Vacation In France free porn video

Vacation in France By Belle Gordon The afternoon temperature in Provence stood at 34 degrees as Sir Sydney Blessington parked his hire car in the shade at the rear of the chateau. The air was still, without a breath of wind to bring any relief, and upon alighting from the cars air-conditioned interior his sweat glands were forced into overdrive. He couldn't wait to plunge into the cool waters of the swimming pool. It was an hour drive from Nice Cote D'Azur airport to the chateau. The road took them through the town of Grasse; the hilltop village of Cabris and along the narrow winding Chemin de Stramousse to the chateau. Situated in the foothills of the Alpes-Maritimes the views were spectacular. The villa was set back from the road and was surrounded by a high stone walls and ancient olive trees which gave the place a great deal of privacy. Sir Sydney had inherited the house when his father died. Sir Arthur Blessington had purchased it soon after the war's end when this sort of property was very cheap and commonly available. It had been almost derelict then and over the years it had been extensively renovated till now it was a large comfortable dwelling. The thick stone walls kept the interior cool and dim, and the clever use of running water from the fountains and little streams gave a feeling of tranquillity. The swimming pool was the most recent addition; an addition his wife had insisted upon. He'd decided to visit the villa partly because his wife and her sister had gone to Australia for a month to see a relative; an old uncle of theirs who was nearing the end of his life and whom they were afraid would die before they could see him, and partly because he had some important business to attend to. The chateau was one of several properties he owned in various locations all of which had their charms, but this was his favourite. For the past few years, he and his wife had spent their winters here rather than suffer the cold and damp of London or the noise and tempo of California. He enjoyed the solitude, and the peace and quiet (apart from the constant racket of the cicadas) and the gentle slow pace of life. Now that he was semi-retired he planned to spend most of the time here only travelling to his London office when absolutely necessary. His companies were run by excellent directors and managers whom he rarely needed to meet. Mobile phones, emails, video conferencing etc meant it was a simple matter to stay in contact. The only fly in his otherwise contented ointment was Sinclair, his sister-in-law Madeline's son. He was the result of Madeline's disastrous marriage to Rodney Joyce, a thoroughly disagreeable rouge and chancer. Sydney never understood what she saw in him and was not the least surprised when they were divorced soon after Sinclair's birth. An incorrigible womanizer, he'd run off with a woman half his age and taken most of Madeline's money with him He'd had little to do with the boy over the years and saw him only rarely. Sinclair was the pale, thin, wimpy introverted sort of youth with long unkempt hair. The kind of teenager who spent far too much time in front of a games consul, eating junk food and exercising not at all. Sir Sydney had been obliged to bring him along as he had adamantly refused to go to Australia with his mother, and Madeline had been equally firm in her refusal to allow him to remain in London on his own. The trip didn't start off too well. Sinclair was so late getting to the airport that the cabin crew were about to close the aircraft doors when he arrived flustered and panting. He grumbled and complained throughout the entire flight saying that if he was nearly old enough vote he was surely old enough to be left on his own. A state of affairs Sir Sydney doubted if his time keeping was anything to go by. Because of his frantic dash though check-in and security it was no real surprise that his luggage failed to appear on the carousel at Nice airport. The boy had also lost the baggage trace ticket so the Lord knew when he'd be re- united with it. * * * The house was built in a crescent shape around a central courtyard with the bedrooms and living area at the front overlooking the splendid view and the swimming pool. There were two bedrooms at the front and the third at the rear. The third was full of the accumulated junk that inevitably arises over time and was used as a storeroom. The bedrooms with their en-suite bathrooms and adjoining dressing rooms were at either end with the living and dining areas in the centre. Sliding patio doors opened from the bedrooms and living area onto a stone flagged terrace that ran the entire length of the property. Mature olive trees offered welcome shade when dining alfresco. Charlotte and Sydney had long ago decided that separate bedrooms were the best option as they found it more comfortable sleeping alone in the heat. Their active sex life had ceased many years ago so this was not a concern. Although she was twenty five years his junior and still an extremely attractive woman Sydney found here sexually unappealing and could no longer get aroused by her. What very few people knew was that he was a latent homosexual and had several affairs with young men. He and Charlotte had married mainly for appearances sake and for their mutual convenience and over time a form of platonic love had evolved between them. For the first few years of the marriage he'd managed to perform coitus, but this had gradually ceased. He'd worried that she would feel deprived and become resentful by his lack of sexual interest and had offered her a divorce, but she was not a particularly sensual woman and had declined. Like her husband she'd indulged in few discreet casual relationships that satisfied her meagre needs, and now they were both happy and content with the way things were. Because they occupied separate bedrooms it was more convenient to put Sinclair into Charlotte's room rather than swap things around. It made no sense to move his stuff out of one room and into the other and vice versa. He showed the boy into Charlotte's room. "I hope you don't mind using my wife's room?" he said. "I'm afraid it's the only one available and it's much easier than moving all my stuff." "Naw, I don't mind," Sinclair drawled, "'though I dunno what I'm gonna wear till by bag arrives." Sydney looked at him, sweating in his wholly inappropriate jeans, flannel shirt, fleece and heavy shoes, the perfect attire for the cool, wet England he'd left behind but not for the south of France. "Nor do I," he said. He thought for a moment appraising the lad, then said, "You're about the same size as Charlotte so you might find a pair of her old tennis shorts you can borrow if you want to swim. I'm afraid all my clothes would be far too big for you." He patted his forty inch waist that sixty years of good eating had produced. "You mean it'll be OK to borrow Aunt Charlotte's things? You're sure she won't mind?" He said seeking confirmation that he was being given permission to inhabit the ultra feminine room of his aunt; a woman who had been the subject of several adolescent wet dreams. "Of course she won't mind. I'm sure she had loads of old clothes that you could make use of till your own stuff gets here. See you in the pool," he said, leaving Sinclair looking somewhat bemused. Sinclair stared round the room in wonder. He couldn't believe his good fortune. He was being allowed to sleep in the same bed as his dream girl. He walked to the bed and sat on the edge. His hands felt the satin sheet and pillow case. He opened the drawer to the bedside locker and was shocked to find, amidst the tissues, jewellery, books and papers a life size plastic phallus. He moved to the vanity seat and scanned the myriad bottles, jars, tubes and tubs of her make-up. Hardly daring to look he slid the top drawer of the dressing table open and found it full of silk and lace. He couldn't guess how many pair of panties