SUBSTITUTE - The Story Of A Wedding free porn video

SUBSTITUTE - The story of a wedding ? by: Nicci Knox Chapter I - Before - an offer made and accepted. Abbi looked at me for several moments before she responded to my offer. "If you really mean it," she said, "there is something you can do. Take the Friday, Monday and Tuesday off work, over the weekend of the twenty/twenty-first, come round to my place Thursday evening and spend the weekend and the next couple of days with me." That weekend incorporated the Summer Solstice. If I agreed I anticipated being in for five days of hard labour, helping to decorate, or sort out the garden, or spring clean the place, or something. 'Probably', I thought in view of the predicted fine weather and the long light evenings, 'she wanted some help with the garden'. I'd made the offer out of a guilty conscience. I hadn't known Caroline was bisexual. And I certainly hadn't realised that she was in a relationship with my lesbian cousin when I'd asked her out for an evening, a date that had led to a pretty torrid and highly pleasing four months affair. Maybe her penchant for oral sex should have triggered something in my mind but, not being in any way averse to performing cunnilingus - and being pretty adept at it, too - or to having my own cock sucked in a highly efficient and exciting manner by an expert practitioner, it hadn't occurred to me to question her orientation. It was only after we'd parted on still highly amicable terms that I learnt of my cousin's devastation at the abrupt failure of what she had assumed would be a long term relationship, and had hastened to meet up with her and assure that I'd not intentionally inveigled Caroline away from her. And of the sincerity of my desire to make whatever recompense I could. Hence my offer - 'I'll do anything you want to make it up'. Well, I could hardly back out now. I wasn't doing much for that weekend - having intended to spend it more or less as usual, lounging around in what ever sun turned up, drinking in pubs by the River. And I wasn't unduly busy at work just then. So, of course, I accepted. Had I known what Abbi actually had in mind, I might not have been quite so quick to close the deal. I'd have probably made excuses and wriggled out of it, to the consequent detriment of my relationship with my cousin and my life would certainly have worked out completely differently from the way it has. Both of which would have been a pity in more ways than one. My cousin Abbi is nearly five years older than me. She's also a good two-and-a-half inches taller and is a lithe, athletic, redhead with a stunning figure that I'd always rather wistfully felt was wasted by her sexual preferences. I've always, as long as I can remember been tremendously fond of her and pretty much in awe of her, too. As a tiny child I used to follow her around whenever we met, whenever our parents got together, that is. I expect I plagued the life out of her but she tolerated both me and my growing devotion, provided I accepted her authority and I quickly learned to do exactly what I was told - without prevarication or delay. Inevitably we drifted apart a bit during our somewhat mismatched early adolescence but, by the time I reached my late teens, we were back in touch and were seeing quite a lot of each other again. By then of course her orientation had been well established and there was never any suggestion of any sexual feeling between us, at least, not on her part. When our parents were all four of them killed in a road smash on a shared continental holiday, forced off a mountain side road and down a ravine by a drunken driver, another 'Brit', we were all we both had left in the way of family. We were 'good buddies' and looked out for one another, although she was, and still is, very much the dominant partner. I'd have been deeply hurt if we'd split up on bad terms, especially because of anything I'd said or done. She would have been, too. Me, I'm about five feet six-and-a-half inches tall, slender of frame, blond haired, fresh faced and fair skinned. Looking at things with twenty/twenty hindsight I'm quite similar in appearance to Caroline, very similar. In fact I'm a dead ringer for her, if you accept a few pertinent differences in gender attributes. Even that didn't ring any warning bells. Maybe it should have done. Before we parted, at the end of that evening, Abbi gave me a hint as to what was in store. Of course, I completely misinterpreted it. "Don't bring anything with you for the weekend," she said. "I'll provide everything you're likely to need." 'Decorating, after all,' I thought. Well, I'm not too bad at wielding a paintbrush, although paper hanging's a bit beyond me. I'm not very fond of the preparation stages either, although I can get on with it. Still if it meant that Abbi and I were back on even keel,,, Chapter II - Thursday Evening - the initial ground rules are laid down. I duly arrived at Abbi's front door to find she wasn't yet home. No matter, I let myself in - I'd always had a key to her house, she had one to my flat - and took my overnight bag up to the spare room I usually used when I stayed with her. Mindful of her parting words I hadn't brought much with me, but I had a few spare clothes, particularly ones I wouldn't mind getting messed up doing the 'donkey work'. I'd barely put my bag down when she arrived and found me in the room. My cousin was still dressed for work, smart dark grey business suit - slim, short skirt and jacket - over dark grey nylon clad legs and a white formal blouse. The only splash of colour about her person, apart from her cascade of auburn hair, was a pair of apple green high heeled, almost impossibly high heeled, shoes. "What's this?" Abbi demanded, taking up my bag. "I thought I said, I would provide all you need! When I said 'all', I meant it! Give that to me. Get into the bathroom, strip and shower! Oh! And leave the door unlocked!" With that, she departed the room taking my bag with her. Blinking and somewhat taken aback, but dutiful as ever to Abbi's demands, I entered the bathroom removed my clothes and stepped into the large shower cabinet. Big enough for two. 'Leave the door unlocked'. Was Abbi changing her orientation? Was she about to join me in the shower? It was big enough. No, Abbi wasn't about to join me under the shower. The bathroom door opened and she came in fully clothed still and bore away the clothes I'd discarded. A few moments later, before I'd even left the shower to towel off, I heard the front door open and close and a car start up. Then, after I'd completed my ablutions and was beginning to wonder what was to happen next, I heard the front door open and close again. Tentatively, wrapped in a towel that didn't quite cover me enough, I opened the bathroom door. "In here!" I was ordered. 