Chris-Crossed --conclusion? free porn video

"Chris..." I started, "did you..." I looked at her. There was the usual trace of amusement on her lovely black face, but her eyes were as wide and surprised as my own. "What the bloody...?" She suddenly rolled over and picked up the bell from the nightstand. "Chris!" she called her brother, "get in here!" A very sheepish transvestite-Chris, not quite hiding a guilty grin, slowly opened the door and peeked in. "Yes, darling?" he asked. "Don't 'yes darling' me!" his sister snapped. "What have you done to my husband?" "Well," the feminine-looking black man in his mockery of a maid's uniform confessed, "I mean, our Norma is really my husband, isn't she? I mean, I'm the one he married. And he just looked so pretty last night, with that flat tummy and nice bosom and all that I just had to see her completely as a woman. Isn't she lovely?" "Lovely?" I cried, "Like this?" I felt just awful this way, looking female from top to bottom, and wearing nothing but a white satin pajama top. And the way Chris kept referring to me in the feminine gender certainly didn't help! "What did you do to me?" "I just taped your male equipment back between your legs with some of that Plasti-Flesh," Chris explained. "Then, as I was smoothing over the tape lines, I thought how nice you'd look with female hair there, so I cut up old wig of mine and glued it on with the Plasti-Flesh paste." "Well it is a nice job." The female-Chris put a soothing hand on my arm, partly to restrain and partly to reassure me. "But we'll have to take it off. I want a man this morning, and some people here might be expecting to see Mr. and Mrs. Drake and their maid, rather than the Fahringham girls. So fetch up the solvent and we'll this sexy disguise off." "Very well Sis," her brother sighed. "Where did you pack the solvent?" My insides turned to water as my wife answered, "I thought you were bringing the solvent!" "Me! But you said..." transvestite-Chris started. "Wait a minute," I interrupted, "you mean you don't have the stuff here to get this off?" I felt uncomfortably aware of my thrusting breasts beneath the satin top, jiggling as I sat up in alarm, the furry hairs at my crotch tickling the insides of my thighs. "Damn!" Female-Chris said. "Are you quite sure you didn't bring it? Because I'm sure I didn't!" "I told you," transvestite-Chris said sullenly, "I thought you packed it." "Double-damn!" My wife sprang up out of bed and picked up the phone. "Get me the Mammoth Chemical Plant...." A half-hour later, she slammed the phone back into its cradle. "Bloody Hell," she swore, "The blinking place is locked up for the Freedom Day celebration. We can't get any of the solvent until tomorrow at the earliest!" "Tomorrow!" I squeaked, "You mean I have to go around as a female for another twenty-four hours?" All of a sudden, I felt incredibly embarrassed and vulnerable, the way I had felt when I first met Chris's transvestite twin, nude and being face-sat by my girlfriend. Now, as then I felt the same humiliating helplessness I clutched at the front of my satin pajama top in frustration. "Steady on, Love," my wife said soothingly, "I know it's a bit of a shock, but there's really nothing for it. You'll just have to be a woman for a day or two until we can straighten this thing out. At least we've got clothes for you." "But I don't want to be a woman anymore!" I protested, curling my shapely legs in front of me. "And I don't want you to be one," the female-Chris said patiently, "Especially not this morning, when I really feel like getting a cock inside me. But we've simply no choice in the matter. Now come along; We'll shower and pick you out a nice outfit while the maid," she shot a dirty look at her transvestite brother, "fixes breakfast. Then while we dine, we can think up an apor1ate punishment for her." 'Well, it'd better be a good one" I muttered, somewhat mollified. "It will be," Chris promised, "in fact we can start now by taking away something I know he likes. "Chris!" She turned sharply to her brother as she got out of bed. "Take off those clothes at once! You may not wear anything this house until we give you permission Is that clear'?" "Oh, but Darling..." transvestite Chris started. Then he saw the dangerous glint in his sister's eyes and sadly stripped off his feminine dainties. Seeing him punished this way gave me a little satisfaction, at least, and it cheered me a little to think that I would soon be able to work with my wife on dreaming up another penalty for this scheming transvestite. But as I doffed my pajama top and tiptoed (which was the only way, I could walk, remember?) to the bath with female-Chris, I thought I saw her look contemplatively at her brother's lewdly exposed penis, then glance at my feminine crotch and sigh wistfully. After our shower, female-Chris and I rooted around through the luggage for something I could sear. There wasn't much. I mean, the Wedding Dress was soiled and wrinkled from a day of travel, and although both Chris's and I were close in size, there was enough difference that I we could not easily exchange clothes. We did find that transvestite- Chris's maid's outfit fit me well enough, and since we were both hungry, we settled on that as a temporary measure. I reluctantly decked myself out in the skimpy black undies trimmed in white lace, the frilly white garter belt, the smoky black nylons, and the silly white apron. Female-Chris found a pair of black patent leather shoes with heels high enough to accommodate my taped-down feet, and she even put makeup on me and pinned the maid's cap in my hair! "Might as well go the whole hog," she sighed, "as long as you have to dress like this anyway. Now let's eat." Over breakfast (served by the nude and sullen male-Chris) my wife came up with an idea. "Darling, I've been pondering over just how best to punish that awful brother of mine for doing this to you, and I think I've hit upon the perfect solution." "Let's hear it," I said, "but make it tough." "It's tough, all right," She replied, "we can take away the one thing he loves most dearly: his femininity!" "What do you mean?" "'We still have yards and yards of the Plasti-Flesh tape and just oodles of the liquid. And that stuff can be easily dyed any color at all. So suppose we bind up my dear 'sister's' breasts, firm out her body a bit, and turn her into a man!" "You think that would really bother her - uh, him?" I asked. "She'd despise it! You must know how intensely Chris enjoys feeling feminine. Well, it would certainly let the punishment fit the crime if we made him look ultra-masculine. And he'd be stuck with it as long as you're stuck looking like a woman!" "You're right," I said, "it sounds perfect." "Let's get started," feminine-Chris rang the bell and her transvestite brother minced in, still nude. "A vote has been taken, Chris Deane," his sister announced, "and a majority of this household has decided on a punishment for that awful trick you played on poor Norma. Are you willing to abide by that decision, or shall we simply turn you out of the house as you are now?" Chris hung his pretty head. "I shall abide by your decision," he said meekly. "Very well," my wife snapped, "go out to the enclosed patio. We'll join you in a moment." Since I was the injured party: the execution of punishment became my duty: With vengeful enthusiasm, I put on a pair of white rubber elbow- length gloves and wearing these and my bizzare maid's costume, proceeded to masculinize my brother-in-law! Oh! What fun it was! The look of dismay on his pretty face as I wrapped and compressed his bountiful breasts was delicious. I think he blinked back a tear as he saw his feminine treasures disappear under yards of the synthetic skin, built up and disguised as abroad, flat, manly chest. I even put a wrap loosely around his waist, to make II thicker, and a couple of strips molded his