. Taking me in her arms she smothered me with kisses as she pulled me down to the bed. Soon I was on my back as she massaged my sissy genitals.

Laughing to her self she mounted my swollen "girlie plum’ and began to ride me. She pinned my arms down with her strong hands. I whimpered, which only made her smile. She worked herself into a frenzy, finally getting off of my hot penis and mounting my face so I could suck and lick her to orgasm.

A while later it was my turn. With my butt in the air facing her, she entered me with her well-oiled strap on. As I moaned and made sissy like whining sounds she manipulated my sissy plum until I couldn’t stand it any longer. Crying out, I squealed to and orgasm, and collapsed.

She lay on top of me awhile. I could feel my sticky sissy cream on the bed. More laundry for later. First, however, I cleaned Cynthia up. Then myself.

Cyn had a lunch date with a friend. I had plenty of housework to do. We both smiled as we began to get dressed. As she left for her date, I went back to my duties.

____________________________

Wednesday came soon enough. I looked out the window as Madame Rosalie strolled up the walkway from her Audi. She looked so confident and self-assured. Quite the contrast from the way I felt. With my mistress at work for another hour, half of my lesson would be conducted privately with Madame Rosalie.

I opened the door and curtseyed as she entered, my greeting sweet and submissive. She looked around the foyer and living room as I took her coat and purse. She tossed her off black shoulder length hair.

Walking to the living room, with me following, she said nothing. Sitting down, she pointed to the center of the room and said, "Twirl for me my lamb, slowly. Then stop and face me. Pose prettily in the standard catalogue models position," she said, full well knowing I had practiced this numerous times.

I did as she told me, ending up with one hand on my hip, the other at my thigh, fingers spread daintily. I looked off to the right. My legs and feet were close together, my right knee bent slightly, toe pointed out. I’d stay this way until she excused me.

I’d prepared for her visit all morning and into early after noon. I did exactly as told. She watched my every move and then stared at me as I posed. I hoped my extensive preparations would pay off.

After Cynthia had left for work I’d begun to clean the house. It had to be fresh, sweet smelling and spotless. Then I had showered, making sure to shampoo, condition and cream rinse. I’d set my hair, back and sides only on extra large hot rollers. The top I’d done in pin curls.

Then I began to dress. My underwear was all filmy and sexy, as usual. It was my outerwear that she would look at the most. I settled on a black taffeta dress, with double petticoats. It was off the shoulder, with spaghetti straps. My hose were smoky gray. My heels were the highest I owned--six-inch pumps. I must have spent 2 hours or more on my hair and make up.

Once I was dressed, I’d set down and my vanity and removed the hot rollers, spraying the whole rolled area heavily with spritz. The large rollers had soothed out my perm and I began to brush and then put all but the hair on top into a French braid. The pin curled area I jelled slightly after removing the pins. I then finger styled the top into a dainty array of tiny curls. I then added a small, white lace pom- pom, pinning it in place.

The pom-pom matched the lacy, white, heart shaped apron tied at my waist, with a huge bow in back. My make up was a contrast in colors and blends. My lips were pouted, full, and heavily coated with a rich cherry red. As always the polish, on my two-inch extenders matched. My darker, black cherry blusher had been applied over my carefully blended beige/peach foundation. I’d powdered the base to give it a matte finish, before adding the blush.

Finally I’d carefully done my eyes. I wanted them to look open, innocent, helpless. To achieve this I had used really soft pastel shades, pinks, yellows, and powder blue. I’d mixed them carefully. Then I had just bare touched up my brows and lashes with a small amount of Autumn Brown. The effect was one of a very willing, "Take me I’m helpless" maid to please sissy. It wasn’t lost on Lady Rosalie.

"Wonderful Amanda. Really, darling. No wonder your mistress keeps you around the house. You must be a true pleasure to dominate. I know I’d have fun with you," she said as she got up to circle around me. At the same time she gave the room a cursory inspection, glancing into the kitchen.

"Is that Hazelnut, I smell brewing? If so I’d love a cup. Get one for yourself also. Then be seated, we’ll discuss today’s lesson, which I’m afraid will be very brief. It also will be your last for some time. That is of course contingent on your continued exemplary behavior," she said this as I curtseyed and headed happily to the kitchen.

I was thrilled! As much as I appreciated this grand woman’s role in my transformation, she had become a second mistress to me. A very strict mistress at that. I really needed the opportunity to please Cynthia, without any outside threat of discipline. I wanted to prove to Cynthia I could please her out of love, devotion and submission.

Getting two cups of coffee, cream only, I brought them to the living room on a tray. I served Ms. Rosalie properly, then sat down across from her. I made sure to smooth my skirts and set primly.

As we chatted, in a ladylike manner she explained to me that the only lesson we’d practice would be me greeting my lover at the door, upon her coming home. "She’s been out. It could be anywhere; work, shopping. You want to show her you’re thrilled she’s home and your ready to do anything to please her. Like this. Watch closely," she said as she walked towards the front door, very demonstratively, and with a flourish, greeted an imaginary lover. "You try it Mandee. With feeling, dear. Emote!" As she said this she sat down.

Now it was my turn. I sashayed to the foyer, and with the theatrics of a 1950s ingenue, said, "Cynthia darling. Goodness you’re home. Such a wonderful surprise dear." Reaching to my hair I turned to a mirror self-consciously and "fixed" myself. Then turning back towards the door I smiled and added, "Is there anything at all I can get for you? Or, for that matter do for you my love?"

Ms. Rosalie clapped and said "Bravo!" She then had me practice it several more times. Luckily the phone rang. It was Cyn. She would be a little late. She wanted to speak to my tutor.

Ms. Rosalie motioned for me to get her more coffee. When I returned she was off the phone and seated. She then explained, "Cynthia asked me to do something for her. It appears she feels you might be too frustrated by the time she gets home. She wants you ready, but also relaxed enough to complete your house work, dinner, and be able to wait on her first."

She reached into her briefcase, which she had kept with her and set some items on the coffee table. "Raise your skirts Mandee, so I can pin them up. Good. Now come over here to the living room window." Saying this she took a blindfold and gently covered my eyes.

"Now the fun begins Mandee. For both of us." I felt her pull my panty brief down, then I heard the sound of the curtains being drawn back with the attached pulley. Then she began to masturbate me with some cool sweet smelling arnica oil.

"My goodness, I’m being pulled off in front of the living room window. Any passersby can see!" I thought to myself. Even in the fear it was exciting, for she had stopped momentarily to put a CD on the player.

Soon I heard the sounds of "Lola" by the Kinks. A song about a transvestite. Lady Rosalie laughed. "Are you going to come for me Mandee? Only a few of your neighbors are watching. Maybe if you come by the time I count to twenty only a few will see it."

Soon she began to count. I began to pant and whimper, like the simpering sissy I was. My neighbors probably weren’t watching. Only a real sissy like myself would permit someone to put them in such a humiliating position.

At ten she began to smack my butt with what turned out to be my graduation gift. A paddle. That was all I needed. I spurted my sissy cream all over the huge picture window.

As she released me I staggered blindly, until she assisted me into a chair. Removing my blindfold she kissed me on the forehead. "That was wonderful princess. Nothing spilled on the floor at all. Don’t forget to clean the window," she said, as she began to gather her things.

"Don’t worry about me. I know the way out. You collect yourself. Be a good girl. Remember. Emote!" As she headed out the door, I breathed a sigh of relief and sexual satisfaction. Shortly thereafter, I began to prepare for Cynthia’s coming home.

