The Kitten Club, Part Two free porn video

Note from Karen: I'd like to thank everyone for their kind comments about Part One, and indeed my previous story, Jail Bird. They've given me a big boost to the confidence, so thanks for that. I haven't written any other TG stuff; it's all here. There will be four parts of The Kitten Club, unless I decide to divide it up further. The Kitten Club, Part Two From now on whenever I went to the Kitten Club, it was off with my T- shirt and on with the top and the biker shorts. I called them my work clothes. There was no need for Joanne to know anything about this. She was away with work quite a lot, and that generally coincided with my nights in the Kitten Club. But don't think that it meant anything. There are plenty of straight men who wear an item or two of female attire for one reason or another. Actors, for one. You don't call them gay, or transvestites or transsexuals. They might be, and that's fine, but there are straight ones as well. And, this wasn't even female clothing. Not really. I hate to disappoint anyone but those pills had no effect on me. I know my nipples were a little puffy, but that was from the treatment they were getting from Joanne. She had got a taste for licking and nibbling them so they were bound to become inflamed. That didn't mean a thing. I wasn't about to start... I don't even like to mention it... doing things with men. If the guys who visited the club wanted to lust after me, I was confident enough in my sexuality to be able to deal with that. The way I saw it, it just confirmed that I was straight. If I was able to wear clothes that titillated them, simply to get a load of money in tips, more fool them. I certainly did get a load of money. More than I had ever earned before and it was easy. I didn't even have to do anything. They'd buy a drink and I'd get a tip. If I smiled I'd get more. It was as simple as that. I learned to smile in a particular way. If they were foolish enough to believe that anything was going to happen between me and them, more fool them. Colette and Charlotte saw what was happening, and pronounced me a natural. That first night, when I had gone with Joanne, the bouncers had just looked us up and down before letting us in. But when I went on my own, they insisted on searching me. I didn't mind that: one of the things the Kitten Club most certainly had going for it was that it was safe. Anyone could go in there without worrying about getting into any trouble. Which must have been wonderful who those who were confused about their sexuality or gender. They could go there and just be themselves. If I played a small part in that by serving them drinks, it made me happy. I was usually searched when I had changed out of my street clothes of jeans and T-shirt into my work clothes. Usually, this bouncer called Steve was the one to search me. Even if one of the other bouncers was nearer, they would still call Steve over. He always gave me a very thorough examination. I would stand against the wall with my arms up and my legs spread and he would frisk me from top to toe. "Do you have to do it like that?" I said once as he make absolutely sure I didn't have a knife concealed in my shorts, which he could quite easily have seen by simply looking. He didn't take any notice. In fact he just slapped my bum and said: "You're clean." I know what you are thinking. But it wasn't like that. If you think about it, there wasn't a lot I could do. There I was, working in this club, and I was only there because I was pretty boy and the customers could dream about getting into my panties. (Not that I wore panties.) I had to keep that illusion going, and if that meant allowing the security guards to have a feel, it was something I had to put up with. I didn't like it but if I turned round and smacked him one on the chin, it would be the end of my time at the Kitten Club. Inappropriate as it was, I let it go. It was all part of the deal. Plus, Steve was a big bloke. I don't think me trying to hit him would have bothered him in the least. He was the bouncer, after all. Think of the ludicrousness of that situation. Let me tell you, the last thing I could think about doing was starting a fight with a nightclub bouncer; him in his tuxedo and probably a cosh somewhere about his person, and me in what other people would call a bra and shorty shorts. I didn't call them that, but some people might. I thought of it as a sports top. That went on for a while and I got used to being frisked. After the first few nights in the white shorts and top, they gave me different colours to wear. Pale yellow, baby blue. One night I remember in particular, they had found me these gold- coloured shorts and a matching sports top. I even had gold trainers to go with them. I'd got past worrying about the looks I got. I wouldn't like to be seen in the street wearing these clothes, and Joanne certainly didn't know anything about it, but in the Kitten Club I felt good in them. The thing about this sort of clothing, stuff that women wear as well as men, is that it can be very soft and comfortable. As I put these golden shorts on, I noticed there was something I didn't like. There was something a bit incongruous about the whole image. It wasn't the top and