round bottom into a flatter, more masculine shape. Female-Chris followed this with some shots in his arms that would make the muscles there and in his shoulders harden slightly, becoming more square and well-defined. While these were taking effect, she mixed dye into a bucket of the Plasti-Flesh glue, getting it darker and darker until it matched the shade of her skin and was ready to coat the altered parts of her brother's body. Then, an inspiration hit me. I took and electric razor and cut the hair on male-Chris's head twice, first shortening it and then shaving him completely bald. Then, after we had painted his chest and legs with the dark liquid Plasti-Flesh, and while it was still wet, I sprinkled the newly-cut hairs liberally over him, giving him a hairy chest and manly- looking legs. He just hated it! When he was finished, I made him stand up, and for just a moment I felt a qualm of doubt. I mean, there I was all smooth-skinned and pale pink, with my feminine breasts and buttocks accentuated by the lacy black- andwhite undies that Iwore, and my female status even more sharply defined by the maid's apron and cap that seemed like frivolous badges of servility. And towering in front of me was a big, black, muscular giant that I had helped to create! It made me feel oddly silly, vulnerable and girlish. You can imagine my additional discomfort, then; when male-Chris and I searched through each other's clothes for something to wear into town. My masculine clothes fit him well, but the only things I could find to fit me were a G-string of white silk and a short tennis dress! And to wear that tennis dress, I had to even take off my maid's undies, for the dark material of the bra and panties showed clearly through the white dress. So it was that male-Chris dressed in one of my most stylish masculine outfits, female-Chris wore a simple but elegant dark blue pantsuit, and I had to accompany them in my jet-black high heels, tennis dress, and nothing for underwear but a skimpy white G-string! Once the three of us were in the city, I could see that everything my fianc?e had told me about this place was true. It did indeed cater to the wealthy tourist crowd, and there were several fashionable boutiques where helpful black salesgirls fitted me out in feminine attire from panties to purse. I did notice that none of them paid any attention to me until my wife specifically asked them to, but I assumed this was because of my less-than-elegant outfit. Chris explained my ankle problem to them, and in addition to some nice dresses and pretty lingerie, they found shoes that would accommodate my downturned feet: a pair of beach sandals and a pair in elegant white kid leather. By the time shopping was done, it was evening, and we decided to stay in town and enjoy the nightlife. First an elegant restaurant, then a risqu? night club where we sipped native drinks and listened to Los Palos jazz. It was quite an evening! But there was something wrong; something that I had noticed earlier in the day, and as the night progressed, it bothered me more and more. "Chris, darling," I asked my wile, "I don't mean to be rude or to appear bigoted, but am I the only white person on the whole island?" Chris smiled at me. "Does it bother you, Norma dear?' she asked. "Actually, there are relatively few Caucasians on the island, and most of those stay around the embassy. Almost the entire population is deep black, like my brother and me." She hugged her manly-looking brother proudly. For myself, I squirmed a little in my low-cut dress, imagining that everyone was staring at my milky-white breasts and shoulders. "But you--when we talked about honeymooning here, you said it was a popular spot for the wealthy!" 'Well it is, Sweet," Chris replied, a trifle impatiently, "It's quite popular with wealthy blacks all over the world. A place where they can be among their own. Los Palos Is one of the few places in the world with an exclusively black citizenry." "In fact," the male-Chris put in, "Whites are rather second-class persons here. They cannot vote or own property, have very few legal rights, and can only stay on the island if working for blacks or - as you have - by marriage." "That's interesting," I said, tugging discreetly at the top of my dress to get it a little more securely over my breasts, "but I must say that it makes me feel sort of awkward. I mean, becoming a woman overnight was bad enough, but suddenly finding out that I'm of a lower caste here... I well, it's just sort of funny, that's all." My wife laughed and touched my bare arm tenderly. "Don't worry, beautiful," she smiled, "you'll be all right so long as you stay with us. Now let's go out and sample some of the wilder nightlife." The wilder nightlife turned out to be some very sophisticated strip clubs, complete with nude waitresses, live sex shows (some featuring rather bizzare acts, with animals and even deformed persons, which I found definitely not to my taste) and strange novelty shops where you could buy anything from edible undies to life-sized rubber dolls. It was in one of these adult gift shops that I saw something that really shocked me: Standing along one wall of the shop were rows of naked women, perfectly motionless! Some were black, some Caucasian, a few oriental... there was a green-skinned woman with blonde hair, and even a tiger-striped female with a wild black mane! I spent a few moments staring at these oddly- still bizzare beauties, then suddenly realized that they were life- sized dolls! "Fooled you, did they little girl?" the black proprietor of the sex shop winked at me. "Most people have to take a second or third look. Those 'girls' are the newest thing on the market, and they sell like diamonds in a coal mine. They're made right here on the island. Go ahead, take a closer look." Fascinated, I walked up to the life-sized toy women. I could see now that, aside from the color of their skin and hair, they all had a certain identical look about them, as if stamped from a single mold. But they were stunningly lifelike, even down to realistic eyebrows, eyes and sex organs. Hesitantly, I reached out to touch one of them. It felt just like flesh. "Chris," I called to my wife, "Take a look at this!" She strolled over, casually inspecting the dolls. "Oh yes," she said matter-of-factly, "I've seen those before." "But feel them," I insisted, "Do you know what they're made of?" "It had better be Plasti-Flesh," she answered, "or somebody's getting taken, as they say." She took one of the dolls and easily moved its arm up and down. Then she toyed with the face, pursing the lips in an ersatz kiss. "Yes," she smiled, "That's Plasti-Flesh all right. In the special malleable formula that enables the dolls to be adjusted to any position without losing their human form." "But that can't be!" I cried, "They're supposed to be still doing research on that stuff! They can't do this!" My raised voice was starting to draw attention to us, so my dark-skinned wife took me firmly by my bare arm. "Come along," she said, "we'll discuss it in the car on the way home. " "You see," the female-Chris explained as we drove back to the beach house, "The Plasti-Flesh formula is quite revolutionary, and someday it will change the whole medical world. But for right now, it's still awaiting approval form a whole battery of government bureaus who are very skeptical of its properties. It could take years to get past them, and in the meantime, Mammoth means to turn a profit wherever possible. So I suggested that we use the company's facilities here on the island to manufacture those exotic sex-substitutes." "But don't you see that will ruin the whole tone of the project?"I protested, "Plasti-Flesh could win a Nobel Prize and garner enormous prestige for the Conglomerate. But if you market it like this - before it's established on a medical basis - the scientific community will ignore