Attacked By Silk Gloves free porn video

Attacked by Silk Gloves by RH Music The set-up takes a few pages, but stick with it, for there is plenty of good stuff later. - - - - - - - - - - - - - Chapter 1 --------- Paul was obsessed. He had no friends, no social life, and no spare time. All this because his mind was completely consumed by his obsession with magic. It started when he was in high school with simple magic tricks and then increased as he gradually learned more and more complicated illusions. He thrilled at seeing the illusion for the first time, the awe, the wonder. He loved picking it apart and learning it, revealing its secrets. Unfortunately, that's just when he would feel let down, for once the illusion was revealed and mastered, it immediately lost its magic. Sure, he had fun showing off in front of friends, at parties, etc. (although he was looked upon as a nerd - and his delivery wasn't very theatrical). But once it was learned and perfected, it became just another trick. He longed for the real thing. The trick which maintained its allure even after he understood it, more than a day or two. Ultimately, he was looking for something that he couldn't explain away. When he got to college, he started the real search, between classes, first with the university library. He had already read through most of the books on magic, so he skipped on to the "Religion and the Occult". This section took about a year to sift through; it was a big library. After that, he tried "Alchemy". Then "Myths and Legends". By the time he had exhausted all of the library books, he was nearly the most knowledgeable expert in the state. What he discovered was disappointing. This was perhaps due to his early training in illusions, but none of the magic that he discovered passed his rigorous test: 1) It had to be repeatable, 2) It had to be physical, not mental [he had no use for the Psychic Friends Network], 3) It had to be a conscious act performed by a human being (so, haunted houses were out), and 4) It had to be something which he could not accomplish with his own magic expertise, which, by this time, was considerable. Paul wondered if he would end up like Harry Houdini, forever searching in vain for paranormal behavior, and forever disappointed. The magic in the books failed all of these tests. They might say "secret ingredients" or require sayings not specified. They might depend on statistically invalid tests (especially aphrodisiacs). Or, they might be strictly anecdotal or third-hand hearsay. Lots of books began with "It has been said that an ancient race of X were able to perform magical feats..." - in other words, pure speculation. By this time, Paul had finished his junior year he had decided on a degree in sociology. Of course this degree was not the ticket to wealth and fame, but it was related to his area of interest, and it gave him opportunities to re-use his Occult research. His professors were impressed with how well researched his papers had become. At the start of summer break, Paul had finished his library research and was ready to go into the field. The opportunities were meager. Paul had only found five potential cases that matched his criteria. Two were the result of his library research, two were found through on-line computer research, and one was found through his newspaper search. Since all of these were in the United States (he had specifically put aside foreign travel as being impractical), he decided it was time for a road trip. "Let's see if there is anything real out there," he thought, as he pulled out of the driveway. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - After three weeks of travelling, he was beginning to get discouraged. He had visited 3 locations, with no luck. One was simple magic, over enthusiastically described by a local journalist (Paul was able to easily impress the amateur with his own magic). One was a fraud, pure and simple, and one was a man who had died years earlier ("I think it was all made up," his son said, "anyway, he burned all his papers before he died, so there's nothing left to look at"). Paul parked his car in the driveway of his fourth case and walked to the door. It was in an old, run-down Victorian mansion - the kind that are always too close to the highway, because the original owner hadn't anticipated so much suburban sprawl. This one was especially run down and seedy. Everything needed painting, the yard was strewn with litter, and the wood was rotting away. He heard trucks rumble by, just through the trees. It was hot. He crossed the porch to the front door. Idly, he wondered if the floorboards would hold his weight. He rang the bell and waited. Two minutes went by. Paul rang again. He peeked into the side window (cracked), though dirty lace curtains, down a dark and deserted hallway. After a minute, he saw someone cross the hallway. Paul rang a third time and waited. Paul rang a fourth time. "What!?" The door was whipped open and a cranky old face shot out. "Oh!" Paul stumbled back. He was overcome by a host of ugly smells: cigarette smoke, stale sulfur, cheap perfume, baby powder, mildew. "Hi," he coughed, "ummm, my name is Paul." "State your business." She was impatient and agitated. Her head had a slight uncontrolled quaver to it. She was at least 85 years old. "Right. My name is Paul. Ah... I said that, didn't I? Right. Mrs. Carter? I saw an article that mentioned you in the Corbet County Times from 1954. Some society piece that mentioned a magic trick that you did for a benefit party? Something about a glove that would put itself on your hand. Ummm..." She looked at him with complete contempt. "Yeah, well I was curious how you did it. I'm really good at illusions, and I couldn't see how that trick could be possible." "Well, maybe it wasn't a trick, maybe it was real?" Paul felt his heart skip a beat. "Real?" he gasped and stammered. "Har har haaarr," she wheezed at him. Paul felt a gentle mist of spittle land on his face. He grimaced. "You kids are so gullible. You'll believe anything. Some magician you are. Well, I'm sorry, but my entertaining days are long over. Goodbye." She pulled back and pushed on the door. "Wait!" Paul shouted, and lunged towards the door. "Ahhh, fuck!" he screamed as the door shut solidly on his hand. "Now what?" She opened the door again. "Oh god," Paul moaned, rocking up and down, doubled over with his hand in his lap. He looked up at her. "Please. You don't have to perform the magic for me, just tell me how it's done. I've been looking for something like this for years. I'm desperate." She looked at him more closely, her head tilted to one side, eyes piercing into him, as if trying to look into his skull, rather than at his face. Her nostrils flared. She pushed a finger into her nose and picked at it for a second. "Alright, come in. You interrupted my lunch." