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Mail Order By Charlotte Dickles 'Giles. Why are all men so fascinated at looking down women's blouses?' It was the third week at my new job. I'd gone into the office for an early evening coffee break and had surprised Gwen, who was bending over to reach something out of one of the lower drawers in a filing cabinet. The view down the front of her blouse was like staring down a Lake District valley from the top of Helvelyn - and the blood was rushing through my veins as though I'd just finished the ascent. She said the words before looking up at me with a grin on her face. I returned the grin. 'I guess it's because we're men, and we're programmed to react to the most wonderful features a beautiful woman can have. 'I might ask,' I continued in a fit of bravado that was quite untypical of me, 'why a woman would wear a blouse with such a revealing neckline when, according to her, she's already perfectly happily married to a big brute of a man.' That was the way she'd described her husband when I'd chatted her up in the first week, which I'd taken as a "hands-off" warning. 'Perhaps it's because women like to be admired by fanciable guys,' she said, and added, 'And I don't remember saying I was perfectly happily married; only that I was married.' Well! Was that a come on, or was that a come on? *** I'd been hired in a rush as an evening warehouse assistant at a mail order company, after the unexpected success of a catalogue insertion - one of those terrible booklets that always fall out of your favourite magazine as soon as you pick it up. The first two weeks had been hectic. Initially, there'd been a team of five telephonists taking orders all evening, in addition to the automatic internet ordering system. In the warehouse, all the regular day staff had been working overtime, and still not coping, so they'd employed me to work evenings, five till eleven. The work wasn't difficult - it basically meant getting a computer- generated picking list and touring the warehouse to select the items on it. When everything was collected, it had to be packed, and a pre-printed label stuck on. Then, get another picking list and start again, and so on. At least, that was how it was meant to operate. I'd quickly realised that the other warehouse staff sorted through the pile of picking lists for the easiest ones to do - which paradoxically, were the large or heavy items, as they were always stored on the lower racks in the warehouse. After I'd had to climb the travelling ladders twenty times in the first dozen orders, I decided that rather than trying to copy the same tactic as the others, it would be easier to grab several picking lists at the same time. That way, I could pick the identical or similar products together, and then simply sort them all out as I packed. Not only did that limit the number of ladders to climb, it also meant I got through more jobs, far faster than anyone else. At about ten-thirty, Old Fred from the parcel carrier company arrived to pick up all the express packages for next day delivery, and in that first week, there'd been a frantic panic to get all the express items ready in time for him. By the end of the second week, the number of telephonists had dropped to three, all but two of the day warehouse staff went back to normal daytime working, and my job became relatively easy, even extending to packing routine despatch stuff to relieve the load on the daytime packers. When the third week arrived, it seemed I was on my own in the warehouse, and there was only a single telephonist on duty, Gwen. She was five to ten years older than me - late thirties or early forties, I guessed - but she had started to fill out nicely, as women do as they mature. The job came with a nice perk - coffee breaks were taken in the office where the telephonists sat - so in spite of the rush, we guys had always made time to chat-up the women in-between them taking calls. And it was as I went into the office at the beginning of that third week that Gwen as bending over the filing cabinet, and she asked me that leading question. I was right, of course, about it being a come on. Her bloke had got to the stage where he was good for a quick, hard fuck after he'd had a few pints of beer, but by the time Gwen was getting warmed up, he had dropped into deep sleep, and was snoring loud enough to keep her awake - and frustrated - all night long. So, just like with my job, I filled the gap, and Gwen's gap was an absolute delight to fill. She enjoyed sex so much that it was sheer pleasure to serve her, and we'd romp away for hours, starting as soon as the last day-workers had left the building, and we'd be on and off each other all evening. Even the occasional telephone call was not allowed to interrupt our pleasure. Gwen would simply stand, legs wide apart, and lean forward to rest her elbows on her desk, which enabled her to use her keyboard, whilst I pumped inside her with long, slow strokes, and squeezed her breasts. I wasn't allowed to make her cry out at such times or make any noises myself - she considered that unprofessional - but undertaking such illicit fun was incredibly erotic. At about ten, I would dress, and then hurriedly dash around the warehouse completing the picking lists before Old Fred arrived, whilst Gwen had a shower in the staff toilet, and removed all traces of lust, before she had to return home to her husband. Finally, we'd both leave the building promptly at eleven. 'It would never do,' Gwen would say with a grin, 'to be caught sloping off early on company time!' But all good things must come to an end, and for us, they came to an end that Friday evening of the third week. We'd been having a rest between bouts, sitting stark naked on the supervisor's desk and sipping cups of coffee, when the telephone rang. Time-to-Answer Statistics were constantly monitored, so Gwen leapt across the office to her desk, slipped on her headset and pushed the answer button, all in one, smooth, well-rehearsed operation. 'Easyworld Shopping. Good evening. This is Gwen speaking. How may I help you?' The same old patter that I'd heard so many thousand times I rarely noticed it nowadays. But Gwen was bending over into her "fuck me on the phone" position, and turning her head to give me the eye. I needed no further encouragement, and was halfway across to her, when her face suddenly changed to one of surprise, almost shock, and she raised an arm to halt my attempted coupling. 'Hi, how are you,' she said. I could tell from the way she spoke that it was her husband. I stepped back. I had no intention of raising any suspicion in his mind. 'Oh, fine. We're not very busy this evening.' She turned and made a face at me, before turning her attention back to the phone. 'Yes, she is.' She listened and then added, 'Short, kilted skirt and three-inch heels.' He obviously said something to make her smile, but then her smile disappeared. 'Oh, that's handy,' she said, in a voice that indicated it was not. 'What time then? Don't make it too early, otherwise I can get into trouble.' 