Transvestite Caught -- Conclusion free porn video
"Where are the photos?"
Dorothy was standing outside the shower stall, looking in at me through
the open door as I stood there, completely nude, shivering with cold and
embarrassment. Over her shoulder, I saw Ronnie, the obviously gay
Producer/Director. He was in on the secret of my true sex, and his eyes
positively glowed as he watched me,holding his portable video camera.
"Oh please don't make me do this, Mistress," I whispered in my high-
pitched voice.
"No one's making you do anything, Gwendolyn," Dorothy insisted, trying
to suppress a smile as she looked over my ripe, blushing feminine
contours, "I'm just telling you that if you don't turn in a convincing
performance, we'll have your little disguise made permanent --
surgically! Or you could get out of this altogether by just telling us
where you hid those negatives. Well?"
I lowered my eyes, blinking back tears of shame and frustration. And
remained silent.
"Ready?" Ronnie asked.
"She'd better be ready," Dorothy nodded.
"Okay," Ronnie grinned and went into his professional jargon:
"ADVENTURES OF GWENDOLYN, Volume I,'Bind It Yourself': Scene One, Take
One. I'll get the Master Shot with the Hand-Held here and we'll pick up
inserts from those hidden cameras on the other side of the mirrors.
Okay: Action!"
Dorothy backed out of camera range and I obediently closed the stall
door and turned on the shower.
"Right!" Ron called, "You hear the doorbell now: React!" I shut off the
shower and peeked out the stall door.
"Fine," Ronnie prompted, "Now you hear it again, and this time let your
tit flop into view."
Humiliated, I did as he said. On further direction, I stepped timidly
out of the stall and ran a big fluffy towel over my wet nudity with
erotic exaggeration ("Flaunt'em, Honey!") then held the towel up in
front of me and padded out to the Living room.
"Okay," Ronnie coached, "Scene Two, Take One," He let the videocamera
linger lovingly over my exposed buttocks, and I could feel his hot eyes
like a physical touch, all over my smooth, feminized body. I could tell
that he found my hidden identity and helpless state intriguing, and I
fought to keep from shivering. "Just take it naturally," He went on,
"Let Angela direct the action."
I scampered to the door and pretended to open it with the fake doorknob
that had been screwed on for this occasion. Angela entered,
unrecognizable in a dark wig and heavy makeup, wearing a white silk
shirt, open at the collar, riding breeches, and knee-high shiny black
boots. She was carrying a suitcase with the lettering: "Bind-It-
Yourself".
"Hello, Madame," she smiled, trying not to giggle, "I'm with Bind-It-
Yourself. Can I interest you in our new line of products?"
"Well-I-er- have some friends coming over for a party soon and--" I
stammered, falling back as she pushed her way in and locked the door.
"This won't take long," Angela sparkled, "let's start with the Bridal
Bridle, shall we? It's a very popular item, and you wouldn't believe how
it cuts down on sales resistance! Here," And in no time, she had slipped
a rubber ring into my mouth, forcing me to clamp it between my teeth so
that my mouth stayed open. She swiftly buckled it behind my head,
strapping the gag firmly in place. I raised my hand to unbuckle it, but
when I did that, my towel started to fall, so I quickly grabbed it.
Remembering the "script", I brought the ends of the towel behind my
back, to knot it in place... which put my wrists conveniently behind my
back for Angela's handcuffs!
"Great!" Ronnie called, zooming in on my naked backside, focusing on the
handcuffs. "We'll hold this and dissolve. Get her suited up for the next
scene."
For the next scene, I was wearing tight black rubber boots with six-inch
heels. They were almost covered by the ankle-length black rubber dress I
wore, a dress with cut-outs for my breasts, pussy and ass, yet cut so
tight that it outlined my long, shapely legs with each hobbling step I
took. A built-in corset crushed my midriff and forced me to sway and
jiggle my breasts and bottom outlandishly every time I moved. The high
collar and tight rubber sleeves of the dress would have hampered my
movements even without the handcuffs that were still in place.
In the mirror, I could see that my exposed globes of pink flesh
contrasted excitingly with the shiny black rubber as Angela pretended to
finish "dressing" me.
