Cleaning for Mr Quin
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Wo-Man-Ne-Quin free porn video
Standard warning and disclaimer: All characters are fictional. If you see
yourself, buy a new mirror. Contains subjects some people may find offensive. If
you are one of them, why are you reading this? Protect your kids. If you are
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use a safe surfing program such as net nanny. Or better yet, teach them early
and lovingly to understand and accept different lifestyles. Before they learn
they from bad experiences.
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Finally, this is a piece of adult fiction. If you are underage, or if you find
it offensive, please go elsewhere. Quickly
Wo-Man-Ne-Quin
Copyright 2000
By Samantha Michelle
I wondered how I got talked into this crazy stunt. But to join the Gamma Epsilon
Kappa fraternity, crazy was required. After all, being weird was a requirement
to be a GEK. So I carefully hid in the storeroom of the boutique under a pile of
returns until they locked up for the night. The use of a small stink bomb had
created the confusion I needed to hide just before closing. It also helped,
although I hated the reality that I was small and could look like a really nerdy
girl if I brushed out my hair and wore androgynous clothes.
I knew I had only one minute from the time they set the alarms till they
activated. But I had planned well. Forty seconds later, I had the control panel
open, and was punching in what I fervently hoped was the correct bypass code.
Time stood still as I waited for the green light. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep-Beep.
The green bypass LED came on. I slid to the floor, sweating and grinning. The
place was mine till they arrived in the morning.
Batsheba's was the boutique of choice for the yuppie coeds at our school. And
tomorrow was when they were having their big introduction of new gowns for the
Christmas ball. My assignment was to borrow their feature gown from their window
display, and decorate the mannequin with a hideous "Ma and Pa" dress. Courtesy
of three GEK girls who worked in the school costume shop.
It was after two when the mall cleaning crew departed, and I was able to carry
the draped mannequin from the display window to the back room. I was glad they
used security lights, so I could see what I was doing. I pulled off the
covering, and stared in awe at the gown. A shimmering formal of earth and forest
tone velvets, it was floor length with long sleeves and a high collar.
Shaking off the mesmerizing sight, I carefully removed the gown, and placed the
patchwork nightmare on the mannequin. I checked my watch. 3 AM. When the guard
passed out of sight, I put the redressed mannequin back in the window. I
returned to the storeroom to hide things, and myself. I planned to escape during
the unveiling ceremony panic.
As I settled back for one of the now-warm sodas I had brought, my eyes again
fell on the beautiful gown. There was something about it that said it could turn
an ugly ducking into a princess. I looked around, and realized no one would know
if I tried it on. I must have been sleep deprived, but soon I had carefully
pulled from the shelves a complete set of women's underpinnings, and was, with
great difficulty, lacing myself into a corset. Stockings, tap pants, slip. A
pair of incredibly lifelike breasts that glued on.
Barely breathing, I slid the dress on, and marveled at its almost perfect fit.
The towering velvet boots I had removed from the mannequin actually fit my small
feet. When I stared into the big dressing-room mirrors I...
I don't know. Gone was Albert Morris, consummate nerd. My long auburn hair, and
narrow face, looked like they belonged on the extremely feminine figure in the
mirror. Even as I wobbled on the ridiculously high heels, I felt poised and
graceful. But my hands were so out of place... I very slowly made my way to the
front of the store, and found a pair of white satin gloves. They took forever to
get on. Then I saw the guard coming down the mall.
I froze. He swept his flashlight through the store. It lingered on me for a
moment, and I almost died. But he kept going. My nerves jangling, I wobbled my
way to the back, and realized I had not been breathing as the world started to
move. I aimed for a soft chair, and sat as the lights dimmed and I passed out.
I awoke to the shrill sound of several women shouting. As my foggy brain did a
caffeine-deprived cold reboot, I found I was unable to stand because of the
weird shoes on my feet. And the cord that was holding my ankles together. A
formally dressed, very angry looking older woman was standing in front of me.
