The Girls Of Club Cache: Starr Obsession Part 1 free porn video

The Girls of Club Cache: Starr Obsession [Part 1] By Diana Heche Part 1: Out of the Blue He flipped me onto my back. Grabbing me behind my knees, he opened my thighs wide. My legs, encased in black sheer suspender nylons, were unaccustomed to such treatment and ached in protest. As if he could sense their pain, he took a moment to take them in with a sweep of his eyes. They were long, shapely and curvaceous ending in a pair of highly pedicured feet sporting a pair of high sling back heels. To use his words from earlier to describe my over all appearance, they were "completely ... shockingly ... girl like". However, his mission was not that of admiration. His was simply a mission of sex! The sooner he plunged his manhood into my ass, fucking me like the woman I was dressed to be, the sooner he could slide his shaft into the warmth of the woman lying on the nearby bed. He pulled his penis out of his pants to the sound of more pictures being snapped. The very root of my problems, photographs, were increasing exponentially. His dick was now in his hands. He was ready! I had lightly lubricated my ass earlier, but it was nowhere near ready for the size of this penis nor the abandon it plunged into my tight hole. I bit my bottom lip not to scream out in pain as his cock burst its way past my tight sphincter. I could taste the saltiness of my blood where I bit down too hard. He shoved in deeply then began to pump back and forth savagely. My body slid wildly up and down on the carpet as he grunted with satisfaction above me. Drops of his perspiration fell onto my face. My legs ached even more as they were stretched far apart to fit his massive frame between them. As he continued to plunge into me, a small spark of pleasure formed somewhere in the back of my mind almost as if to mock my sanity. I cringed and fought it back. I couldn't possibly be enjoying this. I was being fucked - roughly - by a man for god's sake! I was placed in a situation set up specifically to humiliate and blackmail me. But there it was - the feeling of having my ass filled with his cock, while I watched a high heel dangle from my nylon encased toes, was one of, strange and feminine completeness. After all, I had fantasized about being in this very position many times. And as his cock filled my tight hole, my own head filled with a conflicting wrangling of humiliation, pleasure, pain and anger. I hated myself! I hated him! When he had fucked me just shy of his coming, he pulled out. The sound of more pictures being taken filled the room as his pre-cum dripped onto my stomach. I lie on the floor crumpled - my hose torn from his brutish animal thrustings, my make up smeared from his crude dog like licking of my face - my mental state in confused disarray. Crawling off of me, he climbed onto the bed adjacent to where I was lying on the floor. He slid his penis into the warm waiting vagina of the woman on it, and moved his hips back and forth, much like he had done to my tight vulnerable hole just moments ago. However, where I fought back tears of humiliation and exclamations of pain, the woman on the bed moaned with desire and ecstasy. I didn't want to watch, but something forced me to. Moreover, as I feared, her eyes told the story. As her breasts bounced in time with his pumping his cock in and out, as she yelled in orgasmic delight, her eyes remained locked on me - cool, calculating, angry and vengeful. This was not an act of joy for her; it was an act of war! If her eyes did not say enough, the tight grip of her fingers around the camera in her hands did. And I just lie there on the floor, two feet away, dressed completely as a woman in my mini dress, wig and high heels, watching and waiting for the stranger on the bed to finish ... to finish fucking my wife. *** It was near midnight. I was still in my female garb, a little worse for wear. My wife who was in her robe, insisted I stayed dressed. She insisted on me being dressed quite a bit lately. I assumed it was a method of keeping her anger focused. If so, it seemed to be working. We sat at the kitchen table drinking tea in silence. The stranger we had solicited from Internet personal ad had left some hours ago. His good-byes were the last words anyone in the house had spoken. After considering the bottom of her teacup for quite some time - as if it were true one's future could be read in the leaves drifting aimlessly below. Connie finally broke the silence, her face taut and angry, "I think it would be best if you slept somewhere else tonight. You can come back in the morning to get ready for work - after I've left first." "Where am I supposed to go?" I asked, a little frustrated and more than a little pissed myself. I was humiliated, angry and in a very confused mental state ... what was that grain of pleasure I was feeling while I was being penetrated and violated? What is wrong with me? I grew angrier in time