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New TG: Dolls F/m M/M F/f femdom I'll appreciate knowing what you think: [email protected] Don't read this unless the State, the Law, and your Parents can all three approve your reading it, or all three don't care. DOLLS by Vickie Tern PART ONE Bob still didn't know how he felt about it, or even how he was supposed to feel. At first he'd said "No!" abruptly, without thinking, and she'd called it a typically mindless male response, which of course is what it was. She said she'd hoped for better than that from him, especially given the way he claimed he felt about her. This was something she wanted him to do, she really did, never mind why. It was for her! And he'd refused. She'd told him he had better rethink his answer, or she'd start rethinking lots of things about their relationship. So that's what Bob was doing, more and more desperately, over and over. The old sufficient reasons he came up with at first got more vague and meaningless with each repetition. She was marvelous, an incredible girl, and he was hopelessly in love with her. She'd become his whole life, his reason for breathing, practically. He didn't dare risk losing her. But she was odd in some ways too. His refusing her "one teeny little request, please, for me, just because I want you to is why," now looked as if it was going to destroy everything they'd been to each other. It had all started out casually enough, a straightforward slow-percolating affair with a girl who seemed at first to be far beyond the reach of his desires. He'd met her in a singles bar. He'd been leaning over the bar alone as usual, nursing his Chardonnay and meanwhile looking sideways at different couples chatting each other up. They all looked like people he'd like to get to know, he thought. Maybe less lonely and uncertain than he was these days, but who wasn't? He was still new in town, and still knew hardly anyone. Still with no job, though thinking of looking. He'd come a month earlier from another town where he also knew no one, to collect an inheritance from his grandmother, and he'd planned to leave that evening. But when the lawyer handed him the check it looked a lot more sizeable than he'd anticipated, like real money in fact. So he'd decided then and there to stay and try to make a fresh start, take his time looking around, and if he liked what he saw settle in. Now, being a little shy, he still didn't know anyone. But this singles bar was the one place he could go to get out of that drab furnished apartment he rented by the month, and who could tell? This particular evening he was glancing down the bar to his right at a dark-haired girl in a green silk breast-hugging blouse, wondering if those small bulges poking forward through the fabric were her nipples or some dressmaker's contrivance. She was looking sideways through heavy black eye makeup at a chunky man leaning over her, and laughing as if amused by something he had just said, though she sounded a little forced. Girls on dates always did that, tried to look pleasing and seem pleased. The man was hefty, a football player once maybe, not yet gone soft. No matter. Bob was thin. Always had been. Too thin to interest a girl like that? "I notice you always order the same wine. Don't you ever feel like trying something new?" Startled, he looked left, toward a voice too close not to be talking to him. At first he saw only a mass of loose blonde hair, piled up but then falling like theatrical curtains to frame a strong, beautiful face. Its almond-shaped eyes stared steadily at him, amused, confident, friendly, seeming to share something. She had bright, pouty lips. Bob didn't dare look down further, to check out her body -- that would be too obvious, too rude. A single sweep of his eyes and he might lose her. "I try different things till I find what I like, then I stick with it," he replied. Dumb! Still, it was the best he could think of on such short notice, not too bad. Quick. Something else! "Can I order something for you? What would you like?" She looked surprised, as if this never happened in singles bars, even somewhat grateful. Yet her eyes remained amused, and never left his. The bartender noticed that finally something was happening in Bob's vicinity, and came over. "Bailey's Irish on the rocks," she said. "Bailey's Irish on the rocks," Bob repeated to the bartender, who was already turning away. Then feeling foolish, he added, "Make that two." "I thought you stick with what you like," she said. "I'd like to try what you like," he said, now feeling rather racy. "What I like can get you into trouble," she said, "Unless you're really up to it, really ready. Creamy, thick, sweet. You lick it and suck on it, its more like kissing than drinking, and then you lick it off your own lips. You think you'd like that?" "I'll find out, I guess," he said guardedly. "I'm willing to try." This conversation's eroticism was racing past him. He'd better change the subject. "I'm Diana," she said abruptly, holding out her hand. It was as if he'd somehow just passed some kind of test. "Bob," he replied, resisting a gallant impulse to bring her hand to his lips. He let it go. "Mistress of the hunt," he added, to show her he'd read some Greek mythology. "Not mistress," she replied. "Though I suppose I've been. Goddess. Maybe you'll find out. Or maybe all you'll find is what else I can be." "I hope so," he said, hoping that was the right answer. She'd lost him. And that was how it started. They'd set up a date, he had no car so she told him she'd come by his place to pick him up, and still looking straight into his eyes, she picked up her purse. Then suddenly she was no longer there. For a while Bob had every reason to believe he was dating Diana the Chaste, not Diana the Huntress. He couldn't understand why such a beautiful girl -- with really a ravishing figure once he got to look at it, round yet trim and willowy -- why she sounded so pleased every time he asked her for a date, and never put him off, and always seemed reluctant to leave when it ended, yet never accepted his invitations to come in and relax in his place before driving on home. She had the brisk ease of a woman raised wealthy, and her clothes showed it. She could afford to buy whatever she liked, and she seemed to like him. The more they saw of each other, the further their talk advanced into small intimate confessions, the luckier he felt that such a marvelous girl was at all interested in him. It was beyond hope or belief. Yet physically she remained reserved. He never pressed her for more than their brief good night kisses because the initiatives were all hers. She'd pick him up and drive them wherever they were going, then drop him off before disappearing into the night. When he'd asked for her phone number she'd waved her hand and given it to him, but she'd said something about calling her being difficult, she shared her phone, and she was so often out. She'd take his number and call him regularly. As she did. On their fifth date she surprised him with an unexpected and elegant blow job, quite casually, while they were sitting and talking in her car in front of his apartment building. While she was saying something in her comfortable, matter-of-fact manner, she'd reached into his lap, unzipped him, taken it out, bent over, and no mistaking it, he'd immediately felt himself enclosed in her moist warmth. When he came he spurted semen in helpless surrender deep into her mouth, and it seemed that she swallowed all of it. But then when she sat up again and leaned over his face to kiss him, there it all was, some of it dribbling from her mouth into his, then all of a