was contained within nor how many bras were in the next drawer down. A quick look revealed that all four drawers were stuffed full of every kind of lingerie. Moving to the walk-in closet he was staggered by the number and variety of dresses, skirts, blouses, jackets and suits that hung on the rails. He ran his hands along the rack noticing all the various styles and colours of the dresses, ranging from skimpy miniskirts to full length evening gowns. In a separate stack of shelves were at least thirty pairs of shoes. Again there was a pair for every occasion, from plastic crocs to casual slips-ons to spindly stiletto heels. Stepping back out of the closet he sat once more on the bed and contemplated his situation. He had seen nothing that would suffice for swimming, the ?old tennis shorts' were nowhere to be seen. As expected there were several swimsuits, both one piece and bikini but nothing that he could use. But he had to use something. Suddenly the idea of wearing a woman's bathing suit excited him. He'd often wondered what it would be like to wear women's clothing. He remembered an occasion, soon after he'd discovered the joy of masturbation, when he'd found a soiled pair of his mothers panties in the laundry basket and had slipped them up his legs. The sensation of wearing this most feminine garment had been mind-blowing. He'd become instantly erect and the touch of the silk on his member had brought him to a shattering climax. His legs had given way and he'd collapsed onto the floor ejaculating a huge quantity sperm into the panties. His reaction had so frightened him that he swore he'd never do it again. But now the thought of wearing something of his aunts was exciting him again. He selected a one piece swimsuit with a halter neck and high cut leg. It was turquoise blue with a cerise diagonal stripe. Stripping off he held the garment up wondering just how to put on. Pushing his legs into the bottom half he wriggled it up over his hips and bum. There was a complicated arrangement of straps that he eventually managed to get his arms into and settle across this back and shoulders. He pushed his semi hard cock between his legs so that the bulge was not too obvious, and slipped his feet into a pair of leather open-toed sandals with a slight heel. He stood then and walked without much difficulty to the full length mirror and looked at himself. What he saw appeared to be a slight young girl with a flat chest. He knew it was himself of course, but he suddenly understood why he was often confused for a girl. He turned this way and that looking at his reflection and he was pleased to see how well the suit fitted him especially over his firm shapely buttocks. Apart for the empty bra cups it could have been made for him. He was also surprised at how comfortable it felt. What uncle Sydney would think he didn't know, but he realized he didn't care. He wanted to dress as a woman even if it was only a swimsuit. Sydney was floating contentedly on an air bed, soaking up the rays of the sun and gradually relaxing when he heard footsteps on the stone flags. It took him a moment to understand what was odd about the footfalls. Instead of the slap of bare feet he heard the sound of heels striking the stones. He raised his head up and squinting into the glare of the sun perceived a remarkable sight. Walking along the edge of the pool and silhouetted against the sun was a young woman wearing a one piece halter top swimsuit and open toed sandals. He rolled sideways off the airbed and splashed into the water. Surfacing, he wiped the water from his eyes and stared at the girl as she spread a towel on a sun bed then kicked off her sandals. When she turned round and walked to the metal steps at the end of the pool he realized with a shock that it was Sinclair. He'd expected him to borrow and pair of running shorts or if not that a bikini bottom, not one of Charlotte's designer swimsuits. "I say, Sinclair. What do you think you're wearing?" Sir Sydney blustered. "You said I could borrow Aunt Charlotte's things," he replied innocently. "And I love this. It fits me perfectly. Don't you like it?" He did a slow turn, showing off the suit. As he turned his back to Sydney he slipped his fingers under the rear hem and pulled it down to cover his cheeks. Sydney had to admit that he really was a good looking boy. He'd never looked closely at Sinclair before, and when he had the boy was usually covered in shapeless hoodies and jeans. Now that he was almost naked he could see that he had a fine straight and slender body, his legs were long and shapely, a curvaceous bottom, slim arms and narrow shoulders. His long neck supported an elfin face with his mother's large lips and blue eyes. What Sydney had always thought of as a sallow completion he now saw was a flawless skin and a striking face with excellent bone structure. His nose was straight and narrow giving him an almost haughty air. If it wasn't for his straggly and dirty hair he could easily be mistaken for a girl. "Well yes, I suppose I do. As a matter of fact I like it very much," Sydney said. "I was just a bit surprised. It's not what I expected you to wear." He did a graceful dive into the water with hardly a splash, swam the length underwater and surfaced two feet in front of Sydney. Water streamed from his head and face. He blinked his long lashes and tossed his head throwing back a hank of hair. Up close Sydney saw his unblemished skin and total absence of beard, his thin arched eyebrows and long dark eyelashes. Once again he was struck by the classical beauty of this effeminate boy. Sinclair let out a whoop of delight, took a deep breath and plunged under the surface again swimming effortlessly to the side. Sir Sydney watched enraptured as Sinclair cavorted about like a young seal. Finally he climbed from the pool and lay on his sun bed stretching his arms above his head. Sir Sydney was spell bound watching the youth and was disturbed to discover he was becoming aroused. Being excited by cross-dressed males was nothing new for him however, as in the past he'd had liaisons with several transvestites, but what unsettled him now was that he was having these feelings for his own nephew. Wading to the ladder Sydney hauled himself out of the water, draped his bathrobe over his shoulders and said to Sinclair. "I'm going in for a nap. Supper will be at about half past seven." "Ok!" Sinclair replied, not opening his eyes. If he had he would have seen the look of lust in his uncle's eyes as he scanned his taught body. * * * Supper was a simple affair; pasta, salad, olives and cheese, washed down with a bottle of white wine. Sir Sydney was very conscious of Sinclair's presence and with what he wore. Throughout the evening he'd surreptitiously studied him without obviously starting at the boy. He was particularly aware of the perfumed aroma that surrounded him, a scent he was very familiar with being his wife's favourite Chanel. He saw also that he'd made an effort with his hair washing and combing it so that it fell about his neck and shoulders. After swimming Sinclair had taken a long bath liberally laced with his aunt's bath oils. He'd thoroughly washed and conditioned his hair so that it gleamed and shone. He dressed conservatively in a pair of his aunt's white linen trousers and a pink cotton blouse. His feet were bare even thought he had tried on several pairs of her heels which to his great delight he discovered fit him perfectly. He had deliberately not over dressed in respect for his uncle whom he suspected was a trifle uneasy with his cross-dressing, but he wished he could have worn some of Charlottes more flamboyant clothing. He had succumbed to wearing a pair of her white silk panties with a lacy front. (Well he had to wear underpants didn't he?) His only problem was keeping his member in check. At about ten o'clock Sir Sydney announced he was going to bed and wished Sinclair a good night. However, he was unable to sleep. He