'Here' being Abbi's own bedroom, the one she'd shared with Caroline - and her previous lovers. As I stepped inside the bedroom door the towel, my only protection, was whisked from me and I stood feeling more than a little foolish and blushing furiously as I tried to preserve my modesty with my hands. "For goodness sake, don't be so prissy!" Abbi expostulated. "Do you think that's the first cock I've ever seen! In fact, let me remind you, I've seen yours a time or two before, anyway. I just want to make sure your fit for what you'll be doing for the remainder of the weekend." Then, in a slightly exasperated tone, as my embarrassment continued, "if it'll make you feel better we'll work on the basis that 'if I can see yours, you can see mine'!" With that, dropping the towel on the floor behind her, she stood back and carefully removed her outer clothes - her jacket , blouse and skirt, and a short pale grey satin chemise she had on underneath. As she folded the chemise and tidily placed it over a chair, with the rest of her discarded garments, she revealed her only remaining underwear, an apple green satin basque decorated with pale grey piping and trimmed with pale grey gauzy lace at the top and around the hem. Six apple green satin straps, three each side, supported her stockings. The top of the basque was formed into two under-cups that supported her firm trim breasts. The top trim failed to cover her already engorged nipples and bubbling aureole. The hem of the basque rounded up over her thighs and fell to a point about mid way between her navel and the point of her crotch in front, and down into the top of the cleft between her buttocks behind, in a fuss of lace. Abbi's magnificent auburn pubic bush was framed by the grey of the lacy hem, the welt of her stocking tops and the green satin suspender straps [or 'garters']. For the first time since our reunion Abbi giggled out loud, as I fell back awed and amazed at the sight she presented, confirming and instantly reinforcing my adoration and devotion to her in a single word. "Golly!" "I thought you might like it," she responded, through the giggles, "it's what I usually wear under my work clothes, just to keep me sane in the company of all those insufferable men I have to work with. Men who seem to spend most of there time trying to charm me, or rather swarm me, out of my knickers. They presumably don't realise that I haven't been wearing any knickers, or a bra', to work for years. Besides," suddenly rather wistfully, "Caroline liked me like this. She used to say she liked to think of me, whilst we were apart, with my quim all uncovered and getting juicy, waiting for her tongue." My cousin seemed to shake herself clear of reverie and moved across to carry out a detailed inspection of my nakedness. "Hmm," she said, at last. "You don't have much body hair, less than me in fact. And what you have is very soft and downy. Even you pubes are like a little silk fringe. Your face and skin are fresh and fair and soft. I was right, you're very like her. It'll be okay. Tell me, how often do you shave your face? You certainly haven't got any beard that I can see, at the moment." Somewhat mystified, still blissfully unaware of what was about to descend on me, I informed her that two shaves a week were more than sufficient to keep my meagre beard under control and that, as I'd only shaved that morning I could go at least until Sunday before I'd need to shave again, quite probably longer. "Good," she breathed, absently. Then, "that's good, because Caroline and I had something planned for this weekend, since several months ago. I can't, or rather I haven't and don't want to, put it off. Seeing as you offered to do anything for me, to make up for what you did, you're going to take her place. For the rest of this weekend, at least, you're going to be Caroline. I've still got plenty of her clothes here. You're very much the same size as she is, in fact you're very like her altogether, Enough to fool most of the others anyway. We'll find you some clothes to put on now. We're off for the weekend. The rest of your things, Caroline's things, and mine, are already loaded in the car." To say I was staggered is the understatement of the year! Me take Caroline's place! I knew, from my four month affair with her, just how feminine she was. And just how delicate and feminine her clothes were! She'd never worn trousers of any description in my presence, and I wasn't conceited enough to think that that was for my benefit! There was no way she had anything approaching unisex clothes in her wardrobe! If I was to become Caroline I'd have to dress in some highly feminine manner! 'If I was to become,,,'! What was I thinking! No way! "What,,,, what,,,, what do you mean! Me! Become Caroline! I can't! I'm a man! I can't be Caroline!" I quavered, panic washing over me - because I already knew I'd probably have to, if Abbi was determined. "Well, you could," my cousin replied in an even, reasonable tone. "As I've already pointed out, you're sufficiently like her to deceive most people. Particularly those who haven't seen her too often, and your skin and face and hair, and your general body build if it comes to that, are all very feminine. You only need a little shaping to get away with it, false boobs and such. No. You could. What you mean is, 'you don't want to'. Maybe even, 'you won't'! Well, that's all right, too. It's your choice. If you're going back on you promise, all you have to do is walk out of here, collect your own clothes, and go. But it'll be some time before we see each other again." I looked around a little helplessly,,, "Where are my clothes?" I eventually plucked up the courage to ask. "They're at Marion's house, with your car keys, just for the weekend," was the reply. "I took them all down to her whilst you were showering. It's only just over a mile, and it's quite warm out. You should be okay - even dressed like that! Or rather, undressed!" she giggled again. Abbi's cottage is in the Cotswolds, outside of the pretty little town of Broadway. Marion I'd met before. She lived a bit nearer into Broadway, with her lover Celia, almost immediately off the Fosse Way. To get there I'd have to walk a few hundred yards to the busy main road and up towards the town along that same road - stark, bollock naked! There was obviously no way I'd be able to persuade my devious cousin to loan me anything resembling any adequate covering, or the loan of her car. There may have been a way across the fields but, if there was I didn't know it. And if I could find it, it would still entail a naked hike! She had me! I was appalled afresh. I couldn't see anyway out. Whilst I mused over the options there was a sudden funny little sniggle in the back of my mind. A long buried memory, the best part of twenty years old, of my fourteen year old cousin making me take all my clothes off a few times when we alone in her house and her dressing my nine year old body up in a pair of her outgrown panties, a silky shift and a dress, invaded my mind. Maybe the memory, which I'd contrived to wipe from my mind from shear embarrassment, was stirred by her earlier words, 'I've seen yours a time or two,,,'. I could feel my nerve ends tingle in some kind of dreadful anticipation. I'd been petrified at the time. Petrified by fear of discovery. Petrified at the enormity of my crime - 'wearing girls clothes'! But too much in awe of my cousin to resist. In the circumstances of the alternative now available to me I was still incapable of resistance. With great reluctance and very bad grace, I capitulated and accepted my fate. Briskly, Abbi set about providing my traveling costume, choosing from the most feminine contents of Caroline's wardrobe. Soon, she had assembled a set of delicate, lace bedecked, pale blue nylon underwear - full skirted slip, bra', suspender-belt and a pair of virtually transparent, lacy gauzy panties - with matching nylon stockings and a 'Laura Ashley' printed dress, in shades of blue with occasional splashes of rose pink. The belt of the dress and a pair of plain three inch high heels picked up the rose pink. In a business like manner, still clad only in her basque and stockings and shoes, Abbi set about dressing me as Caroline. Up to now of course, since puberty, I'd regarded women's underwear - particularly underwear of the type worn by Caroline and my previous girlfriends - with the detached interest of the male as a rather glamorous adornment to the female form, designed to whet the male appetite before it was gently and seductively removed to reveal the delights underneath, designed ostensibly to cover and protect but in reality intended to enhance and display. I'd never thought that it might have any independent erotic purpose intended to please, excite or arouse the wearer for her own sake. Now, suddenly, the underwear took on a whole new dimension! I was expected to wear it myself! As Abbi dressed me in Caroline's