The Kitten Club, Part Three free porn video

Note from Karen: Thanks again for the kind comments. New readers probably need to start with Part One but here's a brief recap of the story so far: Frank visited the Kitten Club, where all the waitresses started off as boys. He was both appalled and intrigued, but he went back again and again. He was eventually offered a job behind the bar. Strange and unwanted feelings started to surge inside him. At the end of Part Two, Rod, the club's resident stud, made Frank an offer he very nearly could not refuse. The Kitten Club, Part Three I felt awful as I came out of that private room. I knew a line had been crossed. Rod had seen my chest. I had seen his willy. And touched it. And almost... Men don't do that. If I carried on like this, it was only a matter of time before was in a bra and panties. Stockings. High heels. The lot. Colette and Charlotte where there to meet me as I came out of the room. Little smiles on their faces. Smiles that said they thought they knew what had happened. That he had fucked me. That Rod had finally, after all his hard work, taken my manhood away from me. That I had accepted the inevitable. That they had been right all along. But they weren't right. I hadn't done anything. I told them exactly what had happened, but they simply did not believe me. Their faces said that they thought I was now one of them. They didn't say it, but their expressions betrayed the fact that they thought very soon I'd be wiggling around the club in a skirt. Screaming in faked outrage when someone pinched my bum, but enjoying it really. Disappearing into the room with customers. Just like all the other kittens. But I wasn't that person. I just wasn't. I hadn't done anything with him. I had a girlfriend. I was a man. One hundred per cent male. I still had my hands over my chest, so I quickly put my T-shirt back on to cover it. Rod came out of the room, making sure everyone could see he was still doing up his trousers. As if to confirm what the girls thought, he came over to me and said I had earned my five hundred pounds. I said I didn't want his money but even that didn't knock him. He described me as a "little cockteaser" as he stuffed the money down my top. It was humiliating. Everyone could all see it. They could also see I was on the verge of tears. Colette took me into the back room, and Charlotte came with us. "Look," said Colette. "Sit down. Please. Let us explain something." I sat down. Involuntarily, I crossed my legs at the thigh. What did I look like? I was wearing spangly shorty shorts, my legs were entirely hairless and my nipples were protruding through my T-shirt. Pokies. I hadn't shaved my face for God knows how long and now I had touched a man's penis. I'd nearly gone a lot further. I had wanted to go further. Oh God, what was happening to me? Even my hair was falling over my face. I was crying like a teenage girl. "I'm turning into a woman," I cried. "Yes you are," said Charlotte. "But it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been female inside." The tears got hold of me. I cried like I haven't cried since I was five years old. The two girls tried to reassure me, but it didn't help. "You'll see, Frankie," said Charlotte. You'll see. It was obvious to us from the moment you first came in. You didn't know it yourself. You still don't know it, but the truth is starting to dawn on you. It happens in different ways with different girls. Me and Colette, we never really wanted anything else. We couldn't wait. Others, and you're one of them, you try and stop it. But you can't. You only make yourself so unhappy. Give in, Frankie. Please. You will in the end. They all do. You might as well accept what is obvious to everyone in here. You're one of us." "I'm not!" I cried. "I'll never give in." Colette joined in. "Think about it. It was you who kept coming back to this club. Nobody made you. We knew you were really one of us all the time. There was something about you, right from the start. Isn't that true, Charlotte?" "Absolutely." "What? What was it that made you think that?" I said. Charlotte thought for a moment. "It's difficult to put into words. You were just..." "She didn't smell like a man," said Colette. "Stop it," I said. "I'm not a 'she'. And I don't smell at all. I wash. That doesn't make me a woman." "I know what she means," said Charlotte. "It's not that men smell of one thing and women another. But you just get this sense. Your whole aura was female. Right from the start." "That's why I arranged for you to work behind the bar," said Colette. "And look at you. If you were really a man, do you think you'd be wearing those clothes? You're a wet dream to the sort of blokes who come in here. That's not an accident, Frankie. You did it yourself. How many men wear tight golden shorts, and tuck their willy out of the way just to make money. Can you see Rod doing that? Or any of the bouncers? Do you think Steve would do that if the money was right? Of course he wouldn't. He's a man. But you did. We gave you the opportunity, but you took it of your own free will." "I'm not wearing a skirt. I'm not... I'm just not a kitten. I'm not like you." "Frankie. Face the truth. Men come in here, they don't see us as men, whatever is between our legs. They never did. They see us, you as well, as members of the opposite sex. And you're wearing those shorts because they make your bum look nice. Men see it and they want to stick their dick in it. You know that. Maybe subconsciously, but you do know it." "I've got a cock," I said. "For now," said Charlotte. They couldn't stop little grins appearing on their faces. "You're so lucky. Yours might just go of its own accord. Some of us have to have surgery. Yours was never very big. That's an advantage, believe me." "I've been watching," said Colette. "What you've got is not exactly going to make a big indentation in a pair of frilly knickers." "If a handful of pills can do this to me," I said putting my left hand on my... chest. "Other pills can do the reverse." Colette simply shook her head. "I don't think so, honey. If this hadn't been you, it wouldn't have happened. You have to accept it, Frankie. And when you do, you'll find things a whole lot easier. Believe me. Being female is a whole lot more fun. For me. And Charlotte. And you, now Frankie. You can't keep denying it." "Why don't you just go with the flow?" said Charlotte. "Look at me. Do I look as if I'm doing something against my will?" No she did not. She was in a cute little red and black minidress, fishnets, and some pink flats. I knew they were Chanel; she had told me. The thing about Charlotte was that there was no way you would think she had ever been a man. For one thing, she was well-developed. When you think of a man who becomes, you know, female, you think, or at least I do, of little titties. But Charlotte, without being gross, was... well, I'll just come out and say it. She had big tits. There was more than that. She went in at the waist and out at the hips. She was shaped liked a woman. I had heard blokes talking about her. The talk of the Kitten Club was that Charlotte gave great head. That a former male like her was the best in bed because she knew exactly what turned men on. And that was Charlotte. "Do you think," she implored me, "I'd be doing all this if it wasn't the biggest fun I had ever had in my life? The last few months have been so incredible. It's fantastic, Frankie. Come on. Join in with us." I threw my head back and cried even more. But as I did so, I was aware that would push my chest out. I could feel my pokies sticking through my T-shirt. I covered up and put my 'man' clothes back on. I cursed myself for having had my body hair