with my confusion. "I don't care." She spat out venomously. That was it! I snapped. I can't explain why I did it, because in many ways it was stupid. I could have gone along like this for a little longer, at least long enough to make a plan, or for her to have gotten closure on her sense of vengeance. Things were not getting any better, and more and more pictures of me, dressed as a woman, were being taken. Now she had pictures of me servicing men! The depths of Connie's anger and loathing told me that it might never subside, even if I did play along. She may decide to burn me anyway! I came to the realization that I was never getting these or any other pictures, back. It was time to move forward. "This is my house as well. I'm not going anywhere. I am sleeping in my own damn house!" I declared, not nearly as sure of myself as I sounded. "Okay, do what you want! You're breaking the agreement," her face did not change from its visage of concentrated anger, but the corners of her mouth turned upward in a humorless smile, "I've been waiting for this moment. I knew it wouldn't take long. You are fucked William O'Toole! You are so, very, very fucked!" She was, of course, correct. *** My alarm clock awoke me with a start. It was barely after seven in the morning. I was tired from the physical and emotional roller coaster of the night before. I had barely slept! I wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, but I didn't have much time. What makes the Internet a good thing is its ability to get information to large numbers of people in a relatively short amount of time, is what made it insidious to me today. I needed to move quickly! A quick check of the guest bedroom told me my wife Connie was already gone, out to sow the seeds of my destruction. I was out of the door barely showered, unshaven and attempting to do everything to survive at once. I raced to the bank to empty my half of the joint accounts; if they had not been by Connie already. I was on the phone taking my name off of joint credit cards securing others in my name alone. By eleven o'clock, a mere two hours after the banks opened, I had secured a pretty good protected financial base. One that Connie could not touch, and one that would get me by for awhile. It was good that I moved quickly! It wasn't long after I had finished that the calls began flooding my cell phone. I didn't need to pick up those calls to know whom they were or what they would have to say. I could nearly feel the reverberation of shock and dismay coming off of the phone with every ring. I looked at my watch again: 11:04 a.m. By my estimation, in another few hours, my friends, family and nearly every one I worked with would have been emailed these pictures. There were scores of those pictures! Most of them would show me, dressed as a girl. A little too convincingly for having done this for the first time, mind you; on my hands and knees taking it from behind by some large man ... or on my mini-skirted back with a penis in my mouth ... or strutting confidently on six inch platform heels. After a time, these pictures would make it, albeit edited for content, to the tabloids. But they will have been the fodder of worldwide distribution, uncensored, long before that. Every man woman and child, who wanted to see them, would have. In addition, people very much would want to! Because, you see, if you are the network head of Childvision, the country's largest children's cable network, as I am, people eat this type of stuff up. In addition, it is just sensational enough, being just barely famous enough, to feed the great media beast for sometime to come. There was no riding this storm out, getting over it, denying it, or stonewalling. No, not at all! The sound I heard in my head as my watch, which read 11:04. It was the door of what was comfortable and familiar closing behind me. I - I was now plunging into the great unknown. Now what? I turned off my constantly ringing cell phone and settled into the seat of my car. A wave of despair washed over me quickly followed by an odd sense of relief and freedom. I had been disconnected from my wife even before she began her reign of black mail and terror, so her loss was gradual and expected, but still sad. However, more than that, I realized unpleasantly that I was going to miss my friends, my old life and my job. Especially my job - I genuinely enjoyed children, even if my position as "The Suit" of the network meant, ironically, I rarely actually came into contact with very many. At the same time, it was strangely exhilarating to have my options in front of me with all roads open. All roads, that is, that wouldn't be muddied by this scandal. I was forced to move down a new path, not just the same path at a different network. I could assume that one of those many calls on my voice mail was my lawyer. I could also assume he too could see the inevitable while working on garnering a "golden parachute" for me from Childvision. I