'OK, see you later. Bye.' She closed the connection, removed her headset, and then paused before turning round to talk to me. 'Giles, that was Garry.' 'I thought so,' I said. 'What did he want?' 'It's a bloody disaster,' she said. 'Our next-door neighbour was coming over this way, so he's given Garry a lift.' (Normally, Gwen drove to the warehouse in their only car, so we were safe from Garry casually popping in to see her.) 'Garry's only sitting in the pub across the road waiting for me to finish,' she complained. 'What's wrong with that?' I asked. 'We've got plenty of time to tidy up before our duty period ends. At least, he didn't come knocking on the door whilst we were in the middle of a bonk.' That was one of the comforting things about the plant - the doors downstairs were locked shut, so even if he'd tried, he couldn't have got into the building. 'He wants to meet you, Giles,' she said. 'Hell! Does he suspect?' She'd called him a brute when she first described him. I had visions of having to lock myself inside the building all night long, whilst he waited around outside, wielding a baseball bat. 'No. That's not the problem.' That was a relief. 'Well, what then?' I asked. 'Garry gets deeply jealous,' she said, re-igniting my fears. 'If he'd known I was working alone with a man, he'd have done his top.' Not without good reason, I silently surmised. 'So how does he know I'm here?' I asked. 'Haven't you told him you're working on your own?' 'No, he wouldn't like that either,' she said. 'He thinks you're a woman called Gillian.' 'Oh shit!' I said. I re-ran her telephone conversation. 'And he thinks I have a short skirt and three-inch heels,' I said. She nodded. 'Why the hell did you tell him that?' 'I needed an excuse to start wearing sexy clothes for you. I told him Gillian was always dressing up, so I felt under-dressed when she was around.' I sighed. 'Fuck! What else did you tell him about Gillian?' She shook her head, non-committally. 'Only that she was gorgeous, which gave me an excuse to go on a diet.' 'What way gorgeous?' 'The usual things men like - long blonde hair, long legs, big boobs and a tiny waist. I didn't think he would ever see her, so it didn't seem to matter.' 'The reason it mattered,' I explained, 'is that you told him you were working with an incredible sex bomb. He was bound to want to see her. The problem we have is how do we find, within the next two hours, someone who matches that description? How do we convince her to help us out? And finally, how do we smuggle her into this building without your husband noticing?' Gwen shook her head. 'It can't be done,' she said. 'Not the last bit, anyway. You know as well as I do: there's only one pedestrian door immediately next to the vehicle entrance, and the only windows are in the same wall. Garry is sitting drinking a pint in The Feathers, and almost certainly staring out of the window at the front of the warehouse immediately opposite. No one is going to get in or out without him noticing.' 'You'll have to tell him Gillian went off sick, earlier this evening.' 'Too late. Garry was ringing from his mobile in the pub, and I told him she was here.' 'Then I'll simply have to stay in here until you've both left. You can tell him that Gillian had to work late, or something.' 'But he's coming round here to meet her. He's going to knock on the door at ten to eleven. I can't refuse to let him in - he'd be bound to suspect the truth. Then we'd have a real problem.' 'You think this isn't a real problem?' Gwen shook her head. 'Like I said, Garry gets very jealous. He was working on that building site up the road when he found out about my last friend. Pete simply disappeared the evening before they started laying the concrete for the foundations. I've never known whether he simply took off, after Garry had warned him off, or...' Her voice tailed away - but then, she didn't need to be any more explicit. I was in deep shit, and I'd do well to get out of this with a mere beating. 'Why didn't you tell me all this before?' 'I thought you might not want to have sex with me if you knew.' Too bloody true, but I thought it politic not to say so at this moment. If we started falling out amongst ourselves, there would be no hope. I had to get the pair of us thinking creatively. 'You are silly,' I said. 'How could I possibly resist doing what we've done this last week? It's been the most magic week of my life. Now, we're going to have to think outside the box. How about getting the police to raid the place, or setting fire to it?' She smiled! How the hell could she smile when she'd got us into this mess? 'Now it's you who's being silly, but you're right about thinking outside the box.' Her face suddenly lit up and she clapped her hands together. 'Of course there's a simple solution. I'm surprised I didn't think of it straightaway.' She turned to her computer, and frantically started tapping the keys. 'I'll put an order through in a minute. Can you race around and fulfil it.' She added, as I started to pick up my clothes, 'We haven't got time for you to get dressed. Just go and pick the order.' I went out to the warehouse and ripped the picking list off the printer as it finished printing. A glance down and Gwen's plan became so obvious that I wondered why I hadn't thought of it. Of course, she would need to ring the carrier company straightaway, and give them some plausible reason why they should send a female instead of Old Fred, but I didn't doubt she'd invent something. The picking list in my hand was for a range of clothes, including a Tartan Mini Kilt, High Heel Court Shoes, and a Long, Blonde Wig. It was bloody fortunate, I thought, that our mail order company offered such a wide range of products. So, the woman would come over in the carrier's van and park outside. We would bribe her to dress in the clothes Gwen had chosen, and wait around until Garry arrived at ten to eleven. Meanwhile, I would calmly walk out to the carrier's van with our shipment of parcels for express delivery, load it up and drive off. Provided the woman parked the van in front of the door, so she could walk into the building without Garry seeing, he'd be non the wiser. 'Brilliant idea,' I said to her as I marched back into the office, carrying the picking basket holding Gwen's order. She looked surprised. 'Is that OK? I thought you'd object.' 'Object? Hell, no. This is getting us out of a jam, and I think it's fantastic.' She looked really surprised, and... well, pleased. 'Thanks.' 'OK, have you rung the carriers? Can they do it?' Now she looked perplexed. 'Ring the carriers? What are they supposed to do?' This time, it was my turn to look perplexed. 'Arrange for a woman to come in place of Old Fred so that she can dress up to look something like the Gillian you've told Garry...' My words dried up, in response to Gwen's slow shaking of her head. 'Well, why not?' I asked. 'Isn't that the plan?' 'Well, that's quite a good plan,' she said, 'and there's only one thing wrong with it.' 'What's that?' 'It's Friday today. The carriers don't do express delivery service on a Saturday, so Old Fred won't be coming over. Remember, you're not employed to work Friday evenings. The only reason you came in was to bonk me.' The realisation hit me like a brick in the stomach. 