When It Blows, All Cats Are Grey free porn video

When It Blows, All Cats Are Gray By Brandy Dewinter Chris Stevenson looked up from the analysis he was working on to let his eyes rest on his roommate. She was certainly, as always, a sight for sore eyes. Karen Ashley was just about the prettiest girl on the Smithfield College campus, slender and graceful, with flowing golden blonde hair. For about the ten millionth time, Chris thought about how lucky he was, not only to share a house with this co-ed goddess, but even a bed. Their first meeting had been about as inauspicious a start to a close relationship as he could have imagined. Chris had been enroute from the local Nerds-R-Us department, also known as Engineering, and hadn't been paying attention to where he was going. When he got to the humanities area (even engineers need to take a few "soft" courses), he literally bumped into Karen. They had dropped their books, then bumped heads again when they bent to recover them. It could have been the worst moment of his not-very-spectacular life, but it had tickled Karen's sense of humor and they had started laughing together. It turned out they were in the same class, a course in Properties of Fabrics that Chris had selected because it sounded like his Properties of Materials courses and might be technical enough to be interesting. She was taking it in support of her Fashion Design major. The course had turned out to be laughably easy, for an engineer, but there were a few math problems dealing with the elasticity of fabrics and the amount of material required for various patterns. Karen had found even these simple exercises to be a challenge and had turned to Chris for help. After a few study sessions Karen had realized that Chris was actually a creative person, and "sensitive" like 90's guys are supposed to be, for all his painfully shy, awkwardly nervous engineering appearance. He had been genuinely interested in her problems and never made her feel foolish even when they were working on the most basic mathematics problems. On his part, Chris fell madly in love with his beautiful companion, a love that started out as the desire of a nerd for a goddess and grew even more compelling as he realized that she was also not making fun of his lack of social graces. When an opportunity opened up to rent an apartment near campus, Karen decided she'd ask Chris to share expenses with her. He'd been puppy-dog-grateful for the chance and always did more than his share of the housework. Karen tolerated his crush on her with good grace, a bit flattered by the adoration, but only a bit since he was pretty much of a geek. One day, though, she decided to help him to be a little more proud of himself. He had a long ways to go. Chris was short, only about 5'8", the same height as Karen. Further, Chris was slightly built. He probably outweighed her 118 pounds by a little, since a man's bones are typically stronger, but only by a little. His muscle tone was poor, his muscle bulk non-existent, and the obligatory engineer eyeglasses were selected for functional utility, not attractiveness. About the only things he had going for him were a fastidious personal style that kept him always squeaky clean, and richly dark hair (at least on the top, where it wasn't so short you could see skin through his haircut). His eyes were a washed-out bluish-gray that were remarkable only in that you would expect someone with such dark hair to have dark eyes, but his were so pale they seemed colorless. Karen, on the other hand, had learned to maximize her natural beauty across the whole range of personal development. She was a martial arts instructor and a serious yoga student. These studies had given her a flowing grace and balance that lifted the beauty of her already-shapely form into pure poetry whenever she moved. Classes in support of her major had included training in color and shapes that she had used to select flattering clothes and artful, exquisitely sophisticated makeup styles. She decided to use these skills to perform a makeover on Chris, just as serious as she might use for a woman, but constrained by the limits of men's fashions. In addition, she enrolled him in her yoga classes and started to teach him some of the less-violent movements of her martial arts. Chris responded to her guidance with the focused attention he put into his engineering projects, multiplied by his overwhelming desire to please Karen. Under her tutelage his body became toned and fit, though he never did add much muscle bulk. The sorts of things that Karen studied weren't much good for that, anyway. When he was ready, Karen had Chris get contact lenses, tinted to make his nondescript eyes a brilliant royal blue that matched her own. She had him let his hair grow out to a length that could be styled, though still short enough that it wasn't out of place among his fellow engineers. After they had been living together for about 3 months, Karen finally took him to bed. Now that was a pleasant surprise. His thoroughly average appearance had concealed a decided non-average set of masculine equipment. No thicker than she might have expected, perhaps, but long enough to make up for it. Longer in fact, than any lover she had ever had. Karen was his first, of course, and she had to tell him just about everything that she wanted him to do. That was good for both of them because he was quite willing to do whatever he could to please her and approached that problem as obsessively as he had approached everything else. Under her guidance, he had blossomed into a quite attractive man, handsome to look at, smooth with controlled power when in motion, attentive and sensitive in relationships. His devotion to her never wavered, but after another 3 months they were more like equals in their friendship than goddess and geek. He was no longer a nerd and her respect for him had lifted them to a sounder, more enduring companionship. "You're staring at me," Karen accused him gently, noticing his distracted gaze. "Yes," he smiled unapologetically. "What were you thinking about?" she asked. His smile got a little more serious, a little more profound, "Oh, just about how we met, and how much I've changed since we met." Karen giggled as she let her memory drift back to earlier times, "You were such a geek!" "I know. I still would be, if you hadn't come into my life." "Probably," she agreed. "But you're looking good now." "Thanks to you. You know, I owe you a lot. I wish there was some way I could repay you," Chris said quietly, now completely serious. A strange light came into Karen's eyes as she pushed to confirm the expression she saw on his face, heard in his voice, "Are you serious?" "Completely," he affirmed. "Would you be willing to do something for me that might embarrass you?" she prodded. "As long as I don't get arrested, or if I do, as long as you'll make bail," he smiled, but wrote her out about as blank a check as he could cash. "Look, back before I met you I used to be embarrassed most of the time. Now, I feel good about myself. You've built quite a bank account of prevented embarrassment by the ways you've helped me. So if you need to draw on that account a little, or even a lot, well, you've got it coming." Chris continued, "You do have me curious, though, what is this mysterious, possibly embarrassing thing you want me to do?" Karen stared out the window for a moment, obviously a bit uncomfortable about the request she was considering. Chris stood up from his study table and walked over to her, leaning close for a quick kiss and then massaging her shoulders. "Come on, gorgeous. It can't be that bad." She looked up at him with a look of thanks for his encouragement, then smiled and said, "I want you to be my model for my Fashion As Art project." "Me, a model? I'm too short and too thin," he said, not refusing, just not sure how to meet her needs. "Actually, you'd be