imagined it shouldn't be too difficult as they would want this to disappear from the papers as quickly as possible while a long protracted battle over my severance would do just the opposite. Their money, and the money I drained from my accounts, would be quite a sum - enough to give me a decent amount of breathing room while I figured out my next step. I looked around the large, virtually empty mall parking lot. I had parked in the lot to take care of much of my earlier frantic phone calling. A mall security car slowed warily to check me out, but apparently decided my immaculate seven hundred-dollar suit and tie meant I was not going to be the one he hassled today. I realized I couldn't sit here forever, and when the shit hit the Internet fan, I was going to need to find a place where I could avoid the media sharks and the general public at large. One name came to mind: Lena. *** I drove around the block a few times before I got the nerve to get out and go to the door. She was going to be shocked, and more than a little irritated at seeing me here. I rang the doorbell and a few moments later Lena Scott answered. As many times as I've seen her, she still had away of taking my breath away. She seemed to be growing more beautiful by the day. She was tall, blond, shapely and very comfortable with her looks. Her long curvy legs seemed to always be perched on a pair of incredibly high heels, which just added to her over all statuesque appearance. She had pleasant, musical voice, as you would picture a trained singer would speak, and she was quick to smile. In Los Angeles, a city where the beautiful flock by the bus load to break into acting and modeling, with most ending up populating the ranks of waitresses and bartenders, it was not unusual to know someone of such knee weakening looks. Nevertheless, even in this town, it was unusual when such woman as comely as beautiful as Lena had a large functioning penis. Lena registered, as I expected, a great degree of surprise upon seeing me. She had never told me where she lived, and, as far as she knew, I had never been here before. However, her nimble mind was able to put the pieces together. Even so, she invited me in. "I never took you for a stalker Will." Her demeanor showed cautionary humor. I felt a bit foolish and stammered out a quick explanation. "I - I followed you home once. I wanted to talk to you ... but I felt creepy for doing it, and just drove away. I only did it that one time, I swear I haven't done it since. Honest." "And that's why I haven't seen you around in awhile? At the club I mean?" She asked, still good-natured. She no doubt was trying to dig to the bottom of my sudden, inexplicable appearance. "No, not exactly. I've been ... sort of..." I was looking for the words to describe the upside down existence I had been living, "terrorized for a while". She gave me an odd side ways glance and gestured for me to sit at the kitchen table. I saw a pair of heels, slightly larger than hers, but not overly large, lying in the corner. I wondered if she lived with another t-girl. Not asking, or possibly caring, if I wanted some, she turned on the coffee maker and sat down across from me. The room began to fill with the smell of Java. "So, Will," her guarded pleasantness continued, "I can't help but wonder what brought you here ... I'm guessing it has something to do with this terrorizing you mentioned a moment ago?" "I'm not sure why I am here, really. I had no where else to go. I figured out of everyone I know, I could at least tell you what's happening." Lena leaned back in her chair and contemplatively stirred her coffee. The blouse she was wearing opened slightly and I could see the tops of her ample breasts. Implants, undoubtedly, but impressive nevertheless. "And why have I been singled out as the person you can tell this too?" She was still being polite. I could tell my earlier revelation about having followed her home, and the general intrusiveness of my arrival, had her a bit on edge. She wasn't really in the mood for small talk. After a couple of stuttering false starts, I just blurted it out in one rapid-fire breath, "My wife caught me dressed as a woman with a prostitute". Lena's guarded look transformed to one of general interest. She turned her head slightly as if seeing me for the first time. It was neither the prostitute nor my wife she focused on, "I didn't know you dressed How come you never came to the club dressed?" Lena was referring to Club Cache, possibly the premier t-girl nightspot in the nation. It was always hopping, crowded and populated by the almost exclusively by the most accomplished transsexual, transvestites and, of course, their admirers. T- girls drove from all over the state just to spend a night at "the scene". For someone who had never been to the club it was an overload for the senses - dance music pulsed, energy flowed. For those who knew nothing of the t-girl scene, experiencing it for the first time through