Crossing Texas free porn video

CAUTION!!! This story has explicit sexual content. If you are under the age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE! Or if stories involving sex or forced crossdressing offend you, do not continue. This story is provided without charge to anyone who will enjoy it. Other writings by Cindi include "Dalia's Story", "Michelle's Story", "Rebecca's Peace", and "A Texas Change". Crossing Texas By Cindi Johnson Dallas, June 2004 Prologue I was driving across Texas on a late autumn afternoon. The landscape was dreary, the sky gray, and I had been driving all day when, about six p.m., I pulled my car into a small motel just north of Dallas. After settling into my room, I called the lobby to request an extra blanket. Shortly thereafter a young lady brought a blanket to my room. As I had been alone all day driving across this seemingly endless state, I asked the young lady to join me for dinner. I needed company. She agreed and, after checking with her manager, she joined me. We went to a Luby's cafeteria located about two miles away. As we ate our meals, I mentioned that I was headed home to Iowa, and that I had grown up near the Iowa border. This fact seemed to affect her strangely. I asked her how an articulate, seemingly educated woman such as herself had come to work as a motel maid. Expecting a typically vague reply to my routine question, I was very surprised as tears formed in the young lady's eyes, and she began to tell the shocking tale of her own journey across Texas. Intrigued, I stayed three more days at that motel. I interviewed the young lady and many others whose lives had intersected with hers. Based upon these interviews, I put her most unusual story down on paper. At the end of my stay, as I loaded luggage into my car and prepared to resume my own journey and my own life, I asked the young lady for a final statement. "Just tell everyone," she said, "never attempt to cross Texas. Texas is like a lover: you may love and hate her at the same moment, but you'll never leave her." What follows is her story. Part 1 I had just passed Dallas when my troubles began. A few miles north of the city, in a town which was fast becoming a big city suburb, my car overheated. Perhaps it was caused by the transmission, which had been slipping badly since I crossed the U.S-Mexico border. At any rate, I had to pull over. Luckily, I spotted a small motel a half mile up the highway. With steam trailing ominously behind, I pulled into the parking lot of the Paradise View motel. The engine shook violently as I turned the key off. Save for a half dozen cars, the motel's parking lot was empty on this sunny March afternoon. The motel appeared to have formerly been a chain, like a Best Western or La Quinta, but no more. I guessed that it had about 30 or 40 units, a restaurant, and a small pool. From the motel, which was seated atop a gentle rise, I could view rolling prairies to the north, while far to the south I could just make out the Dallas skyline. Warm, tired, hungry and very thirsty, I entered into the restaurant, which also served as a bar for the motel's patrons. Part 2 I sat down at the bar and ordered a hamburger and French fries and a beer. The waitress was a young Mexican-American girl with long wavy black hair and expressive brown eyes. Her name tag identified her as "Sara". She wore a yellow blouse and navy blue skirt. Tall for a Hispanic girl, at about 5'6", thin, with her full lips painted bright red, Sara was simply, undeniably beautiful. I was stunned. As I downed a couple of beers, we conversed about the weather, the traffic, and other typical small talk subjects. But after I had finished a couple more beers, I began to spill out my life story. I told her I was returning from spending the winter on the Yucatan coast; how I had left Des Moines for Mexico on my 20th birthday, seeking an escape from Midwestern boredom; how I was now returning to Iowa, hoping that I could get my old job back at the bank there in my hometown. More beers continued to loosen my tongue. I told Sara how I was alone, nearly broke, and now had serious car troubles to boot. How there seemed to be no one in this world who cared about me. How no one even knew where I was on this particular day, nor cared. "So", she asked in between waiting on the customers who came and left while I rambled on, "why go back to Des Moines?" Why indeed, I wondered as Sara set a stiff rum and coke be before me. "On the house," she said. Feeling dizzy, I moved to a booth. I recall Sara gently stroking my face as I enjoyed another drink, again on the house. That's all I can remember, until... Part 3 SMACK! Stunned, I opened my eyes. A young, tall blond woman stood before me, pointing a handgun directly at my head. Frantically I tried to block her hand as she swung at my face again. SMACK! My hands were somehow secured behind my back. "What is it? What's going on," I yelled at her, frightened. "You can have all my money! Go ahead and take my wallet!" "I'm not robbing you, IDIOT", she replied in a stern voice, before slapping me yet again. "I'm arresting you!" "What? Why? I don't understand?" "RAPE, you pervert! You raped Sara," she yelled, glancing towards her left. Looking there, I saw Sara huddled in a dim corner of the restaurant. Her yellow blouse was torn, its buttons ripped off, and her hair was messed. There were blood stains on her blouse and on her right cheek. Half undressed, wearing no skirt or panties, she appeared to have been crying. Sara turned away from me, as if she did not want me to see her. "No...no way...I couldn't have..." I muttered as I again turned towards the blond woman and the gun pointed at me. "I wouldn't do that," I said, looking down towards the floor. "You could, and you did, and you'll pay big time for it, idiot. My uncle is the sheriff here. You know, idiot, that this is Texas, not some liberal little Yankee state. You'll rot in a filthy Texas prison. I guarantee it. You'll be an old man before you ever again walk a street as a free man." "No... please..." I turned to Sara. "Please, I'm sorry. I must have been drunk. I can't remember anything. I'm sorry, very sorry." Sara turned away. The room was dark. I couldn't see for sure, but she appeared to be grimacing. Or grinning. The blond continued, "Don't even try moving. I've already called the police. You're history, asshole." Then she slapped my face again. I couldn't help it...the alcohol, the stress, the violence. I vomited all over myself. I was so frightened I actually began to shiver uncontrollably, and then I began to cry. "Please," I begged. "I'll do anything if you'll leave the police out of this. Anything at all. You can have all of my money and my car." "IDIOT! Your car is a piece of junk, and I already have the little money you had." "But please, please..." I begged, sniveling. At this point Sara spoke up. "Amanda," she said, "maybe we should hold off on this. He was really drunk and all. Maybe he didn't really mean to hurt me." "What! That pervert raped you!" "I know. But... wait... I don't know what to do. Maybe he could make it up to me somehow, but without going to prison. I just know he'd be dead within a year or two behind those bars, and then I'd kind of feel bad, you know... sort of responsible for his death. Do you know what I mean, Amanda?" Just then we saw a police car pull into the parking lot. Luckily, the parking area was well lit while the restaurant was quite dark, which made it impossible for the officer to see into the restaurant window. "Please! Listen to her. Please!" I beseeched the young blond woman to spare me from the hell of Texas incarceration. "OK...OK...", she said hesitantly, "so... you will work for me... do exactly what I ask... with no complaints? None at all. And you'll do anything that Sara asks... no questions asked?" "Yes, I will! I promise! Please!!!" "OK. Sara, you win, for now. Take