After cleaning up I began to cook dinner, and while it simmered I decided to fix myself. Still no Cyn. I had just sat down when I heard her car door shut. I prepared myself for her entrance. As the door opened, right on cue I said with a flourish, "Cynthia Darling……"



Epilogue

We’re at the mall, four of us. To anyone looking we’re four ladies. Three dressed very chic. One kind of hot looking. Well, maybe kind of sultry. No, not kind of. Really sultry.

Lauren Best and her daughter had arrived two days after my lesson with Madame Rosalie. I’d been really humble. They had waited until Saturday to consequence me. Two spankings.

Lauren gave me one over her knee. Little Jessica decided to give me mine while I was standing. She had heard about the "window scene". Out came the blindfold. There was however a difference.

"I’m not touching you, you little sissy! You pull yourself off. Here. Here’s some baby oil," she said, squirting it into my palms, and adding, "You’d better get it all on the window, sweetie. Whatever goes on the floor you lick up."

Both Mistress Cyn and Lauren laughed. This 22-year-old really had learned her stuff. In fact as I came, she insisted I bark. Not a loud bark. A cute little bark like a "Sissy French Poodle."

When we all got ready to go shopping at the mall I was thrilled that they would even ask me to tag along, even if it was just to hold their packages. Cyn even laid out my things for me, saying, "Jessica picked out your outfit."

Wow! Did she ever. Fishnet hose, black leather mini, white silk blouse, four inch opened toed pumps. "Do your hair up big Mandee. Lots of jell and spray," Cynthia added. I really out did myself. Put my eye make up on, "raccoon" style. I figured we were all going to cause a real stir.

It wasn’t until I joined them in the living room that I realized I would cause the stir. It was all a part of my consequence, and Jessica had thought it up.

There they stood in perfect "ladies who lunch" linen suits. Lauren’s was beige, Cynthia’s white, Jessica’s cream. Heels to match. Make up and hair tasteful and perfect.

"Are we going to the mall with this trollop?" Lauren asked.

"I guess we are," Cynthia replied.

"Okay Mandee. You can come. Stay behind us and carry our purchases," Jessica admonished.

"Yes Mistress," I replied. "I’m thrilled to be invited."

We had a great time shopping and doing lunch. That evening in bed, as I snuggled with Cyn, I was told that the rest of the week would be without consequence.

"You did well Mandee. The ladies are pleased with how well you’ve behaved. They feel your transformation is a real success," she said as she fondled my penis.

Just as I was getting aroused she stopped, turned over and said, "Rub my back first Mandee."

"Yes mistress," I obediently replied.

It turned into a beautiful night. The visit by the Best ladies was wonderful also.

These days, although an obedient sissy maid, I can really feel like one of the girls.

I truly love it.

THE END

[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes the prettier girl (details here)!]

Con-Cock-tion

[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes the prettier girl (details here)!]

Decisions, Decisions

[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes the prettier girl (details here)!]

Conspicuous Consumption

[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes the prettier girl (details here)!]

Girlfriends, Part Two

She called me from Mary Ellen's to wake me around noon. She'd already filled her friend in on the details. I didn't know it then. I wouldn't be aware for a couple of more weeks, but they had already decided that Rodney would be the easier of the two husbands to feminize. He'd be the first they would work on.

They'd picked out a name. They would have fun with it. Have me do the honors in the beauty department.

The first time I went there I protested on the way home.

In the two weeks since my deflowering, Mary Ellen had even outdone my beloved governess Marie. Her sissy husband had been an apt pupil.

Sylvia appeared in the living room shortly after we had taken our coats off and sat down.

She was wearing what I now know to be called, a French, informal dinner serving uniform. French, as in French maid. The uniform can also be worn afternoons for more formal teas. It's complicated, but women like Phyllis and Mary can be very precise with their "girl's" appearance.

Of course, I felt insulted. Worse yet Sylvia was made to curtsy to everyone, which included me. She also called me Mr. Terri and also sir, as in "yes sir."

She hardly blushed. Was maybe, slightly embarrassed. Had prepared a beautiful dinner, and served it wonderfully.

Riding home I made a huge mistake. "I will not be a party to this, Phyllis. Don't ever ask me to visit them again."

She laughed. That was it. For about five minutes the silence was frightful. Then she turned to me with a grin and said, "Terri, I have a big surprise for you. When I give it to you, you won't know what's happening."

I had no idea what she meant, but it scared me. I got the surprise that evening at bedtime.

I was naked, looking at my hairless body and painted toenails,thinking that this had gone far enough. Phyllis came through the door in full riding regalia. Black dress boots, matching belt, with fawn colored slacks. White turtleneck blouse. Her hair tied back at the nape of her neck with a small white ribbon, bunched in the traditional black hair net.

She tossed her riding crop and some scarves on the floor near the side of the bed and tackled me. She brought me to the floor, laughing to herself as she did so.

"Surprise Celeste," she shouted. "Wait until you see how Nanny Phyllis punishes you."

It didn't take me long to figure what she had in mind, nor did it take her long to accomplish it.

Lying on the floor my hands tied behind my back, ankles tied together and attached to the one leg of the four poster bed, I realized how absolutely helpless I was. My butt was elevated by two big fluffy pillows.

"Okay Celeste. Unless you want to wind up like Sylvia, you're going to obey. As long as you obey, you can publicly be Terri. Beginning next week, every Monday afternoon you will be at Mary Ellen's to teach Sylvia beauty techniques and to prettify her. Teach her well enough, and she can start doing my hair as well as Mary's. Okay?' she asked as she gave me a shot with the crop.

I shrieked a "Yes!"

"Good. Now for you. You'll continue this shaving and nail care program I have you on. You'll sleep in nightgowns, and start using a clear polish on your fingers. Got that?" This was followed by another whack, a loud shriek, and another confirmation on my part.

For another five minutes she laid down some more rules concerning my dress, duties and lifestyle, all followed by a smack by the crop. She included my ridding myself of all male underwear and purchasing a dozen or so pairs of assorted panties.

"Make sure you buy them at Mimi's Maison. She has the best quality and a really fine selection of the frilliest stuff. I really don't care what you tell her. For all she knows your buying them for me. They had better be extra frilly though. If they're not, I'll take you back there and make you tell everyone who they really are for," she threatened adding another whack.

Once she was satisfied she unbound me and I cried my apology out on her shoulder. As I sometimes had done, with my governess, I went to the bathroom to prettify myself for yet another session in bed. I'd already been deflowered, so this time it was less uncomfortable. The following Monday, I appeared at Mary's to begin my tutoring
of Sylvia.

The first visit had been a bit stressful for me, but with each one I would grow to accept Sylvia's increasing feminine persona.

Upon that first visit I had shown her some make up techniques, using Mary as a model. The next session nail care, followed by yet another on hair care.

Still, I was reluctant to accept her transformation fully, thus the mild protest on the phone with Phyllis. I paid that evening. She again surprised me at bedtime. That was my last protest as far as Sylvia's transformation was concerned.

On this, what would prove to be the most significant occasion, Mary let me in. My wife had already arrived earlier in the day. Mary seemed very excited.

"Oh Terri, do come in. Set in the living room. Sylvia is almost ready. You should see her. She's been practicing all week. She really has done well. She can't wait for you to see her," she gushed as if she were the proud mother of a young teen daughter.

Indeed as Sylvia did appear I was very surprised at the progress she had made. She was truly lovely!

