Fashion'Slave free porn video

Fashion's Slave

It was the night of the presentation of our tenth couture show in Paris. Our company NIARTSER FASHION was not a big one, but we had grown steadily little by little and the number of the special kind of people that appreciated our art had grown and now people were coming from all over the world to see our presentations, which -- like at the big couturiers and the "pret-a-porter"-houses -- were held twice yearly. Actually we were more in accord with the timing of the "pret-a-porter"-houses, because our clientele liked to have their orders made to measure. Showing the fall/winter fashions in the spring and the spring/summer collection in the fall gave us the time necessary to fill all orders before the season started without having to employ a large work-force. We were a very well organized little group and -- I believe -- a unique one.

For the celebration of the tenth collection or our fifth anniversary we had prepared a big party and sent out invitations to all of our customers. In contrast to all the other Paris fashion presentations there was no press allowed -- our customers preferred to remain among themselves. The whole affair had more or less the atmosphere of a private party. Even the models themselves were customers.

As the co-owner of the company you would expect me to act as the master of ceremonies or in a similar position -- however, here I was immovably posted as a mannequin upon a pedestal among a row of very natural looking dummies all displaying in a retrospective the most popular models of our previous collections. I was wearing a very elegant evening ensemble, a gown with a high-waisted, skin tight skirt of black taffeta and a top in the form of a sphere starting at the lower ribs, leaving the shoulders bare, made of a sparkling, silvery, metallic looking material. My hair was swept up into a delicate arrangement of ribbons and curls, long dangling rhinestone pendants almost touching my shoulders were inserted into my ears and sparkled in competition with a flashing rhinestone choker just over 3 inches wide that tightly circled my throat and made me hold my head very high. Just below the knees the skirt seemed to merge into a bouffant wealth of the same silvery material that encased my upper torso.

I projected the picture of an exquisitely coiffed and extravagantly dressed lady about to enter an elegant ballroom, pausing for a moment in front of a mirror to check her appearance before making her great entrance at the arm of her escort.

However, the outward appearance belied the truth: the skin tight taffeta skirt continued underneath to below my ankles and prevented any movement of my legs. There actually were two zippers which -- when opened -- would have allowed me to take small, mincing steps, but now they were closed and my legs were securely tied by the skirt.

Oh and, of course, my arms: they were tightly folded on my back, hands facing outward close to my neck and the elbows laced into special pockets at the upper end of my corset which tightly encased me from breasts to thighs. The choker, the corset, the tight skirt, and the extremely high heels on my shoes really made all movements impossible. My makeup reflected and continued the static theme: it had a waxy texture and looked absolutely artificial in its glamorous perfection. The whole picture was that of an elaborate life-sized doll, like a display at a wax museum.

This ensemble precisely portrayed our specialty: High fashion that restrained the wearer to the utmost without being directly noticeable. Actually the company name spelled this out quite clearly if you read it backwards. We had a lot of male (and lesbian female) clients who bought our dresses and other items for their girlfriends and wives who liked this kind of bondage, but we also had an almost equal number of women (and men) who liked to cross-dress and enslave their male partners in our finery just as I had been ensnared and subsequently enslaved by Sylvia, my wife and partner in the business.

Just before the first guests arrived, Sylvia had observed, that I tended to follow the actions in the room with my eyes and what little movements of my head were allowed by the Rhinestone choker. Of course, I could not comment on them, as my mouth was kept shut by the intricate little mechanism which Sylvia had had our dentist install on my back teeth and which locked my teeth tightly together over a plastic gag that exactly filled the cavity of my mouth and held my tongue down. But the movement of my eyes and my head in her opinion disturbed the picture of the motionless doll that I was to portray because it made my pendants swing a little and send sparkles through the room. To end this, she inserted a pair of lenses into my eyes with blackened pupils which effectively blinded me without being noticeable by any onlooker. And not being one for half measures, she inserted little wax- balls into my ears which almost completely cut off my hearing.

As you can see, she had the power to give me freedom as and when she deemed fit. She could open the restricting zippers in my skirt and lead me around with my vision and hearing still severely checked, or ungag me and let me have a drink and again restrain my legs with the skirt wherever she wanted to leave me. She could unplug my ears and let me hear the conversation around -- and probably about -- me while not being able to see who was talking and not being able to take part because of the invisible gag. There was no way however that I could sit down because of the long corset and my arms could not be released until the corset was taken off. I was completely dependent on Sylvia or whomever she might appoint as my mistress or master for the night.

You think the situation I was in would make me feel terrible or humiliated? To tell you the truth: I cherished it, my mind danced in bliss. Waves of delight raced through my mind and body and I was incredibly excited. From time to time somebody (was it Sylvia?) stroked my legs and my behind and each time I came close to an orgasm.

Well, what had brought me here and to this? What had caused me, a grown man of 25 years, rich by most standards, contrary to everything one should expect of me under normal circumstances, to be immovably stationed on a pedestal, dressed in exquisite feminine finery and looking like the epitome of femininity, and be a willing subject to the whims and caprices of a beautiful, but strong willed woman? Let me explain and tell you how everything happened from the very beginning.



I, Rene de Brinville, was the only c***d of a couple, who had been extremely successful in the French fashion industry after the second world war. My parents were not actually creating fashion, but had an excellent ability to determine what would sell. They acted more or less behind the scenes, picking out young designers, backing them, building them up, and not only selling their creations but building a marketing empire around their names. When I was born, they had very successfully exploited every turn in fashion the fifties and early sixties and continued to do so. I grew up in my early years among fashion sketches, designers and fabrics.

I was not overly touched by all of this, I had the normal interests of a boy: I'd rather go out and play soccer with the other k**s and generally make a mess of myself in the park, than sit at home. I abhorred little girls and I remember throwing a tantrum when my mother tried to persuade me to play an angel in a Christmas play. I definitely rejected the idea of being dressed up as an angel, which in my view was on par with wearing girls clothes -- a terrible idea.

As both my parents were working, I was sent to a boarding school when my time came. There is nothing exceptional to report from this period, except maybe that if any mischief or prank was discovered, the headmaster would at first enquire where I had been at the time of the incident and more often than not his hunch was right that I was the culprit or, at least, an accomplice.