the prism of Club Cache, the realization was sometimes uncomfortable, that the beautiful, normal looking woman they lusted after at the market, or walking down the street, may just be well hung. "Well, Club Cache is not really the place someone like me would show up dressed, is it? It's a little too..." I was at a loss for the right words "well many of the girls there are like you, indistinguishable from their... genetic counterparts ... or they're completely strident, super confident, over the top seven foot drag queens. That's not me, I'm strictly amateur hour." Lena nodded understandingly. Club Cache was not the place to be if you lacked confidence in your appearance. Now that her curiosity over my dressing revelation was satisfied, she moved on to the topic at hand. "So," she asked, "tell me about your wife and this business of being caught." I paused in thought for quite sometime, puzzling over how I ended up here. "How did I get caught?" I asked myself as much as in response to Lena's question, "how did I get caught?" I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, shuffling my feet back and forth on the kitchen linoleum. "I got caught I guess," I confessed, "for the same reason everyone who cheats on their wife does. It's nearly impossible to keep the never-ending cycle of lies and deception spinning forever. Especially when you do it in your own town - your own back yard". I went on, "I have dressed for years. I don't know why, but I do. It is a compulsion that started when I was young -" Lena waved a dismissive hand at my story asking me to move on. I smiled with chagrin. She has lived as a woman for years. If this was not a replicate of her story, she must have heard this one a million times. "I came to Club Cache for the first time because although I'm too chicken shit to be a part of the scene, I was drawn to it. I wanted to be one of the girls, be with the girls, I wanted it all. However, I never had the nerve to be with ... with one of you. You guys are so aloof - queens of the world when you're in that club. So, I began hiring a call girl, one that let me get dressed. One that would let me have sex with her, or have sex with me ... you know ... as a woman." Lena clarified in a no nonsense fashion, "You could dress up and fuck or get fucked," at my visible discomfort she added more softly, "It's okay. It's okay. Look who you're talking to! In my world none of this, in fact very little, could shock me or make me look at you strange." I continued, "Like all affairs, paid or not, my wife got suspicious. She began following me to the hotels where I was ... doing my thing. One day when she was sure we were in the act, she secured a hotel key by identifying herself as my wife and, yes, the stupid bastards gave her one. Although it is way against protocol and in reality she could have been anyone. "Her timing was correct. She basically threw the door open as I was completely in women's garb and... Well..., taking it up the ass by this prostitute's strap on dildo. The camera she had in her hand to gather evidence for the divorce lawyer snapped at that instant. That was that, or so I thought." I shuffled my feet again, and asked Lena if I could have a cup of the coffee she was brewing. My throat was becoming dry. I went on, "Her anger and disappointment was too great, she went mad in a way, I guess. It was my fault, really. Not only did I cheat on her, but also she couldn't put the dressing and sexuality aspect in perspective at all. She demanded increasingly that I put on women's clothes. After awhile she became demanding that I get taken by various call girls ... and guys while she looked on. The whole time her saying to me - often screaming at me, in fact - 'is that what you want, is that what you want?' She constantly took pictures. Always taking more and more pictures. Ironically, the very thing that I took pleasure in - became a form of torture." I stopped as Lena handed me a cup of coffee. I sipped it down not speaking for a long while. "I hurt her very deeply," I said at last, "but I couldn't go on that way. So, this morning I cleaned my accounts, leaving. I don't think I can go back to her or my world. That's why I came here." "And your position at Childvision," Lena said, "and the inevitable press, you needed a place where no one knew, or cared who you are." I looked up from my cup sharply, "Oh don't be surprised. I make it a habit of knowing who spends time hanging around me. It's a strange world out there when you're a girl like me. Weird and dangerous sometimes." I nodded, I understood. Then Lena did something unusual. She stood up walking around behind my chair and messaged my shoulders. I could feel how knotted my muscles had become from the constant tension. "Believe it or not, I understand more about how you feel than you may think. As crazy as it may seem, I was born of circumstances not far from this." My face screwed up with puzzlement, but she was not answering