tossed and turned for hours vainly hoping that sleep would come but at two a.m. he was still awake. Throwing the single sheet off, he got out of bed, found his cigarettes and lit one. Remembering his wife's hatred of them and her ban on smoking indoors he walked out onto the terrace. It was very warm so he ignored his robe and wore only his pyjama bottoms. The light from the full moon was so bright that he could have easily read by it so he had no difficulty seeing. He padded silently around the courtyard smoking his cigarette and when he'd finished he carefully stubbed it out in a flower bed. He felt more relaxed now and thought he might sleep so made his way back to his room. Passing Sinclair's room he glanced in and stopped dead in his tracks. Lit by the moonlight was a vision of such beauty and loveliness that he gasped. Lying on his back, his long hair spread out on his pillow Sinclair slept. He wore a long silk nightdress that had a plunging neck line and a long slit up the side as far as his hip. The pure white material glowed in the moon light and the lace at the bust and hem stood out like snow. A strap of the gown had slid down over one shoulder and Sydney could see a dark nipple standing out on the boyish chest. One leg was uncovered to the top of his thigh and the gown had opened to expose Sinclair's genitals. As Sir Sydney watched the boy's hand slowly slid downward over his stomach and gripped his cock that was standing proud and tall amid the sparse pubic hair and lazily begin to stroke it. Suddenly Sir Sydney realized that he too was erect and that his own hand was gripping his cock. With unblinking eyes fixed on the lewd apparition laying on the bed he slowly pumped his penis. Within only a few minutes he felt his climax approaching. He matched his strokes to those of his nephew and forced himself to slow his rhythm so as not to come too soon. Sinclair was well aware that his uncle was standing outside his window. He'd observed him smoking and moving about and when he'd stood outside he'd feigned sleep and watched through slitted lids as his uncle began masturbating. It greatly excited him knowing that another man should find him so alluring that he wanted wank whilst looking at him. Pretending to sleep Sinclair slowly spread his legs and let his hand slide across the silky nightgown to grip his own swelling member and began the slow rhythmic pumping that leads inevitably to ejaculation. Sydney was teetering on the edge of cumming and knew he could not hold back for much longer. His eyes were riveted to Sinclair's swollen cock that both his hands were now gripping. The pace of his strokes was increasing and he began to thrash about on his bed. His moans became louder and Sydney could now here the cries issuing from his lovely lips. "Oh yess! I'm cumming!! Ah fuck it is soooo goooood!!! Yes, yes yesssss, I'm cummmmmmiinnggggg!!!! Ahhhhhhhh!!!!! The boy came. He ejaculated spunk in a huge fountain that flew into the air and splattered back onto the lovely nightie. He paused and a second pulse greater that the first burst forth from his cock-head this time reaching his head and sticking to his hair. Then a third discharge shot from him again landing on his face and neck. The fourth and fifth eruptions were less powerful and merely dribbled out of his prick and soaked his hands and thighs. At the same instant Sinclair exploded Sir Sydney's climax erupted. Although nowhere near as voluminous in the terms of quantity it was equally powerful. He shuddered as his measly outpouring dripped to the floor but he had to hold onto the window jam to prevent himself falling. After what seemed like many minutes Sydney's breathing calmed and he opened his eyes. He glanced into the room again and was stunned to see Sinclair watching him with wide open eyes and smiling as he sucked cream from his fingers. * * * When Sinclair awoke the next morning the sun was already high in the sky. He could hear no movement so supposed Sir Sydney was at the pool. He rolled out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom where he raised the hem of the cum stained nightie and peed. The first thing he saw when he walked into the kitchen, propped against a tea pot was a note. Sir Sydney had to go to Cannes for a meeting and would not be back till this evening. Amuse yourself how you will. It said. After a slice of toast and a cup of tea he returned to Charlotte's bedroom, stripped off the stained night dress, threw it on the bed and selected a different bathing suit. He'd always wanted to wear a bikini so now was his chance. Charlotte had several and he picked a simple printed cotton one. He had trouble tying the cords behind his neck and back, but the side ties on the bottom were easy. It was barely adequate to hold his cock and balls but as he was alone he didn't worry. He found a large straw hat and a pair of high heeled cork wedges and minced down to the pool. He swam a few lengths then lay on the sun bed to work on his tan. He must have dozed for when he sat up he noticed that the sun had moved behind some trees. He needed something to drink so adjusting his bikini into the correct position he walked back to the house. He was looking into the fridge when a woman's voice said, "Bonjour, Mademoiselle." He almost died of shock and very nearly dropped the orange juice. Turning he saw a woman of about forty folding a towel. "Oh. Bonjour Madam," he stammered. She carried on unconcerned that he was wearing a bikini and high heels. Surely she could see he was a man. Perhaps her eyesight is poor, he thought. "I'm Madam Giselle Bovis," she said in perfect though accented English. "I come and clean each day and do any laundry. You must be Clair? No?" "Yyes I am," he said, "pleased to meet you." It was only later that he realized she'd called him Clair and by then it was too late to correct her. "You are very pretty girl Mon Cherri," she said. Sinclair blushed. "Madam's swimsuit looks good on you." "Merci beaucoup," he said. "Excusez-moi." And ran to the bedroom where he saw she had made his bed. His soiled nightie had been removed and replaced it with a fresh one. He sat on the bed wondering what he should do. It seemed incredible that she believed him to be a girl. His flat chest and bulging panty was a dead giveaway. About ten minutes later he heard, "Au revoir mademoiselle." And the front door banged shut. He breathed a huge sigh of relief to be alone again. But what to do now? He'd had enough sun for a while and wanted to go out and explore the region, but without his proper clothes, (for his suitcase had still not arrived), he wasn't sure what to wear. He investigated Aunt Charlotte's closet again. He selected an orange halter top that would leave his arms and shoulders bare and a pair of chocolate brown culottes that came to just above the knee. He found a pair of low heeled sandals that would be perfect. Stripping off the bikini he slipped into a pair of black lace panties then pulled up the culottes, fastening them at the side. Pulling the top down as far as it would go still left his midriff exposed and he debated whether to wear something different, but he liked the colour combination. With his feet in his shoes he inspected himself before the long mirror. There was no doubt that he could pass as a girl with the clothes and his long hair brushed so that it framed his face, but there was still something not quite right. As he turned sideways and peered over his shoulder at his image he realized what was missing. He had no bust. The top was designed to accommodate a woman's bosom but with his flat chest the front sagged and looking empty and ludicrous. He thought for a moment then opened a drawer in Charlotte's vanity and found the breast enhancers he'd noticed on his initial investigation. He slipped them inside his top but quickly realized that they would not stay put and he would need a bra to keep them in place. Of the many bras that Charlotte owned he chose