it." "Perhaps," Chris grudgingly admitted, "but the money we're making in the meantime should help make up for that." "Not in the long run," I persisted, "Why, if the other stockholders hear about this. ..." When we reached our beachfront cottage, the argument was still not settled, and Chris and I were thoroughly ticked off at each other. As I slipped out of my dress and undies and into a see-through strapless pink nightie that we had purchased that day, the, male-Chris fixed us all a fresh round of drinks to help us calm down. But I was adamant. "I don't care what you say," I took a long pull at my drink, frowning at the bitter taste, and went on, "as a major stockholder in the conglomerate, I feel it is my duty to contact the other stockholders and put this thing to a vote." "And what about your responsibilities to me, your own wife?" Chris flared, "These dolls were my idea. I helped develop them and sold the vice-presidents on the concept. My whole career in marketing chemical developments is at stake here. Don't you care about that?" "Your career is with me," I said sleepily, "as my wife." I finished the drink and got up, more unsteady on my feet than ever, since I was contending not only with the Plasti-Flesh wraps on my ankles, but also with the effects of those very potent drinks. "An' tomorrow you'll juss see what the other stockholders think!" I slurred, mincing upstairs, suddenly very drowsy and not really caring if Chris joined me or not. Morning. I awoke with gentle sunshine in my eyes and a lock of my light brown hair tickling my forehead. I started to brush it back. Nothing. I could feel nothing when I tried to move my hand. My eyes snapped open, suddenly awake, and I started to sit up. But where I should have been able to swing my arms for balance, there was nothing! Shocked, I looked first at my right shoulder, then at my left; I had no arms! I think I would have screamed then, if I hadn't been familiar with the Plasti-Flesh and known how radically it could alter one's shape by being wrapped around the body. Now, looking closely, I could see how my upper arms had been tightly strapped into by back and my forearms into my middle, then wrapped with the synthetic skin until they blended in with my body. A coating of the liquid Plasti-Flesh had been smoothed over the wrappings until they were completely undetectable. Of my whole upper body, only my breasts were still exposed. 'Well, I see our Miss Torso is awake!" The voice of my mischievous black wife suddenly snapped me out of the absorbed contemplation of my armless state. I looked up at her. "Chris!" I cried, "What's the meaning of this? Get my arms free!" "Now you know that's not possible, Sweet," she came into the bedroom, dressed in a lacy white teddy that contrasted excitingly with her black skin, and sat down beside me on the bed. Somehow I wiggled up into a seated posture on the bed as she spoke, "You know that those wraps can't be removed without the special solvent that I may or may not be able to get from the plant today. So, like it or not, you have temporarily lost the use of your arms, Girlie!" Her words made me suddenly conscious of my shapely breasts, now bare above the satin bedsheets, and I wished that I could cover them some way. But without arms, I was completely unable to do so. So they just bounced and jiggled out there as I squirmed up and pulled my knees in front of me, blushing as I realized that I was completely nude. "My! Aren't we modest!" Chris laughed. "But darling, why have you done this to me?" I felt incredibly - how to put it - removed from myself- awkward, nude, feminine and armless, like a flesh-colored Venus Di Milo. "You were going to call the stockholders and ruin my career, remember?" Chris said gently, 'Well, I guess you won't be dialing any phones now!" "But, but this is insane!" I wiggled helplessly, "You can't keep me this way!" "Can't I, love?" Chris tickled my nose playfully, then darted her hand down and tweaked one of my exposed nipples. "Can't I now?" I tried to wiggle away, sliding helplessly on the satin sheets as my sexy black wife grabbed my bare thigh in a strong caress and drew me to her. "Come on, Dear," I whined, "Be reasonable and get me out of this." "And who was it that refused to hear reason last night, eh?" Chris's smile grew wider as she toyed with my bare leg, running her hand down to tickle my foot. "You're in no position to argue now, are you Sweet?" "Hee, hee!" I giggled involuntarily at the playful tickling and tried to pull my feet away. "Stop! Those dolls are obscene and you know it. Now let me loose. This is supposed to be my honeymoon!" "Our honeymoon, darling," Chris pulled me closer to her as she casually reached a hand down to unbutton the crotch of her teddy, "and I think it's about time I started enjoying it!" Before I knew it, the black Amazon I had married was on top of me, straddling my legs with her own, cupping my breasts in her hands and sliding her sex up and down over the slight bulge at my crotch that was the only remaining evidence of my true gender. "What's the trouble, love?" she teased, "doesn't it excite you to have a woman this worked up over you? Or are you so used to-being a girl by now that I don't interest you any more? Perhaps you'd prefer my brother?" "Stop, Chris," I gasped, feeling agony as my cock tried to swell in its confinement, crushing my balls painfully, "I do want you. You know that. It's just that..." My words were smothered by a deep soul kiss that I was powerless to resist. I felt Chris's strong tongue invade my mouth, silencing my protests. Her strong hands closed around my full, white breasts, flipping the nipples with her thumbs as she kneaded the feminine roundnesses. And then she had risen, spun around so that she was facing my feet, and was slowly lowering her ripe black backside down over my girlish face. "Do a gooood job, lover," she purred, "Reeel gooooood now!" I felt over a hundred pounds of passionate ebony womanhood settle down on my face, trapping me in a dark prison of flesh. Desperately, I began tonguing the moist pussy, hoping to please my demanding wife who now held all the cards. For I realized now that I was truly in her, power, completely dependent on her whims. Here, in this land where I had no legal rights, married under U.S. law to both this woman and her brother, deprived of my clothes, my manly shape, my penis, and now my arms, I was completely without identity or possessions. If I were to get out of this fix, it would only be because this beauty I had married wanted me out. So I used my mouth artfully, hungrily, passionately, and at last felt the warm thighs about my head open and fling wide as Chris leaned back and forth in the throes of orgasm. Then, she was down off me, tenderly wiping my pretty face with a cool washcloth and holding my armless, female form affectionately. "Ooohhh, that was nice, Sweet," she cooed, "Now why do we fight when making love is so much nicer?" "I don't know, Dear," I sighed back with what I hope sounded like heartfelt adoration, "my objections seem awfully foolish to me now. I was being terrible to you." "And I was terrible to you, darling," Chris hugged me, stroking her arm across my bare nipples. "It was awful of me to treat you this way." "I think you had every right to do it," I lied through my smiling lips, "And if you ever let me out of this, I promise I'll try every day to make it up to you." "Oh goodie!" Chris sat up, clapping her hands in delight (and incidentally bouncing that firm black chest of hers very vigorously). "I knew we wouldn't fight for long. Now just let me get cleaned up and I'll go right down to the company plant and get some solvent to get you out of that silly fix." A half hour later, she was gone, leaving me in the hands of transvestite-Chris, who still looked very male. My brother-in-law helped me shower, assisted me on the toilet, and