BEA S FIRST GANG BANG PART 1
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Leave It To Bea - Part Six free porn video
Part Six
"Hey, Stan."
"Yes, Beaver?" (Yeah, I know... Stanley called me "Beaver" now, ever
since I had made him watch an episode of "Leave It To Beaver" so that he
would understand the whole "June Cleaver apron" reference. I didn't mind
him calling me that that much. I sorta was his "beaver," after all...)
"Why don't we go out after the spring classes are over?"
"You mean, like out out?"
"I mean finals will be over, and we ought to go out to dinner and see a
movie or something. We deserve it." I walked over, put my arms around
his waist and looked up into his eyes.
"I'd like to take you out on a date."
"Well, it's about time, don't you think? I put out a long time ago. You
at least owe me a nice dinner," I said.
"I owe you a lot more that that, Bea." He put his arms around me and we
just kissed, long and slow. Stanley was either a really good kisser, or
I was really meant to kiss guys, because his kisses were the best I'd
ever had. They made me feel warm and safe and...loved. Neither of us
had used that word yet, but I knew that I was getting very attached to
Stanley. And it wasn't just physical, although I have to admit that the
sex was unlike anything I had experienced with anyone before. When Stan
was inside me, I felt invaded, but in a good way. As a male, I suppose
that society had taught me to be strong, to exert my will on the world
around me. Males were supposed to compete and to prevail. But sex with
Stan involved giving all that up, being receptive, submissive, and giving
my body to him so he could have pleasure. It was like I was sacrificing
my masculinity in deference to his. Society mandated that I should feel
ashamed or defeated by submitting to another man this way, but I had
discovered that I got far more in return. Walking around after a night
with Stanley, conscious of the tampon in my opening, it was as if I could
feel Stanley's masculine essence infusing itself into my tissues, my
bones, my being. Stanley was literally, physically part of me now. If
he had been mean, or abusive, or any less of a man, I might have felt
violated, but Stanley was gentle and funny and very intelligent, and he
appreciated me, and I liked having his essence swimming around inside me.
Society could go take a flying leap.
Our last finals were two weeks away, in late May, and Stan and I decided
to go out on the first Saturday after that. I let Steven know, and he
ordered me to come to his salon early on the afternoon of our date. He
was keeping the dress and shoes at his place. In the meantime, Stan and
I were so busy studying, we didn't see much of each other. I kept my
nose in the books. I was a good student, and despite the distractions of
the last year, I knew well enough to keep grades a priority. Finals week
was studying, eating, studying, sleeping, studying, and taking tests. By
the time of my last final, I felt rested and confident. My grandmother
would have credited that to "hard work and clean living" (although I'm
not sure that my relationship with Stanley would have fit her strict
definition of clean living.)
After my last final, I was officially a college senior. It was Friday,
and I had two days before the dorms closed. I spent the day packing up
and sleeping. Stanley and I had already agreed that I would be spending
the summer at his place, and he was going to help me move my stuff on
Sunday after our night out. Stanley still didn't have a clue about what
I was going to wear that night. We had reservations at an upscale
restaurant, so he knew that he had to dress up. He just didn't know how
what "dressing up" was going to involve for me.
Saturday finally came. I had told Stanley to pick me up for our date at
the salon at seven o'clock. My roommate had already moved out, so I had
the dorm room all to myself. After lunch, I locked the door and took a
long bath and shaved my legs and underarms. I dried and combed out my
hair, threw on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, and went over to Steven's
salon.
"Hey, princess! Right on time!" said Steven. "Let's get to work." he
led me to a private booth in the back and called his nail technician.
"Full mani-pedi. I'll bring the extensions and polish, and have Beth
bring the piercing gun."
"The what?"
"Honey, it's time you got your ears pierced. You're going out on the
town, and you need to look like a real girl. I have some clip-ons you
can wear, but none that look like this." He showed me a pair of pierced
earrings. They were very small pendants, with green, pear shaped stones.
They matched my necklace. I still didn't know about getting my ears
pierced; I was going to have to wear something for a couple of weeks
while the holes grew in. What was I going to do for work? But the
earrings were perfect. I held them up next to my ears and looked in the
mirror. They complimented my necklace and the green brought out my eyes
even more. A sense of inevitability came over me.
"Go ahead, you evil bitch."
"That's my princess!" Steven was used to getting his way and knew
exactly how to get it. He held the gun to my earlobes and pop...pop went
another bit of my masculinity. I felt the pendants swinging lightly
against my ears. Another reminder that Steven was moving me closer to
that fork in the road.
