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Changing Wendell free porn video
Changing Wendell
By Donna Dee
I had a topsy-turvy childhood, perhaps what you might call
the curates egg - good in places! We lived in a large house
set in its own grounds a few miles from the nearest town
and as a consequence, apart from mates that I met at school
I had very few friends outside the family, but they weren't
really necessary because of the exceedingly tame wild
animals that roamed our estate, animals that gave me hours
of pleasure just to watch and photograph as they grazed. As
the youngest child and the only boy, my eldest sister,
fourteen years older than I, spoilt me something rotten;
she tended to mother me after the sad death of my natural
mother who died giving birth to me. Dad re-married 18
months later and I was inflicted with twin stepsisters, six
years older than myself. My natural sister refused to play
second fiddle to Dad's fancy bit and left home to live with
an aunt.
My stepmother, like my Dad was supportive, loving and
caring, but the twins tormented me at every opportunity. It
was mischief, not malice and when push came to shove we got
on quite well. We wanted for nothing, (within reason) and
whilst we were allowed considerable scope we were not
undisciplined. A warning in respect of a transgression was
followed by a short punishment if it were to be repeated. I
don't recall any of us being severely punished, though I do
remember the twins being threatened with dire consequences
once.
The occasion was my fifth birthday and I had been promised
a special party - a costume party Mum called it - and she
had got me a little soldier suit reminiscent of those used
during the war of Independence. There was a toy rifle,
boots and headdress - full uniform, and I was really
looking forward to it. Dad had been working away at the
time though he said he hoped to make it home in time for
the party. Mum had a job that supplemented our income, a
job that meant she was out calling on clients most days,
including weekends. My birthday came on a Sunday during the
summer holidays, Mum promised to be home by half past
three, four at the latest, and she had asked my eleven year
old sisters to get me ready and dressed for the party as
the guests would be coming to tea at four thirty. She had
employed caterers to attend to everything else.
My sisters tormented and teased me all day about my soldier
boy uniform, saying that I was too skinny to be a fighting
man, but I ignored them. At two o'clock I said it was time
I started getting ready, but they kept saying there was
plenty of time until, of course, we had a mad rush to get
me dressed. They made me have another bath - the water was
scented, they used perfumed talc and just how they managed
to convince me that soldiers wore frilly panties I will
never know - even at that tender age. Okay, I was gullible,
but I was only five and I'd had a very sheltered
upbringing, and I knew no different when they persuaded me
that a padded bra was body armour and that a camisole was
really a bullet proof vest - I knew Mum and the girls wore
one, but I didn't know what it was for.
The time for the party drew closer, the girls said they
couldn't find my soldier suit and Mum wasn't home to ask
and since the first guests were due any minute, my loving
siblings suggested I wore the bridesmaids dress Sonia had
worn when she was five. Since I really did want to dress
up, I had no option but to agree. I have never hated
anything so much in my life. When Mum came home she smiled
lovingly, the twins stood either side of her as she admired
my costume. Mum hugged them tightly and was just telling
them what a good job they'd done when Dad walked in. He was
furious. Mum made out it was my sisters' fault and Dad
threatened them with serious violence if they ever did it
again, and Mum agreed with him, 100% she said, but as the
girls were sent to their room I saw her wink at them and
smile.
My father was killed in a road accident when I was eleven
but his insurance policies paid out and we were able to
keep our house and standard of living, even so, Mum still
went out to her job - and I still didn't know what she did.
Dad had been strictly a short back and sides' man when it
came to hairdressing and after the twins had curled my hair
for the party he had insisted mine was cut the same as his.
After his death, very soon afterwards in fact, my sisters
suggested I should go with the fashion and let it grow
longer. Most of the boys at school wore their hair down to
their shoulders these days, I knew that was true and it was
very fashionable at the time, so I was happy to ask for
mother's approval. I am sure my mother had put the twins up
to this; straight away she agreed I could let it grow but
she did stipulate that I must wash it regularly, and let
Sonia, one of the twins, trim it as necessary to keep it
tidy, and of course I agreed. I asked her how long could I
let it grow and she replied that, so long as it was tidy I
could grow it down my back if I wanted. I was very
surprised at how quickly it grew, within a few months it
was down to my collar and within a couple of years it grew
over my shoulders. I loved it and I was delighted that my
sisters were happy to keep it looking nice.