removed. Why had I done that? And my willy? Yes. I had to admit it. It was smaller. Quite a lot smaller. I'd been denying it to myself. Colette was right. If I put a pair of knickers on, you would be able to see a bump, but a pair of tight panties wouldn't have been as uncomfortable as they would have been before all this started. But this could be reversed. I'd be filling out those boxer shorts again in no time. I ran out of the club. I went straight home, planning to have a shower and wash away all these feelings. I wasn't even sure what the feelings were. I knew I was straight. I wasn't gay, and I wasn't a transsexual. And there I'd been. Dressed to titillate a man, and I'd touched his willy. Was I being honest with myself? Had I not been thrilled when his willy jumped to attention under my touch? Didn't that feel so very right? Had I not felt the urge to kiss it, lick it, and... No. I was a man. Things had got out of hand. If a drug had done this to me, I could take another one to reverse it. I would go and see a doctor. As I opened the door of our flat, I heard Joanne in the bedroom. It was a surprise to find her at home, what with all the work she had been doing lately. I thought she must be doing her exercises or something from the noise. I went into the bedroom to say hello. And there they were. It all fell into place. A bloke, someone I recognised from her work, his name was Danny, was in the bed with her. She was on top. But even though Danny was the one lying on the bed face up, I could see in an instant that he was in charge of her. His hands were on her hips to make sure she was in the right place as they ground their bodies together. Her tits moved independently as she was bounced up and down. At first, she didn't even see me, she was that far away. You can imagine how that made me feel. Then she did see me. They stopped, and she climbed off him. She looked embarrassed and guilty. He did too, but that look was very quickly replaced by a look of contempt. Contempt for me. He put his arms behind his head and sneered at me. "Is this her?" he said. "Stop it," said Joanne, who stood up. "I suppose I should probably say something about how it's not how it seems, but it obviously is exactly as it seems," he said. The bloke was looking at me in this superior way. As if to say that he was the alpha male. He could come and fuck my girlfriend any time he liked, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. "She's exactly as you described her," he said. "Stop it," said Joanne. "Just leave him alone." But Danny wasn't about to. "Here she is. The kitten. How many men have fucked you tonight, you little pussy?" He stood up. I knew what I should do. I should attack him. Order him out of our flat. Order her out of her flat. Establish my credentials as the male in this scene. But I could only think of those little bumps on my chest. And how much it would hurt if he hit me there. I also thought of my strength, or lack of it. I may not ever have been a body builder, but my experience with moving the tables had shown that my muscles were dropping off me. My arms were quite thin now. And I knew that if I didn't do something about this: and that meant beating the shit out of this Danny, and taking some drugs to reverse what was happening to my body, my arms would only be good for putting in a puff sleeve. A month ago I hadn't even known what a puff sleeve was. I said: "Understand this. I don't fuck men. I fuck women." It was quite brave of me. He was much bigger than me; bigger than he should have been. Was I getting smaller as well? It suddenly seemed that way. He laughed. "I didn't ask you if you fucked men. That would be a sight to see. I asked how many had fucked you. Quite a few from what I hear." Finally, the male in me came to the fore. I lunged at him. I threw a punch, aiming to hit him in the nose but it all went wrong. He was too fast for me and I ended up just sort of slapping him on the shoulder. And that hurt me more than it did him because I caught a nail, and it really hurt. There's another thing. It's difficult to admit. But as we moved around, I could feel my chest jiggle. Ever so slightly. It was only an hour ago that I had been forced to admit that I had pokies. Now they were wobbling around when I moved. Before I knew it, he had me from behind. He was much stronger than me and could grip me with one arm. It was so easy for him. You should have seen the look on Joanne's face. She was ashamed. Not ashamed at herself, her betrayal. But ashamed at me, that her man, now obviously her former man, could be so easily overpowered. Danny had one hand around my tummy, holding me where he wanted to. I wriggled and demanded that he let go, but he wouldn't. There's this thing with males. There's always an alpha male. The others can't help but defer to them. It's the same with a group of dogs, gorillas, anything. The males who are not the alpha male show it in many ways, some of them involuntary. For example, the pitch of their voice goes up. And that's exactly what happened to me. I should have been and used to be the alpha male in my own home, but that had been taken away from me. Now, his was the deep male voice, and even though I was trying to lower my tone, I was screaming in a high-pitched, almost feminine pitch. I hated it. With his spare hand, he roughly grabbed my nipple. That hurt even more, which made him laugh all the more. He said: "She's got a nice pair of hooters." "Let me go!" I shouted. It came out more of an unmasculine squeal than anything else. "Look, Joanne, look!" he said. It was so easy for him to hold me with one hand. With the other, he squeezed my chest and Joanne saw, for the first time, that I had... development. "Oh my God," said Joanne. "She's a wriggler, isn't she? I've got an idea," he said as I struggled in vain to get free. "How about a threesome? Me, you and Jo." "I'm not going to fuck Joanne after you've been at her," I said. With that, he really did start laughing. He kept it up until I asked what I was laughing at. "When I said a threesome, the idea was that I fucked the two of you. You really are quite foxy, you know Frankie, especially when you are angry. I can see the two of you in matching stockings, suspenders, all that. High heels." The awful thing was that I had known what he meant. That when he had said we would have a threesome, that it would be one guy and two girls, and I wouldn't be the guy. I had known that, even though I had said the opposite. "Then you'll both be my bitches. You're my bitch already, aren't you?" he said to Joanne. She looked down. "I said, you're my bitch, aren't you?" She looked up, and stared me right in the eye. "Yes," she said. "I am." That was the most humiliating thing of all. Even worse than being overpowered by this brute, even worse than being called "she" and "her". My own woman was telling me she was another man's bitch. I stared at Joanne. I could feel the tears well up in my eyes again. "You have to understand, Frank. I needed a man," she said to me. She was almost crying herself. "I'm sorry." "It was your idea," I said. "It was your idea to go to that club, and it was your idea that you..." Danny started laughing. "You really don't understand her at all, do you?" I knew from his tone of voice that Joanne had told him everything about us. Of course she would. They were lovers now. "The thing about Joanne," he told me, "is that she likes to play games. Don't you? She likes to go on top. You saw that. She likes to struggle for supremacy in bed. She likes to win. But sometimes she likes to lose. Don't you?" Joanne lowered her head. "And you didn't even know, did you, my little cockteaser?" Again he squeezed my breast. "Let me tell