shorts, it was me. Then I realised what it was. Hairy legs. I laughed at myself. Of course I had hairy legs. What do you expect in a man? But suddenly the sight of the hair looked odd to me. Out of place. People who wear cycling shorts all the time are, of course, cyclists. And cyclists will often shave their legs because if they fall off and graze their legs, it can become infected. So having watched cycling on the television, and even cyclists in the street, biker shorts and hairy legs just didn't go. I didn't do anything about it that night but it was something that I couldn't stop thinking about and by the time a few days had passed, I was almost obsessing on how odd my legs looked and felt. Colette picked up on it and suggested I had my legs waxed. No way. If I was going to do anything, I might put my razor to them. I had already started removing the hair from under my arms because that really did look weird: a tight top with bunches of hair sticking out of the armpits. Gross. So doing the legs as well was no big jump. Plenty of straight men get rid of the hair on their legs. It doesn't mean a thing. Colette said in this day and age nobody had to hack at their legs with a razor. Waxing not only got rid of the hair without leaving you a mass of cuts and scratches, but the hair didn't grow back so quickly. Colette said that if I had three or four treatments over, say six months, I probably wouldn't have much of a problem ever again. Okay. That made sense. There was this place down the road that they all used, so the next day I booked myself in for an appointment. I can't tell you how painful it was. Colette hadn't told me that! The girl put this hot wax on my legs, pressed this sticky paper on and then just ripped it off, taking the hair with it. I don't know how women put up with it. The girl was obviously quite interested in why I had had it done, and I said it was a sports thing, that I was a cyclist and I didn't want to get infections. She smiled in a way that said she didn't quite believe me. When she was finished, she pointed out that I looked odd, not to say ridiculous, with smooth legs but with hair on other parts of my body. I've never been exactly hirsute, but there was some hair on my chest, lower back, around there. I couldn't argue. I gave her permission to go ahead and remove the rest of it. We were chatting away as she did it, and she asked me where I worked. I told that I worked at the Kitten Club, but she didn't make any particular remark about it until she was doing my bum, when she said: "Your boyfriend is going to love this." I was actually very offended. Not that someone thought I was gay. But the fact was, I wasn't. I sat up and told her that I didn't have a boyfriend, and that I was straight and had a girlfriend. She said she was really sorry, she didn't mean to offend me. She was really most embarrassed about the whole thing. I went back to the club, where they didn't seem the least bit interested in me having been offended. They were much more interested in my hairless, smooth legs. "Oh my God," Colette said. "Look at them. You are going to have every man in this place falling over himself to get at you." "It's better for riding my bike," I explained as I looked down at them myself. They did look good, I have to say that. They'd been slightly red after the treatment, but the moisturiser she had put on had returned them to their normal colour. I was a bit disappointed my legs weren't a bit more muscular. You don't see it through the hair. "If I get a graze, now it won't get infected," I said. Charlotte was the next to notice. "For God's sake," she said, "those legs do not belong on a man. Get her some stockings. What do you reckon, Colette? White or black?" "It's the ankles that amaze me," said Colette. "Look at the shape! Those calves are just made to be perched on top of the highest of heels. You know, a very classy pair of pumps. What do you think, Frankie?" I knew they were only joking. Teasing me. "In the first case, it's not Frankie, it's Frank," I said. "And I only did it because it looks sort of odd wearing these cycling shorts and that and then having these hairy legs sticking out of them. There's the thing with septicaemia." They both laughed. "That would be fine," said Charlotte, "but you don't ride a bike." "Yes I do," I said. I had been planning to get back on the bike, for some exercise. This was a start in that direction. Rod was the first man to notice, naturally. "Another more small step taken, eh Frankie?" he said I knew how it looked. But it was nothing to do with what they were thinking. It really was a case of the hair just feeling so odd. Rod chatted to me. "I used to know this chick, Frankie. A real little cutie; pretty but didn't even know it. At first, that was. Blonde. A one-hundred per cent government-certified piece of ass. Can't remember his name. "Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. He had the hairy legs. He was a bit of an airhead; not only did he not realise that he liked men (until I showed him) but he didn't realise the hair was putting them off. I wasn't put off, though. I knew I was going to have that chick from the moment I first saw him. "Finally, the inevitable happened. Very nice, too. I was gentle with