perfect for what I have in mind," she assured him. "What do you have in mind?" Again, Karen was reluctant to answer directly. Instead, she asked him a question of her own, "Do you trust me?" "Sure, you've never steered me wrong so far." "Well, this is a bit different than anything we've done. The project is to use fashion to make an artistic statement. I found out that about half the students in class will be using a male model in some sort of women's clothes. Those who are using men want to make a tired old feminist complaint against the things men expect us to do for fashion. I want to go beyond that, way beyond that. I want to make a statement that even men would look good in the right clothes, especially if society's limits were eliminated. So good, in fact, that it is the men who are held back by fashion, not women. I want to make you look like a beautiful woman and then dress you in something that is both flattering and unusual. I want to make everyone think my statement is completely at the level they can see, in your clothes and actions, then show them that there is an even deeper, more profound statement as well when we reveal that you are a man. You'd have to be completely convincing as a woman, right up until the unveiling. Completely convincing, and as a beautiful woman," she repeated. Chris gulped a little and asked, "Do you think I could pull it off? I'm not even pretty, let alone beautiful, and I wouldn't know how to act. Even my voice is too deep." "If you'll trust me and do whatever I tell you, we can do this," Karen said firmly. If there was any doubt lurking behind her shining eyes, she didn't let any of it into her voice. "Okay, love, whatever you say," Chris grinned, thinking that he could put up with just about anything for one night. His self-confidence had increased to the point that something that would have made him die on the spot with self-conscious embarrassment, even before it happened, was now a bit of a lark. "When is this 'project' due?" he asked. "Not for about a month, but I'll need to get started immediately. I'll also need a lot of your measurements. In fact, we might as well do that, now. Strip" she smiled. Karen stood up and went to her sewing table. Many of her fashion design assignments involved actual construction of clothes and she was used to developing patterns for whatever apparel was needed. Chris, though, was not used to being used as a clothes dummy, especially while nude, and even less used to being measured as Karen decided was necessary. She took relaxed and tensioned measurement of arms and legs, exhaled and inhaled chest measurements, range of motion measurements as he bent to touch his palms to the floor and then stretch toward the ceiling, and a host of others. However, he drew the line when she started to make measurements of his cock. "Now, wait a minute!" he said in surprise. "What are you doing?" "The costume I have in mind might show a bulge, if I don't take care of it. I need to see how big of a problem that will be." "Keep handling me like that and you'll see how big it can be." "Promise?" she grinned. With that incentive, her handling of his cock became even more compelling. She giggled and wrapped her glossy lips around the tip. Chris's tower grew rapidly with this inducement, and in a few minutes his knees were starting to buckle as he moved closer and closer to the point of no return. Just before he got there, though, she pulled back and started taking new measurements. He was so close to coming that his mind didn't register the loss of stimulation for a second. When he did, his groan was so plaintive that Karen relented, finished her measurements, and moved her moist lips back to his pulsing pole. This time, she gave him the relief he had earned, casually swallowing his cream as she usually did. Chris managed to keep from collapsing, barely, though his knees were shaking and he had to hang onto the sewing table. "There," Karen laughed, "satisfied?" Chris was still too short on breath to do more than nod, but after a few minutes he recovered, got dressed, and then went over to her work table. "So, what sort of design are you working on?" he asked. "I'm thinking of a catsuit, maybe in leather," she said. That didn't help Chris much, "What's a catsuit?" "It's a one-piece outfit that fits from neck to feet. My idea will be very form-fitting, but not see-through. I have a couple of special ideas as well, but they'll be a surprise," she teased. It was clear that Chris wanted to know more about the outfit, but his newly fit and supple body would look good in a tight, form-fitting outfit so he didn't think that would be too bad. It might be hard to make him look like a woman in one, though. "Class dismissed," Professor Warren said. "Miss Ashley, could you stay for just a moment?" Karen looked up in surprise. She had noticed Professor Warren looking at her quite intensely through several of her Fashion As Art classes, but he had never treated her any differently than the other students. At least, not until now. She stood up and walked to the front of the room, her books clutched protectively across her shapely bosom. The other students filed out quickly, a few of the prettier girls grinning with a knowing smile. Karen didn't notice them, but she would soon wish she had paid better attention. "How is your project coming, Miss Ashley?" the professor began with a normal tone, on a seemingly-innocuous topic. "Fine," she replied. "I have an idea, and a model lined up. I'll be ready." "Good. Good," he said in a funny way, as though he didn't really care. Then he continued. "You know, I sense some real potential in you, in your work. Your questions in class show you have a better-than-normal grasp of what art really means, especially as expressed in clothes. You could do very well as a fashion designer, with the right coaching." Karen was starting to get a bit nervous now. This line of comments was flattering but she had heard flattering comments before, usually from a guy that was hitting on her. Professor Warren had turned away from her now, though, seemingly just musing to himself. "Thank you, Professor, I appreciate that," she finally said. "Would you like a little coaching?" he asked, still nonchalant, still facing away. "Well," she tried to find some way to decline without making him angry, "I think I have my current ideas pretty well together. Maybe after the semester is over." "Miss Ashley, I always knew you were a smart girl. It seems, though, that you don't think I'm very smart," he said as he turned to face her. Karen looked down in shock, then in derision as she saw the professor's erect member poking through the fly of his pants. It wasn't anything to be proud of, that was for sure. "You're obviously trying to put me off until you get your grade for this class," he continued. "Since you won't do this the easy way, let me make myself clear. I want a blowjob from you. If you do, I'll give you an A and also a glowing letter of recommendation to take with you for your job search. If you don't, well, I won't flunk you since that would be too obvious, but your gradepoint average will certainly suffer." "You can't do this!" Karen cried. "I'll tell the dean!" Professor Warren's smile was cruel and gloating, "Go right ahead. You won't be the first woman that has tried to use her looks to cover up for inadequate artistic talent. You propositioned me and I refused. Then you tried to get back at me with a false and slanderous claim. It will be your story against mine and the dean is a friend from way back. He's backed me before, when some pretty co-ed thought she could refuse me." Karen sagged against a student desk, clutching her books even more tightly to her breasts. Inside, she was furious, but she was also scared. This was an important class and she knew that Professor Warren had a reputation among top-notch fashion designers. Art was so subjective