Charlotte, Part 1 free porn video

I've never been the world's most masculine man- at 5' 5" and a slender 8 and a half stone- but this is just ridiculous. When I went to bed last night, I was wearing my boxer shorts. When I wake up this morning, things are quite different. The first thing I'm aware of is the smell. Like a bomb had gone off in a perfume factory, the sweet floral scent seemed to surround me. Then came the taste of cherry on my lips, and a tingling sensation over my whole body. I open my eyes and reach out a hand to find my bedside table, only to be greeted with a shock- my arm is now completely hairless, and my fingernails are painted a bright purple colour! "What the hell!" I exclaim as I look around the unfamiliar room. It's undoubtedly a girl's room, belonging to someone around my age (19). I stare down at my body and gasp with shock. My legs- encased in thin translucent tights- are as hairless as my arms. 5" black stiletto heels had been placed on my feet, and where my boxers should be, there is a denim mini skirt instead. I look down at my torso and immediately regret it. My once-flat chest has been 'augmented' with real-looking breasts, held in place by a bra and girly pink t-shirt that shows far too much cleavage for my liking. "No, no, no," I whisper as I get to my feet, tottering on my heels but not daring to take them off for fear of what my kidnappers- as this is obviously what had happened to me- might do if they found out. As I walk toward the girl's full-length mirror, I try to unpick the wedgie that I had somehow got, only to discover I was wearing a thong. Deciding not to put it off any longer, I reach underneath my skirt, tights and thong and gingerly poke a finger toward where my 'equipment' should be. To my relief, I find it was still there- but underneath an additional layer of latex that completely restricted any movement. Equally gingerly, I caress my breasts to discover that they're also latex- but seamlessly joined onto my skin. Staring in the mirror, I am equally terrified and intrigued by the cute girl staring back at me. Immaculately made-up with blush, fake eyelashes, thick eyeliner, pink eye-shadow and deep, thick, burgundy lipstick, and with her short blonde hair hairsprayed into a cowlick, she is quite the knock-out. I jump when I hear the bedroom door begin to open. My heart racing, I grab the nearest thing that could function as a weapon and brace myself... "Charlotte?" I hear an older man's voice cry out. "Are you up yet? You know you've got a big day today!" I remain silent, my hand remaining on the lamp, preparing to use it as a weapon if the need comes. The door opens fully, and I can see that the owner of the voice is a man no taller than me, maybe 50-55 years old. His face looks familiar- and when I surreptitiously glance down at the photo on this 'Charlotte's dresser, I smile. "I'm sorry, daddy," I begin in the most feminine voice I can manage- which was actually pretty convincing- "I just had a late night last night, that's all." "Well you've got an early morning today," 'daddy' sternly retorts in the way only a parent can. "You know how important this interview is, if this agency adds you to their books you'll never need to find another job again." Agency? Is this Charlotte an actress or something? "We leave in forty minutes. Get yourself washed and dressed. And sort your make-up out too." With that, 'daddy' abruptly leaves, leaving me alone in this strange room with my thoughts. Whoever this 'Charlotte' is, I clearly look enough like her to fool her own father. I checked out the date on the bedside calendar- March 30th. Last I was aware it was March 28th so obviously I was kidnapped on the 29th, made to look like Charlotte and dropped off here today. But where is the real Charlotte? I quickly look through Charlotte's drawers for clues but all I find is more clothes, skirts, crop tops, girly t-shirts, lots of underwear of kinds I'd never even seen before and a whole drawer full of dancewear, leotards, tights, flimsy dance skirts and ballet slippers. She also has more jewellery than every female member of my family put together and more make-up too- so whoever she is, clearly she- and her family- has a lot of money. Opening her wardrobes, I discover racks upon racks of clothes- dresses- tiny clubbing dresses and long, flowing gowns, skirts, blouses, formal suits- of which I'll need to choose one for my interview, I suppose- and over a hundred pairs of shoes and boots from ballet flats to ultra-high heels. In the corner of Charlotte's room is a TV with a DVD player attached, and she's got plenty of DVDs and hundreds of music CDs too. Also on her