escorted me about, since it was almost impossible for me to walk on tip-toe, as my ankle wraps required, without the use of my arms; He dressed me in a brightly-colored one-piece strapless swimsuit that tied around my neck (it was about the only thing I could wear without arms) then fed me breakfast. All the while, we chatted amicably about nothing in particular, Chris being slightly apologetic about my present predicament, and me smilingly assuring him that I had no hard feelings about his mischief. Finally, Chris went upstairs to take a nap, and I told him that I would wait in the living room for the female Chris to return. A short time later, I heard the squeak of bed springs and the low rumble of soft snoring. Now, I thought, my chance at last! If those two thought that I, Norman Drake, could be transformed, bound and cowed into submission, they were very much mistaken. I may have been feminized, deprived of my manly equipment and arms, but I still had my greatest asset: my mind! And I intended to use it. Soon, I thought, my wife would be back with the solvent that would get this Plasti-Flesh off and return me to normal. And when that happened, she would discover that I had already started the process of destroying her career. It would do Chris good, I decided, to become totally dependent on me, her lord and master. Quickly, I slipped down off my chair and crawled on my knees over to the telephone on an end table. In seconds, I had lifted the receiver and punched in my credit card number with my tongue. And in minutes, my call was put through to the Chairman of the Board in New York. "Hello, Allen?" I said, consciously lowering my voice to a male range, squirming to stay upright next to the phone, "Norman Drake here. I thinkwe'd better get ready to call a Board meeting. Something at Mammoth that I--" A strong black hand suddenly plucked the receiver away from my face and placed it firmly back into its cradle. I looked guiltily up at my brother-in-law, towering over me in his shorts. "My," he said calmly, "Aren't we the busy little girl today!" "Chris," I tried to get to my feet, but fell on my butt instead. "Give me back that phone! You have no right to take it!" I was shaking with anger and frustration, there on the floor in my bathing suit. "Really?" he asked archly, looking down at me, "I wonder what your wife will have to say about that when she hears the recording that I made from behind you. After all you promised about her career!" "Never mind that!" I insisted, "Just give me back the phone and get out! You shouldn't even be here on my honeymoon, you black bastard!" He raised an eyebrow. "So it's racial slurs, is it?" he commented wryly, "well, we'll just have to do something about that." Moving slowly, deliberately, he disconnected the phone cord and tied my ankles with it. When I threatened to scream, he matter-of-factly stated that if I opened my mouth, he would stuff his shorts in it. That certainly shut me up! Just to make sure, he stripped my bathing suit completely off me, wrapped it over my head, and knotted it firmly. He then took the phone cord around my ankles and tied one end of it to a stout hook in the ceiling, leaving me suspended upside down, blindfolded, nude, armless and feminine! As I heard him busying himself upstairs, I tried desperately to think of some way out of this awful mess. But the embarrassment of my position kept getting in the way of my thinking. I just felt so vulnerable and exposed like this; my long bare legs wriggling, my round rump jiggling and my breasts bouncing as I struggled. How humiliating to be trapped like this and strung up like a piece of meat! At last, male-Chris came back downstairs. But it wasn't to help me. Without a word, he unhooked my ankles, draped me over his shoulders, and carried me upstairs to the master bath. There, he put me in the tub and took the bathing suit off my head, tossing it in a corner like a piece of rubbish. I lay there, nude, my bare breasts sticking obscenely upward as I scooted my naked fanny across the cold metal tub, trying to adjust my bound legs into a more comfortable position. How I missed having my arms and hands! But they were completely inaccessible to me now, sealed up tightly against my feminine torso. "Chris," I pleaded softly, urgently, "What are you doing'?" "Merely demonstrating to you that your social position on this island is vastly inferior to your accustomed one," he said, picking something up from the floor. "Here, you're little better than an animal. Yet you intended to harm my sister, who was good enough to marry you. Well, I think it's time that your position was brought home to you a bit more forcibly." Then I saw what he had in his hand: a long, wide roll of Plasti-Flesh! "No, Chris," I begged, trying not to upset him, "No more of that stuff. Please! You've already turned me into a woman with it and used it to take my arms away. Please, no more!" He ignored me and began calmly and methodically wrapping my legs together. It was awful! In no time at all, my legs had been sealed together into one long, smooth, snake-like appendage that stretched and coiled beyond the ends of my feet. I couldn't even see my feet anymore! Just that realistic flesh-tone tail that started just below my ass and ended four feet later. It was dry in minutes and Chris was hauling my freakishly feminine body out of the tub and flopping me onto the floor. "Ouch!" I squealed as my bare butt slapped against the tiles, "That hurt!" "Get used to it," he smiled, "now get downstairs." "But how?" I protested, trying to toss a- stray lock of my long brown hair back from my girlish face, "I can't even move." "You can crawl, Worm," he insisted, "Now get started." "Chris, I can't..." That was as far as I got. I saw him suddenly reach down to me. Felt strong black fingers coiling into my brown tresses... and then I was being forcibly dragged across the floor by the roots of my hair! "Owww!" I cried, "Ouch! Chris! Pleeeease!" But there was no stopping him. He deliberately pulled me out into the hallway and down the carpeted stairs. I winced and squealed as my voluptuous titties smacked against the steps, or as my nipples were pinched beneath my rapidly-moving body. Then at last, we were downstairs and Chris released his hold. "There," he said, slightly out of breath but still calm, "That should teach you: never say 'I can't' when a black person gives you an order. Do you understand?" Still stinging with pain, close to tears at my helplessness, frustration and embarrassment, I managed to nod. "That's a good idea," he mused, "the nodding, I mean. I believe I shall forbid you to speak from now on. And since you shall never refuse anything your black masters order, you shall not, of course, shake your head. You may only nod. Is that clear?" I nodded. "Very good. Now, my pale little girlish worm, I want you to practice crawling. Go ahead... crawl!" Somehow, I forced myself to wiggle forward. "Faster," Chris snapped, "Raise your ass higher. Hurry now!" I tried, but my black master will still unsatisfied. He picked up a light wicker cane. "Perhaps this will help," he said. Thwack! I felt an incredible burst of pain across my naked, upturned ass, as if a hot poker had been laid across it. Thwack! "Higher now," Chris urged, "Higher and faster or I shan't stop!" Thwack! Thwack! Writhing from the incredible pain, I wiggled my body more fiercely, raising my round pink buttocks high and scooting my bare-breasted front along the floor energetically, until Chris at last announced that he was satisfied. "And now, I think," he said, picking up a leash, "A little stroll along the beach." I think I would have fought this - struggled, resisted him somehow--if only I could have! But before I could move, Chris had bent down to me with the leash, and I saw that it ended not in a collar, but in a stout brass ring with a spring clip. Horrified, I