sudden her tongue pushing great glops into his mouth while she sealed his lips tightly against hers, so he had no choice but to accept it and swallow it down. It tasted a little creamy, a little salty, very odd, not too bad. He was licking his lips as she leaned back to watch his reaction, and she smiled at him, and he smiled back. "See," she said. "It's like I said, you lick it off your own lips." He'd thought she'd meant her own juices that night they'd met at the bar, bantering in that racy way he could barely follow. Maybe she did. But he decided not to say anything. It was just as well he didn't object to licking and sucking his own cum out of her mouth and swallowing it, because that turned out to be a regular thing with her, a kink she enjoyed, and not at all accidental. She liked doing it. The next few times she held all of his cum in her mouth and then spooned it slowly back to him with her tongue, in ardent kisses all the more sensuous and sultry, it seemed, for being laced with his own jism. She pressed her lips tightly against his mouth, and repeatedly her tongue pushed a teeny bit more to where his tongue could lick it off, their two tongues so salaciously entwined that he had no choice but to receive it gratefully and swallow it down. It bothered him at first, but that was what she wanted him to do, obviously, and he saw no harm in it. His semen became part of their shared desire, and after a few more dates he was avid each time to sip it from her lips and swallow it down. Once she didn't give him her prolonged cum kiss after she blew him, instead swallowing it while looking at him with a mischievous smile, then giving him a peck on the cheek and settling back for him to leave the car. His face fell. She noticed, and smiled half to herself. She said next time she'd make it up to him. That next time, a week or so later, she surprised him with a moment that was utterly magical. Under the stars on a deserted turnoff high above the valley, they parked and looked at the town's lights far below. He walked a little distance away to take a leak behind a tree, and when he returned he found her sitting sideways on the front seat, the car door open and both her legs dangling toward him, thighs spread wide, Diana with her pussy open to the chaste moon. She sat imperiously over her open crotch watching him return, and as he came up to her she made a single sweeping gesture downward with her whole arm, pointing to the juncture of her thighs, or maybe to the ground beneath. He fell to his knees between her legs as if clubbed, and buried his face in her slit, and lapped and sucked and thrust his tongue into her like a man demented. It was true. She was creamy, thick, and sweet. She wrapped her legs around his head and shoulders, and pulled him close into her with her thighs, and stroked his hair. She seemed to cum several times, pressing her pussy ever more tightly into his face while tensing her legs and making mewing sounds. Perhaps not. No matter, he loved it. From then on he was hers. He loved her, helplessly, hopelessly, utterly, more completely than he had ever fallen for any girl anywhere. He doted on her, and lived only for their time together. She began to allow him to go down on her before each date as well as after, each time in her car, Bob's bowed back tucked down under the dashboard, his face thrust forward eagerly into her pussy, tongue fucking her until she seemed to cum with those cute little squeals and gasps he loved to hear. He was ecstatic that he was able to please her. Then, she always went down on him too before the night was out, always feeding him his own cum out of her own delicate lips, in small sips, like a rare wine. He couldn't get enough of her. Once she agreed to spend the night with him in his bed, if he'd promise to keep his penis to himself or else available to her mouth and no where else. He nodded joyously, unable to speak. That one night she'd lain back completely naked, hands clasped behind her head, watching him, saying nothing at all. He'd kissed her from head to toe over and over, in little nibbles, pausing at her nipples and returning to them again and again. She'd allowed his mouth free access to her cunt, and he wore down his tongue on her slit and clit while she heaved her hips into his face repeatedly. Who knows how often she'd orgasmed? That same night she'd gone down on him three times, each time more sweetly, each time serving him his own fresh juice from her own sweet mouth. Yet she denied him entry into her body except with his nose and his tongue, And she never seemed to hear his pleadings for an explanation, to know why or why not. The next morning as she prepared to leave his flat, another odd kink showed up. She was standing at his bureau making up her face in his mirror, and he looked over her shoulder and pressed his cheek to hers, to see their two faces reflected together. They were about the same height, both thin, with the same high cheek bones. His blonde hair was shorter than hers, but getting longer -- she liked long hair she'd told him, and she'd asked him not to cut it. What little beard he had was thin and blonde, and anyhow still smooth-shaven, hardly visible even the morning after. His cheek snuggled against hers, she placed her palm on his other cheek, and they smiled at each other's images. They looked so much alike, like brother and sister. It was a marvelous moment. Then she resumed putting on her lipstick, looking seriously at her own face in the mirror, her mouth partly open, her cheek still pressed against his. When she was done, she opened her mouth wide as a signal to him, her lips stretched taut. He opened his the same way. Then before he knew what was happening, she'd lipsticked his mouth just the way she'd just done hers, as if his lips were alternatively hers, all the while she held her palm firm on his other cheek so he couldn't move away. Then she pressed her lips together in another signal for him to do the same, to spread the lipstick evenly on his upper and lower lips. He did. It was all so unexpected, he had no time even to think about it. Suddenly she turned and put her hands on his shoulders, backed him to a chair, sat him down abruptly, bent over him, turned his face up to hers with both hands, and deftly, in a series of quick strokes, made up his face to match the way hers looked in every particular. Foundation, blush, powder, eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, and each time he'd wiggle or protest, or grin to ask her what in the world, she'd hush him with such ferocity he quickly lapsed into silence. Then when she was done she led him back to where he'd first seen himself with her, cheek to cheek in his mirror, her palm on his other cheek. They looked again at their faces reflected together over his bureau. No longer were they brother and sister. Now they were sisters, a pair of very pretty girls, though his hair hung in rather lank strands not quite to his collar. She grinned, and patted his cheek reassuringly with her upraised palm, and said to him, "I'd hoped so. You'll do. Leave it on all day today, see how you like it. As a favor to me." Then she'd picked up her overnight bag, her cosmetic kit, and her purse, and the door closed behind her while he was still staring astonished at his own reflection, no longer him, wondering what all that was about. One more odd thing about her, he thought. But in a way that was why he loved her, these unpredicatble impulses of hers. Because she'd asked him to, he left his face made up all day. At first each glimpse of himself in a mirror surprised him, but by the afternoon he'd gotten used to it. He barely registered that his