that it would be hard to prove he was biased either for or against her, so she would have a hard time convincing his friends that any grade he gave her was unfair. On the other hand, a good grade and a strong letter of recommendation would almost guarantee her a trial period with some of the top fashion design houses. "Can I have a while to think about it?" she stalled. "Sure," he grinned as he tucked his tiny tool away. "Take right up until the night the projects are displayed. If I get a blowjob from you by the time the party is over, you get your A and recommendation letter. If not . . ." Karen fled from the room, still furious, still scared. After a little while, though, her anger overpowered her fear and she started fuming to herself. "He can't do this to me. I won't let him get away with it. I'll figure out some way to get him to give me a good grade without sucking his puny dick." Her frustration reminded her of one of her earlier lovers. That lover had introduced her to mild bondage and she remembered the frustration of being helpless while bound to a bed or strapped into various restraints. At first, she had found it fascinating. Her body had responded with overwhelming intensity when she was helpless, as though surrendering external control had loosened internal controls that she hadn't even realized were holding her back. It helped that her introduction to bondage was reasonably benign since her lover wasn't into pain, though after a while forced lack of motion could get pretty uncomfortable. Since no harm was being done, after a few sessions where she was bound he agreed to be bound himself. That was when she had found her real interest. The feeling of being in control was even better than the incredible physical sensations of helpless sex. She had insisted more and more on being the dominant to his submissive. During one session, she had used a light riding crop she had bought without his knowledge to create an interesting pattern of marks on his ass and thighs, but that hadn't really added to her pleasure. She liked the control, not pain itself. Her lover had refused to be bound after that and they had broken up. Karen had bumped into Chris before she found another partner for her bondage scenes and his willingness to treat her like a goddess had been almost as good as physical control. Now, though, the feelings of frustration that Professor Warren had awakened in her had reminded her of an interest that had lain dormant for a long time. Much too long. Karen enjoyed living with Chris. He was still attentive to her, obviously devoted and in love with her. He had blossomed into a quite handsome young man, though still short and slight of build. Still, she didn't feel fulfilled and had been considering moving on. She just couldn't see a long term relationship with a man that wasn't strong enough to force her respect, nor submissive enough to let her dominate him. Now that Chris had developed well-deserved self-confidence, he was becoming less submissive than ever. Karen actually felt a bit of pride in her success at turning that geek into an attractive man, but she just wasn't satisfied. Then a flash of insight hit her and she saw a way to resolve both problems. A few modifications to her Fashion As Art project, and it would become a spectacular bondage outfit. If she could get Chris to wear it and submit to her dominance, then they might be able to change their relationship to something she would find more fulfilling. The proof of his submission, in the plot that was growing in her mind, could take care of Professor Warren as well. Karen hurried to the loft where students worked on fashion projects. She had her own sewing table at their apartment, but she had decided to make Chris's catsuit in leather and that took a special sewing machine. Since clothing materials could be quite expensive, especially in the great quantities of silks and brocades required for period costumes, Smithfield College provided cloth for student projects. Karen had obtained the necessary leather and other materials through the college and worked on her costume at the loft. Other than what she had told him, Chris didn't really know what was incorporated into her design and he wouldn't know that the modifications she had just dreamed up weren't part of the original concept. The time of the project display party approached rapidly. Chris had his own engineering projects to work on and had become so focused on them that he had forgotten his commitment to Karen, or at least forgotten when his marker would be called in. His first hint was when he saw a full-length hanging bag draped over a chair near Karen's work table when he walked into their apartment after a Friday lab period. He called to her in the kitchen where she was working, "What's this?" "It's your outfit, of course. Tonight's the big night," she said with a grin as she walked into the living room. "Already?" he gulped. "Yes. We just have time for a quick bit to eat, then we need to get dressed." Chris swallowed again, but then his self-confidence resurrected itself and he gave her a roguish grin. "Yes ma'am, whatever you say." "Remember that thought. I'll hold you to it," she warned. Shaking his head wryly, Chris walked back into the kitchen with her and helped prepare their meal. He was a bit surprised to find that he was looking forward to this adventure. He hadn't really been a transvestite, but with an introverted nerd's typical fascination with things that seemed beyond his reach, he had been curious about women's clothes. While he was growing up he had "experimented" a little with his mother's clothes, and then his older sister's. The experiments had never proceeded beyond trying on a few items of lingerie and a dress in private when he was alone in the house. His feet were small for a man and he had been able to wear their high-heeled shoes as well, finally learning how to walk in them with reasonable gracefulness. Actually, he had been more graceful in high heels than not, he now realized, since they had forced him to loosen up his hips when he walked instead of staying tightly controlled as his self-consciousness required when he was in his geek phase. That loose, controlled suppleness was now part of his normal walk (though without quite as much hip sway) since he had been studying yoga and martial arts. Chris had never experimented with makeup, though, and had always kept his hair short. Even the new, longer style he had adopted under Karen's guidance was still clearly masculine. He didn't think Karen's expertise could turn him into a beautiful girl, but he was willing, even anxious, to give it a try. He jerked when his reverie was interrupted by Karen. "Ready?" she asked with a grin, a grin that was surprisingly fierce, harder somehow in a way that was so subtle he didn't really realize it had affected him, yet made him a little uneasy. He put it down to the excitement of the adventure opening before him and nodded. "Okay, first, we go to the bathroom," she explained.. "I . . um . . don't really need your help for that," he blushed. "You do for what I want you to do," she insisted. "But go ahead and take care of your business first." Karen stood impatiently until she heard the stool flush, then walked in to see him standing there fully dressed. "Strip," she ordered, now a real order not optional guidance. He blushed again as he complied, feeling strangely vulnerable before the strength of personality she was showing. Something about that vulnerability excited him, though, and his respectable sword came to attention, sniffing for a moist sheath. A tiny bit of amusement crept into Karen's eyes at this sign of interest, though it was buried beneath the glittering feelings of power that were building within her. Her next order didn't seem very threatening, "Step into the shower." Her next action, though, was unexpected, at least by Chris. She