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Paul sat watching Mrs. Carter ("It's Rosemary") hunched over her soup. Her slurping was noisy. Both elbows were on the table and she covered the bowl. "Good thing you're here, place is a pig sty. Can't say I ever cared to keep it up for anyone after my daughter died." Soup dripped down her chin. She wiped it off with her fingers, then on her housecoat. Paul looked around. Indeed, the place was filthy. He was glad that she didn't offer him anything. To make the soup, she just picked a random pot from a pile of dirty dishes strewn around the kitchen, added some brown water from the tap, and then poured in the soup stock from an open can on the counter. The table was covered with a greasy film, the chairs were sticky and oozing lint. He saw cockroaches. "Excuse me?" Paul asked. "I said, you can start with the kitchen." "Kitchen?" Paul was befuddled. "Yes. Clean it!" "What? Why?" "God, you're thicker than a cinder block! Do you think I'm going to share a secret with a snot-nosed, wet-bottom infant like you? You're going to have to work for it." "Now wait a minute. I don't even know if you can do magic at all. I don't even know if you're really Mrs. Carter! If I'm going to be your personal cleaning service, I need some proof or I'm headed right...." Paul stopped mid-stream. She had reached over and pointed to his wrist with an oily, sticky finger. As her finger drew near, his wrist, as if shackled by a magnetic cuff, leapt to her finger, pulling his whole body forward an inch or two. "God, I hate you smart-asses! You don't know shit." She moved her finger effortlessly to the side, and his wrist, as if welded to it, was dragged along. "Just a sniveling twerp, a braying jackass, an ass who don't know jack." Her finger dragged his wrist over the table. Paul stumbled out of his chair and onto his knees, his face knocking over an old bowl of sour milk and corn flakes, which clattered across the floor. Her hand continued to the floor, and Paul's wrist with it. Paul was forced to bend over, still on his knees. She pushed his wrist to the floor and pressed it firmly down. The floor was disgusting. She twisted her finger and pulled it back, leaving his hand invisibly locked to the floor. He jerked his hand, his arm, in fact, his whole body, but he couldn't budge his wrist. He put his knees underneath him and pulled with his entire weight, but it was impossible to move. Paul looked up at Rosemary, frightened, heart pounding, scared shitless. She was giving him that strange look again: intense study mixed with irritation. She reached with her finger to his head. "No!" Paul shouted and jerked back. Of course, his shackled wrist prevented any serious movement away and she was easily able to reach his forehead. What he felt was quite remarkable: his entire skull, as if encased in a tight leather mask, was pulled magnetically to her finger. The force was immense, with no apparent effort on her part. "Is this hypnosis?" he wondered. He thought that he had studied hypnosis and was able to defeat it. "Is this a trick? Is this real?" his mind was swirling. Her finger, with his head attached, now moved towards the floor as well. As she slowly, almost gracefully approached the floor, Paul struggled further, until he felt his head joining his wrist, welded to the slimy linoleum. For extra measure, she tilted his head so his nose and lips were pressed to the floor. "You need to learn to respect, boy." She looked down at him, while all he could look at was her sandals. Her feet were gray and spotted, with split toenails. "Here's the deal. You clean this kitchen, and if you do a good job I'll show you something. Otherwise, get the fuck out of here and if I ever see you again I'm calling the police." Rosemary picked up her foot and ground a sandal into his face. The bottom was gritty. She got up and left the room. Paul listened as she slowly ascended the stairs to the second story. As soon as her bedroom door was closed, his bonds were suddenly released. His body flew up off the floor, his head hit the table with a bang, and he fell back hard. After crawling a few steps he raced for the front door, opened it, stepped out, and then.... Hesitated. "Shit," he thought, "she is one dangerous old bitch." He headed out. Then stopped, turned back, his hand still on the door knob, turned around again, forwards, backwards, and then he finally stopped, one foot inside, and one outside the house. Paul got his breathing gradually under control as he looked nervously back into the house. He had no idea how she had accomplished what she had just done. This was definitely the opportunity he had been looking for. Gradually, he walked back into the house, nervously glancing up the stairs, and then quietly went back to the kitchen. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - It was four hours later before Paul saw Rosemary again. He spent the entire time in the kitchen, cleaning it as best he could. He was tempted several times to go out and get additional cleaning materials, but was worried that his leaving the house would be interpreted as leaving forever. As it was, he was able to do pretty well. There were two unused bars of soap and some other cleaning supplies in one of the cabinets, apparently left there by some social worker. He used dirt and gravel from the back yard for the worst pots, and after washing the dishes thoroughly he used his shirt to dry them. This took about an hour and a half and just about a whole bar of soap. Another hour and another bar of soap and the countertops, tabletop, and cabinets were no longer greasy. He was working on the floor when Rosemary stepped in. He saw her feet first, then looked up her scrawny legs. She stepped back. "Pervert," she muttered. She looked around. Paul stood up and looked at her, hopefully. She took another long, hard look at Paul, this time so long that he stepped back and looked embarrassed. "What is she looking for?" he wondered. She went to the table and sat down. "Dinner?" - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - By this time, Paul knew the kitchen pretty well, so he boiled some more soup and they ate in silence. She sat back in the chair, put an arm on the table, and looked at Paul for a while. Paul was determined not to say anything until she was ready. "Alright. Thank you for cleaning up the kitchen. I had nearly forgotten what color it was." Rosemary grimaced at him, belched, and drummed her fingers. "Alright. I guess I'll have to show you something," Paul's eyes went up, "but not tonight. I'm too tired. Tomorrow." "But..." Paul started. "What?" She looked at him piercingly. Paul sputtered, but sat back, resigned. Now that he had made up his mind, he was determined to see this through. Rosemary got out of her chair. "Get up. You can sleep in my daughter's old room." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Paul woke up, panicked. "I must be having a heart attack," he thought, his heart banging. After a second, he calmed his breathing, his heart slowed, and he relaxed. He checked his watch on the dresser. 11 PM, so he had only been asleep for an hour and a half. "Gonna be a long night," he sighed. Ancient but unmistakably feminine smells surrounded him. He looked around the room, scanning its contents. Apparently, nothing had been touched after Rosemary's daughter had died. Old clothing was left on chairs and dressers, make-up lids were still open, the bed had been left unmade. It felt weird sleeping in a bed with used sheets, last used by a young woman who had died 25 years ago. He felt like an archeologist invading a lost tomb. Paul looked down. The covers had trapped his penis and he realized now that it was rock hard. "God, why you?" He stroked it through the sheets, idly, enjoying the sensation. Paul was naked under the covers, just because that's the way he always slept. The bed was a wonderful four- poster canopy bed, but with the canopy faded and yellowed. The daughter (Paul had never heard her name) must have been treasured and spoiled by doting parents to have been able to sleep in such a well appointed bedroom. After a second he got up. A crooked light from the highway next door shined faintly through the window. He parted the curtains and watched some trucks drive by. After a second he walked over to the dresser to poke around a bit. The dresser was strewn with makeup, school pins, rings, and old concert tickets. Leafing through an old notebook, Paul discovered that the daughter's name was Janice. Apparently she was pretty popular. Her prom date had been some guy called "Jacob", apparently a real hunk, if the notes from her friends were any indication. At the end of the dresser, Paul spied a pair of silk gloves. "Are these the gloves from the trick?" Paul wondered. He picked one up and looked at it carefully. It was made of silk, and was long, apparently intended to be worn over the elbow at a fancy affair. "The Prom?" He held it up to his hands; it would be a tight fit. Paul put the glove down. "Alacazam!" Paul waved his hand over the glove, being stupid, pretending to weave a spell. "Shit!" Paul