intimate clothes a totally new perspective opened up! A whole new intensely exciting, arousing and hitherto unsuspected, if extremely frightening, world! As Abbi clipped the bra' around my chest, over my meager masculine breasts, I felt for the first time the delightful constriction of the delicate nylon bands and straps, and the minimal abrasion of the lace cups that stimulated even my tiny nipples into some kind of reaction. I have to admit to a feeling of disappointment after my cousin turned to the dressing table and took up a pair of breast forms, molded to shape and completed with stylised nipples and aureole, which she slipped inside the lace cups. The disappointment arose from the sudden isolating of my own flesh and nipples from the delicious friction that had set them tingling. Nevertheless, as Abbi made a slight adjustment to ensure the tension in the shoulder straps was adequate to hold my newly acquired bosom in place and stood back to examine the effect, I remained aware of the constriction of the cool, flimsy nylon around my chest and back and over my shoulders. Caught up in the conflicting emotions of arousal at the touch of the fabric, bewilderment at my sudden unforeseen reaction to the forced assumption of femininity, consternation at the thought of what I might have to endure over the weekend, I shook visibly and nearly broke down. I could see my reflection in the mirror and had to accept that my new bosom looked pretty authentic, down to the shadow of the false nipples shading through the delicate nylon lace of the bra' cups. Satisfied, Abbi picked up the suspender-belt ['garter-belt'] and fastened it around my flanks. The belt was made in four panels, two side panels of delicate feather light nylon, with lace panels across the front and the back. Like the bra' the delicate nylon side panels caressed my flanks, whilst the slightly rougher lace panels abraded the upper slopes of my buttocks and my stomach. Kneeling now for a moment, she ushered me to lift each foot in turn to slide it into the rolled and gathered up stockings, for her to draw the stockings up my legs. After a pause, to adjust the suspender straps and secure them to my stocking tops, she again rocked back on her heels to survey her handy work. In doing so, inadvertently maybe, her thighs parted and, for the long period of her scrutiny, I had an unrestricted view of her sweet, juicy quim - the quim that I had lusted after on many occasions, trying to imagine what it looked like, and used as a masturbatory fantasy in my earlier days. Surprisingly, looking back on the long period of our intimacy, it was the first time I'd really seen it 'in the flesh', so to speak. Even immediately before, when she'd undressed to put me more at ease, whilst she remained upright the profuse auburn thatch of her pubic bush had impeded any real sight of the edge of her lower lips. Aware from my reaction of what I'd seen, a little smile appeared on her lips. "I see you like the view," she said, nodding towards a sudden thickening and lengthening of my cock as, despite my mixture of anguish and excitement at the thought of what was happening and what more I'd have to endure, it responded both to the sight she'd just afforded me and the feel of the delicate fabric and the harsher lace on my supercharged nerve ends. "Look all you like," she continued. "You'll need to get used to it. You'll see a lot more of it over the weekend, and maybe not only mine either. But looking is all, for the moment. There will be no sex until Sunday evening, after the event, between us, or for us with anyone else for that matter. That's all part of it. No saying, of course, with you looking as delicious as we're going to make you, that there won't be quite a few people who'll toy with the idea of separating you from your knickers. But you'll be 'out of bounds' to them, too - at least for this weekend." Rising briefly, only to crouch in front of me again - and this time deliberately keeping her thighs apart - Abbi now helped me into my panties. My first intimate contact as an adult with a pair of women's panties completed the revelation, and precipitated a complete change in attitude in my mind. In that one action I was both captivated by the thrill of assuming such delicate and feminine fabrics and converted to the delights of cross dressing. The panties were made in reverse to the suspender-belt. The lace panels were at the sides, the oh so delicate nylon at the front and back. To feel the soft clinging of the flimsy, almost gossamer touch of the nylon material around my straining cock and under the sac of my scrotum was like a delicious torture that, despite the agony of my position, despite the knotted up cramp in my stomach at the prospect of the weekend before me, set my heart beating even faster, my skin crawling and reacting to each miniature movement of the highly feminised fabrics that clothed them and accelerated beyond any previous experience the extent and strength of my erection. My cock shot out to an even more unprecedented length, girth and solidity. Thrusting out rigidly against it's minimal, virtually transparent restraint. In contrast to the gossamer surround on my cock, the lace side panels of my panties - suddenly they were my panties - completed the circle of friction with the front and back panels of the suspender-belt to inflict a delicious abrasion on the now electrically charged nerve ends in the flesh of my flanks, stomach and buttocks. As I moved to view my image in the mirror further reminders of my transformation imposed themselves on my body. The gentle tug of my suspender straps anchored to my stocking tops; and, the catch of stocking-top against stocking-top as my inner thighs brushed one-an- other. Irredeemably I knew that, whatever the danger of discovery, whatever the potential for humiliation and ridicule, had Abbi changed her mind and cancelled the weekend I would have broken into loud protestations and pleaded with her to allow me to continue to wear Caroline's clothes and take her place! Abbi didn't change her mind. Instead she grinned at my instant and obvious reaction to the assumption of Caroline's panties, my panties, running her fingers lightly up and down my nylon clad shaft.. "Well, well!" She murmured, "So that's the way of it! Maybe the prospect of the weekend isn't quite so daunting after all! But we're going to have to take jolly good care that strange lumps in the front of your dresses and skirts don't give the game away!" Without saying anything, but my actions and general demeanour admitting my now willing co-operation, I allowed Abbi to help me into the slip, then sat passively at the dressing table - turning my head and face, and moving my mouth as directed - as she made up my face and dressed my hair into a fair resemblance of Caroline's relatively short mop. The image in the mirror was startling. Even I, who knew Caroline so intimately, was struck by the effect Abbi had achieved. If the image that looked back at me wasn't Caroline, it was her twin sister. When Abbi added the dress and shoes and a pair of 'clip on' earrings I knew that, as far as looks was concerned, I would pass any but an intimate inspection. Now it was up to me. Could I act sufficiently like her, sufficiently like a woman, to deflect any suspicions? As Abbi said, "'Dammit!' You're feminine enough in appearance. You look like her. You lived with the girl for four months! You must know how she moved, reacted, and what things, other than cock and fanny, she was interested in! This should be a piece of cake for you!" Believe me, as thrilled as I suddenly was with my new wardrobe, as entranced as I suddenly was by my new personality and as willing as I suddenly was to participate in the deception, it was anything but! Abbi was still dissatisfied. My still rigid cock tented out even the material of my slip and dress. She