"All right," Ron called, his video camera whirring, "You hear the door
bell now. Angela, go and answer it. Gwendolyn, those are all your
friends out there, coming to your party. Look shocked. Look embarrassed.
Look for somewhere to hide!"
I did as he ordered. Looking embarrassed was easy, for as the door
opened and my "company" entered laughing, I blushed furiously. It was
Chita and Maria, and Freda, from the nightclub where all my troubles had
started, and as they entered and pretended to look surprised and amused
at my plight, I truly identified with the part I was playing. Perhaps I
became the ultimate method actor... or actress! I don't know. I only
know that I turned this way and that, looking for some way to escape the
stares and laughter. I minced comically about in my tight rubber dress,
flinging my exposed charms about wildly with every move, my long wavy
blonde hair tossing gaily as I looked desperately about.
But everywhere I turned, there was only Ronnie with his eager camera,
and those remorseless mirrors, throwing my sexy image back at me. And I
knew, beyond those mirrors, more video cameras were recording this
exquisite humiliation from every conceivable angle.
Sixty minutes of videotape later, my "friends" had tied me over a
footstool, my wrists and ankles lashed to the legs, and laced a tight
black rubber helmet over my head, blindfolding as well as gagging me.
They lined up behind me, with paddles raised, and Ronnie stood to one
side, zooming in on my exposed ass-cheeks as the girls started raining
swats down on them.
"Perfect!" he cheered. "There's just no substitute for Real Pain! We'll
just hold this shot awhile, then I can superimpose "The End" on it when
I get back to the lab. Very symbolic."
* * * *** **** * ***** * *
"Where are the photos?"
"Blink twice if you want to tell us."
It was a Sunday Afternoon, in late Fall, I think. Angela and Dorothy
were lying languorously on my couch, dressed in skimpy silk teddies,
holding each other tenderly and looking up with repressed laughter at
the sight of me.
It was quite a sight. I stood in a glass case mounted on a platform in
the center of the Living Room. By now, my blonde hair was quite long and
curly, and it tumbled down my naked back very becomingly as I danced for
my Mistresses. My only clothing was a pair of high heels and a
crushingly tight thing that they called a "venus corset" covered with
flesh-colored vinyl that blended perfectly with my pale skin.
The girls called it a Venus Corset because, besides confining my waist,
it held my arms tightly to my sides, wrapped about my middle, almost
completely invisible and totally useless. On my face was a skin-tight
rubber mask with a built in-gag that kept my features smilingly
motionless, like a happy doll, as I danced about in my three-by-three
glass prison, watching myself helplessly in the mirrored walls of my own
living room.
Oh yes; there was a tiny grape-sized vibrator in my anus, the narrow
cord from it barely visible as it ran from my ass-cheeks to the floor.
The girls could turn this on and off at will, which accounted for my
dancing.
"You know," Angela purred, smiling at the sight of my wildly jiggling
armless dance, like some hyperactive Venus Di Milo. "Quite aside from
the effect of that corset, I do believe her hips and bosom are growing
I"
"They ought to be," Dorothy grinned proudly, "those shots we give her
are in hot demand at every transsexual boutique in town!"
"Isn't it sweet, though, how she stays so modest and timid and shy, no
matter what we do to her?"
"That's the subliminal recordings we play in her sleep," Dorothy
explained. "I knew that if we had to keep her prisoner for any length of
time, she might get used to the embarrassing things we make her do, and
I certainly didn't want that. So every night, while she sleeps, she
hears faint recordings, reminding her about how shameful all this is,
and how a proper little girl like her should just die of humiliation
right on the spot... things like that, you know."
"Well it certainly works!" Angela tittered, sweeping back her red hair
playfully with one hand as she smiled at me. "She practically faints
every time anyone looks her way!"
"Oh, that's just one of the tapes she hears," Dorothy beamed, "I also
give her tapes to make her more servile, and a better lover, and to
reinforce her erotic attraction to Lesbians. Oh, and I sometimes play
one to remind her that she's really a man, a man who thought he could
temporarily assume the female sex to prey on women! Only now he's stuck
that way, growing more and more like a lesbian than he ever planned on,
and locked up in the prison that he designed for himself! Oh, I really
rub it in on that one!"