that creep out the back door and lock him in room #17. Then come right back. We'll report the rape to the officer, but hold off for now on turning the idiot over to the police. With that, Sara, wearing only her torn blouse over her bra, led me to a vacant motel room, pushed me into it, then locked the door and left. Alone in the dark room, still shaking uncontrollably, I collapsed onto the bed, my hands still bound. I could feel the sticky vomit and, maybe, semen, which covered my legs and groin. Exhausted and poisoned by alcohol, I again slipped from consciousness. Part 4 Amanda, seated on the couch, wearing a baby blue cotton robe and slippers, gently brushed Sara's long black hair, while Sara sat demurely on a blanket spread over the floor. Sara sipped herbal tea, as a dreamy Patsy Cline song played on the stereo. "Amanda, you should have been an actress," said Sara. "My gosh, he's absolutely convinced that he raped me. Heck, you nearly had me convinced. Though I could barely keep from laughing." "Serves him right, Sara. He shouldn't drink so much. It's his fault, not ours. When I saw him passed out in the restaurant, well... Sara... I don't much like men anyhow, particularly drunken men." "By the way, Mandy, what did John want?" "Oh, he was just bored. He just wanted to talk. You know, Sara, he still wants to get into your pants. I told him you were in bed. But what timing! That idiot really believed John had come to arrest him for rape." "All men want to get into my pants, Mandy. That's the curse beautiful girls like us must carry. But believe me, no man will get into mine, unless I want it." "Oh by the way, did you soak your blouse? If you don't, that hamburger blood we used will set into the fabric." "True", Sara replied, "and I'll also need to sew on new buttons." "No, Sara, the idiot can sew on the buttons. He's our slave now." Both girls laughed. "Mandy, I hope you know what you're doing with that guy. You're always getting into mischief. What if he's insane, or dangerous?" "Worry, worry, worry," chided Amanda. "It's all you do, Sara. I'm a big girl now; I can take care of any man. Besides, he's no bigger than I am. I could probably whip him, even without a gun." "True," Sara purred while Amanda gently massaged her neck, "but I don't really like the idea of having a guy around here." "I understand that, and I think I can take care of that problem too. You know, Sara, I just enjoy manipulating males. I really do. And when you showed me that guy, passed out in our restaurant, I saw an opportunity too good to let pass. Besides, we do need another worker here, now that Pam quit. Just play along with me on this, Sara. I promise you, it'll be fun." Amanda leaned forward and kissed Sara's neck. Part 5 Bright sunshine fell upon my eyes, causing pain. I looked around. I was in a sparsely furnished motel room. I struggled to get up. I tried to open the door, but it was locked from outside the room. Just as well, I reasoned, as the only clothing in the room was the t-shirt I wore. After drinking a glass of water I laid down on the bed. Strange visions flitted through my mind; a beautiful Hispanic girl, a gun, threats, a sunny Mexican beach. I drifted back to sleep. Part 6 SMACK! Startled, I jumped off the bed. A young blond girl has just slapped my face, and was now pointing a gun at me. After a few moments it begins to come back: the car trouble, the alcohol, the... rape. "What's your name, idiot," she demanded. "Michael" "Well, Michael, I knew that. Sara told me your whole life story, which of course you relayed to her during your drunken stupor, before you raped her. Believe me, Michael, were it not for Sara's intervention, you'd be behind bars right now. "So here's the situation, idiot. We have informed the police of the rape, but have not yet specifically identified you as the perpetrator. Sara was required to submit to a doctor's examination, so your semen's DNA is now a police record. Your car was impounded. If you are identified as having raped Sara, you're looking at twenty years in prison. Twenty years of hell on earth, Michael. Welcome to Texas, kid." Amanda paused, staring at me with the pistol aimed directly at my heart. I felt as if I would vomit again. "Anyway, for Sara's sake, I'm willing to give you a chance. You work here for three to six months, then maybe we'll let you be on your way and all of this will be but a bad memory of yours. I'm shorthanded here. And Sara just feels bad about what happened. Since she gave you the drinks, she feels partly responsible for what you did. I told her that was pure BS, and any cop would tell her the same thing. But Sara's just too damn nice. Besides, she thinks that if you've knocked her up, you'll need to support the kid for the next twenty years, which is hard to do if you're behind bars." "Tell Sara I'm sorry. Tell her I appreciate..." "Shut Up, Michael. Don't interrupt me, ever!" "Yes. I'm sorry." "Michael, this is the South. Say ?Yes, MA'AM'." "Yes, ma'am," I said. "That's better. Now remember, I know who you are. I have your drivers license. If you leave here, or try anything foolish, the Texas Rangers will be all over you." "Now, clean yourself up. You're clothes were impounded with your car. Here's a blouse and slacks which our maid, Pam, left behind when she quit. They should fit you. And you can wear my slippers. And clean up this room. When you finish, come to the restaurant." At that, she backed slowly out of the room, always holding the gun pointed at me. Part 7 I couldn't help it. I ran to the toilet and threw up. Now that the alcohol had worn off, I saw how bleak my predicament was. If my semen was taken from Sara's vagina, and was DNA matched to me, then no jury in the world would set me free. Plus there were witnesses, last night's restaurant patrons, all who would identify me as being out-of-control drunk. As I showered, my thoughts returned to Sara. So beautiful! I felt intense gratitude to her for sparing me from the law. And even though I couldn't remember screwing her, I nonetheless felt a tad bit of manly pride. After all, here was I, Mr. Michael Nobody, and I had just had sex with possibly the prettiest girl in Texas. Part 8 "Jesus," I muttered as I pulled on the slacks. A bit baggy in the hips, and a zipper on the side where it would do a man no good, but otherwise a fairly decent fit. Unlike the lavender slacks, the blouse was white and not readily distinguishable from a guy's shirt, except for a few small, embroidered flowers on the collar. I fumbled with the buttons, which were on the wrong side, then put on Amanda's sandals. Feeling odd, I walked to the mirror. Luckily, the clothes fit OK, as I was 5'8" and thin by nature. The long hair I had grown over the winter, which until now had given me the appearance of a hippie, combined with the clothes to give me an effeminate appearance. Feeling embarrassed, I left the room and walked to the restaurant. It was getting dark. I must have slept all day. Sara stared at me as I entered the restaurant. We both blushed; me from my situation and appearance, and she, apparently, from seeing a guy wearing a maid's clothes. "Sara," I said hesitantly as I approached the counter, "I'm really sorry for what I did. I don't know what could have gotten into me. I blacked out... I don't remember anything." Sara said nothing. She looked embarrassed by the situation. Amanda entered the room. "Pervert! Leave Sara alone, will you? Just stand still and shut up!" "What about it, Sara, do you think Michael can do Pam's job until we hire a new girl," asked Amanda. "I... I suppose so..." "OK, Michael, your job will be to clean rooms, make beds, wash linen. Nothing too complicated." "Yes, ma'am, I'll do my best. I promise." "You'll start tomorrow morning. Sara will give you dinner, then you will return to your room. Your workday starts at six a.m." "Yes ma'am, thank you. But, maybe I could go out tonight to