jerked his hand back. The glove had moved. After a second, he moved his hand closer again, and as he came within a few inches, the gloved moved again, this time shifting towards his hand a little. "Jesus!" he said, pulling back again, a bit scared. "This is it!" He wondered if he was still asleep. Paul steadied his breathing and reached forward one more time. As soon as his hand got within an inch, the glove jumped up, and engulfed his hand! "Ack!" He jerked back and tried to shake off the glove. It was like his hand was being engulfed by a silk snake, swallowing more and more of his arm. Paul pulled frantically at it, but was unable to get a good grip on the silk. The silk caressed his entire arm as it gradually worked its way higher and higher. Paul was frantically trying to grip the fingers, to get a hold on the opening, but it was just too slippery. "Damn it!" Paul was frantic. The glove had reached his elbow, and now the fingers came to life. Each one wriggled away trying to work themselves onto his fingers. "Damn, No!" he quickly clenched his fist. As Paul tried desperately to stop it, the thumb of the glove, like some kind of live animal, gradually worked its way to the tip of his thumb, and no matter how hard he pressed, the silk was able to grasp hold of the tip. Once the tip was surrounded, it gradually ate up the rest of his thumb, until it was isolated from the rest of his hand. Next each finger was attacked individually. The glove was alive and possessed. It was stroking, rubbing, squeezing, his entire arm as it inexorably invaded each finger, surrounded it, enclosed it, isolated it, until, at last, his hand, his entire arm, and each of his fingers was fully enclosed. Paul breathed for a second, realizing that he had lost the battle. He held up his arm in the glove, and looked at it a second, rotating it. His hand was smaller now, apparently squeezed by the glove, but still felt comfortable. He could still tell that it was alive, however, for it squirmed, a living wriggling glove that had covered his entire arm. There was a slight 'click' and Paul felt a slight tightening around the armhole of the glove. With a sinking feeling, he realized that the glove had locked itself onto his arm. It would be impossible to get it off now without destroying it. By this time, Paul had backed up to the bed, and was leaning against it, still breathing heavily, sweating due to his exertions. He looked up as he heard something clatter on the dresser, and the watched in horror as the other glove knocked over an empty perfume bottle, dropped to the floor, and began slithering across the floor like a snake, the arm-hole first, open and obviously ready to attack his free hand. "Oh no you don't!" This time Paul was ready. He leapt into the bed, interlaced his fingers, and then sat on them. "There! See if you can beat that!" The glove slithered up the bedpost, onto the bed, and snaked across the bed. It immediately started to wedge itself underneath Paul's bottom, trying to get to his gloveless left hand. Unfortunately, Paul hadn't counted on the glove on his right hand helping out. The fingers started moving, trying to disentangle themselves, and try as he could to control the gloved hand, they were too strong. After a second, his right hand was completely free of his left, and had pushed it away. All the while, Paul was sitting on both hands, and squirming as the energetic glove burrowed deeper underneath. "Damn!" Paul decided to give up on defense and go for offense instead. He jumped up and tried to brush the second glove off the bed. But the glove had been too fast, and as he jumped up, it firmly grasped the fingers on his left hand, and no amount of flailing his hands could shake it off. This second contest was quickly lost, as the glove now devoured his entire arm, eating it up inch by inch. Paul still fought it, but knew in his heart that the outcome was certain. And, after his arm had been fully encased, after each finger was individually isolated and tightly encased, he heard the inevitable 'click' as the arm hole tightened and the second glove was now securely locked onto his arm. "Damn," he thought. He wondered how Rosemary would react to this. Probably it wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been so nosy and hadn't poked around the dresser. Oh well, certainly her magic would be powerful enough to undo this spell. "Unless she doesn't want to." The thought caused his stomach to knot up. He did not like the idea of being trapped in these silk gloves forever. He sat back and tried to relax. "It's over," he sighed, resigned to the fact that he was going to be wearing the gloves for a while. "But on the positive side, I've seen the glove trick! And not just once but twice!" And in a way that made the magic infinitely more powerful and curious than he could have thought possible. But now he was glad that it was over, after all, both of his hands had been covered and there was nothing more to lose. They were gorgeous silk gloves. He marveled at how dainty they made his hands look. If he hadn't known better, he would have said that his hands did, in fact, look more delicate and feminine. He held a hand to his face and gently stroked the smooth silk over his cheek. Almost immediately, his penis reacted. Then, as he stroked his cheek, he noticed that he wasn't doing all of the stroking. The glove itself was controlling his fingers and doing some of the caressing on its own. "Now, *this* is weird," he thought. It was still his hand for he could feel it and (mostly) control it, but it seemed to be smaller and more feminine, and had a mind of its own. Meanwhile, without Paul fully realizing it, the other glove moved down and began playing with his nipples. This was something that Paul never did by himself, but the sensation of the silk on his nipples was delicious. Paul had had an erection most of the night due to the stimulating surroundings, and so it was only a few seconds before he was now fully hard. All that was needed was a little more direct stimulation, and his right hand provided that as it went from his cheek to stroke his cock. The fingers closed around his penis, making a silken tunnel, which felt fantastic as his hand stroked up and down. It was just a few of these slow strokes before he erupted, squirting sperm up his belly and over his chest. After a few more strokes to squeeze the last drops out, the gloves scooped up the sperm and brought it close to his face. For some reason Paul didn't even think twice, he just inhaled the moist aroma, then opened his mouth and sucked all of the sperm off of the gloves. This continued until he was all cleaned up. Then the gloves went back to stroke him some more as Paul drifted off into a light sleep. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Chapter 2 --------- Paul did not sleep soundly. His dreams were invaded by images of disembodied, self-animated gloves caressing his body, of Rosemary humiliating him as he tried to explain why the gloves were stained with cum, of him naked in front of her, as she verbally abused his massively rock-hard cock. Then his dreams turned weird. He dreamt he had become a glove, able to move like an inchworm, able to grasp onto an unsuspecting hand and swallow it down his throat. The scene changed and he was a pair of panties, being put on by the daughter and somehow his arms and legs made loops for the leg holes and his face was the strip of fabric at the crotch. She started walking across the room and the panties rode up her ass crack, his face was rubbed across her anus. Then the daughter changed into a man and his face mashed into musky male pubic hairs. Then the man changed into Rosemary and her shriveled buttocks. "Unh!" Paul moaned and shook the images from his mind. That last, intimate picture of Rosemary nearly turned his stomach. It was one of those images that your mind can not resist, precisely because it is so disgusting and weird, while the rest of your body