lipstick had worn off though his eye makeup was still as dense as ever. He put off running out for a few errands, and washed his face only that evening, just before bed. When he showered the next morning he no longer remembered. *************** But now her "teeny little request, for me, please" was destroying everything they'd been to each other. What was it he was refusing her? As their previous date ended, he'd been lying content with his head in her lap, his nose pressed against her mound. She'd cradled his face between her breasts as she leaned forward across him to suck on his cock. He'd come so sweetly into her tender moist mouth, so deliciously, as always. As always she'd loomed over his face as he raised himself up to her, and she'd lovingly pressed gobs of his sperm through pursed lips down into his open mouth. As always he'd received it gratefully and swallowed it all, and each time he swallowed, she'd kissed him, so very sweetly. Then she'd cuddled him, and in the most matter-of-fact manner mentioned to him that she'd had a marvelous idea for their next date. Together they'd enjoy a girls' night out. She'd come to his place two hours earlier than usual to help him get ready, and then the two of them would go on a date with each other as girlfriends. She'd make him up to look as pretty as she did. It would be such fun! Nothing much, dinner and a movie, maybe dancing afterward. She knew a lesbian bar where no one would notice or care that two pretty girls were in each other's arms, rubbing themselves against each other. He'd felt a sudden severe qualm in his belly and said "No!", allowing himself no time even to think about it. She'd reacted as if he'd slapped her. The strength of his own denial surprised him. But he was indeed shocked by her proposal, and to tell the truth, he was also a little frightened. He was a man! He had his dignity! And he wanted her to admire him, to respect him. She couldn't possibly admire and respect some nancy faggot mincing along beside her on a date! He told her that. There then followed the conversation that still gnawed at his mind. She wanted him the way she wanted him, she said, and it was not for him to decide how she wanted him. She'd hoped for a more loving response from him, less brutal, more considerate of her desires. She asked him to reconsider his decision, while she meanwhile reconsidered their whole relationship. That much sounded stern. Then suddenly she'd begun to tease, and wheedle, and tickle him, saying "Please!" and "For me!" over and over until he'd agreed to reconsider the matter. Then for the next few days in repeated phone calls she'd coaxed him along, just this once, just for fun, just to please her. Plainly it meant a lot to her, and the more he thought about it the less it meant to him. But still he'd held back his consent, as a matter of pride, he realized. His manly image of himself in her eyes was at stake. And he didn't want to seem too pliable, too easy. Then for two days, no phone calls came, and his resolution turned to jelly. He thought he'd lost her. One morning he woke up hoping she'd call yet again, while he was still in bed, so he could tell her "Yes! Of course! Anything!" He couldn't forget that earlier glorious morning when he had awakened to find her dear head with its gray-shadowed eyelids on the pillow beside him, her blonde hair streaming back from her pillow and tumbled free, just as it had fallen the previous night when he'd set her down gently and then leaned over her, and kissed her. That morning her wide eyes had opened to look at him innocently for a moment, then to study him as her mouth curled as usual into a sweet smile on seeing him bent over her, just looking. This had happened only once, that one time she'd been willing to spend the night with him while his penis was out elsewhere. That one time. The thought that he might never again see her face and golden hair on a pillow next to his suddenly devastated him. Of course he'd go along with her. He'd wear whatever clothes would please her. It was what she wanted. He'd tell her that when she next phoned. The whole issue was too trivial to think about any more. By ten she still hadn't phoned, and he decided he had to call her. As he dialed, he realized suddenly that had no idea where she lived. From the exchange he was dialing, somewhere south of town. But she'd always picked him up in her BMW, or they'd met somewhere, and then she'd always dropped him off again at his place. The penalties of not having a car of your own. He heard her answer the phone, and he said simply, trying not to sound contrite, "It's Bob." "Well?" was the way she answered him. Her voice sounded hurt and distanced, even a little impersonal he was horrified to notice. She'd half- written him off? "Diana, for you, yes, anything at all," he replied "If that's what you want me to do. I'm sorry I've been such a wimp. I told you once, I'll always want to try anything you want, whatever you like." Now that she had him, she played with him. "Anything, Bob? Always? That's a lot more than I'm asking from you now. But now I just might want a lot more. You'll do anything at all for me? From now on?" From now on! Bob realized with joy that he hadn't blown it. She was still thinking they had a future together! He felt enormously relieved. "Of course," he said grandly. Then he realized she might not be feeling altogether playful about this. Be serious! He thought a moment. "Yes," he said. "I will. I think so." "Remember that, dear. Keep thinking it. I'll hold you to it. From now on. Remember that." Bob had no idea what she was talking about, but he didn't care. "How do you want to do this?" Bob asked. "It isn't Halloween. We haven't got that excuse when people see me." "That's why we have to be perfect. You'll look real. Don't worry, you'll pass just beautifully. You'll make a lovely girl. I don't want to embarrass either of us, you should know that. I want you to have a wonderful experience. You'll be my date. Don't give it another thought. I'll bring everything and decide everything. Just be home next Friday at five p.m., naked, and we'll take it from there. I'll want to remake you from the skin on out. Trust me. You'll love it. It'll be exciting. It'll be our little thing together." "Let me tell you one thing more, Bobbi honey. It won't end Friday night. Now that I have you I won't want to let you go. Not yet. Maybe not at all. Maybe we'll spend the whole weekend together. Maybe all of next week. And I really mean together. As long as you're the person I want you to be, I'll see to it that you're very, very happy. This will be wonderful for you. You'll see." She then hung up. Bob just sat there, the phone still in his hand, unable to move, tears slowly filling his eyes. He blinked. He'd nearly lost her! The most wonderful girl in the world, and he'd nearly lost her, just because she wanted to play this game with him and he'd balked. Never again! He didn't understand some of the things she'd just said, but whatever she wanted, from now on that was what he wanted! **************** Now it was Friday and nearly five. Bob was already naked, pacing up and down, waiting. He had no idea what to expect. It seemed to him a little silly, Diana wanting him to date her wearing women's clothing. He'd heard of men who liked to do that, and he'd always thought them a little strange. Well, a lot strange. Probably gay. He loved seeing women's things on women, where they fit, and curved, and declared soft, delicate things about their bodies. He'd always felt there was something mysterious about dresses, and blouses, and bras, and those other things women wore and men didn't. Their clothes