buy some clothes. Just some jeans and a workshirt?" "What do you think, Sara, can Michael wear Pam's clothes while he works here? They seem to fit him," said Amanda. "I don't know, Mandy. He looks a bit odd dressed like that. He might make our guests uncomfortable. People around here don't much like queer guys." "True. That's true... but, let me think...". Amanda was quiet for some moments, pondering the situation. "I know! Michael can dress 100% as a female. That way, customers won't be offended, as they will just assume he's a girl." "Wha..." I started to protest. "Shut up, idiot! I won't tell you that again!" said Amanda. After a moment of silence, Sara responded. "But Mandy, he's a guy. He should wear guy's clothes, not girl's clothes." "No, Sara. I've decided. While he works here, Michael will be 100% maid. That means he'll wear lingerie, makeup, everything. Maybe once he knows how it feels to be a girl, he'll empathize with us, instead of raping us." "But Mandy..." Sara tried to interrupt. "No. That's it, Sara. I've decided. Our guests expect our hotel maids to be female. Really, Sara, have you ever seen a male motel maid anywhere in Texas?" Amanda continued to describe to Sara the benefits of having me work as a woman. But this discussion was strictly between Amanda and Sara. Clearly, my thoughts on this matter were not a factor. "Sara, you will take the pervert to Mervyns and buy him the basics. He had $500 in his wallet. Use it. I'll cover the restaurant for you and will also find Pam's other uniforms for Michael to wear. "Now remember, Sara, if tomorrow morning he doesn't look like a female, then this deal is off. I'll call the authorities and you'll file charges against him. Understand?" "Yes, Amanda." "Oh, and one more thing. Michael, you'll be wearing Pam's clothes and wearing her name tags. So, dear pervert, from this point on your name is Pamela. Got it? Now, say your name." "Pamela," I said hesitantly. "Good girl," Amanda said condescendingly, as if I were a dog that had just rolled over, "now, return to your room this minute and shave off all your body hair. All of it. Everywhere. There's a shaving kit in the room. And don't even think of asking me any questions." Angry but silent, I left the restaurant and returned to my room. Part 9 "Wow, Mandy, you're really gonna make him dress like a girl," asked Sara. "Sure. Why not? Let's humiliate the idiot." "But he really didn't do anything to deserve all this." "So? I need a maid around here, and now I have one. Sara, you love me, don't you?" "Yes, Mandy." "Then play along with this. As you know, unlike you, I don't much like guys. I'll enjoy this. But we've gotta play good cop- bad cop now, and you're the good cop, Sara. Just play along. Believe me, he's harmless." Amanda leaned towards Sara and kissed her. "Oh, OK Mandy. I'll do my best," Sara replied with an air of resignation. Part 10 I had barely finished shaving and showering when I heard a knock on the door. "C'mon, Pamela, let's get going. I don't want to be up all night with you." It was Sara. Hurriedly I donned the lavender slacks and white blouse, then opened the door. "Hurry up, Pamela," said Sara, as she grabbed Amanda's sandals and grasped my hand, then pulled me out into the night. "I don't know why I got stuck with this job, but I did. Now please don't embarrass me." I slipped on the sandals as Sara drove south, towards the city. "Sara, I'm really sorry for what I did last night," I said, trying again to apologize. "Oh, just drop it. It's too late. You did what you did, now you have to live with the consequences. Just don't cross Mandy, cause she will have you arrested, you know." "OK, but really, Sara, you surely don't expect me to... you know..." "No, what?" "You know... wear girl clothes." "Haven't you noticed? You already are wearing girl's clothes." "But please, Sara!" "No, Pamela, no. My job depends upon Amanda's happiness. So, we will both do just what Mandy wants." "Sara, my name is Michael." "No. Your name is Pamela, because Amanda says it is. Hey, it's not my fault that you raped me. You shouldn't drink so much. But believe me, Pam, you do not want to end up in the Dallas County Jail, especially now that you have no body hair. The men there will... you know..." Sara pulled her car into the parking lot of a Mervyn's clothing store. "Let's get this done, Pamela, and again, please don't try to embarrass me, OK? I don't want these people to think I like, well... a pansy." I followed Sara into the store. Don't embarrass her? Gosh, what about me? Sara led me directly to the lingerie department. A cute high school girl approached; she had dark hair, a shapely build, and deep blue eyes. Her name tag read "Jennifer". Jennifer stared at me as if I were a lunatic. "May I help you," she asked Sara as she stared at the embroidery on my blouse. "Yes, please," Sara said, then turned towards me, "He needs to buy some new clothes." "Ah... women's clothes?" "Yes. Women's clothes." "These clothes are for him?" Jennifer said. "Yes," Sara replied, rolling her eyes so as to convey to the clerk how ridiculous she thinks I am. "Yes, he wants to wear girl's clothes. Maybe you can help him pick some out?" "He really wants to buy lingerie?" Jennifer continued to address her questions to Sara, as if she were a mother shopping for her young daughter. "Well, OK, I suppose... you know..." Jennifer grinned as she looked me over. "May I ask your name, sir?" "Pamela," I replied. "Pamela?" "Yes... Pamela." Again I noticed Sara rolling her eyes. Clearly she was not enjoying this shopping trip. "Here," Sara said to Jennifer, "I have a list of things he needs." Jennifer took the list and read from it aloud. "Let's see... hum... several pairs of lacy panties... two panty girdles... Several feminine bras... several sexy skirts with matching blouses... maybe one or two pretty dresses... high heels... lots of pantyhose... a purse... makeup, including bright red lipstick and nail polish... perfume, slips... a sexy nightgown... and anything else a young lady would love to wear. Wow, Pamela, that's quite a list!" "Yes, it is," I said, flustered. Apparently Amanda had drawn up a full shopping list for me. "I noticed it says you want to purchase "sexy" clothes, sir" said Jennifer. "Do you mean sexy in a guy way, like Bruce Willis, or in a girl way, like, say, Brittney Spears?" "Well," I stammered, "in a Brittney Spears way." "So you want to dress like Brittney Spears, the teen pop diva?" "Yes, please." "Jesus!" she said, "I've never done this before. This isn't a sexual thing, like, you know, you're not gonna get excited and, you know, do what guys do, you know...?" Seeing that the shopping trip was stalled, Sara spoke up. "No, it's not like that. Believe me. Pamela will behave or else. He just doesn't feel he fits in as a guy so he wants to be a girl. I know it's stupid. But heck, if he prefers to wear short skirts, that's his problem." But wearing girls clothes won't make you a girl, Pamela. There's more to it than that, you know," Jennifer said, still unsure of my motivations. "Please, Miss, just let her buy some clothes, OK?" Sara said, exasperated. "Pamela's not a real guy. Not a guy like you and I think of guys. Pamela is a girl. Think of her as just another girl." "Oh... OK... I suppose you're right." Jennifer then turned toward me. "Well, come on, girl, let's find some pretty lingerie for you to enjoy." Apparently it eased her mind, and her confusion, to refer to me as a girl, and as "her" rather than "him". Jennifer beckoned me to follow her. We went to a large area filled with an enormous assortment of women's panties. "So, Pamela, "you're a big fan of Brittney Spears?" "Yes," I lied, "I have all her videos and CD's." "Well, you're not alone. A whole lot of young girls like to imitate her in dress and style and makeup. Now that I understand who Pamela admires," Jennifer continued, turning to address Sara, "it'll