revolts. Paul shook the image from his head, turned over and put his feet on the floor, and reached over to turn on the lamp on the nightstand. The gloves! He had forgotten about the gloves, or had thought they might have drifted away like the other images from his dream, but he felt them as he turned the light on, and there they were: white silk gloves covering his hands up past the elbows. He sighed and held them before his eyes, wondering what to do. Would Rosemary go ballistic when she saw them on him? He suspected that Rosemary was responsible for them in the first place, and he knew that he would be wearing them forever unless he got her help to take them off. Perhaps it was her plan to get him to ask for her help, or to make him feel more humble, or something. He took a closer look at the hem of the glove. It was not so restrictive that it cut off his blood, just a nice firm fit. However, the hem had absolutely no give at all. He could not force more than the tip of a finger underneath it. It was like a steel band around his upper arm, allowing no hope for escape. Further, he couldn't slip the glove down his hand. First, his elbow prevented it from going very far, and second any amount he pushed was lost as the glove wriggled back up his arm. Of course he could always just cut the gloves from his hand. But he was sure that the glove would defend itself (and god only knows what that would mean!) and besides, the gloves were beautiful, and he didn't want to destroy something magical, which was, for the moment, totally mysterious and unfathomable. This was exactly what he had been so desperately searching for these past 6 years. Paul looked at his watch. It was 1:30 AM. He let out another sigh, there were still another 6 hours left before morning. He looked around the room. "That's strange," he said, out loud. Paul spied a bra lying on the bed, off to the side. "Was that there before?" He reached over and picked it up. The bra was perfectly ordinary. It was white, with springy elastic straps that crossed in front. The cups were simple nylon fabric with a stiff underwire. He tossed the bra back where he had picked it up. "Now hold on." This time, there was a body cincher on the bed, next to where he tossed the bra. "I swear, that wasn't there before." He wondered if it had been obscured by shadows, or by the folds in the fabric of the bed. Paul picked up the cincher and looked at it. It was simply a wide strip of fabric, about a foot wide and two feet long, which went about the waist and cinched the waist in a few inches. There were eight hooks on one end, and three rows of eight eyes on the other, for three possible tightness adjustments, each adjustment about an inch tighter. It was lightly boned with plastic stays. There were tabs hanging down from the bottom, obviously intended for holding up stockings. Paul had never seen a cincher before, and he was intensely curious about this new feminine undergarment. He sucked in his belly and held up the cincher, wondering how it would work. The fabric was pretty stiff. The tabs dangled down his legs. Over the next few minutes, Paul would realize how stupid he had been, not recognizing the danger he had encouraged, and he would kick himself for having stayed in the bedroom at all. He honestly thought that the glove trick was all that there was, and didn't realize, until too late, that other pieces of clothing might be similarly inclined. He discovered how just wrong he was in the next instant, when the ends of the cincher whipped out of his hands (easily done because the silk gloves had no grip), and whipped around his body with a *snap* as the first hook caught the first eye. "HUP!" he gasped, as his breath was caught short by the sneak attack. Paul frantically reached behind his back with both hands, trying to grip the ends of the cincher to undo the hooks. *snap*, *snap*, *snap*! Three more hooks coupled with three more eyes. Damn! *snap*, *snap*. His gloved fingers just couldn't get a grip! *snap*! Nor did it seem like he could budge the cincher at all. *snap*! He pushed and twisted, but even just the first hook resolutely refused to be disengaged from the eye. Paul let go and tried to twist around to see if he could see what was going on. *Snap*! The first hook had moved to the next tighter row of eyes. He felt his waist further pulled in and confined. *Snap*, *snap*! Two more cinched in. "Aaahhck!" Paul felt his breath grow short, frantic now that he was being cut in half. He looked down at his waist and saw that it had visibly shrunk, much more than he had thought possible. *Snap*, *snap*, *snap*! Three more hooks cinched in another inch. Paul then felt something brush over his hand. As he looked down, he realized that the bra had also come to life, and that his right hand had been encircled with a bra strap. "Oh no you don't!" he nearly shouted, and pulled at the bra with his left hand, pulling it completely off. But this time, the left hand became encircled with the left strap of the bra. "Damn!" He waved his hands frantically through the air, the bra wildly whipping around him. *Snap*! The final hook on the cincher had made it to the second row of eyes. Paul soon was hopelessly tangled up in the brassier, both hands encircled and tangled with bra straps. *Snap*! The first hook now moved to the next row of eyes, cinching his waist in yet another inch. His waist compressed further, now becoming amazingly small. He suddenly thought that this was more than just mere physics, his waist seemed to be shrinking! *Snap*, *snap*! Two more hooks each tightened up by an inch to the next row of eyes. The constriction was horrible, as his breath came out only in short gasps. He went back to the brassier, and what he saw made his heart sink. The gloves were against him! While his attention had been diverted to the cincher, the gloves had untangled the bra straps, and the bra had actually slipped up his left arm, past the elbow! "Nooooo!" He reached with his right hand, trying to pull the straps back down his arm. As he did, the right bra strap slipped up his right arm, up to the elbow. *Snap*! Another hook pulled the cincher still tighter around his waist. Each snap was taking longer now, as the cincher struggled to pull each one in to the last and tightest position. The pressure was nearly unbearable. And his gloved hands refused to obey his mental instructions! He reached for the bra straps, trying to grasp them and pull them back down his arms, but the fingers refused to grasp! All he could do was paw at the straps, and they easily worked their way up his arms, until the straps were nearly over his shoulders. *Snap*! Another hook tightened. His waist was being inevitably shrunk to a diameter of about 26 inches, where his normal girth was about 32 inches. *Snap*! Only two more to go. The gloves and the bra completely thwarted his attempts to undo the bra, and the straps now slipped up over his shoulders. The ends of the bra slithered around his back, snugly embracing his torso, and the first hook and eye engaged with a *snap*. *Snap*, the cincher pulled in further. *Snap* the second hook on the bra pulled the bra firmly into place, solidly encasing his chest in its silky grip. Paul could just barely breathe, and couldn't bend over at all. *Snap*, the last hook on the cincher was firmly set in its final position. *Snap*, *Snap*, the hooks on the bra snapped in another position, tightening the bra. And then finally, *Snap, *SNAP*! The bra pulled tighter into its final position, sealing his fate. Paul beat the bed in frustration, gasping, and now in tears. He had been fully defeated by simple articles of woman's underwear, which had magically and easily circumvented all of his defenses and had trapped his body in a virtual silk prison! As the tears streamed down his face wetting the bra, he looked down and saw something he absolutely couldn't believe: his breasts were growing. It was unmistakable, his breasts were expanding to fill the bra. What had