him. Afterwards, he's lying there in bed, I'm sure thinking that it didn't hurt that much, and the next time it won't hurt at all. "He catches me looking at his legs. "Lose the hair, bitch', I say to him. You might think that's a bit cruel, Frankie. I'd just taken his manhood from him, after all. He didn't need it rubbing in. But it's about knowing thy enemy, Frankie. He was actually very turned on by being called a bitch. And by being ordered around. "He didn't say anything, but skipped into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, he comes back. Smooth as a billiard ball, all over. A little like you," he said, admiring my hairless legs. "That was Paulette's turning point, Frankie. That was his name, Paulette. Once that hair had gone, he didn't hold back. "I fucked him for a while, watching him as he got used to his new role in life. He went away for a week, and when he came back, he was... different. As I hadn't seen him for a while, I wanted to get my hands on those smooth thighs. I came up behind him and put one hand around his chest. My erection was pushing into his bum, and he was wiggling it for me. My other hand went downstairs, into his panties and... hello! "Let me put it this way. I didn't find what I had been expecting to find. It had gone. All I found was a little patch of hair, which she had very thoughtfully cut into the shape of a heart for me." "He... she..." I stammered. "Had been on what we euphemistically called a holiday in Thailand," he said. "Snip, snip. "I fired my arrow straight through that heart shape. Would have been rude not to. Thing is, Frankie, it happens differently with everyone. Paulette, I fucked her and then she realised what she really wanted. You, you've started to babe it up before I've even got my hands on you." He let that one sink in. I could feel myself going red with embarrassment. "How about this, Frankie. Come in that room with me. Over there." He pointed to the quiet room, where he had been with Charlie that first night. "Spend half an hour in there with me. I won't touch you. Scout's honour. Not unless you want me to. We'll just talk." "Why would I want to do that?" "At the end of the half hour, I'll give you two hundred pounds." "That would make me a prostitute. A hooker." "Don't put that image in my mind, Frankie, please. What are you trying to do to me? It's enough looking at those soft legs of yours. The thought of you on a street corner, in tiny little skirt, leaning into a car... stop it! You'll make me come now." "I'm not doing it." "You get the money anyway. We'll just talk." "So why are you doing it?" "Because I want to open up a side of you that you don't even know exists." "It doesn't exist." "Then you earn two hundred pounds in half an hour for just talking." Needless to say, I turned him down. I did wonder what it would be like, though. Even if nothing happened, which it wouldn't, it would still be me one side of the sexual divide and him on the other. He'd be on the male side. I'd be there, in tight shorts and a sports bra. He'd look at my belly button, as he always did, he'd admire my legs. Stop it. Away from the club, things continued as normal. Joanne was working late a lot and as I was working in the evening, I tended to do the housework in the daytime. One day, I was doing our washing. I had put it in the dryer and now I was putting our clothes away. I picked up this nightie of Joanne's. The thing about women's s clothes is that they are so much lighter than men's. It was a yellow babydoll nightie, very light and diaphanous. See-through and very sexy. It felt wonderful in my hands. Put it on. No! Put it on. It was as if I could actually hear a voice telling me put on the nightie. I knew I was imagining it. There was no voice. But still I could hear it. The voice told me it would feel wonderful. That the straps would sit beautifully on shoulders, that my nipples would be visible through the material, and I would feel as light as a nymph. No! I put it down and picked up my own pyjamas. The cotton felt horrible and rough but I folded them up and started to sort through the other clothes. I didn't pick up Joanne's things; knickers, bras and so on. I didn't trust myself to touch them, to tell the truth. I'd been wearing a sports bra, so what was the problem with wearing another type of bra? My hands went towards one. Stop. What's wrong with wearing a bra? It'll feel nice. You're a man, that's what. The nightie was still on the bed. "Put the nightie on, Frankie." The voice was most insistent. "You know you want to. You know you have to. You know how lovely it felt in your fingers. Imagine how lovely it will feel when it is on. It's you. That's the person you are. You're not a boy. You're a girl. Inside. You can't stop yourself, Frankie. You're going to do it in the end. You might as well do it now. Put it on, Frankie. There's a good girl. Be a naughty girl if you like, but he a girl. Joanne won't know. You can wash it again if you're worried about that. Be a good girl and do as you are told." I picked it up again. I started to take off my shirt... I threw the nightie down. I ran downstairs and burst into tears. Then, of course, I started to think. The pills. It must be the pills. Why had I allowed myself to be talked into