'Oh my God! You're right. The carrier doesn't come round tonight. What the hell are we going to do?' 'Revert to my plan, of course.' I was having trouble grasping the situation, now. 'But what is your plan?' 'Almost the same as yours,' she said. 'Except that since we can't smuggle a female into the building, we'll have to make do with the people we've got.' She stared at my blank face. 'You, of course. We're going to dress you up as Gillian.' 'Me?' This was weird. Surely I hadn't bonked Gwen all week for her not to realise. 'But I'm a bloke.' 'So?' 'Well... I can't pretend to be a sexy woman.' 'Well after Garry has ripped off your genitals, you may find it easier to play the part of a woman, but I guess you won't be feeling too sexy. Don't you think you could try to look like a sexy woman before that happens?' Gulp! 'What do I have to do?' *** It all happened a lot faster than I'd expected. We went into the Ladies toilet ('Garry's bound to want to go to the toilets, and we don't want him to realise there's a man on the premises,' Gwen had said) and shaved my arms, legs and given my face the closest shave it had ever had. (One pack of 24 Disposable Razors, one Aerosol Shaving Cream.) Then I'd put on a pair of White Cotton Panties, pulled up a pair of 60 Denier Red Tights, followed them with a Firm-Control Panty Girdle, tucking my genitals back between my legs, and then pulling the girdle as far up my waist as I could. ('To keep everything tightly under control,' Gwen had said.) Next had come the Extra-Firm Control Lace-Up Corset. ('The girdle was just to keep your testicles out of sight,' Gwen said in response to my complaint that we didn't need both. 'The corset is to give you a proper waist.') It took Gwen only a few minutes to draw out the laces to the point where my rib cage was compressed so much it was about to collapse, and I could no longer breath. The Underwired Cotton-Blend Bra came next. I fed my arms through the straps and Gwen fastened it around my back. 'We'll need some padding,' I suggested. Gwen shook her head. 'Remember, you're going to be a big girl. Padding will look false if you move at all. Fortunately, we didn't have time to use up all our condoms this evening. I'll inflate a couple of those with water.' She put the first onto the neck of the tap and inflated it so far I thought it would burst. Once she'd slipped it into my bra cup, she had me bend forward over the wash-basin and then released water out of it until she was satisfied. Then she tied a double knot in the neck, and slid the condom around in the bra cup so the knot gave the appearance of a nipple. She repeated the whole procedure for the other cup. 'Aren't they just a bit over-inflated?' I asked, noticing the slight bulge over the top of the bra. 'Deliberate,' Gwen said. 'When Garry sees your tit quivering over the top of your bra, he won't think twice that it's totally genuine. 'The condom gives it away though,' I said. 'Put on the polo neck,' Gwen commanded, 'and then the skirt.' The Red Plain Roll Neck Jumper matched my tights and the red in the Tartan Mini Kilt blended nicely; a Black Leather Belt pulled everything in around my waist. Gwen was absolutely right. As I moved about and my breasts jiggled underneath, no one could ever have guessed my tits weren't real. As I glanced in the mirror, everything from the neck down looked like a shapely woman. 'Make-up time,' Gwen said, opening the Large Beauty Case, and applying one product after another to my face. After that, she produced a UV Nail Kit, and glued long nails to my fingers. 'Surely they wouldn't be very practical for a warehouse assistant,' I protested. 'They'd keep getting broken.' 'I'll clip them a little,' Gwen said, 'but not too much. Then I'll paint them. It's funny, I often said to Garry that it was amazing how Gillian kept her nails in such condition. But it all helped to make her into a real person.' God knows how I was going to remove all this junk, once Gwen and Garry had gone home. She pulled the Long Blonde Wig over my head, and it was only then that I was allowed to look in the mirror. My face was unrecognisable! Dark make-up around the eyes which accentuated them in a way totally different from normal; a tan covering over my cheeks, hiding all the minor blemishes, and bright red lips which matched my nails. I stood up and admired my figure in the mirror - those large breasts that wobbled like jellies as I moved, and Gwen was right - over-filling the bra cups gave them a life of their own. 'Phew!' I said. 'That's pretty...' I stopped aghast, suddenly aware of a major problem. 'My voice! I'm bound to have to speak to Garry. He'll suss me straighaway.' She stared at me. 'You're right. We have to do something about that quickly. I suppose you could pretend to have a sore throat. Hang on...' She began tapping on her computer, accessing the internet and searching on Google. 'Look,' she said, 'there are a couple of items here on training your voice to speak like a woman, but it looks like it will probably take some time. Have a try.' Actually, desperation meant that I managed to grasp the techniques on one of the sites straightaway, and although I thought it would probably take ages to master it, I did manage to produce a little voice which sounded reasonable. 'Whilst you're practising your voice,' Gwen said, 'you'd also better put on your heels and practice walking in them.' 'But surely, I can remain seated at my desk,' I protested in my new voice. 'I won't need to walk about.' 'Don't be stupid,' Gwen said. 'You don't want to get caught out on something like that. Put them on and walk.' I did as she commanded, and started pacing up and down in my High Heel Court Shoes, whilst reading aloud from a magazine. 'One final thing,' Gwen said, brandishing a pair of 9ct Gold Hooped Earrings. 'It may hurt a little, but you'll have to be brave.' I shrugged. I knew the clips could hurt if they pressed too tight - my sister had always complained about them when she was younger - but if they meant that Garry believed I was Gillian rather than Giles, it would be well worth it. 'OUCH! What the hell...' 'Don't be such a baby,' Gwen said. 'Most women have their ears pierced and they don't make such a fuss. Now turn your head the other way so I can pierce the other one. And for heaven's sake, keep practising your voice. I think you're really getting there.' *** 'Gillian, this is Garry, my husband.' Gwen had gone down to the door to let Garry in at the appointed time, whilst I tidied a few things up in the warehouse. Or at least, I tried to. With my nails, I couldn't even pick up a pen and fill in my timesheet. I turned towards Garry and gave him a friendly wave. 'Hi Garry.' My voice was quite passable - Garry hardly noticed it. 'Hi.' His glance went up and down my body, and briefly glanced at my face, before returning to my wobbling breasts. 'Gwen's told me all about you,' he said. 'I don't suppose much of it's true,' I quipped. 'She has a habit of making me out to be sexier than I really am.' 'Not from where I'm standing,' he said. 