questions now. She continued to work the knots in my shoulders. "Listen, one of my roommates has gone for a few weeks to ... sort some things out. You can stay here for awhile." "No, no I can't impose upon you, you're being too kind." "You have nowhere to go, if it makes you feel better, you can pay us something, although I don't really think that's necessary." Lena offered. I thought about it for a moment. It was a very nice offer. Moreover, as importantly, this was a decidedly underground world she was inviting me in. A world that moved outside of the margins that could keep me from being under the microscope. Although I would have never said it out loud, I would be kidding myself if I tried to believe I didn't want to be near this woman. "Okay, thank you. Thanks a lot." My mind sorted through the things I needed to do. "Do you have a computer I can use?" "Certainly. In the back, I'll show you." Lena confirmed. "Great thanks, I just have to make a phone call first." *** I, of course, could not see what was going on in my world ... my former world ... but it was on fire. Connie, my wife, through an anonymous email account was filling every mailbox in Childvision's corporate office with the incriminating pictures - just as I predicted. As with all things email, it exploded across the web. In two more days, I would be the fodder of Jay Leno's Tonight Show jokes. My home phone and cell phone were called repeatedly by various office staff, press, friends, family, neighbors and everyone else on the planet trying to reach me - at least until the message notifying them my mailbox was full finally caused them to stop. When the senior executive of a cable network didn't want to talk to you, couldn't be reached, and there was no one who could tell you where he could be reached it was final. Add on to his inexplicable absence without notification for the very first time; real or not, everyone was treating these pictures as the emergency it was. I flipped open my phone and hit the speed dial for Frank Munoz, my lawyer. "Frank." There was no hello. "Good God, William. You should see what's in my mailbox. What kind of shit have you gotten yourself into?" was his response. It sounded like he covered the phone with his hand, but I could see him send his secretary out of the room and tell her to hold his calls. "You're not going to ask me if they are real?" I asked with a sense of grim humor. The size and scope of this was so monumental that it was almost funny. "William. No one can reach you today. Those goddamn pictures are everywhere, spreading like an oil slick. My phone is ringing off the hook with people trying to find you. I can't even find you! Ten minutes ago when I got your wife she told me to 'fuck off' she'd see me in court," he was speaking in a rapid fire rhythm, "So when the first words you said to me weren't 'Who the hell do I sue about these photos?' - I, my friend, knew that they were real. Or close to real." He paused for a moment, waiting before asking, "You're not going to ask who to hell to sue ... are you William?" "No." "Oh dear God." He was silent for a moment as his mind switched from disbelieving friend to paid lawyer mode. "Okay listen to me. Get a new cell phone or cell phone number where only I, and people you want to talk to, can reach you. I will work a settlement with Childvision. I'll try to work it so half doesn't get sucked up in this divorce I see falling like a rock on top of you. Then - " I interrupted him. "Listen. Friend. I'm tired, it's been a hell of a day, as you can imagine. Let me give you my private email account, and I'll get the new cell phone number. I want you to handle everything right down to letting them know I'm out of the office for awhile. Do what you think you must, use your best judgment, and I'll talk to you in a few days. Okay?" "Okay Will. God bless man you're in it deep." "Yes Frank, I am." "Oh and Will? I would suggest, if you don't want to run into the throngs of reporters ... like the ones that are outside of your office door - that you keep your head down." "Got it. Bye Frank." Lena had been in the room for the entire conversation and had made no indication that she was going to give me any privacy during the call. Staying here or not, she was not going to let much happen under her roof that she was not aware of. At least not with me! Even then, there was an immense sympathy emanating from her. What was that she had said earlier about being born from similar circumstance? "I take it your Lawyer told you to keep your head down." She was rummaging through the refrigerator, producing an apple. I looked around quickly, noting a serious lack of junk food. "Exact words." I said. Lena spoke as though she could hear both sides of the conversation. She bit into the apple and chewed thoughtfully. "You do know what's coming next don't you? You know what you have to do?" Her voice was slightly muffled from the remainder of apple inside. I shook my head. "Oh, C'mon