one that was a subtle shade of lemon yellow, and after several attempts he managed to hook the clasps together behind his back and insert the falsies. With the top back on he saw that his bust was now nicely filled, but unfortunately the bra straps were visible on his shoulders and across his back. He worried about this for a moment then thought to hell with it; let the world see he was wearing a bra it added a new level of excitement. And anyway, he thought, he remembered seeing that lots of young girls and women with their bra straps in plain view and didn't seem to worry them. He liked the way he looked; young, feminine and sexy, but not tarty, the image of a young healthy vibrant girl. He donned a straw hat and tied a silk scarf over it knotted it loosely under his chin. He wondered if he should experiment with any make-up, but after a pause decided that the natural look was best, and anyway he wasn't sure he could apply it competently. He collected a large raffia shopping bag from the kitchen, found a purse, put some euros in it and left. Sir Sydney had told him that there were bicycles stored in the garage if he wished to use them so he wheeled a ladies Pashley model out and set off to cycle to the village of Cabris. The experience of being out in public dressed in girls' clothing he found extremely thrilling. He was consciences of the air blowing on the bare skin of his shoulders and legs and was especially aware of the tightness of his bra straps around his torso and the weight of the falsies in his bra cups. It was the first time he'd ever worn a bra and every movement he made was a new sensation on his body. He did not see many people during his ride to the village but as he approached the central square he saw people sitting under the parasols of the bars and cafe's drinking beer or coffee. To get to the Boulangeria would mean passing through the crowded square and as he slowed to negotiate a route around the tables he passed a group of four young men who all stared at him. Sinclair felt very nervous in the presence of these guys but had no choice but to continue. Not for the first time since he'd left the house he wondered what he was doing cycling around France dressed in women's clothing. Why didn't he just stay in the chateau until his suitcase arrived? His question was answered when he heard a low wolf whistle and a murmur of approval from the four guys. Glancing sideways as he wheeled passed he saw them ogling him, nudging each other and exchanging whispered remarks. Suddenly everything felt right. Their interest confirmed for him that what they saw was an attractive young woman and he was now sure he could pass without any difficulty. Their undisguised admiration told him he could successfully masquerade as a woman. The old crone in the boulangeria only glanced at him as he bought croissants and a baguette. He paid her, stowed them in his bag, and walked to the little shop that sold fresh fruit and vegetables were he bought tomatoes, lettuce, figs and greengage plums. The woman behind the counter was much chattier and asked if she was a visitor and where was staying? She complimented Sinclair on his nice top and hoped he'd have a nice stay. Collecting his bicycle he pushed it through the village walking slowly in no hurry to get back. He leaned the bike against a fence and sat on a bench and ate some fruit. He secretly hoped one of the boys who'd whistled at him would come by but no one did except an old man with a dog. When he returned to the villa he ate some bread and tomatoes then changed into another bikini and swam. Sinclair was soaking in a bubble bath when he heard Sir Sydney return. He was talking to another person who answered in a French accent. He listened intently but could not make out what was being said and their voices quietened as Sir Sydney led the stranger out into the courtyard. A few moments late there was a knock on his door. "Yes?" shouted Sinclair from the bathroom. "Sinclair may I come in?" asked Sir Sydney. "Yes, come in. I'm in the bath; I'll be out in a minute." Sinclair quickly got out of the tub and towelled himself dry. The only thing to wear was Aunt Charlotte's lacy peignoir that was hung behind the door. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and knotted the sash around his waist. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed that the robe was wholly inappropriate to wear in public as it was entirely see- through and gaped alarmingly. Sinclair experience a wicked thrill in the knowledge that the last time his uncle had seen him he'd had his ejaculating cock in his hands and now he was again flashing his semi erect organ, a condition caused by the luxurious and sensuous bath. "Hi uncle," Sinclair said as he exited the bathroom in a cloud of scented steam. "Excuse the gown, it's all there was in the bathroom to wear." "That's alright," he said. "It's very nice." Sinclair noticed that Sydney's eyes immediately fixed on his swaying cock that was exposed between the folds of the robe. The thrill of flaunting his penis before his uncle's avid gaze caused it twitch and swell to almost full tumescence. Sir Sydney licked his lips and swallowed saliva as the stared at the lascivious sight. "I have someone with me I'd like you to meet," he said dragging his eyes away from Sinclair erection. "He's a colleague and friend of mine. Actually he's nearer your age than mine and I thought you might like to go out together one evening and have some fun. I know it must be boring for you on your own all day." "Oh," Sinclair said. "I'd like that, but what about my clothes? My bag has still not arrived." "I'm sure you can find something of Charlotte's that would serve. Jean- Claude is very open-minded. Make yourself decent then come out and I'll introduce you." Sir Sydney gave Sinclair's swollen penis a last lingering look and left. He donned a clean pair of panties and found a pair of high waisted tailored slacks in soft gray cotton. He would love to wear a bra and the breast forms. He'd found it perfectly natural to wear one and he missed the feel of the straps, but he thought better of it. He slid his arms into a white silk blouse with balloon sleeves and double cuffs. On his feet he wore a pair of black leather flats, which even without heels were clearly a woman's shoe. Walking out to the courtyard he found Sir Sydney and his visitor seated under an olive tree drinking tall glasses of something cold. Seeing Sinclair arrive Sydney and the stranger stood up and held out a hand. "Sinclair, my dear, I'd like you to meet my friend Jean-Claude de Banville. Jean-Claude this is my nephew Sinclair Joyce." "I'm very pleased to meet you Sinclair. Sir Sydney has spoken a lot about you today. It seems you have made a big impression on him," he said in perfect English. They shook hands then Jean-Claude leaned forward and kissed Sinclair on both cheeks in the continental manner. Sinclair joined them at the table and Jean-Claude poured a glass of cordial for him. As he sipped he surreptitiously studied Jean-Claude. What he saw was a very handsome although effeminate man who was dammed attractive. He was a little taller than Sinclair; was dressed casually in an open shirt and shorts. His chest was devoid of hair as were his forearms and legs and his skin was tanned a deep walnut. He had the classic Mediterranean looks and fine features. His thick hair was a rich auburn and was fashionably long. His eyes were deep brown, almost limpid black. Sinclair could see from his toned limbs that he kept himself in good shape and must work out regularly. Sinclair listened to their conversation but didn't join in and presently Jean-Claude said he had to go. He wished to get back to Cannes before it got too late. "Have you seen the cote d'zur, Sinclair?" Jean-Claude asked as they shook hands again. "No not at all. All I've seen is the road from the airport," he replied. "Then if you will allow me I shall be honoured to show