Makeover
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Makeover free porn video
Makeover
by Selena Pride
I had been watching him for years, studying his strengths and weaknesses,
making my plans, waiting my moment. He wasn't ideal -- too big, verging on
fat, with all the inborn grace of a ruptured hippo -- but he was all I had to
work with. And at least he was pliable. I'd already had some success in
planting suggestions in his mind. I'd made him grow his hair, to the despair
of his elderly parents: the beard had been his idea, and he'd resisted my
efforts to make him shave it off for a long time, but finally I was
victorious. Of course. He had no will-power, like most men. He was putty in
my hands: slightly lumpy putty, to be sure, but nothing a little kneading
wouldn't fix.
When the beard went I moved into the first phase of my plan. I got him
interested in self-hypnosis, to improve his confidence and make him more
assertive, he thought. He started searching the Web for information. This was
the weakest link in my scheme, because I truly had no idea whether what I
wanted him to find was actually out there. It seemed likely that it would be,
but you can't be sure. I was just as elated as he was when he finally
succeeded in downloading a simple freeware program which would produce a
hypnotic pattern on the screen and superimpose suggestions on it which would
go straight into the subconscious mind. Only I knew why I was elated. He just
thought he would be able to talk to people without stuttering like a fool.
I let him play with the program for a while, putting in various
confidence-building phrases and running it two or three times a night
sometimes. He got quite good at going into a medium-depth trance. At my
instigation, he tightened up the standard induction script a little,
tailoring it to suit him -- and me. The few suggestions I managed to slip in
during that process were enough to give me a foothold.
After that he found himself searching the Web again, often late into the
night, but not looking for hypnotic stuff any more, oh no. Suddenly he'd
acquired an interest in transvestism, crossdressing and all things
gender-related. Well, it's a fascinating field, you know. Psychology, and
gender stereoypes, and all that. How I laughed quietly to myself as he read
more and more. Often by the time he came to do his hypnotic routine he was
already half asleep, far too zonked to notice the tiny changes I had made to
his confidence- building scripts. Under he would go, sitting there gazing
steadily at the screen as my words flowed into his ready subconscious.
I wonder how he felt on the day when it first occurred to him that girls'
panties were so much more comfortable than men's briefs or boxers...that he
could be so much more confident and easy-going if he had the smooth cool feel
of silk around his groin. I wonder if he was awake enough to be surprised at
the idea, or if it just seemed quite natural to him. From panties to tights
was an easy step. Nylon on the legs is such a lovely sensation, I hardly had
to influence him at all. Besides, he was tired of all his holey old socks
anyway. Soon he was routinely wearing panties and tights under his trousers
every day, and, surprise surprise, feeling much happier and more confident.
From then on I had his unwitting support. The first step had been the
hardest.
"Girls are always so sure of themselves," I typed. "Girls are always
confident. You know why, don't you? It's because they use make-up. Make-up is
a wonderful confidence-builder. It's like wearing a mask. You'll feel much
more secure with make-up on. Everybody does it these days. It's perfectly
natural." And on and on, like that. He had more scripts on that computer than
anything else, and he always ran at least four or five a night now, cutting
off the awakening subroutine at the end so that he was at least halfway under
when the next one started. That saved a lot of time, and made the suggestions
sink even deeper into his tiny little mind. Next day he nerved himself to go
to the drugstore and buy a mascara, a couple of eye-shadows, foundation,
blush and lipstick, all in colours very close to his natural hues so as not
to arouse too much suspicion. Not that anyone at his workplace ever looked
twice at him anyway: he was just a useful blob. Still, best to play it safe
at first.
I had to do some searching of my own to find an online store that would
supply ladies' shoes to fit his huge feet. Fortunately I found an excellent
supplier in England, and once again I modified his nightly hypnotic fix. By
now it would no more have occurred to him to go to bed unhypnotised than to
dance naked on top of City Hall. I flirted with the idea of making him do
that for all of ten seconds. The shoes arrived within two weeks, and I had
him practice walking in them all round the house, till he was more
comfortable in stylish three inch heels than he was in his normal clunky
men's shoes. He was rapidly losing all interest in his male clothing now, and
trying to do more interesting things with his hair than the straight ponytail
-- not because of any suggestions of mine, either. He was running with the
ball now, and while I didn't stop manipulating him, I had a lot less to do
each night. So I made him buy some women's magazines and leave them where I
could read them in my quiet moments. I needed hints on what clothes would
suit him best.
Under my careful guidance, he began at last to acquire some semblance of
grace. His walk was improved, at least in the heels, and he was starting to
move his hands more when he talked, which was another thing I had to work on.
His voice. He had all the information on how to change it; all I had to do
was convince him that he had to. I began inserting more ideas into his
hypnotic scripts. His job was unsatisfying. He deserved better. A lot of
girls found secretarial work very fulfilling. (This last was pure speculation
on my part, but hey, I was too far along to start having scruples.) He could
get himself laid off from his current work very easily, take a couple of
weeks downtime and start at an agency for at least the same pay he was
getting at the moment, maybe more. He had the typing skills, if only from
working on the hypnosis scripts all the time. Little by little I instilled
ambition into him: if only ambition to be a secretary.
One Monday I phoned a typing agency I had found on the Web, one whose
selection procedure was flexible in certain directions. The same day I placed
a large online order for some smart outfits, booked a hairdressing
appointment in his new name, and had him hand in his notice. All was
proceeding quite satisfactorily, and yet that last week just crawled by. I
was so impatient to unveil my creation on the world.
During the two weeks of grace I had given him, he spent more time in trance
than he did awake. This was the final push. I had to remake his personality
completely. I put him in touch with a doctor who agreed to oversee his gender
reassignment. I rewrote several years of his life. This part was not as easy
as it sometimes seems in stories, because memories are the foundation of the
personality, and if they are going to stand up the joins need to be seamless.
You can't just overwrite: you have to blend, merge, sometimes just influence.
I had had years to plan this part, though, and all in all I think I did a
fairly good job.
And so now we come to the last night. This night. I've typed this record of
what I've done, partly out of pure egotism, partly so that if something does
go horribly wrong they'll know what's happened to him. I don't mean him any
harm. I never have. He was just in the way.
He's got one more script to run. The last. When it's finished, he'll delete
all the hypnotic material from his hard drive, switch off his computer and go
and lie down on the bed. And while he sleeps, the final transformation will
take place -- the one I've been waiting for all my life. All *his* life. I'll
miss him, in a way...but I can't afford to weaken now.
I'd better finish this now. I've got a big day tomorrow.
END
Wynona
- 03.08.2022
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