took a pink can and began to spread a foaming cream over his body, everywhere below his neck. Everywhere, even around his still-hard erection and full sack. "Stand there until I come back for you," she said, and then left the room. Chris stood in the shower, wondering just what was going on. He hadn't seen the label on the can and he didn't know what the foam was. In a few minutes it started to itch, not badly, more of a tingle actually. Then it got worse. His skin started to feel crawly, as though the foam were alive. Sharp little stabs of overloading nerves caused his skin to twitch and jump uncontrollably. He had just about decided to call the whole thing off when Karen came back into the room, nude. Her hair was bound up in a shower cap but everything else was pure, unadulterated girl. "That should about do, rinse it off." He turned on the shower and stepped under the still-cold spray with grateful relief. Karen stepped into the shower with him and started to scrub his body with a rough sponge, making sure that every bit of foam was lifted from his skin. Having that beautiful co-ed with the body of a goddess working on him distracted Chris so much he didn't notice that all of his dark body hair was washing down the drain. He could hardly see himself anyway, since the small shower kept them so close together that his head was either on her shoulder, or crammed against the shower wall if she was working on his back. Finally Karen stepped out of the shower and Chris could look down at his body, his smooth, glistening, pinkly-scrubbed body. His body that had never seemed so naked before, right down to the still-erect manhood that protruded from his hairless crotch. "What was that stuff?" he gasped. "Hair remover, of course. I told you that you had to pass as a beautiful woman. This is only the first step." She pulled him from the shower and toweled him dry vigorously, almost asexually. At least, it didn't seem sexually motivated on her part, but Chris's sensitivity to her emotions had receded into the distance and he was captured by his own excitement. Seeing Karen rub his smooth body, muscles dancing lightly under her supple skin, was a thrilling combination of sensual pleasure in her touch and erotic imagination at the forbidden adventure of being turned into a woman. When Karen had him dry, she started dusting lightly scented powder over his body. "Do I really need that?" he complained. "You do if I say that you do," she answered curtly. Karen was really getting into her dominatrix personality by this time, impatient with complaints. Without another word she drew him to the living room where she unzipped the garment bag and Chris caught a glimpse of his outfit. That first impression was of vibrant colors, red and yellow, a bit of white. He noticed that the material was a softly tanned leather that looked almost alive even when unoccupied. Karen was about to reach for the suit when she noticed his still-rampant erection. "We can't have that," she decided. Karen pushed Chris to a seat on the couch and dropped to her knees between his legs. With casual efficiency she sucked his cock until he erupted into her mouth. Chris had never patronized a prostitute but that emotionless act made him think of a business arrangement, not something of love at all. Of course, it was fully at Karen's decision. Clearly, she was not prostituting herself for pay. If Chris had known of Professor Warren's demand he might have thought that Karen would do what the professor asked with that same detachment. He didn't understand, yet, what a tremendous difference there was between the lack of passion his suddenly dominant roommate displayed and the lack of desire on the part of a forced participant. While Chris was still catching his breath, Karen turned to the garment bag once again and drew out the long, one-piece catsuit. The dominant red and yellow colors were interlocked in a jagged pattern suggestive of leaping flames. The outfit screamed, "HOT!" with fiery intensity. It zipped down the back and Karen opened it, then positioned it for Chris to step into. As his foot entered the first leg opening, he felt a slickly smooth inner liner. Even as his toes were tasting the texture, Karen was explaining, "I lined it with silk. That will wick away any moisture if you sweat inside the leather. It also make is easier to get into, especially since I shaped the leather to fit very tightly. Your shaved and powdered body will slide in easier, too." Tight was right, Chris mused as he tried to get his foot past the constriction at the knee, then at the ankle. As his foot reached the bottom he realized that there were high heels embedded in the legs of the catsuit, as though it were a pair of more-than-thigh-high boots. Karen had incorporated short zippers at the back of each ankle so that his foot could slide into the final position. Without them, he'd never have gotten past the tight squeeze over his arch. "These heels are too high," Chris complained. They were much higher than any he had ever worn before, much higher than his mother or his sister had ever possessed. "That better be the last complaint I hear from you tonight," Karen warned. "They're only 5 inches. I have a pair just as high for my outfit, since I want to remain as tall as you." When both of Chris's feet were shaped by the towering heels embedded in the catsuit, Karen zipped the short zippers at each heel. She started to draw the legs of the suit carefully up over Chris's newly smooth legs, but stopped when she saw his rampant pole once again erect and demanding. "You know I'm always good for at least two shots," he grinned in embarrassment, though also just a bit of pride. "Yes, I should have expected it," she admitted. The sky-high spikes and the legs of the catsuit bound Chris's legs almost as thoroughly as bonds created for the purpose and Karen decided not to try and get him to move in this intermediate state. "Lean against the table," she commanded, then once again drew his turgid cock into her moist, talented mouth. It took a little longer the second time, a fact that had pleased them both when they devoted an evening to making love, but now that same endurance merely irritated Karen, however much Chris enjoyed it. She sucked hard, bobbed her head rapidly, and did everything possible to bring him to a quick climax. In a few minutes he was once again filling her mouth with thick cream, shuddering as he tried to maintain his balance on the unaccustomed stilts. This time as Karen drew the leather garment up to his waist his cock was limp and shrunken. Karen had crafted a pouch into the crotch of the catsuit and she fed his soft member into the pouch, fastening a small velcro strap around his scrotum. There were two elastic bands leading from the end of the pouch, where the head of Chris's cock was barely exposed. Karen reached through from behind and pulled these straps up to fasten to two flaps that ran inside the suit from Chris's hips to a few inches below his armpits. "Hey! What are you doing?" he gasped. "I told you that you have to pass as a woman. An inappropriate bulge will be a dead giveaway. This pouch will keep you pulled back out of the way. Besides, now that you've had your second coming, you won't be hard again for at least an hour or so." "Is that how long this will last?" he asked hopefully. "I don't know, exactly, but the combination of the pouch, the tension of the straps, and the tightness of the crotch of the catsuit should be sufficient to keep you from showing. If you get hard and it's uncomfortable, just think pure thoughts," Karen replied unsympathetically. As Karen fed his arms down the sleeves of the catsuit, Chris realized that there were pads placed between the leather and the lining. The first ones he noticed were actually at his hips and fanny, adding shapely contours to the tight buns he had become so proud of. There were some even