'You look pretty ravishing to me.' 'Thanks,' I said. Gwen had already discussed what Garry was likely to say (and she'd been absolutely right so far) and how I should respond (deadpan). After all, the last thing I wanted was to get into a conversation with him. On the other hand, I'd rarely been on the receiving end of compliments like this and it felt pretty good. In fact, I had a rush of adrenaline at the thought that I not only looked feminine, I also looked so good that this guy wanted to shag me! That was immediately followed by an even bigger surge of adrenaline, as I thought about what would happen if he suspected for one instant that I was really a bloke. Leave well alone, Giles, and proceed as we'd planned. I turned and walked away from him towards the printer at the side of the warehouse, suddenly aware that Garry was watching every swing of my hips. Gwen, meanwhile, had been shutting down the computers in the office. Now she came out into the warehouse and said, 'Gillian. I've just realised that I can't let you finish off the pick lists tonight.' (That had been our plan. She would take Garry home, leaving me to do "overtime" until they got clear.) 'Why? What's the problem?' 'I have to lock up and set the alarm.' 'Can't I do that?' 'I'm sorry Gillian. I know you want to get on with the job now - and get the overtime for it - but you've only worked here for three weeks so you're not on the insurance company's list of authorised people. I simply can't leave you to lock up - I have to do it myself.' I stared at her. Surely she was joking! But she stared back at me quite impassively. It suddenly dawned on me exactly what she was saying. We would all have to leave the building - me still dressed as Gillian - and she would lock the door. I would have to go home dressed as a woman! I normally walked home, through the town centre - it only took ten to fifteen minutes. The problem was that at this time on a Friday night, the town was alive with drunken yobs as the pubs and clubs turned out. As a bloke quietly walking by, not looking for trouble, I normally had no hassle, but as a woman with huge, wobbling boobs and her skirt halfway up her arse, walking those roads at night was asking for trouble. But I could hardly say any of that, without explaining why tonight was different from any other night. At the worst, Garry would offer to walk with me, which was asking for even bigger trouble. 'But I could do it. The insurance company needn't know.' 'Well the alarm is quite complex, and you only have to push the wrong button and the security company send a guard straight down. If they found an unauthorised person trying to set it, I'd lose my job. Sorry Gillian,' and she gave a big wink behind Garry's back. What did that wink mean? That perhaps she could go through the motions and "accidentally" not set the alarm, and leave the door on the latch? Thank you Gwen, I silently thought. 'You're right,' I said. 'There's no problem. I'll see you on Monday, Gwen,' I smiled at Garry and added, 'and I expect I'll see you again sometime.' He gave me a smirk, and I went down with them to the street door, where Gwen said, 'You two go on. You know it always takes me a few minutes to set the alarm properly. I'll see you outside,' and she gave me another wink. Thank fuck. I followed Garry outside leaving Gwen to "set" the alarm and "lock" the door. *** Including my interview, I had previously stepped through that door to the car and lorry park a total of fifteen times. Never before had I had any problem whatsoever. But that was the very first time I had stepped out wearing three-inch heels, and the slightly uneven ground almost turned my ankle. I went staggering sideways, and would have landed on my knees had not Garry shot out his arms and grabbed me bodily in them. I ended up being pulled against his body, staring up at his face, with my boobs squashed between us. As he stared down at me - not at my face, of course, but at my chest - I felt a part of his body wake up and stick very hard into my tummy. At the same time, I realised that the lurch must have slightly shifted my panty girdle, allowing a bit more space for my own tackle to move about. And move it started to do. There was no chance that, from its current position - forced back between my legs - it could come forward sufficient to poke out in front, but it definitely got firmer, and as it expanded, I could feel the material of the panties sliding against it. And it felt very nice indeed. 'If you've finished holding Gillian, perhaps you could put her down,' Gwen's voice cut between us like a knife. Garry hurriedly moved his hand from where it had been resting against my rib-cage - his wrist nudging my breast - to my shoulders, and he gently moved me away so I was standing on my own feet again. I forced my voice to be jolly, as I said, 'Why, thank you, kind sir. This maiden is extremely grateful.' 'And no doubt,' Gwen added as she slammed shut the door of the warehouse, 'Garry would be more than ready to bowl a maiden over.' As Garry moved towards the parked car, Gwen whispered as she walked past, 'You do live life dangerously. He could have torn you apart if that little display of gymnastics had gone wrong.' I gave a forced smile, and watched them get into the car and drive off, before turning back to the warehouse door. The door was bloody-well locked! *** I simply couldn't believe it. But then I remembered the ice in her voice as she had stared at Garry with his arms around me. Surely she couldn't be jealous of her husband holding me? More like, I thought, it was that she thought I had been risking discovery - and consequently their relationship - by deliberately falling against Garry. In any case, it was pointless to speculate. I was locked out of the warehouse and had to get home. The later I left it to walk the streets, the more dangerous it would be. I started to walk. The first hundred yards or so took me through the deserted industrial estate, giving me chance to practice walking. Gwen had given me plenty of advice about my stance and the way to move my hips to both give me a feminine look and to cope with the high heels. I had walked and walked around the office, but that was no indication of the difficulties of walking a long distance in heels. By the time I had reached the start of the High Street, my ankles were on fire. Another few hundred yards, as I started to pass the first of the pubs and clubs dotted along it, and my calves were igniting also. But there was one other aspect of the walk that Gwen could never have briefed me on - the way that the press of the panty girdle would rub my cock against the panties. Each step forward gave a little slide along it, which felt like the exploratory thrusts I use at the start of intercourse, before getting into the more physical action. I tried all kinds of things to make the thrust a bit stronger - I took longer strides; I pivoted my hips from side to side as I walked; I walked more quickly. None of it made much difference to those wonderful little rubs along my prick, which felt absolutely great, but which I knew would never result in orgasm. By now, my legs felt as though they were about to fall off, but I couldn't stop walking, for to do that would also stop the wonderful feeling in my prick. I knew the only way I was going to relieve the feeling was to get home as quickly as possible and then use my hand. If only I could do that now...' 