felt him open the ring and insert the ends into my nostrils. Then, a sharp painful snap, and it clamped firmly into my septum. I had a ring in my nose! "It won't be too painful if you hurry along and don't make me tug on it," Chris said, almost gently, "but don't try to resist, or you may find yourself with your nose pierced, Little Miss." My horror at this prospect was so overwhelming that I wriggled almost eagerly at his feet, out the patio door and along the sandy path to the beach. I tried to forget my pain, my awkwardness, the terrible helpless feeling of being without arms or legs... and the incredible embarrassment at being out-of-doors in this condition, a nude female thing wiggling along at the end of a nose-tether, bouncing my bare breasts on the sand and shaking my nude bottom in the sunshine. Had it really been less than an hour ago that I was on the phone as Norman Drake, powerful male? Well, I wasn't powerful anymore, and I certainly didn't look male. In fact, I wondered if I even looked human! In the midst of my confusion and humiliation, I somehow noticed that Chris was still wearing only his jockey shorts as we went down to the beach where, in the distance, I could see a small crowd of black people sporting in the surf. He smiled down at me. "Don't worry, Cupcake," he grinned, "Los Palos is famous in the wealthy black community for its nude beaches, and this is one of them," his eyes sparkled as he took in my bouncing feminine charms. "You should feel right at home! Now remember what I said about not talking. I'll explain your situation - if anyone asks. Just remember to smile at all times, or your master will spank Is that clear?" I had thought that learning to wiggle around in public as a nude, armless, legless, long-tailed feminine toy would be the hardest thing I would ever have to do. But putting that smile on my red, pouting lips was even harder! I looked up through my long-lashed, mascaraed eyes at the black man who now controlled me, and saw the quiet determination on his face. I remembered the awful pain of that spanking. And somehow I forced myself to forget that I was a man anymore. I smiled sweetly up at him. "How cute!" Chris beamed his approval as we approached the crowd of dark-skinned revelers enjoying the beach. "Remember now; let me do the talking." He didn't need to warn me. I think I would have been struck speechless anyway by the dozens of brown eyes that suddenly fastened on us. Young and old, nude or dressed in expensively skimpy bathing gear, everyone paused as we drew near. But these people were wealthy, jaded, and studiously blas?. They probably would have felt it beneath them to gape or shout. So they remained merely politely interested as Chris spoke: "Hello," he said, "I'm Norman Drake. My bride and I took the beach house up the way, so I believe that makes us neighbors." "Ah, hello," a portly black man in a pair of loud swimming trunks was the first to answer. "Benson Tate's the name," he looked frankly down at my bizzarely displayed feminine nudity, and I felt an uncontrollable blush spread over my body as he smiled, "And is... this... Mrs. Drake?" "Hardly," Chris laughed, "She's a white bitch we picked up in the States. We're thinking about putting her in one of the sex shows down here. But not for awhile yet. You see, my wife and I lived in America for a time, and while there, we were subjected to various degrees of racial discrimination. We both vowed that when we returned to Los Palos we would find some way to take symbolic vengeance on the whites. This little tart..." He nudged my bare ass sharply with his big toe "was more than willing to sell her precious white body to us, and we intend to make full use of it." Deep inside, I cringed at being so contemptuously discussed this way. But above me, Chris and the other black man were still talking. "An excellent idea!" Mr. Tate beamed, "Why don't we discuss it over a drink? I'm sure that my niece and nephew here can entertain themselves with your white plaything while we talk. Agreed? Good show." He turned to two dark-skinned college-age kids who were standing in the background, totally nude, eying me with cold curiosity. "Kent! Claretta!" He called, "I'm sure you've eavesdropped sufficiently to understand our guest's intentions. Very well then; take his plaything and amuse yourselves for a bit." The boy eagerly ran up, his exposed genitals nearly in my face, and delightedly took my nose-leash from Chris. The girl, meanwhile, picked up a wet towel and began twirling it into an impromptu whip. "Take care now," their uncle warned, 'We don't want to ruin our guest's toy." My relief at his words was short-lived. Almost immediately, I felt a sharp, painful tug on my nose-ring as the naked black boy began leading me down the beach. Desperately trying to avoid having my nose pulled off, I humped down the beach after him, squirming as fast as could, bouncing my big, bare tits across the sand as I bent my single leg- tail, raising my ass--also big and bare --high with each wriggling movement. For the next hour, those two immature roughnecks took the greatest of pleasure in treating me like a life sized naked toy. They rolled me across the wet beach until my body was completely covered in golden sand, then delighted in knocking it off in yellow sprays with sharp smacks from the rolled-up towel. They sat on my back (Claretta grinding her pussy into my ass while Kent's genitals dangled in my wet hair) and made me carry them -- though of courseI moved much too slowly, which brought me another spanking. Then they decided to have me play "fetch" but had no ball to throw until Chris, seeing their difficulty, took off his shorts, knotted them up, and tossed them over. I had to pick the awful things up in my mouth and hustle them to the children while Claretta counted out loud. When I had finally dropped them faithfully at Kent's feet, whatever number Claretta had counted to was the number of swats I would receive on my bare tits! I can describe what they did, but there are no words to say how I felt at being reduced to this, an inhuman, feminine thing. No arms. A long tail where my legs used to be. Completely nude on a public beach and being tormented by cruel black adolescents. It was just too awful! As I was licking sand off the bottoms of Claretta's feet, rescue finally came--or so I thought. I heard a movement beside me and looked up to see the long, shapely, ebony legs of my wife, Chris! 'Well!" She smiled down at me, "You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself, Norma dear. No, don't speak. Chris -er- Norman has already told me about your punishment. And about what you did to deserve it! I must say that I'm shocked and saddened. To think that you could lie to me like that and then try to sneak around and hurt me so terribly. Me, your own... well," she smilingly took the nose-leash from an obviously disappointed Kent and began leading me away, giggling a little when she saw how I was forced to move about now. On an isolated part of the beach, my bikini-clad wile was joined by her nude brother, and an odd, three-sided discussion of my fate got under way. "Let me say, Norma," female-Chris began, "that your actions today have changed my feelings towards you considerably. I thought you were the kind of man who would do anything for the woman he loved. And now I find that you're nothing but a miserable liar and a sneak. Look at you," her lip curled, "You don't even deserve to be called a man anymore, much less my husband." "All right,"I whined in the high voice that seemed natural to me now, "just release me and we'll get a divorce!" "I'm afraid it's a bit late for that, darling," female-Chris sat on a beach chair, crossing her splendid legs and looking down at me with a cruel coldness that was neither love nor hate. "You and I have already consolidated our assets to the point where it