more noticeable bulges at the front of the suit, though, decidedly more noticeable once his arms were well down the sleeves and the shapes began to press against his chest. Chris actually found this less of a surprise than many of the other things that had been happening, since he had figured on some sort of padding to give him a bosom. Maybe not quite that much, though. He figured that Karen had decided to give him such a spectacular set of tits that people's attention would be drawn away from his face or other parts of his figure. If so, she hadn't been subtle about it. The arms of the catsuit terminated in integral gloves, seamless with the sleeves and with just enough stretchiness at the wrists to allow his hands to enter without relief zippers. Now this suit was beginning to look like some sort of superhero costume, complete with a row of glittering rings running from each elbow to wrist like a fringe on gauntlets. There were a few other rings set into the leather, strangely placed at the neck and at the top of the small zippers at his ankles. Karen pulled the sleeves up until his shoulders were captured, then walked behind him. "Raise your arms over your head. Stretch for the ceiling," she ordered. Chris complied, confused about why that was necessary. Then he realized that it pulled his waist in a little, and he thought she might feel it was necessary in order to close the zipper. He was on the right track but hadn't realized the full extent of the features of the suit. Not even close. He felt the two flaps within the suit moved over to lay against his back, then felt Karen lacing the ends of the flaps together. She started at the top, pulling firmly but not excessively as she worked her way to the smallest point of his waist, a few inches above where he normally considered his waist to be. That narrowest point split the difference between his pelvic bones and his ribcage rather than riding just above his hips. Another lace was added at those hips, this one working upward toward the same smallest point of his waist. Karen laced this much tighter, squeezing Chris's stomach back and forcing some of his flesh to add to the swell at his hips. Overall, Chris was thinking, it was pretty tight, but not uncomfortable. Then Karen went back to the top lace and started drawing them tighter, much tighter. What had been a snug squeeze became an overpowering compression. "Please, Karen, I can't breathe," he gasped. "No more complaints. This is your last warning," she declared without remorse. She reached for the zipper that still rested just at the start of the cleavage of his legs and drew it up his back. Her tight lacing had done its job and it slid past his tiny waist with perfect snugness, celebrating every curve without dangerous tension on the small teeth of the zipper. The path continued up to the very base of his hairline, closing at a high leather collar that forced Chris to hold his head carefully erect. There was a small click as the zipper finally completed its journey. "What was that?" Chris whispered with the little breath the outfit allowed. "That's not a complaint, just a question." "I locked the zipper into place," Karen explained, a gloating grin hidden from Chris's eyes as she stood behind him. "You don't get out until I say you do." "That's not funny," Chris said. Karen walked around to stand in front of him, "It's not meant to be. Now that you're in your suit, let's get one thing straight. You are mine for the evening. You will do whatever I say, without complaint. If you don't comply with every one of my wishes as though your future depended on it, I'll let you get out of that suit by yourself. It's strong enough that you won't be able to tear it, and I'd like to hear your explanation to anyone you ask to help you. You're going to be beautiful, dear, also meek and agreeable. I insist on it." While she had been talking, she moved a full-length mirror into position, finally turning it so that Chris could see himself. The sight took his breath away even more than being laced into the tight catsuit. The red and yellow and accenting white flowed across his body with stunning excitement. Some subtle arrangement of the colors drew the eye to his breasts and his crotch, shapes that were dramatically, emphatically, spectacularly female. The inches that were trimmed from his waist were returned in the artfully shaped pads on his hips and the even larger ones at his bust to give him curves that would make a Playboy model green with envy. His naturally slim legs were accented by the highlights of the glossy material and lifted by the towering heels to look like they went on forever and ever, amen. No one looking at the shape in that suit would believe, even accept the possibility, that the person inside was anything but a woman, a wonderfully fit, proudly sensuous woman. He was so stunned by the miracle he saw in the mirror that he found himself agreeing to Karen's demand for obedience without conscious thought, with only a nod constrained to be small by the tall collar of his catsuit Karen's face showed her triumph, not only in his submission but in the glorious success of her creation. She enjoyed it herself for a moment, which had the secondary effect of allowing Chris to enjoy it as well, then told him to follow her. He complied, stumbling a little on his ankle-straining stilt heels, but soon remembering the swaying hip rhythm that allowed him to put one foot directly before the other. He moved carefully, though, his head lifted by the collar, his torso stiffened by the hidden corset stays, his legs delicately balanced on the tall spikes. Karen led him to her bedroom, to the vanity table where all her cosmetics were laid out. "You can't use my colors, but the lights on my makeup mirror will make sure I can get the right look," she explained. Chris sat at the invitation of her waved hand. She grasped his chin in her hand, tilting his head to different angles and watching the play of lights from her bright mirror. Taking a bag from her closet, she started laying out a bewildering array of new cosmetics. It seemed she wouldn't be using anything from her own collection. The first item she reached for, though, was a tweezers. Without further explanation or comment, she began to pluck at this eyebrows. More than once Chris started to complain, to pull back, but the confusion rampant in his mind at the impossible transformation in his body was too overwhelming and he found himself swept along. By the time his mind was once again able to formulate independent action, he could see that his eyebrows had passed the point of no return and were definitely, undeniably, feminine. It suited Karen's purpose to leave them a bit full actually, delicately arched, carefully tapered, but not pencil thin. Chris was small for a man, but big for a woman, as were his features. Karen knew she had to build on those facts, not deny them, so she would go for a strong look in her makeover, not some dainty image that would look incongruous. Once his eyebrows were shaped to her satisfaction, Karen started in on foundations and concealers. The harshness of the planes of Chris's face, attractive in a man but not feminine enough for his role that night, disappeared beneath artistry that Chris didn't even know was possible. He had thought that cosmetics were mostly colorful eyeshadows and bright lipsticks. The subtlety of Karen's magic didn't seem to make any visible difference at all, even when she had completed with the flesh-toned cosmetics and moved to the colored palette, but somehow his face was at once softer and more feminine. Once again Chris was surprised by her selections when she did finally start adding color. He expected her to use mostly blue around his eyes that were now a brilliant royal color with the contact lenses that Karen had talked him into wearing. Instead, she seemed to pick every color except blue, painting