be easy to select several outfits for her. She may need to shop in the Juniors section, though." "Yes, I suppose so," Sara replied, again rolling her eyes. "Pamela acts like a teenage girl, so she should dress like a teenage girl." Jennifer was busily holding up panties for me to inspect, then selecting for me only those that were flowery and feminine. "You know, Pamela, you seem just a tad too old to be so into the Brittney Spears scene. How old are you," Jennifer asked. "I'm twenty." "Well, I guess that's Brittney's age, too. But you know, I'm eighteen, and I grew out of that stage several years ago. I mean, it's none of my business, but none of the girls at my high school are into her music and style." "So? Maybe Pamela prefers to act like a middle school girl," Sara interjected, apparently annoyed by Jennifer's meddling. "That's her problem, isn't it?" "OK, OK!," Jennifer said, "What about bra size, Pamela? What size are your breasts?" She giggled at her joke. "I don't know..." I looked to Sara for help. "Jesus, do I need to hold your hand all the time, Pamela?, Sara said with obvious exasperation. "I would really like to get this over with!" "But Sara, I don't know what size bra to buy." "OK, fairy, OK. Jennifer, please select her size 36B, underwire, and pick out the most feminine bras you have. And anything you can give her for padding, until Pamela's able to grow, or buy, her own tities. Then, Pamela, you and I will go into the dressing room to get you fitted. I mean, really! You're not my daughter. I shouldn't have to dress you." "So are you two, like, a couple? Or girlfriends?," Jennifer asked as she began to select my brassieres. "No Way!," Sara exclaimed, "I'm not into dating sissies." "I'm, well... I'm her cousin," I blurted out, hoping to end Sara's increasingly negative tone. "Yes," Sara said, "Pamela's my sweet adorable gringo cousin. Like, our whole familia is just so proud of little Pammy," Sara mocked. "Well, you sure should be. It probably takes real courage for Pamela to be herself," said Jennifer. "Yes, it takes real courage for my cousin to buy himself panties and bras. Yea. Real manly courage." Strange, I thought, how Jennifer was now supportive of me while Sara was becoming ever more rude. Maybe, I thought, Sara was angry about the rape. Or maybe she just wanted to go home instead of spending her evening with me at her employer's behest. Perhaps, I reasoned, Sara was not actually angry with me at all, but was pissed at Amanda and simply was taking it out on me. I hoped this was the case, as I was truly smitten with the young lady. Between them, Jennifer and Sara had soon gathered a pile of girl's intimates, including bras, panties, slips, half-slips, pantyhose of various hues, and even a couple of frilly nighties. Sara then sent Jennifer to select some outfits for me, "nice, teenage, colorful and feminine," she said, "and absolutely no slacks." "Amanda says she wears the pants at the Paradise View," Sara whispered to me as she pulled me towards the ladies dressing room. "Now strip," Sara ordered, "and let's hurry!" "In front of you," I protested. "Yes, dear cousin. After all, I've seen what's in your pants, remember?" Soon, with Sara's help, I was wearing pantyhose, lacy rose colored panties with matching brassier, and a sheer slip. I felt totally foolish as Sara stuffed the bra's cups with several old pairs of pantyhose which Jennifer had provided for that purpose. I couldn't help but gaze at my reflection in the full length mirror as, under Sara's guidance, my body morphed from male to that of a slender, half-dressed girl. "It's a good thing, my dear cousin, that God made you fairly petite. Just think how ridiculous you'd look if you were stocky and muscular." "I don't consider myself to be petite, Sara," I protested meekly. "C'mon Pamela, you certainly are petite! Jesus, I didn't mean that as a put down. Actually, you look rather sexy in lingerie." "Sexy? You mean like a sexy guy," I asked hopefully. "Don't be silly. Don't be a silly sissy," Sara added, laughing. "Pamela," Jennifer called from outside the dressing room, "come out and let me see how you look." Before I could resist, Sara grabbed the front of my slip and pulled me out of the security and privacy of the dressing room. "Wow," Jennifer exclaimed. I stood still, frozen with anxiety and, I admit, shame. Jennifer had gathered two other girls, also clerks, to help her. They giggled as Jennifer approached me, touched my forearm in a sisterly manner, and addressed her friends. "So, what do you think? Can we get Pamela looking like Brittany Spears?" "He already does," said her friend Katie. "I don't think I should be out hear wearing only underwear. May I go back into the dressing room, Sara?" "Not underwear, Pamela. Lingerie! Your lingerie. Now ask again, correctly." Red faced I said, "Please, Sara, I shouldn't be out here wearing only my lingerie. May I please go back into the ladies dressing room? Please?" "Oh, don't worry, boy," said Katie. "It's almost closing time. There's hardly any customers in the store." "Please, Sara!" "OK, Pamela, but take the clothes with you and finish dressing. I've got to get going!" The girls had soon handed me all I needed to complete my "outfit", as Katie called it, and I returned to the safety of the women's dressing room. With difficulty, I began to dress. Why, I wondered, do females choose to dress as they do? It all seems so difficult, with layers of underwear, zippers inaccessibly located in back or on the side, buttons reversed. While I worked at dressing, I could overhear Sara fielding questions posed by the three high school girls, none of whom, apparently, had ever encountered a male in female clothing. Sara took my lie about being her cousin and ran with it. "Has your cousin always liked girl things," Jennifer asked. "Oh yes! That cousin of mine... you can't imagine! I remember once when we were just kids, I think Pamela was in the fourth grade, and his mom brought him to visit. His mom and mine went shopping, leaving Pamela with me. I was in my room with my girlfriends when this boy comes into my room and begs to wear my clothes. "I'm a girl, too," he said, "just like you are!" I was just soooo embarrassed, as you can imagine. We tried to kick him out of my room, but he started crying. Well, before long my girlfriends had Pamela all cutied up. They put my Easter dress on him, pink with lace everywhere, and put my black patent leather shoes on his feet. They put bright red lipstick on him. Then we all walked to the shopping center. He stood out like crazy, wearing an Easter dress in mid-summer, but we couldn't stop him. He even bought Barbie doll clothes that day, telling my friends that he had a Barbie doll at home. It was really embarrassing." "What about high school? Did Pamela go to high school," I heard Katie ask. "Yes. He was a boy then. I attended the same school, although I didn't tell anyone that he was my cousin. I remember once Pamela nearly got expelled because he snuck into the girl's locker room after school, and somehow got dressed in a cheerleader's uniform. I guess a cheerleader had left her uniform out." "He didn't," exclaimed Jennifer. "It's true! So there he was, wearing a short pleated skirt which barely began to cover his shaved legs, when the entire girls track team enters the locker room. They laughed and taunted him, and even took all his boy clothes. He had to walk home, three or four miles, wearing the cheerleader outfit. Things like that... well, you girls are in high school. I'm sure you can guess how girls teased him after that." "So," I heard the third girl ask, "Pamela must be gay?" "Well, he should be," said Sara. "No girl would want a guy that steals her clothes so as to play dress up." "That's true," the girl added. "I wouldn't want to ever see my boyfriend wearing panties!" "You said it," Sara continued, "but no, I doubt that he's