'Hello Giles. Fancy seeing you all dressed up like this.' I swivelled my head in horror. There were Fran and Sue, two more telephonists from the warehouse, in their clubbing dresses. Fran was the skinny, incredibly sexy girl, whilst Sue was the cuddly, slightly older woman - probably around my age - who was even more well-stacked than Gwen. They were both smiling as they walked up to me. 'You look very good,' Sue said. 'What do you think, Fran?' 'She's brilliant,' Fran said. 'Look, er,' I said. 'I know what this looks like, but it's not what you think.' 'Well, we think you're a man wearing female clothes,' Fran said. 'Are you telling us that's not true?' 'Well, that's true obviously,' I said. 'But I'm not one of those...' I couldn't say the word. 'Transvestites,' Sue said. 'Exactly,' I said. 'I thought a transvestite was a man who wore women's clothes,' Fran said. 'Well, yes,' I said. 'So you are one?' Sue said. 'Well, yes, er, no. Oh it's difficult to explain.' 'That's alright Giles,' Fran said. 'You don't have to explain to us.' 'But I want to explain,' I said. I looked around, and then gesticulated. 'Why don't we go and have a drink in the wine bar over there, and I can tell you everything.' *** 'So you're just doing this to protect Gwen's marriage?' Sue asked. 'Yes, that's it.' 'And you weren't having sex with Gwen?' 'Heavens! No.' (OK, I'm not one of those guys who goes round bragging about the number of conquests I make, and giving explicit details of each woman's physical attributes. In any case, it could literally be fatal if word got back through the grapevine to Garry.) 'And you're suggesting it was Gwen's idea for you to dress as a woman?' Sue continued. 'Absolutely.' 'But Gwen knew you were a transvestite anyway,' Fran said. 'What?' 'Well, we all did,' she continued. 'Suspected it anyway.' She turned to Sue. 'You did, didn't you Sue?' To my horror, Sue nodded. 'It was me that first noticed,' she said. 'Noticed what?' 'Why the way you always selected the pick lists for ladies lingerie items,' Sue said. 'Those racks are right outside the office, so we could see it was always you going there, and hardly ever the other men. We watched you as you sorted through the pick lists and deliberately selected those with orders for lingerie.' 'No, it wasn't like that,' I said, aghast. 'It's that the blokes always left those pick lists for someone else, so they could deal with the items they didn't have to climb the racks, for. It was always me that was left with the smaller things, which generally were items of ladies lingerie.' 'But remember we knew what was coming out on the pick lists,' Sue said. 'Given the choice of men's socks and underwear, or ladies bras and lacy slips, you'd chose them every time.' 'Only so that I could pick several orders together. There were never enough orders for men's goods to do that.' 'Let's try another line,' Fran said. 'Can you deny you find ladies underwear exciting?' 'Well, no, I can't deny it. I mean, it's the association with sexy women, and...' 'Can you deny,' Fran said, 'that as you walked along the High Street just now, totally dressed as a woman, that you were on a sexual high? Those guys following you down the road certainly thought so. Sue and I thought they were going to pounce on you at any moment - and guess what their reaction would be when they realised you weren't a woman. That's why we intervened.' 'Blokes? I didn't know there were any blokes following me.' 'Sex on legs,' Fran said. 'That's how we heard one of the blokes describe you.' My face flushed with pleasure. 'Really! Wow! I mean, not that it means anything to me. It's just that, well, yes, you're right, Fran. I was excited walking down the road, but that was more an anatomical thing than anything else.' 'Look,' Sue intervened. 'Your sexual orientation really doesn't matter to us. If you enjoy wearing women's clothes, that's fine, because we do too; if you don't then you certainly put up a good act. But what I would say is I'm ready for another drink and we're all girls together, so this round of drinks is on me.' She waived at a waitress to come over and take our order. 'So if my sexual orientation doesn't matter to you,' I said tentatively, after we'd placed our orders, 'why have you spent the last ten minutes cross-examining me?' 'You're interesting,' Fran said. 'Well, not only that but...' She paused and glanced at Sue for confirmation, who gave a little nod. 'Well, we think you ought to come out of the closet.' 'Come out of the...' I broke off as the waitress brought over our drinks and laid them out in front of us. Sue dealt with the waitress, paying for the round and adding a tip, whilst I looked at Fran, wondering how I was going to convince her I wasn't a closet transvestite. 'Thank you,' Sue said to the waitress, and then as an aside to me, said, 'Gillian, give the waitress a wave and a smile.' As I did so, there was a flash, and I realised the waitress had photographed me with Sue's mobile phone. 'Hey! What's that about?' I demanded with an ominous feeling in my stomach, as soon as the waitress had departed after handing over Sue's camera to her. 'It's just to show you how good you look,' Sue said. She held up her phone so I could see the picture, but kept it out of my reach. 'Don't you agree you do look fantastic?' Fran asked. I stared at the three women in the photograph, the one in the centre waving at the camera. Fantastic wouldn't have been a word I'd normally have used to describe a woman like that, as her face was heavy-set, and her smile wasn't as wide as it might have been, so she looked a little surly. But fantastic was definitely the right word to use when you knew that she was actually a he. It was mainly the make-up that Gwen had applied that made the difference, but no one would have guessed the truth. I nodded at Fran's question. 'So you agree it's OK to come out of the closet?' 'No. I mean, I'm not in the closet. It was simply Gwen getting me dressed up like this tonight.' 'OK,' Fran said. 'We can't force you.' 'Sue,' I said. 'Now you've shown me how realistic I look, can you delete that photograph. I wouldn't like it to get into the wrong hands.' 'Not likely,' Sue said. She downed her drink and looked across at Fran. 'If Gillian doesn't want our help, I suggest we go home now.' 'Sounds good to me,' Fran said, downing her drink and standing up. 'Look Sue,' I said as she too started to rise, 'about the photograph...' 'Bye,' they both called, with a wave, and left the wine bar. *** 'Giles,' the voice on the telephone said. 'It's Ivor Russell here.' 'Oh, hello Mr Russell,' I said, struggling to sit up in bed at the sound of my boss on the phone at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning. 'Is everything alright?' 'No, Giles,' he said, 'I'm afraid it is not. My God, he'd seen the photograph. 'What's the problem, Mr Russell?' I asked. 