made me carefully raise my skirts so that, kneeling, she could lower my panties to my knees, and take my solid shaft in her mouth. Teasing at the shaft with her teeth and raking the underside, chewing at my foreskin, sucking all the time, she brought me to a severe climax that she managed to contain within her mouth, continuing to suck and swallow greedily until she'd drained me completely. Even Caroline's expert technique couldn't match the 'blow job' my cousin gave me. I was astounded! Where, with her predilections, had she learned that? Looking at her face, the self satisfied little grin as she wiped me clean with tissues and dusted my anatomy with talc, I didn't dare to ask! But my now flaccid and withdrawn cock, and my testicles, all packed neatly and unobtrusively into my pretty feminine panties. Only then did Abbi resume her own outer clothes - leaving herself still knickerless and bra'less - to lead me out of the house to her open topped SAAB cabriolet. Handing me a silk head scarf and a pair of sunglasses, showing me how to wrap the head scarf around my hair and secure it under my chin, and making the same preparations herself, she drove off to the Fosse Way, down to the Motorway system, and the road to Dartmoor from Exeter, to our destination - the Manor House Hotel, on the edge of the Moor. We stopped on the way at a service station, of course, for a wee break. And Abbi had to remind me to go with her into the 'ladies' instead on 'the gents'. Even then I made the mistake of lifting the toilet seat, lifting my skirts, pulling my cock over the top of my panties and peeing into the pan like a man. Abbi reprimanded me severely. "What were you thinking of?" She demanded, "Women don't make a racket like that in a toilet! Or stand with their feet facing the pan when they pee! I could see you feet under the stall wall! Anyone the other side could've, too! Luckily there wasn't anyone there! But the noise alone was enough to earn you some mighty queer looks from some of the other women still washing their hands and touching up their make-up!" Suitably abashed I settled into the car seat, resolving to sit to pee for the duration. We arrived at the hotel fairly late, but still in time for dinner. Abbi 'booked us in' - me under the name of Caroline, of course - and then led me up to our suite, two bedrooms opening up from a central lounge and bathroom. She rather rushed through the latter, not allowing any time to change, giving both herself and I only enough time to freshen up before she led me back downstairs to the dining room. As we entered all the rest of the diners looked up and many called out some kind of greeting as we were shown to our seats by a pretty little girl of Chinese abstraction wearing the traditional black skirt and stockings, and white blouse and apron of a hotel waitress. The shadow of a black bra' shaded through her blouse. There were two other people already sat at our table - Marion and Celia, whom I had assumed would still be back in the Cotswolds. Abbi grinned at my surprised expression. A similar smile adorned Marion's face and Celia's golden brown Afro- Caribbean eyes twinkled in ill concealed merriment. "Didn't I tell you," she said, "Marion and Celia are here to see us through our big day. More than that, with Tania and Georgie, they're going to be part of it." My face continued to register surprise, now mixed with puzzlement. Who were 'Tania and Georgie'? And just what was our 'big day'? As it happened Tania and Georgie, friends of my cousin who lived together in Exeter, were sitting close on the next table and introductions were quickly made, their two-seater table was moved to join ours and the five women started to talk in the manner of old friends - leaving me somewhat isolated. I knew Marion and Celia as I've already said, and they knew me. And the real Caroline. Both of us sufficiently well, I was almost sure, to know that it was me and not Caroline who was sat with them, regardless of my clothes, make-up and hair. They knew, and I could almost hear them laughing to themselves, about the cock that was certainly beginning to make it's presence felt again inside my pretty, delicate panties. Abbi confirmed my suspicions. Or rather confirmed that things were even worse than I feared. "Don't look so alarmed," she said, a quizzical little smile on her face, "all of us on this table are aware of what and who you are. I had to explain in view of their part in it. Celia and Georgie would have found out soon enough anyway. Look! Don't get too scared. You're not the only one in your position here, you know! There are at least three others that I know of and I'd be quite prepared to learn that there are one or two more, as well." For some reason that last sally seemed highly amusing to our four table companions, and it was only then that I realised that every one in the room, including the hotel staff, was - or at least, bearing in mind what Abbi had just said, appeared to be - a woman. Come to that, I had only seen female reception staff so far, too. After the meal, flanked now by Celia and Georgie as Marion and Tania attached themselves to Abbi, most of the hotel guests gravitated to the bar and to more general socialising. Many knew Abbi at least and, from their remarks, I judged that many assumed a passing acquaintance with me - as Caroline. I had to be extremely careful how I responded to their chatter even as I concentrated on deporting myself in an acceptably female manner. Fortunately my high heels stretched the back of my legs and pushed my bottom out, and gave me a slightly shortened feminine gait. And I managed to assume a softer, higher pitch to my voice that approximated to Caroline's light contralto tones. I was puzzled too at the constant references to my 'big day', anxious that I shouldn't be seen to be unaware of what awaited me. Celia and Georgie did their best to prompt me and prime me, in soft undertones, as various guests approached and spoke, but it was more than nerve racking! One woman in particular sought us out and Georgie made the introduction. "This is Pat, the Reverend Patricia Desmond," she informed me. "She will be officiating on Sunday, of course." 'Pat', I could hardly fail to notice was wearing a somewhat severely cut, if lightweight, dress with a clerical dog collar, she was obviously a Minister of some denomination. I'd seen her earlier at dinner, on another table, alongside a rather gauche, angular and awkward looking woman who seemed to be having difficulty with her clothes - a dress similar to her companions, [but without the dog collar] over tan nylon clad legs. She was with Pat now, hanging back slightly. Pat introduced her as 'my darling Matty'. Matty in turn made an almost inaudible, muttered reply confirming her uneasiness. I was heartily relieved when Celia and Georgie eventually led me away and escorted me upstairs back to the suite, leaving an increasingly raucous gathering behind. Immediately, I began to question them. "What on earth is going on? What 'big day'? Over what is Pat going to 'officiate'?" "Enough for now," Celia soothed me, "we'll explain it all first thing tomorrow. For now, get some sleep. You're going to need it." With that the two of them left me to explore the otherwise deserted suite, and discover what other clothes I had in my luggage - as Caroline. Having made what preparations for bed seemed appropriate, including assuming an almost gossamer like short nylon night dress and matching tiny panties, too brief to offer more than token support to my raging erection, I climbed into bed to review the day - or, at least the late afternoon and evening. Almost unconsciously my hands and fingers found the rigidity within the minimal nylon covering of my nightie and panties and stroked and caressed the hot shaft through it's delicate covering. I'd unpacked the contents of my cases and