been empty, loose fabric cups, were now slowly filling out. He reached up with his hands, in a ridiculous attempt to push the growing bosoms back. His new tits grew steadily within his hands, causing his fingers to part, and his hands to be pushed out. Pretty soon they were at about an A cup, then B, then C, and then they stopped somewhere between C and D. Complete and full breasts, which the bra was just barely able to contain, bosoms which spilled out over the top of their silk confinement. Paul looked at horror at his body as the final goal of these events came to him: he was being transformed. As each piece of clothing attached itself to him, that part of his body had been transformed into something smaller, more delicate, more feminine. He didn't notice it with his hands and waist, because they could have been simply due to the compression of the tight fabrics. But his breasts provided conclusive evidence. "I'm outa here!" Paul announced, realizing now that there was not a moment to loose if he was to keep what was left of his body intact. He hopped to the floor, grabbed his watch, and headed for the door... ... but stumbled and fell down hard on his face and arms. "Shit, shit, shit!" Something had tripped him! He pistoned his legs trying to get them back under him. He looked down at his legs and saw what had gone wrong: a stocking had wound itself around his ankles, and a second was now clasped onto his right foot, working its way over his ankle. "Oh fuck...Ohhhh fuck." Paul could see now where this was headed. He reached down and tried to untangle the stocking. He got a foot free, got to his knees, and lurched for the door.... And fell down hard, again. Now both feet were covered with stockings, one had just wriggled over his knee, and the other was just over his ankle. The struggle didn't last much longer. Paul tried to take off the stockings, but the arms and hands of his gloves wouldn't obey his commands. Every time he tried to get up to leave, stockings or no stockings, his own two feet would trip him up, as if his feet were being pulled out from underneath him. After just a minute or so, the battle was lost. Even the stocking tabs on the cincher had strained down and attached themselves firmly to the stocking tops. Paul lay on his stomach, face to the floor, fingers clawing the carpet, sobbing. He looked down at his legs and a fresh torrent of tears flowed through a gasping, "Why me?" His legs had been transformed too. They were now thinner and more beautiful, with much smaller feet and pointed toes. And there was not even a run in the stockings. He made one last attempt for the door, crawling on hands and knees, but the gloves and stockings worked together to thwart any further progress. He struggled against them, but the magic was too strong, he could only just hold still for a few minutes, before his hands and arms pushed him back. He sat back against the bed, shaking from the effort, breathing in gasps, feeling resigned and depressed. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - After his breathing had settled down, Paul took stock of the situation. First, his hands and arms were covered in shiny smooth silk gloves, over the elbow. The gloves would give him control of his fingers and hands only when he relaxed and didn't fight the magic. His hands were smaller than normal, with proportionally longer fingers. Paul rubbed the fingers together, feeling the silk, and, almost against his will, the fingers rose to stroke his cheek as they had already done many times that night. Second, a size 34C bra covered his chest, made of shiny white nylon. It cupped and hugged his new breasts, which were just a bit too large for the bra. He saw his new nipples for the first time, they had grown significantly, and were about the same size around as his little finger. A silk finger traced down a breast and experimentally brushed his nipple. "Oh!" He sucked in his breath sharply. He had not been prepared for the intensity of the electric thrill that caused his nipples to tingle. Paul swallowed hard as both hands tweaked both nipples and then the fingers traced light circles around the ample curves of his bosom. He then cupped both tits with his hands, and hefted them. At any other time, Paul would have said that they were perfect. With an effort, he continued his exploration with the third item, his waist, which was now enclosed in the grip of the tight waist cincher. He traced his hands around his waist, feeling a light tickle across his sides and stomach. Paul still couldn't believe how narrow his waist had become. Although his breathing was definitely impaired, the cincher was not crushing. The magic had definitely given him a nice hourglass figure. Fourth, the stockings. Again, they were simple nylon stockings, and his legs had become decidedly more slender and curved than before. He ran his fingers up and down their length, feeling how much more sensitive his skin had become. He saw his toes, now seemingly more dainty, as they fanned out the stocking fabric. Paul leaned back against the bed and closed his eyes, trying to put it all together and decide what to do next. One of the gloves, on its own, snaked down to his penis, which was already hard, and started lightly stroking it. A second cupped and played with his bosoms, and lightly stroked and pinched his new nipples. "Oh," Paul moaned. "It's not as if I've been hurt, really. Just transformed. Oh god..." The glove had pinched harder on his nipple, twisting it slightly. "I'm sure the magic can be undone, I am still me, after all. Uhhhh..." The other glove had reached down and was lightly tracing up and down the inside of his sensitive thighs. "And every attempt to fight it has been easily defeated, and I'm exhausted and tired, and trapped. And Jesus! This feels good." A hand went down to rub his balls lightly with silk fingers. Paul relaxed back and closed his eyes as the gloves did their work. He could see no way out of his situation, so he had given up. The sensations were wildly tingling and he felt himself building quickly to his second orgasm that night. It didn't take long, the strange new sensations had shifted his brain into some kind of thrilling new rapture. He was just reaching the peak... But then it stopped. He reached with his hands, but the gloves resisted. Paul jerked up, wondering what had happened, and saw a pair of filmy polyester panties over his ankles, slithering up his legs. "NO!" Paul realized he had not given up after all. He knew what would happen now, and realized that he couldn't let the panties reach their goal. He fumbled down, fighting the gloves, and caught hold of the briefs with a fist. The lady's briefs slipped away and crawled up over his knees. No amount of clenching his thighs, or pawing at them with useless fingers seemed to make any difference. The undergarments settled snugly over his hips, cupping his buttocks, settling around his constricted waist, and clasping around his penis, which, amazingly, was still rock hard. Paul reached down, frantically, covering his penis, trying to protect it, but it was too late... His penis, still hard, began to shrink away underneath his fingers. "Stop! Nooooooo!!!" he pleaded, as he felt it shrink and disappear. The transformation under the panties took just another second, as his buttocks tightened, his hips widened slightly, and the folds at his crotch deepened into the puffy lips of a full-fledged vagina. Paul now had his own pussy, which made him now undeniably female. "But, I'm still me!" he said feebly, wondering if it was really true. He ran his hands over the swell of his hips, over his cute ass, and finally between his legs. His penis was gone. In its place was a vagina, with lips that opened up and thrilled to his touch. It was definitely affected by his recent sexual excitement, for the lips were slightly lubricated and very warm. Paul refused to continue feeling his crotch. "Damn it!" he stated. "I am still a man! This is just magic