Wearing a navy blue pleated knee length skirt with a white peasant blouse she had a schoolgirl look about her. A white kerchief was tied "sailor girl" style at her neck. Her sheer hose and three-inch black court shoes set off her legs, and her pierced ears looked lovely, sporting pearl studs.

It was her hair and cosmetic application that really impressed me.

Her beautifully tapered nails were coated with a delightfully youthful shade of Candy Apple Red. Her facial make up was an extravagant blend of seasonal spring shades. Peach blush, over a mixture of beige foundation and translucent pink powder. Her eyes had just a touch of light brown mascara, with a blend of babyish pink and Bermuda Coral shadow. The delicate arch of her plucked and lightly penciled brows accented her innocence.

This look would not have been complete without the Candied Red lip liner and lipstick blended with a shiny gloss. Her tame, tasteful, French rolled coiffure made her appear a well-bred coed, at a sorority soiree.

As she curtseyed primly, Mary Ellen first encouraged her to twirl for everyone, and then do a brief promenade around the large den/family room area.

"My goodness Mary! This progress is impressive! Not much for me to do today is there?" I said, hoping everyone would agree.

"Well, she's been so good this week I asked her what she'd like to do today. Ask Mr. Terri if you and he can play beauty salon sweetie," Mary Ellen suggested.

I interjected, "Could I ask a favor here? Would it be possible for Sylvia to call me Terri, and drop the Mister?"

"Of course. Sylvia Beth. From now on, you may refer to our hairdresser friend as Terri. Okay?" Mary asked, as if she were speaking to an immature 16-year-old girl.

Sylvia nodded and then I asked suspiciously, "What's this about playing 'Beauty Salon'."

Mary Ellen explained, "We all thought this would be a good time for Sylvia to start to learn to do someone else's hair, make up, nail's. You know."

Then Phyllis continued, "First she could work on you, with you describing what to do. Right now Mary and I are completing some specs on a job we're doing together. By the time Sylvie is done with your make over, the both of you can do Mary Ellen and I. You of course would instruct. Good idea. Huh?"

"Well. I guess it would be okay. Though I don't want to make a habit of getting makeovers," I joked.

Everyone laughed. Then Sylvie took my hand and I followed her into the specially designed "Beauty and Relaxation Room" that Mary Ellen and Phyllis were so proud of.

Mary Ellen had purchased this home because of its great size, secluded location, and its reasonable price. She also liked most of the layout and design. The exception to this was the huge, four-car attached garage and storage area. In her opinion it was "hideous." Looking things over, she and Phyllis noted the multitude of electrical outlets and the vast amount of unused space. It had also been roughed in with plumbing connections.

They had decided to design an area where they and their friends could come to relax, chat, have coffee or tea, and be pampered by none other then me. They would also be free from the bustle of a busy salon.

The room was elegantly furnished, had a sitting area, a sauna, hot tub, lounge, and a dressing and change room. The center of activity was of course the salon which included two professional dryers, three shampoo and coloring sinks, a curtained area, with table for massage and waxing, plus two fully equipped styling stations with wrap around, mirrored vanities.

I'd spent lots of time working here. I was about to have my first session as a model of sorts.

"You two have fun now," Mary Ellen called as we entered the room.

"Terri, could you help me get some stuff in the dressing room?" Sylvia asked.

I followed her in and she handed me three, generic, charcoal gray colored, plastic, salon style capes. She then put on a hot pink satin, knee length, stylist's smock. I'd never seen any smock like it. It was a print, with small white flowers and little baby blue birds all over it. I looked around for the plain navy blue one I usually wore and regretted I didn't see it.

I suspected that once my treatment was done I'd be expected to wear a smock identical to Sylvia's. My suspicions were soon confirmed as she took a matching smock off a hanger, smiled at me, and said, "Well Terri, let's get started."

Following her back into the beauty room, I saw her attire in its fully frilled, feminine glory.

The robe as I should describe it, was trimmed with lace at the collar, cuffs, and hem. It looked like a dress. Though it had pearl buttons down the front, to the waist, it also had a sash belt, where the buttons ended. Sylvia had tied her sash at the side in a big bow.

She took no time at all to get a cape on me and begin my shampoo, condition and cream rinse. She had a wonderful touch for this process. I felt relaxed in her hands and comfortable. She wouldn't be giving me a cutting. She wasn't skilled enough, but she was going to set my hair.

It seemed like it would be fun. Also I figured that the sooner she learned, the sooner she could become the in house stylist for the lady's group that gathered regularly at Mary Ellen's.

I wouldn't have to teach her to cut hair. Just the other stuff. Most of these ladies had their own personal hair salon and stylist they visited for their cuttings.

She had really learned to roll hair. Tightly, I might add. Once she rolled me up, she placed a hair net on me and began to do my nails.

"Don't you want me to get under a dryer," I asked.

"No silly. Phyllis told me to give you a wet set. We'll let it dry naturally." She smiled.

That was going to take some time, which meant, I'd probably still have the curlers in when we did our wives' hair.

She did my make up identical to hers, saying, "I'm used to working with these shades, I've practiced with them all week." The shades looked less pronounced with my dark brown hair versus her sandy blond, but I thought she used a bit more cosmetics on me.

Sure enough, the women waltzed in about five minutes before she finished applying the "White Pearl" polish to my nails.

"Oh my goodness Mary Ellen, do these two look adorable together, or what!?" Phyllis exclaimed.

"I'll say. I can't wait for Terri to get his smock on. He'll just look so chic." Mary added.

With no protest at all I let Sylvia assist me in donning the smock.Much to my chagrin, she tied my bow in the back. Facing the mirror I could see the ends. I was quite the sight.

Full make up, gleaming red lips, hair net and bright blue plastic rollers. Nails glistening like pearls. I'd been doing them enough, and letting them grow, so that with the now pointed tips, my small hands appeared to belong to a female. I was crushed. With some clip on earrings, I'd be the picture of the society debutante, prepping herself, prior to her coming out party.

For the next couple of hours Sylvia and I washed hair, did nails and applied make up.

Once our wives were combed out, Sylvie and her spouse excused themselves to make a light dinner. Noticing my glum look, Phyllis inquired what was the matter.

"I just feel so silly looking like this dear," I whined, nearly in tears.

"Oh, I'd forgotten, you're the only one not combed out, I'll go get Sylvia." She said getting up.

"No, I don't mean that. I mean this whole get up. It's so garish," I complained.

She stood back from me taking me in, finally saying, "The only thing garish are the men's slacks and shoes you're wearing. With a comb out, a skirt and blouse, a little jewelry, some padding up top.... I'd say you would look just fine." She paused and then added, "I also believe it would bring a smile to your very pretty face."

"Please Phyllis, don't dress me in front of our friends?" I practically begged, the tears beginning to form.

Then, from the doorway, I heard the sweet voice of my dear friend Sylvia saying softly, "Don't cry Celeste, Mary Ellen and I know everything. We're here to help you, if you need us."

I watched Sylvia Beth, in the mirror, walk towards me and stand beside me, and take my hand.

Phyllis smiled, turned and left the room with Mary Ellen, closing the door behind them saying, "Talk with your new girlfriend Celeste, she'll explain everything."

No explaining was needed. I followed her into the change room, where she produced a cute little green plaid jumper, and white blouse with Peter Pan collar. Dark pantyhose followed. Before I put the jumper on she helped me into a waist cinch. She tightened it just enough to produce a defined waistline. Three-inch pumps maybe a half size too small were shoe horned onto my feet.

The coup de grace was the bra and the breast pads. It had been some time since I'd had a feminine chest.

Clip on earrings completed the ensemble, then to the vanity to sit for my styling.