gay. Although I did hear a rumor at school... well, maybe I shouldn't repeat rumors." "C'mon, tell us," giggled Katie. "OK, I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Anyway, after that cheerleading incident, I heard that some jocks had a girl "donate" a short dress. Then, after gym class, the final hour of the school day, those jocks cornered Pamela and made her put on the dress. And then they made him suck a boy's penis." "Right in front of everybody," asked Katie in awe. "Yes! Not only in front of the jocks, but the jocks also invited their girlfriends to the big "event". So there was my sissy cousin, wearing a short dress, kneeling on the floor sucking a penis, right in high school! But I didn't really see it happen, you know. I heard it from friends who heard it from others that supposedly were there. They could be exaggerating or lying." "Wow," said Katie. "Right inside school," added Jennifer. "What a sissy," exclaimed the other girl. "Yes, believe me, I was really embarrassed to be his cousin during high school. I never admitted to anyone that we were related, nor did I ever speak to him when at school. Luckily, with him being gringo-looking and me being Hispanic, few people ever put two plus two together." Part 11 By now I had finished dressing. I looked in the full length mirror and saw a girl, a skinny teenaged girl, wearing a pleated green and red plaid skirt which ended at least two inches above her knees, and a simple white blouse. My maroon shoes had one inch heels and were open- toed... I truly believe that, had it been possible at that very moment, I would have fled out the back door rather than face Sara and the three high school girls looking as I did. But of course there is no back door in a ladies dressing room, and besides, the consequences to me had I fled would have been devastating. "Oh, Pamela," gushed Jennifer as she and her two coworkers stared at the feminine male emerging from the dressing room. "You do look pretty!" "Pretty, yes, but rather immature. Maybe he ought to dress more like a girl his own age instead of dressing like a middle-school girl." "Katie!" protested Jennifer. "Please! Don't be a bitch. Pamela is our customer, and if he wants to dress like a young girl, that's his right." "Well, even Brittany Spears doesn't dress like that anymore. She dresses like a hot babe," said Katie. "He looks like an eighth grader in that skirt." "Except for the pantyhose," giggled the other clerk. "He's wearing pantyhose. In eighth grade a girl can't wear pantyhose." "Boys aren't allowed to wear pantyhose in eighth grade either, are they," snickered Sara. "Girls, let's not refer to Pamela as he or him. I'm sure he would prefer we use feminine pronouns. Isn't that right," asked Jennifer. "Yes. Thank you," I responded, then turned to Sara and said, "Please, we must get going." "Es verdad, senorita," Sara responded. "Now get all your pretties together and let's check out." "Oh, but wait just a minute. Pamela needs makeup to look her cutest. Please?" Jennifer asked Sara, again acting as if I was a little girl and Sara was my mother. "Oh, OK, but we must hurry." Within a minute the schoolgirls had me seated and, while Katie and Jennifer were busy applying makeup to my face, the other girl, Ashley, applied red polish to my fingernails. As Jennifer applied eyeliner, Katie took a tube of red lipstick from her purse and had me pucker. "Well, Pamela," she said after finishing, "I'll let you keep my lipstick. I don't think I'll want to use it again. After all, there's no telling what your lips have touched." The girls giggled at the implications of Katie's joke. Part 12 I began gathering up my purchases when Ashley interrupted. "Hey. I have a digital camera in my purse. Let's take a few photographs of him. Great idea! Can we," Katie asked. She wasn't addressing me; her question was posed to Sara. These girls apparently realized that Sara was in full control of me. "But wait..." I began to object before Jennifer cut in. "Oh yes! Then we could show Pamela off to all our friends at school. Without photographs, they will never believe us. They surely wouldn't believe how feminine he is." "Please! Pretty please," they giggled, imploring Sara. "Oh, OK. I suppose a few more minutes won't matter," Sara said without even glancing at me. "But wait," I protested, "I can't have photos of me looking like this!" "Well, you should have though of that before, you know... Now give these nice young ladies a few minutes of your time. After all, they have been very helpful to you." "But please, Sara." "No. You let them take a few photos. Or, if you prefer, I'll drive back and you can get home on your own. Though, of course, Amanda might not be very pleased." With that, it was settled. The girls didn't even wait for my response; instead they began to discuss proper poses. The first photo wasn't bad, as I just sat in a chair, demurely, with my knees together and hands clasped upon my lap. A couple more in similar vein followed. But then Katie, the meanest of the girls, became more demanding. I was required to pose standing, knees together, hands clasped behind my back, gazing down, as if I were a little girl being scolded. A close-up was taken of the girls touching up my makeup. Jennifer asked me to pout "like Marilyn Monroe". For another shot, they tied the tails of my blouse in a bow so that my navel showed, had me don a high school sweater, unbuttoned, so that I was dressed very much like Brittany Spears in her famous music video. At this, the girls had me sing Brittney's song, "I'm not so innocent". All the while Sara sat quietly on a chair at the other side of the lingerie department, paging through a magazine, disinterested in what was happening to me. What, I wondered, did Sara think of this. Sara, the beautiful young Hispanic woman of my dreams. Did she enjoy seeing me be humiliated? Or rather, was she saddened to see the man who maybe had fathered her child being treated like a Barbie doll? I couldn't help but hope that the latter was true. Finally, Ashley announced that there was only enough memory left for two or three more photos. The girls had a little pow-wow to decide the final poses. I couldn't quite hear the discussion, only occasional giggling. I saw Sara glance at her watch. Addressing Sara, Katie asked, "We still have a problem. How can we prove to our friends at school that your cousin is not just a real girl, rather than a sissy?" "Yes... and?" Sara said, as if she were barely listening. "Well, maybe you would let us take a photo of his, you know, vagina area?" "I don't understand," I interjected, although none of the females cared what I thought. "Go on," Sara said to Katie, while glaring sternly at me as if to say "shut up!". "Well, she could, you know, pull her panties down so that, you know, Pamela's "thing" shows in the photo. That way, our friends at school will have to believe us. Oh, ma'am, it'll be so neat! Please let us take a photo." "No," I said, "that could be against the law." The girls continued to ignore me. Sara, to my dismay, sided with Katie, simply saying "Go for it". More of my protests went ignored as the girls pulled me into the dressing room. Luckily, Sara didn't join us to witness my degradation. The three young girls giggled as they discussed "the shot". Even they were blushing at this point. Soon Katie had pulled my pantyhose and panties down to a spot about an inch or two above my knees. They had me lift up my skirt and the half- slip beneath it, at which point my bare midriff and my groin were clearly visible. "Wow. So that's your vagina, Pamela. It sure looks funny on a girl," Ashley said. "It almost looks like a normal penis. I thought it would look somehow more, you know, feminine." "Oh, Ashley," exclaimed Katie, "just what would a feminine penis look like? Maybe you expected it to be pink with lacy ruffles," she laughed. "What do you think, Jennifer?" Jennifer, who