would take several very expensive solicitors to untangle them. And then, too, there's the fact that I simply don't trust you anymore. No, don't try to protest. There isn't a thing you could say now that would make me think I could depend upon you to act fairly in a divorce action. Not to mention what you might try to do to my career and my future business plans, if I let you." she cupped her hands thoughtfully on her knee, which pressed her breasts delightfully together. "No, dearest, you make a lovely girlfriend, but I'm afraid it would be just too much bother for me to allow you to become a man again anytime soon." "But what else is there?" I protested, "I mean, if I can't be hour husband, and I can't get a divorce, what.. ...? "You can be our maid," male-Chris interrupted, "My sister and I both hate doing housework, but until now, we've never been able to afford any alternative. I think it would be rather nice to have an attractive girl like you about the house, cleaning and serving us. Of course such an arrangement would mean that we'd have to move down here permanently, so that I could assume your identity. And you might find that some of the outfits we picked out for you were a bit skimpy. But I think it would be a charming arrangement." "Charming, Hell!" I cried bitterly, "Get me out of this! I. don't want to be your maid!" "Are you quite certain?" female-Chris asked, "Because we do have an alternative plan." "Alternative? What do you mean?" "That nice Mr. Tate apparently has a financial Interest in some of those more bizzare sex shows that you saw last night," my wife explained, "and he's quite taken with the potential in a performing snake-woman, like yourself." My eyes widened in shock as she went on. "He says that in the beginning, he would just put you on display in a glass tank--sort of an exhibit. But as time went on and your novelty wore off, he would have some of his female trainers 'educate' you in certain feminine arts. Also, he'd like to tattoo your skin into a permanent snake pattern. By the time he's through, he says, you'll be the most exotic and popular sex-creature on the island -- and loving it!" I was speechless. Numb with horror at the prospects. Either feminine servitude to my black wife and her brother/lover, or a life on a sub- human level as an armless, legless sex-thing, performing unspeakable acts in front of crowds. "Well?" Male-Chris patted my sore rump affectionately, probing inward with a mischievous finger. 'What will it be, my pretty?" Six months later I studied my nude reflection in a mirror and thought about my new life. The human mind can adjust to anything if it has to, and the human body, I had learned, is infinitely adaptable. I checked the shine on my nails - a brilliant red to match my lipstick -- and began dressing in my maid's outfit. There certainly wasn't much of it! My "uniform" consisted of a black satin teddy, cut revealingly and a size too small for me anyway, a tiny white lace apron with a matching cap for my hair, dark-seamed black silk stockings with lacy black silk garters, and a pair of shiny black patent leather pumps with five-inch heels. I decked myself out in this and checked the mirror once more, noticing how my large, round and very real (thanks to some shots that my wife had provided) breasts thrust against the thin fabric of the teddy, how narrow my waist had become due to the corset that I was laced into nightly, and how startlingly round and full my hips and bottom looked atop my long, sensuous legs. Electrolysis had permanently removed my facial and body hair, and the long brown hair on my head had grown out to where it could be - and was - styled in a wavy, flowing, ultra- feminine hairdo. There was only one small patch of Plasti-Flesh still on my body. I shifted my legs, feeling it there between them, still pushing my male genitals backup between my legs, disguising them as a woman's pouting nether-lips. Still hating this, even after all these months, I gave myself a final once-over in the mirror, knowing all too well that my master and mistress would be severely critical of any shortcomings in my appearance. But I looked just fine, standing there in that lacy black- and-white nothing, my gorgeous figure and lovely face displayed at their most feminine. I was perfect. I minced downstairs to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast for my employer/spouse/ mistress/master. While it was cooking, I went to the front door and mentally braced myself for the short walk out to the post box for the morning mail. I always dreaded this part of the day, fearing the stares, whistles, and lewd comments that I sometimes got from passers-by who might be out. For although my employers, Mr. and Mrs. Drake, lived in a quiet and very affluent part of town, there were still quite a few joggers, delivery men, and even school-children who might see me - a lowly white domestic - and feel compelled to call attention to my ripe feminine figure and the scanty, frivolous costume that almost covered it. This morning, however, I made it out to the mail box and back without being seen (which I took as a good omen for what I had planned) and less than half an hour later, I was serving breakfast in bed to Norman and Christine Drake. "Here you are, Sir and Ma'am," I set the food down on a bed tray and curtsied, smiling brightly, "And good morning to you!" Norman Drake, formerly the male-Chris, stretched his black body up from the red satin sheets and yawned. He was completely masculine now, without a trace of his former transvestite identity, and I sometimes wondered how he had ever looked just like his sister--who was now his wife! Christine Drake pulled her voluptuous body up to a sitting position, and I could not help gazing in rapturous desire at the soft curves of her body, and thinking about how they had once been a playing field for my rampant masculinity. Now, those curves were just another source of torment for my captive male organ, imprisoned within a seal of Plasti- Flesh -the substance I had helped to finance! "You look very charming today, Norma," Christine smiled at me, "Are you looking forward to our trip?" "Oh yes, Ma'am," I curtsied, bowing my head, lest my excitement give away the secret I had planned for so long. When my voice was under control again, I quickly finished, "You know I enjoy our visits to the Plant on Tuesdays, Ma'am. It gives me a chance to dress in the pretty outfits that you and Mr. Drake pick out for me." "Hmmmm," lying next to Chris on the bed, the new Norman Drake was reading a letter. 'Well, this finalizes our business in the States, Darling," he said to his wife/sister, 'We can stay down her permanently now!" "Wonderful," Chris beamed, "Now you won't have to wear that awful disguise ever again!" She was referring to the Old Norman Drake disguise. I remembered my amazement a few months ago when the large crate and the huge tins of pink flesh-colored Plasti-Flesh were delivered to the house. The crate had contained a life-sized plaster mold, in a human figure, and the male-Chris had lain down in this while female-Chris closed it up (it was fitted with a breathing-tube) and had me pour the liquid Plasti- Flesh into specially-drilled holes. A few minutes later, the stuff had dried, and Chris opened the mold to reveal... ME! The former Christopher Fahringham now looked just like I used to! Then, I remembered the body mold that my one time fianc?e had made of me. And I suddenly realized another property of Plasti-Flesh: a person could be coated with it and have that coating shaped into any likeness he desired! As in this case, where the dark-skinned Chris had been covered with Caucasian-colored skin and molded it into my former features! Just as the Plasti-Flesh had been ideal for casting life-like artificial dolls, it was perfect at simulating a real person. Thus disguised in my likeness, Chris --now