My still damp hair was blown dry into a nice style of big bouncy curls, and sprayed to hold for a while. Perfume, and I was ready for my debut.

I entered the kitchen to polite applause, smiles and hugs. Sylvia and I then began to set the dining room table. Once the meal was ready we sat down to eat.

The best part of the evening for me began after Sylvia and I had cleaned things up and served coffee.

The coffee finished, I sat down next to Phyllis, who pulled me close to her. We snuggled as she continued her conversation with Mary.

Sylvie came in and went right to Mary who pulled her down on her lap. Sylvia's arms went girlishly around Mary. Sylvie looked back and winked at me as Phyllis smiled and lightly fondled my thigh.

It was then I wondered how long this peaceful moment would last. I wanted it to last longer then the night. I truly wanted to be a wife full time. I had no doubts. I welcomed my entire transformation. Not just "play" at it. A real wife. For Phyllis. Just as Sylvia was for Mary Ellen.

For the next two days I was a content housewife, full time, until returning to work on Thursday. My schedule, at the salon had been part time for a while, as Phyllis' business had grown. She'd needed me more at the house. I now worked Thursdays and Fridays, 9 to 7. That was all, but it was too much.

So for the two days after my true "coming out" at Mary and Sylvia's, I had taken advantage of my time off. I spent the entire time as Celeste, wanting to prove to Phyllis I could perform the job of full time wife, to her complete satisfaction.

When she arrived from worked the house was spotless, her meal ready, and I, her wife, was looking and acting as seductive and sexy as possible.

As I readied myself for work both Thursday and Friday, I dreaded ever having to be Terri again. Friday evening in bed I cried to Phyllis, begging her to let me be "her Celeste" always.

She laughed, "Let you? You are a featherbrain, aren't you little girl? I demand you be my wife!" she said with mock firmness. "Why on earth you didn't give two weeks notice first thing yesterday I don't know?" She picked up the bedside phone and dialed.

Smiling, she spoke into the receiver, "Michele? Hi sweetheart. Your niece Candy? The one who just moved in with you from Chicago? You should be able to hire her full time now, instead of part time. You now have an opening. That's right honey, she just resigned her position."

Phyllis laughed and listened for a time and then said, "Thanks for everything. Sure she'll come in for some appointments. Her and Sylvia." Then looking at me and smiling, "They had better. Mary and I want them looking really hot."

She listened for a short time longer, then closed with, "Thanks again for everything. Good luck with Bobbie. Let me know if you need anything. Priscilla Claire? That's a lovely name! She exclaimed. "Wish I'd thought of it. I'm jealous."

Another short pause and, "Reddish blonde? Perfect. I'd say really tight skirts would be in order too. She's going to look so good, typing up your invoices for you, regardless, Michele. Bye dear."

Putting the phone down she rolled over on top of me, pinning my arms to the bed and smiling, "Let's celebrate your new job Celeste honey."

Epilogue

It was a quiet Saturday morning in the spring. I heard a light knock on my bedroom door. I turned over and looked for Phyllis and remembered she wasn't there. She was in her room or Mary Ellen's.

It was Sylvia peeking in, smiling. "Get up sleepy head. It's Saturday. We serve breakfast in bed. Remember? Don't forget to wear taffeta," she reminded me.

I showered the night before and slept in my cinch. My hair was up in rollers. It didn't take me long to dress or make up. I did it all the time now. Checked my nails. Perfect. Sylvia and I were at Michele's yesterday. That cute, former shampoo boy Dani did our nails.

Only he's not Dani any longer, nor will he ever be again. Carlotta. Perfect name for some one with jet-black, really curly, heavily jelled hair. Those dark smoldering eyes and that beauty mark. Lucky girl!

"What time did they get in?" Sylvia asked. "I fell off to sleep at eleven."

"Midnight," I answered plainly, the disappointment showing in my voice.

Naturally, Sylvie asked me, "So yours didn't come for you either?" "No, but I had my velvet collar on just in case. She always brings my leash when she does come. I wonder whose room they're in?" I said as I walked away to check.

I hit it on the first try. The new house is large, but not gigantic. They were in Mary Ellen's.

"Come in," Mary Ellen called as I lightly knocked.

I entered, gave a polite curtsy, and asked, "What time would you ladies like to have breakfast?"

Mary Ellen was deep in thought. The straps on her bright red negligee were off her shoulders, her negligee pulled down below her breasts. Phyllis, completely ignoring me, had one of those beautiful, creamy white breasts in her crimson, mouth, biting it softly and occasionally sucking it with her lips.

Mary sighed, "We'll eat in an hour. No, make that an hour and a half," she smiled, both beautiful women going underneath the covers.

I closed the door, went back to the kitchen, looked at the clock.

Sylvia asked, "What do they want for breakfast?"

"The usual," I said. "Though not until 10:30," I added with a wink.

"I guess we may as well do some ironing then." Sylvia replied, knowing full well what's going on. Then she added, "Do you think you'll have time to color my hair Monday? I'd like to go strawberry blonde."

I smiled and said, "You'll look great!" Then I added, "When I went reddish blonde, Phyllis couldn't keep her hands off me. Look out!"

We smiled at one another and laughed. Whenever they did want us we were ready. Of course breakfast would be served promptly at ten thirty. Sylvia and I were quite content--thrilled to be best sissy girl friends and at our wives' beck and call.


The End

[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes the prettier girl (details here)!]

Men We'd Love to See Feminized ~ Round 2, Week 5

Who makes the prettier girl?

Emilio Estevez?

or Adam Sandler?

Make your choice in the poll to the right.

Men We'd Love to See Feminized ~ Round 2, Week 4 Results

Your votes came to a tie, so I'm using my prerogative to break the tie in favor of Leonardo diCaprio...

Girlfriends, Part One

Here's the first of several "lost" stories by Priscilla Gay Bouffant. I think you'll be able to figure out her favorite subject matter pretty easily.

"Mr. Terrence, your wife is on the phone," Janet the receptionist called to me.

I was in the process of giving Virginia Wilson a comb out. Before I could tell Janet to have Phyllis call me back, Virginia stated, "Terri darling, go ahead and speak to your wife. It's probably quite important. That way, I'll have your undivided attention when you finish my styling dear."

I cringed at the name Terri. Janet was just about the only person at the salon (client or employee) who didn't refer to me as Terri.

When I'd begun working at Michele and Company I had asked for the name Terrence on my nametag. It had come back "Terri." I'd never even liked Terry, the masculine version. Much too childish. But the feminine form "Terri" insured a lot of teasing from the wealthy socialites, and female staff at Michele's.

At five foot eight, 140 pounds, with shoulder length dark brown hair, and soft pretty boy type looks, I needed a little help in the masculinity department. Especially when one considered my occupation.

Throw in a demanding, somewhat full-figured wife (size 16), who had her own flourishing interior decor business, and the teasing took on greater proportions. Add to that, this same, very pretty wife, heading up a feminist group, and her superior (to mine, of course) athletic abilities (tennis, horseback riding), and it got even more humbling.

Phyllis, and her best friend, Mary Ellen, were partners of sorts. Mary Ellen, an architect, designed many of the same, new, luxury homes that Phyllis decorated. More like associates. Often they took part in joint ventures.

They had other things in common. Like their husbands.

Rodney, married to Mary Ellen, had a part time job, just as I did. He took a lot of teasing. Not only was he smaller and softer looking then me, he did floral arrangements. I should say, he had once done floral arrangements. All he did now was keep house. I cringed again, just thinking of him.