My sisters did in fact keep it nicely shaped and since they
now worked at a hairdressing salon, Mum was happy to let
them. They seemed to love to wash it two or three times a
week, add conditioner to thicken it out and occasionally I
let them put in a roller or two to turn the ends under -
just a bit. It was a light brown colour that, against my
heavily tanned complexion, looked absolutely terrific they
said, and I believed they were sincere. After some 18
months I wore it dressed over my ears, softly waved and
turned under at the bottom, I fancied myself as Errol Flynn
when he starred in Robin Hood. I suppose I should have
realised they were feminising me, but I didn't.
By the time I was almost fourteen I had grown a fair bit
and put on a bit of weight so I looked much fitter. Mum had
brought us a new house in the neighbouring state to which
we were moving right after a short holiday that would
follow my birthday. As my fourteenth birthday approached I
was experiencing a better relationship with my sisters than
ever before - they never tired of brushing my hair, combing
it this way and that, putting it into a pony tail suitable
for boys - and at weekends higher up the back of my head,
more like girls. Throughout this time my mother was totally
loving and supportive. When I sometimes objected to wearing
a full head of rollers overnight night, she hugged me and
managed to convince me that the ends justified the means
and that it would look lovely in the morning. I must admit
that I had started to love the way my hair looked, I
sometimes wore it loose when I went to school and no one
took the mickey. There was a time when Susan, the other
twin, got me to wear panty hose and frilly girls panties
and I had to keep telling her that I didn't want to be a
girl or to look like one.
Mother promised to take the three of us out on my birthday
and bought me a new suit to wear - only this time I made
sure I kept it in my own wardrobe. Early on the afternoon
of my birthday the twins took me up to the bathroom to fix
my hair for the evening out, and I happily went with them.
In the bathroom they had put an old armchair with castors
on the legs. They made me sit down and before I knew what
was happening, they had fitted toy handcuffs to my wrists;
toys they might have been but I couldn't get them off and
so I was fixed firmly to the chair. They tied my feet and
told me to shut up shouting or they'd stick a gag in my
mouth - I believed them. I told them there was no need to
tie me up - I had never objected to what they did to my
hair, but they replied that there was every chance I would
today and they were taking no chances. I wondered what on
earth they could mean and they showed me a list of things
they had been told to do, written by Mum and signed. I read
the list with despair, making comments as I went.
Get Wendell ready for tonight. (Crappy name isn't it)
Wash, bleach, perm and style his hair.
("You are NOT bleaching it," I said)
(Wanna bet? Said Sonia)
Paint his toenails and fingernails with pale or clear
varnish.
("She cannot be serious - no I won't let you do it")
("Why do you think you're tied up, Wendell?")
Tell him to wear the underwear that's on my bed as his have
not come back from the laundry. Nylon stockings as well.
("This just isn't fair")
("Nobody said it was.")
You can put a little make up on his eyes and lips! Not too
much mind.
("SHE HAS TO BE JOKING, fuck that for a game of
soldiers.")
("Language Wendy, language")
("My name is NOT Wendy!")
When all this has been done, you may give him the little
surprise you have in store for him.
("What surprise? What else can you do? I'm not
wearing a dress.")
("Nobody said you had to, did they?")
Dress him in a white shirt, (open neck, no tie), and then
the suit. He is to wear the open toed sandals (low heel)
that are in his wardrobe.
("I haven't got any open toed sandals, and what's
this about low heels?)
("I've got some you can borrow, Wendy.")
("My name is NOT Wendy, I've told you that once!")
(It might as well be!)
Select whatever jewellery you think fit, but not too much.
("Oh shit - you are going to do me up like a girl,
just like you did when I as five.")
"No, not exactly, but now you can see why we've had to fix
you to the chair - we've got a hell of a lot to do in the
next four hours, haven't we Sonia?"
"Yes indeed, Susan, best get cracking. Come on Wendy."
"My name is Wendell, not Wendy. I won't stay here if you
call me that again."
"How're you gonna get away, pet?"
"I'll kill you, so help me, you see if I don't."