William, do the math. You're in a house full of t-girls. You like to dress occasionally. You're actually hiding out and don't want to be seen. If this weren't so serious, it would read like a movie treatment. You know, guy chased by the mob, has to hide out - " "Has to hide out in drag," I finished her sentence and laughed. This seemed very funny to me. Lena was not throwing this out there as some sort of lark, as I originally thought she was. "Except this is real life. You're a ... handsome man Will. You're smallish, not large. Your features are clean - I'm sure that helped you on your rise to executive heights. Yeah, we could make a pretty good stab at getting you to pass as a woman., again, this isn't the movies. You could make it, depending on how you act and move, so better than half, maybe three quarters, wouldn't give you a second look. At night and in the clubs, maybe a little better. However, your face has some notable masculine traits that would take plastic surgery to erase. I don't think you're quite ready for that!" She stood up, taking my chin into her hands, turning my face from side to side looking very carefully. "It used to be, unless you were very large or plainly male, that it was easier to pass. People didn't expect to see t-girls in daytime public places, for instance, so they weren't really attuned as much. Now they are more sophisticated, so ironically while they are less likely to say something, they are more likely to notice." She was on a roll, but I said nothing, I was fascinated to hear what she had to say. The girls I had met at Club Cache, were notoriously closed lipped about their life style or anything outside of the here and now of having fun there. You could pick up snippets of what their life was like, but it was never intended for me or the guys who went to the club. Anything said to spoil the illusion was treated with great distrust and disdain. "I have a girlfriend, a girl we call her Dr. Frankenstein. She can do wonders! We always joke she could bring a girl back from the dead and make her look good." Lena continued, "she works doing make up for - " she caught herself before she gave the specific information away, "a sci-fi television show. She can do some really interesting things to make you look good. I'll call her." I was amused at the will of Lena. She had decided the course of action and we were going through with it. Never once was I consulted on the matter. But she could be fairly certain, as I had confessed to her that I had dressed for years, that this was an opportunity unequaled in my experience. She knew, as I knew, that I was looking forward to this. *** When someone is nicknamed Dr. Frankenstein, you don't expect her to be a very beautiful, pleasant woman. She was approximately in her early forties, and had a large mane of peppered black hair. She looked to be genetic girl, but with the likes of Lenas in the world, I could not be certain. She wore no make up (all the most accomplished t-girls I had ever seen wore perfect make up, all the time), and wore loose jeans and a flannel shirt. My guess was that only t-girls who have lived for women for a very long time donned such clothes, most even at their most casual did not choose garb which could be considered unisex or male. For many, they did nothing that could provide visual clues to their genetic reality, and more importantly, they spent to much time in effort to be feminine to just covered it up. Dr. Frankenstein's name turned out to be Josephine, and she carried two huge suitcases. When she saw me, she paused for in a moment of recognition. Before she arrived, Lena and I had missed the obvious fact, that even a make-up person in the television industry would know my face by simply reading the trade papers. Lena saw the look and said simply, "It's not him! And if it were, he isn't here, and he was never here." Josephine looked at me with a look of detached amusement. "Well let's get to work then." I was vaguely surprised that she spoke in a clipped English accent. *** I had been dressing, albeit infrequently for as long as I could remember. It was always associated with sexual feelings more than a gender dissonance. So while I took time to look the best I could, doing a pretty good job, I never went into great minute detail. It was more of an impression because I knew I was going to sexually satisfy myself. Once that occurred, I could leap out of the clothing as if it were on fire fully embarrassed with my desires and behavior. However, this process was like nothing I'd ever imagined, and even Lena was surprised. I was now standing in the bathtub in nothing but a pair of ... someone's, I wasn't sure who's.... thong underwear, being lathered with a horrible smelling gel. Small portions of this hair remover were being carefully applied, and removed with a special cloth. It left me with a bit of a burning irritation in the area affected, but as hairless as I could possibly imagine. Josephine