As much as I liked Rodney, I also felt very sorry for him. I didn't like being around him and Mary. Not after what he was letting her do to him. Worse yet, both Mary and Phyllis were trying to get me to participate.

They were really into it. They wouldn't even let him use the name Rodney any longer. They referred to him as Sylvia. Sylvia Beth, to be exact.

I didn't have time to think about him, or her, though. Anytime Phyllis called, I had to give her my undivided attention. She insisted on it.

On my way to the phone I decided to remind Linda to see what the hold up was on the new nametag I was supposed to be getting.

Michele had insisted I wear the "Terri" tag, so of course I still wore it.

"All my employees wear their name tags, Terri. You'll simply have to wait for another one to be ordered and delivered. I can't have you, my only male stylist, making an exception to the rule. Before you know it, the girls would be complaining," she reminded me.

I wasn't the only male employee, but I was the only guy that was a stylist. Actually I was a full cosmetologist. I did full makeovers. Hair color, eyes, makeup, the works. I was actually pretty good. Michele had three other male employees. Her personal secretary, Bobbie, and two shampoo boys, Nikki and Dani.

I felt a little better, knowing that their nametags seemed to have been misspelled also.

Getting to the phone I picked it up to hear my wife ask, "So it's Mr. Terrence now, is it love? Since when? Do they limp their wrists when they call you, Terri dear?" she asked sarcastically.

"Of course not darling," I replied both softly and meekly.

"Lighten up Terri. I'm only teasing you. I just prefer to call you Terri. Terrence is just so formal and stuffy. Besides, that 'Mister' stuff at a salon conjures up the wrong impression," she stated for my benefit.

"Now Terri, concerning my call. I placed a rather large order with Michelle for beauty products. Janet tells me it's already boxed. Bring it home this evening, and put it in the trunk of my Volvo. I'm taking it to Mary Ellen's tomorrow. It's for her, Sylvia, and myself. You'll be putting it to good use Monday afternoon when you do our hair," she stated.

"Please darling. Do you have to use the name Sylvia?" I asked with just the hint of a plea in my voice.

"Why not? Oh, I see. You must like to use that cute little nickname of hers. Sylvie. Or do you prefer her middle name? Beth," she asked in a somewhat sarcastic tone of voice.

She continued, "Because I know you wouldn't dare, ever again, refer to her as Rodney. Would you dear? Not after our previous disciplinary sessions. Especially after the partial role you've played in her transformation. Terri my love, I'd appreciate a response from you. Now!" she stated commandingly.

I knew I had upset her. I didn't need that. I immediately retreated by saying, "I apologize dear. I really do. I'll do just as you said. When you see Sylvia and Mary Ellen tomorrow, let them know I look forward to the Monday beauty session." I said this very submissively.

"Wonderful," was her quick response, as she added, "You should be getting back to your client, don't you think? Give Virginia my best."

Janet must have told Phyllis who I was working on. Sometimes I felt as if she had spies everywhere.

We both said our good byes and I returned to Virginia, my last client of the day, the nametag forgotten. It's importance paled in comparison.

Two days from now I'd be giving Sylvia more beauty treatments and lessons.

I went deep into thought, both while combing Virginia out, and during the ride home. I thought back to the events of the past few months, especially that evening in bed. The evening that had seemed to set this whole bizarre train of circumstances in motion.

Here I was, being asked, no, expected, to participate and cooperate, in the male to female transformation of another guy. Not a really close buddy--I didn't have any of those. Just someone whose home I'd been to. Someone I knew socially.

I had experienced, first hand, as a teenager, the embarrassment of this type of transformation. It could be sort of humiliating at times. Especially if one resisted. I knew. I had resisted somewhat. Sylvia wasn't. Hardly at all. It was puzzling. Maybe she enjoyed it.

I recalled the evening clearly. Phyllis and I had just been making love, and were chatting and basking in the afterglow.

I have no idea why, but I began to tell her of these embarrassing secrets from my childhood. Secrets I had kept from her concerning my nanny, Marie.

Marie had been quite strict with me. She was a firm believer in administering hairbrush spankings. In addition she was a true aficionado of "petticoat discipline." My mother and older sister Linda both supported her in these endeavors with me.

As I began to tell my wife of these circumstances, fully expecting some sort of sympathy, she began to belly laugh hysterically. I really had only given her a brief outline, never getting into any details. Not yet anyway. What I did say had a definite effect on her.

Once she composed herself and calmed down some she got up from the bed saying, "Oh, my goodness. I can't believe this. 'Sweet thing' is finally coming out to me!" she laughed again and went toward the closet.

"Oh. This is rich. I can't wait to tell to Mary Ellen. Maybe Rodney can come out too." She said as she rummaged through the closet.

"If you're going to tell the whole story Terri. Let's do it with some effect. Put this negligee and these high-heeled slippers on, and sit on the settee for me. I'll sit in my easy chair, and we'll have a lovely little hen party." She added as she threw the items onto the love seat. "You heard me babe. Put them on," she said with effect.

Not wanting to displease her, I dressed myself as told and then seated myself gently on the seat, as I watched her place a headband, brush, tube of lipstick, and bottle of perfume on a mirrored tray. She crossed the expansive bedroom smiling. Then she seated herself beside me the tray on her lap.

"I won't have a closet queen for a husband. Let's pretty you up smartly. This Governess of yours--Marie? What did she call you when you were dressed? Let me guess. Was it Teresa?" She asked as she was putting the hair band around my head and brushing, my shoulder length hair. I was frozen. This had been done to me before and I felt just as helpless to
resist as I had in the past.

I began to answer her just before she started applying my lipstick, a Pink Frost shade by Sally Chanson. "She liked calling me Celeste", I replied, just before she told me to "pucker up."

"Yes of course. She was French. Wasn't she? Celeste? That's cute. I like that. I'll keep it in mind if I decide to permit you to dress around the house once in a while." She calmly said this as she wet my lips with the creamy lip color.

She finished with my lips and gave me a heavy dose of "Shalimar". Then crossed the room to sit in her favorite chair.

"Now dear I want you to relax, and tell me everything about this phase of your childhood. I'll not have you being some sort of sissy cross dresser ruining our marriage. I'll be as patient and understanding as possible. I prefer you dressing with me in a healthy atmosphere. I don't want you frequenting professional dommes out of shame. All right dear, continue," she said firmly.

"Phyllis, I didn't tell you this because I wanted to 'come out.'" I pleaded.

She smiled sweetly and said, "Of course not dear, but you should share this with someone. Especially me. I'm your spouse. I fully intend to share it with my best friend Mary Ellen. She's very bright and understanding. I'm certain she can help us through this."

"Now. Tell me. When did this start? What type of clothes did Marie have you wear? Did she do your hair? Make you wear make up? What age were you when you stopped this behavior?" she inquired, with a questioning glance. "I need to know these sort of things darling. I want to help you," she added firmly.

She smiled delightfully as she said this. I was only a little concerned about the possibility of her friend knowing. I also somehow believed that this little discussion might prove to be therapeutic. The childhood dressing had haunted me for some time.

I could see my feminine reflection in the mirror and actually felt comfortable with it at the moment, though I had no intentions of making dressing up a habit. My wife's change of attitude, from laughing at me, to understanding, concerned, supportive spouse, had loosened me up quite a bit.

With that in mind, I began describing my experiences to Phyllis. "I guess I must have been about thirteen, the first time she dressed me as her Little Celeste, as she used to refer to me."