bookshelf are photos of herself- and she looks exactly like me, even down to the body shape. One photo stands out in particular- of her wearing a slinky black dress- much like one I came across in her wardrobe- walking down a catwalk. She's clearly a model, and that must be what this 'agency' today will be all about. I check out the clock- it reads 8:55, giving me 25 minutes to get dressed. I quickly kick off my heels- noting with dismay that my toenails have also been painted the same colour as my fingernails- and head into Charlotte's en suite bathroom. There, I take the time to inspect my face more thoroughly- my make-up is immaculate, despite the fact I must have slept in it last night. It is, however, a bit overdone, so I remove my false eyelashes and wipe away some of the excess eyeliner and eye shadow. I add a little mascara to try to make my face as feminine as possible to maintain the masquerade whilst not going overboard, and when I'm done, the illusion is as convincing as it was this morning. After applying a bit more lipstick and spraying on some more perfume, I make a mental note not to become too good at doing my own make up- I'm only going to be doing this until I find out what's happening, after all- before stripping off my clothes. The skirt and t-shirt come off first, followed by the tights, leaving me in just my bra and thong. Sighing, I remove my bra and inspect 'my' breasts. They hang realistically, the weight pulling on my chest, and even close-up you wouldn't be able to tell they're artificial unless you touched them. I pull my thong out of my backside and slide it down my legs, inspecting my crotch area in the mirror. Where my penis once was, there is now a realistic looking vagina that- on the surface at least- moves and behaves properly, even down to the tiny patch of pubic hair. I'm even able to slip the end of my finger into it. Unlike my breasts, this is not sealed to my body, and I briefly stretch it aside to see my penis lying shrivelled underneath. Sighing, I pull the 'panty' down to relieve myself in Charlotte's toilet, before rearranging it again so that on the outside, I look 100% female. 'Satisfied' with my look, I return to the bedroom to choose my outfit. After pulling on a bra, a pair of full-bottomed panties and some dark, sheer tights, I search through Charlotte's suits for something appropriate to wear, but to my dismay, all she has are skirts, and all of them are shorter than knee-length. Even when rifling through her drawers I didn't even find so much as a pair of jeans- a couple of pairs of denim hot pants were the closest this girl has to trousers. Looking at her shoes, I decide I'm not going to try to walk in anything higher than a 3" heel for the rest of the day, and pick out a lilac suit with matching stilettos. After donning a black satin blouse, I pull on the skirt and jacket and examine myself in the mirror, before sighing out of frustration- the skirt is tight around my backside- as all of Charlotte's skirts likely are- meaning I have to change my comfortable (ish) panties for another thong. Once this is done, I zip myself into the skirt, slip on the pointed-toe shoes and practise walking around the room. Unlike the denim mini from earlier, this pencil skirt is more restrictive, pulling at my thighs with every stride. I quickly get the hang of it, though, and after examining myself one more time- and wondering where the hell I got two sets of earrings in each ear from- I finish off my outfit by slipping a gold chain around my neck, another around my wrist and grabbing a matching lilac handbag before bracing myself for the interview ahead. The car journey there is conducted in silence, 'daddy' clearly upset at his little girl for staying out late last night whilst I play the part of the sulky teenager. I practise keeping my knees together throughout the ride- the last thing I need is to start projecting a male persona. For all I know, 'daddy' killed Charlotte and has kidnapped me to be her replacement... The interview itself goes well- my choice of clothes are complimented and all I have to do is field a few easy questions about my portfolio. 'Daddy' does most of the talking- he seems to already have some form of relationship with the man. I simply sit with my hands clasped in my lap, displaying my bright purple nails to the interviewer with my knees clamped tightly together despite the discomfort- I don't want to cross my legs for fear of my skirt- I'll never get used to that, 'my skirt'- riding up further than it already has. The only really uncomfortable part of the interview comes right at the end when the man comes around the desk, shakes my father's hand, then accepts my deliberately-limp handshake and leans in closer. My eyes widen with panic for a moment as he kisses me on the cheek, before I let instinct take over and I kiss his cheek in return, quickly swapping and kissing the other cheek as well. The man smiles- I must have got away with it. 