had been quietly staring at my crotch till now, responded in a near-whisper, as if she were engaged in something naughty. "I don't know, Katie. I've never actually seen a real man's private parts. Although I have seen pictures, you know, in some movies." "What! You've never seen a guy's dick before? You can't call that thing a real man's penis, Jen. It's a sissy dick." "His penis is smaller than my boyfriend's," said Ashley. "And so are her balls." "Please," I begged the girls, "let's finish this." "OK, sissy-boy," said Katie. "Just stand there. Hold your skirt up with one hand, and cradle your baby penis in your other hand." There followed a bright flash, then another. Unfortunately, the presence of pretty females and the handling of my cock had a natural result. I began to harden. "Look," Jennifer exclaimed, "it's growing!" "That means the sissy-boy is getting turned on. I guess that wearing girls clothes does that to you, right, Pamela?" "No. No, ma'am," I replied to Katie. It's just that..." My words fumbled. "You know. Ah. I..." "Does that mean she's going to ejaculate," Jennifer asked Ashley. "Ejaculate? Jennifer, you talk like a school sex-education movie," Ashley responded, giggling. "I think he'd come if he rubs it. Isn't that how it works, sissy? Oh, go ahead, sissy, jack off. We won't tell on you," Katie said. By this time my penis was erect and throbbing. There was a bright flash as Ashley took the final photo. I desperately wanted to come, and the only way it would happen was by going solo. I began to rub it, back and forth. "So, Pamela is masturbating," asked Jennifer, as I closed my eyes and proceeded with the task at hand. "Yes," said Katie, "the sissy is rubbing his tiny penis." It took only a few moments. A black, depthless sense of shame filled my soul as I exploded. The girls were clearly shocked, even the "experienced" Katie, by what I had done. As shame and loneliness engulfed me, I began to quietly weep. Most of the semen had shot out and fell to the floor, narrowly missing Ashley, although the final few spurts soiled my panties and pantyhose, which were still down around my knees. "Look," whispered Jennifer, "she's crying, just like a little girl." "You mean, like a sissy boy," Katie added. "Hey," Jennifer said to me, ignoring Katie's cutting remark, "I'm sorry we made you sad, Pamela. I didn't mean to hurt you. Now stop crying or you'll ruin your mascara." Unsteady and drained, I could barely remain standing. Jennifer took a tissue and very carefully wiped tears from my face. I let my skirt fall, covering my maleness. Jennifer gently ran her fingers through my hair, cooing, "It's all OK, Pamela. You're a nice girl. And pretty," as if I were a baby. "Jesus, Jennifer," said Katie, "your "nice girl" just jerked off in the ladies dressing room! That's not nice and it's not girlish." "C'mon, let's get the sissy boy out of here before we all get in trouble," said Ashley. "Make him wipe up that nasty stuff first," Katie said. "We sure can't leave it all over the floor. He can lick it up. He'd probably like it." "No, please. I'll clean it up," I pleaded, then wiggled out of my panties and pulled up my pantyhose. On my knees, I used my panties to wipe my cum off the floor as the girls watched. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have done that," I said to no one in particular. "I really think you two should quit referring to Pamela as "he" or as "sissy-boy". Pamela's a girl, almost like us," Jennifer said. "A sissy-girl," Katie laughed. After I cleaned up my mess I exited the dressing room. Sara had been looking over some shoes across the aisle, unaware of what had happened. "Are you finished," she said, exasperated, as I approached her. "Now get your pretties and let's check out." "Yes, Sara," I replied obediently. Part 13 A section of the floor of the ladies room was still shiny wet as the three pretty schoolgirls chatted. "So that's what it looks like when a guy comes," Jennifer asked innocently. "Yes, Jen," Katie answered, "except that usually the guy isn't wearing panties." "Or a bra," giggled Ashley. "Or high heels, or lipstick," Katie continued, laughing with Ashley. "Now, don't be so hard on Pamela," Jennifer countered. "Just let her be a girl, too. But tell me, was Pamela's penis big, small, or medium? I just wonder, you know." "Oh, your sissy-boy has a small penis, believe me," Ashley lied. My boyfriend Jimmy's is much larger. Maybe that's why the sissy wants to be a girl, he's too small to be a real man." "You're right, Ashley, but let's keep this to ourselves. I don't want to get fired over this," Katie said. Part 14 I followed Sara as she quickly walked across the store to the checkout area. A middle-aged woman watched me suspiciously as I set on the counter the large amount of feminine items I was purchasing. Did she suspect my true gender, or merely careful because I wore clothes I was purchasing? Silently she scanned the sales receipts of the items I had removed from the clothing I wore, then scanned all the other items. The final item was my soiled panties. I tried to explain that I had spilled water on them, which was why I had removed the sales receipt. Sara paid cash, over $600, and we left the store. Outside in the darkness I felt free, as if a great anxiety had lifted. As Sara backed from her parking place the three schoolgirls, Jennifer, Katie and Ashley, stepped outside and waved to me. I waved back. I'm sure they thought I was simply happy to now own so many new clothes, girl clothes, but actually I was just overjoyed to be finished with the shopping. And maybe, maybe I was experiencing a bit of post-sex giddiness. Jennifer even threw me a kiss as Sara drove off. "Looks like you've made some new girlfriends, Pamela. You're a real prima donna, aren't you?" She laughed sarcastically. "Maybe you'd like to go back to school, only as a girl this time?" "It's not like I'm enjoying this, Sara. I kinda got the impression from Amanda that my options were limited." "Oh, you could have tried your luck with the law, Pamela. I would guess that's what all of the men I know would have done. They wouldn't don a dress just to get out of trouble." I was silent. Sara was right. I couldn't picture any of the guys I knew succumbing so easily to Amanda's twisted notions. "But Sara, it all happened so fast. I was hung over, scared, and far from home. But maybe you are right. This is, well, wrong. It's like I've surrendered my manhood. Maybe I should have said no to Amanda. I should have resisted more." "You don't know Mandy, Pamela. If you now disobey her you'll end up even worse off then had you just surrendered to the police right away. Amanda is vindictive. She loves being the boss. That's why Pam, the real Pamela, quit. She couldn't take Amanda's constant orders. Mandy doesn't ride me, though. I believe she actually is in love with me. She's bi, or maybe lesbian. But, believe me, if you don't do exactly as she says, she'll make damn sure that I report the rape to the police, immediately." "And I will, Pamela. My allegiance is to Amanda, 100%. Not to you. You do understand?" "Yes, I suppose so." I was thankful the darkness obscured Sara's view of the effeminate being I had become. "It's not that I hate you, or even dislike you. I don't, Pamela, not really. Maybe I should, considering that you raped me. Mandy thinks I should hate you, that's for sure. But I don't. I know how drunk you were. Gosh, I gave you those rum and cokes, several of them on the house. That's what got you to where you are now. And it's not like I was a virgin until I met you." "I appreciate that you don't hate me, Sara. But what should I do now? I suppose I could just leave and if the law catches up with me, well, so be it," I said softly. "Oh, Pamela. I'm a woman, a pretty woman. I very much enjoy being female. So really, to me, your punishment doesn't seem like such a big deal. To me, being