I went on to describe the clothing first, the memories flooding back. I recalled candidly that during the daytime poodle skirts with peter pan blouses were the usual attire. Afternoons, I usually wore party frocks. Always some type of heel. Anytime I was dressed, I could be assured I'd get a lesson in high heel walking. Usually my punishment lasted an entire weekend. Summertime, it could go on a week or two.

Evenings, at bedtime, nightgowns. All very silky and pastel. When my hair got long enough, I was taught to roll it up tightly. Once I had learned, I became the on site hairdresser. I was very popular at my sister's slumber parties.

Punishments could be for any reason. Bad grades or any trouble at school was a sure thing. Make up? Always. Marie was a real pro. She taught me to do mine and hers in no time.

When I began to tell Phyllis that I had been punished for bad grades while at beauty college, she looked at me with a start. When I continued to tell her that coming home late from a date was a cause for a dress up session, I knew I'd made a big mistake.

"Wait, Terri. Let's go back. You and I met and began dating, during your second and final year at beauty school. You mean they were still dressing you then?" she asked almost incredulously.

As hard as it was to look at her, I did, and said, taking a deep breath, "Yes Phyllis, there were times I couldn't see you because Mother and Marie had me dressed. That way they were assured I'd study for my written and practical tests."

"My goodness Terri! You were 20 years old! What kind of a sissy were you? You canceled dates with me to let two women put you in a dress and heels, put make up on you, curl your hair, and set you at a desk to study for an entire weekend? Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. By this time you could dress yourself and do your own hair and cosmetics. Probably your nails, too. By this time Little Celeste was making her governess very proud, wasn't she?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Well dear. I've heard just about enough. I'm not sure how we'll handle it. I'm certain Mary Ellen will have a few good ideas," she stated as I began to interject.

She raised her hand in a "stop" signal. "Don't say anything. Don't ask me not to tell Mary Ellen. We're best friends. We confide in each other quite often. I've made up my mind," she said emphatically.

"Now as for tonight, I think I'll 'walk on the wild side' and enjoy this 'new you'. Just for the evening of course." Saying this she walked towards me, hands on her waist, hips swaying very seductively, smiling all the time. She stopped in front of me and said, "I have a little secret for you Terri. Want to hear it? You see, right now you appeal to me. You know why? You smell pretty, you're submissively girlish, you're dressed pretty, and you look a little scared. I like that in a girl. Did you hear what I said? I like that in a girl. Not a guy, Terri, but a girl." She really emphasized the word.

"There are lots of girls at Arts and Design College, Terri. Very few guys. The few guys that did attend, well most of them liked girls as girl friends. Not as lovers Terri, and we women can get very, very lonely. Now Terri, I'm going to let you guess. What am I, your dear wife Phyllis, trying to tell you?" she asked, peering into my eyes.

I did my best to answer her politely, saying, "Well," I hesitated, "I believe that you're telling me you had a few, adolescent, same sex affairs."

"Bingo Terri! Mummy didn't raise a fool after all. That's putting it mildly though. I had more then a few. I love them soft and cuddly. In a stereotyped way, you might call me a 'Butch.' I like 'femmes'. Would you like to be my femme tonight Terri? No wait. How about it, 'Little Celeste'? Want to make Marie proud, and Phyllis happy tonight?" she said pulling me to my feet.

Before she'd let me be her Celeste though she sent me to the bathroom. Had me shower and remove all hair from the neck down with a depilatory. Told me to keep it that way, in case we should "play" again. Had me paint my toenails also. Told me to keep them painted all the time, even at work.

By the time I got into bed with her, I was Celeste again. Perfume, filmy nightgown, panties, heels, curled hair, full make up. She loved every moment. Made love to me the way one makes love to a new bride. Even left me there that morning, the "ravaged woman". Her "angel of the morning", she joked over the phone.

My rear was sore. It had good reason to be. She was overjoyed to have taken "another virgin."

TO BE CONTINUED

[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes a prettier girl (details here)!]

Training Chair

[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes a prettier girl (details here)!]

Detention

[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes a prettier girl (details here)!]

Bound to Be Wed

[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes a prettier girl (details here)!]

The Box, Part Four

Fifteen minutes later, Thomas found himself wearing a sleek leather mini-dress and a tousled brunette wig from Tricia’s extensive collection. He had also discovered a pair of beautiful stiletto court shoes with adorable little padlocks around the ankles. He closed them all carefully before making the final adjustments to his tights. He smiled, noticing that the dress showed just enough of his enticing cleavage to make him attractive but hopefully not draw any unwanted attention. He wondered, once they had bought some new silicone forms, if his new bust would be anything like as modest.

"Leather I see." Debbie grinned as she appeared from the bedroom. "You’ll need something to wear over your shoulders though. Your skin is beautifully smooth now that you’re using the depilatory creams I gave you but, until the hormones really kick in, your shoulders still look a little broad."

"I suppose we’ll have to call you something too." She added thoughtfully. "I won’t be able to call you Thomas while we’re out."

Thomas actually gasped in surprise as the implications of this news sank in. Take a new name? He hadn’t even considered the idea. "Rachel suits you." Debbie whispered as they sat together in the back of the taxi. "It’s a nice name and I hope you don’t mind but I booked you into the salon as Rachel Smart; a girlfriend of mine from out of town. Samantha knows of course but, to the others, you’ll just be a pretty girl waiting to get her nails and face done."

"You didn’t mention anything about going to a beauticians." Thomas hissed, trying to remember to keep his voice suitable pitched. "What if I have to speak to someone?"

Debbie grinned. "Actually, we’re going to a clinic first." She said coldly. "It's right next door to the transvestite store I told you about and they specialise in gender-related problems. It’s the place where I buy your hormones and the doctor suggested I bring you in for a few preliminaries."

"Preliminaries?" Thomas’ voice was loud enough for the driver to look in his driving mirror suspiciously. "What sort of preliminaries?"

"You’ll find out soon enough." Debbie said, reaching for her purse. "We’ve just arrived."

Thomas followed his wife sullenly as she led him through the huge glass doors of a private medical establishment where a young nurse greeted them warmly.

"Rachel Smart?" the woman said.

"Yes it is." Debbie answered for her shocked husband. "We have an appointment with Dr Klein."

"The name makes a difference doesn’t it darling?" Debbie said as they climbed the stairs to the doctor’s office. "Have you noticed yet how much better you feel when people call you Rachel?"

Thomas mumbled a reply, still hurt by his wife’s secrecy about the visit to the clinic.

"You won’t do anything silly while we’re with the doctor will you Rachel?" Debbie said quietly. "I’m expecting you to be a polite young lady today and I don’t want to hear any complaints about your predicament. As far as the doctor is concerned, you’ve been confused about your sexuality for years and I am just an understanding wife. Do you understand?"

Thomas nodded silently as they finally arrived at Dr Klein’s office.

"Good. I would hate to have to make your perversion public." She said matter-of-factly. "I can’t even begin to imagine what your colleagues at work would make of seeing you like this."

With Debbie’s threat still ringing in his ears, Thomas found himself ushered into a plush office where the doctor was already waiting. With Debbie gripping his hand rather firmly, Thomas answered all of Dr Klein’s initial questions without faltering and, after half an hour of inquiry, the doctor was apparently satisfied that ‘Rachel’ could be admitted as a patient.

"Everything seems fine." The doctor said, tidying up his notes. "If you don’t mind stepping into the day surgery Rachel, we should have the preliminary procedures completed in only a few minutes. We can do everything under a mild local anaesthetic at this stage and you should be ready to leave in less than an hour."