My happy small world collapsed when my parents were both killed when their plane crashed on a flight from Milan to Paris. I was 13 years old and on the verge of puberty when it happened. Economically I had no problems. My parents had practically retired and sold their company to a multinational chemical company interested in it because of its potential to propagate new chemical fibers and fabrics, and just worked as advisors. All their money was invested in blue chip stocks which made me totally independent. By the Swiss definition that a rich man is one who can live comfortably on the interests earned on his interests, I would have been a rich man. But I was not a man yet. I was a school boy and the problems that I created at the school immediately grew immensely after the death of my parents. The headmaster found it necessary to inform my uncle, the brother of my father, who had been appointed as my guardian, that I had become so unbearable that he suggested I leave the school at the end of the year.

When the school year ended, I went to live at my uncle's house at least for the summer holidays. My uncle told me that he would decide later, whether I could stay there or be sent to another school. My uncle was not exactly poor either. He had a booming wholesale company in Paris. His wife and her daughter (from a previous marriage) lived in a small chateau (the English would have called it a manor) about 200 miles southwest of Paris and he only came to visit them once in a while. Now he was there to spend the summer vacations.

I soon found out that my aunt was the domineering figure in this marriage and my uncle's prolonged sojourns in Paris were his way of escaping her. Her daughter Sylvia was a very pretty girl, about nine months older than I was. Immediately, my aunt set out to correct what she described as my unbearable and impossible behavior. Before she had married my uncle, she had been a teacher. From this experience she had a wealth of methods of punishing me for all my wrongdoings without so much as touching me. She would for instance restrict me to my room and give me a task to complete -- like learning a poem with 24 stanzas in German -- before I would get anything to eat and the like. During the summer holidays she convinced my uncle that it would be best if Sylvia and I would not be sent to a school, but that instead she and another tutor would teach us together. My uncle was only too glad to be relieved of my schooling problem, and a teacher whom my aunt knew was employed.

The teacher turned out to be an attractive woman but at least as stern with me as my aunt had been before. Here I was with two domineering ladies as my teachers and no male to turn to. My future really looked gloomy. The only solace that I found was with Sylvia. She comforted me when I was down and out from the attentions that I got from our teachers.

Looking back from where I am today, I am sure however that all this was going according to a master plan devised by my aunt: I was to take Sylvia as my confidant and protector and thereby become dependent on her. It all was a variation of the age-old good-cop-bad-cop-scheme. Anyway, it worked and I soon accepted Sylvia as a higher authority who had it in her hand to help or to hurt me.

*

Hi, this is Sylvia. I simply have to break in here and tell my side of the story. Of course, there was a plan and it even then went much further than Rene suspects even now. When my father became his guardian, my mother at once saw the possibilities that opened up to subject him to our strong wills. We just had to steer him into a position which made him completely dependent on us -- in spite of all his money. We were not exactly poor, but my mother did not want to be dependent on the whims and the fate of my father, who recently seemed to have developed a separate life of his own in Paris. When my mother first saw her nephew, she saw at once what nature offered us: he was a boy OK and his behavior was the perfect definition for roughhousing, but his features were very pretty and delicate, almost feminine. Maybe subconsciously he tried to neutralize this outward appearance with his actions. My mother immediately hit upon the idea of completely feminizing him and slowly turn him into a girl and thereby make him totally dependent on us or -- later -- on me. She had distinct lesbian tendencies and rightly foresaw a similar inclination in me. Of course, she only took me into her confidence after some time when she explained her intentions. I was very enthusiastic about her ideas and did everything I could to further her plans as you will see.

*

Soon after my uncle returned to his work in Paris, my aunt found it advisable to have my health checked and I remember the visit of a lady doctor who examined me thoroughly and diagnosed that I was a little anaemic, and who prescribed some medication that I had to take in the morning with my breakfast. I took it assiduously, though when she returned after two weeks, she found it necessary to give me an injection and from then on I got one every week for the next two years. I did not notice any changes in my health, but she insisted, that if she did not give me the shots and I did not take my pills, my health would soon deteriorate.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened until, first, Sylvia, and, nine months later, I, became 16. The thorough schooling that we both had had enabled us to pass our high school graduation examinations before a state school board with flying colors. Living together with women only, I had not paid attention and had had no real chance to observe the development other boys went through during the same period in their lives. I did not notice, therefore, anything out of the ordinary with my own development. However the fact was, that I did not grow much more from the time I joined my aunt's household. At 16, I had reached 5'8" and was very slim. I tipped the scale at 115 pounds. I did not know it then, but I had very small hands and feet for a boy. When I said I did not notice anything extraordinary, I really lied to myself. At first, I had only noticed a slightly fleshier chest and tried to disregard it. However over the months my chest grew out more and more and there couldn't be any doubt, I was developing like Sylvia and grew girls' breasts. At first, I tried to hide them from everybody, I avoided being seen without a shirt on, I wore bulkier sweaters and wider coats and I shunned tight T-shirts. However during a visit of the lady doctor I summoned all my courage and told her about my problem. She was not at all surprised and explained to me, that this often happened to boys of my specific type of constitution, that it was a hereditary strain in me, but in due course it would disappear by itself. She also pointed out, that my voice had not really broken as was common in boys of my age, it had changed just slightly into deeper tones, more of an alto than a baritone. This too was caused by the same precondition and would rectify itself gradually over the next years. I was very relieved by this assurance.

I was less cautious now and even let Sylvia catch me with my chest bare. To my great surprise, she was delighted to see that I had a bosom like hers. She immediately offered to lend me one of her bras, but I flatly rejected this. I explained to her what the lady doctor had told me about it and asked her not to tell anybody else. She promised it solemnly. This -- what I thought to be -- our little secret drew us still more together. Sometimes she teased me a little and said that I would make a cute girl.