bags, distributing the dresses, skirts and blouses I'd found in the capacious wardrobe, and carefully laying the array of flimsy, delicate, feminine lingerie and stockings in the drawers of the dressing table. The cosmetics I'd arranged on the dressing table, or on the bathroom shelf, as had seemed appropriate, and the shoes I'd placed in and under the wardrobe. Initiated in one single afternoon and evening into the delight of dressing in feminine fabrics, captivated by the sensation of delicate fabrics against the supercharged nerve endings of my skin and by the arousal brought about by the thought of how my daring charade would be viewed by others should they become aware of the incongruity of what was lurking inside my panties, already completely won over to the prospect of spending the remainder of the weekend - at least - acting and dressing as a woman, I'd had great difficulty in restraining myself from 'trying on' some more of the feminine lingerie there and then. But common sense had prevailed. Sobered by the thought of what my cousin might say if I did, I contented myself with the assumption of my night wear. Still I mused, as my fingers continued to stimulate my masculinity, 'just what was in store'? Suddenly I clamped my foreskin tight threw back the duvet and fled for the bathroom, as my climax erupted, only to be greeted by the sight of Abbi and her two companions entering our shared lounge as I sped through making for the toilet, my pulsing cock clearly exposed and visible, thrusting out through the delicate nylon folds of my feminine attire, my fingers still clamping my foreskin. And, once I'd discharged my load and cleaned myself up and assumed one of the delicate pink toweling robes that hung behind the bathroom door for my journey back to my room, I still had to bear the knowing smiles that passed between the three of them as they sweetly bad me 'good night'. Surprisingly, on my return to my bed, I went out like a light. Chapter III - Friday - Explanation and Preparation. Abbi and I shared breakfast in our suite, seated at the lounge table. She allowed me to shower before we ate but directed me to wear only the toweling robe I'd taken the previous evening, over my naked body. "There's no point in you dressing in anything more for the time being, Celia and Georgie will be in shortly to start getting you ready and to make final adjustments to your dress and things," Abbi told me. She left me still mystified, but refusing to elaborate further, as she departed dressed in a cotton shirt, Bermuda shorts and knee high socks with a pair of flat, 'lace up' shoes. The hotel, she'd told me, boasted a golf course in it's extensive grounds and she was off to play 'a couple of rounds with some of the girls'. I'd noticed, as she'd wandered about in various stages of undress, that under her shorts at least she did wear a pair of plain but fine satin panties. I was instructed to await the arrival of my two helpmates. I didn't have long to wait. The young waitress who'd brought our breakfast to us, and was now clearing up, was only just leaving with the gathered up dishes as they arrived. "Hello Wan," Celia greeted the waitress, as she stood aside at the door to let her pass, receiving a shy but attractive smile in reply, "We saw Ling last evening. You're both still here then, obviously. Both okay then?" The last by way of an inquiry to which Wan gave an almost inaudible reply, as she scurried off. This exchange explained something that had intrigued me slightly as Wan had brought in our breakfast. Was this the same pretty little Chinese girl who'd shown us to our table the previous evening? "That waitress, and the one in the dining room last night, are they sisters?" I asked. "They look very alike. I though it might be the same girl." Georgie grinned. "Not sisters exactly," she said, "they come from Thailand. They're twins. Ling came over first, and got a job here. Then she got Wan a job. But, as you've seen, the hotel only employs female staff. So he was employed strictly on the understanding that he was prepared to dress and act accordingly. I'm pretty sure that, by now, his breasts are his own - as real as they can ever be in the circumstances. I suppose he's now what the Thai's would call a 'ladyboy'. Remember, Abbi told you last night, you're not the only one here 'flying under false colours'." After that explanation that still left me wondering who the other two might be, and who else might be in the same position - if any, they got down to business. In a manner that allowed no refusal they instructed me to stand up and remove my bathrobe so that they could regard my exposed body, with my rapidly developing erection, critically. "You can see what Abbi means," Celia said conversationally to her companion, "he could easily be a girl. And as to his size, there won't be much difficulty in fitting the dress and all. He'll pass easily. Just as long as he can remember who he now is." Georgie nodded in almost absentminded agreement, as she continued to examine me. "Your right," she said, "and I think we'd better do our best to underline that last requirement. From now on we two will always refer to Caroline as 'she', and she must learn to always think of herself as such." The last to me as much as to Celia. Even given that last exchange the next move was totally unexpected. Celia delved into the shoulder bag she'd brought with her and removed a manicure set from which she took out a pair of nail scissors. Half expecting her to get to work on my fingers and toes I was startled when she knelt in front of me and began to trim my sparse blond pubic thatch. With an expert touch, she trimmed it to about a quarter of an inch, carefully retaining the wispy strands and slipping them into a small, clear plastic bag. The force of my erection appeared to assist, rather than hinder, the operation - as she handled my rigidity with practised ease, moving my straining cock this way and that to expose the hairs around and under it. My face flushed deeper and deeper red, to their amusement, as she carried out her task. Then. "Shall we put her out of her misery?" Georgie asked Celia, who grinned and nodded in reply. "You might as well know," Georgie said - to me. The two of them stood away from me and began to remove their own clothing. Swiftly and neatly they discarded light cotton blouses and full, flowing summer skirts. Underneath, Celia was wearing pretty lacy, flame coloured nylon lingerie - half-slip, bra', panties and suspender- belt, with shear nylon stockings and plain high heels. Georgie was dressed in delicate creamy satin - again, half-slip, bra', suspenders and stockings, with high heels - but, in place of tight panties, she was wearing a pair of shear, flowing, lace trimmed, loose legged French knickers the sight of which unexpectedly set my blood racing, strengthening my erection to yet greater proportions, in an unanticipated feeling of jealous envy. I was suddenly overtaken by an overwhelming desire to feel the delicate touch of the knickers around my body - dragging across my flanks and buttocks, clinging to my cock! Recent convert as I was to the delights of cross dressing, I'd never coveted anything so much as that pair of French knickers! As the two of them now reduced themselves to their suspender- belts, stockings and high heels, they only confirmed what I'd already guessed from the looks they'd exchanged before they began to remove their clothes. Nestling between each pair of thighs was a smooth, silky cock at least the equal of my own. But to my astonishment, adorning their chests were two pairs of pretty, tight, bullet tipped, budding breasts. Celia's sepia tipped on her glowing golden orbs, Georgie's nipples and aureole, blush pink, only a shade or two darker than her pale skin. Neither of the two were above my height. Georgie, in fact, an inch or two shorter than me. Both