Debbie was grinning inanely as they left the building. The doctor had been quite correct about the timing and the whole process had taken little more than 60 minutes to complete. Once they were outside, Debbie could no longer contain her curiosity.

"So, come on then Rachel. Tell me what happened." She gushed enthusiastically. "What did he do to you in there?"

Rachel stopped in the middle of the street as a single tear trickled slowly down the smooth white skin of her heavily made-up face. She pulled a tissue from her purse, unselfconsciously dabbing at her eyes to make sure that her mascara didn’t run. She was hardly aware that she was already responding to her new name with less and less hesitation. It was as if she had been called Rachel for years rather than just a few eventful hours but she had other problems on her mind now. "I don’t know what to say." She stuttered.

They both gasped as soon as the words passed her soft red lips. Debbie looked at her transformed husband in complete surprise as he stared down at his feet in total embarrassment. "They injected something into my throat." Rachel squeaked, her voice now that of a lisping teenage girl. "It’s not permanent, at least not yet, but they want me to go back every couple of weeks to have it done again and again until the pitch is stable."

Rachel started to cry once again. "I can’t believe you made me do this Debbie." She whimpered. "They made some tiny incisions in my chest too, right beneath where you attached my breasts."

"And?" Debbie said, trying not to smile.

"Dr Klein said that I should notice some changes in a few days." Rachel said, trying to hold back her tears. "And that I should have real breasts of my own in a few months or so. I want to go home Debbie; I really do. I can feel my nipples starting to tingle already and they’ve become so sensitive now I don’t think I can stand any more stimulation."

"That doesn’t sound so bad." Debbie said, smiling at her sobbing friend sympathetically. "A woman’s nipples can be a real turn on. I’ll show you later if you like and your voice sounds wonderful, really feminine. There’s no trace of any masculinity at all. I’m very pleased with the way it went."

"I bet you are." Rachel said coldly. "I suppose it was your idea to make him put the testosterone inhibitor in my crotch too wasn’t it?"

Debbie gasped aloud once again.

"They did that too?" she said slowly. "Wow! That wasn’t something I’d been expecting at this stage, it really wasn’t. But I suppose it’s too late to worry about it now isn’t it my little gelding. Just imagine how much easier it will be now that your old male drives have been so cleverly suppressed. I think we should go out to celebrate Rachel, I really do. Why, in a few days you will have completely forgotten about that useless sliver of flesh between your legs and you’ll be ready for some proper girlie fun. We’ll wait until your female urges get too much for you and then I’ll show you how to find a boyfriend. Your inhibitions won’t matter much by then Rachel, you’ll be desperate to find a man."

The rest of Rachel’s day passed in a haze. Samantha was waiting for her at the salon and, surprisingly, Rachel almost enjoyed all the attention she received. She found Samantha’s inane chat almost soothing and, now equipped with a much larger silicone bust of her own, Rachel felt less threatened by Debbie’s attractive new friend. The makeup looked good too. The salon had a much better selection of cosmetics than Rachel had at home and, when she finally left, she found to her surprise that she had bought some new high-gloss lipsticks, a box of shimmering eyeshadow and even a pair of long false lashes. Thinking about putting them on later somehow helped her to forget the trials of the surgery.

______________________________

The months passed surprisingly quickly for Rachel. It had not taken long for her hair to grow and, with just a little prompting from Debbie and Samantha, she had readily had it dyed to become a glamorous platinum blond. As her skin softened, makeup became easier too and she it had not taken long before she was as good with cosmetics as any of the other girls at the salon. Rachel had been working there for some time now, ever since ‘Thomas’ had lost his job in the office. She laughed, remembering how familiar that name used to sound but that seemed like such a long time ago now. It had not taken long for her to become adept at her new skills, applying cosmetics, styling hair and doing the most incredible manicures. Rachel admired her own nails for a moment, now deep red talons that matched the shade of lips perfectly.

Her preoccupation with latex and high heels continued under Debbie’s expert tuition. The salon actually encouraged her to dress outrageously and this provided an outlet for her passion. As Rachel’s body developed (she now had magnificent 36-inch breasts), the tight rubber of her attire seemed to suit her more and more and she was now a regular attraction on the walk to work. Rachel smiled to herself, vanity just another lesson she had learned as she grew ever more delectable. It still amazed her when men whispered suggestive comments but the attention thrilled her. Her slim waist did not need the security of a corset anymore and she usually wore little underwear to work, preferring the delights of sleek rubber clinging to her smoothly depilated skin. Her favourite dress left little to the imagination and, with firm breasts pressed against the flattering material, Rachel knew that she looked unbelievably attractive.

At home, Rachel found herself slipping easily into a life of sensual pleasure. She had long since depleted Tricia’s wardrobe and had quickly amassed her own collection of skin-tight latex clothing. After a hard day at the salon, she liked nothing more than tucking away her long blond hair and trying different wigs and cosmetics. These games seemed to arouse Debbie and Samantha a great deal and afterwards they would often let her watch them making love. A wave of forbidden pleasure ran through her own body as she remembered the two women reaching climax together the night before.

Rachel rose and then almost stumbled in her towering heels. The doorbell had startled her from her reverie. She smiled as she looked at her tiny gold watch, a gift from a few days before. Rachel hurried over to open the door. She was expecting someone. She closed her eyes, her long false lashes fluttering on the edge of her vision as she welcomed the handsome young man with a deep kiss. Her body was aching for him and she savoured the heady scent of his masculinity while they embraced passionately. Perhaps tonight would be the night she thought to herself as she kissed him more deeply, the tiny stud that she now wore in her tongue accentuating her pleasure.

It seemed that Debbie had been right after all. The thrill of feeling a man so close to her body could not be denied and Mathew was certainly a prize catch. Rachel barely thought about it as the decision was made. They had already done so much together that only a few months before would have seemed impossible. She took him to the bedroom, kissing him again and again before she changed her mind. They barely spoke while she undressed him. Kneeling, Rachel took Mathew between her glossed lips, enjoying his pleasure like she had done many times before but tonight would be different she promised. When he was ready, Rachel stood up unsteadily and took his hand. Mathew’s eyes questioned her but she smothered his words with a kiss and led him slowly to the bed…

THE END

[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes a prettier girl (details here)!]

The Box, Part Three

Thomas glanced up at his wife, his immaculately made-up eyes pleading silently for some end to his suffering. His perfectly manicured fingers reached towards her as she took the thick leather collar from its box but Debbie would not be swayed by her husband’s protests. Instead, she simply smiled and gathered up his long auburn hair in her free hand.

"This wig is beautiful," she purred. "And it took ages to put your makeup on properly; it would be such a pity to have done all this and then throw it away just because you’re a little nervous."

"You always had rather delicate features Thomas but I can hardly believe how feminine you look in makeup." Debbie continued, her voice soothing his nerves a little. "Lipstick suits you and, now that we’ve plucked your brows, the eye makeup looks stunning. Your body will take a little longer to feminise I’m afraid but if we increase the amount of hormones you’re taking and put you on a proper diet, you won’t need to wear a corset for very long."

"Now try to relax while I fit the collar; you’ll feel so much better about everything once its on."

Thomas shuddered as the cold leather settled around his throat. Despite the obvious ambiguity of his cosmetically enhanced features, putting on the collar felt more significant than the indignity of his recent metamorphosis. Something about it horrified him but, before he could protest, he felt a gentle pressure as Debbie pulled the straps tighter. He heard the soft click of the lock and knew then that it was done. There was a moment of silence, a brief flicker of realisation and then Thomas opened his mouth to scream…

"How does it feel? I noticed the difference as soon as it was on but..."