you the sights. I will pick you up in the morning at say eleven o'clock if that suits you?" "I'll look forward to it." * * * Precisely at eleven he arrived driving an open topped Porsche 911. Sinclair's luggage had still not arrived, so he'd been obliged to borrow from his aunt's extensive wardrobe once again. Not that he minded. He was becoming accustomed to the feminine way of dressing and was beginning to prefer it. The clothes were prettier, more colourful and softer than in his usual male garb and he felt far more comfortable and at ease in them. So today he wore a thin cotton floral sleeveless blouse and linen shorts. He particularly liked the shorts. They were pure white, came to mid thigh and had an inch cuff. The matching fabric belt had a large silver buckle. He noticed that the seams of his panties were visible under the thin material but they showed his legs off beautifully. He was quite proud of his legs; they were smooth, long and shapely, and were getting a nice tan. On his feet he wore comfortable walking shoes with an inch heel. He slung a large bag over his shoulder into which he'd put sun cream, water, tissues and money. There was also a quantity of make- up; lipstick, mascara, eye shadow, compact etc, which his aunt had left. His freshly washed hair was tied back in a pony tail with a colourful Hermes scarf that hung down his back. Jammed onto the top of his head was a large pair of sun-glasses. He'd checked himself several times in the mirror wondering if he was a bit too femmy. But with only women's clothes to choose from he was bound to appear effeminate, and the alternative was to wear a dress or a skirt and he didn't think he was ready for that yet. He thought he could just about get away with being dressed as he was without raising too many eyebrows ? after all the French were a cosmopolitan nation and were supposedly broad minded. He asked Sir Sydney what he thought. His uncle had eyed him approvingly, made him do several twirls before pronouncing that he look ravishing. Flattering; but not what he'd wanted to hear. Jean-Claude opened the car door for Sinclair to get in then sped off with the car spitting up dust and chippings. Jean-Claude drove fast and competently and they spent the day touring the region. They drove through Cannes, Nice and on to Monaco where they ate a late lunch by the harbour in Monte Carlo. They drove back along the Grande Corniche arriving back at the chateau as the sun was setting. Sinclair invited Jean-Claude in when they arrived back at the villa and they joined Sir Sydney in the shady courtyard and drank iced tea. After a while Jean-Claude announced he had to go but before he did he asked Sinclair if he would like to attend a reception with him the following evening. "Sir Sydney wants someone he trusts to go as it could lead to a lot of business," he said. "He'll explain the details to you later. Would you care to accompany me as my partner?" "Oh, I'd love to," replied Sinclair immediately, "The thing is I have a bit of a problem with clothes at the moment. You see..." "Don't worry about that," Jean-Claude cut him off before he could explain. "Your uncle says he knows exactly which of his wife's outfits will suit you perfectly. I know he'll find something special for you to wear. I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow evening. Au revoir." He kissed Sinclair on the cheek and was gone. Sinclair stood at the door watching Jean-Claude speed off along the lane and he wondered what he'd meant with his remark about his uncle finding him something special of his aunt's. Did he know that he'd been wearing her clothes? Had it been so obvious that the shorts and shirt he'd worn all day belonged to his aunt? And should he be concerned if he did? Had Sydney told him about his lost luggage? Did he approve or disapprove? Pondering these questions he returned to where is uncle sat. "You're probably wondering what all this reception business is about," Sir Sydney began. "Well, sit down and I'll explain. There is a trade delegation from Nyanga in Nice at the moment. You've probably never heard of Nyanga which wouldn't surprise me as not many people have. It's a newly independent state that used to be part of Burkina Faso in West African. Recently they have discovered huge reserves of copper and tin, and they naturally wish to exploit this resource as soon as possible to bring much needed foreign currency into their coffers. They are presently looking for companies with the expertise and equipment to recover it and sell it on the worlds markets. I needn't tell you it will be worth hundreds of millions of dollars to whoever wins the contract to extract the ore. And I mean to get it, or at least a very large part of it. What I want you and Jean-Claude to do, and you in particular, Sinclair, is to get close to the leader of the delegation who also happens to be their Minister for Mines and Natural Resources. His name is General Julius Nkomo, a ruthless despot and tyrant, a man of great power in the country. It was he who led the revolution that won their independence. He is the power behind the throne, as it were. The president is mere puppet, a figure-head with no real power at all. It is Nkomo who pulls the strings." "But what can I do?" asked a bewildered Sinclair. "I know nothing of diplomacy or contracts or mines, or anything." "All you have to do is look nice and smile sweetly at the General. Once you have captivated him Jean-Claude will do the rest." "Captivated him? What does that mean? Am I to be some sort of lure to ensnarl him? A, what do you call it, a honey pot?" "That is exactly what you are to be," saidSir Sydney. "Let me tell you something. It has not escaped my notice that you have enjoyed wearing my wife's clothes these last few days. I've seen the way you preen and strut about like a prima-donna." He raised his hand to forestall any protest. "That is perfectly ok and I have no objection. There are a lot of men who cross-dress but you have a special talent for it. You have an unusual ability to mimic a woman and I intend to use your gift to help persuade the General to award me the contract. My sources have discovered that General Nkomo has certain sexual preferences, and in particular a predilection for pretty boys dressed in girl's clothes. So in exchange for allowing you to indulge your new found fascination with the feminine wardrobe, I want you to do this small thing for me. Do this and your mother and your aunt need be none the wiser. Call it blackmail if you like but the stakes are so high that I will use every trick and ruse I can. I will stop at nothing to win this contract." Sinclair stared at his uncle open mouthed. He hadn't realized how perceptive he was with regard to his cross-dressing, and he was beginning to see his uncle for the ruthless and unscrupulous man he was. Necessary attributes for the success of the multi-million dollar business he ran. "All you have to do is to pretend to be the young sweet girl that I know you can be and be nice to the General. Flirt with him; flatter him; let him think you are available for a bit of fun. Know what I mean? Or do I need to spell it out?" "You want me to masquerade as a woman and seduce this tip-pot general so that you can make even more money?" Sinclair said, hardly believing what he heard. "No one said anything about seduction. All you have to do is dress up nicely; Charlotte has a dress that will be perfect for you, and have an enjoyable evening. Jean-Claude will handle any negotiations. What do you say?" he wheedled, "it will be fun and I bet you're dying to really dress up to the nines." Sinclair was still shocked by the proposition but in the back of his mind there was a stirring of excitement. Sir Sydney was correct in that he was keen to really see how attractive he could become in his aunt's finery. He was eager to see just how convincing he could be en-femme. And Jean-Claude was a very attractive man whom he would