were like themselves, desireable, remote, different, erotically charged, a large part of what being a woman was like. They had their things, Bob thought, and we have ours. That's what makes them feminine, and us masculine. He tried not to remember that in anticipation of tonight, all week long whenever he'd seen a girl his age and shape in the mall, or the street, or in an office, he'd looked over their dresses, and jackets, and blouses, and hosiery, and high heeled shoes, and hairdos, and tried to imagine himself wearing them. Is that what Diana wanted? His imagination had already submitted to her. It's only clothing, he told himself. Wearing it won't make me feminine. Will it? Or was it that when other people saw him and thought he was a girl, then that would that make him feel feminine? Maybe. Was this some supreme test Diana was putting him through to see if he was worthy of her, or sincere in his feelings for her? Bob wanted her to be happy. But as the moment approached his heart started beating faster. For some reason, what he was about to do seemed very dangerous, a threat to something fundamental in himself, something vulnerable, even fragile. When Diana's car showed up and he saw her walk toward his building with a large valise in each hand, he felt genuine fear. She sensed this immediately as she came in, set her bags down, looked his bare body up and down with a nod, and reached to kiss him. She locked both her hands behind his neck and stared into his eyes from just a few inches away, pressing her fully clothed belly against his naked, engorging penis. "Don't worry, darling," she said. "This is something I do every day. Half the world does this every day. Just think of yourself as one of me. I think you'll enjoy pretending to be me. Until you can decide for yourself what kind of a girl you are and then be you, with your own style and ways of feeling feminine, for the time being just pretend you're me. OK?" This was getting a little more extensive than he'd figured, Bob thought. What's on her mind isn't just tonight. But I've got to humor her. I did promise her. I want her to have what she wants. "Whatever you want, I want," he told her. "I'm yours." And for some reason, when he said that he felt reassured. What she showed she'd brought in the suitcases was also reassuring, a little. She wasn't planning on a high-styled date, just drinks and dinner for two in a restaurant already crowded with other couples absorbed with each other, two women together having a TGIF evening, then maybe a movie, then a casual drink at a bar where men wouldn't try to hit on them. She smiled when Bob looked startled at that last. Diana was dressed as always with a simplicity that seemed elegant, in a billowing silk blouse gathered at the wrists and a full tweed skirt to mid-calf. She'd brought him a similar blouse and a "dress for success" business suit, gray with a few purple threads highlighting the fabric, the skirt tailored and nearly knee length, the jacket short and nipped in a little at the waist. Not terribly effeminate or threatening. But form-fit, and decidedly a woman's suit. "No pants for my first time out," he asked hopefully? He realized he'd just agreed to go out with her this way other times too. "When you next wear pants on a date with me," she replied, "they'll be cut so fashionable or so cute that men will try to climb all over your sweet litte ass. You'll be eager to get back into a sound, sensible skirt, like this one." She held it up. "Your first Chanel classic. The basis for your future wardrobe. Isn't it just lovely?" Bob saw she was looking at it it with obvious pleasure, and thought he should share that pleasure with her, show he was a good sport. "It's just lovely," he said. She glanced sideways at him, not at all fooled. "Yes, it is," she said. "You'll love it. You'll see. But let's go to the bathroom and get you started." An hour later, Bob felt very peculiar indeed. First of all, his body was utterly hairless. He'd never felt so naked. She'd taken him into the bathroom and stood him in the tub, and directed him to shave himself everywhere. "You can leave a little triangle on your crotch, around those sweet little toys of yours," she said. "All girls have hair on their mounds, and yours proves you're a natural blonde. That's an asset. And we're going to give you a pretty hairdo, too. But all the rest of your hair goes!" When he was done she foamed his stubble with hair removing lotion of some kind, and then washed it all down the drain, and then soothed his skin with a perfumed body lotion, her slim fingers wiping it smooth over his curves and into his crevices. Now he was more naked, smooth, and exposed than he'd felt since he was born. She looked him over appraisingly, not disapproving but somehow speculative. Then something more shocking, that made him feel even more vulnerable. She suddenly produced two Fleet enemas and told him to use them to clean out his "you-know-what," first one then the other. He'd gotten to his knees on the bathroom rug and bent way over, shoulders also on the rug, asshole high, and inserted the first and squeezed in the fluid, while she watched him impassively. "I could fuck you with that," she said suddenly. "But I have better things in mind. Still, why don't you do yourself a little when you use the second one?" He didn't respond. This was her game. He held the liquid from the first inside himself under orders for nearly fifteen minutes, until he was convulsed with cramps. Then when she permitted he poured it all out of himself into the toilet, embarrassed that she was there the whole time, sitting on the edge of the tub watching him casually, waiting for him to finish. It smelled a little, but she seemed not to notice or mind. Then she'd made him repeat the whole procedure with the other enema kit, telling him this time to work the plastic nozzle in and out of his anus to make sure the area inside was clear, "as if you were fucking yourself with a pencil-sized dick." Only clear fluid came out the second time, when finally she gave him permission to sit and expel it. Then came a surprise. She handed him a Massengill Douche kit with a picture of a woman in a long white chiffon gown imaged on the box, looking somehow pristine and soft. She told him to use that too. "I want you to feel like that woman," she said. "Clean, as beautifully clean in your body's openings as I am in mine. This is very special, what we're doing tonight. I want your body to feel different on the inside as well as the outside. A woman should always feel fresh everywhere when she starts out on a date. Remember that. Whatever scents and fluids then fill her body should be those aroused by her lover." She watched as Bob inserted the tip and administered the douche to himself. "Gently," she said. "This is a rare privilege. Don't let it seem routine. You are doing something very feminine. You should feel that it's helping you to feel feminine. Work that long tip in and out of your bottom just a little. Lovely! Only women douche themselves. And now you." She smiled at him. "Bobbi dear," she went on. "From now on, whether we're seeing each other or not, I want you to do this for yourself every day. Whenever you take a shower, cleanse your insides thoroughly with an enema, and always finish with a douche. I'll supply your douche kits for you, specially prepared the way I'd like them to be, perfumed and especially womanly in other ways too. So I'll know your insides are as sweet as any other part of you. And you'll know. We'll both be glad you did it, afterward." Bob nodded, amused and a little puzzled, but still willing to go along with whatever pleased her. He