In the meantime, the nail tech had been working on my feet. It felt
wonderful. She did something called an exfoliation, then began trimming
and filing and buffing my nails. Steven was doing my hair, so I didn't
get much of a chance to look down, and when I did, my toenails were a
deep, glittery ruby red. I didn't have big feet or hands, and I suppose
I had never had "masculine" feet, whatever that meant, but with the
exfoliation and moisturizers and with the perfectly shaped, deep red
nails, my feet looked delicate, just like a girl's! While she waited for
the polish to dry on my toes, she went to work on my hands. It felt even
better than my feet. She massaged moisturizers and lotions into my
hands, then buffed my nails in preparation for the extensions. I knew
they were only temporary (I had to go to work, after all), but I was
looking forward to seeing myself with long nails. Steven refused to give
me long talons; he said nothing over a half an inch. (For a flamboyant
queen, Steven was exhibiting surprising restraint in my feminization.
But said he wanted me to "look like a girl, not a floor show." Maybe he
knew something about me that even I didn't.)
After the extensions were applied, the nail tech brushed a glossy topcoat
onto my toes, then started the color coats on my fingernails. Steven was
paying more than usual attention to my hair, and when he started using
rollers, I asked what he had in mind.
"Nothing that can't be washed out, hon. But tonight's special. You need
to look perfect." He went back to work with the rollers, and the tech
began filing the nail extensions, giving them a smooth, oval profile that
made my hands look small and delicate. She took a break before finishing
with the top coat just as Steven wrapped the last curler.
"Time to start getting dressed, princess." He led me into the back room
where all my clothes were laid out. I took off my jeans and tee shirt.
The panties came first. Pastel blue nylon bikinis, with lace at the
waist and leg openings. Then a waist nipper, hip pads, and then my new
bra and breast forms. Steven stood back and appraised me, then adjusted
the bra placement slightly. He held out the slip. White, low cut, and
close fitting, it had lace at the hem, which came down to mid thigh.
Then Steven handed me a smock and ordered me back in the chair.
As Steven unrolled the curlers and went to work with brush, scissors, and
comb, the nail tech came back and applied the final top coat to my nails.
I lay back and let them work, wondering where Steven was taking me. He
hadn't let me look in any mirrors. I wondered what the night would
bring. How would Stanley react? How would I feel going out in public?
Would someone read me as a crossdressing male? Stanley and I played our
games in private, but this was different. I was going to go out in
public, presenting an image of myself as a female, as someone who dressed
and adorned themselves to be sexually appealing to males, and who took
the passive, submissive role in relationships. It wasn't lost on me that
passive and submissive was exactly what I had become in my relationship
with Stan. Maybe what I was doing tonight was, for the first time in my
life, presenting the "real" me to the world? It was exciting, and
frightening, and I couldn't wait.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, Steven was applying
moisturizer. I had become adept at makeup, so even with my eyes closed,
I knew when he was applying concealer and foundation, then powder, blush,
mascara, eyeliner, and shadow. I wondered why he had insisted on doing
my makeup. Maybe he worried about me overdoing it. Many times I'd heard
him say, "Most queens apply makeup with a trowel. You're a girl,
sweetie, not a drag queen." He was really taking his time. What was I
going to look like?
"Time for the dress, hon." As I walked back into the changing room, I
could feel my hair brushing all over my cheeks and neck. What had he
done? Steven had me put on the suntan pantyhose fist. Since I was
wearing peep toe shoes, reinforced toes were out. My new nails were a
problem, so Steven gave me some lingerie gloves to wear as I put on my
hose. The tops of the hose smoothed out the hip pads and waist nipper
and gave me a natural shape. Then I stepped into the dress. Steven
zipped me up in back, picked and adjusted the drape of the dress, and
stood back to look at me. He sighed, and I swear to God he got a tear in
his eye.
"You look beautiful, darling." That was weird. Steven was flamboyant
and loud, but he was more like a drill sergeant. He never got misty.
What did I look like? I slipped into my heels, and he made me transfer
my keys, driver's license, credit cards, and cash into my purse.
"Come look at yourself." He led me into the salon to a full length
mirror.
It was a pretty girl. Not just pretty. Really pretty. Her thick hair
framed her delicate facial features. Her eyes were wide and deep green,
with long lashes, accented by her green earrings and necklace. She had
full, moist, kissable lips. She was slender, with a narrow waist and a
nice bustline, and her hips flared our femininely, leading down to
shapely thighs and calves. Not skinny, but not buxom, either. She was
just right.
"Turn around. Do a spin." And as I turned, the beautiful girl in the
mirror turned with me. It was actually me.
"Steven, I don't believe it. I'm beautiful."
"Yes you are, princess. I do good work." I wasn't much worried about
being read anymore, as long as my posture and mannerisms were
appropriately girlish. I practiced being in that feminine frame of mind
that I'd noticed back at the store. Smooth, graceful movements. Hips
forward, balanced for the high heels. Hips swaying side to side as I
walked. Trying mentally to "be" a girl. Receptive. Submissive.
Nurturing.
It was ten 'til seven. Stanley was due any minute.
Jane
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