"You can try - but I think you'll look more like a Wendy by
the time we're done with you."
My hair was washed, partly dried and then it seemed like
several bottles of a stinking solution were poured on. It
stung like hell and I moaned a bit, but it made no
difference.
Eventually Susan said, "Hey, that looks real cool. Now
let's perm it."
"I don't want it permed," I complained, "it's fine the way
you do it."
"Not any longer, little brother. Things are about to change
- and how. But don't worry, sweetie, you'll love it when
it's finished, and Mummy said we had to do it remember."
They had the mirror covered over so I couldn't see what
they'd done and once again they soaked it with a different
smelling lotion though it was just as horrible. They put
some tape over my eyes, 'to keep the lotion out' they said,
but I could tell they were putting in some curlers - and
putting them in tightly. They brought in a large dryer, put
it over my head and made damn sure I didn't move until it
had finished its work. Eventually out came the little
curlers and in went a whole load of larger ones, under the
dryer once more and I then had to sit there while they
began working on my nails, hands and feet. I could tell
they were being painted, remember my eyes were still taped
up, and when that tape was removed I was almost relieved to
see that they had "only" used a lilac coloured polish, very
shiny, but I still couldn't see what they had done to my
hair.
"I hope you aren't thinking of putting me in girl's clothes
again," I said. "Remember what Daddy said when you did it
last time."
"Well Daddy isn't here any more, is he? But don't worry, we
don't intend to put girls clothes on you, though we are
going to put quite a bit of make-up on your face - Mummy's
orders," said my sister as I started to object.
"Mummy said not too much," I protested.
"That depends on what you mean by too much, doesn't it
Wendy?"
"Don't call me WENDY," I yelled.
I didn't believe them, Mum wouldn't do that to me and she'd
soon help me to get it off. But, tied up as I was, I was
powerless to stop them from plucking my eyebrows - quite
severely judging by the pain they caused, and applying what
seemed like a whole lot of cosmetics to my face and neck.
Then they caused me to flip - and I could well understand
why they had tied me up, because Susan produced a gun like
tool and, before I could complain, punched three holes in
each ear lobe and inserted a stud in each. That was my
little surprise, they said. Then they exposed my navel and
put another in that for good measure. I wondered just how
Mum was going to put that to rights.
As they removed the big rollers and brushed my hair out I
could see they had bleached it blonde, and put in a few
reddish high lights. Mum wouldn't be able to alter that in
a hurry either, and when they eventually uncovered the
mirror I was able to see that they had created a hairstyle
most girls my age would die for. In spite of myself (though
I'd never have admitted it) I loved it, but it didn't go
with being a boy.
Then they started to dress me in girls' underclothes and
almost transparent nylon stockings (through which, of
course, you could see my painted toes) that were held up by
a garter belt. I started to shout at them and was nearly in
tears until Sonia said that if I cried and spoiled my make-
up she'd put on twice as much afterwards, AND she'd use
waterproof face paint). They knew me too well, I could turn
the tears on and off at will and I knew she meant what she
said.
That they had done a good job so far was evident as I was
allowed to stand and look in the full-length mirror.
Standing there in panties, padded bra, camisole and waist
slip with permed blonde hair and almost full make-up (they
hadn't yet done my eyes and lips) I did indeed look like a
young lady. Then they put me into a shirt that they left
open at the neck; the cuffs were extremely tight - it was
difficult for them to button them closed, but they managed
it in the end. When they helped me into my trousers I was
horrified to see they were several inches too short - my
nylon-clad ankles could be clearly seen, not only that but
they had put a gold ankle identity bracelet on my left leg,
and the name on it was WENDY.
I was made to sit again and told to keep my head perfectly
still as Sonia outlined my lips with a deep red pencil,
going just over the bottom lip to make my mouth look a bit
bigger. She had a steady hand and did it perfectly. Then
she brushed on some lilac lipstick that matched my nails,
too thickly by far in my opinion. Susan then layered three
colours of eye shadow onto my eyelids and layer upon layer
of mascara to make my lashes look longer. They professed
their innocence as to which of them it was that had altered
my trousers, but somebody must have done it because they
fitted perfectly when the suit was bought. Then they pulled
the front of my button down shirt out, undid the lower
three buttons and tied it in a single knot that left my
navel and the ring fitted into it exposed. When they put on
the jacket the sleeves were also several inches too short
leaving the cuffs of my shirt clearly visible. It wasn't
even the same jacket - I could see that now, as it was more
of a bolero fitting than single breasted.