a girl is enjoyable, not punishment. That said, I do understand that, to men, the idea of being feminine is, maybe, worse than death." "So, you think I should just, what, act like a woman," I asked. "Hey, it's too late now for you to stake out some macho high ground. You've seen yourself in a mirror. My gosh, Pamela, once you wiggled into those pantyhose, you crossed the border." "My suggestion to you," Sara continued after a long pause, "is to simply accept your punishment. If you work hard, Mandy will eventually forgive you and then you can be back on your way to Iowa." "Accept my punishment like a man," I said dryly. "No," Sara laughed, "not exactly like a man." Sara turned the vehicle into the Paradise View's parking lot, my new prison, and parked. We sat together in darkness. Sara seemed to be thinking. "Look, Pamela," she said as she gently grasped my hand, "whatever path you take is OK with me. Que sera, sera. I'm not angry with you anymore. As a matter of fact, I rather like you. I'll accept you as a guy or as a girl," she whispered as she leaned towards me and gently kissed my cheek. "Your problem is with Amanda, and with the State of Texas, neither of which should be taken lightly." "You know, Sara," I said solemnly, "you could be carrying our child." Sara laughed. "Yes, Pamela, in which case we'd better hope for a daughter. She'll have two mothers to teach her how to be a girl!" Part 15 I followed Sara to Amanda's house, which was about a block west of the hotel, away from the highway noise. Unused to walking in heels, I had difficulty keeping up. My heart throbbed with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Sara entered without knocking. Odd, I thought, Sara must live with Amanda. "Mandy!" Sara called, "We're back. And Pamela looks ravishing!" Amanda entered the room, wrapped in a large towel, her hair wet, apparently having just stepped from the shower. "Yes, I see, Sara," she said as she slowly walked around me, studying my appearance carefully. "Very well, although a tad juvenile, don't you think? What's next, diapers?" I didn't respond. Amanda was obviously speaking to Sara, not me. "Well, it's what Pamela wanted," she replied defensively. "He asked the sales clerk for a Brittany Spears look. I think he looks cute." "So, maybe Pamela should join the Mickey Mouse Club, too," Amanda said derisively. "Now take your clothes off," Amanda said, looking directly at me. "What," I responded, "right here?" SMACK! Amanda's slap stung my right cheek. "Don't question me, ever, you pervert. And from now on, you will address me only as "Mistress Amanda". Do you understand?" "Yes... yes I..." SMACK! "What did I tell you? Now try again!" "Yes," I said, stunned, "Mistress Amanda. I understand." "That's better. Now undress." As I undressed, Amanda continued. "And, Pamela, you will also always address Sara as "Mistress Sara". Do you understand?" "Yes, Mistress," I said as I struggled to remove my pantyhose. "Oh, Mandy, I don't want to be called Mistress," Sara interjected. "I understand, dear," Amanda said compassionately, but Pamela must come to know her position here. It's for the best, honey." "OK, Mandy, whatever you say." "If Pamela wants to stay out of prison, she must fit in around here. She must help us out. And to do that she must be a girl, Sara. A subservient girl. You know I never hire any males. In fact, Pamela should address all her coworkers as Mistress, just so she doesn't begin to think of herself as equal to anyone." "So, Pamela, do you understand?" "Yes, Mistress Amanda," I replied while gently folding my pantyhose and setting them atop my skirt and blouse. Sara told Amanda about our shopping trip, about Jennifer, Katie, and Ashly. About how nicely I cooperated and even seemed to enjoy shopping for pretty clothes, "just like real girls do". She mentioned the photos. By this time I was naked except for my bra, and was having difficulty reaching the clasps at my back. I turned red with embarrassment as Sara described the private photos the girls took of my "vagina". "Are you saying that Pamela posed for pictures with that thing showing?" Amanda asked, incredulously, while pointing at my penis. "Well, yes, I guess so," Sara replied, somewhat flustered. "I didn't actually see it...; it's what the girls wanted, Mandy." "Show me, Pamela, how did you pose?" "Well, ma'am, I mean Mistress, Mistress Amanda (I was trembling), they had me set my balls and penis in the palm of my hand, like this", I said while reaching for my cock. "And then they took photographs?" "Yes, mistress Amanda." Sara was gazing at me, standing naked except for my stuffed bra, as I withered under Amanda's interrogation. "OK, Pamela, allow me to explain things to you once again. This is Texas. There are more men imprisoned here than in all of China. So, now there's clear evidence that you raped Sara, and there's also clear evidence that you are a pervert who exposes himself to schoolgirls. Do you have any idea how many years you'll rot in prison for this?" "But I only did it because I thought you were forcing me..." Amanda glared at me. "Mistress Amanda, I mean." "That's better, Pamela, I'm Mistress to you." She turned to Sara. "What do you think, should we just call the police right now and get this over with?" "Please," I said softly, "please, Mistress Sara." I stood in the middle of the room, nearly naked. Sara sat to my left in a chair. Amanda was seated on the sofa, directly in from of me, wearing only a towel. "Let's give Pamela a chance, Mandy. After all, we do need a maid around here." Amanda stood up. The towel fell to the floor. Her skin was soft; her breasts, while not large, were perfectly formed, as was her ass. Slowly she walked around me. She was taller than I had thought. Without my heels, she appeared to be taller than me. "Pamela has potential. She has no big muscles. Little fat. Rather pretty, in fact. Maybe, if you're a good girl, we can get you some nice titties, just like mine. Wouldn't that be nice, sissy?" "Yes, Mistress Amanda", I lied. "But before that, we'll need to get your hair and nails professionally done. You have little facial hair, but you'll need some electrolysis, nevertheless." She discussed my feminization with Sara even as she probed my body. "Firm, but still a tad small for a girl," she said while feeling my ass. "Baby soft," she laughed when feeling my biceps. "Very feminine," she said as she ran her hand along my shaved thighs and legs. Given that a very pretty, naked girl was touching me all over, the natural problem recurred. My penis, which was still cradled in my hand, hardened. "Oh look, Sara," Amanda said sarcastically when she noticed my "problem", "Pamela is getting aroused. Tell us, Pamela, what thoughts are you thinking? Why are you so excited?" "How pretty you are, Mistress," I said honestly. SLAP! "Need I remind you that you're a girl," Amanda said. "Now tell me again, what are you thinking? What is it that so excites you?" "I,... I don't understand..." I replied. "Sara, maybe you can help Pamela find a proper answer. As a very beautiful girl, Sara, what excites you?" "Oh, I get it! Men! Men doing things to me, that turns me on," Sara laughed. "Right", said Amanda. "Now Pamela, describe what you're thinking. What thoughts are turning you on so? And don't stop until I tell you to stop, or else we end this now and I hire a real woman tomorrow." She sat back down on the couch, naked, and waited for me to talk. It took me a few moments to grasp what was expected of me. How, I wondered, would this nightmare end? "Oh," I said, "Mistress Amanda..." "And Sara!" "Yes, and Mistress Sara," I continued, blushing deeply at the humiliation of having Sara, with whom I was so enamored, watching and listening. "I was thinking of how I would, well, enjoy having a man... a man hold me... and kiss me all over," I found myself thinking of what girls used to enjoy in high school, and