started feeling especially comfortable shortly after his douche. Nice. Calm, not at all nervous. He imagined this was how women feel, why they always looked so serene. Nothing extraordinary, he was only a woman going out on a date with his girl. Then just as they left the bathroom, she suddenly asked him to bend way over, and before he was quite sure what was happening she produced a tampon, swiped a bit of jellied lubricant on it, slipped the plastic tube into his rear end, and then withdrew it, leaving the tampon itself inside him with a string dangling from his anus. He let out a little yip, but it was over before he could tense up or protest. She patted his bottom. "Inside and outside," she said, and she smiled reassuringly as she led the way back into the bedroom. He felt as if he were waddling. His bottom waggled when he walked, with that tampon inside him. Was that why girls waggled when they walked? It was an odd sensation. Very full. Somehow not dissatisfying. He reached down to see what she had done to him, but except for the soft string his fingers found dangling out of him, his opening felt the same as when he'd showered or wiped it, now tight shut, it's new secret well hidden within. "Now darling," Diana said, her voice slightly amused. "Don't play with your pussy right now. Just imagine you're having your period, dear. Girls do, you know. I told you I want your body to feel feminine inside and out, and there's only one thing you can put into that opening that would make you feel even more feminine, isn't there? You don't want that just yet now, dear, do you?" Bob wasn't sure he had heard what he had heard. "What?" was all he could utter. She ignored him "Is it very uncomfortable, dear?" Diana replied, "If you're feeling cramps I can give you the kind of pill women take for cramps. Would you like one?" Bob just shook his head. "Then let's get started." They went back into his bedroom and she settled him into his straight- backed chair facing the bed, where both suitcases lay open. He was surprised to find he could bend with the tampon in him. He still felt sort of full, but it wasn't unpleasant. "You have enough new things to deal with tonight, dear, so we won't go anywhere that requires high heels." She grinned. "Maybe after tonight you'll want to kick up your heels and be a party girl. But not tonight. We'll have a lovely, gentle, easy time of it, relaxed. I want you to feel very comfortable, to get used to things." "What do you mean, get used to things?" Bob finally asked, not really disturbed but still, not lulled either by her reassurances. He was going along with her, but she seemed to have some extensive plans in mind. "This bra," she said, holding it out to him. "Put it on. Do you know how? You've seen how women put their bras on. Shall I help you?" She did. Bob didn't know if she'd answered his question or ignored it. She hooked it in front, and he looked down and saw that he now had a slight rounded cleavage between the cups, his smooth, hairless chest caught up and compressed by the bra to form two crescents. "Look at that," he said, in order to say something, anything at all. Then to let her know he was taking it all in stride, he added "Do I get big titties too, after a while?" "Don't worry, Bobbi. All in good time. No breast forms for you, love. I want you to feel, well...natural. I have wonderful plans for you. If that means right now you're just one more flat chested girl wearing a bras with a little padding for shape or for cleavage, then that's what you are. When you won't want to be that kind of girl, you won't be. Trust me." The rest went as he'd imagined and anticipated all week as he'd looked closely at the gear different women laced and buttoned and snapped and zipped and snugged and tucked and strapped themselves into. She showed him how to put on pantyhose, then watched as he practiced putting on several pair, until she was satisfied he could handle them with care and respect. They felt incredible as his legs rubbed against each other. The same with a cute lace panty girdle she handed him, which turned out to be made of a tight spandex that held his penis and testicles tucked way down between his legs. He worried for a moment whether she expected him to sit on them. She did, so he did. He squirmed onto one haunch, and she told him to sit square on his pretty bottom, to keep his knees together, and to cross his ankles whenever he sat like that. Then she handed him a pair of low-heeled shoes with little leather bows in front, and a slip that felt wonderful whenever the insides of his arms accidentally brushed against it. "Now you're all gussied up, my dear. It's time for you to say your very own girl name. Bobbi. Say it." "Bobbi," Bob said. It was what his mother had called him when he was a kid. Cute, but a little helpless. "Are you sure ....?" She interrupted him. "Bobbi," Diana repeated, with the least hint of a stern tone in the way she said it. "Now you've been christened. Dear Bobbi, turn around, and we'll do your hair. There isn't much we can do with it now, but it should look a little fuller, don't you think?" He felt rebuked, and didn't answer at first. "If full hair isn't you, we can always give you curls, but that'll take a little longer. Do you want your hair curled now, Bobbi, or will you settle for a big hair look until we can bring in a consultant?" "Big hair is fine," Bob replied hastily. Every time he hesitated, she seemed to raise the ante on him. "I think so too, dear. It's more like what you're used to." Twenty minutes later his hair was up in heat rollers, and twenty minutes after that she had made up his face, carefully this time, and plucked his eyebrows until they were high and delicately shaped, like two thin comets arching together over his eyes. She hummed as she worked over him, pleased as under her long fingers Bob disappeared into Bobbi. She reminded Bob of a little girl playing with her dolls, with total concentration. While she was shaping his eyebrows, he realized his face would not look feminine just for tonight, but he didn't want to interrupt her. She said something about his nails being all right for now as they were, it was better to do them right later anyway. He was feeling quite mellow. He managed to smile to himself at just how far he seemed willing to go to please her. "I thought so," Diana said. "You love this almost as much as I do, don't you. Never mind answering, Bobbi, I don't want to embarrass you. Just slip on this blouse and skirt, and we'll brush out your hair, and you'll be ready for your grand debut. Hungry?" "Yes," Bob replied. She never seemed to ask him questions that allowed any other answer. He stepped into his skirt, fastened and zipped it up, and turned it on his waist until there was a pocket at each hip. He slipped his blouse over the rollers bulking out his hair, and tucked the tail into his skirt. She handed him a broad belt, and when he'd cinched that tightly, he could almost believe he had a figure. "Sweetheart, don't slump. Stick out your chest, and hold your head high." The full blouse completely hid Bob's flat chest -- its drapes and folds promised anything or nothing underneath. Diana looked closely at that part of him, then reached over, and with her long fingertips lightly caressed his nipples inside his bra cups. They felt exquisite! "Yes," she said aloud, to herself. "This is how we'll do it for now. Later we can get real." Bob still didn't understand her. Even so, her fingers felt delicious, and he thrust his breasts way forward into them. But she moved her hands on, patted his cheek, then handed him the jacket matching his skirt. He slipped it on, and saw that it