'I had high hopes for you when you first started working here,' he said. 'Those first two weeks, you got far more work done than any of my other staff. That's why I decided to keep you on longer than was absolutely necessary. I thought I might make your post permanent, if you kept it up.' 'So what's wrong? Mr Russell.' 'I've just seen this week's stats,' he said. 'Your output has fallen through the floor this last week. You may think I'm a bit of a fool, but I'm not totally stupid. I know exactly what you've been up to with Gwen.' 'Oh.' I could have denied it, but it didn't seem worthwhile. 'You even left half your clothes lying around in the office. God knows how you got home without getting arrested. You'd better come in and pick them up, sometime, but I'm afraid that will be the only time I want you in here again. I'll send your pay in the post.' 'But Mr Russell...' I stopped talking as I realised I was speaking to dial tone. *** 'I thought you said you hadn't been having sex with Gwen?' It was Fran, and she'd telephoned just a few minutes after Russell's call. 'Well...' I said. 'That was nice,' she interrupted. 'You're obviously not a kiss-and-tell girl.' 'No,' I said, and then added as her words sank in, 'Listen, I'm not any kind of girl.' 'That's a shame,' Fran said. 'I thought you needed the money from a job.' 'Well, of course I do. I'll have to start looking...' 'It's just that,' Fran interrupted, 'Sue and I told Ivor that we knew this girl, Gillian, who might replace you for the time being.' 'What?' 'He didn't say it to you, but it's far cheaper to employ an extra person at normal rates than it is to pay overtime to the day staff. I think after your initial performance, he's also realised the present staff aren't particularly hard-working. So, if you know someone called Gillian, she could come in and work tomorrow evening, in the slot that Giles used to do.' 'It would never work. He'd recognise me straightaway - just as you did.' 'I'm a dab hand at make-up. I could change your appearance so that even your own mother wouldn't recognise you.' 'But...' 'It's up to you. Sue and I get off work today at one. If Gillian wants our help, we could come over and fix her up this afternoon, so she could go in and see Ivor for an interview at six. It's your choice.' 'But what if I was rumbled?' 'Then Ivor will probably thrust your clothes in your arms and tell you to get out of there. No different from what will happen if you go round as Giles Hammond.' 'She was right. What did I have to loose, apart from my reputation?' *** As instructed, by the time they arrived, I'd given myself a close, all- over shave - in fact I'd gone out and bought a pack of disposables, rather than relying on my normal electric razor, and now my face was as smooth as a baby's bottom. I'd also laid out yesterday evening's clothes ready for them when they arrived, but Fran waved those aside straightaway. 'You can't wear the same clothes two days running. We've brought you some fresh ones. And - no expense spared - Sue has gone home and picked up her spare Bustlet, so you'll have a proper pair of tits now.' 'What do you mean? What's a Bustlet?' 'Well, Giles,' Sue said, 'you know you've been ogling my breasts for the last three weeks?' 'Yes. I mean, yes, I may have occasionally noticed that you're exceptionally well built.' 'Well you haven't. You've actually been admiring my Bustlet, and if you tell any of the blokes about this I shall let Garry know what you've been doing with Gwen, and he'll rip your balls off.' Sue opened her shopping bag and pulled out a flesh-coloured garment, a bit like a vest. She held it up for inspection. It had a high neck, similar to a tight polo neck, and on the front it had incredibly realistic nipples. 'So when we thought we were looking at your boobs pushing out the top of your dress, ' I said, 'in fact you were wearing this skin-coloured vest to conceal them. But how will that help me? I've shaved my chest, so you don't need to hide any hair.' 'Slip it on,' Sue commanded, 'and I'll show you. But first, let me spread this gel over your top, to reduce the perspiration. A Bustlet can get very uncomfortable if you don't use this.' She produced a plastic tub of goo, which she spread over my chest, shoulders and neck. Then she held the garment open so I could slip first my head through, and then slide my arms through the armholes. The neck really was a tight fit, and I found it felt a bit like having a garrotte around it. I pulled the garment down my body, but it was quite short, so it only just went below my own nipples. The nipples on the vest poked out far more than my own normally did, a feature I found rather erotic. 'I don't quite see...' I was starting to say, when Sue reached under the lower edge and pulled out a length of plastic piping. 'All we have to do is to connect this to a tap, and inflate your breasts to a decent size,' Sue said. She pulled me over to the washbasin and slid the pipe over the spout of the cold tap. She turned it on, and my tits started to inflate like balloons. I watched as they grew, and grew and grew. 'How big do you want them, Fran?' Sue asked, shutting off the tap to inspect my tits. 'Hang on a minute. Let me get out Gillian's bra,' she said. She rummaged in her own bag before withdrawing a boxed bra. 'It's a 38D, which I thought would be about right for Gillian's height and build.' She opened the box, and held out the bra for me to slip my arms through. I couldn't help a slight shiver of anticipation. 38D! I'd never been out with a girl with those dimensions, and here was I, about to become one! Once Fran had secured the bra in place, Sue opened the tap again, and my breasts got bigger and bigger until they were just filling the bra cups. 'Perfect,' Fran said. 'I must say I'm impressed with them. I might get a pair myself.' 'These are only a cheap pair,' Sue said. 'You can get them with adjustable touch sensitivity, so you can feel them being stroked, and ones where the nipples will go erect. You can pay thousands for those. This one only cost just over five-hundred pounds.' 'Phew!' Fran whistled. 'That's quite a lot of money.' 'Well, how much would you pay for a breast job?' Sue asked. 'There's no risk with these, and it's easy enough to alter the size or take them off completely if you want to revert. 'Anyway, Gillian,' Sue turned back to me, ' when Giles worked in the warehouse and kept coming in to chat up the telephonists, did he realise my tits weren't real?' I shook my head, and noticed how deliciously my boobs joggled. 'No. He was completely taken in by them, and I have to say, even from here they look fantastic.' 'Well, we're relying on that,' Fran said. 'I've got a nice, white, low-cut top for you...' She held it up for me to admire, 'and a tight little black skirt which barely covers your bum.' She held that up as well. 'It doesn't look as though it's going to be that tight on Gillian,' Sue said. 'That must be at least a size sixteen.' 'It will be when I've finished,' Fran said. 'I'm going to stuff Gillian's panty girdle with towels, so she has a nice shapely arse.' 