*

At that time Rene was brimming with the female hormones that the doctor had given him and had the smooth skin and the facial features of a very pretty girl. I did not have to break my promise not to tell anybody about it, because everybody of importance knew about it and even better, knew the real reason for it. Of course, we did not mention anything about it to him and I just once in a while teased him very cautiously a little about his female features to test his reactions. We just led him deeper into the trap by pretending that nothing unusual was happening. My mother even had encouraged him to let his hair grow out -- this was the time of the flower power and the hippie movements and long hair was a way of protest among the boys -- and he was only too willing to join this kind of protest against the suppressions of society. At the time of our graduation his blonde mane almost reached to the middle of his back when he tied it with a string at the nape of his neck. It had evidently escaped him, that his body was hairless save for a fluff under his arms and a perfect triangle of soft blonde curls somewhat lower. I had more hairs on my arms and legs than he had. All in all he already had a perfect girlish body and I was intrigued by it -- actually, I found him quite sexy that way.

Sex had not come very early in our lives, but when it came to me, it came with an incredible impact as if a tightly wound spring was suddenly released. In my case, it was shortly after my 16th birthday and the spring was released by our tutor. I had long suspected that there was something special going on between her and my mother. One night -- my mother had gone to see my father in Paris -- she introduced me to the Sapphic delights. She was very gentle, not a single spot on my body remained unkissed that night. She took me through all the stages of lovemaking up to a whole row of earthshaking, shattering climaxes.

Of course, I, with my slightly dominant nature, wanted to try everything on a subject of my own. I wanted to be the teacher, not the pupil. So, Rene was my natural choice. With his feminine body he tempted my senses and I lured him into my net in a fashion worthy of a French courtesan at the court of Louis XVI. I started with unexpected little touches and caresses. I discovered, that his nipples were extremely sensitive and hardened at the slightest touch. I made him help me undress and flaunted my nakedness before him -- always keeping him at a distance. It was hard for me not to jump into bed with him right away, but I knew I would lose a lot if I would let on my own desires. Sex for him had always to be a favor he would have to beg for. I instinctively knew it would only work for me if I made it look like I would magnanimously grant him something to soothe his desires and then only in exchange for something that I wanted from him.

This play acting, hiding my own desires and playing on his, in fact intensified my pleasure immensely. I showed him every trick that I had learned from my very good teacher -- and I think I even invented some new ones. After a while he was not only putty in my hands, he was sincerely devoted to me. On the other hand I had grown very attached to him, as someone who could fill all my desires for a soft feminine body and a submissive mind combined with some extremely male equipment. If you put aside all this reasoning and analyzing, you could bluntly say that we were both very much in love with each other and I intended to make absolutely sure that he would not slip away from me. I had several long conversations with my mother about the situation and together we formed a plan which we then carried out very successfully in every detail.

*

During the summer vacations after our graduation the family discussed what we should do next. My aunt suggested we should both go to a fashion school in the south of France near Grasse where the headmistress was a friend of hers. Sylvia had expressed a great interest and talent for designing fashion and in view of the profession of my parents and their former connections in the industry, it was suggested that I should be able to make a career in it myself, if not in designing, then in other fields like marketing. It all sounded so logical that I finally consented. The school was located in an old mountain castle and my aunt pointed out that she had already received the consent of the school if we would like to share an apartment there. I liked this idea very much because it relieved me from the problem of having to share the secret of my body with other guys. Everything came quite naturally and there was not the slightest doubt in my mind that this was the right move for me.

Consequently at the end of the summer vacations everything was packed and we went off to our new school.


The school was located in the French Sea-Alps off the Route Napoleon about two hours by car from Nice and Cannes. In former times it had been a fortified castle high on a mountain and it was still barely accessible. It still was very much self-supporting. We had our own electricity and well and were mostly independent save for the food supplies. There were large workshops and studios where every fashion-related item could be designed and produced from shoes to hats and everything imaginable in between.

It turned out that our living quarters were a little separated from the living quarters of the other students. We had two bedrooms, a large livingroom, a common bathroom and a little pantry. As we were told by the housekeeper who showed us around, this portion of the castle formerly was the living quarter of the captain of the guards. After we settled and unpacked our bags, we were requested to see the headmistress, who turned out to be a strikingly beautiful woman in her mid-thirties, a little on the severe side in dress as well as in behavior, but this was to be expected of somebody who would have to guard and chaperon about 40 students.

To my surprise I heard that I was the only male student, the rest were all girls -- which was the reason for our detached living quarters. The headmistress told us that it was strictly a school for girls. Only the personal friendship of my aunt with the headmistress and a sizeable donation to the school had let the school-board make an exception for me and only on the grounds that Sylvia and I were regarded as a couple already engaged to be married. Well, they could regard me as whatever they liked, it would not stop me from developing new and maybe even some intimate extracurricular relationships to at least some of the other 38 girls -- I thought.

The first weeks at the school passed without any special events. We had a tight class-schedule and mainly I had to learn a lot of new things. The school was exclusively dedicated to female fashion in all of its aspects. We had classes in history about the development of the female dress from the antique Egyptian, Grecian and Roman times trough the middle ages to today's clothes. Of course, we had classes in drawing fashion designs, classes that taught us all about the materials such as fabrics, leather, plastic and rubber and how to handle and use them and much more. The whole curriculum was scheduled for two years and from previous graduates of the school it was known that they all had been given excellent career opportunities. My life with Sylvia did not differ very much from our life at home and we both enjoyed it very much.

*

Now listen to the hypocrite! First of all I always arranged it so that I had a marvelous sex life -- but I let him have his share too -- if I felt like it. During the first days in our new school I felt it necessary to draw the reins tighter. It was the way he looked at and talked with the other girls that made me show him where his limits were. I had detected a few luscious morsels of femininity which I was not at all averse to tasting myself and if there was any playing around, I was determined to make sure that I, and not he, would do it.

I never argued with him about his relations with other girls -- I didn't want any discussions about jealousy, but I found other methods to discourage him from pursuing his outside interests like giving him a task to fulfill at the time he wanted to meet somebody else. And I introduced a new ingredient into our love-play: bondage. Very slowly and very low key at first, but steadily increasing.