taking them? I took my T-shirt off and looked at myself in the mirror. Was I kidding myself? Those nipples were certainly swollen. But it was Joanne who had done that, I was certain. I stood side on to see if they were sticking out. Were they? No. They couldn't be. I tried to put that incident out of my mind. Later, I returned upstairs and put the nightie away. The urge to try it on was there. "You know you want to." No. "Put it on, Frankie. You know how you love the way it feels in your hands. Imagine that feeling on your shoulders, your back. It's you, Frankie. It will make you feel pretty." No! I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror again. Was I changing? Was my beard a little less stubbly than it had been? Was I losing weight? I stood on the bathroom scales. Yes. I had lost a few pounds. But that didn't mean anything. I'd been eating less because of working at the club instead of sitting around slobbering at home. Was there something different in my face? Could I detect that my cheekbones were a little more pronounced, my chin a little smaller? Did I look a little more... delicate? No. Of course not. I was imagining it. It was like looking at a plain wall: if you stare it long enough you'll start to see shapes. The one thing I was sure about was that my hair was longer. But that didn't mean I was changing sex. It just meant I needed a haircut. I ran my fingers through my hair, which was now just about touching my shoulders. Did the hair feel different? Slightly finer, perhaps? And what about my hands? I looked at them. The skin seemed somehow a bit different. Softer. And the fingers looked longer. That couldn't happen, I knew that. It was all rubbish. I went downstairs, put the sport on the television, and forgot all about it. Turning into a woman, indeed. What a load of rubbish. One night at the club, someone decided to rearrange the tables and Colette, Charlotte and me were given the task of moving them. The thing was, we just couldn't move them. They were too heavy. I didn't exactly expect a lot of help from Colette and Charlotte but looking at the table, I thought I should be able to move one on my own. But they were a lot heavier than they looked. "I think we're going to have to get a man," said Charlotte. I turned on her. "And what do you think I am?" I said. I could see tiny little smiles break out on to their faces. "And what exactly are you laughing at?" I said. "Well," said Colette. "Look at the way you are standing." I did so. And yes, I suppose I had swung my hip out a little bit, and put my hand on it. It wasn't the most masculine of poses, and I was wearing the gold work clothes again. They hadn't been my choice. "Go and ask one the bouncers to help us," said Charlotte. "They're big and strong." "I'll move it myself," I said. I suppose I must have looked a complete idiot. I tried to pick up one of the tables. I did manage to get it off the floor, just, but then I dropped it having only moved it about a few inches. I nearly dropped it on my foot, which would have really hurt. "Go and ask for help," said Colette. "Why can't you go?" "Go on, Frankie. Ask Steve. He likes you." I tutted and went over to the door, to see if there was anyone who could help. I let that one drop, about Steve "liking me'. I knew exactly what she meant. "Sure, honey," he said when I asked him. Needless to say, he lifted the tables as if they were matchboxes and they were all in place within seconds. Well, that was his job. He was supposed to be tough and strong, otherwise they wouldn't have put him on the door. "Aren't you going to thank him?" said Charlotte. "Thanks," I said. "No, thank him properly." "Thanks properly," I said. I think she wanted me to kiss him. Steve just laughed and chucked me under the chin. "Nice and soft," he said. I walked away. Nice and soft indeed. Rod kept on about me going in this room with him. He kept offering more and more money. The girls kept on telling me that it was only a matter of time before I was another notch on his belt. I couldn't have been any clearer to them. I told them time and time again. I wasn't gay, I didn't want to be a kitten, I didn't want to be a woman and I was one hundred per cent male. Always was, always would be. The fact that I could work in a place like this, and wear the clothes I did, only went to prove how safe I was in my own sexuality. If I had been in any way unsure, I wouldn't have worn the golden shorty shorts. After a couple of weeks, Rod was up to five hundred pounds. That's five hundred pounds to spend half an hour in a room with him, with no one else there. Just talking. All I have to do is stay there for the time. Finally, I realised it was an offer to good to refuse. I said yes. If he wants to throw money away, I'll take it off him. I made it quite clear before I went in there that "nothing was going happen'. "Unless you want it to," he said. I said that I didn't want anything to happen, and indeed, I didn't even know what "anything" was. I did of course. Nevertheless, there was something about the way I walked into the room and the way he shut the door behind me. Even though I couldn't see the kittens, I could imagine the look on their faces. That they thought they had been right all along. That they knew what