"It certainly fits!" Angela commented. "How long has it been since she's
had any kind of sexual relief, anyway? She must be getting awfully horny
by now!"
"Who cares?" Dorothy casually moved a hand down over Angela's silk-
covered breast. "Maybe the torment of constant sexual frustration will
succeed where all our bondage and spankings have failed, and make her
tell us where those photos are. But speaking of sexual relief, it's been
almost an hour how since we.... "
Her words were muffled by Angela's passionate kiss. As the two women
gently slid the black silk teddies down off each other's bodies and
entertwined there on the couch, I felt my own cock stiffen once again,
painfully frustrating beneath the artificial pussy over my crotch.
And I kept dancing.
That night, Chita and Maria returned to the apartment to resume control
of me. I was still in the glass case, wearing my immobile, smiling,
face-mask-gag, and my venus corset, but now Dorothy had strapped two
false arms to my shoulders, artistically posed, and put an elaborate
victorian outfit on me, complete with intricately-styled wig, so that
now, as I stood there, I resembled some antique china figurine.
The two Latino girls ooh'ed and ahh'ed at the sight of me this way for a
moment, then broke up laughing.
"She's a real Piece, this one!" Chita gasped, when she finally stopped
her convulsions of merriment, "You just never know what she's going to
do next!"
"Yes I do," Dorothy said with a smile. "Ronnie's coming over next week
for more taping, remember."
"Wonderful!" Maria cheered. "We're going to be Movie Stars again!"
Much later, as Dorothy and Angela were leaving, Maria looked at me,
standing motionless and incredibly feminine in my glass case.
"Did she give you any trouble this weekend?" she asked Dorothy.
"Oh no." My smiling secretary replied, "She's been a perfect Doll!"
And the laughter began again.
*** ** * * **** ***** * * ****** * * * *
"Where are the photos?"
I was dressed in my frilly garter belt, sheer black stockings, shiny
black patent-leather pumps with six-inch heels, my abbreviated lacey
white apron, and mocking maid's cap. Leather cuffs at my wrists and
ankles were joined by shiny light brass chains, long enough to give me
relative freedom of movement while constantly reminding me of my
bondage.
Dorothy, wearing a smart blue skirt, white blouse and black necktie, her
hair pulled back in a tight, attractive bun, regarded me severely as she
asked the question. But as her eyes swept over the pink flesh of my
lush, feminine body, trimmed in black silk and white lace, I thought I
saw something else in them. Was it desire? After all, I reflected, she
likes women as much as I do, and I certainly must look an attractive
target right now, blushing and nearly naked as I minced about the
bedroom trying vainly to hide my bare breasts and bottom from view, a
plainly losing battle amid all the mirrored walls that surrounded us.
"We may not ask again, Gwendolyn," Seated at the dresser, wearing her
white silk shirt, riding breeches and black boots, Angela finished
applying heavy makeup to her face. "After all,' she went on, "It's been
long enough now that we really don't have to worry much anymore about
those photos turning up by themselves. So it's just a matter now of
putting you out of the way so you won't have the chance to dig them out
and use them against us. Not that I think you could do anything, now
that Dorothy has control of your company, and you've become a Porno
Star."
She gestured casually at the stack of brightly-packaged videos atop the
bedroom DVR, all titled, "The Adventures Of Gwendolyn, Volume--"
something-or-other, and all of them featuring a gaudy picture of me on
the cover, feminine, bound, and -- usually naked. The girls loved
playing these over and over again in the evenings, delighting in the
embarrassment on my pretty face as I watched myself docilely acting out
their sadistic charades, burning with shame at the thought that these
things were for sale or rent in every Porno Shop and Adult Video Parlor
across the country. Wondering how many strange men had been turned on or
laughed themselves silly (or both) at the sight of me capering about on
the screen. I reddened again just thinking about it.
But I kept silent.
"Very well then," Dorothy said firmly, "It's just a question of what to
do with you. We'll think of something, I'm sure."
The door bell sounded just as Angela finished putting the dark wig on
her head, completing her disguise.
"That'll be Ronnie."
"Remember," Dorothy cautioned as Ronnie checked his equipment, "we get
to preview this tape before you release it, just to make sure no one can
recognize us."