I began one night by objecting his caresses with his hands saying they were too rough and that his nails hurt me. When he continued to stroke me, I tied his hands to the upper bedposts while he was lying on his back. I made this an uncommonly delightful experience for him because I caressed, patted, massaged and kissed every part of his body, taking extra care of the spots I knew to be extraordinarily sensitive, mainly his breasts and his nipples and, of course, his rod. I had noticed, that it had literally jumped to attention even during the tying of his hands -- evidently he was as much turned on by it as I was. I played with him for the better part of an hour. When he started to moan and his moans grew into cries I felt it necessary to silence him with a gag that I made up from my panties and a scarf. Finally, my own excitement had reached the point where I couldn't contain myself any longer. I straddled him and my first climax occurred the minute I lowered myself onto his shaft and it continued into a row of orgasms until he reached his and his rod weakened and slipped from my hot nest.

I did not find it necessary to ungag and unfasten him immediately after this. I remembered the old Roman truth my teacher had taught me: "post coitum omnis a****l triste" (after coitus every b**st is wretched, meaning every male b**st), and I did not want to let him just slip away into sleep leaving me alone with my stirred up passions. I wanted to keep up the tension for him too, at least until my own excitement had cooled down a bit. So I started to play with him again very softly. Much to my surprise it took only seconds to put new life into his love-tool and it all started over again. Three times in a row it happened that night and it was long after midnight when I finally let him loose and sent him to the bathroom to clean himself up -- but only after I had luxuriated in the tub for quite some time while he was still waiting tied and gagged on my bed.

From this time on I found many reasons to tie him this way or other, e.g. to prevent him from smoking or eating too many sweets, or because he had caused a run in my stockings with his nails, or because he did not wash his hands before eating, or simply because I liked him to be quiet and not be disturbed by him while I was studying.

While at first I used whatever came into my hands to tie him, I soon gathered some special utensils for that purpose, like at first some ropes and straps, later some light chains and a whole bunch of padlocks of all sizes. The fact that the school had excellent workshops helped a lot. I devised and made or had made for me numerous items for special purposes. For instance I had made a U-shaped leather glove to tie his arms behind his back for longer periods without causing too much pain for him. He sometimes had to wear this over night. I also had soft leather cuffs made for him for his wrists, for above and under his knees with which I could hobble him and for his upper arms just above his elbows. When I fastened these on him, I could draw his elbows together behind his back until they actually touched. At first I could leave him like this only for very short periods but I trained him to be able to take it for a little longer time every time I used them on him -- which became quite frequent. Bondage became a steady element in our love play and which I could see from his reactions, Rene was increasingly turned on by it. Of course, he would deny emphatically if anybody would have asked him. I did not ask, however, I just put him into bondage more and more.

One night before I released him, I snapped one of the padlocks shut around the base of his cock and his scrotum telling him that I regarded this as my property and, therefore, had every right to keep it under lock and key. I told him, I had mailed the key to myself in the afternoon and there was no way he could get out of it before the postman brought it -- hopefully, because you can never be sure with the post -- the next day. He protested profusely but also fruitlessly and had to wear it throughout the next day until the key arrived in the post and I relented. I repeated this on several occasions and could be very sure then that he would not date any other girls.

Under the pretense of instructing him in the handling and care of feminine garments I made him perform maid duties for me. Not only did he have to do most of the hand washing of my delicate lingerie and stockings, he had to help me select the things I was going to wear and then dress and undress me from the skin out, brush my hair out, help me in the styling and setting of my hair and assisting me with my makeup. At the same time I insisted that he took good care of his own long hair by washing and brushing it thoroughly. He became quite proficient in his duties as a maid and there were days when I just relaxed and let him do everything for me and with me, starting with bathing and drying me, rub my entire body with sweet-smelling lotions, brush my hair and then set it, put on my lingerie and stockings, bring me some dresses to choose from, put on my makeup and finally dress me according to my choice.

This mostly was our routine for a Saturday or Sunday when we had no classes and we wanted to go down in my car to Nice or to Cannes to do some shopping or just mingle with the people there at a nice restaurant or discotheque. It was extremely convenient for me to have him around as a combination lover, escort and maid.

I also started him on the way to feminine dress. Also, very innocently at first by asking him to help me with some homework project: designing and making a set of lingerie. I told him, I could not construct the bra on myself and needed a model, but I did not want to go to any of the other girls for fear they would steal my ideas. He was very reluctant at first but finally I won him over. So I first designed and made a bra with half cups that pushed his breasts a little inward and up enhancing their sexy form, letting the nipples free.

The work on the bra was interrupted seriously when, while working on the thing, adjusting it here and there, I 'accidentally' brushed over his nipples and not only they hardened. There was no other way to quiet him down but by a quick roll in the bed -- which I wouldn't have done if I hadn't enjoyed it so much myself. After that I decided the only way to escape his roaming hands was to tie them on his back and while I was doing it I also tied his elbows tightly together to push his bosom further out.

Then I told him the set consisted of three more items: a panty, a garterbelt and a slip and proceeded to put these on him too, so that I could see how they harmonized with each other. Without waiting for an answer and thereby cutting off all protests, I snapped the garterbelt shut over his hips and drew the panties up over his legs. On the way up however, I again encountered a rather large obstacle that in no way would fit into the small panties. However, I immediately took it into my hands to remove this obstacle and reduce it to more manageable proportions -- evidently much to the delight of my model, who stopped complaining instantly.

After the garterbelt and the panties were in place, I observed that the straps hung loose and the garterbelt had a tendency to ride up to the waist and I would never be able to see correctly the complementing lines of it and the panty. So I told him he would have to put on some stockings that I could fasten to the garterbelt. Surprisingly enough, this endeavor was carried out without any protests but again the panty came within inches of being ripped apart from a raising inner tension and I immediately had to attend to this problem with hands and mouth to prevent serious damage.

After a while, I had everything under control again and made him parade up and down the room. He made such a cute and sexy girl now that his male equipment was out of sight that I could hardly keep myself from flinging myself into bed with her. I noticed that his nipples were still quite hard and erect. Obviously and contrary to his complaints, he still was quite excited in spite of having being drained three times in such a short period. His nature seemed to play directly into my hands. Mentally and intellectually he may have been opposed to it, finding it unbecoming to a man and opposed to everything he foresaw for his life, but there was no denying the obvious signs of sensual excitement that the wearing of the feminine garments caused him.