a vibrant image that seemed larger than life while at the same time making the gemlike blue of his eyes leap into sharp, dramatic focus. After the powdered shadow was carefully placed, Karen reached for a small box. In it were false eyelashes, long and dark and gently curved. She carefully positioned them, trimmed a little for the perfect tapered shape she desired, then glued them into place. They were heavy, full, sensuous as they caressed his eyelids. Chris found himself batting his eyelashes at his image, beginning for the first time to really believe he would come out of this looking like a woman, even a pretty one. Karen didn't stop with just false eyelashes, though. She painted a thin, but dramatically effective line along his lashes, drawing it out past the corner of his eye to make them seem larger and darker. Mascara, coats and coats of mascara were added to his lower lashes, then even to his upper ones to make sure they stayed separated and dark. His eyes were now as magically transformed as his body had been, undeniably beautiful, just as certainly feminine. Next Karen attacked his cheeks, blending in an array of powdered blushes that merged at the edges imperceptibly with the tones of the foundation she had applied, but were still subtly effective in creating a highly contoured look to the cheekbones that were the center of her application. A light soft dusting of colors were added to his nose and forehead and chin as well, bringing the smooth foundation into living, three-dimensional focus. Now the artistry of her application of seemingly-colorless cosmetics became apparent as the strong features of Chris's slender face receded into the more delicate contours expected in beautiful women. The final targets for Karen's color artistry were Chris's lips, already a bit full from his excited panting, but now painted into a delicately shaped bow of sensual beauty. Those lips demanded to be kissed, demanded to be crushed by the embrace of any who saw them. Those lips invited invasion with a desperate, panting, pouting fullness that was at the same time empty and begging to be fulfilled. Exactly the image that Karen had intended. Exactly. In this day and age even conservative engineers often had an earring and Chris had allowed Karen to pierce his left ear as part of his earlier transformation from geek to good-looking man. Now, she reached for an alcohol swab and the piercing gun, then for his right earlobe. Chris pulled back at this, but she had his earlobe captured and in a moment a golden stud was gleaming in that ear to match the one in his left ear. Only for a moment, though, as Karen, after carefully sanitizing her fingers and new earrings in alcohol, pulled the old stud and the newly set one from Chris's ears and inserted gleaming golden hoops into each. While he was trying to absorb the sensation of the heavy loops, Karen piled another shock on his saturated senses as she pulled out a long, thick wig in the same deep black of his natural hair. She quickly pulled his own hair up and out of the way, then positioned the cap of the wig on his head, drawing a hidden adjustment string snugly. A few pins were worked through the cap to hold the wig securely to his own hair, then Karen squeezed a few drops of glue periodically under the periphery. That wig wasn't coming off without taking the skin of his forehead and most of his own hair with it. At least, not without lots of care and a solvent for the glue. Finally she stood back, urging Chris to stand. He lifted himself slowly to his feet, overcome with the multitude of hammerblows to his self image, but pleased with the spectacular beauty of the woman, for no one could doubt it was a woman, that looked back at him from the mirror. The image was so perfect that it seemed wrong, somehow, to think of himself as a man. That image wasn't a man, no way. Karen was thinking along the same lines, even more determined than Chris that the person wearing her clothes creation should act, think, be feminine. "As of this moment, you are a girl named Krystal. If we call you Krys, you still respond as a woman. The name you hear will be short for Krystal, not Christopher. Do you understand, Krystal." "Yes," she answered Karen quietly. "Yes what?" Karen demanded. "Yes, ma'am," the demure girl responded, twirling her lustrous hair and relishing the feel of the heavy earrings. The twirling of her hair led to twirling of her body as she pirouetted gracefully even in her towering heels. Krystal realized that her hair was long enough to swish lightly on her fanny when she walked, an image that had always been unbelievably sensuous to her. She wished that she could feel it without the coverage of the skin-tight leather, but the visual image was wonderful enough. "Walk around a little and get used to your outfit," Karen commanded. Krystal was only too happy to obey. Karen dressed in her own outfit much more quickly than she had transformed Krystal. Her own spectacular figure didn't need the constraint of a corset and she had already done her makeup while the depilatory foam had been working on Krystal's body hair. All that remained was to comb out her shining blonde hair, not as long as Krystal's dark tresses but cut in a fuller, wavier style. And to dress, an evolution that itself didn't take as long as usual. Karen pulled up dark, sheer-to-the-waist panty hose and then donned a new dress, a strapless black leather mini-dress with a bustier top. Her eye-capturing cleavage was emphasized more than concealed by the lifting support of the bustier and her generous endowment threatened to spill out at any moment, with any breath. A short leather jacket completed her basic dress, though she added earrings and a necklace to her ensemble. A pair of skin-tight black leather gloves, long enough to be disappear under the sleeves of her bolero jacket added a definite statement of power to an already-dramatic outfit. It was clear that she was in charge of their pair, not only through her actions, but through the strength the black leather clothes gave her. A pair of ankle boots with heels every bit as high as those in Krystal's catsuit lifted her back to an even height with her slave for the evening. For Krystal was indeed to be a slave. Karen had planned this ever since her frustration at Professor Warren's advance had reminded her of her previous bondage games. If Krystal enjoyed the evening, responded to the adventure with excitement and arousal, they would play this game again. Many times. If, on the other hand, the lurking Chris now so well hidden within the beautiful girl in the catsuit should fight this submission, then Karen knew she was ready to move on to another lover. That was one of the important tests of the evening, though it was not the only one. However, Karen didn't intend to let her submissive in on all her plans until it was too late to back out. "Let's go," she said, then waved at Krystal to precede her through the door. They took Karen's car and parked near the site of the project display room. Since it was a Fashion As Art class, it was expected that people would be wearing the project results and would be able to move about the room. Professor Warren had said that it would be set up as a conversation room, with tables of refreshments, couches and chairs, and other ordinary furniture. Each student was to provide a card or other label with the title of their art on their project. Professor Warren reserved to himself the final grade for the project, but would accept advice from other artists and fashion designers that he had invited. It would have the general feel of a cocktail party, except for the labeled models, some of whom would probably be wearing quite outlandish fashions. As they stepped from the car, Karen grinned at Krystal, a hard, dominant smile. "You never did ask me what the title of my project was." Krystal shook her head, then shook it