flared out at his hips as if he really did have a figure. "See how much nicer this looks now?" She unrolled Bob's hair and began to brush it out. With the heat and the spray she had used, each strand curled loosely around itself, and his head was a huge cluster of soft curls. I'll never look male again with my hair like this, he thought to himself. But as Diana worked over him he found to his surprise that the clusters of curls brushed together didn't look curly but curved, falling full and abundant down his head and covering the back of his neck, well-shaped and full of bounce. Not much of a male look either, not at all. It was what she had called it, big hair, designed to frame his face with opulent excess, hair to make his face seem petite and pretty, hair a man could get lost in. But it was his hair. Bob stood up and looked in his mirror, the same one they'd looked into together a few days earlier, when she'd lipsticked him. Now he was lipsticked again. His eyes looked darkly romantic. And everything else, too. There was nothing masculine at all in what he saw. "See? You do look lovely," Diana said. "No ponytail tonight. You're much more attractive wearing it full on the sides and in back like this." She looked him over carefully, and apparently approved what she saw, and smiled, pleased. "You like?" Bob inspected himself in the mirror. What he saw was reassuring, not a man pretending to be a woman but a thin, rather pretty girl, not smashingly gorgeous but appealingly vulnerable, moving with awkward grace as if slightly ashamed of herself. I suppose I am, he thought to himself. This feels like a girl's first date. I guess it is. But it isn't *my* first date. He decided to act more confident. "I like," he replied. "I just knew you would. I knew it from the moment I saw you sipping wine by yourself in that bar. I thought, if he only knew how, he could be a stunning girl, a real charmer, with that long hair and thin figure, and those delicate features. That's why I chose you. Did you know you have a very kissable mouth? No, not now, you'll ruin both of our faces." She'd seen him like this when they first met? She'd planned this moment then? What else had she planned? "Here dear," Diana handed him a light topcoat. "Just throw this over your shoulders. And carry this purse. Set it down wherever you see me set mine, but otherwise keep it under your arm. There's not much in it now. Some makeup, and another tampon -- I'll want you to change yours in the restaurant, to get used to changing it in ladies' rooms. No money or credit cards yet. That comes later, perhaps. We'll see." "Oh yes," she said, handing him a teeny pill. "Just a little more for now. You'll enjoy yourself more when you're less worried about things." Bob swallowed it 'Now,' she said, and 'get used to' things. More mysterious references to plans Diana had never discussed with him. But no matter. As the pill bit in he didn't care. They went out the door. ************** It turned out to be much easier than Bob thought. The worst never happened, that he'd be seen to be a man in drag, a mincing, shameful, self- humiliating pervert. His manhood never came into question -- it wasn't even implied. As Diana reassured him, he looked like a nice young lady, and that was what people saw, so that is what he pretended to be, very carefully, and there was nothing further to think about it. Except that people treated him so much nicer! They smiled at him, and Diana had to caution him to smile back a little more modestly. She also had to caution him to take smaller steps, and to keep his elbows tucked in, and to take smaller bites, and to giggle with her now and then, and to fix his lipstick after dinner, using his compact as she used hers. Bob could begin to believe they were what they seemed to be, two women having a sociable dinner together. Except for a few unfamiliar sensations -- the feel of nylons rubbing his legs as he walked, the sound of clicking heels on the sidewalk -- it felt almost like an ordinary date. When they visited the ladies' room while waiting for the bill, Diana gestured toward a stall, and Bob entered it, then sat down to pee. He reached behind him, pulled on the string in his rear, removed his compacted tampon, then took the fresh one out of his purse and pushed it into himself with his finger. It was very simple. As they left the restaurant Diana told him that he was acting and looking so lovely he'd be wasted sitting in a darkened movie theater, and besides, she wanted to hold him in her arms, to dance with him. Her tone of voice was peculiarly insistent, and she looked intently at him as she spoke. So Bob merely nodded -- he was her date tonight, she made the plans. He wondered how they'd manage it without attracting attention, but Diana only laughed and told him not to worry. They drove to a place called Sappho's, a luxurious night club with a first- rate all-girl group beating out the melodies so loud you could feel it vibrate in your bones, and with two self-absorbed young women on pedestals shaking their bodies to the beat of the music. They drank and danced, and danced and drank, and several times Diana put her elbows on his shoulders while they swayed across the floor, and threaded her fingers into his hair behind his head, and pulled his face toward her and kissed him. Each time his heart melted a little more, so wonderfully full of love for her. There were other women dancing together too, and being affectionate with each other, so Bob felt increasingly easy, and Diana even allowed him to lead a few times. Once during the evening a rather large, stocky woman in a purple blouse, her hair in a bun and her face shiny, cheerfully leaned over their table and asked Bob to dance. "I don't think so, dear," Diana answered for him, in a voice hard and sharp enough to shatter ice. The cheer vanished from her face, then the face itself. "You're mine," she explained gently when the woman had gone, and Bob had to admit to himself that he was indeed, and that he loved being hers. A little later, when he was in the Ladies' by himself straightening his hair and makeup, another girl tried to hit on him. Bob had to smile at his peculiar attractiveness while wearing a dress, when he'd never had much luck wearing pants. But all he said was "I'm taken, honey," in the gentle, mid-range voice he and Diana had practiced together on their way to the restaurant, and that left him free to return to Diana unencumbered. By the time they left Bob had completely forgotten he was in a dress and stockings and a girdle, his chest bound up in a bra, and wearing slip-on shoes that clacked when he walked. It all felt perfectly natural, even ordinary. Maybe Bob had drunk a bit too much, but when they got back to his place Diana had to take his key from his purse and open the door for the two of them, smiling over at him so he wouldn't feel uneasy about it. He lurched toward the sofa, but she steered him into his bedroom. He stood there in the gloom. She didn't seem concerned to find the light switch. Instead she stood close in front of him and raised her hands high over her head. He did the same. With a quick tuck of her wrists she undid his belt buckle and skirt, which fell to his feet, then pulled his blouse over his head, and set it across a nearby chair inside out. He remembered his hairdo. Now it didn't matter. He stood in his slip and stockings and flats. She looked at him, her eyes and lips dark in the reflected moonlight in the room. An eye gleamed. "Shall we, lover?" Yes. Oh, yes. "Sit on the bed and take off your shoes and those pantyhose." Yes. "Now lie back, sweetheart," she said. He lay back. She was his shadow. He