I already had set the trap and this discovery assured me that finally there would be no really strong opposition when the trap was sprung.

This evening I made him don the short slip too and had him wear the ensemble for the rest of the evening. To prevent him from tearing the stockings I even made him wear my mules which possessed feathery pompons and had two inch spiked heels, which he was able to manage perfectly. In this getup he was the perfect girl, cute figure, sexily dressed and very seductive. All it needed now was some makeup and another hairdo. However, I did not want to put too much pressure on him too quickly. I wanted to let it sink in a little, getting him used to the feeling of the lingerie, the stockings, and the heels before I set out to achieve my next goals.

The next morning I persuaded him to wear the ensemble under his male clothes explaining to him that I had to know how the items wore during a normal day, if they pinched, chafed the skin or changed position or what else they might do. As he was always easily persuaded by logical reasoning, he soon gave in after I had told him, that nobody could possibly detect it under his jeans and the heavy and wide sweatshirt he usually wore. I made him wear it for several days, always making him wash and dry it over night, explaining, that I had to know how the materials chosen responded to the washing and if they would change their size or texture or lose their color or form.

After a few days, I had made another set in a different color and the design a little different from the first and started the whole process over again until I had made him wear four different sets.

By now this kind of underwear almost came naturally to him and he put it on in the morning without much thinking about it. Of course, I stored the sets in his drawers. One day, I removed his jockey shorts telling him I would look through them if they needed repairing. I would do it for him as he was helping me so much with my lingerie project. I put them all in a basket and succeeded in ruining them thoroughly when I spilled a quart of latex- based paint on them, accidentally -- of course -- and only because he had startled me by unexpectedly entering while I was standing on the ladder repairing some painting at the upper window.

As he was wearing one of my lingerie sets that day, all of his own underwear was ruined and he had nothing but the lingerie sets I had made to wear until we could go to town the next time and buy some male stuff. Of course, we never got around to that and he never wore anything but the finest female underwear from this day on. On the contrary, I had prepared to put him into dresses completely very soon, again in a way that seemed purely accidental and he was in no position to resist it. To make it work, I had to enlist the help of my mother and the other girls at least to the degree that they kept quiet for whatever unusual might happen.

*

One day it was announced that our whole class would go to Florence in Italy to visit the museums and a famous Italian shoe designer and see his factory. We would go by bus very early in the morning to the Nice airport and fly by chartered plane to Florence and return the next day. Everybody was very excited about this excursion and the girls endlessly discussed what they should wear. They wanted to be elegant but not overdressed and as there was dinner scheduled in Florence, the problem was what to wear that was not too conspicuous during the daytime and still dressy enough for a dinner at one of Florence's elegant restaurants. Well, I had no such problem. I planned on wearing grey slacks and a blazer over a white shirt and at night simply add a tie -- things really are easy for a man, I thought and pitied the girls. Sylvia helped me and got everything ready the night before. She even brushed out the blazer and the slacks and hung them on the side of the large cupboard. Then she suggested I might want to refresh my summer tan a little bit and set me in front of the sun lamp before going to bed.

In the morning, however, disaster struck me. My face was burning like fire. I had evidently gotten too much radiation from the sun lamp. I called Sylvia who confirmed this. She immediately suggested that she would put on a soothing lotion and use special creams on the most sensitive portions of my face, the eyes and the lips, which would also protect me from further sunburn while we were walking around in Florence. I was glad that she was so competent and active and gladly reclined in the chair, closed my eyes and let her go to work. The lotion stopped the burning soon enough and I felt her creaming my eyes and lips, finishing with a peculiar tasting fluid on the lips which she explained was a sealing coat that would prevent the protective cream to be rubbed off while having breakfast or lunch.

As we were already very late, I jumped to get my slacks and coat only to discover another catastrophe. When hanging up the clothes Sylvia must have accidentally overturned a bottle containing liquid rubber which I had used for pasting together some drawings and left on the cupboard. Evidently the cap had fallen off during the night and the gum had dripped all over the blazer and the slacks. They certainly could not be cleaned in time for our departure -- if at all. Well, I would have to wear one of my usual jeans and sweatshirt outfits and maybe get some other stuff in Florence. When I was looking for my things, Sylvia informed me, that she had sent them all out the night before when I sat under the lamp, because I would not need them today and they all truly needed washing. That really crushed me: I really had looked forward to this excursion and now I sat there with not a stitch to wear.

But Sylvia came to my rescue. She would lend me one of her stretch pants and a pullover to go with them. However, I had trouble getting into them. Sylvia again knew a way out: I should first put on nylon stockings so that the legs of the stretch material could slide up on the slippery nylon. I did and it worked. However, I could not close the pants at the waist. About three inches were missing. When Sylvia saw it, she exclaimed "Oh, I forgot, I always wore these with my waist-cincher -- let me get it and put it on you and you will be able to close it easily." She went and came back with what I can only describe as a real corset. On the outside it was black lace but the inner part was a very strong pink material with heavy boning. It had a front opening and laced in the back. Sylvia clasped it around me from behind and asked me to draw in my stomach as far as I could. Then we both tried to close the front busk. It took some doing but Sylvia explained, that first the skin had to be drawn to the front by this because when closing the lacing in the back, it would automatically been drawn back again. If it was just laced in the back for the whole distance, the skin would be drawn too far back at the sides and in the back and it would be squeezed into the lacing and hurt.

Well, what could I do, I surrendered to her doings and let her lace me into the damned thing until I could hardly breathe anymore. I was sure I could not put up with this for the whole day but once we were in Florence I was sure I could run into a store and buy some decent clothes. The wretched thing had another unwelcome effect: it pushed my breasts in from the sides and up and made them stand out more without covering them. Fortunately, the pullover she gave me was a large affair which camouflaged this and my corseted waist effectively. Featuring a large stand-up collar, it reached down to my thighs so very little of the gleaming stretch pants, which looked like painted on, could actually been seen. I slipped into some western boots and was ready.