Norman Drake--had made a quick trip to the States and wrapped up my business affairs very nicely indeed. Everything was now handled by Mrs. Drake from their new home in Los Palos. Oh, they still made weekly trips to the Plasti-Flesh plant here, but on the Island, everyone thought of Norman Drake as a Black. And besides, the weekly visits were largely a matter of routine discussions and developmental consultations. On these trips, I would accompany them, posing as their secretary and dressed in the most feminine of clothes imaginable. Long, ruffled dresses swirled about my legs, or perhaps daring slit skirts would part to show off layers of frilly petticoats, while sheer, lace-trimmed blouses displayed my breasts while they imprisoned my arms in puffy sleeves that buttoned tightly at the wrist with no less than six buttons on each arm. My heels were always the highest, my jeweiry the most eye-catching. Yet my hair was always pinned up in a prim bun, while my sensuous, doe-like eyes were kept smoldering behind wide, dark-rimmed glasses. The Drakes had gradually taken to leaving me alone to wait for them during the more involved meetings. We all knew that I had no identification here, no way of proving who I really was. And besides, the legal rights of white-skinned people in Los Palos were very few and far between. To even try to get away, I would have to face the very hostile laws and people of this Black-ruled country. But while I stayed in the Plant, I was reasonably safe from persecution, and there seemed to be no trouble for me to get into. So I was left on my own, sometimes for hours. That was their mistake. As I said earlier, I got where I am all by myself, and I didn't make it by just lying down and taking whatever was handed to me. I'm a fighter by nature, and the fact that I was now, to all appearances, a female didn't stop me. The very first time that the Drakes (odd howl had fallen into the habit of thinking of these Black upstarts as "the Drakes" and of myself as Norma. But anyway, the first time they) left me alone, I started looking for a means of escape. I knew better than to try to get to the American consulate when I had no proof of my citizenship, but I figured that if I could just get back to the States some way then I could work as a waitress or something until I( saved up enough money to retain a good lawyer. With a little work, I could look like my old self again, and I might be able to prove my identity with my fingerprints. And then I could start the legal proceedings to get back what was rightfully mine. But in a country like Los Palos, where I had no money and where whites are considered socially inferior, ! was afraid to try to get to the waterfronts, much less try to get past customs inspectors and onto a boat. No, I had to think of some other way.... That first day alone in the Plant, I had toured it from the highest offices clear to the basement, where local workers made rag dummies that were placed in molds and turned into the life-sized Plasti-Flesh dolls that had started all my troubles. I had looked over the whole operation, from the conveyor belt that carried the dummies into the mold, to the large warehouse room where rows of the bizarre dolls stood crated ready for shipment. And slowly, the incredible scheme came to me. Just as the male-Chris had managed to disguise himself, so could I--as one of the dolls! It seemed too preposterous at first. Then it seemed like too much of a gamble. But gradually, I checked out every step of it. The casting- molds were large enough to accommodate me. The Plasti-Flesh was kept at room temperature, so I would not be burned when it was injected into the mold. It was also porous and non-toxic, so it wouldn't hurt me (as I knew from experience) to have my body coated with it. And, best of all, the conveyor-belt ran through a small room where a lone worker checked to see that the eyes and mouth were sewn on properly before passing them on into the mold. That would be my chance. I learned by heart where the finished dolls were stored for shipment, what hours the shifts worked, what dolls were sent where and when. And at last, I was ready! No wonder I looked so bright and perky that Tuesday! I dutifully cleared away the breakfast dishes, then Assisted my Master and Mistress in the bath, carefully washing and drying their backs, legs, feet, and especially (as per orders) their genitals. "I say, Norma," Mr. Drake smiled down at me as I crouched before him in my apron and teddy, delicately drying his penis. "You show real talent for that work! Perhaps I should let you have more of it, eh?" Eyes demurely downcast, I merely smiled and cooed, "Thank you, Sir." and went on with my work. Just wait, I thought. It was Ten that morning when we arrived at the Plant. I was now dressed in a hot red minidress with no bra and only flesh-tone pantyhose for underwear. High heeled sandals and a wide-brimmed sun hat completed my ensemble, while Mr. and Mrs. Drake were elegantly attired, as befitted their high status. And, as usual, they left me to wait for them while they went into executive session. But today, I had prepared a surprise for them! The minute I was alone, I slipped into a ladles' room. There, in the privacy of a booth, I checked the contents I had smuggled into my purse: Scissors, a bathing cap, a small plastic bag, and six hundred- dollar bills that I had sneaked out of a drawer at the house. Working quickly, I removed my wide-brimmed sun hat and rapidly cut my long, wavy hair as short as possible. Then I put five of the hundred- dollar bills into the plastic bag, rolled it up, and experimentally slipped it into my mouth. It fit perfectly. I put it back in my purse, replaced my hat, and set off downstairs to the doll factory. Here again, my timing was perfect. As I reached the work floor, the doll makers were just finishing their morning break and returning to their cubicles along the conveyor belt. In less than a minute, the machinery started up again and the floor was deserted. Moving soundlessly under the hum of the conveyor belt, I slipped Into the cubicle where a black female worker was inspecting the mouth and eyes on the rag dummies before placing them back on the conveyor belt and relaying them into the mold. I arrived just as she was sending one off. Good, that gave me plenty of time. She turned as I came in and close the door. "Here now," she said, startled, "What are you doing around here, Miss? Haven't I seen you before?" "You have," I said quietly, "and I'm here to give you a hundred dollars." "A hundred - are you daft?" She looked a bit frightened, and I wondered if I was going to have to use force. This was the crucial part of my plan. I could have arranged to bribe this girl beforehand, but that would have given her time to have second thoughts about raising the price, betraying me, or just backing out of the deal. This way, I reasoned, she would be overcome by the suddenness of the offer, and once she took it, would be afraid of looking bad if she betrayed me. And if she refused the offer, I could always knock her out and tie her up. That would give me time enough. But she didn't refuse. When I explained to her what I wanted and how much I was willing to pay, she simply smiled. "You are daft!" She giggled, "I've heard of kinky Yankee women before, but... you actually want to become one of our sex-dolls? But how will you. ..." "I have no time to explain," I said urgently, "and I've told you how much I'll pay. Will you do it?" "Ma'am," she said, bowing with sarcastic deference, "It will be my pleasure. Go ahead and prepare yourself." Feeling giddy and more than a little embarrassed, I began removing my clothes. Over the last year or so, I had become so used to wearing feminine garments that I should have been able to handle them easily. But somehow, I found myself fumbling awkwardly under the amused brown eyes of