and I remain who I am!" He rolled on to his knees and stood up - holding on to one of the bed posts for balance. What he saw on the bed caused his heart to sink: a long-sleeved negligee. It was a beautiful garment. Fully silk, long sleeves, slim, an open neck, and with lace and embroidery around the edges. This time he didn't struggle. The gown snaked up his body, covered his head and arms in its silk confinement, and then slipped over his body, like a sheath. The gloves poked through the armholes and each button at the back pushed into its buttonhole, tightening the negligee about his body, smoothing his final bulges into one sleek figure. He was now fully captured in its clasping silk embrace, as it clung closely to his body. He couldn't deny that the feeling of the gown was intensely pleasurable, and wondered if that was part of the magic. Paul took a few steps around the bed and felt the silk slip smoothly around his legs and arms and over his shoulders. Paul stepped on something and looked down. It was a pair of bedroom slippers made of pink taffeta fabric. They had small, flat heels with an open back. His toes curled for a second, and then his feet just automatically stepped into them. "Now what?" he wondered. Paul looked around the room, held his arms out and then looked down at the dressing gown. His new bedroom slippers poked out from underneath the long nightgown. It was late, and he was tired. He sighed, and realized that there was no more energy left with which he could fight the magic anymore. Paul looked up and spied the dressing table. Without any conscious thought, he found his feet guiding him to the dressing table, where he sat down and turned on the lamp next to the mirror. Paul looked into the mirror. "It is still me," he remarked out loud. His face had not changed, but his it was on top of a body which was obviously not his. As Paul stared into the mirror at this new bust, shoulders, and waist, he became overwhelmed and tears began to roll down his cheeks, slowly at first, and then more as he sobbed and covered his face with his gloved hands. "Damn!" he pounded the table. He was upset that he had been trapped like this. "Why didn't I leave? What will I do?" He knew that his only chance now was to depend on Rosemary to reverse the magic. He had no other choice. Eventually, the crying subsided, and he looked around for a tissue, but none seemed to be handy. Instead, there was a handkerchief, with some lace around the edges. Paul dried his eyes and blew his nose and generally cleaned up. As he finished wiping his face with the handkerchief, he looked into the mirror and saw someone else's face staring back. The face of a beautiful young woman. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "Oh Janice!" Rosemary was by the side of the bed, a hand over her mouth. Paul rolled over to face Rosemary. He had spent the few remaining hours of the night asleep in bed, under the covers. Before falling into a deep, weary sleep, he did take the time to explore his body, including the curves of his new breasts, the sensitive nipples which, when lightly tweaked, sent uncontrolled jolts through his body, his smooth arms, the amazingly thin waist, sensitive thighs, and finally (of course) his new vagina. The exploration had ended in a warm orgasm, which coursed through his body, causing it to vibrate with a delighted hum. Somehow, he felt a bit more feminine and the body felt a bit less foreign after the experience. After that, he slept soundly. "Oh Janice!" Rosemary repeated, putting a hand on Paul's shoulder. "Is it really you?" Her voice had reached a shrill pitch, she was a bit on edge. "No, I'm Paul. Please... I'm still Paul! Out! ...Clothes, off, I need to take these clothes off! Why? Please! Reversed magic... What am I going to tell my parents?" Paul sputtered, not coherent after just having woken up. He looked up at Rosemary. "Oh!" she burst out, dissolving into tears. "Janice!" Rosemary staggered back to the dressing table chair. She pulled her dress up and used it to wipe away her tears, between gasping sobs she continued. "It's been so long." She looked up at Paul again. Paul waited until she settled down. "Rosemary," Paul continued, more gently this time, "I am still Paul. I must be changed back." "No!" Her swift fierceness surprised him. Her cragged features became sharp and penetrating. "I've worked 25 years for this moment, and now it's begun. You are my daughter, Janice, and you're going to stay that way." "No, I'm not! I'm Paul! It's still me inside!" "Hah. Look at you. You are the exact image of my darling, and you already hold her spirit within you. Soon, you will fade, and Janice will take over." "Nooooo..." Paul whimpered, collapsing in shock. How could he fight her? "Yes. The more you become accustomed to your new image, the more you become accustomed to your new body and feelings, the more your mind will weaken to her soul. It's only a matter of time before I have my daughter completely back." Paul looked in shock at Rosemary. He barely recognized the words which came from her mouth. She had shed her image as a worn-out old hag as easily as an actor shedding a cloak. In its place was someone confident, someone with a purpose, someone intelligent, someone to be feared. Paul looked at her straight back. "I won't do it. I won't submit." "Oh but you will. One or two days at the most. Every time you sleep, every time you feel the clothes on your skin, every time you have an orgasm, every time you do something feminine, these are the times when your male ego will slip a little, giving my Janice a foothold." Paul cringed, remembering his climax from the night before, and how he had felt afterwards. It was already happening! "Stop!" he cried, hiding his face in the covers. Rosemary walked over to the bed and spoke louder, through the covers. "Give it up! You can't resist. Let her in!" "No! No! NO!" She smiled. "Well, it's going to happen anyway. I'm going down for breakfast. When the bed is done with you, why don't you join me? The dishes are clean." Rosemary slammed the door as she left. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Chapter 3 --------- Paul pulled his head from under the covers and flopped back in bed, frustrated. "Damn her!" His voice betrayed his panic. "Fuck this, I'm leaving." Just as he was turning to get out of bed, Paul felt something in the bed move. "What?" He froze and looked down. The bed was covered with a light, white knit blanket and sheets. He looked down again. Something had definitely moved. He sat up gradually, and began to push himself out of bed. But something soft clamped around his ankles. "What?" Paul reached down, frantically, to try and push away his attacker. But there was nothing there! "What's going on?" An invisible aggressor pulled his leg hard towards the bottom of the bed, and he fell backwards into the bed, flat on his back. And then he watched as the covers themselves tightened around his ankles and legs, as if they were attracted to him by static cling. "What?" He sat up a second time and reached down to pull them away, but they tightened further, outlining his legs clearly underneath. His nightgown had ridden up during the night, so his legs, in the stockings, were exposed. The covers tighten around them, squeezing his calves and thighs, and then gradually forced his legs apart. "Stop!" He reached down to pull the covers off, but they had now grasped tightly around his torso, all the way around his waist. They pressed in, and then started to wriggle their way under his bottom, tucking in around his body. "NO. Stop. Damn!" Paul reached under the covers to lift them off, but just as he had his hands underneath and started to push up, the top half of the sheets slithered up his body, over his arms, elbows, and shoulders, and clasped around his neck. "Aaahhhh..." he moaned, as they clung tightly around his chest, squeezing the breath out of him. As the sheets squeezed around his narrow middle and pressed