used that as my guide, "and he would play with my titties, and with my ass. He would forcibly kiss me. His tongue would probe my mouth. He would taste my lipstick..." "And what would your boyfriend look like, dear," Amanda asked. "Oh, Mistresses, I suppose... I mean I know my boyfriend would be strong. Muscular. His arms would not be like mine. They would be thick, strong, dangerous..." "And what would he do to you, dear," Amanda asked, smiling. "He would, well, violate me, Mistress Amanda..." "Be more specific, Pamela! What exactly would you do to your boyfriend?" "I would take it... his erect penis... into my mouth, Mistress Amanda and Mistress Sara. I would lick it all over... and then I would take it into my mouth... and suck my... boyfriend's cock, for a long time I would suck it... and then my boyfriend would ejaculate. I would please him that way, Mistresses." "And would you swallow his cum," Amanda asked. I glanced towards Sara. She was watching me, wide-eyed, clearly astonished. "Yes, Mistresses, I would swallow his cum because... because it would make my boyfriend happy. Girls do that, to make their boyfriends happy..." I was still holding my erect penis and was stuttering on when Sara interrupted. "Mandy, Pamela has to work tomorrow. Maybe she should call it a day." "Oh Sara, you're so protective of your new sissy friend, aren't you? But OK, you're right. Pamela, go back to your room. Then you can jack off while you imagine yourself getting screwed by your boyfriend." "Yes Mistress. May I get dressed, then?" "No. Just leave, immediately!" "Yes Mistress, thank you, Mistress," I replied, then quickly picked my clothes up and stepped out the door, still naked, still hard. Luckily the porch light was off and no neighbors were outside. I donned my blouse and skirt, slipped on my high heels, and swiftly returned to my room. Exhausted and shamed, I lay down and slept. Part 16 Thankfully my situation improved somewhat after Sunday evening's low point. Monday morning Sara stopped by my room, told me to not worry as Amanda had left for a couple of days to visit relatives. She said that Amanda would ease up on me once I proved to her that I was a good worker. Sara helped me dress properly, and taught me a bit about applying makeup. "You've got a lot to learn, Pamela," she said. "Being a girl takes a lot of skill." Soon I was smartly dressed in the former maid's uniform, a one piece dress, almost like a nurses uniform, colored gray with pink pinstripes. I had assumed that as a maid I would be allowed to wear the slacks I had worn yesterday. However, Sara said that Amanda thought it more appropriate that I wear the maid's dress while on duty. Which, of course, meant I also wore pantyhose, something I found to be most uncomfortable. Sara also suggested I wear a panty girdle, as it would hide the effect of any "excitement" like that of the previous evening. I blushed at her comment. Sara and I went to the hotel's restaurant for breakfast. "Maybe it's a good thing Amanda had to leave, Pamela. It'll take some of the pressure off you while you adjust to your new situation. "Yes, Mistress Sara," I replied, "you can't imagine how relieved I am that Mistress Amanda isn't here." "But she did leave me detailed instructions which I'm required to follow, Pamela." "I understand, Mistress Sara. Am I required to use "Mistress" if Amanda is not present?" "Yes, Pamela. I know you must feel silly having to say "Mistress" over and over, like you're some type of slave girl. But Amanda insists, and she's the boss. Anyway," Sara continued, smiling so beautifully, "I'm beginning to enjoy it." She reached her hand and gently patted my shoulder. "It gives me a feeling of power that I've never had before." "At my expense, Mistress," I noted sadly. "True," but Amanda is right. It's really all your fault. Yes, Mistress Sara, I suppose it is," I replied. Part 17 After finishing a dainty breakfast ("Amanda's orders," Sara said, "she says all girls your age are dieting, and you should too!), Sara took me around and introduced me, one by one, to the other workers. First was Tanya, a young Russian immigrant working the front desk. She was very pretty, slim with long dark hair and green eyes, and a sensuous foreign accent. Because she worked at the front desk, Tanya dressed nicely. Mary was a 30-something married woman who worked in the kitchen and also cleaned rooms. I also met Amy, a petite, young high school girl. Sara mentioned that Amy and two other girls from a nearby high school worked part-time, doing most anything asked of them. Given my situation, each introduction was most uncomfortable for me, and I noticed my coworkers were also a bit embarrassed during the introductions. Following Amanda's instructions, Sara introduced me as the "new girl" and mentioned how appreciative I was to be the motel's full-time maid. Each of my coworkers was told that if they needed anything, I would respond immediately. Each was also told that, as a maid, I was required to address each of my coworkers as "Mistress". Then Sara would mention that I was fairly new to the "sisterhood of females" and I would greatly appreciate any tips they might be able to offer as to how I might become more feminine. Although these introductions were humiliating, I was thankful Sara did not mention the rape. Sara told me that it must be kept secret; I must never mention it to anyone. If word of the rape got out, Amanda would have no choice but to get the police involved. My coworkers were either too surprised, or stunned, to ask any questions. Only Amy, the high school girl, was bold (or naive) enough to say anything. "I don't understand, Sara, what do you mean by sisterhood?" she asked. "Is Pamela your sister?" "No, Amy," Sara laughed, "Pamela is not my sister! Pam, maybe you should explain yourself to Amy." "Yes, Mistress Sara," I replied hesitantly. "Well, you see, Mistress Amy, I am, well, sort of male, but I'm now becoming like you, a girl like you, maybe..." "Becoming a girl?" "Yes, yes, but maybe not just like you. You are more girl than I am, of course. I mean, anatomically, I'm still not really... female, but I've just decided to dress like girls, do you understand?" "Oh, I get it! You're one of those sissy boys that like to wear dresses. I see! Well that's really neat, Pamela. And you're kinda cute." "Thank you, Mistress Amy," I said. "Let's go, Pamela, time you got to work, girl," said Sara. "Yes, Mistress," I said, then turned and said "Bye, Mistress Amy." Part 18 It was Mary, middle-aged mother of two daughters, who was assigned to teach me how to be a motel maid. We started in Room 211, a second floor room with two beds. "Yes, Mistress Mary, I see," I said as she showed me how to make a perfect bed. Mary watched while I struggled to do the same. "I wonder what Pam, the real Pam, I mean, will say when she finds out that a guy is wearing her dresses and using her name?" I didn't respond. "Although Pam rarely wore the dresses. She preferred slacks. Apparently Pam wasn't as feminine as you," Mary said sarcastically. "Mistress Amanda prefers I wear dresses, Mistress Mary," I said, avoiding her gaze. "And does Amanda prefer you wear high heels, mascara, and nail polish? Most motel maids don't, you know." "But, I prefer to look my best, Mistress," I replied, stealing a quick glance at her. Mary rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Well, you look more like a hooker than a maid. Let me warn you, sissy, and I'll warn you only once. My husband drops me off and picks me up here, every day. He knows all the workers here, and he flirts with them all. He'll probably flirt with you, too. But if you so much as glance at him, or say anything more than "Hello"; if you should wink at him, or ever so slightly raise your skirt, or lick your lips... whatever... I will find out, sissy, and I'll scratch that pretty face of yours so badly that no guy will ever want