this English-accented black woman. First my hat and lace- trimmed scarf. Then my dress and shoes. She put all of them into a large waste container, carefully buried under scraps of cloth so there would be no trace of my having been there. "Pity to discard these," she said, burying the expensive garments in the rubbish can, "but I guess it can't be helped. Well, off with the rest of it, young lady." Fumbling with the waist band of my pantyhose, I suddenly realized that I was completely unprepared for the confused emotions that were racing through me. For several months, I had looked and acted like a demure feminine maid. I had somehow grown used to serving my black Master and Mistress in that function until I sometimes actually thought of myself as female. Yet now, as I undressed in front of this smiling black woman, I remembered in a flood of embarrassment that I was a man, that I had been robbed of my money, my clothes, and even of my very sex by scheming Blacks.... And here I was, completely nude now, looking totally feminine and blushing from head to foot in front of yet another! But she was calmly taking my last garment from me and putting it in the bin with the rest of them. As she did so, I quickly reached into my purse, stuffed the roll of hundreds into my mouth (leaving out the single note for her) and strapped on the bathing cap to protect my now- short hair from the sticky Plasti-Flesh that was to come. Silently, I handed the black girl my purse. It felt so horrible to be standing in front of her this way, wearing nothing but a bathing cap! I felt her eyes all over my ripe breasts, long pale legs, and especially on the false female pussy between them! Fortunately, at that moment a rag dummy rolled into the room on the conveyor belt, feet first. The black lady pulled it off the belt and carefully buried it in the waste can. "Up with you now," she smiled, "Feet first, dear, just like the dummy." I got onto the conveyor belt awkwardly, acutely conscious of my bare ass sticking out as I climbed. At last, I was on the belt, glad that this embarassing situation would soon be over. As the belt started moving, the black woman picked up a small tube of gel. "This is a solvent for removing the Plasti-Flesh," she said, "Don't worry; it's completely organic and non-toxic. I'm just going to squirt a thin line of it across your lips and eyelids so they won't seal up, and a drop or two in your ears. Close your eyes now." I did as she ordered and felt the tickling gel in my ears and across my eyelids. Then, as she worked on my mouth, she thought of something else. "I say!" she remarked, "I read in a novel once about a spy who smuggled secrets out of a country by having himself pack in a shipping crate and mailed out. You're not a spy, are you?" I shook my head, feeling myself moving slowly into the mold, arms at my sides. I was already in it up to my waist. "Because I should feel awful if I thought I had helped to smuggle secrets out," she went on, "Tell you what: let's just make sure!" I suddenly felt her hand dart between my lips. Before I could stop her, she was pulling out the roll of money I had hidden there, and was stuffing something else in; something warm and pungent and silky! "Those are my black nylon bikini briefs," she tittered, "Seems like a fair swap to me!" I tried to raise my arms to stop her, but I was already too far into the mold. So I had to lie there helpless, as this crafty, dark-skinned trickster stole my money and added insult to injury by replacing it with her used panties! But a moment later, I had other things on my mind. I took a deep breath and held it. For I was In the mold. Seconds passed as the rubbery liquid was squirted over and under my feminine body. I had timed this part of the operation carefully, and I knew I could do it, but that was without a pair of panties in my mouth! At last, when I thought my lungs were going to burst, the mold opened and I was rolled out. How good to breathe again! But I still had much to go through. I opened my eyes and stared rigidly straight ahead as bored workers painted my lips, glued on finger-and-toenails, clamped a wig firmly onto my still- sticky head and another one between my legs, carefully arranging it around the artificial vagina that had been stamped there. Then, more conveying, into a blast of hot air that quickly dried the new skin, sealing it onto my body. A workman wheeled a crate under the belt and unceremoniously rolled me off and into it. I fell face down into a pile of padding that lined the crate. "Seal of approval, honey," he called, like a man repeating an old joke. Then he routinely smacked my plastic ass! I felt more padding being poured over me, then the back being set onto the crate. And then, movement as I was wheeled over to a row of similar crates. I had made it. I was a rubber doll! The next several hours were an agony of suspense. I heard people pass, heard someone ask if anyone had seen the Drakes' secretary down here. Then I heard more talk, more feet back and forth across the room. They were looking for me. Crates were being opened, their contents checked. Rooms were searched. I heard someone opening the crates near me, then felt a rush of cool air as someone opened my crate, moved the padding, saw only my plastic-covered nudity, and covered me again. An hour later, the search was repeated and once again, I passed inspection. In the darkness of my box, I heard two men pass. "... must have gone to the waterfront," one of them said, "or to the Consulate. We'll put men out..." the voice faded off. A long, long time later, the storage room was at last silent, and had been for a while. Slowly, cautiously, I turned myself over and climbed out of the crate. How odd I felt! My face was stiff and immobile, my arms and legs heavy and difficult to move. My hands felt thick and clumsy, and I couldn't get my thumb and forefinger to meet. I checked out my fingers and saw that they looked small and delicate, with long, brilliant-red nails. I looked down at myself. My breasts were larger, thrust higher and more firm, yet still bouncing with each move. My waist was narrower, hips wider, and my round bottom, (I strained to turn and see it) looked at least a size larger. My legs were still long, pale and smooth, curvier now, and more feminine than before. Below them, red toenails winked up at me from my delicate feet. I tugged out a strand of my wig and saw that it was a rich honey-blonde. But I had no time to waste studying my doll-like conditions. First things first. I found a bathroom, used it, and got those horrid panties out of my mouth. Then, still moving stiffly, I tiptoed to the shipping area of the storage room. The crates to be shipped had been labeled but not sealed yet, so it was a simple matter for me to lift the doll out of one, put it in my old box, then get into hers. I checked the label carefully. Tomorrow, I would be in the U.S.A., where I could scream my head off. I would have smiled if I could have in the Plasti-Flesh coating. But I was getting tired from the strain of moving around with that rubber-like stuff all over me. It was like moving around in wet clothes, only warmer and much worse. I replaced the lid on my new crate as best I could and burrowed into the padding. Then, in the quiet darkness, I fell asleep. I awoke the next morning with a start. Someone was nailing the lid onto my crate. I felt myself being lifted upright, scooted onto a dolly, then wheeled forward. "Hey! You there!" The dolly that was carrying me stopped suddenly. I heard footsteps approach. "Now what?" The man who had been wheeling me sounded impatient. He began drumming his fingers on the box, and now I could only hear bits and pieces of what the other man said: "That a blonde you got? Take her over there... rush order... the shipment to the States can wait... some Sheik's paying plenty for a half-dozen of these toys!"