had slender, lithe bodies that, despite the incongruity between their thighs, looked fresh and feminine still. Numbers two and three were now explained but, in view of Abbi's remarks, I wondered whether there were still more of 'us'. As I watched, fascinated by the revelation, Celia's brown, silky smooth, cock strengthened and stiffened as if in sympathy with mine and, in no time, she had an erection to rival my own. In Georgie's case, although her pale cock twitched and pulsed, it didn't straighten, but remained curled between her legs. Even as I continued to behold the evidence of their masculinity, neatly framed by the lacy froth of their suspender-belts above, the satin straps of their suspenders each side and the darker welt of their stocking tops beneath, I still couldn't change my opinion of them and think of them as 'men'. To me they were delightful, friendly and desirable women who happened to have somewhat unusual appendages - like my own. And suddenly I, too, really felt strangely feminine for the first time. Up to now I'd still felt entirely masculine underneath, albeit participating in some kind of highly erotic and pleasurable deception. Suddenly I knew that I too wanted to be accepted as female by my two companions, by their lovers and by my cousin. The rest of the people in the hotel, it didn't matter, but I knew that from then on I would strive to act in a sufficiently feminine manner that they were unlikely to suspect the truth. Celia, like me, became aware of Georgie's lack of response. Turning to her companion she moved her hand out and gently but steadily raised Georgie's cock and testicular sac in her palm. "My!" she breathed, "when did you have this done?" 'This' was a small steel padlock that passed through two tiny steel rings and locked the underside of Georgie's foreskin to her scrotum. Georgie was prevented from attaining an erection, until and unless the padlock was released, even if her body demanded one. Georgie grinned, an infectious elfin expression. "I had it done last Summer," she said, "after I saw a friend of mine, Vicci, someone I work with whose wife had had it fitted when she decided to feminize her." "Why?" Celia couldn't stop the obvious question. "Well," Georgie responded, after a short pause to martial her thoughts, "I've always liked wearing French knickers. But loose legged knickers are awfully inconvenient for girls like us. They can't restrain you when you've got a 'hard on', and when you haven't, the end hangs down below the hem of the leg. Vicci's wife shackled her so that she could have absolute control over her arousal, but I've had this done voluntarily so that I can wear loose knickers all the time. Besides, because I can't even achieve an erection when I'm locked, let alone sustain one, it keeps me excited all the time straining against the restraint. In fact, I've given the keys to Tania, just so that I can't be tempted to undo it." Looking again from Georgie's shackled masculinity to her gorgeous, discarded knickers, a plan was already forming in my mind. Celia, too, continued to look rather pensively at Georgie. Back to the moment. Celia unpacked a bag she'd brought with her that contained a set of the most exquisite lingerie I'd ever seen - bra', suspender-belt, full flowing slip and panties in gossamer thin white silk, bedecked and trimmed with equally delicate silk lace - with matching lacy white silk stockings, and a pair of plain white high heels. I suppose it was only at that moment that I finally and fully understood what was in store for me, and watched in a mixture of awe and anticipation as Georgie crossed to my cousin's bedroom, disappeared from view for a moment, and returned carefully carrying a sparkling white satin wedding gown with a delicate lace veil and train that was set with tiny glistening yellow flowers - the only touch of colour in the outfit. The two girls confirmed that, on the Sunday morning the Reverend Patricia Desmond officiating, I was to be my cousin's bride. They were to be my bridesmaids. Marion was to 'give me away' and then stand with Tania as Abbi's groomswomen. Celia explained that, the slip apart, the rest of my underwear was a duplicate set to that I would be wearing on Sunday. They helped me into it, adjusting the bra' and suspenders as necessary, to fit my frame, then came the real trial. Carefully, they helped me into the slip and the dress arranging the veil over my head with a plain satin covered tiara that matched my dress, pulling the train out behind me, and fitting the shoes over my silk stockinged feet. The dress scooped low across the top of my chest just skirting the top of my contrived cleavage [now I suddenly longed for a pair of breasts of my own, equal to those of my two helpers], the sleeves fell to midway between my elbows and wrists, the waist of the dress clinched my own waist and the skirt flowed around me falling around my feet just above the floor. Subsumed with love of my cousin, and eager to do her justice, feeling truly like a nervous virgin bride approaching her long desired but slightly dreaded nuptials, with my arousal mysteriously abated. The whole outfit felt perfect to me. But the two girls were not satisfied and moved around me slowly, critically examining every fall, every tuck and pleat, every aspect of my costume, as they finally helped me to [reluctantly] disrobe down to my pretty lacy panties, making notes and marks. All the time the two of them remained naked, to all intents and purposes - still dressed only in suspenders, stockings and shoes - Celia carrying her cock rampant before her, Georgie with hers twitching and pulsing but still shackled. Only when I again stood naked, did I voice the thoughts that had sprung up at the site of Georgie's constrained masculinity. "Would it be possible for me to get my,,, er, my foreskin and all pierced like yours, before Sunday? The perhaps I could sometimes wear French knickers under my dresses instead of panties,,, lovely as they are." I added the last hastily, anxious not to upset anyone. Celia straightened, too, expectation on her face. "Don't see why not," said Georgie, totally 'un-upset' by my suggestion, "I had it done in a store in Exeter. We could go in this afternoon. We haven't got to worry about your hair and manicure until tomorrow. Your dress won't be ready for a final fitting until tomorrow either. Oh! Don't keep that underwear on now. Put it away where you can get at it. Change into something else for the rest of the day. You'll need that again tomorrow morning." Then, "On second thoughts it's time you learned a useful trick that 'we girls' have to keep up our sleeves." With that, she instructed me to hand my panties to her there and then. Now she led me into the bathroom and demonstrated how to wash my panties with liquid hand soap and rinse them out properly, to leave them drying over the towel rail. "If your caught out without a spare pair, and need them desperately, you can dry a flimsy pair like these quite adequately with a hair dryer. Makes 'em nice and warm too," she told me. "But you're not going to need these before tomorrow. They've got plenty of time to dry properly." After that demonstration, the two of them gathered and resumed their discarded clothes and carefully gathered up the dress, together with their notes, and left suggesting that we leave for Exeter three quarters of an hour later - giving me time to prepare myself from my new wardrobe. For the trip into the City I selected a set of fairly plain but exquisitely soft, pale lilac satin underwear - bra', suspenders, panties and slip - under a full deep lilac Summer skirt, with a plain cotton blouse and stockings that matched my underwear. and shoes the colour of my skirt. When the three of us met at Georgie's car, the nods of approval I received from the two girls confirmed what I felt; that I was beginning to