I helped Sylvia to get ready and we rushed out to the bus where everybody was already seated. We got in at the back door and sat down on the last bench thoroughly exhausted. When we got out and into the plane I thought I received some curious glances from the other girls, but nobody said a word about my strange get-up, they were all very nice about it.

In Florence we went to see the famous dome first, because the teacher accompanying us had explained, that in former times the painters of the ecclesiastical pictures clad the saints and other figures in their paintings in the fashions of their day and that way we had a very reliable source of information about the clothes of each period.

I was stopped, however, at the entrance by a guard with a deluge of Italian which I did not understand at all. All I could make out was "Signorina" and "non permesso". Our guide came to my help and she explained, that she had been afraid this would happen, when she saw me, but had hoped I would slip by among the others. It was not allowed for girls or women to wear pants to church and, therefore, I was denied entrance. When I was about to explain that I was not a girl, Sylvia took me aside and said "There is no use arguing with him. To him you look like a girl -- period. If you tell him you aren't, how can you prove it in the middle of all the people around here? And what will he say if you should convince him? Let's face it, you are wearing my clothes. Come on, let's get you something different to put on." I could not agree more with her and immediately followed her across the square. However, she entered a very chic boutique, pointed at a mannequin in the window and said to the saleslady "We want this outfit as it is, completely, I am sure it will fit her."

"Hey -- wait a minute, this is a dress, I am not going to wear a dress, this is the wrong store, let's get out of here!" I objected. "So you don't want to wear a dress. What else do you think you can wear to make the guard let you pass. Look into the mirror over there and tell me!" And she turned me around to face a mirror. I got the shock of my life: I looked into the perfectly made up face of a young woman, makeup base, blusher on the cheekbones, light blue eyeshadow and a vivid pink lipstick. I turned around angrily: "Why did you do this to me?" "I had to -- you were suffering from that sunburn and I had no other medication except my cosmetics. They are clinically tested to soothe your skin and help to heal minor irritations like you had this morning. I had to protect your skin from further sunburn and this was the only way to do it."

"Well I have had enough of your kind of kinky medication, let's just wash it off now and get me some male clothes."

"If you think you can just wash it off, you have another thing coming: this makeup is waterproof and can only be removed with a special cleansing lotion. Particularly the lipstick. I already have told you that I put a special sealing coat over it. The makeup will stay on until we get home and I can take it off with the special cleanser. Today your face and body look like a girl's and you better dress accordingly or you will be the laughing stock for all of Florence."

I was completely dumfounded when the truth of what she had said finally dawned on me. There was no escape now. I had to give in. I let her lead me to the back into a changing room and started to undress. I had hoped to at least be able to get out of the constriction of the corset but it soon turned out, that the outfit Sylvia had selected was a perfect fit with the corset. I did not have the power left in me to protest any longer. I felt like a calf being led to slaughter.

The outfit Sylvia had chosen consisted of a narrow black skirt of a linen like structure following the lines of my body closely, reaching to just below my calves and extending for about four inches above the waist which was marked and accented by a narrow red leather belt. The top was a deep red organza blouse with lots of vertical pleats and a high collar reaching almost to my chin. The blouse was buttoned on the back and a big bow of the same material was knotted in front at my throat. I slipped on a bolero jacket over it just reaching to the upper edge of the skirt with sleeves reaching just over the elbows. It was of the same color as the blouse but of a heavy raw silk, collarless and exquisitely tailored.

I had taken off my boots when I slipped into the narrow skirt and now wanted to put them on again. Sylvia intercepted this and brought me a pair of red patent leather flats with a black silk flower on each of them. I tried to slip them on, but the corset prevented me from bending down enough. The saleslady came to my help with a shoe horn and I managed to get them on.

"You should thank me for selecting flats with all the running around we have to do today. I could have selected these here."

Sylvia showed me a pair of black suede slippers with extremely high heels. And it sounds funny, but at that moment I really was grateful that she had shown mercy for me. It did not occur to me that without her machinations I would never have been in this fix anyway.

She thrust a pair of black suede gloves into my hands. "Put them on carefully." I did and they were long enough to disappear into my sleeves.

"Now in addition to this, we want to take this little bustier and these long gloves. And -- I almost forgot the hat."

With that she took a large black straw hat of the kind that Florence is famous for and motioned me over to a chair. She loosened the string around my hair and with practiced skill brushed it out and brought the end up under the other hair. She then tied it high at my neck with a black silk ribbon and fashioned a little bow on the outside. She spread the loop that she had created to the sides to give it more volume. Finally she adjusted the large hat upon my head and fastened it with three long and dangerous looking hatpins.

"Voila! here you are, ready for a fashion show runway. Perfect!"

While she was busy with my hair the saleslady had already wrapped up the other items she had selected and run her credit card through the machine. In a second she had signed and we were out on the street.

I could not resist the urge to glimpse into the mirror next to the door while she was signing the credit card slip. I could not believe what I saw: A young woman, not a girl anymore, an elegant, sophisticated young woman, dressed to the nines in perfect taste. I was shocked -- it was unbelievable. And the whole operation hat not taken longer than six or seven minutes.

It was only after we were out on the street again that I came to my senses. At first I was afraid that everybody would see through my disguise and read me as the man that I was. But I only saw admiring glances from the men and interested, sometimes even envious looks on the faces of the women. And when I recalled what I had seen in the mirror, I knew, that nobody could even have a suspicion of the truth.

We walked back to our little group with me trying to adjust my stride to the confining skirt that did not even have a vent in it to make walking easier. It really forced me to take small steps. "Walk from the hips, don't just throw your legs around. Move your behind in unison with your legs." Sylvia coached me. I tried it and soon got the hang of it and was not hampered by the skirt so much as before.

When we reached our class, Sylvia presented me saying: "May I introduce to you the entirely new and improved RENEE!" We were received with a round of applause and even the teacher mentioned something about a remarkable amelioration of my outward appearance. I could not believe it. Everybody knew I was a man but took it as absolutely normal that I was dressed as a woman. Crazy people these fashion people. All they obviously cared about was that I looked good, no matter what sex my dress proclaimed and whether it clashed with my real sex. All that mattered to them was my faultless outward appearance. And in this respect -- I must concede -- not even the harshest critic could have found any fault with me at that time.