not be ashamed to have as an escort. "Let me think about," he said. "I'm not sure I could be convincing enough. I've only been wearing aunt Charlotte clothes because I had no alternative. I admit I do look a bit like a woman, I'm forever being confused for a girl back home, but there is more to it than that. I don't know how to walk properly, or sit or behave like a girl. My voice isn't right; my speech patterns are not like a girls and I don't have the natural mannerisms of a female. No, I'd never get away with it. I'm sorry uncle, I'd like to help but..." he tailed off. "I thought you might say something like that," Sir Sydney said. "That's why Madam Bovis is coming later this evening to give you some instructions on how to apply make-up and to act in a womanly way. Then in the morning she will cut and style your hair, give you a manicure and help you get ready. So there's nothing to worry about." * * * True to his word Madam Bovis worked wonders on him. Sinclair was a quick learner and rapidly mastered the art of applying eye shadow, rouge and lipstick. She taught him how to sit, stand, and walk in high heels; how to bend and stoop in a decorous manner, and how to get into and out of a car whilst wearing a skirt without flashing his knickers. She cut and set his hair in rollers and manicured his finger nails. Because of years of neglect it was necessary to stick on false acrylic nails which Sinclair found very difficult to get used to. Madam Bovis was delighted to see that his ears were already pierced, (the result of an act of defiance when his mother forbade him getting a tattoo.) and that the holes only needed opening up. By late afternoon Madam had done all that she could. It was now up to Sinclair. He took a nap and soaked in a long perfumed bath. By seven o'clock he was ready and he couldn't believe the transformation that had taken place. Staring at the mirror he beheld a beautiful young woman whom he thought could not possibly be him. He'd had to pinch his own arm to convince himself that the reflection was in fact he. His hair had been styled into and up sweep and cleverly pinned in place so that his neck and ears were visible. Thin wispy ringlets curled at each side of his face. Madam Bovis had worked wonders on his make-up applying foundation, blusher, eye-shadow and mascara and painting his lips into an adorable cupid bow. The ?perfect' dress that Aunt Charlotte owned was a simple black crepe knee-length shift dress with cap sleeves. It was gathered under the bust with a pattern of black sequins. A thin silver belt encircled his waist to give an accent. The neck line was not too low and with the aid of sticky tape to pull his pecs together, an underwire bra and the falsies, Sinclair had attained a convincing cleavage. His already small waist was further decreased in size with the aid of a waspie which doubled as a suspender belt to support his nude tone nylons. On his feet he wore black patent leather shoes with a three inch heel; a height he found comfortable for walking. Finally the whole ensemble was completed with chandelier earrings and a matching necklace, which to Sinclair's great surprise were real diamonds; a diamond studded ladies wrist watch on one arm and a diamond bracelet on the other. Sir Sydney, Jean-Claude and Madam Bovis applauded Sinclair when he exited his bedroom. As Madam Bovis handed him a silver sequined clutch bag Sinclair notice a tear spill from her eye. "Oh oui, Mademoiselle Clair, vous semblez beau," Madam Bovis enthused. "Yes my dear Clair, you do indeed look beautiful," echoed Sir Sydney. "Jean-Claude is a very lucky chap to have such a lovely girl on his arm." "Thank you uncle," Sinclair said, a faint blush suffusing his neck. "I just hope the General will be as impressed." "Of course he will. Now off you go and enjoy yourself." * * * The reception was held in the Nyangan consulate, a modest building on the Boulevard Dubouchage, and was already in full swing when they were arrived. They were announced by a liveried butler and joined the line to be presented to the General. General Julius Nkomo was an authoritative man of well over six feet. His shining black head gleamed like a bowling ball slashed through with a scar of shining white teeth. His huge chest stretched his uniform tunic tight and was ablaze with colourful medals, decorations, stars and orders, most of them self awarded no doubt. On his shoulders were epaulettes of heavy gold and around his waist was buckled an ornate sword in a bejewelled scabbard. "Excellency, may I present Miss Clair Joyce?" said Jean-Claude as they arrived before the great man. "Enchante, Mademoiselle," rumbled the General from somewhere deep in his chest. "Miss Joyce is the niece of Sir Sydney Blessington whom I believe you know?" "Indeed I do. Thank you for coming this evening, M. De Banville, and for bringing such a charming young lady with you." He took Sinclair's proffered hand and brought it to his lips and kissed the backs of his fingers. Sinclair was so taken aback with his show of chivalry that he unthinkingly curtsied. The General held onto Sinclair's hand for longer than was necessary as his eyes scanned the young woman from head to toe and back again. Standing this close Sinclair was almost overwhelmed by the powerful animal magnetism and intense masculinity that radiated from the man that he felt his knees go weak. Here indeed was an alpha male he thought. Turning to woman who stood at his side the General said. "Patricia, this is Miss Clair Joyce; Miss Joyce this is Patricia Ombuli, my personal assistant. Patricia, will look after you for the evening and I look forward to seeing you later Clair." He turned away and devoted his attention to Jean-Claude. Patricia Ombuli was one of the most beautiful and striking women Sinclair had ever seen. She was taller than Sinclair by a good three inches. She stood straight and erect with her shoulders back and her head held proudly high. Her figure was slim but with nicely proportioned breasts and hips. Although her skin was very back she had the features and long straight hair of a European. She must be from Somalia or Southern Ethiopia Sinclair thought; women from that region of Africa were renowned for their striking good looks. But her most arresting feature was her green eyes. Patricia took Sinclair by the hand and led him away in the direction of the bar, stopping several times to introduce him to various dignitaries, whose names Sinclair promptly forgot. Finally armed with a white wine spritzer, Sinclair relaxed a little. Noticing the slight tremble in his hand she asked, "Are you alright, Clair?" "Yes, thank you. I'm just a bit nervous; I've never been to one of these events before and I feel a little out of my depth. In fact I've never even been to France before so the whole experience is new to me. "Well, there's no need to be nervous," Patricia reassured him. "The fact is that most of the people here are just after the free drinks and food. We have to invite them because it's the correct form; we invite them they invite us back and so it goes on." Later Jean-Claude found the two girls surrounded by sweaty, slightly drunk men, and announced that it was time to go. Sinclair was amazed to see that two hours had passed and he was beginning to enjoy himself. They made their apologies to the General and left. Jean-Claude hailed a taxi and instructed the driver to take them to the Hotel Negresco where rooms had been booked for them. A Doorman wearing a top hat and a long tailed coat opened the door as they entered and Sinclair gazed about in wonder, staring at the fine furnishings and paintings whilst Jean-Claude checked in. The concierge directed them to the dining room where a table had been reserved for dinner. The Hotel Negresco is probably the finest hotel in Nice. Designed and built during the belle-?poque its legendry splendour had entertained many famous guests from rock stars to royalty. The meal was superb and