was a professional, and could not care less about my basically unclothed state. She carried on a conversation with Lena and spoke impassionately about much of what she was doing much as a doctor standing before a naked patient would to a colleague. "This stuff is particularly strong, but it will leave him hairless for quite some time. I'd say a good two months, but it has known to be permanent." After completely removing my body and facial hair, I was told to shower thoroughly and not to bother putting clothes on. I scrubbed myself from head to toe and was relieve that the skin irritation subsided, even if some areas were still a bit red. Despite my instructions to come out nude, I walked out in my towel. "You won't need that." Josephine let me know immediately. Too far along to let modesty interfere, (I let them take all the hair off of my body for goodness sake.) I unceremoniously dropped the towel. "Good." Josephine said, scooting a chair closer to me. "Take a look Lena. He has ... you have," since she was pointing at my ass and talking about me, she decided it would be polite to refer to me directly, "a pretty good ass for this. Not flat, but rounded. But as you see, a little too low." I involuntarily leapt as she put her hand on my ass and pushed it up, "Oh sorry," she said "Sorry. I forget that you are not used to all this poking and prodding." Josephine went on at length about how high and what degree my butt would need to be filled out. She tape measured my entire body at various strange places and had me step in and out of a series of shape wear. She took out chunks of hard rubber, obviously shaped like an ass cheek, and shaved them down to use as molds explaining that they will be replaced with silicone versions soon. After working away for sometime she handed me a pair of flesh colored spandex underwear which extended down slightly below my crotch like a pair of immodest bike shorts and all the way up to my belly button. I put these on and felt my butt get pulled toward the sky. There were rubber hips, which flared out and back in higher than my actual hips and obscuring the position of mine. She nodded approvingly explaining, "A big thing a lot of inexperienced cross dressers don't realize men and women's hips are in different areas. To pad them out is not enough in many cases." I was beginning to see why she was called Dr. Frankenstein. She placed me in a corset with several metal bands and a pump like device attached. She squeezed the pump and the center of the corset pinched the middle in. "Right now this will do, but you will have to squeeze this a little tighter every day until you get to this setting." I looked down at the corset. I was already pulled into an hourglass shape. Now, with the hips placed at the correct height and the curve of my waist, my body already looked very feminine. Josephine ran a band of tape underneath my pectoral line. She then ran tape up in a vertical fashion pulling what flesh I had into a more breast like form. Using a water bra and a silicone pad, she filled out the area, and I was now showing off cleavage without fear of something popping up or out. She sat me down in a chair and went to work on my make up. She placed a small flesh colored rubber piece on the bridge of my nose which extended to my forehead and pinched. She explained that it made my nose thinner, but also reduced the "caveman brow that all men have" as she called it. A full thirty minutes was spent brushing, applying and taping, I was done. At this point Lena had gathered some clothes that were about my size for me to try on. Over by the table, Josephine was working brushing a wig, hair spraying and actually trimming it, so that it matched the frame of my face better. It was a fairly even toned brown color. Josephine noted that the common wisdom is true, that blondes, as our Lena here, attract more attention. "It looks like you may be able to pull blond off, you're looking better than I even thought, but not quite yet." I was dying to look in the mirror, but was denied. They didn't want me to see myself until the finished product. Looking at my legs, the two of them determined that I would go bare legged. "You're legs are thin and nice enough, plus until you get used to all of this make up and shapewear, it may make you too warm. It's not very lady like to perspire all over the place." I slipped into a light blue flowered print skirt which came down to the middle of my thigh, and a low cut matching light blue sweater. "With cleavage this real," advised Josephine, "you always have to show it. If someone picks up cues (consciously or unconsciously) that you are not all woman, many times 'real' breasts throw them off the scent. Not to mention, the more time they're looking down your sweater is the less time they're scrutinizing, say, your face." Lena held up a pair of wooden bottomed platform heels that had to be at least 4 inches high. "Lowest pair I could find," she noted, "we