'The company who make Bustlets do a product for that,' Sue said, 'although why a woman would want a fatter arse than she already has is a mystery to me.' 'What about tights?' I asked. 'The ones I wore last night won't match the skirt and top.' 'Stockings,' Fran said, 'with a suspender belt. Not much use having a tight little skirt if you're not displaying a flash of suspender as you climb the ladder in front of Ivor's office.' 'Jesus,' I said, the realisation of what I was about to do sinking in. It was one thing to temporarily dress up as a woman out of desperation - to avoid being ripped into shreds because I'd been shagging a man's wife. But it was something else entirely to dress as a woman in order to get a job, which could turn permanent. 'Look,' I said. 'I'm not certain about this any more. In any case, Ivor will want to see references and things, and need my National Insurance number so he can employ me and deduct tax.' 'It's not time to chicken out now,' Fran said. 'I can fix the National Insurance thing on our computer, and I've already told Ivor that Gillian wants the job and will come in at six in order to see him. He's deliberately hanging on at work in order to meet her. If she doesn't show up, then it'll be me who gets the blame and I'm not having that. So you are going to damn well show. And you'd better put on a good performance, or else.' She didn't use the threat of showing the photograph, but then she didn't need to. I sighed. She had put herself on the line for me, and the least I could do was go along with it. 'OK, do your worst,' I said. That was enough. *** 'Hello, Mr Russell? I'm Gillian Jones. Fran suggested you might have a job for me.' He glanced down my body, taking in my low-cut top, which just - and only just - concealed the nipples on my huge breasts, and the rounded hips and arse covered by the tight little skirt. His face broke into a smile. 'Call me Ivor,' he said. 'I might have known that Fran wouldn't let me down. Now, come into the warehouse, and I'll show you what you have to do.' I couldn't help thinking, "Come into my parlour," said the spider to the fly. *** It was bloody nerve racking, knowing that Ivor was staring at every movement of my body, and that, as I climbed the ladder on a trial run picking an order, he was oggling at the bare thigh between the top of my stockings and my panties. Fortunately, Fran and Sue had chosen rather more sensible shoes for the job - little booties with a flat heel that would be fairly safe as I climbed up and down the ladders - so I didn't stumble, as I might have done had I worn the shoes Gwen had chosen for me the previous day. But in any case, I already knew the job inside out. With my added benefits of a huge pair of wobbling tits and stocking-clad legs, the result was inevitable. 'Well, you've got the job, love,' Ivor said. 'The only thing we have to negotiate is your pay. I normally start people on the minimum wage,' (I knew that!) 'but a smart employee like you might be able to negotiate it upwards.' I was puzzled. Ivor hadn't offered Giles a way of negotiating his pay. 'How do you mean, Mr Russell?' He shrugged. 'I don't know, really - and call me Ivor. I thought you might have some ideas.' He gave another shrug. 'If not, shall we say minimum...' It struck me like a blow. 'You want sex!' I couldn't believe what I was hearing. 'Well, that's a decent offer of you...' 'No way!' Another shrug. 'The words came out of your mouth, love, not mine. Doesn't have to be the whole way, of course. That would be part of the negotiation.' 'You mean like a tit job?' He smiled. 'Now we're talking. I'd be prepared to stick another fifty pence on your hourly rate for that - as long as it's on regular basis, that is.' 'Fifty pence! You must be joking. I wouldn't do that for an extra five pounds an hour!' I could have bitten off my tongue. Why on earth did I say that? It would only encourage him to negotiate. 'You're bloody right, there love. No way could I justify paying you five pounds over the rate. I might manage two, though.' I was about to tell him what he could do with his two pounds an hour, but then I realised that two pounds an hour was twelve pounds extra per night - sixty pounds extra per week. I could use that money. 'I'm not certain,' I said, confused. 'Apart from anything else, I haven't done it before.' 'You haven't given a tit job before? Blimey! I didn't think girls like you existed. Well, that's all right. I'm happy to give training, and I won't charge you a penny for it. Is that a deal?' He held out his hand. Even now, I don't understand why I shook it. It would have been so easy simply to say I'd changed my mind. But part of it was knowing I was getting one over on the bastard who'd sacked me, simply for making one of his staff very happy. The very thought of him sliding his prick between a pair of plastic tits, and getting the company to pay me sixty pounds a week extra for the privilege, was extremely comforting. The other part of it was something rather more complex. I was dressed as a woman. In fact, I was positively enjoying being dressed as a woman, and to make certain I wasn't discovered, I really had to think myself as a woman. And I knew there were plenty of women who, given the option I was given, would grasp Ivan by his hand and say the same words as I said, 'It's a deal.' *** By now, it was six-thirty on Saturday evening. The telephone desk had closed down at six, so we were the only ones left in the building. 'Come on, love. This way.' Ivor led the way into the office, and I followed him in. He closed the door after me and locked it. Then he turned to me and said, 'OK, love. Do you really need some instruction?' I shook my head. I'd been on the receiving end sufficient times to know the ropes. I gave him a smile, 'I guess not. I think I can imagine the kind of thing you're thinking of.' 'That's my girl.' I started shrugging my shoulders from side to side, which I'd already discovered made my boobs wobble in a most enjoyable way. Then, button-by- button, I undid my blouse. 'Fucking hell,' Ivor put it so delicately. 'You've got a gorgeous pair of tits.' 'You haven't seen them properly yet,' I said, as I slipped the blouse off my shoulders and allowed him to stare at my tits filling my bra. 'Do you want to unhook me?' I deliberately allowed him to do it, as I thought I might have difficulty trying to undo it myself. His fingers were clumsy as he fiddled with the clasp, but not as clumsy as mine probably would have been. Finally, I felt the two ends ping free, and I stepped forward, holding the bra to my breasts as I turned to face him. 'What do you think of them now?' I asked, giving them an extra shake as I slowly lowered the bra. 'Oh, Jesus! They're beautiful!' he said. I stepped forward and allowed him to cup them, squeeze them, and roll the nipples between finger and thumb. I gasped a little, as he did that in order to add a little more realism, although I knew that by now, Ivor was totally hooked. There was no way he could imagine these were anything other than totally real. My hands dropped down to his trousers whilst he was still playing with my tits, and I fumbled with his belt and trouser fastenings, until they were free. I pulled the zip down over the bulge pushing out the front of them. Finally, I was pulling down his trousers, followed by his underpants. His rod sprung forward towards me. 