again as she reveled in the feel of the long, sensuous mass hanging down her back. She was clearly getting into this part. The cross-dressing aspect of the evening was a lot more interesting than she would have believed. Now Karen was going to find out if she liked the bondage aspect as well. "It's called, actually since you're it, you're called, "When It Blows, All Cats Are Gray,' now, turn around," Karen ordered. "What's that mean?" asked Krystal, though she turned dutifully around, then "Hey, what are you doing?" What Karen was doing was pulling Krystal's arms behind her and running a glistening golden chain through the rings on the sleeves of her catsuit, starting near her wrists. The chain was laced up to the rings at her elbows, then pulled tighter, forcing her arms farther behind her and her shoulders back. This had the additional effect of thrusting her already-impressive tits even more dramatically forward. Karen adjusted the tension in the laces to the level she wanted, tight enough to be constantly uncomfortable but not acutely painful. Of course, the discomfort would increase as time went on. She locked the chain with a tiny, almost elegant padlock near Krystal's elbows and then draped Krystal's long, midnight-black hair outside the laces, where the golden chain would peek through the dark tresses. There was no way that Krystal could reach that lock, even if she had the key. With pressure on her shoulders, Karen then urged Krystal to turn around again so that they were facing each other. She reached up and took Krystal's jaw in her hand and said, "Now we're going to take care of your voice, open wide." "What?" Krystal struggled a little, still trusting Karen, but very confused. However, she did open her mouth. Karen pushed a wide, round ring into Krystal's mouth, wedging it into her teeth until they slid into a slot running around the ring. It was clamped firmly by her teeth, forcing Krystal to hold her mouth open as far as it would go. She tried to bite down on the O ring but could only squeeze it a very slight amount, and of course her pressure just wedged her teeth even more strongly into the slot. It would take a determined squeeze of the ring, independent of the pressure of her teeth, to deform it enough that her teeth would slip out of the slot and the ring could be extracted. Krystal explored the device with her tongue, feeling the smooth, almost slick inner surface, contrasting the soft rubbery feel of that surface with the unyielding strength of the hard edge against which her teeth rested. By now Krystal was nearing panic. She had let herself get in over her head. Her arms were bound tightly, her body was transformed by a suit that was locked onto her, and now her mouth was locked open, vulnerable to who knew what? She thought about running away, but the towering heels she wore would hobble her almost as effectively as additional chains, and what would she do if she found someone? How could she ever explain how she got into this predicament? Then Karen made it even worse. "Okay, now let me fit this into your O ring. It's the last item of your costume, except for the card with the title, of course." At first, Krystal couldn't tell what "this" was that Karen was talking about. Krystal's head was still held erect by the tall leather collar of her catsuit, and Karen had deliberately held "this" too low for Krystal to see. She could feel it, though. Something was pressed into the middle of the open ring that was forcing her jaws wide. It pushed her tongue down and then intruded even farther into her mouth, finally coming to a stop just as it triggered a reflex throat spasm. Krystal felt more than heard some sort of soft click as a feature of this new intruder engaged with the ring, locking it into position. The intruding device was strangely shaped, a little rough. She could feel a ridge running around it a little back from the gently-rounded point, sort of like a knob on the end of a slightly smaller shaft, though that shaft was large enough to fill the opening in the O ring completely. In a flash of insight, Krystal realized what that was filling her mouth. It was the shape of a cock, crammed down her throat as far as she could take it and still breath. There was a small hole through it because Krystal could draw air if she sucked strongly. She would need to breathe primarily through her nose, but some instinctive need for more air, energized by her panic, caused her to suck on the cock gag in her mouth with desperate energy. "Calm down, Krystal, while I explain my creation," Karen directed as she hung the placard with her title around Krystal's neck. "I call you, 'When It Blows, All Cats Are Gray' as a play on the phrase, 'at night, all cats are gray.' Chauvinists like Professor Warren use that expression to deride women. Their meaning is that in the dark all women are pretty much the same, useful for sex and not much else. I have taken that a couple of steps further. First, men will do almost anything for a blowjob. When 'it', meaning someone, 'blows', then men don't care what the person doing the cocksucking looks like, what they want or think or feel. In fact, they don't even care if the person is a woman, don't want to get to know her well enough to make sure. The 'it' in this case is a play on your transgender situation, a man and a woman combined. If necessary to make my point, I will expose you so that others can catch the subtlety in my creation." "On another level, my design for you shows you to be spectacularly beautiful. My point is that in the right clothes, men can have their appearance lifted to a beautiful level just as women can. My own outfit, as a counterpoint to yours, shows that women can be strong and dominant without losing their sensuality. We will show those who are feminists because they are afraid or unable to be beautiful that they are on the wrong track. Rather than deriding female fashions for their supposed restrictions, we should be proud of our bodies and do the best we can to showcase them. We should even be willing to help men to achieve the same level of beauty." "There is one more goal tonight, one that overrides all the others. Professor Warren told me that he would give me an A and a good recommendation if I gave him a blowjob. You're going to do it instead. And when you're sucking on his cock, I'm going to take a picture of him, sodomizing a bound young lady. If we meet that goal, then I won't tell anyone there's a man lurking within you. I'll use that picture to blackmail Professor Warren into the good grade I deserve in this class. If he refuses, I'll reveal who you are and use the forcible homosexual rape to get him bounced from the College." Karen concluded her crushing plan for the evening by saying, "Krystal, your part in all this is to do what I tell you. If I decide it's necessary in order to get Professor Warren's attention, I'll give you to someone so that you can suck his cock. The center piece of your gag comes out if you undo the little clip that you can't see. Then their cock can slide down the opening into your mouth. Your lips can come together closely enough to caress their shafts, just not quite enough to get fully closed. Your tongue and throat can handle the rest. You'll need to do that until Professor Warren finally takes the bait, then I'll get his picture. If you don't do what I require, I'll just walk off and leave you, bound, gagged, dressed as a woman in a locked-on outfit. No money, no ID, and no way home. When or if you finally get home, you'll find your stuff on the doorstep and yourself locked out. This is all or nothing. Do your best for me and I'll keep you around, see that you're satisfied. Anything less than your best and you're history. Do you understand?" Krystal's shattered gaze pleaded with Karen not to go through with this horrible plan, but Karen was unyielding. She stared Krystal down, dominant, powerful. Finally