down on his chest, Paul was forced to lie down on his back. The sheets flowed around him like water, filling every nook and cranny, flowing between his legs, all the way around each arm, underneath him, and all around and up his neck, over his face, in his ears. He could still breathe through the fabric, but he felt entombed in the cotton body bag. Paul looked like he was caught in a tank of running water, with sheets and covers rippling all over his body. As they flowed around each arm, his arms were gradually pried away from his body, and his legs were pried further apart. Sheets surged around his breasts, encircling them, massaging them, and then grasping them "Oh!" he gasped, as his body began to respond to the rough manipulation. Once each breast was firmly clamped in its own fabric vise, the top of the sheet formed two folds, which then pinched together, with his new, larger nipples caught between. "Oh jeez!" Paul clenched his eyes, tensed and bucked his body, and struggled to try and escape the intimate grasp. His new breasts were fantastically sensitive, and he felt his sex respond against his will. His "Stop! Please..." came out as a whimper. The bed covers grasped firmly around his body and just rode along with his struggles and rocking, the merciless pinching and massaging of his breasts continued, inescapable. But the worst was still to come. Sheets around his legs flowed up under his nightgown and wormed their way into his panties. He felt sheets flowing against his pubic hair, down between his cheeks. Then, with a downward ripple, the sheets actually pushed the underwear right off, down around his thighs. Now with completely open access, the fabric flowed easily between his legs, over and around each buttock, and over his new female sex. "Gaaahhhh..." he gasped, the sensation taking his breath away. The covers clung to his sex and rippled over it. Combined with the pinching and manipulation of his nipples, his trapped arms, the sheets tightly clasped around his head and face, it was overwhelming. "Can't cum...." Paul gritted his teeth, trying not to climax, realizing that his consciousness would slip away with each and every orgasm. Then the covers formed two folds at his crotch, and then started to gently pinch his clitoris. "DAMN!" he shouted as his whole body clenched and the first orgasm flowed over him. "God," he was so sensitive, so responsive. "My sensations must be more intense because of the magic," he thought in terror, realizing that his body was going to respond and control his mind, rather than the other way around. Worse, the body was female, which meant that one orgasm wasn't enough. The sheets became more aggressive underneath his bottom, flowing into his ass crack, pulling his cheeks apart, and then, with a hard point, they actually penetrated his anus. Once started, Paul was powerless to resist the waterfall of sensations. He climaxed a second time, easily, as the manipulations all over his body continued and increased. Then a third, as the sheets worked their way into his pussy, thrusting in and out. Then a fourth, as cloth invaders poked between is teeth, opening his mouth and flowing inside. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Paul had fainted, again. He gradually came back to consciousness, fighting a dense fog of confusion. It took him longer to focus now, and his body was starting to feel more natural. After a second, he decided he should get out of bed while he could. As soon as he slid out of bed, Paul roughly fell to his hands and knees, his head spinning. He stopped for a full 5 minutes on the floor, trying to pull things into focus. Finally, he got up, staggered a bit, propped himself up against the wall, and then slowly opened the door. As he walked out of the room and down the stairs, his sensations were again assaulted by the clothing he wore as it rubbed against his new feminine body. The corset compressed his waist, the panties (which had slithered up his body again) hugged his crotch and buns, the stockings clung to his legs, and the long nightgown slid smoothly over his whole body. And, of course, there were always the gloves, which tightly encased both arms and each finger. Each step made him realize all over again how very female this new body was. At the bottom of the stairs he saw the front door, and headed straight for it. It was locked, with a dead bolt that could only be opened with a key. "Damn," he muttered. He started searching for a key, over the doorjamb, amongst the knickknacks. There were no keys, anywhere! Finally, he headed towards the window. "Finally up, I see?" Rosemary appeared behind him. "I'm leaving. Let me go." Paul pushed aside the curtains. "Sorry, but you're my daughter now." She stepped forward and reached out with her finger. Controlled by an unseen force, Paul's elbow was pulled back to meet the finger. She pulled her finger back effortlessly, his elbow with it, and Paul with the elbow. "Wait! You can't do this to me..." Paul cried as he was helplessly towed back to the kitchen. "Sure looks like I'm doing it. Now there." She put his elbow down, welding the elbow to the tabletop. Unable to escape, Paul sat down heavily in the chair. "Have some breakfast." She clunked down a bowl, and filled it with cereal and milk. Paul reluctantly began to eat. Rosemary sat down and watched him eat. "Did you like the bed?" Paul's face flushed beet red as he remembered the intimate experience. She chuckled at his reaction. "I thought you'd like it. And think, you'll get to sleep in the very same bed all night tonight!" "No! Please don't do this to me, it's not fair," Paul pleaded. But his body betrayed him and he felt the spark of sexual stimulation, against his will. "It's either you or my daughter Janice, and since I now have the body back, I want the rest of her too. The way I see it, it wasn't fair the way she was taken away from me." "But that's your problem, I have nothing to do with that!" "You do now." She paused. "Are you done yet?" Paul sighed, and finished his breakfast. "Well," Rosemary continued, brightly, "since you're done, I think it's time you had a bath." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - As the bathroom door closed and locked behind him, Paul felt all of the female clothing loosen, just slightly. It was a sagging feeling, as if the elastic had given out. He was now able to take off his clothes. Rosemary had dragged him to the upstairs bathroom, the one that Janice had used 25-odd years ago. The old towels were still there. Rosemary supplied new soap, and gave Paul a bag of clean clothes. She then locked him in the bathroom, and told him he would stay locked in the bathroom until he was clean and dressed. Regardless, Paul felt grateful for the sanctuary of the bathroom. Even though the door was locked and he was trapped inside, it felt as if he could hide for a while, collect his thoughts, and perhaps plan an escape. But first, he had to get out of the clothes which first trapped him. As Paul peeled each item of clothing from his body, he marveled at his new body. The waist was now amazingly thin (had she really been this slender? He wondered), the legs were long and smooth, and his new bosoms were large and heavy. The only way he could stand comfortably was up straight and with his shoulders back a bit. This caused the breasts to jut prominently from his chest. "I should be proud," he thought, "they are perfect." Paul reached up to cup and stroke them a second, but then stopped and cursed when he realized what he was doing. When Paul turned to the mirror, he saw Janice's frightened face staring back at him. The only thing that remained of the old Paul was his hair, which was unchanged. Apparently that's where the magic stopped short. But since his hair was already shaggy, he ended up looking like a female business executive on a really bad hair day. Paul sat down on the toilet, depressed. "What am I going to do?" he wondered. It looked hopeless. Of course, he had to escape, but how? He was trapped in this incredibly feminine body, and every time he blacked out from an orgasm, it was getting more and more difficult to come out of it. "I've gotta escape, that's my only hope." As he kept repeating this, he went over all of the possibilities. Was the back door unlocked? Could he jump off the roof? He looked up and saw that the bathroom window was too small to fit through. After a minute, he realized he had to urinate, and so he did. The stream came out from a strange place deep inside. He looked down and watched it flow from his new vagina. The relief of pressure was palpable, and lifted his mood somewhat. "OK," he muttered, "I'll just have to find a way out. But first, I have to leave this room, which means having a shower and getting dressed. I'll endure that, and then escape as quickly as possible." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Paul held a bar of soap in one hand and the detachable showerhead in the other. He was now completely clean, except for one vital spot. The shower had been easy. Yes, his new body had responded somewhat to his touch, for it was more sensitive than his male body used to be. But he finished quickly before the stimulation could become too much to handle. Paul looked down at his pussy, leaning over slightly to look over his new breasts. "OK, Let's get on with it." He quickly rubbed the soap over the curly hairs of his pussy, nearly losing strength in his knees as the soap rubbed directly over his clitoris. Then he reached back to soap up his puckered anus, as he moved the shower spray to his crotch to wash the soap away. Just then, however, the soap slipped from his hand. "Damn." Paul reached down to find it, but then the shower nozzle also slipped from his hand. "Shit!" He crouched down, legs apart, and felt the floor for the soap, but as his cheeks parted, the soap leapt up, and started pushing into the opening of his ass, actually trying to drill past his sphincter. "Eeeep!" Paul squealed and shot up. Just then the detachable shower head moved up to his pussy, and with a hard oscillating flow, the stream beat directly against his clit. "Oooohhhh...." Now his legs gave out completely, and Paul sank to his hands and knees, water splashing directly into his pussy, over his pussy lips, filling his vagina. The slippery soap was now slowly squirming past his sphincter, gradually working deeper into his anus. "Must... get out..." he gasped, as an orgasm rocked through his body, causing him to shiver and his nipples to jut out hard in the cool air. The shower nozzle pushed in closer, beating his clit rapidly back and forth. Paul weakly pushed at the nozzle with his hands, but it easily circumvented his defenses. His hips rocked back and forth, wildly, as each bathroom objects attacked their respective hole, causing Paul to grunt and moan under the twin assaults. Just then, the wash cloth, which had been lying on the floor where he had dropped it, jumped up and covered his left breast, kneading his tit flesh and rubbing the hard nipple with wet terry cloth. A second orgasm coursed through him, and he felt his mind begin to fade out, as he leant against the side of the shower. A third orgasm was building. But then the hot water ran out. As it ran icy cold, the fog in his brain cleared, and Paul somehow found the energy to get to his knees, and lurch towards the door. He burst out of the shower stall and landed with a wet splat on the tiled floor. The shower nozzle strained after him at the end of its tether, spraying the bathroom walls. Paul reached behind him, was somehow able to get a grip on the wriggling soap, and threw it into the shower stall. He slammed the door shut, and held it as the soap and nozzle banged against the glass. He grasped the wash cloth, pulled it from his breast, and held it down with his foot. "Oh geez." Paul leaned against the door, gasping, until eventually the banging stopped, the wash cloth stopped fighting, and, somehow, the water magically turned itself off. He looked through the translucent glass and saw the nozzle hanging limply and the soap on the floor. After a few more minutes, Paul stood up on wobbly legs, and toweled himself dry. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Rosemary had given Paul a very big bag of clothes to wear. It was about the size of a lawn and leaf bag. Paul couldn't fathom why the bag was so big. First, there was no bra this time. Instead, there was a true corset, with supported bra cups built in. It still had hooks and eyes, however, and as Paul put the corset around his waist, it pulled out of his hands, hugged his body and automatically tightened up the corset to the tightest snap. His breasts were pushed up and slightly together, creating deep and captivating cleavage. His waist was pinched in even further, and he found it difficult to take deep breaths. Also he couldn't bend over, so stiff were the stays. Instead it enforced good rules of posture, and he had to bend his knees to pick up anything. Next were the panties, simple white nylon with a cotton crotch. However, they did have one unexpected feature, a seam down the center of the seat with additional fabric bunched around it. This had elastic sewn in, which outlined each ass cheek, cupped his buns, and gently brushed against his anus. He reached behind and pulled at the seat of the panties, but they tightened back into the crevice, intimately cupping his buttocks and spreading them slightly to expose his asshole. Third, black stockings smoothly slipped up his legs, stroking his feet, calves, and thighs as they went. At the top, the stocking tabs from the corset grabbed hold and fastened on, locking his legs into the stockings. He spread his toes in the nylon netting and marveled at his elegant feet. "If only she weren't so mean, if only this were temporary," he thought, "this might actually be fun." After that, it was time for the half-slip. It covered his head and face, slipped down his body, and settled about his hips. Also nylon, it brushed smoothly against his stockings and over his pantied ass. Then the underskirt and crinoline, which were the reason the bag was so large. This came out as a mass of stuff, but eventually sorted itself out into a skirt of fine bunched up netting, covered with simple cloth skirt. It flared out widely, creating an effect of considerable bulk around his hips and legs, although the whole ensemble was light and manageable. Now it was time for the dress itself, and it was gorgeous. Of course it was strapless, exposing Paul's bare shoulders and back. The bodice was made of beautiful deep maroon velvet, and it was tailored to every curve of his torso, creating a stunning outline with his bosoms barely contained by the top. The skirt was made of a deep maroon changeable taffeta, which slid smoothly over the underskirt as he turned back and forth. As the dress slipped over his head, he thought that this might be the most beautiful outfit for his figure imaginable, and realized that it might not be much longer before his body succumbed completely to his new female occupant, and he permanently faded away. The dress embraced his body like a close friend, and the zipper slowly traveled up his back, closing him in into it's own velvet and taffeta prison. After that, the rest was anti-climactic. Of course, new silk gloves traveled up each arm, isolated and encased each finger individually and clicked at the armholes, locked in place. Then he stepped into a pair of silk maroon heels, about 4 inches high, dyed to the same color as the dress. And there was one final touch, a silk maroon ribbon, also dyed to match, which went snuggly around his neck and displayed a small cameo in front. Paul looked at his figure in the mirror, and realized that Janice was totally gorgeous. "No wonder she misses her," he thought. He took a look more closely at the cameo. The face carved into the ornament was his old masculine face carved in a 19th century style with top hat. Paul looke