was going to happen to me in there, that he knew, and even though I didn't want to admit to myself just yet, I knew it too. That when the half hour was over and I came out of the room, I would be a very different person indeed. That Frankie would have finally accepted the inevitable. In their dreams, as I say. One hundred per cent straight male. If someone wants to give me five hundred quid to put that to the test, I'll take it off them. I quickly changed clothes. There was nothing in the agreement with Rod about what I was wearing, so I skipped into the changing room and took the top and put my normal T-shirt back on. I didn't have time to change out of the spangly shorts I was wearing. As we went into the room I could see from the slightly awkward way he was walking that he already had an erection. "You know how this is going to end, don't you?" said Rod. I told him it was going to end with him giving me five hundred pounds. "And me making love to you," he said. "Not only that, but it will all be your idea. I won't fuck you until you beg me to, Frankie. I like it when it all the girl's idea." He enunciated the word "fuck" very slowly and sexually. "How does that make you feel, Frankie?" I told him there was no way he was ever going to do anything like that to me. I looked at him and I could see what he was thinking. He was imagining me, flat on my back, my legs spread, probably wearing a stocking and suspender set, and him giving me the porking of my life. It wasn't going happen. He sat down and spread his legs, giving me a perfect view of that bulge in his trousers. It certainly must be a pretty big one, I thought. Much bigger than mine, even if it wasn't tucked out of the way. "I do love a boy when he gets his pokies," he said. I walked around in front of him. "What are you talking about?" "Your pokies," he said. "Don't say you've haven't seen them." I was none the wiser. I asked him to explain. "Pokies. You're just starting to develop," he said. "Not flat-chested any more. Well, you're flat-chested in terms of female, but not in terms of the male. Look." I looked down at my chest. "You're imagining it," I said. "This really is too good to be true," he said, rubbing himself through his trousers. "This is the actual moment, isn't it? This is the moment you realise you are ... starting to develop. They may be tiny, but they are there. Pokies. I love it when a boy realises he's got pokies," he repeated. "You're imagining it," I said. "Look for yourself," he said. "Pull your top down. So it's tight across your chest." I did so. I almost fainted. He was right. There were two little bumps poking through the T-shirt. He laughed. A cruel, male, predatory laugh. I denied it, to myself as much as him. I told him there was nothing there. But I knew it. I did have pokies. "This is the moment, isn't it?" he said. I said I didn't know what he was talking about, but of course I did. This was the moment I discovered I had pokies. It wasn't because they were sore through Joanne's efforts. It wasn't because they were inflamed. It was because they were pokies. And there he was, watching. "Frankie" s taken the pills, told everyone they've had no effect, and there she is, with two lovely little bumps growing on her chest." "You" re talking rubbish." "Am I?" he said. "Turn around." I did so. "That bum is getting a nice shape to it as well. I noticed it a couple of weeks ago. I thought to myself then, I'm going to be sticking my dick in that. I can't wait." "I did take the pills, but they've had no effect." "When did you last shave? Your face, that is. I know you shave your legs." "I had them waxed, actually," I said. "I stand corrected. Apologies. I'm not so well up on feminine hygiene." I felt my face. It was smoother than it should have been. I know what you're thinking; that I would have noticed. I suppose I should have done. Perhaps I was denying to myself. Bad as I felt, I didn't feel the situation was hopeless. If these pills had done this to me, other pills could reverse it. "Take your top off for me, honey," he said, still massaging his penis. I didn't want to. But I realised that very thought ? wanting to keep my chest covered ? would have betrayed me. I took it off. "Wow." I looked down. I certainly didn't have tits. But... there was something about the way the nipples were sticking out. The aureoles were larger and rounder. The nipples were larger and were sticking out. There was the faintest swelling behind them as well. Not that faint, really, now I looked at it. And soft, as well. A man's chest is hard and muscular. Mine wasn't any more. No doubt about it. Pokies. He laughed. "I think you are going to make a very good kitten. Once you've been properly broken in. Once I've broken you in, Frankie, you'll very quickly become just like all the other girls. Imagine that. Someone takes a photograph of all the kittens in a row and there you are. No one would look at the picture and think that there was a bloke in the middle of them. They'd say: "Who's that one, between Colette and Charlotte? She looks pretty. The one with the nice tits" And I'd tell them that her name was Frankie. I'll be able to say I've had her, and the other two for that matter. That's how it's going to be. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Frankie? In a bikini, just the same as the other girls. High heels. Being slobbered over by men. You'll be thinking about handbags, make-up, and whether tonight's outfit will suit you. Just walk around the room for me, Frankie. Please. That's all I ask of you. I just want to see you walk. For five hundred pounds, that's not much to ask." I told him my name was Frank, not Frankie, but he just laughed. I did walk around the room, though. I agreed with him on that. For five hundred pounds, even I could walk around the room for him. "There's something happening with the way you walk as well," he said. You wiggle your bum as you move. Did you know? Can't avoid it, I suppose. You're having those rough edges smoothed off you, Frankie, and I must say you look good on it. "Sit down and cross your legs." I did so. I don't know why I obeyed his order, but I did. I crossed my legs at the thigh as well. "That wasn't too hard, was it?" "What do you mean?" "Well, you crossed your legs in that girly way. I couldn't do that. I've got too much to get crushed. You couldn't have crossed your legs that way a few weeks ago. Getting a bit smaller in the downstairs department, are we? Panties feeling a bit more comfortable?" "I think you've got the wrong idea about me," I said. "I'm only here for the five hundred quid." "Yeah, but you're not, are you?" he said. "I know you'd like to get yourself fucked. I think we both know it's only a matter of time before some big hairy man fucks the life out of you. Makes you squeal with feminine pleasure. I just want it to be me. And I think we all know you'd love every second of it. When you get your first taste of cock, Frankie, you'll forget about everything else. You'll forget about sex with girls. You'll forget about that girlfriend of yours. Yes I know. The only time you'll think about her is when you are borrowing her bra." I must have gone red or something. "You have, haven't you Frankie? Have you been wearing her clothes? You are such a girl, Frankie. You really are. And the beauty of it is that you don't even know. But you are starting to realise the truth now, aren't you Frankie?" I didn't say anything. But I wasn't in control of this situation. He was. Strangely, I sort of liked that. Someone else being in charge of me. "I've seen it before. They come in here, behind the bar. All male, or so they think. Give it a month or two and they're on their back in a maid's outfit begging for it." I said that it was never going to happen. "Never say never," he said. "I think you and I both know what you really want. As I say, you're not being honest with yourself. I think you should just let go of your inhibitions and follow you nature. You'll get a lot more out of life if you stop holding back. If something happens between us, and I think it might, it could just mean you are an experimenter. And there's nothing wrong with that. If you have a sexual encounter with a man, it could just mean you are trying it out. Doesn't mean you have to do it again. Doesn't mean you are gay. Doesn't mean you are bisexual. Doesn't mean that underneath it all, you're really a chick. It might mean that. I think it does. But if you give it a try, it means you are prepared to live. To try different things. If you try it, and realise it's not for you, that makes you more of a man, doesn't it?" I explained that my girlfriend liked to lick and tease and nibble my nipples, and that was why they were sticking out a bit. I don't know why I was telling him this. It had nothing to do with him. I didn't even believe it myself. "Yeah right," he said. "There is a condition," I said. "It's called gynecomastia. Men sometimes do get breast development. It doesn't mean I'm turning into a woman." He just chuckled. "Nothing to do with those pills you are taking." "I'm not taking any pills," I said. "Jesus," he said. "This is turning me on. I'm getting uncomfortable." Looking me straight in the eye, still with that little smile on his lips, he undid his trousers. His willy sprang out. It looked huge. God knows how long. I wasn't about to get a ruler. He'd been circumcised. It was really thick as well. Much bigger than mine. I suddenly thought of Joanna, and how much she would have liked that willy. How mine would have been a disappointment. He gently rubbed it. He said; "Well, there's someone who's eyes are popping out of her head. You can't take your eyes off it." It was true. I had been looking at it. I looked away. "No need to be embarrassed, Frankie. I keep telling you. It's the most natural thing in the world for a girl like you to look at her man's cock. To wonder what it's like to touch it. To kiss it. To have it in your pretty little mouth. To have it inside you. Is that what you're thinking?" It was sticking straight out of him, like some bloody great truncheon. He looked at me, rubbed his willy and moaned. "Those are lovely," he said, looking at my chest. "Just like little rosebuds. Why don't you come over here and let me play with them?" he said. I didn't move. "The wonderful thing," he said, "is the look on your face. It's a look that says that you know." "Know what?" I said. "That you know that before long, those won't be pokies any more. They'll be boobs. Maybe nice big ones. Just