achieve a real aura of femininity, even if the reaction of the electrically charged nerve ends of my skin to the silky touch of my underwear, and the thrust of my cock against the delicate restraint of my panties, did their best to remind me of my intrinsic masculinity. Georgie parked her car behind a terrace of substantial Victorian houses, obviously converted to offices, flats and commercial hotels, and she and Celia led me into the central part of the City. Exeter looked warm and friendly under the Summer sunshine, with enough lightly clad people traversing the streets and visiting the shops to give a cheerful holiday feel to the afternoon. Catching sight of the three of us, in a glass shop front, I was struck at the image we portrayed - three more than personable young women moving purposefully, intent upon an afternoon's shopping. Even as my eyes confirmed the vision, my skin continued to react to the delicacy of the fabrics that moved against it, as I walked, and my cock continued to thrust against the satin of my panties. Was there a discernible bulge in the front of my skirt? I hoped not, but I noticed that Celia, too, was walking with a slightly stiffer gait than Georgie. Georgie led us into one of the larger departmental stores, at the top end of the main shopping street, and made for the ear piercing unit on the ground floor. "Is Dora here this afternoon?" She asked the young woman at the desk. Having received a reply in the affirmative we awaited 'Dora's' arrival. She appeared to be an elegant woman in her mid forties, or so. George addressed her directly. "About ten months ago you carried out some 'intimate body piercing' for me. Are you able to do the same for my friend here?" "Both of her friends," Celia interrupted. Dora looked at the three us, some kind of recognition of Georgie dawning in her eyes. "Yes," she said, slowly, "right now if you'd like me to. The specialist unit is free at the moment." Then, "tell me, are we talking about the service we supply for gender ladies, or that we supplied for you; for gentlemen and,,, er, 'special ladies'?" "Special ladies," Georgie confirmed, apparently unperturbed by the turn of events that now included Celia. "Both?" "Both." Inside a cubicle, Dora instructed me to remove my skirt, lift the hem of my slip to my waist and take off my panties. Then, in no time I found myself seated on what looked like a dentist chair, with my now rampant cock in Dora's surgically gloved fingers. Reaching behind her, she took up a small steel rod and rapped the underside of my shaft across the main blood vessel deflating my erection immediately. In a second swift movement, she brought what appeared to be an ear piercing gun into play and neatly and securely fastened a tiny steel ring into the underside of my foreskin, and another into the front of my scrotum. Prepared as I was, the pain was excruciating! Involuntarily I clutched at my masculinity, as Dora smiled and shook her head. "Move you hands," she ordered. And, as I reluctantly complied, tears streaming from my eyes, she shocked me again as she washed the pierced area thoroughly in surgical spirit. Finally she secured the rings together with a tiny steel padlock. "Okay," she said, "you can put your panties and skirt back on, now, and I'll look after your friend." I'm sorry to say that I felt no pity for Celia as she went through the same agonies. At Georgie's suggestion, Dora pierced my ears too. Then she presented both Celia and I with a set of three tiny keys each. "Take care of these," she urged us, "those padlocks and the rings are high tensile steel. You'll have the Turk's own job to get them off, if you lose the key. Oh! And don't forget to wash the area carefully in surgical spirit, night and morning. It'll sting like the devil, but it's better than explaining to a doctor or nurse how you got like that if the area turns septic!" As we moved out of the unit, having paid our bills, Celia remarked, sot-to-voce, "To think, we actually paid to be put through that!" Which, of course, set us all giggling like school girls. We had a fine time for the rest of the afternoon. I purchased a fine silver chain, with a catch, to set my keys on, and we all shopped for 'knickknacks' as Celia put it. Prompted by the feelings aroused by the sight of Georgie's gorgeous loose-legged knickers I made some special purchases, for the first time buying lingerie for myself. As we moved around the City centre I was exultant. Less than twenty four hours had elapsed since I first put on a pair of panties and now I was convinced in my desire to become as feminine as possible - dressing, acting and living as a pretty young woman. Yesterday, as the delicious possibilities began to impinge on me, even though I'd quickly determined to conform to my cousins desires, I had been extremely nervous of the image I portrayed and of my ability to 'carry things off'. The nerve ends of my skin continued to react to the soft pull of the delicate fabrics of my new clothes, my cock pulsed and tugged against it's restraint pressing into the silky encasement of my panties, and now a new sensation worked to increase my excitement, my stifled arousal, still further. Before my restraint was in place the pressure of my erection, even stretched upwards against my stomach, tented my satin panties away from my pubis. Now, with no such protection, the satin fabric rasped against the stubble of my neatly trimmed pubic bush, catching the cut ends in the fine weave of the material - setting up yet another delicious friction. Celia and I both proved beyond dispute Georgie's contention that, the stimulus of our situation and the delicate touch of our underwear notwithstanding, it was impossible to attain an erection in our newly acquired condition. That didn't mean, however, that our cocks didn't want to respond and during the rest of the afternoon our cocks continued to strain and shift in a highly erotic and pleasurable manner against their restraints. We ended the evening at the local theatre, having treated ourselves to a light meal followed by drinks in a wine bar, and watched a more than passable production of 'She Stoops to Conquer'. We finally arrived back at the hotel a little before midnight, to join Abbi, Marion and Tania in the bar before bed. At the end of the evening Celia reminded me to 'dress in the same underwear she and Georgie had supplied the previous morning', and instructed me to 'put on the white skirt and blouse that I would find Abbi had packed in my luggage'. As we parted to go to our separate beds I made a vow with myself. I would not unfasten the padlock that kept my cock shackled to my scrotum. That would be Abbi's privilege after the wedding ceremony. That night, I again wore the short night dress I'd used the previous night, but this time I retained the plain satin panties I'd worn during the day. My flesh crawling anew at the delicate friction as the nightie and panties moved across my body, and confirmed again that although an erection and relief was impossible, the touch of the silky material on my shackled cock, with the added tug and friction against my pubic bush, kept my libido in extremes. Chapter IV - Saturday - final preparations. Abbi again left me to my devices, or rather those of Celia and Georgie, the next morning as, with a brief 'see you in again this evening' she left for a tramp over the moor with Marion and Tania. Breakfast had again been served in out suite by either Ling or Wan, I couldn't decide which but naturally I speculated as to whether she was hiding the same badge of masculinity as me within her panties. Mindful of Celia's last instructions I recovered my rinsed-out white silk panties from their resting place, sought out the matching suspender-belt, bra' and stockings, and the white skirt and blouse, and equipped myself with a plain white satin underskirt, and was ready dressed