It was Susan's idea to put two or three chunky bracelets on
each wrist to disguise the sleeve length. They had promised
to ignore Mum's instruction and let me wear boys shoes, but
then they said it was a shame to put such pretty feet into
boys shoes and so they fetched out Susan's sandals - I
hated them on site, but the ankle strap was fitted with a
small padlock - very decorative I'm sure, but it made them
a fixture. When I looked at myself in mother's full-length
mirror again I could have easily believed I was a girl, or
a boy in drag I should say.
All this time my sisters had kept at least one handcuff
secured to the chair or to one of their wrists and now it
was time to go down and meet mother. Before we left my
bedroom they fixed both my wrists, one to each of them with
me in the middle and we stood in the lounge waiting for Mum
to come home. I had intended to rush up to my mother and
cry to be taken out of this hideous mask, but I couldn't,
at least not straight away, so I just stood there and
ignored her praises that were mainly directed towards the
twins for the fine job they had done. Somehow it didn't
seem right not to use the heaven sent opportunity to have a
go at my siblings and I did so with a vengeance. Mum told
them to release me, (they took the cuffs off their wrists
and gave them to Mum to hold). She released me completely,
told me to take off my jacket and come sit with her on the
settee so she could look at my lovely navel ring, lavishing
praise on how pretty it looked and how lucky I was to have
two sisters who thought so much of me. By this time the
twins had gone to sit at the table and play draughts.
Close to tears, real ones this time, I sat by her side, her
arm went round me and pulled me to her bosom; she gently
kissed my painted lips and made me open my mouth and touch
my lovely lips (her words not mine) with my tongue, to feel
how nice and smooth they felt and how incredibly nice the
lipstick tasted. Okay so she was right but that didn't make
me like it any more.
"Why have you made them dress me up like a girl, Mummy?" I
asked.
She pretended to be surprised; "Why you don't look like a
girl, Wendell, whatever gave you that idea?"
I said that my new hairstyle, the make-up and the earrings
weren't exactly masculine, neither were the jewellery, the
nylon stockings or the perfume, `but she poo-hoed those
objections completely.
"My darling, hundreds and thousands of boys wear make-up
and pretty clothes when they're not at school, really they
do. Are you telling me that you don't feel special looking
as you do now? Do you really not like wearing just a little
bit of make-up, because I think that with your lovely
blonde hair it makes you look absolutely fabulous, really I
do."
I brought out my stock argument that I wasn't a girl, that
only girls wore make-up.
"Of course you're not a girl you old silly, but I repeat,
thousands of boys wear make-up, I'll prove it on the
Internet if you want me to." I told her not to bother.
She agreed that in that silly suit I didn't look much like
one thing or the other and suggested we all went upstairs
to see what we could do about it. I know I should have
smelled a rat, but I didn't. When we went into my bedroom
she told Sonia to take off my suit and shirt while she
fetched out a dress that was truly lovely - if a girl wore
it. I was coaxed into it - "just to see the difference,"
Mum said.
Now what I didn't notice while Mum was pacifying me was
that Susan had fetched out her camcorder and was busy
filming everything that happened. Having got me into the
dress they all stood there admiring the way I looked and
then she told Sonia I needed a brighter red lipstick to
bring out the colours in the dress, and this she quickly
put on me.
We sat together on my bed as she told me that girls were
much more fortunate than boys mainly because they could
wear anything they liked.
"Take your shoes for example, your own I mean; you have
several pairs that are more or less identical, half brown
and half black, and other colours are virtually unheard of
- one in a hundred thousand I imagine. Now I on the other
hand have at least 150 pairs of shoes, all quite different.
Every colour you can think of, different styles, high and
low heels, some with imitation jewels, some with
embroidery, but I do have a pair of shoes to go with
anything I decide to wear, and that's just one reason I
like being a girl."
"Yes, but you ARE a girl, or a woman I suppose I should
say."