the service impeccable. After an aperitif, several glasses of wine and brandy with coffee to finish, Sinclair was starting to feel tipsy. He giggled girlishly at Jean-Claude's jokes and flirted with their waiter, an improbably handsome man, who served their food with Gallic ?lan. After the meal they walked hand in hand along the Promenade des Anglais to the Palais de la Mediterranee with its imposing art-deco facade. The original building had been gutted by fire in 1934 but had since been rebuilt as a luxury hotel, restaurants and casino. And it was to the casino that they headed. Not having played any kind of gambling game before, Sinclair was at a loss as to what to do. Jean- Claude staked him with a hundred euro in chips and showed him how to bet on the roulette wheel. Beginning cautiously by betting only on black or red, odd or even his stake slowly began to increase. He became more adventurous and backed horizontal rows and vertical columns then groups of fours and sixes. Slowly the pile of chips before him grew to a substantial stack. He was debating with himself on whether to splurge on a single number when he felt a hand on his bare shoulder. Turning to see who had touched him he looked into the green eyes of Patricia Ombuli. "If I were you," she whispered into Sinclair's ear, "I'd cash in now. These places have a way of getting their money back." He gathered up his chips, tossed a blue fifty to the croupier, and followed Patricia to the cashier. He was astonished to find he had won almost four thousand euro. He folded the notes and carefully put them into his purse. He had never been so rich. They found a table to one side of the gaming floor, ordered coffee from a passing waiter, and watched the action. Through the crush of gamblers and spectators they could see Jean-Claude sitting at a blackjack table. Looking at Patricia Sinclair was again stunned by her beauty. Her high cheekbones, her long straight nose, her perfectly straight white teeth and of course her incredible green eyes, so shocking in her black face. "The General was very taken with you, Clair," she said. "In fact he wants to see you again." "Really?" said Sinclair. "I am surprised. I only spoke to him briefly when we were introduced." "Well you made a big impression on him. He was sorry not to see you again before you left. So he's instructed me to invite you on board his yacht for the day tomorrow." "Oh, that would be great," he replied before he'd given it any thought. Questions raced through his mind. What would he wear? He only had a nightie and spare underwear in his overnight bag that was at the hotel. He'd assumed they would return to the chateau in the morning so hadn't brought a change of clothes. And what would his uncle say? And the most chilling thought of all; what would the General do when he discovered Sinclair was a boy? Then he remembered Sir Sydney's words regarding the General's sexual preferences and the devious scheme to entrap the man. He shuddered with dread. He realized his mistake too late. Patricia was already on her mobile phone arranging for a car to collect him from the Negresco and drive him to Beaulieu where the boat was moored. "That's all fixed," she said snapping the phone shut. "A car will be at your hotel at nine in the morning." "But I've nothing to wear," Sinclair protested. "Oh, don't worry about that, you can borrow something of mine. Any anyway you'll be in a bikini most of the time." * * * The Rolls Royce was waiting outside the hotel when Sinclair emerged the next morning. He'd had a restless night dreaming that his deception had been discovered and an angry General Nkomo had thrown him overboard and watched as he'd been attacked by sharks, which was ridiculous considering the General's fondness for girly boys. Walking back to the hotel the previous evening he'd mentioned the invitation to Jean-Claude and been a little surprised that Jean-Claude knew about it, and he was even more surprised when Jean-Claude said he wouldn't be joining them. It was to be a private party with just the General, Patricia and himself. "But what'll I do when he finds out I'm not a girl?" Sinclair cried in desperation. "As he's bound to. Boats are only small things." "Don't worry. Everything will be alright," Jean-Claude reassured him. "Just be the person you are right now and only nice things will happen to you." Sinclair had puzzled over this last remark. Only nice things happening to him hinted that he knew something Sinclair didn't. The Roller cruised silently onto the dock and parked alongside an enormous ship. This can't possibly the yacht thought Sinclair, but then he saw Patricia walk across the gangplank and open the door for him to alight. "Hello Clair," she said. "It's lovely to see you again and looking as pretty as before. Come along and let's get you sorted." Patricia looked cool and fresh in white shorts and tee-shirt, her nipples showing perkily through the thin material and her hair tied back from her face with a scrunchy. That she had been up half the night and had drunk a considerable quantity of wine seemed to have had little effect on her. She led Sinclair by the hand up the gangway, along the deck, down a flight of stairs and into a cabin. The opulence was overwhelming. Polished teak deck boards, walnut cabinets with gold fittings, soft leather upholstery and crystal glassware. Sinclair could hardly believe he was on a boat. As he gazed about in wonder he felt the deck shudder slightly and realized they were getting underway. "Impressive, isn't it?" said Patricia, amused by Sinclair open mouth stare. "When you own a country you can afford this sort of stuff." She whispered confidentially in his ear. "Wow!" was all he could say. "We're going for a bit of a cruise along the coast. The sea is quite calm so you needn't worry about seasickness. I'll find you a bikini, or do you prefer a one piece? Then we can wait for Julius on the leisure deck." "A bikini will be fine, thank you," Sinclair said. He had by now resigned himself to the fact that discovery was imminent and so had decided to wear what he preferred. "That's good. I have one that will be perfect for your figure. You can change in there," she said pointing to a cabin off to one side. "When you're ready go through that door and up the stairs." The bikini Patricia had picked out for him was even skimpier than Aunt Charlotte's. The bra comprised two tiny triangles of thin cotton barely larger enough to cover his nipples joined together with lengths of tape. The bottom was a slightly bigger piece at the front and nothing at the rear and tied together at the sides with more tapes. Stripping off he hung his dress on a hanger and put it in a wardrobe, his bra and panties he put into his holdall. He managed tying the strings fairly easily having had some practice previously, but he was appalled to see that the bottom half barely contained his package. Obscene was how he described what he saw in a mirror. "Are you alright down there?" called Patricia from above. "Do you need any help?" "No thanks, I'm on my way," Sinclair replied. He made a despairing attempt at tucking his penis back between his legs but it was still obvious he was no girl. Emerging into the sunshine on the leisure deck he found Patricia lying on her back, her arms behind her head and her eyes closed. She had removed her tee-shirt and Sinclair envied her firm young breasts. Lying back on a sun bed Sinclair endeavoured to conceal his crutch by turning slightly away from her and raising his leg. "Ah! Here you are Clair. Welcome aboard," boomed the General as he descended the ladder from the bridge. "Upon my word you do look pretty." Sinclair's mouth fell open when he beheld Julius Nkomo. His enormous black body was totally naked. His hard muscular torso and thighs were well defined and glistened as though covered with a sheen of oil. But it was not his body-builders physique that Sinclair's eyes were drawn to but his huge penis