She hesitated as Thomas’ scream died in his encased throat to finally emerge from his glossed lips as just a gentle sigh. He suddenly felt incredibly relaxed as the collar wove its magic on his fertile imagination. Debbie watched him closely, her curiosity obvious as she waited impatiently for his reply. Thomas tried to understand why his sense of masculinity was fading so quickly, replaced almost immediately by the increasingly feminine desires and aspirations of his new personality. Even as he struggled to comprehend these radical changes, the seductive allure of his new identity swept away any lingering resistance and filled his imagination with new and exciting possibilities. By the time he found the words to express what he was feeling, his doubts were already forgotten, overcome by the sensuality of his new form. As he ran elegantly manicured fingers across the lustrous sheen of his tight leather trousers, Thomas actually smiled.

"Debbie, it’s wonderful." He whispered finally, "Better than I could have ever imagined. It’s like I actually know who I am now."

Debbie smiled contentedly. Thomas was clearly completely captivated by his feminine clothes and curvaceous figure. Seeing her husband so happy, she was glad that she had insisted on an ultra-tight corset and such realistic silicon breasts for his first evening as a genuine transvestite. Debbie could barely believe that he had been corrupted so easily. She tried to imagine what he would be like when his transformation was complete. She could hardly wait…

______________________________

Thomas rose quietly from the dressing table. It was still early and he didn’t want to wake his wife sleeping soundly in the adjoining room. For a first attempt, the cosmetics he had just applied looked pretty good he decided and the blond wig and elegant earrings really rather suited the bold colours of his fresh makeup. He could have asked Debbie to help of course but he wanted breakfast to be a surprise. After all, not every woman could enjoy breakfast in bed, lovingly prepared by a beautiful latex-clad transvestite.

He tiptoed gracefully across the room in his new stiletto heels to make the final adjustments to his appearance in the big mirror. Thomas gasped as his reflection glistened invitingly from the glass. He looked better than he had imagined and the rubber outfit had been a stroke of genius. He could hardly wait for Debbie’s reaction when she saw what he was wearing. He gently lifted the hem of his short rubber dress to check the latex thong he was barely wearing. Shaving his bikini line had been quite difficult but, with his maleness tucked away neatly between his legs, the effect was definitely appealing.

Thomas carefully closed the last of his suspenders, sealing his new rubber stockings to his smooth legs before moving to the kitchen. He fiddled absentmindedly with the collar as he walked in his stilettos, finding its presence a soothing respite from the confusion of his androgyny. The soft silicone breasts Debbie had fitted to his chest, looked fantastic beneath the shimmering rubber of his dress but Thomas couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed about their rather modest proportions. He would have to ask Debbie about buying him something a little larger.

Half an hour later, Thomas kissed his wife gently on the lips to wake her, setting the tray of food on her bedside cabinet before pirouetting gracefully on his heels, proudly displaying his latest female attire. He smiled as she woke, his glossed lips parting slightly in a coquettish pout as he noticed how pleased she was to see him. It seemed like days since she had last seemed pleased with anything he had done.

"Debbie, what do you think?" he asked. "You were right about Tricia’s stuff fitting me okay and the heels feel wonderful. I even did my own makeup."

Debbie stretched beneath the bedclothes.

"You look good enough to eat." she yawned flirtatiously. "But I must admit I’m a little surprised by your enthusiasm. A few days ago, you wouldn’t even entertain the idea of wearing a pair of leather trousers and here you are now in a pretty latex dress. I don’t suppose it matters really. The important thing is you’re obviously feeling better about everything and, now that you’re more obviously feminine, you do look incredibly attractive."

Thomas actually felt his face redden slightly at Debbie’s compliment as he leaned forward to plant another kiss on his wife’s lips. He stumbled as she pushed him gently away.

"I’m sorry Thomas." Debbie said firmly. "I didn’t want to give you the wrong idea. Seeing you like this is a real turn-on for me but I think it would be better for both of us if we didn’t resume normal marital relations just yet."

She paused, trying to find the right words.

"We can’t make love now Thomas." She continued. "All the books I’ve read say that, if this is going to work, you must behave just like a real woman. You’ll adjust much quicker if you forget we were ever intimate. Don’t worry Thomas, I’m not upset or anything. These unpleasant male urges will soon fade and you’re new appetites will be just as gratifying. Even sexual preference can be changed if the rewards are high enough. You’ll see things differently when your body-chemistry gives you the desires and libido of a normal healthy young woman."

"Desires?" Thomas asked quizzically. "Libido? What are you talking about?"

Debbie silenced him with a wave of her hand.

"You’ll know when it happens." She said firmly. "The high-dosage hormones I’ve put you on will soon eradicate the last of your masculine drives and, once they’re out of the way, your natural curiosity will soon get the better of you."

"Are you suggesting that I turn gay as well?" Thomas replied in horror. "I thought that we were going to try to work on our marriage."

"I don’t think ‘gay’ is the right word." Debbie said, grinning broadly. "If we take your transformation to its logical conclusion, you should quickly progress from being a simple transvestite, albeit a very pretty one, to full-blown transsexuality. It will only take 6 months or so and then, as a proper she-male, you’ll probably enjoy all the male attention you’re going to receive. You’re going to be very attractive young woman Thomas. Men will want to make love to you. You may as well get used to the idea before you’re body makes the decision for you."

Thomas slumped onto the end of the bed, unselfconsciously adjusting the hem of his dress as he sat down.

"I don’t want that to happen to me." He stammered. "And anyway, what about you? What will you do once these emasculating drugs have robbed me of my manhood?"

Debbie laughed.

"I’ll be fine." She said gently. "Samantha’s made it pretty clear that she’s available and it’s only a matter of time before I eventually succumb and we end up sleeping together."

Thomas’ pretty red lips parted in a jealous pout and, without warning, he started to cry.

"Don’t worry about being so upset." Debbie said kindly, taking his hand. "It’s probably just the hormones more than anything else. Tears are bound to come more easily as your body adjusts to its female chemistry. It’s a good sign actually. It means that your male inhibitions are already starting to fade At least now I’ll have someone to cry with at my soppy films."

Thomas sobbed once more and then broke into a giggle at Debbie’s last improbable suggestion.

"Why don’t we go shopping today." She suggested, noting her husband’s sudden change of mood. "There’s a great shop in town that sells all sorts of wonderful things to the transvestite community. We could buy you some shoes, something with a higher heel perhaps and they have a huge range of wigs and undergarments."

She paused momentarily.

"We could get you some larger breastforms too if you like."

"How did you know?" Thomas gasped.

"Its obvious honey." She whispered conspiratorially. "Underneath, you’re just like the rest of us now and anyway, you’ll look stunning with a bigger bust."

Thomas grinned.

"I’ll go and get changed into some jeans."

"Jeans?" Debbie replied immediately. "Don’t be silly. You should go out dressed today. No one will be able to tell. I think the rubber dress might be a bit over-the-top but I’m sure that Tricia has something suitable sexy that won’t raise too many eyebrows. Why don’t you take a look through her wardrobe while I make a few appointments for us this afternoon?"

Thomas got up from the bed and dried his eyes.

"I’m still not sure about this." He said coyly. "Are you positive that nobody will be able to tell its me."

"See how you feel in some of Tricia’s ‘ordinary’ clothes." Debbie urged. "You can still wear stilettos if you like; they seem to be back in fashion in the moment."

TO BE CONTINUED

[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes a prettier girl (details here)!]