was her sweetheart. He was on his back. She knelt on the bed beside him, shrugged her arms up, and her slip flew over her head. Then she reached behind her and her bra fell away. Bob reached for one of her breasts. It jiggled nearly out of his reach, so soft, so elusive! He struggled onto an elbow to remove his own slip. "No," she said. "Let me do everything." No, he thought. Yes. "Leave your bra and slip on now." She kissed him on the lips. So softly. No semen. Her lips. My bra. My slip. Like my hand. My skin. A part of me I possess. A part of me that's me. Naturally. I wear my bra and slip. So softly. "Wear them all day tomorrow," she said. "Every day from now on. Promise?" Her hands moved across his nipples, and he felt her slide the material of his slip against the tips of his bra cups, firming and smoothing it against the sides of his breasts. Her thumbs kept feeling him up. "All day." "For me. You'll think about me." "Yes." "Under your dress. Tomorrow. All day." His dress tomorrow? She mounted him, knees on either side of his hips, reared herself up, and began to undulate his stiffened prick into her, her hand floating over his bra, caressing his breasts. He was entering her! She was surrounding him! "It will feel wonderful." "Yes" Bob said, his eyes closed, all of his attention centered on his groin, the place where their two groins joined, and the enrichment of feeling brought on by her hands on his nipples. Yes, naturally. "Always. From now on. All the time, even when we make love." "Yes" "Except to sleep. Then wear a nightie." He had slid all the way into her now, and he could feel her pussy muscles spasm on the base of his prick as if to milk him. "Yes" She began to rotate her pelvis on him. "You're my adorable, precious girl," she said. "Yes," he said, eyes shut, clenching his buttocks up into her as she responded by pressing herself down on him. Now she seemed to be squirreling and squeezing him deeper and deeper, all the way into her, and he was rising into a delicious place he had never before entered. He knew he couldn't hold off much longer. "That's what you are! Aren't you?" "Yes," he said, rising to meet her. "What is it you are? For me? From now on?" "G-g-girl," he called out to her from the sweet, sweet darkness spreading now rapidly through him. "What kind of girl?" "Adorable...!" he said, her sweetness spreading through his body into his breasts, and arms. He was helpless. "Precious." "My girl. Even when I'm not here. All the time. From now on." "Yours! Yes!" "My darling, darling girl. You'll be so pretty. You're my pretty girl now, aren't you?" "Yes! Yes!" "You are!" He could think of nothing more glorious than to be what she said he was. "I am!" "You want to be my girl." "Yes!" "You want me to help you become a real girl!" "Yes!" "You'll do anything I say?" And Diana lifted herself up nearly off his penis, his cock head barely held by her soft pussy lips, and suspended herself there. Bob went out of his mind. "Yes! Yes! Anything! Yes!" He tried to lift himself back into her. All of his yearning concentrated on slipping back in, becoming her, becoming whatever she wanted, being hers, adorable, precious, oh how infinitely sweet, sweet, the quintessence of her, a girl. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" "Again." "Oh, yes, Diana, yes!" And with that she sank back down onto him and clamped herself to his crotch, and he lifted himself up into her and came, and came, and came, each spurt an affirmation plunged deep into her while she smiled and squeezed him with her pussy, milking his prick until finally he had no more sperm to give her. He was near fainting with the pleasure of it. He never noticed that she didn't come at all. She just smiled, as if deeply satisfied in a different way.. When he found his breath again she was lying with her head on his chest, her hair falling over him in all directions, his softened penis still inside her. "Yes," she said. "My sweet, adorable, precious girl. Mine From now on." "Yes," he replied in his rich afterglow. This was quite a game. He wondered how seriously she was playing it. "Yes," she confirmed, and she began to suckle on him. His body began again to squeeze toward feelings of ecstasy. "My precious girl," she said. And they resumed. As his penis hardened, his body seemed to melt into hers. It didn't seem to matter to her that his body was being pleasured by hers, not hers with his, that all she seemed to want for herself was his consent to anything she wanted to do now or hereafter, the one thing she asked for repeatedly, in many forms. As if declaring his love for her over and over, he surrendered his manhood to her repeatedly, blissfully, each time she asked. He grew hard again, and squirted his girl-juices into her again. He was her precious girl. From now on. Yes. **************** When they woke up the following morning they made love yet again. She was silky softness everywhere, under his arms, against him, surrounding him, and her thighs were warm and moist and sticky, and her pussy was still slick with their juices from the previous night. He hardened yet again as he felt her pressing against him, and then this time he mounted her and plunged into her, and came into her yet again. When they finished, she seemed pleased. Then she commented that there was one more thing she wanted him to do for her, and then they could see about breakfast, "What's that?" he asked, stretching like an enormous cat. He had never felt better! He rolled off and looked at her. She was stark naked. She wore her skin the way other women wore leotards, as if her body was its own sufficient clothing. He came suddenly aware that he hadn't himself undressed the night before. His slip was now around his waist, and his bra had ridden up above his the nipples. It all seemed a little silly by the morning's light. But she had wanted him to wear them. For some reason the idea now stirred his loins, as if he were about to begin yet another erection. But no, he had now altogether spent himself into her. He stayed soft. "This!" She suddenly reversed her body and lay down on top of him, her legs spread wide as she slid her crotch up his chest toward his mouth until her lower lips kissed his lips. Then she wriggled her hips slightly, seating her pussy firmly onto his face, his nose pressed into her anus. For a moment he couldn't breath. Then she unlimbered her legs slightly, and he opened his mouth to take in a great gasp of air. She clamped his mouth firmly against her crotch. "Kiss me, Bobbi dear, my lovely, dearest girl! Suck on me! Clean me out, my dear, precious Bobbi! Lick me! Suck me! Drink me!" And once again Bob went into ecstasy, drinking her juices, mostly his own cum, nibbling and sucking on her clit until she spasmed. Every spasm squeezed more of his precious cum out of her cunt into his mouth. There was quite a bit of it deep in her from the previous night, kept fresh under her mound between her legs, inside her beautiful rosy-lipped pussy. He licked her deep inside, and along her slit up to her curls of hair, and down the outside of her labia, and then inside her thighs. When she allowed he licked the crust from her belly and hips. This time, as she pressed her pussy into his face, then away for him to lick her more delicately, then again pressed down, this time he was sure she came. She never made a sound, but her whole body clenched and then relaxed into luxurious ease while he licked her again and again, kissing gently those folds he knew now were sparkling clean, finally taking her little clit into his pursed lips and gently, sweetly kissing it. Then again. "Time for a shower," Diana said suddenly. "You