'Sit on the table,' I told him, pushing him towards the same table that Gwen and I had used to fuck upon. 'Then you can simply lay back and think of England.' 'You're fucking right,' he said. 'If I think of anything else, I shall come in thirty seconds.' He parked his bum on the table, and then lowered himself backward so he was resting on his elbows. I followed him down, so my boobs were dangling either side of his cock. It wasn't that big, I thought with a rush of excitement. His prick was a lot smaller than Giles's. I let my tits joggle from side to side for a bit, just nudging his prick from either side, whilst he said such endearing comments as, 'Fuck!' 'Shit!' or 'You bitch. Do it!' So, I did. I took my breasts in my hands and pressed them together so they enveloped his prick. Then I moved them up, and down, just allowing the purple head to emerge before pushing my breasts up over them again. 'Jesus! That's fucking good!' Actually, I was quite enjoying the task myself. The ability to bring pleasure to another individual felt just as good when doing it to a man - even Ivor - as it did to a woman, and I was being moved by the power I had over him. I could do it soft - or HARD and make him gasp. I could do it S- L-O-W-L-Y, or quickly, to bring him to the verge of orgasm, so he was gagging for me to bring him off - and then slow right down again, so he was moaning in frustration. Whilst my own prick was firmly strapped in position this time, I was still getting squidgy feelings at the top of my legs. The more my tits joggled, the randier I got, and the more sexually excited I became. I felt that I was approaching an orgasm that was different from any I had ever had before. I joggled my tits some more, and then pressed them against his prick again, forcing his purple head to appear, disappear and then reappear. God! That was erotic! Finally, I could feel myself on the edge of climax. A few hard, fast thrusts and Ivor was jerking too, and his come was squirting out of his prick, defining a parabola through the air and then landing on his chest and face. For a few seconds as I climaxed, I thought the flashes were part of my new female orgasm. It was only as I was coming down from it, I realised they were something more physical. I turned my head towards the filing cabinets - the ones that, less than a week before, I'd caught Gwen bending over. She was standing behind them now - along with Fran and Sue - and Jenny, Ruth and Hazel. In fact, with most of the telephonists whom I'd met over the last few weeks. God knows how they'd all squeezed into the little storage area behind the filing cabinets, but clearly they had. Just as clearly, Gwen was holding a camera in her hand and had been taking photograph after photograph of our endeavours. Both Ivor and I were too thunderstruck to say anything. But our silence was more than made up by the chatter which suddenly burst from the girls. 'Well done, Gwen! That's twenty pounds I owe you.' 'Fran, I never thought you'd do it. Here's my ten pounds.' 'Sue, those Bustlets are fantastic. I'd buy a pair, only I'm too broke now after paying off my gambling debts.' I stared at Ivor, and he stared back at me, and we both looked over at the girls. Then I was suddenly conscious of my nakedness, and I hurriedly pulled up my blouse and fastened it, whilst Ivor did the same with his trousers. Only then did either of us speak. 'OK, girls. Exactly what do you think you're up to?' 'Up to, Ivor? What do you mean?' Gwen said. 'Look,' Ivor said, 'if Gillian and I decide to have a little fun on our own in the office, it's none of your business.' 'You didn't say that when Gwen and Giles had a little fun,' Fran said. 'You sacked Giles.' 'Because he was doing it in company time,' Ivor said. 'But you are always misusing company time when you try to coerce every new girl into giving you sex in exchange for a little bonus,' Sue said. 'And you don't even give the bonus,' Fran said. 'You always cheat on that.' There was a muttering from some of the other girls that they too had been cheated. 'Well, I sometimes had difficulties with the Pay Department,' Ivor said. 'I did my best.' 'Bollocks,' Sue said. 'You deliberately lied to all of us and now you've got your just rewards.' 'That's why,' Gwen continued, 'when we realised that Giles was a transvestite,' she held up her hand to me as she guessed I was about to protest, 'I had a little bet with the girls.' 'Oh shit!' I muttered. 'Giles? What's he got to do with it?' Ivor asked. 'He's just given you a tit job,' Gwen said. 'Since you ogled Sue's plastic tits so much, we thought it would be funny for you to get jerked off between them.' 'Giles?' Ivor said. 'But it was Gillian who...' His eye turned towards me, staring at my face, my body, and then back again at my face. Slowly, realisation dawned. 'You fucking shit!' he shouted, struggling upright, his hands clenching into fists. I stepped back, nervously, and suddenly there were seven laughing girls between us. 'Oh dear, Ivor. I really don't think you can afford to start a fight. Think how it would look in court, when they were told you physically attacked an employee after you'd coerced them into having homosexual sex with you.' 'Or how it would look in the pub when they were told you let a transvestite give you a tit job.' 'Or how it would look to the company when they learn you were offering extra pay in exchange for sex.' Ivor opened and closed his mouth several times, lost for words. 'But what about me?' I jumped in. 'You lot deliberately set me up.' I turned to Gwen. 'You even involved your husband.' 'You mean Gary?' Gwen said. 'Gary's not my husband; he's just a neighbour. I told you, my husband's a real brute of a man. Anyway, the divorce comes through in only ten days.' 'And we told you,' Fran said to me, 'you needed to come out of the closet, and we wanted to help you do that. 'It's not as if,' she added, 'you didn't enjoy the experience. You can look at your face in some of the photographs, if you want to see the evidence.' I slowly shook my head. I didn't know what to say. 'In any case,' Sue said. 'Now Ivor has offered you a permanent job - and I'm certain that if he knows what's good for him he won't try to withdraw the offer - you'll be able to afford lots of new clothes - all with the company discount. And something we didn't tell you is that the gel we spread over your shoulders before putting on the Bustlet is an adhesive. You're stuck in that Bustlet for the next ten days, so you'll be a woman for all that time. Ample time for you to get used to being a woman, with no chance to avoid it. You're out of the closet now, Gillian.' 'And Ivor gets one of the fastest warehouse women in the business,' Gwen said. 'Perfect all round.' After being manipulated into that position, I should have been infuriated. So why did I have such a big grin across my face? I mean, I wasn't really a closet transvestite, was I? Not any more, I guessed.