don't do low heels around here. Plus, the more angled your feet, the smaller they look." Josephine placed the wig on my head and made a couple of adjustments "Ready?" she asked. "Ready." I said. Lena shut the closet door, which held the full-length mirror they had been hiding from me. "Ta-da." I was stunned. I barely recognized myself. My body was curvaceous and ... dare I say it.... sexy. My legs look long and sculpted perched upon these heels. I walked closer to the mirror to get a good look. My face, while obviously heavily made up, was a make up perfection. I could not even see the rubber prosthetic on my nose. In dim or night-light, I would be fine. Standing there before the mirror, there was no reason I would not believe I was a woman. "Miracle worker," said Lena. Josephine was not one to argue, "Miracle worker." she agreed. *** It was going to be sometime before I was able to pull this off by myself, but Josephine had instructed Lena how to get me ready. Lena seemed more assured she could duplicate her work now that the difficult part had been done. We thanked Josephine, over her major objections, I slipped her a good deal of cash. Enough, in fact, that she gave me her card and said she would help me "anytime" she wasn't on the set. Lena spoke quietly with Josephine on the way out, and returned to the bedroom to find me standing in amazement, admiring myself. There seemed that there was a certain sparkle in her eye that I had never seen before. Lena walked up behind me, pressing her body against mine. I could feel her firm breasts jammed against my back. She put her hands around me, rubbing the exposed skin of my cleavage, sliding down squeezing my breasts. "These feel real," she purred in my ear. "You're looking quite a bit like a real woman." I was becoming dizzy with desire and the sheer giddiness of my successful transformation. I had always wanted Lena, more than any woman I could think of. The idea that she was pressed against me was almost more than I could believe. She continued to whisper breathily in my ear, "Do you know what would make you feel even more like a woman?" I shuddered, I didn't dare speak. Lena lifted her foot out of her high heel and ran it up my smooth bare leg. She blew and licked my neck while keeping one hand firmly on the skin of my breast. "I'll show you what." Hiking my skirt up, Lena pushed me over the chair situated in front of the mirror. With expert and accomplished fingers, she rolled down my padded underwear exposing my ass to the air. I watched as she pulled her own panties down, barely catching a glimpse of her hard firm rod. My breathing increased as I anticipated what was coming. Quickly rubbing lubricant on her shaft, she gently pushed her hard cock into me. She liberated herself from her blouse and bra so she was nude from the waist up. She slowly moved in and out of me in an almost lazy fashion. She was going to fuck me long and hard. As I looked floor-ward, she gently lifted my head so I could look in the mirror, "No, no my little girl. Watch, watch how a woman takes it." Her hips rolled back and forth like a dancer as she plunged in and out of my ass. I tensed and shuddered with pleasure at every one of her gyrations - watching myself made up and beautiful, getting grinded from behind. I let my eyes roam over my entire body and she fucked me with her long stiff cock. With each pump forward, she lifted me out of my heels to my tiptoes, causing my breasts to move perfectly, slowly, naturally underneath my sweater. Her hand moved over my back rubbing the skin gently. I moaned loudly, uncaringly, as I was being taken in a way that was too good to be imagined, too pleasing to even have dreamed of. Lena pulled out and sat on the chair putting me in front of her kneeling. She pulled my head down to her dick, and I licked around the shaft before slowly taking it into my mouth. I fought back a gag, but still pressed my lips tightly down as I took it all in my mouth. I moved my mouth up and down and Lena's cock now glistened with the sheen of my saliva. A moment later her hips lifted off of the chair and she exploded into my mouth-shooting wave after wave of sperm. I tried to take it all in, even as some dripped all over my chin. Lena relaxed for a moment, leaving her hand on the back of my head to lick up the sperm until her dick went flaccid in my mouth. "I think I'm going to love having you around." She paused and thought for a moment, "Do you have a female name?" She gently grabbed my chin and lifted my head up so I could see her. I shook my head. Since I never went out, I never needed one. "Well after that superstar performance, I think we have one. One that's big, bold, brassy and screams t-girl. Let's call you 'Starr'! What do you think?" I liked it! Right now, I liked everything! And maybe it was the sex, and maybe it was the taking of a name. For the second time in as many days, I set a massive set of events in motion. Life changing events. ***