"That's very true but so could you be if you'd stop
fighting it. Just compare your dull little socks with my
nylons, with or without seams, decorated ankles, fishnet or
fine."
"Not much point under trousers," I said.
"Exactly my point, but they look fantastic under skirts,"
she replied, and talking of skirts, just think of your
trousers, all black, grey or denim and all of them fairly
thick and heavy. Compare those to my skirts and dresses and
then think of the dozens and dozens I have in my wardrobe,
and for each and every one I have several pairs of pretty
panties in my drawer - all pretty colours with lace trim,
much nicer than your Y fronts. Which would you rather
wear?"
"Well, if you are going to make me wear make-up and have my
hair like this then I suppose I'd have to say the dresses
and the panties."
"I'm not going to make you wear anything, honey, I just
want you to know what you are missing. I admit I'd like you
to wear pretty things all the time, but it has to be your
decision."
"But I'm not a girl," I protested.
"No my darling, I know you're not, not yet anyway."
She got up from my bed and went to her own room. As she
went I heard her saying to herself, "But you soon will be
my darling, you soon will be."
I was mortified - and strangely enough it was my wicked
stepsister Sonia who came to my rescue. Taking me by the
hand she made me take a long look at myself, at my hair, my
face, my clothes etc and yes, I had to agree that, if I had
been a girl then I looked really good - but that didn't
make me like it.
"Wendy my dear," she said, ignoring my assertion that my
name was Wendell, "I want you to sit down here with me for
a minute and just relax and listen carefully to what I say,
will you do that for me?" She asked so nicely I could
hardly refuse.
"I want you to close your eyes, just gently and relax, yes,
just like that, that's good, that's very good."
She kept on calling me Wendy and telling me how pretty I
looked and, to be fair, I got fed up with listening to the
same things being repeated time and time again. Suddenly I
was aware of her shaking my shoulder and asking me why I'd
gone to sleep on her - I almost said through boredom, but
she wasn't finished yet.
"I'll make a bet with you, Wendy. If you come with me right
now down to the mall and anybody, anybody at all recognises
you then I will get Mum to let you stay dressed as a boy.
If nobody guesses that you are really Wendell then you do
as we ask and let us keep you looking as pretty as you are
today. You've nothing to lose because Mum is determined you
will be changed into a girl sooner or later and I am the
only one she will listen to - you know that's true."
She was right, I did know it was true and so I agreed to
her bet, but I said there was one thing I particularly
hated - the red lipstick. Sonia confirmed that I'd accept
the bet if she changed it back and I agreed. She blotted
off most of the red with a tissue and re-applied the lilac,
asking if that was better.
"Yes," I heard myself answer, "that's much better, I quite
like that." Did I really say that?
"Fine, now you change something for me, will you?"
I nodded and watched, horrified, as she produced a pair of
open toes sandals with a 2-inch heel that fitted perfectly.
She made me walk up and down the bedroom to get the feel of
them and I was surprised how easy it was. She handed me a
purse with a shoulder strap into which she had put some
money and some make-up. Then we almost ran down the stairs,
yes, me too, and I was laughing happily as we went through
the front door and jumped into the car. Susan came as well,
still filming us as we positively bounced up the mal like a
couple of teenagers, window-shopping and smiling at the
boys.
Sonia won her bet - the nearest I came to recognition was
when a schoolmate spoke to Sonia who introduced me as
Wendell's cousin and he said how much alike we were. We
went into an ice cream parlour where she treated me and,
when we had finished, I did as she suggested and touched up
my lipstick without so much as a thought.
So that was that really; we went on holiday with me in
girl's clothes and to be truthful, I had never had such a
good time before, Mum and the twins saw to that. While we
were away, Susan showed us the video she had taken of my
first trip out and the bedroom scene where Sonia had
hypnotised me into doing as she asked.
Three years have passed during which I have only worn
dresses or skirts, slacks on occasions, perhaps calottes,
and lots of make-up and I am happy to go on doing so. After
the holiday in our new home I went to school as a girl and
I know now that I shall always be one. What happens when I
start to get seriously interested in boys will be another
story. I never thought I'd say it but I owe my Mother and
sisters a drink, as soon as I'm old enough to buy one.
Josephina
- 14.01.2021
- 9
- 0