"Don't worry," Ronnie laughed, "you'll get full approval. After seeing
what happened to your poor Gwen here, I wouldn't even think of crossing
you two!"
He studied me intently for a moment, then impulsively leaned over and
kissed one of my nipples, which sprang up immediately while I reddened
with shame, "To think this sweet thing used to be a wealthy, hetero
Male! But seriously, Dears, there is something I need to discuss with
you:
"This 'Transformation' Tape should give the Gwendolyn market a boost,
but frankly I think the series has about played itself out. If we're
going to keep making money off this girl, it's time to move on to
different things." -
"For instance?" Angela looked interested.
"Well," Ronnie cupped a hand casually over my round, pert bottom, "you
know I have kind of a personal interest in this, but there's a big
market out there for Transvestite and Transsexual tapes. I think if we
took off Gwen's little crotch-piece there and played around with her a
little, put her in some situations with some different guys or with
other transies, we could really clean up. And that's just for starters.
Once the tapes were on the market, I could take her to the West Coast
for personal appearances: 'Gwendolyn, the reluctant transvestite'. She'd
be a hit in the TV clubs and gay bars there. Why, I might even be able
to sell her to a Gay Collector in Texas! What do you think?"
I could see the girls' eyes light up with inspiration, as if Ronnie had
just handed them the answer to the question of how to keep me out of the
way. Dorothy in particular looked interested, and I could practically
read her thoughts:
She was reflecting on me, a man who had lusted after gay women, who had
snuck into Lesbian Bars and tried to take videotapes of female
homosexuals. And how amusing it would be to see me turned into a
feminized plaything for gay men! How richly poetic to watch me
scampering about in all-male videos, and know that I was being forced
into a life as a shameful, half-sexed male lesbian in a bizarre reversal
of my own fantasy.
Her smile grew wider, and she whispered something to Angela, who began
giggling uncontrollably. Dorothy regained her composure with a visible
effort and replied,
"Well, it's certainly a possibility, but let's see how this tape goes
before we make any commitments. Ready to start?"
As the cameras rolled, taping Scene One of "The Transformation of
Gwendolyn", I stood meekly in front of the disguised Angela. I still
wore my maid's scanties, and I felt the gay Ronnie photographing me with
an unusual intensity, the camera poring over every inch of my soft white
skin.
Out of camera range, Dorothy still watched with obvious lust in her
eyes. How confusing! Here I was, looking and acting totally feminine,
and yet yearning for sex as a man. And on one side of me stood Dorothy,
attracted by my womanlike qualities, while on the other side, Ronnie was
clearly turned on by the secret of my disguised malehood! He wanted me,
all right, as I suppose a lot of men did -- men who had seen my movies.
But they (and Dorothy) wanted me as a woman, while Ronnie loved me as a
helplessly feminized male!
In front of me, Angela looked merely amused as she recited her lines:
"I'm going out for a while, Gwendolyn," she said with campy hauteur,
"And while I'm gone, I want you to dye my leather jacket. You'll find
everything you need in the Bathroom."
"Oh must I, Mistress?" I protested for the camera, "That stuff leaves
black spots that stay on for weeks!"
For answer, Angela swatted me across the front of my smooth thighs with
her riding crop, causing me to cringe in pain.
"This will teach you to talk back, young lady," She smiled as she picked
up a small leather device that looked like a half-sliced pear. "Stick
that naughty tongue out!"
It was one of the most sophisticated gags on the market. I obediently
held out my tongue as Angela slipped the object over it, then screwed it
shut, clamping my tongue firmly inside. The entire thing slipped into my
mouth easily enough, although I had to keep my lips slightly open, in a
half-smile, to accommodate it. Once in, it was completely invisible and
totally effective, holding immovably to my tongue and rendering me
incapable of speech.
"Now get to work," she ordered. "When I get back, I want to see that
coat completely dyed and yourself cleaned up."
I curtseyed in acknowledgement, feeling my naughty bare breasts bob
saucily as I dipped, then scampered off.
"Scene Two!"
In the bathroom, I hung the white leather coat carefully from a towel
bar in the bathtub, then began removing my own clothing according to the
script.