"Young lady, and I use that term very loosely, what are you doing in our
showpiece gown, and why is our mannequin dressed like a refugee from the bread
line?" Before she could get any answer, someone called out that they were
supposed to open the doors in eight minutes. "You will be sorry you ever heard
of my store. When we open, I am going to call the police and..." One of the
sales girls got between us, and waived my clothes, including my jockey shorts,
at her.
Her look got infinitely angrier. She was about to start shouting again when the
sales girl shouted, "Hey, let's make this pervert earn his panties!" We stared
at her. "With a little makeup, this dummy would look better than the dummy in
the window."
"No... you can't make me, that's against the Geneva Convention. I want my
lawyer." I stared at the woman as she started to smile. My brain was still in
slow time. "I want my mommy!" She chuckled.
"It's perfect. A live mannequin." She pointed at me. "And you will do it, or I
will have the girls undress you in the front window when we open, then call the
police and newspaper. It will be great advertising, either way."
I started to whimper.
"Estelle, Susan, grab some makeup and some hairspray. We want our guest star
ready for her debut in the window. And throw out those clothes you found. We
can't have anyone thinking a guy was in our dressing rooms."
Five minutes of intense activity, and I felt like a lawn, or a canvas. They had
plucked my eyebrows, and used an electric razor to remove my light beard. It was
followed with enough makeup to glue my pores shut for a year.
When the curtains opened to display their Christmas line, I was in the center of
the window display, moving very carefully as I followed someone's instructions
on how to move. I was sure my life was over, and almost fell when the inspection
crew from the fraternity appeared to grade my work. They looked disgusted, and
then Theresa, the VP of the fraternity, took a good look at me, and started to
giggle. She dragged the others away. When they returned, their smiles and grins
told me I had better leave town as fast as possible.
In the early afternoon, I was escorted from the display by four salesgirls, and
given a bathroom break. In the ladies room. When I came out, they videotaped me.
I tried to move my hand to cover my head, and was told that models never
slouched. Instead of the display window, I wound up in an office with the owner,
who waived me into a comfortable chair. My feet hurt so badly I would have sat
in an electric chair.
I started to babble, "I sorry, I'll pay for any damages, I'm going to leave town
and never return, I'll do anything, just let me..."
"Shut up." I closed my mouth and stared at her.
"We have a problem." My brain fuzzily registered the "we". "This morning, I
wanted little more than to kill you for messing up my carefully planned seasonal
promotion." She paused. "Instead, your antics have created a unique problem. We
have sold more clothing today than we did in our best week last year. Everyone
says they were so impressed by our having a live mannequin; they came in to
look, and stayed to buy.
"If I call the police and have you arrested, I get bad publicity. If I allow you
to leave, I lose the best advertising I have had in many years, and you don't
have to pay for your actions." I wondered briefly if they would ever find my
body after they buried me in the swamp.
"Finally, Susan made a joke that I should hire you and make your life miserable.
She has a point." I almost stopped breathing. "So unless you want a breaking and
entering charge on your record, as of opening time this morning, you are going
to be an employee of Batsheeba's, at least until after Christmas. I assume you
are a college student." I nodded weakly.
"I will want you every evening from six till eight, Saturdays from noon till
seven, and Sundays from noon till five. And you will always arrive and depart as
a very feminine young woman." I stared at her in horror. "In fact, I will insist
that you dress and behave as a young woman at all times, on and off the job,
until you no longer work for me. Since you saw fit to dress this way yourself,
you should have no objections, right?"
I made fish-out-of-water motions.
"And because I am quite sure you do not have the proper clothes, I will provide
you a complete and very feminine wardrobe. Then tonight, after the mall closes,
I have arranged for you to have a complete makeover. You will make quite a cute
girl."
I found my voice. "I don't want to be a girl..."
"You don't have much choice." She reached for her telephone. "I can call the
police now, if you wish." She had me. My life was ruined, either way. I shook my
head. "Good. I figured you weren't stupid. Besides, I pay my employees well.
Including sales bonuses, but subtracting for all the clothes and other support,
you should be making about fifteen dollars an hour after taxes." She pushed a
contract toward me.