you, Frankie, this little bird likes to be taken. Which is exactly what I did. You lived with her for all that time, and you didn't even realise. You just thought of yourself, your little tart." "Frankie... Frank. We... all that we did together... was just a bit of fun," said Joanne. "Going to that club. Me... that role reversal thing we did. I did it because I thought you liked it. I liked it as well, but not as a permanent thing. It was just experimentation. Trying something different. You have to understand. I'm a woman. I need a man." Danny wasn't even listening. "And you, little Frankie, do you want me to fuck you? You do, don't you?" His hand went down my front. "No," I said, still trying to wriggle free. I was desperately trying to lower my voice to its normal masculine pitch. I couldn't. "Let me go," I said. A few minutes earlier, I could have understood the high pitch of my voice because I was so angry and frightened. But now, I was at least in control of myself. I should be able to get my voice back to normal. I coughed and tried to clear my throat. "Just let me go," I repeated. No good. The voice was just as high. "Come on, honey," he said to me. "Be nice to daddy." He was groping me now. "Let him go," said Joanne. Danny stopped what he was doing and looked at her. He still held me in place with no effort whatsoever. But he could tell she was angry. "Let him go. Please, Danny. Let him go." "I'll do a deal with you," he said to Joanne. "Why are you calling this little cutie a 'he'? Call her what she really is and I'll think about it." I was wriggling as much as I could but it was like being caught in a vice. "Let... let her go," said Joanne. He did so. I was totally defeated and humiliated. I obviously wasn't going to stand there and watch. And I wasn't going to say anything either, not now my voice had deserted me. I ran from the house. I knew I wouldn't go back there. Not even to get my clothes. I had nowhere to go. I couldn't go back to the club. I wandered the streets for hours, until I knew the club was closed. Then I went around to Colette's. She was just getting into bed. But she stayed up with me, and listened to the whole story. She was appalled by both of them. She said if that was the way Joanne was, I was better off without her. I couldn't argue. Of course she was very sympathetic, but I could tell she had something else on her mind as well. Finally she came out with it. "Frankie, you have to accept a truth about yourself. Now is the time." I asked what she meant. "I think you know," she said. "I don't want to be a kitten," I said. "I don't think you've got a choice," she said. "I think your body is telling you something. When I first saw you, Frankie, it was obvious that you weren't the tough, straight guy that you thought of yourself. You're one of us, Frankie. You always have been. You'll be a lot happier if you accept it." I started to cry. I just couldn't accept it. I was a man. Nothing else. "The world will seem a lot better with you in it as a female," she said. "It's what's meant to be." She hugged me, but not in a sexual way. I was so exhausted, but I couldn't sleep. Finally, she suggested I have that shower I had been planning. I did, and when I came out, it didn't seem as bad. Perhaps you really can wash these things away. She let me sleep in her bed, which was sweet of her. I was so tired, I was off in seconds. I slept like I never had before. When I woke up I felt wonderful. You know what it's like when you wake up in the morning, feeling great? There's just something nice about the new day, no matter what happened the previous one? Then I was aware that I was wearing something so light in weight that it almost wasn't there. That was what felt so nice. I could feel something on my shoulders... straps... I don't wear clothes with straps on the shoulders... I opened my eyes. I was wearing a nightie. A very light, see-though yellow nightie, trimmed with all sorts of lace. And the bumps on my chest were sitting very happily in the lacy cups. Unbelievable as it may seem, my pokies had got bigger overnight. So had the nipples. Push the fleshy parts of my pokies together, and I would have the beginnings of cleavage. I felt like bursting into tears again and would have done if the nightie hadn't felt so wonderful. I know I'd worn women's clothing before, the bra top, the shorts, but nothing like this. I loved the way the straps felt on my shoulders and the way it gave me that little bit of support where I needed it. I looked around, almost expecting to see a man lying there. Having... you know. Of course there wasn't. I jumped out of bed and raced into the kitchen, where Colette was sitting drinking coffee, wearing a similar nightie. My chest jiggled up and down as I did so. There was no mistaking it. "Hiya lollipop," she said. "Sleep well?" "How did I get into this?" I asked. "What are you talking about?" she said with a look of complete innocence. I fingered the hem to hold it up to her. "This," I said, inadvertently giving myself a lesson in female attire. Never lift your skirt up to show someone. I put it down again. She knew what I had done and laughed. "Don't you remember? You picked it out yourself." "I did not," I said angrily. "What are you accusing me of? Putting you in it without your knowledge? Perhaps I did it when you were asleep. Without waking you." I sat down at the table, tears again starting to well inside me. "I wouldn't do it," I said as I flicked my hair out of my face. "I don't remember at all. I'm a man, for God's sake." I could see a tiny little smile on her lips. "I notice you're not taking it off," she said. "It's nice, isn't it? Boy clothes are all... heavy, aren't they? These are so light, you only just know you've got one on. I love the way it tickles around my shoulders, and the hem on my legs. Don't you? And you've got lovely slim shoulders." "I don't know what's happening to me," I said. She was right. If I had been a real man, and had somehow woken up, probably after a night of drunken excess, in a nightie, I would have thrown it off, torn it up, and made sure no one saw me. If they did, I'd swear them to silence, probably under the threat of violence. Not only had I not done that, I was sitting with my hairless legs crossed at the thigh again. And with every day, that was becoming easier and more natural. Not only had the muscles got so much smaller in my legs, but there was less and less to crush when I did cross my legs in the female way. I could curl the top leg right around, so the foot hooked behind the opposing calf. I had never done that before in my life. She made me a cup of coffee and as I lifted it up I was aware that my arms were even more feeble and thin than they had been the day before. I felt ridiculous. There was I, a man, with a penis between my hairless legs, sitting there in a see-through nightie. I didn't even want to look at my willy. I knew what I'd find. I went to the bathroom and looked at my face in the mirror. No doubt about it. My nose was perky. My skin was soft and hairless. My lips were getting fuller. We had some breakfast, not that I was hungry, and then we sat down to chat again. "I think you made a realisation last night," she said. "Some of the girls, when they start at the club, they can't wait. Look at Charlotte. The female in them takes over very quickly. With you, it's different. You're fighting it, the male side in you is not giving up, but believe me, Frankie, he's going to lose. The female in you will win." "It won't," I said. "Just look at how far you've come," she said. When you first came to the club, you were appalled and disgusted by us. I could see that. But also intrigued. You wanted to know how it