like all the other girls. I think yours are going to be quite big, Frankie. " "If the drugs made them grow, there's another drug that can make them go away. Got to be. If you pump yourself full of hormones, and I'm sure that's what they are, it's bound to happen." "Yeah, but you don't want them to go away, do you, Frankie? Not really. I mean, look at yourself. You're working in a place like this. As we all know, there's only two reasons anyone comes to the Kitten Club. I come here because I like fucking kittens. You come here because you want to be one. You're already wearing a bra, Frankie. All right, it's not the most feminine of models, but it's still a bra. How long do you think it will be before you upgrade to a lacy model, with little bows and delicate little straps? It's only a matter of time, and by the look on your face it's going to be sooner rather than later. You've already got something to put in the cups. Not much, but not nothing. "Why don't you come and sit next to me?" he said. "Come on. I won't tell anyone. It's just between you and me." I didn't know what to do. "And then what will that girlfriend say? If she decides to slap you around the face, hit you, she might even win the fight. "Come and sit down, Frankie." So I did. I sat down next to him. He laid back, still massaging his penis, taking up most of the sofa. I just perched on the edge. Not taking up much room. Feeling a little nervous. "You know, as a male, you were quite cute. A pretty boy, for sure. But as a female... you're more than that. You're sexy. You are going to have loads of boys after you. But I'll be the first. We both know that. That bouncer, he fancies you. You should hear what he says about you." "What does he say about me?" "He says you're a piece of fluff. How do you like that?" I didn't say anything. "But it's going to be me first. When I take you, when I pop your cherry, you're going to be the one asking me to do it. Sounds strange, doesn't it? Before long, you'll be begging me to take you. Touch them." I don't know why, but I did. I licked my fingers and massaged my nipples. Sore as they were, I still liked them to be played with. I noticed for the first time they were definitely moving around as I did so. My God. It was happening. He lay back and stroked his willy. "Come over here," he said. "I am already here," I said. "Even closer," he said. I moved over closer to him, but far enough away for him not to be able to touch him. His penis was very big. It was red and I could see the veins on it. It was much bigger than mine. "Why don't you touch it," he said. Once again, I couldn't take my eyes off it. "You know you want to." Did I want to? He was enjoying this. "In a few months time, you'll have had so many blokes you'll have forgotten you were ever one yourself. Or should I say so many blokes will have had you. You'll look back and laugh at how shy you are today." I felt silly just sitting there. I felt... weak. It was as if he was so totally in charge of this situation he could do what he wanted with me. "You'll spend your time covering yourself in all sorts of make-up, cosmetics, hair products. There'll be bottles all over your bathroom. Sprays. You like that thought, don't you? You'll know what they are all for. Your bloke won't. He'll just indulge you." He still had one hand on his willy. With the other, he gently touched my left nipple. He licked his finger and started to circle my aureole. I did nothing. I just let him do it. I have to admit... it felt fantastic. Obviously, Joanna had done it and that felt great. But this felt even better. "In a year's time, you'll be with some bloke and he'll be sitting in the living room, watching the football, beer in his hand, and he'll yell out "Get a move on, we're going to be late'. You won't care. You'll be in the bathroom. Putting on mascara, foundation, lipstick. Doing your face. Getting ready. I don't know what women do when they spend so long getting ready. That's because I'm a bloke. You're not. Touch it. Touch it." It wasn't just him telling me to touch him. There was a voice inside telling me to do it as well. I did. I don't know why. I reached over with my right hand, having licked my forefinger, and gently touched his penis. Underneath, right up near the head. That's where men are most sensitive. His penis sprang into action and got even harder, which I would have said was impossible, but there it was. He looked at me. I wouldn't have believed that I could touch something so gently and got such a reaction. I ran my fingernail along the parts I knew were most sensitive. I licked my finger again and carried on. I know what he wanted to do to me. He knew what I wanted to do. "Go on," he moaned. I knew what I was supposed to do. I got down on my hands and knees, still caressing it. It was right in front of me, pushing towards my face. It was only inches away from my mouth. I licked my lips. I imagined how he would feel when I stuck my tongue out and touched it. He moved it closer. Go on, do it. No! Suddenly, I was overcome with fear. This wasn't me. I don't touch men's penises. I certainly don't lick them and give... blow jobs. I'm a man. A heterosexual man. I jumped up. "I've got to go," I said. I picked up my top and ran out. No. No. No.