It said exactly what she foretold. I was to become a coed for the rest of the
year. And at her Boutique, a human mannequin. I would be the laughing stock of
the school. My brain finally reached operating speed. Fifteen dollars an hour
after taxes was five times what I could make flipping burgers, if I could even
get a job. But I would have to look and act like a girl. The clothes made me
feel pretty. But I was a GUY.
Under duress, I signed the contract, which she had witnessed by four of the
salesgirls. By nine that evening, I was crippled from the boots, and wondered if
I would ever be able to take a deep breath again. They dragged me, after
dressing me in a miniskirt and cotton top, to the salon several doors down after
closing.
When they stripped me to my panties and tied me to the chair, I was afraid they
were planning surgery. Getting my whole body waxed probably hurt more. It was
almost midnight when I dragged my now thoroughly feminized self from my car up
to my dorm room. And found a note saying that GEK had moved everything to their
frat house across campus.
When I got there, I was met by a welcoming committee, who presented me with my
frat pin, my keys, and my new room. In the coed section. I was too tired to
complain. Even when the guys patted me on the bottom.
Sunday was terrible. I had to use the ladies showers, and they almost laughed
themselves sick over my glued-on breasts and hairless body. At least they helped
me with my hair. At work I was stuck in the heels, until Susan took pity on my
crippled form and found a tall stool, which helped the pain. I did find one
benefit. The scenery was a lot better than sitting in the dorm staring at the
TV. And it changed constantly.
Rebecca, the owner, decided that I needed a girl's name. So by the late
afternoon, I was Annette Morris, Living Mannequin, at least that is what my
nametag read. When I got back to the frat, and went to dinner in my new high-
fashion jumper, I expected to get ridiculed. But the coeds defended me, saying I
was really brave to walk a mile in my own panties. It didn't help that I looked
better than most of them.
Attending class in a skirt was a real eye opener. I got pinched, and fondled,
and asked for dates. And advised by one girl, who told me she was really a boy,
that I looked great, and to ignore them. Between work and homework, I really did
not have time to worry.
Within a week, Rebecca had purchased a special stand to which they could secure
me in the display window. The best description of the infernal thing was a
stainless steel jock strap that could be locked on an adjustable post. With a
second piece of stainless steel that ran up my back and had straps that fit
around my chest and shoulders, keeping me rigidly upright. Since everything I
wore had skirts, it was easy to secure me, and then add the dress or outfit.
Once secured, all I could move were my arms and head. There was no way I could
get free. When I complained loudly to Rebecca about this being some type of
torture, Estelle showed me an accessory they had purchased. I became very quiet
and cooperative. Having a large stainless steel phallus added to the back of the
jock strap was not appealing.
Soon I got scared when I discovered I was beginning to enjoy wearing pretty
clothes, and having long painted nails and big hair. I had always been a wimpy
little guy. Yet when I relaxed and acted like the girls at work, I was actually
better looking than most of the other girls on campus. And it felt good to no
longer feel like a nerd. At least as much. I just wished it were girls, rather
than guys, trying to date me.
On Thanksgiving the mall was closed, and Rebecca held a Thanksgiving dinner for
all the college girls she employed who lived away from home. We were all sitting
around after the meal, feeling like balloons, when Rebecca asked me to join her
in front of the group.
"In September, when Annette pulled her mannequin-switching stunt, a lot of us
wanted to hurt her. And for the next couple of weeks we did our best to
embarrass her. But I think the time has come to acknowledge that she has earned
our respect." She gave me a hug. "Can anyone remember the last time you thought
of Annette as anything other than another dedicated employee? Or as anything but
a pretty, friendly young woman?" There was a lot of quiet mumbling and shaking
heads.
"Annette, this has been the best sales year we have ever had. Your attitude and
poise as our living Barbie Doll in the window is a large part of that success.
So as a tribute to your hard work, I want to present to you a special bonus."
She opened a box, and handed me the velvet dress I wore that fateful first day.
"I expect to see you wearing this at the Christmas Ball."
I can't explain what I felt inside, as I hugged her and cried on her shoulder.
But that afternoon, Albert suddenly quit being so important. I wondered what my
parents would say when Annette drove home for the holidays?
The End
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