first, sweet Bobbi girl. I'll lay out your clothes for the day." "We won't shower together?" Bob asked her, a little disappointed. He wanted to run his hands over her skin, and between her legs, while she was all slick, wet and glistening. "Another time, my dear girl. You first." While Bob showered he kept grinning to himself. He felt so good! Finally, he had gotten into her, and obviously she loved it. But he wondered how far she meant to carry this "dear girl" thing. He had promised, he remembered vaguely, to wear a bra and slip today for her. So he would. And under a dress. Well, all right, a dress. But this weekend only. All right. But then while they were making love last night, in that so delicious moment when he had yielded all of his soul and will to her, he had promised her "from now on." He was her girl. What did that mean, from now on? It meant all the time. Not just this weekend. Stretched out taut in the ecstasy of coming, he had promised her. He had wanted to promise her. God, how he had wanted it! Now he wasn't sure how to deal with "from now on." Maybe he could ignore it. He was a man. After last night and this morning she could have no doubt of that! He decided to ask her, casually, how she planned to have him be her girl and yet remain her man. A man is a man, after all. He knew she couldn't really be serious, calling him a girl. So he hadn't really promised her anything. There was no real problem here. But when he got back to his bedroom, still naked, his body squeaky clean and hairless as a baby's, he was shocked! Astonished! There in the room stood a large, stocky woman, filling most of the space in front of Diana, who sat at ease on the edge of the bed looking up into the woman's face and listening, then talking, throwing her hands here and there expressively while she talked. The woman was wearing a pale purple starched uniform of some kind, like the kind beauty parlor operators wear, or nurses. Bob noticed that she was listening to Diana attentively and respectfully, every now and then nodding. Diana noticed Bob out of the corner of her eye, completed whatever she was saying, turned to Bob, and smiled at him. "Bobbi my sweetheart, you adorable darling, come here. I want you to meet Erika. Erika looks after different things for me, now and then, and I've asked her to help me look after you now, to help me prepare you. There's so much to do! Oh, you are going to love being a girl, I just know it! Right now I thought you should just see each other -- you can take the time to get acquainted later on. That's about it for now, Erika. You might see what can be done about breakfast before you go." Bob was bewildered, flabbergasted! He was standing in his own bedroom stark naked, and here was a strange woman looking him over with a mildly attentive professional eye. He tried to cover himself. His hands fluttered over his loins and, unaccountably, his chest before he realized he had better just stand still on his dignity. He finally found his voice and tried to declare his indignation, but before a sound could come out Erika broke in and said, "Miss Bobbi, how nice to meet you. I see you've had your shower. Did you remember to take your enema and then your douche?" Somehow, this seemed insulting! Bob lookled at Diana, his lover, expecting her to intervene in such a delicately personal matter, but Diana also seemed to be waiting for his reply. "Erika," Bob replied, as if completing her introduction to him by acknowledging her name, trying to grasp the initiative. "Pleased to meet you." The two women waited patiently for this obvious untruth to dissipate, and Bob realized he had only one more thing to say. A moment passed in total silence. "No," he said, "I forgot." He felt like a child asked if he had scrubbed his teeth. "Well, shouldn't you now?" Diana asked. "Would you like Erika to help you? Erika, would you go with Bobbi and help her clean herself out? I'll bet with all the excitement this morning she's even forgotten that she's still having her period, and needs to change her tampon." Bob suddenly realized this was true. He was still having his period, and needed to change his tampon. No he wasn't, he tried to tell himself. Men don't have periods. Even so, he felt like a twelve year old . . . girl (he swallowed hard) who has been reminded she needs lessons in personal hygiene! "Yes Miss Diana" Erika said. "And while we're about it shall we begin preparing Bobbi's vagina for its new responsibilities?" "Well, no, not yet," Diana replied. "Just help her clean herself out, then see to breakfast. I'll get dressed meanwhile. After this weekend we'll want to move Bobbi into that spare apartment in the your building, and then you'll be able to look after her needs much more easily. Now that she's my special girl, and she wants to be mine, we'll want to take especially good care of her. She's very precious to me." Diana looked directly into Bob's eyes, and said with no noticeable irony, "Aren't you, my adorable girl? Aren't you? Yes. Yes, you know you want to be mine. Don't you? Say it again. I love to hear you say it." Bob couldn't quite grasp what was happening, and said nothing for a moment. Erika stood there in her starched uniform and looked at him as if preparing to move forward. "Miss Bobbi," she said. "Shouldn't you answer?" "Yes," Bob said, "I'm yours. I know it. I want to be yours, I know that too!" And for some reason the naked man felt utterly helpless. Unaccountably, unexpectedly, he fell to his knees in the doorway, and realized he had started to cry. It was as if somehow his old life was over. Somehow he was saying a sorrowful goodbye to his old self. For her! Diana came forward and knelt down, and cradled his head in her hands, and comforted him. "There, there, Bobbi" she said. "You'll love it. It'll be beautiful. I promise you, this will be the loveliest thing that will ever happen to you. But just hug me now, and cry as long as you want to." Stark naked and on his knees, Bob hugged her and sobbed, at first uncontrollably, then in spasms and short bursts of tears, then looking up to her in a kind of hopeful helplessness, gasping now and again. Diana stroked his hair and his back, and hugged him gently, looking over his shoulder at the wall, or at Nurse Erika, who waited patiently for Bobbi to compose herself, at least sufficiently to complete her toilet, her enema and douche, and to change her tampon. ********************* That day Bob wore all day the slip and bra he'd promised to wear, under the dress he'd somehow promised he'd wear, a simple purple wool with a flared collar. And panties. Then in the afternoon another blouse, a full skirt, and a cardigan sweater. From her large suitcases Diana fitted him out first with rather plain three inch heels, then later in the day with four inch heels. By mid-afternoon the wobble in his walk had disappeared and had become a slight sway in his hips, and Diana decreed they could go shopping. Bob was still so demoralized he raised no objection at all, though this was his first time out in daylight while dressed in women's clothing. He felt numb. He had no choice but to trust her judgement that he was unmistakeably feminine, and to seek comfort in her reassuring smile. She told him to use his pale lipstick and only a little mascara, so he did, surprising himself that after last night it went on so easily. They walked into an upscale store where Diana was evidently known, to judge by the way two saleswomen immediately came forward to attend to her, and by their deferential smiles when Diana introduced them to Bobbi. She then bought Bobbi a really stunning dress, a draped red silk, sleeveless, beltless, flowing do