felt. Because, underneath it all, you knew you were one of us. We could all see that. That's why we gave you the job. The customers love it. They think they are going to be the ones who turn boy into girl. Someone will do it. "It nearly happened to you last night. With Rod. And by the sound of it, with that other bloke who was with Joanne. Although that would have been awful. But at the club, you know they are having bets on you, don't you? Who's going to be the one to deflower you? They are queuing up. Rod was set to win quite an amount of money. He even claimed that he had." "What did he say?" I said. "He came out and said you were now just another notch on his belt." There was an image. A notch on his belt. How did that make me feel? Did that turn me on, just a little? Is that why girls always go for the bad boy? Do we... no, they ... secretly yearn to be a notch on the belt of the neighbourhood stud, just like all the others? Do we want to be part of that club? "That's not true," I said. I touched his willy. That's all. I didn't even..." "Didn't even what?" "He didn't come." "You see the way you're talking? You talking like a girl, Frankie. Men don't talk about their 'willy'. They talk about cocks and dicks. Girls, kittens... us... we refer to it as a willy. It makes it sound not so bad. Have you ever spoken about another man's willy before? It's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm a notch on Rod's belt. So is Charlotte. You will be before long. When you first came in, that first night with your girlfriend, did you think just a couple of months later you'd be standing there, dressed totally to titillate a man, stroking his willy?" "I didn't stroke it. I touched it." "It doesn't matter. Next time you'll stroke it. Then you'll kiss it. Then you'll let him put it right in your mouth. Then he's going to fuck you. And you'll like it. You're going to let him fuck you." "Never." "If not Rod, someone else. Steve, maybe. Because that's what we do. And all the time, you'll be thinking what you have to do to attract the right man, and get him to fuck you in the way you want to be fucked. You will dress accordingly. Because that's what we do as well. How do you want to be fucked? Do you want him on top? Do you want to wrap your legs around him? Or do you want him from behind? He can get further in that way." I started crying again. I'd been crying a lot lately. "The thing is Frankie, you think of yourself as a big tough guy, and you're just not. You never have been. You've always been female, inside, and now it's happening on the outside. It was always going to happen. One day you'll thank us for it. Even Joanne, you'll thank her. You just don't know it yet. "I just did all that at the club for the tips," I said. "To get money. It would have looked very odd if I had stood behind that bar looking like a boxer. It was just a thing to do for money." "You can tell yourself what you like." The conversation went on, and was clearly getting nowhere. She said there was someone I should meet. A doctor. He was a hypnotist as well. Colette said she wanted me to be hypnotised, maybe to go back through some previous lives. I said I didn't believe in all that rubbish. "Then all you'll be wasting is your time. Trust me. I think you might find out something that will put all this in place." In the end, I agreed. I didn't have a lot else to do. I didn't have anywhere else to go. I stood up, having almost forgotten that we were both in nighties. There followed the inevitable conversation about what I was going to wear. She wanted me in a dress. But I was insistent on that one. I'd wear the sports bra. Some very plain pants. Okay, not men's pants, but not proper women's panties, either. Nothing feminine about them. But that was it. A T-shirt, a sweatshirt, and jeans. Trainers. We went by taxi to this doctor person's place. I can remember sitting down in the chair, and the doctor talking to me, and saying that it would be better if I 'went under' for a while. Allowed myself to be hypnotised. After all that had happened to me, I didn't complain. All I can remember after that is waking up. I said to Colette that I obviously wasn't a person who could be hypnotised. Some people can't be and I was obviously one of those. She just smiled, as did this hypnotist/doctor person. In fact, I'd been under for an hour and they had recorded everything I said. After listening to the tape, I can understand why Colette was so keen to have me do it. The hypnotist took me back to a previous life and started by asking what my name was. I told him my name was Elizabeth. I didn't mind being called Liz, but never Lizzie. It was a girl's voice. It was my voice, but a girl's voice. Since that incident with Joanne, my voice had simply refused to return to normal but this was the first time I had heard it recorded. But that wasn't half of it. I almost fell off my seat as I listened to the tape. "Hello Liz. Tell me how old you are and what you do." I told him I was 19 and I worked as a secretary in a munitions factory. I was quite lucky to be working in the office as most of the other girls were on the factory floor. That was because of the war, and all the men were away fighting. Well, most of them, I said. I said it was 1944. He asked me if I had a boyfriend. On the tape, I could hear myself giggle and ask him why he wanted to know. This was getting embarrassing. Yes, I did have a boyfriend, I told him. He was in the RAF and was stationed at Northolt, which meant he was home more often than the men in the Army. He asked what I was wearing. I told him I was wearing a long A-line skirt that came down to just below my knees, my shiny black high heels and stockings. When I giggled, he asked my why I was giggling. I told him the stockings had been a present. I giggled again when he asked who had given them to me, and I only answered when I made him promise not to tell anyone. They were a present from an American airman. We couldn't get nylons in England at that time and if you had a fellah from America, he could get them for you. Yes, I know I've got a fellah in the RAF, but at times like these, girls had to look after themselves. Keep their options open. Of course, a guy like that would give you a pair of nylons as a present, but he would expect something in return. We'd been to the cinema the previous night. He'd starting rubbing his hand up my leg, feeling the stocking, and the stays by which it was attached to my garter belt. He'd tried to put his hand right up there. He said my seams weren't straight, and he was just going to fix that for me. The dirty sod. Not that I wanted to stop him, but we didn't want any accidents, did we? We didn't want any little strangers arriving in nine months, did we? A girl has to be careful. Mind you, I did 'touch' him down there. I felt he'd earned it. And he certainly liked it. "I'm seeing him again later. Carl, his name is. From Utah. He wears one of those leather flying jackets. When he puts his arm around you, you just sort of melt into him. If he knows what's good for him, he'll have some presents for me. Nylons. Lipstick. I'd be very grateful. And prepared to show my gratitude." I couldn't believe that this was my voice. That I had said those things. It may have been in a previous life, but there I was, two-timing my boyfriend and enjoying the attentions of a handsome American. Colette smiled at me. She told me there was more. The hypnotist took me back to another previous life. This time it appears, I was in the Middle East, or somewhere in Asia. "When we were captured, we became effectively slaves," I heard my voice say. My female voice. "Previously we had been farmers and I had been expecting to get married and raise a