Well, we did our tour through the dome and the famous Ufficii palace and then had lunch. Everybody was very glad to be able to sit down for a while. I had a little trouble sitting down and managed only after pulling the skirt up a little but still the tight corset made me uncomfortable. I ate very little and sat very straight.

Afterwards we were driven to the studio of a famous shoe designer and his factory. The maestro received us after our tour through the factory and held a colloquium on shoe design. He commented on the different styles and showed us how a design was turned into the final product.

Somebody -- I am not sure, but I think it was Sylvia -- asked him what he thought of high heels and he explained that at all times high heels were regarded as a method of beautifying the legs of the wearer. Even men used it in the era of the "culottes" at the French court. He wanted to prove his theory with a practical example and called me to the front.

"Here you see a very elegant pair of flat shoes and Mademoiselle (he was addressing me) certainly made an excellent choice for the purpose of today. She would probably not have been able to walk everywhere as she did today with high heels and if she had tried it, it would certainly have caused her great distress. She had to reach a compromise between the practical requirements of her day and sheer beauty. No doubt she did the right thing and I urge you to follow her example. But let me show you what a pair of high heels can do to her legs."

He motioned me to a chair and knelt down at my feet to take off my flats and put on a pair of shoes with extremely high heels made of black suede with red patent leather inserts. He helped me to my feet again and had to steady me. I almost would have fallen on my face. I was perched almost on tiptoe, had to straighten my knees and stand very straight. He led me up a few steps to some kind of a runway that crossed the room and urged me to walk up and down on it. I had some difficulty in doing it, but the maestro explained, that it is not easy to walk in heels of this height and it would take some practice.

When he asked the group if they did not think the high heels were a considerable improvement to the beauty of my legs, he provoked another round of applause. He ended his demonstration saying to me that he apologized for any inconvenience or embarrassment he may have caused me and that I would delight him very much if I would accept the shoes I was now wearing as a form of reparation and he would be enthralled if I would continue to wear them today.

In line with the role I had to play I thanked him profusely and cautiously stepped down from the runway. The maestro bade us all farewell and we got back into our bus to be driven to the restaurant for dinner. At first I had some difficulties walking in the high heels but with the coaching of Sylvia in the form of a few pinches in my backside I managed to walk quite naturally.

At first we were driven to the hotel where we would spend the night. It was beautifully located on the bank of the Arno river with a great view on the famous 'Ponte Vecchio', the 'Ancient Bridge'. All the girls rushed to their rooms at once to prepare for the night out.

In our room Sylvia unpacked her little bag and prepared herself, letting me just stand there. I actually preferred to stand a little after sitting in the bus. When she had changed, she looked delicious in a bright yellow sleeveless cocktail dress with a flaring skirt and a large collar framing her tanned shoulders. Sylvia turned to me: "Now let's get you ready."

With that she loosened the bow at my throat and told me to turn around. She unbuttoned my blouse and took it off. She also took off the skirt and told me to go to the bathroom. When I got back, she made me step into the skirt again and close its zipper in the back. In the meantime she dug into the bag that she had brought from the boutique and brought out a red strapless top made of the finest leather. She put it around me and hooked it shut on the back. It was cut so that my breasts were only half covered. Around my throat she snapped a wide red band made from the same leather with a large sparkling rhinestone clip in the front. She clipped long dangling rhinestone pendants to my ears and gave me the long black suede gloves to put on. When I had smoothed them up my arms Sylvia buttoned them at the wrists. They were so tight that I couldn't have done it myself. They reached almost to my shoulders. Around my wrists she fastened wide sparkling rhinestone bracelets.

With my large hat, the dangling, glittering earrings, the wide leather collar in contrast to the bare shoulders and breasts, which seemed ready to jump out of their confinement at any moment and my arms covered by the long gloves, I was again a daring vision from an extravagant fashion magazine. I was glad that Sylvia let me put on the bolero jacket again, for I felt really naked and exposed in my diminutive top. I was already beginning to feel like a woman. As a man I shouldn't have cared at all if anybody saw my chest but the dress had changed my outlook on the world: I felt like a woman already.

When we got into the bus again to be driven to the restaurant, our little group had completely changed its appearance: all the girls wore something dressy, almost formal.

The restaurant turned out to be what in France we call a "diner- dansant" a restaurant where people go to eat and dance. It was very elegant and we did not feel out of place in our finery. The men all wore tuxedos or dinner-jackets, the women all wore at least cocktail dresses, some even long stylish dinner dresses.

We were seated at a long table and had a very good view of the room. To my embarrassment Sylvia asked me to take off my bolero jacket as soon as we sat down. It was as if she had waved a signal flag: the minute I had deposited my jacket on the backrest of my chair, a young man came up and asked me to dance. I couldn't very well decline as several other girls were also asked and accepted.

Well, here I was, a young man in the finest feminine feathers imaginable dancing with another man. I was a good dancer but I was used to leading, not to being led. It was an absolutely new sensation to me. I really felt like giving up my own will, just holding on to my man and letting myself be carried away. Of course, my clinging tightly to him was also a precaution against stumbling with my unaccustomed high heels. However, it was not an altogether unpleasant feeling to dance with him. You could even say I enjoyed being a girl in these moments.

I was glad, however, when our dinner was served and we had to return to our table as he was beginning to get amorous and I wanted to avoid any situation which I didn't know how to handle.

Dinner was pleasant, but after we finished we all were very tired and glad to go back to the hotel.

The next morning I pleaded with Sylvia to go out and get me some male clothes but she flatly refused. She simply said she had enjoyed seeing me dressed as I was yesterday and I should continue for another day. Anyway, she reasoned, these rags were expensive and we deserved getting some more mileage out of them.

Well, what could I do. I could not go naked to the street to buy something, if I wanted to leave the hotel, I had to wear what I had worn yesterday. There was no escape without Sylvia's help. After some muttering about her bitchiness I had to give in to her and let her dress me in the outfit we had bought yesterday.