Krystal lowered her eyes in shame, but nodded with resignation. For all she knew, dressed as sensually as she was, bound as thoroughly, if she tried to run away the first man that found her might pull the plug from her mouth ring and rape her orally anyway. At least this way, Karen would look out for her, keep her from getting in too much trouble. She would, wouldn't she? Krystal desperately hoped so. She submitted meekly as Karen hooked a glistening golden chain to the ring at her collar, a chain that matched the one binding her arms so tightly behind her. Then Karen led off toward the site of the project display, tugging Krystal along behind her with confident negligence. Once in the display area, all eyes locked into the glamorous pair. Karen was beautiful in her own right, and the dominant black leather outfit made her shining blonde hair look like a continuous explosion of light. But Krystal! Not only was Krystal equally beautiful, the vibrant colors of her catsuit, the titillation of her bondage, the strange way she kept her lips always slightly parted, all added up to a mysteriously compelling excitement. Good art creates emotions and the emotional impact of Karen's creation was incredible. For a moment, in the stunned hush of the crowd, Karen felt she might have been able to call Professor Warren's bluff and demand an A for the course without giving him the blowjob he required or finding some way to blackmail him. She certainly had that crowd under her spell. But then she decided to go through with her plan. In part, because she wanted to dominate Krystal and see if her submissive liked it. Though no one else knew of Krystal's hidden secret, they both found themselves comparing their appearance to the others that had brought cross-dressed men. There were several, ranging from nearly credible to blatantly uncaring of how good the men looked. At least three that they noticed carried the uncreative title of "Turnabout Is Fair Play." If Karen had been grading the presentations, she'd have given those offerings an automatic F. They had dressed their models in outfits that would have been unbecoming on women, and were certainly not appropriate. An overweight woman should no more wear tight miniskirts and open-midriff tops than these pot-bellied men. Nor would society require her to. Requiring out-of-shape men to wear hooker clothes was neither turnabout of society's rules, nor fair. A few, though, had tried for something approaching Karen's interpretation, finding an image for their men that celebrated their potential if society's limits on clothing styles were relaxed. One large, well-muscled man modeled a short, tight red satin skirt that revealed as much as concealed his impressive bulge. His legs were shaved and he wore shimmering pantyhose that made highlights dance as the muscles rippled under his skin. It was beautiful, something that all men should be allowed to wear without embarrassment or censure. He wore a matching red bustier top that lifted his pectoral muscles into a cleavage that was at once reminiscent of a woman's endowment while simultaneously stridently masculine. Like Krystal, this model had deeply black hair, though it was cut into a curly masculine style. Like Krystal, this model wore glittering golden hoop earrings, setting off the blue-black hair with dramatic emphasis. He was titled, "Be All That You Can Be," an interesting statement that reaffirmed that his masculine abilities were undiminished by invoking the power of the US Army through their slogan. Karen would have given that student an A, though she should have added appropriately strong makeup to complete the statement. Karen decided that this strongly-muscled man would be Krystal's first target for the night. Tugging on her slave's leash, Karen wandered over to the model and his student escort. It was clear that this student, a somewhat mousy girl named Nancy Carter who was nonetheless a teacher's pet to Professor Warren, was not controlling her model. Her model was here as much to make his own statement as to support her in her class project. If he was gay, he wasn't ashamed of it, but somehow Karen didn't get that impression. He just seemed to agree with the sentiment that men should be able to wear what they want. Karen therefore approached the man as much as the student. Her words could be heard by them both, but not by others. "Hello, Nancy, who's your model?" Karen began. "Um . . this is Brad Madison. His mother and my mother are friends." "My name is Karen Ashley. You two have done a good job." Karen said it to them both, but her eyes were only for Madison. "Thanks," Nancy replied. "Um . . I don't think I understand the title of your project. By the way, what's her real name and why is she holding her mouth open like that?" "Do you understand, Brad?" Karen challenged, ignoring the rest of Nancy's comment. "When It Blows, All Cats Are Gray," he read. "Does it blow?" Karen's grin congratulated him, "Got it in one." Nancy gasped. Brad grinned. Krystal's eyes widened in panic. Altogether an extremely satisfying reaction thought Karen. "Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere a little more private," Brad offered. He took Karen's arm and they strolled out onto a tree-lined garden area. Krystal followed, of course, bound by her leash. Nancy followed as well, too confused to know what else to do. "What is your name?" Nancy asked Krystal, unaware that she was gagged. Karen answered negligently over her shoulder, "She is Krystal. She doesn't have much to say, tonight. That's part of the artistic statement." That comment confused Nancy more than it explained anything to her. Krystal just trailed along in agonizing embarrassment, sure that she knew what Karen had in mind. When they reached a private spot, out of sight of any other attendees, Karen proved she was right. She pushed Krystal to her knees, then reached into her purse and extracted a small padlock. Karen clipped this to the two rings at Krystal's ankles, locking her legs together, though her knees could spread enough for a stable base. Then Karen handed Krystal's leash to Brad and took Nancy's arm. "Nancy, let's you and I go get something to drink. Brad, you'll find a small clip that will release a part of what is keeping Krystal so quiet. We'll be back in a little while." Strolling like life-long friends, though Karen's control of Nancy's arm was unyielding, they walked off and left Krystal kneeling at Brad's feet. Brad looked down at the gorgeous creature bound before him. He lifted her chin even higher than the tall collar of her suit forced her to hold it, and examined the plug in her mouth. There was an obvious sort of latch holding a portion in place, so he released the latch and pulled out the center portion of Krystal's gag. Krystal gasped in as much air as the tight corset allowed her. She had been sucking on the plug since it had been put in her mouth, thinking that her shortage of air was due to its obstruction. In face, her nose had provided as much air as the corset would allow her to have anyway. She sagged in her bonds with false relief, false because her ordeal was just beginning. Brad examined the plug and bragged, "Hmm, not too bad on diameter, but a little short, don't you think?" He pulled his red skirt up above his hips, then pulled his pantyhose down to reveal a thick, hard cock every bit as large as his bulge had promised. Krystal stared at it in cross-eyed fascination as the tip waved just before her nose. Her distended jaw offered no defense as Brad slowly moved his hips forward, pressing the tip of his cock past her partially-open lips. Krystal tried to widen her lips even further, to avoid any touch of his member, but it was so large that all her efforts accomplished was to soften the pressure of her lips to a gentle caress rather than a stiff orifice. A desperate scream, a call that was meant to be, "NO!