family. I was about 15 when I was taken. Most of the men were immediately castrated. Full castration that is, both penis and testicles. The women were either raped or killed, sometimes both. "The only ones who were not harmed physically were us younger, prettier girls. We were told that that the kafir had use for us. "I suppose you could say we were put in a harem. And the kafir would make use of us as his will desired. I had a man who was going to be my husband before we were captured but he was one of the first to be castrated. He became one of the slaves of the kafir, and worked in the harem. "Of course he was no use as a man any more. They even cut his vocal cords, so he could no longer talk. "What could I do? I was offered the chance of working in the fields, but that would mean probably dying through malnutrition or through the cruelty of the masters. I became a harem girl. "Every night, we would dance in front of our master. He would choose one, or two, or even three girls to spend the night with. We had to do everything we could to make ourselves attractive. Perfume, jewellery. And our lord would make my former betrothed watch. He had to watch as my new lord deflowered me. And continues to enjoy me. "On the first night, they chained him to the wall and forced him to watch. He was powerless. No penis, no testicles, not able to speak, but just able to watch as I was led in in my finery, powdered and perfumed, bejewelled and painted for my master's pleasure. My dress was light and diaphanous, leaving nothing to the imagination. My master beckoned me over to him. I was to dance sensuously in front of him. I had been taught how to arouse him. To kiss him, to lick him. To take his manhood in my hand, in my mouth. His manhood was larger than anything I had ever imagined. I am sure my betrothed saw the look on my face as I saw my master's manhood for the first time. "My master eventually took hold of me. He was so much bigger than me and could pick me up with one hand and plant my on his lap. I could feel his manhood pushing into my back space. He held me gently but firmly in one hand while his other came round and massaged my most sensitive place. "My master looked at my former betrothed and sneered. My master said: 'She is sweet? Yes. You would like her for yourself?' He put a finger in my most intimate place. I tried to squirm, to get away, but even with one hand he could easily hold me in place. He took the finger out and licked it. 'Look,' he said to my betrothed, 'She is ready. She is damp with desire for her new master. Look how wet she is.' "My held up his finger under my former betrothed's nose. My former betrothed was mad with anger, trying to bite and fight. "She is ready for her man. Would you like it to be you? Could it be you? Speak, eunuch, speak, castrato. Can you? Can you service your woman? Can you be a man?' "Of course, he couldn't. I was carried back over to the bed. He lowered me down onto his manhood. As he penetrated me, there were two screams. There was the painful, agonising howl of my former betrothed. And there was my scream. My scream was part pain, part feeling the agony of my former betrothed. But it was also a scream of pleasure. I couldn't help it. I knew what it was doing to my former betrothed. But he would never be able to satisfy me. My lord's massive organ almost cut me in half. I could feel it filling me. I had never felt anything like it in my life. His huge hands were under my arms, lifting me up and putting me down. I could not stop him. My former betrothed could not stop him. As he violated my body, a terrible thought entered my mind. I was enjoying it. I was gasping with pleasure. I tried to stop but I could not. My master looked at my former betrothed and laughed. See what I do to your woman? See what a real man can do for her?' "He looked at me. 'Do you want me to stop, little one?' I couldn't help it. 'More,' I screamed. 'More!' 'See what I have done, slave?' he said to my former betrothed. 'I have taken your woman. She is mine. She is one of many that is mine. She will have her turn. She will beg me to violate her, every night. And I will oblige. You have lost her. From now on, she will not think of you, except maybe as a helpless, sexless beast. She will think of me. She will think of my manhood. She will think of this.' "A tremendous wave of pleasure that flooded through me. Again and again. My master was right. I was his. Whereas before I had been attached to my betrothed, I was now the property of my master, my lord, my owner. I thought of little else but his magnificent manhood. And how he would spear it into me. I pitied my former betrothed. He had not known me intimately. He never would. He never could. But another did." The tape finished. I sat there stunned. I simply could not believe what I had heard. Finally, Colette spoke, putting into words a thought that was already in my mind. "Even if you don't believe in it, previous lives and all that, it shows what is happening in your subconscious. Underneath the surface, you are female. You just don't know it." Finally, I got some words out. "That was me?" "It was your voice," said Colette. "It was the real you. Once you were in a harem. Then you slept with men in order to get stockings. I bet you looked really hot in all that 1940s gear. Tight skirts, high heels. We have many lives, Frankie. Even the females have to have one life as a man. That is what happened to you. Next reincarnation, back to female, I would imagine. Isn't that right?" The doctor nodded. "Your natural state is that of the female. We believe every reincarnation has its purpose in educating the soul. Every female must spend some time as a male, and vice versa. Next time, when you are female once more, you will be complete." "But," I said, "if I've been sent here as a male this time, I should live my life as a male. I shouldn't attempt to change it." "Sometimes, the true nature cannot help but reassert itself," said the doctor. "And," said Colette, "you've had some time as a male. It's time to acknowledge your female soul, Frankie. Soon, that thing between your legs will be a distant memory. It won't get hard any more. It'll be soft, and you'll want something hard in it. You'll wonder why you took so long. What all the fuss was about." "It's just these pills I've been taking," I said to the doctor. "I don't know what they are, but they must be hormones or something. Oestrogen." "What pills?" he said. "The pills all the 'girls' take. That bring out the female side in them, if there is one. You know, they don't work if you're not a little bit female." The doctor looked at me as if I was an idiot. He clearly didn't understand. "What are you talking about?" Colette looked me right in the eye but said nothing. I explained again. "There's no medication that can do that," he said. "Would that there was. It would solve a lot of problems." I looked at Colette again. "What were those pills then?" She took a long pause for speaking. "Aspirin. Nothing." The penny dropped. Finally. Colette came over and hugged me. "It's you, Frankie. All this is down to you." "Some of the girls, those that work at your club, and elsewhere, take hormones. They have some effect. Others have surgery. Cosmetic, you know the sort of thing. Once in a while, a very rare while," said the doctor, "changes happen spontaneously. This is what appears to be happening to you, Frankie. You fit the profile. If you believe in reincarnation, you were female in previous lives. If you don't believe in reincarnation, it doesn't matter, because there is a strong female streak in you, and it is clearly getting stronger. All those thoughts are in your subconscious. The female side is becoming dominant." "Is