*

Victory! Victory! I had succeeded better than I had imagined in my wildest dreams. Renee (I shall use the feminine form of his name from now on and generally refer to him in the feminine gender, because to refer to him as a man now would be completely inappropriate) not only had worn the feminine outfit selected for her, but carried out the deception in a marvelous way. All through the day she had been the epitome of elegant feminine deportment. The original clothes horse. Of course, everything had been scrupulously planned ahead: I had asked my mother to go to Florence a week before and prepare everything: The guards at the dome, the guide (the church had long ago accepted women in pants, they only frowned upon nakedness now), the people at the boutique who prepared the mannequin in the window with the things my mother had selected for Renee, which then were changed to Renee's exact measurements I had given her. Nothing was left to coincidence, not even the high heels demonstration at the studio of the shoe designer and the 'present' of the shoes which curiously matched Renee's outfit in color and style perfectly. I thought the perfection of everything could give us away, but evidently she had taken everything at face value.

At night at the hotel I told her I would only let her out of the tight corset if she would agree to be a girl all through the night and wear a nightgown. She was in no condition to object to anything at that time. I even made her promise to wear the same things the next day, but she wanted to back out of this in the morning.

I did not relent, naturally and so she was dressed again in her new feminine finery. Just as the day before when I laced her into the corset for the first time, I took great pains to hide her cock under the front busk which reached down almost to her crotch. I did not want any embarrassing bulges to appear during the day, giving her away. As on the day before her cock was hard as rock during the lacing, but I left it that way and just continued. This way the cock would have its maximum dimensions while the corset was being laced, and if she was aroused later on, it could just grow into its former position without hurting her. The corset was, of course, specially made for her, I would never have subjected myself to something so restricting. It had a row of holes in the front and in the back to which a strap could be connected which would go between the legs and could hold her masculine equipment folded back between the legs. This method of hiding it had its advantages: she could go to the bathroom alone and sit down to pee, while with the other method I had to accompany her and help her to get the plumbing out and stowed away correctly. However, she was much too easily aroused now and folding it back and securing it there would cause her terrible aches and I did not intend to be this cruel.

For trying to persuade me to let her off her promise of the evening before I added a new dimension to her femininity: before we left I had a girl come up to our room from the hairdresser in the hotel and give her a comb out and a new hairstyle as well as a manicure.

As her nails were rather short and nothing really could be done with them I asked the girl to lengthen them artificially so that they extended for about half an inch beyond the finger tips, sculpture and color them in the same shade of red as the bolero and the blouse. Renee cringed when I asked the girl to do it, but when the girl started to work on her nails, she gave in for fear of an argument with me which would reveal her predicament to the girl, and remained silent in her role of an elegant young woman.

While the girl was busy with her hands and nails, I already occupied myself with perfecting her makeup. Her eyebrows were a little too scraggly and thick for my taste. I knew that the fashion now was going more for the natural line and I had seen pictures of models in Vogue and Bazaar with really heavy eyebrows. I was not, therefore, too disturbed by the appearance of her brows yesterday -- even in their natural way they looked feminine enough -- at least after I had smoothed them down a bit with my lotions when I secretly had made up his face in the morning. But they certainly could be improved.

I wanted a wider distance between them and a higher curve. So I started on them with my tweezers. Renee did not dare to protest in the presence of the girl. However, a few times in the beginning she tried to move her head away. A short, but evidently very painful jerk upwards on her earlobes soon curbed her objections and she let me continue until I thought the eyebrows were perfectly shaped. I had deliberately taken a little more off on the lower side than was, in fact, necessary, but I added some fullness on the upper side with the eyebrow pencil, giving her brows a marvelous high arch, which added an aristocratic appearance to her face.

I then proceeded with the blusher on her cheekbones and finished by giving her very full, sensual looking lips with a fiery red, wet looking lipstick. I enhanced the sexy look of her lips by just ever so slightly going over the natural edges of the lips creating a very round cupid's bow. She looked so sexy with this that I really had to restrain myself from kissing her on the spot and ruining the whole effort.

With her newly beautified hands I did not let her wear her gloves. I wanted to show off the new addition to her femininity to all the other girls. As we would have to do a lot of walking, I let her put on her flats.

From the hotel we walked the short distance to the Ponte Vecchio where we crossed the river to go to see the Museum at the Palazzo Pitti. The Ponte Vecchio is not only a bridge, it is also a fantastic market for jewelry. On both sides of the bridge are little shops with an unbelievable selection. No vehicles are allowed on the bridge and it is like visiting a mall for jewelers only. I started bickering with one of the jewelers for some pieces that had caught my fancy.

I told Renee that I wanted to make up for everything I had done to her in the last days and give her a present. As I wanted to make it a secret until I had finally decided what to take, I asked her to turn around and put her arms on her back to enable me to try out the different items without her seeing what it was. I selected two golden bracelets, broad rings actually, which were hinged on one side and closed with an almost invisible lock on the opposite side. They went closely around her wrists.

Furthermore I selected a ring for her. However, this was no single ring but rather four rings interleaving each other. I paid and had the bracelets packed into a little bag. The ring I divided by taking two of the interleaved rings and slipped them onto Renee's ring finger on the right hand. The other interleaved two rings were standing up on the outer side of the finger. Before she could suspect any foul play, I had slipped her left ring finger into these rings. Her hands were suddenly locked together behind her back by the interleaving rings and try as she might she was not able to get them off. Her hands were securely tied behind her back.

I did not mind her protests, just pointed out it would be unwise to attract too much attention in public. However, she continued her muttering until we reached the far end of the bridge. I detected a candy store there and went and got some lollipops the size of about a ping-pong ball. I broke off the stick of one and shoved the candy ball into her mouth, completely filling it, as I had expected.

"Now here is something to sweeten your life a little bit. And I don't want to hear any complaining any more (which was unlikely anyhow because the candy effectively gagged her). And don't you dare spit it out or I will take one of your hat-pins and run it right through your ass -- the whole length of it!"

She knew I would do it too and immediately was quite subdued. I just walked on and let her follow me. As long as she walked calmly, she knew nobody would pay any special attention to her and neither her sweet gag nor her secret manacles could not be noticed by any casual observer.

I do not know how long the candy lasted, but it certainly was more than two hours and then she had to keep the empty stick in her mouth, because she