"That's right, Dear," Ronnie coached, "Nice and slo-o-ow now. Apron
first. Now the garter belt. move your legs to the camera as you roll
down your stockings. Okay. You suddenly realize you're still wearing the
chains. Take them off. That's right. Now the stockings. Now reach up and
un-pin your cap. S-t-r-e-t-c-h those arms, Girl. Right! Flaunt those
lucious boobs!"
Completely naked now, I stepped gingerly down into the sunken black
marble tub and picked up a large bottle, clearly labeled for the camera:
"BLACK DYE FOR ALL ANIMAL SKINS AND FURS" and turned towards the jacket.
"Cut!"
The white jacket was replaced with a shiny black one, and I set the
bottle back on the edge of the tub. Ronnie expertly daubed black shoe
polish on my hands, legs, breasts, and even a spot on my bottom, clearly
enjoying his work. Then he picked up the camera again.
"Action!"
I put my hands on my hips, smudging them, and regarded the black coat
with a look that said, "finished at last!" Then I looked in dismay down
at my dirt-smeared body, spreading my blackened palms wide.
Kneeling seductively, I turned on the bath taps and filled the tub with
bubble bath.
Minutes later, I was oozing around in the sunken tub, noting with mimed
irritation that the black stain was not coming off. Pettishly, I reached
behind me for the Shampoo, and, on cue, "accidentally" picked up the
black dye instead.
The stuff felt cold and soaking as it poured onto my head. I could
imagine it darkening my hair jet black, but I kept my back resolutely to
the mirrored walls of the tub, keeping my face obediently towards the
camera so that Ronnie could photograph the black gunk running down over
my face.
On cue again, I pretended to get some in my eyes and dropped the whole
bottle into the tub as I raised my blackened hands up to my face. Ouch!
That stuff did sting a little!
Still following the "script", I ducked my head under the water and
squirmed about, churning up the suds (Incidentally spreading the black
dye through the water) and immersing myself repeatedly in the warm, dark
solution.
Finally Ronnie said I'd had enough. "All right Sweet," he continued,
"let the water run out, then get up and look at yourself in the mirrors.
Then just React!"
I didn't need any coaching for that! For as I stood up and saw myself in
the mirrored walls, my eyes widened and my mouth fell open in complete
shock.
I was Black!
My entire body had been dyed a deep, brownish black, burnished with a
soft ebony sheen. I had been expecting some sort of color-change, but a
sort of clownish charcoal-grey was what I'd had in mind; something that
would wash off easily. I'd never expected to look so convincingly like a
Black Woman!
Forgetting the cameras, I reached up and turned on the shower full-
force, picking up soap and scrubbing myself vigorously. No use. I tried
shampoos, rinses, everything in the tub, but to no avail. My body
remained as genuinely brown-black as ever!
"That was wonderful, Darling!" Ronnie cheered as I gave up at last.
"Sooo convincing! Now dry yourself off, Sweet!"
Miserably, I buffed my lush brown figure with an oversized bath towel,
noting that the dye was not even coming off on the towel. As I worked, I
saw that more of the dye had clung to my hair than elsewhere on my body,
turning it a darker black and leaving it somewhat coarse and wiry. I
worked on it with comband blow-dryer, but the best I could manage was a
full, fuzzy afro.
So there I was, transformed to all appearances into a Black Woman! I saw
how my full brown breasts shimmered in the lights when I moved, and in
the mirror I could see my long, smooth, darkened legs rising to a
bouncing chocolate bottom, and above that, my soft, cocoa-colored back.
It was awful! I felt almost lost, strangely confused about my appearance
and identity. It was as if I had been moved yet another step away from
my former self. Would I ever find my way back?
"Okay, Hon," Ronnie coached. "Now you hear the door. It's your Mistress
returning! Run to tell her what happened."
Obediently, I scampered back into the living room. There, Angela,
pretending to see me for the first time, fought back a laugh as she
tried to look shocked and exclaimed, "Who are you? Where's Gwendolyn?
What have you done with her?"
I tried to talk, but of course the pear-gag in my mouth prevented that.
Angela still feigned outrage and shock, and, in short order, I was
handcuffed. Then leg-cuffed. Then suspended by my ankles from the
ceiling, my face level with Angela's crotch as she "interrogated" me.