now dominant," said Colette. I could feel the tears coming again. I thought about everything that had happened. The male world. Was it mine any more? Did I really want to go back to it? To Joanne. And her lover. It was obviously all over between me and Joanne, but even if I found another woman, and it was me in the male role, was that really me? Could I cope with that any more? Could I handle the rejection, the pain? Or was the other route much simpler. To go to a place where men were falling over themselves to get at me. Was that the world in which I should live? Was it time to stop fighting, and go with the flow? Okay. I sat down for a moment. I didn't want to speak to Colette, I didn't want to speak to the doctor. "All right," I said finally. I noticed the pitch of my voice had still not returned to normal after last night's incident with Joanne. "Thank you doctor. "Colette, I would like to go to the club now." She didn't say anything in the taxi. She left me alone with my thoughts. When we got there, I asked to see the manager of the club, on my own. He was behind his desk. As I went in, I was walking differently. I wasn't doing it deliberately; it just happened naturally but there was a definite wiggle to my bum as I moved. I don't think my pokies were big enough to jiggle about much as I walked but nevertheless I could feel them on my chest. He sat back in his chair with this smug look on his face. It was as if something had happened that he had said would always happen. Okay. I was going to say it. "I'd like a job as a kitten, please." There was delight on his face, but not surprise. He knew this had been coming. "Well, well," he said as looked me up and down. "It's about time." I took that as an indication that I had got the job. I don't know what I would have done if he had said no. A lock of hair fell over my face and in my best femme way, I flicked it behind my ear with my middle finger. "You know what it means," he said. I told him I knew exactly what it meant. I could tell he had an erection at the thought of it. I wasn't embarrassed or uneasy with that now. It felt strangely correct. "What's your name?" he asked. I sighed. This was it. "Francesca." I was going to say Frankie. But that wouldn't do it for me now. I had to go all the way. I had decided in the taxi on the way over. "Not Frank?" he asked. "No. That's not my name." "Not Frankie?" "My name is Francesca," I said. "And what are you Francesca? A boy or a girl?" Again, a big moment. I could turn around and walk out. I didn't. I licked my lips, let my eyes drop and then looked up at him. I'd seen the girls in the club do it. I was ready to answer. "I'm a girl. A pretty little girl." It felt great. I felt... released. It was true. I was pretty. I felt little. And yes. I was a girl. "Have I got the job?" I asked. "Yes, yes," he said. He picked up the phone and asked Colette to come in. "Hello Colette," he said as she entered the room, "You know Francesca, don't you?" Colette smiled at me. "Yes I do," she said. I smiled at her. The first time I had smiled in days. "She's our new kitten. Can you help her out of that ugly outfit she's got on and into something a bit more appropriate?" I had been referred to as 'she' and 'her' and I for the first time in my life I hadn't objected. I'd have to get used to it. If anyone said 'him', 'he' or 'Frank', they wouldn't be talking about me. From now on, if it was 'she' and 'her' and Francesca. I liked that feeling. It was like shedding a skin. It was like taking off my male persona to reveal the female inside. I was Francesca. "What is tonight's theme?" said the manager. "Naughty schoolgirls," said Colette. "Perfect." I went off to the dressing room with Colette. I took off the trousers and T-shirt that Colette had given me earlier. I was naked. Colette looked at my body. Then, without any fanfare, any build-up at all, she rummaged around until she found what she was looking for. "Here" she said. "That should fit you." She held out the garment for me. Frank would not have been seen dead in it. Frankie neither. But Francesca had to. It was a bra, of course. Not a sports bra. Not something I could make out was some sort of unisex item. It was simple white bra, with a pink bow between the cups. A-cup with narrow straps. It wasn't too late. I could still walk out. I could run a thousand miles, start a new life somewhere else. As a man. As Frank. Take some male hormones. But I thought of that life. I thought of Joanne and what she had done to me. Did I want to try that again? Of all the useless relationships I had had with women. I thought of my previous lives, and that perhaps deep down I really was female. I'd been female before, I was going to be female again. I was going to be female now. I was female. I took the bra. "Now," she said. "It's difficult at first. You put it round back to front, do it up and then turn... oh. You've done it." I'd put it on very easily. I'd seen girls who put a bra on every day for years struggle to do it up. But me, I put my arms through the straps, put my hands around my back and did it up first time. I adjusted the straps slightly, and made it comfy, but it was on in a second. It was almost an anti-climax. All the resistance I had put up, all the male in me stopping me, and now, in a second, without a fanfare, I was standing there in a bra. "You're a natural," she said. Thoughts whizzed through my mind. How many bras would I have? More than one. Probably about five. Which I would keep in my undies drawer. And would some bloke, all fingers and thumbs, need help in getting my bra off me? The bra was comfortable. In fact, if I'm honest, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. So much better than the sports bra. It felt like I had spent my whole life building up to this. It just felt right for me to be wearing a bra. I think my little boobies had a spurt of growth as they nestled in the cups. I was glad about that. I knew that from now on, the first thing I would do in the morning for the rest of my life was put my bra on. It was okay. And a little more of Frank disappeared. A little more of Francesca took over. I knew that if anything needed doing around the club that required strength, be it throwing out a rowdy customer or even unscrewing a bottle, I wouldn't be doing it. They would have to get a man. A pair of matching white panties followed. Colette said something about virginal white, and looked at me, thinking if I was still a virgin. I was; at least as far has having sex with men was concerned. When was that going to happen? "Not that you've got much, but I'll show you how to hide that willy away." Which she did. She just tucked it under and you could barely see it was there at all. I think it had got visibly smaller over the last twenty- four hours. A week ago, I would have been horrified to discover that. Now it made me happy. So there I was. Standing there in my bra and panties, answering to the name of Francesca. My male clothes lay in a heap, discarded, along with my masculinity. "Stockings or tights?" she asked. "Stockings," I said in a fraction of a second. "Stay-up, or do you want a garter belt?" "Garter belt, of course," I said. "I thought we were supposed to be naughty schoolgirls." "You might want to take it slowly," she said. "You've only been a girl for about ten minutes." "Stockings and suspenders," I said. "Which ones do you want, Francesca?" There was a choice. White, black or tan. I went for the black. I knew how to put stockings on. I rolled them up until they were like rings, and gently unrolled them up my legs. I loved the way they felt; the way they gently gripped my legs. I strapped the suspender belt on and the one part I did have a little trouble with was attaching the stays to the stockings; a view the manager enjoyed enormously. He had wandered in to watch. "You sure do have a sexy pair of legs," he said. It was true. I did. What had been a weedy pair of legs on a man were suddenly very shapely and feminine once they were encased in nylon. "Men aren't allowed in here," I said. "Off you go." To my amazement, he left. "Already she knows how to treat men," said Colette. "But listen to me very carefully," she added. "There is absolutely no need to hurry this. Just let things take their course. You'll be doing all the things you want to do in good time." I fingered my nipple through my bra, pouted, and stuck a hip out. A most unmasculine stance. "So you think I look like a boy. Is that what you're saying?" I asked. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who is less a boy than you, Francesca. All I'm saying is don't rush into anything. I don't want to see you hurt. Don't be jumping into bed with the first man who sticks his dick towards you." Next was a thin, white cotton blouse. With buttons that did up the wrong way. Sorry. I should say the buttons did up the right way, the girl's way. The boy's way was the wrong way for me now. I could see the outline of my bra through the blouse. There was a saucy school tie, which Colette did up loosely around my neck. To tell you the truth, I didn't want to wear the tie. It was too male. But I knew the blokes in the club would love that little tie on their schoolgirls. And then the dress. A simple blue school dress. It came halfway down my thighs so it was quite short, just to the point where you could occasionally see my stocking tops and some milky white thigh at the top. I was in it in a second. After all I had done, all the resistance I had put up, it had ended with me simply slipping into a dress. The male phase of my life was over. We agreed on flat shoes. I wanted to try some heels but Colette said that all I'd get from that was aching calf muscles. As it was the first time I'd ever been seen in public in a dress, that was enough for tonight. Heels would come soon enough. As it was, she pointed out, I was going to turn heads tonight. I didn't have to push it. She combed my hair, and with the addition of pretty little pink hairclip, I was ready. It's difficult to describe my overall feeling. I suppose when you are a man, when you see a real man go into a room, he dominates the space. He walks in and says everything is mine, I'm in charge, and this space I inhabit is mine. I didn't feel like that any more. With these light and soft clothes on, the stockings gently gripping my legs, the suspenders on my thighs, the bra on my shoulders, I felt I wasn't really entitled to take up any space that a man might want. I seemed much lighter on my feet. I was constantly reminded of the decision I had made by the feel of the clothes. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for equality of the sexes. I always was. But I could see how men how come to rule the world. In these clothes, you felt different. But I had given all that up. I had given up the right to go into a room throw myself down on a chair and cross my legs at the ankle. I'd given up the right to leer after women, call them 'darling' and make suggestive remarks. Now when I went into a room, I'd sit down almost apologetically and cross my legs at the thigh, so no one could see my panties. I had no regrets. Colette make me walk up and down. If she thought I was going to walk like a man, she got a shock. I knew men rolled their shoulders as they walked, with the rest of the body relatively still. As I walked up and down, I kept my shoulders still and rolled my bum. You might almost say wiggle it. "You should have done this ages ago," she said. "Don't you think so? Don't you wonder why you held out for so long?" I couldn't help but agree. Charlotte came in. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Her approval was obvious. "You've forgotten one thing," she said. "Here." She pulled out a lipstick. Not being used to doing it, she painted my lips for me. "We'll show you all about make-up later," she said. "There's no time now. But you've got such a beautiful skin, you won't need much. Except on the lips." She told me to purse my lips, and then showed me how I looked in her make-up mirror. She was right. The lips were pill-box red, and full. They looked even sexier when I smiled. There I was, smiling again. I had to go back to the manager to get his final approval before I could start my career as a kitten. I knew exactly what to do. When it comes down to it, I was really a waitress now. I dare say before long I'd be in a waitress outfit. That would be cool. I could see myself dressed as a maid, or a cocktail waitress. I said I'd take the manager's drink in to his office. I knocked on the door. "Who is it?" he said. I didn't answer. I knocked again. "Who is it?" he demanded. I didn't answer. I heard his footsteps stride over to the door. He angrily threw the door open. He stopped in his tracks. His angry face changed to one of a very happy smile. I could almost see him get an erection. "Oh, it's you," he said. "I've brought you your drink, sir." I said. He allowed me into the room. I had the drink on a silver tray, which I held in the most waitressy way I could as I went over to his desk. As I set the drink down at his desk, I felt his hand on my stockinged thigh. It was like an electric shock. He took his hand away. "No," he said suddenly "What have I done?" I said. I'd done something to irritate him. "You see, Francesca? You flinched. That's the male in you. Start again. And remember you are a female now. And a kitten. You are going to be touched. Deal with it. Go back to the door and bring my drink over again. And don't walk like a man, either. Go on, girl." I did so. I hadn't walked like a man the first time, but this time I walked over with smaller steps, crossing my feet over as I did so, knowing that this would make my bum wiggle. I was expecting his hand on my thigh this time and I accepted it. He stroked and manhandled my garters, working his way up to my bum, which he fondled at his leisure. I jumped, but made sure I did so as a kitten; someone who was expecting to get her bum pinched. "Better. But not good enough. You need to babe it up, Francesca. Again." Okay. I could do this. Third time lucky. This time I minced over in an exaggerated fashion, licking my lips and catching his eye, making sure he could see I was enjoying this. Which I was. I brushed up against him as I reached the table and leaned right over him. Again I felt his hand going up my dress. This time I welcomed it. He seemed happy. I didn't know quite what I was supposed to do, but the one thing I did know was that if he wanted to feel me up, not only did I have to put up with it, I had to enjoy it. I was a kitten now. He absent-mindedly continued to finger and casually grope me when the phone on his desk rang. He used his other hand to answer it, and continued to play with me with the other. He became engrossed in his phone call, which was from some man, and seemed to forget about me. Then he suddenly remembered I was there. A flash of irritation came on his face and he waved me away without even looking at me. Dismissed as a mere piece of fluff. I didn't know what to do. I hesitated. "Go on, girl, out! I'm busy!" he said. He put his feet up on his desk and spoke into the phone. "David! When are we going to play golf?" I left the room feeling very confused. He was engrossed in his phone call. Colette was there to meet me. "How did that go?" she said. I explained what had happened. She laughed. "He always does that thing with the phone. Just lets you know who