waiting in the lounge when the two girls arrived. As before, my retrained cock twitched and pulsed against it's delicate encasement and my shorn pubic hair abraded against the lacy panel that rubbed across it. Celia and George regarded me critically for a moment or two, nodded to each other, took me by a hand each and led me off downstairs to the hotel's beautician and hairdressing salon. There with they assisted the two young women assigned to us in experimenting with various hair styles and make-up, until they were satisfied that those chosen would properly enhance my face and costume on 'the big day'. I don't know whether the two girls were aware of my true identity or not, or whether they knew the secrets Celia and Georgie carried in their knickers, or - assuming they did know - whether, like Dora the day before, they cared. I couldn't judge whether one of them, too, might be [as Dora put it] a 'special lady'. I do know that all the attention and care the four girls gave me made me feel very special indeed and made me feel even more like a virgin on the eve of her wedding. I determined anew that I would make my cousin proud of the choice of her bride. My make-up and hair style decided, the three of us ate a light lunch, walked around the hotel grounds in the Summer sunshine, then repaired back to the suite for the final fitting of my wedding dress. Someone had been busy. All the minor alterations the two girls had noted had been accomplished and the silk slip and satin dress appeared to me to sit over my body and contrived bust line perfectly. But, as I stood entranced at the vision that looked somewhat shyly back to me from the mirror, Georgie and Celia made minute adjustments to the fall and set of the dress and slip and helped me to remove them in order to make some adjustments to my bra' and breasts and my suspender-belt and stockings, before they dressed me again and declared themselves 'satisfied'. Now they added the yellow pitted veil and train, and the tiara, and again fussed and adjusted until they were happy with the result. Then, "One last thing," Celia said. Bending on one knee beside me she reached down to the hem of my skirt and raised a [to me] totally unanticipated zip fastener that opened the dress up to half way up my thigh, above my stocking top, above the hem of my panties. The skirt of my slip was given the same treatment. Two delicate little zip-fasteners had been hidden in the folds of the full, flowing skirts of my dress and slip. Apparently satisfied with this arrangement, too, Celia neatly pulled both zips back down - closing both dress and slip, as before. "What the,,, ?" I started. Only to be told by the two grinning girls, not to worry and that I'd 'understand tomorrow'. Wedding dress, slip, veil and all removed until the next day, Georgie and Celia helped me back into my blouse, skirt and underskirt, and we, too, went out onto the moor for the remainder of the afternoon and the evening, walking around Grimspound and taking in a pleasant evening meal at the busy Warren House Inn where, in view of the number of Summer visitors, fortunately Georgie had booked a table for us, listening to the Host telling the story of 'The Hound', to a party of Americans, and the tale of the fire in his own Inn, that 'is never allowed to go out'. I saw Abbi only briefly in the late evening, sitting on the hotel veranda with her two groomswomen, before Georgie and Celia shepherded me to bed, to retain my beautiful white, lacy, silk panties this time, under my pretty, frilly nightie. Still, the restriction to my arousal, the gentle rasp of the soft silky lace of my panties over my shorn pubis, and now the added stimulus of the astringent wash on the tender flesh of my foreskin, scrotum and ear lobes [as I obeyed Dora's instruction regarding cleanliness] continued to keep me in a state of constant sexual excitement. But, eventually, I fell asleep anticipating the following day, the Sunday, the Summer Solstice, my Wedding day. Chapter V - Sunday - 'something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue'. My wedding day dawned bright with the continuation of the cloudless warm weather that had set in now for several weeks. Bearing in mind the importance of maintaining the image I was endeavouring to portray I shaved my face that morning even though, as I had intimated to my cousin before we set out, my face was still smooth and my scant beard only just beginning to appear. As I did so it occurred to me to shave my arm-pits in true feminine fashion. I even contemplated shaving my pubis, but the memory of the delicious friction my trimmed bush set up against the delicate fabric of my panties made me forebear. But I did carefully trim any tendency towards unruliness. Somehow, as Abbi and I shared breakfast in our suite [again served and cleared away by one of the two intriguing, pretty Chinese twins], I managed to avoid allowing my cousin to see my newly acquired restraint. I wanted that to remain a surprise for her until after the ceremony. In any case, she left me fairly quickly after the finish of our meal. "Georgie and Celia will be here in a few minutes," she told me. "This will be your dressing room. All my things are in Marion and Celia's suite. I'm off there now to start getting ready. Marion will be round to pick you up at about ten forty-five, to 'give you away'. The ceremony starts in the hotel chapel at eleven. Oh! I nearly forgot." Then, bringing out a velvet covered jewelry case of some antiquity, "I've brought these for you to wear. The necklace was Grannies'. I had the earrings made to match them. Both my mother and yours wore the necklace on their wedding days. 'Something old', you know. Mum always wanted me to wear it on my wedding day. And she had an agreement with your mother and was going to let you have it for your bride, too. Now, somehow, it seems more appropriate that you should wear it today. You can think of the earrings as 'something new', if you like." The necklace was, as far as I could see, a set of flawless topaz set in silver, with a clasp at the back. The earrings matched the stones and setting to perfection, but in small enough scale to be able to apply them to [and through] my newly pierced ear lobes. The glistening yellow of the perfect stones appeared to my untutored eyes to be an exact match for the little yellow flowers woven into my bridal veil. It was an emotional moment and we both shed some tears as we lovingly embraced and kissed in an extended moment of shared memories - remembered grief and joy - nothing sexual or passionate, just two loving cousins confronting their shared past, accepting and sealing one-an-others place in their shared future. Then she departed and, in no time, Georgie and Celia were with me, accompanied by two of the girls from salon downstairs - the two who had assisted my bridesmaids in deciding upon my hairstyle and makeup the previous day. Between them, the four of them carried my dress and slip, two bridesmaids dresses and all necessary accoutrements, and the various requirements of the hair dressing and make-up artists. Georgie and Celia were wearing satin wraps over silk clad legs and, I assumed, their underwear. In no time I was deprived of the wrap I was wearing, my only garment, leaving me displayed naked before the two young assistants. If they were in any way surprised at the disclosure of the badge of masculinity, albeit still shackled, that graced my crotch they disguised it well, and continued to regard me with cool professional eyes as they watched Celia and Georgie assist me into my underwear - the delicate white lacy silk bra', suspender-belt and stockings that they carefully adjusted to ensure that my false breasts were properly supported and secured and my stockings were delicately but securely fasted without any suggestion of wrinkling. Of course, I expected them to assis