"Won't talk, eh?" she snarled. "Well, we'll just get the Police!"
"We'll dissolve here," Ronnie called, "Okay, Dotty, come on in!"
Dorothy entered on cue. To my surprise, she now wore a Policeman's cap,
and had a badge pinned to her white blouse.
She also wore mirrored sunglasses and a long blonde wig that made her
completely unrecognizable. By this time, Angela had cuffed each of my
wrists to the opposite elbow, so as to render my arms totally useless
while thrusting out my breasts into greater prominence, as I hung there,
my brown feminine body gleaming in the light.
"Officer!" Angela cried. "My Slave is missing! I lost a beautiful blonde
slave named Gwendolyn, and found this creature here instead! And she
won't tell me what's going on or anything!"
"She won't, eh?" Dorothy managed to stay in character, despite her
amusement at the sight of me. "Well we have ways of fixing that!"
From a hook on her belt, she pulled not a billy club, but a flat leather
paddle. Taking her cue, Angela seized a rolled-up newspaper, and the two
Lesbians stepped behind me.
Fwackk!
The rolled-up newspaper thudded against my taut brown buttocks.
Thwack!
Dorothy's paddle followed suit.
Crack!
The paper.
Slap!
The paddle.
Swack! Crack! Swapp! Smack!
I moaned, I twisted, I writhed In agony.
And I wondered what else Dorothy had planned for me. Would she really
give me to Ronnie? I wished bitterly that I had never tried assuming a
lesbian identity at all. Or that I hadn't been foolish enough to
blackmail my tough, sexy, gay secretary. Or that I'd been too smart to
fall into her simple trap.
And most of all, I wished I hadn't destroyed those photos.
That's right. I had burned them months ago, that afternoon before
Dorothy took me on our first "date" and ended up enslaving me and
trapping me in this feminine body. I had burned them because that was
the one sure way of guaranteeing that Dorothy could never be sure what
had happened to them. And it had worked too well. Now I could neither
produce the photos nor convince my captresses that they were gone.
I was stuck.
Stuck in the body that I had only wanted to experiment with. Stuck in
the apartment I had built for my fantasies (Ouch! That paddle hurt!)
Stuck in the situation I had thought I could control.
Angela and Dorothy were out of breath, gasping from the exertion of
spanking me so hard for so long.
My own body was covered with an exciting sheen of perspiration over the
soft, dark skin.
"Getting warm in here," Dorothy said, stripping off her tie and
unbuttoning her blouse.
"You said it!" Angela agreed, removing her skirt.
In short order, the two of them were down to their undies and laying
into me with the paddles again. As they did so, they brushed against
each other from time to time, displacing a bra-strap here or tugging
down slightly on a panty-top there, until the last of their clothing
seemed to fall away as they worked me over, leaving them gloriously
naked, their pink bodies glowing from the exercise (although the wigs
stayed on, and also Dorothy's mirrored sunglasses, as a disguise.)
Soon, they were standing on either side of me, embracing, pushing their
furry crotches into my face and the back of my head. In front of me,
Angela spun about, rubbing her creamy ass up and down my face. Dorothy
snaked a hand around my thighs and tapped her fingers sensuously on my
false pussy, stroking my male privates beneath into frustrated, cramped,
painful arousal.
They lowered themselves now, rubbing their firm breasts over my face
while they circled me, kissing my bare shoulders and sucking on my
nipples until I actually swooned with desire.
I got a glimpse of Dorothy's face, smiling knowingly at me from behind
the mirrored sunglasses. The little bitch knew just exactly how much
this intimate lesbian contact excited me, and how maddening it was after
all these months of frustrating denial.
"Enjoy it, Hon," she whispered. "Next time, you'll be doing this with
guys! Won't that be fun?"
She stuck her tongue out at me, then Angela pulled her to the floor,
where they curled into a perfect Sixty-Nine while I hung there, bound
and transformed above them.
And Ronnie deftly maneuvered his camera up from their coupling bodies,
past my cute little brown face, over my bound arms and ebony breasts,
and around, back to my bare butt for his standard closing shot....
thEnd!
Jo
- 10.04.2020
- 12
- 0