the boss is. Who wears the trousers." "And it's not me." "Correct." "So I'm just a bit of skirt now? For men to look at, feel up, and then discard when they feel like it?" Colette smiled. "Welcome to the world of women, Francesca. You've made this journey, you've accepted your female nature, but you don't think the world is suddenly a better place, do you? There's a little word: sexism. Now you're going to be on the receiving end of that, Francesca. You might get to wear the pretty clothes, but most men think you're only good for three things: cleaning, cooking and fucking. "Remember all those guys who were your mates? Nights in the pub and all that? They're not your mates any more. Even if they pretend they are. Now, they'd be friendly towards you because they want to get their hand up your skirt. They wouldn't discuss man things with you. Sport, all that. Politics. You're a chick. Chicks don't know anything about football." "I was a man until about an hour ago." "Doesn't matter. A guy sees you, he doesn't see a pal, he doesn't see anyone to talk business with. He sees someone to stick his dick into. How do you like that?" "I think you're the sexist one. I was never like that. And neither were my friends." "Try it and see. You'll see those friends in a whole different light. It's just how the world is. Especially for you and me, because we chose it. But if you saw your old friends, the men, and somehow they didn't know it was you, and Francesca I'm not sure they would, you'd find them very different people. To them, you're just a piece of tail now. You have to learn how to deal with that." I wanted to argue but there didn't seem to be much point because whatever happened in the outside world, in the Kitten Club I was exactly that: a piece of tail, a foxy little chick, a bimbo. Dressed as a schoolgirl didn't help my argument that I was anything other than an airhead. And how did that make me feel? I smiled at the thought of being 'a piece of tail'. I quite liked it. I wasn't an airhead; I knew that. I hadn't suddenly become stupid just because I had put a dress on. Quite the reverse, actually: I think I could now start to see the world as it really was. "And the other thing we don't want happening tonight," said Colette, "is the last embers of your dying masculinity reasserting themselves. You've crossed the line now. You're one of us. Don't forget it. Your job is to give men boners. You've been doing it ever since you first came in here, you do it naturally, but don't go thinking you're a man any more. Are you happy with that, Frank? We don't force anybody to do anything here. This is all your own free will." I knew exactly what to say. "Who's Frank?" I whispered. "Okay, okay. Francesca. Get to work." A few months ago, I'd come in here and been absolutely appalled that males would dress up in women's clothes, pretend to be females, and have sex with men. And here was I, doing it myself. Remembering back, one of the things had been that I couldn't believe anyone would quite happily give up their masculinity. Now, if a fight broke out in the club, I wouldn't be able to step in there and break it up, as I might have done before. Now, I'd probably start screaming. Hoping that a man would come and rescue us. As I left the dressing room, I was also thinking that people would laugh. A boy in a schoolgirl's outfit. I'd no longer be hiding behind the bar, with the customers turned on by the thought they could kill off my masculinity. That had already happened. I'd be mincing around the entire club, waiting tables, no doubt having my bottom pinched and squealing in faked outrage when it happened. I'd lean over them and let them have a glimpse of my lace-encased breasts. Could I carry that off? But even though I was self-conscious, even I could recognise I wasn't the least feminine of the kittens. Not that any of them were masculine. My little boobies weren't the biggest, but they weren't the smallest. A couple of the kittens were, in female terms, quite flat-chested. I felt sorry for them, and they looked at me with envy. Here I was, my first night in a dress and the lack of masculine shape in my chest was only too obvious. I might have only been wearing an A-cup bra, but at least I was filling it. They looked more like boys than I did. There was one thing to do first, of course. The bouncers were looking at me with their eyes popping out. I went over, put my arms over my head in submission, and waited to be frisked. Steve most definitely enjoyed his job that night. His hands started on my sides and as he worked his way up, he stopped as felt the outline of my bra. Even though I couldn't see him, I could sense his satisfaction as his fingers worked over the band and the straps. He did feel the cups as well, but he didn't linger on my budding breasts. Just like the manager, his big hands enjoyed themselves at the top of my stockings. "Get a room, you two," said one of the other bouncers as Steve put his hands round the front. I blushed. "Okay," said Colette, who had appeared from nowhere. "Leave her alone." I actually didn't need protecting. But I was grateful there was someone watching out for me. His hands left me. "That's quite enough of that," Colette said to Steve. She was quite angry. "Just doing my job," he said. I could feel myself turning red and I dropped my eyes as Colette took me quite roughly by the hand and led me away. I threw a quick glance at Steve. His eyes were still popping out at the sight of me. Colette pushed my into a corner. She was actually physically stronger than me. "Listen," she said. "Very important. Do not do this too quickly. Let things happen at their own pace. Otherwise you'll get hurt." "That's a bit ironic," I said. "All this time you've been pushing me to accept that I'm a girl, and now I've finally done it, you're telling me to slow down. I don't understand." "Your job... at first," she said, "is to tease these men. Trust me. I've been right so far, haven't I? The last thing you want to be doing is dropping your panties the very first day you've put them on. By the look on your face, you just want a man to have his way with you because you think that's what's girls do. It isn't. We live in a male dominated world, Francesca, as I said. But us, the girls, if we're clever, we can control them without them even knowing it." "Charlotte went off with a bloke, Rod, her first night," I argued. "She did not. Believe you me, she'd been building up to that for quite some time. All I'm saying, is take it slowly. I have seen this before, you know. You're a very pretty girl, Francesca. They'll all be after you. Make your choice carefully." I agreed with her. Partly because she was a sort of mother hen, if I can say that without being rude to her. A mother hen to all us chicks, but a cool chick in her own right. The time had come. I was going to make my debut as a kitten. I walked out into the bar area. When I'd been a man, I'd never been heavy footed but now I was... not a man any more, but a kitten, I felt my lighter on my toes. I think it was the panties, and the stockings. You can't do anything but float around the place when you've got those sort of clothes on. I couldn't anyway. I was aware of every eye on me as I walked over to the bar. Every man in there, undressing me with his eyes, wondering if he could get his hand in my panties. That just made me feel even lighter. He was in there. I don't have to tell you who 'he' is. He looked at me, almost devouring me with his eyes. He was the hunter and I was most definitely the prey. I was frightened. "Well, well, well," he said. "Doesn't little Frankie look pretty." END OF PART THREE: THE FOURTH AND FINAL PART OF THE KITTEN CLUB WILL BE POSTED SOON.