that hung half way down his thigh and was as thick around as Sinclair's forearm. "Do you like it?" the general asked seeing where Sinclair's eyes were fixed. He gyrated his hips causing the gigantic member to swing and flap up and down. His next move surprised Sinclair even more. He picked him up as though he was no more than a small child and stood him on his feet. "Let's have this off; it's all very casual onboard here." And with that he unfastened the strings of the bikini top and the side ties of the bottom and threw them to the side leaving Sinclair equally nude. Sinclair instinctively tried to cover his genitals with one hand and his nonexistent breasts with his arm. He heard Patricia giggle and say, "Don't be such a prude Clair. Did you think we didn't know you were a boy?" The general roared with laughter. "Yes, no need to be shy. We're all the same here. Now come along what do you say to a swim?" The general took two quick strides, stepped up onto the cowling and dived overboard. Sinclair looked at Patricia who was smiling at him. "How did you know?" he pleaded. "I thought I was convincing enough to get away with it." "So you can. You are a brilliant female mimic and I wouldn't have known normally. Let's just say a little bird told me. Now let's go for a swim the general doesn't like his orders ignored." They swam for half an hour in the warm flat sea with the boat drifting nearby. As the day wore on and neither the General nor Patricia appeared in anyway inhibited with their nudity, Sinclair relaxed. He found he enjoyed the freedom of being naked. He applied liberal amounts of sun screen to his bottom and nether regions, areas of skin that had previously never been exposed to the sun. They cruised slowly along the coast past Monaco and Menton before reversing their course and arriving back at their mooring in Beaulieu as the sun was setting. Patricia prepared a simple meal of salad and olives with cold cuts of meat, which they ate with two bottles of wine. As the evening wore on Sinclair began to wonder how he was to get back to the villa. When he broached the subject the General brushed the problem aside and assured Sinclair that he was expected to spend the night with them on the yacht. His uncle had been informed and was not worried. After their meal General Nkomo went on deck, lit a cigar and said to Patricia, "My dear, why don't you take Clair below and see if you can find her something nice to wear?" Sinclair had become so accustomed to his nakedness that he had quite forgotten about clothes. The General had wrapped a colourful sarong around his waist before he'd gone on deck and the topless Patricia still wore the tiny shorts she'd worn all day. Taking Sinclair by the hand she led him below to a sumptuous cabin that was fitted out as sleeping quarters. An enormous king sized bed dominated the room. Beautiful cherry and satin wood closets and lockers all with gold fittings were built-in on either side. A huge plasma TV and entertainment centre faced the bed. Gilt framed mirrors were fixed to the walls and the floor was covered with a rich deep pile carpet. Again Sinclair was agog at the sheer luxury of it all. Leading off to one side of the main cabin was a bathroom into which Patricia led a dazed and unprotesting Sinclair. She began turning on taps to fill a bath that was almost large enough to swim in and poured in bath oils and unguents that quickly filled the room with a sweet aroma of lilacs and lavender and the tub with foaming suds. "What's going on?" asked a bemused Sinclair. "Oh, just relax and enjoy it," said Patricia, "every girl loves to be pampered. The General wants me to make you look extra special, and what Julius wants, Julius always gets. Have a nice soak while I go and change." He dozed in the warm embrace of the water and was briefly aware of people coming on board and of voices shouting orders and the gentle throb of engines as the cruiser got underway again. He opened his eyes when he heard Patricia returning and saw that she had dressed in white blouse and skirt with canvas deck shoes. Patricia had said that Sinclair was to be pampered, and pampered he was. He lay back and soaked in the silky suds while Patricia gently sponged his skin and washed and conditioned his hair. Telling Sinclair to stand she closely examined his body looking for any unsightly hairs and where she found any she carefully removed them, allowing Sinclair to step out of the water only when she was satisfied he was totally hairless and smooth as a baby. Wrapped in a towelling robe Patricia set to work on his hair. It having been cut and styled the previous day by Madam Bovis she didn't need to do too much with it. She blow-dried it then brushed and combed it into the same upsweep style as before leaving two ringlets framing his face. She sat Sinclair at the vanity unit and attended to his nails. After ensuring the acrylics were still stuck fast she painted them bright carmine red. Satisfied with his hair and nails, Patricia turned her attention to his make-up. Because his face was smooth and soft with no hint of a beard there was little need for a heavy foundation, she just dusted on a light powdering of bronze toner with a sponge and brush, continuing down his neck and his upper shoulders. She paid special attention to his eyes; starting with a blue/grey eye shadow she carefully worked onto his lids, and then outlined his eyes with a black mascara pencil, before finally fixing long false lashes. His lips she outlined with a burgundy pencil then painted in the rest with lipstick the same carmine red as his nails. To finish off Patricia picked up Sinclair's diamond earrings and hooked them through his lobes then hung the necklace around his neck. "What do you think?" she asked looking over his shoulder at his reflection. Sinclair had been watching the transformation intently in the vanity mirror and was delighted with the look she'd achieved. "It's fantastic." He squealed. "The change is astonishing. I look like a young woman." "That's the idea. Now let's get you dressed," she said. "Stand up and remove your robe, then lie back on the bed." He did as she instructed and watched as Patricia brushed something that smelt of pear drops onto his chest. "What are you doing?" he asked. "You're going to get some boobs. This is an adhesive that will glue on the breast forms. Once fixed in place they'll look like the real thing and can only be removed with a special releasing agent. It means that you'll be able to do any activity without the fear of them slipping or falling out. You can leave them in place for several days before you need to remove them." Patricia carefully centred each form exactly over his nipples and pressed the edges firmly down all round so that the join between the breast and his skin was almost invisible. When she was satisfied the adhesive had set she told him he could get up. Sinclair was immediately conscious of the weight on his chest and of the tendency to lean forward. He stared at his reflection for several minutes, dumbfounded by the realistic appearance of a pair of beautifully proportioned breasts on what had been his flat boy's chest. "Do you like them?" "Oh, Patricia, they're amazing," he said, cupping the breasts with his hands and hefting them. "They feel so soft and real, and they're even warm." "The best money can buy." "But why are you doing all this to me? Sinclair enquired. "Because Julius wants it," was Patricia's simple answer. "Time to get dressed." Standing behind Sinclair Patricia looped a strapless bra around his chest and closed the clasp at his back. She settled his false breasts into the under wired cups and checked the bra was correctly positioned. Around his waist she clipped a deep elasticated waspie that squeezed his waist and gave him a more womanly figure. It doubled as a suspender belt and had four garters on each side. Kneeling she held open a pair of panties for Sinclair to step into and pulle