'Daddy' quickly leads me out of the office, and the interview is done. The car ride 'home' is conducted in silence too. I know I'm expected to speak, but my thoughts are thoroughly scrambled by the events of the first three hours. First I became a girl, then someone's daughter, then someone's employee- as a female- then I kissed another man on the cheek. I don't know how the day could get any weirder... As we arrived 'home' I became aware of a presence standing at 'our' front door- a young man in his early twenties waving at the car as we pulled up. Oh god, I thought, please don't be Charlotte's boyfriend... But I should have known better than to second-guess fate. "Hello Mr. Hutchinson," the tall, well-built young man says before grabbing me around my slim waist and sticking his tongue down my throat. Again, I panic- who wouldn't under these circumstances? But in the end, I allow instinct to take over and I reciprocate this total stranger's kiss, girlishly wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him close to me. "Enough," 'daddy' half-jokingly reprimands the two of us. 'My boyfriend' releases me and I totter back slightly on my heels, forcing my burgundy lips into a smile. "Charlotte, you need to get changed and prepare for your shoot tomorrow. Keith, you can wait in the kitchen." "Sure thing Mr. Hutchinson," Keith says, giving me another quick, but passionate kiss on the lips. Shaking slightly, I enter the vast house and quickly find my way back to 'my' bedroom, where I strip down to my underwear- carefully folding the suit away- and collapse on 'my' bed. What the hell is happening to me!? I lay there for five minutes in the vain hope that it is all just a dream, but when a knock on the door wakes me up, I am still trapped in this feminine nightmare. "Charlie?" Keith calls through the door. "Hey, are you alright babe?" I panic for a second before responding. "I'm fine," I lie, climbing off my bed and wandering over to Charlotte's drawers. "Just a little nervous about the interview, that's all." "You're the most beautiful girl in the world," Keith says soppily. "They'd have to be insane not to hire you." "Thanks, honey," I say, wincing a little at using the pet name whilst I search for a casual outfit. I want lots of layers, I think to myself, in case his hands start wandering... "Need a hand?" Keith says cheekily as I strip off my tights and thong in favour of my earlier full-bottomed panties and a pair of thicker black tights. "Cheeky," I tease back, hoping that I don't give the game away too much. Keith's chuckle from the other side of the door confirms that my deception is safe for now. I pick a black pinafore dress out of Charlotte's wardrobe and lay it on her bed, searching for a top to go with it before presenting myself to 'my' boyfriend. "In all seriousness though, you shouldn't worry," Keith reassures as I find a suitable top in Charlotte's drawer- a white one with a turtle neck and lace-like sleeves. Upon closer inspection, it appears to be a bodysuit- with snaps at the crotch- instead of a normal top, but with time being of the essence (and figuring additional layers over my crotch couldn't hurt) I pull it over my head and snap it shut, before pulling on the dress and a pair of comfortable Ugg boots. I open the door to the Keith's smiling face and I can't help but smile myself. The smile fades slightly as Keith tenderly holds my face in place to plant a long, tender kiss on my burgundy lips, but by now I'm so deep into the 'part' I can't help but reciprocate, even if I am thinking of Cheryl Cole instead of Keith... We stand there for several minutes making out before being interrupted by a loud cough. Looking up, we see 'Daddy' there smiling sheepishly at us. "I've got your brief for tomorrow," 'daddy' says, pushing a folder into my hands. "Thanks for stopping by Keith, but Charlotte has a lot of work to do." "That's okay Mr. Hutchinson," Keith concedes, "I just wanted to see my favourite girl at least once today!" Keith pulls me close to his 6' 2" frame as I smile and wrap my arms around him. Thank god for 'daddy', I think to myself. "Well," 'daddy' replies, "Charlotte doesn't have to work all day..." Dammit! I think to myself. "Thanks," Keith replies, "but I've got an early morning tomorrow." God above! I think. By now my emotions are being played with so much I'm actually clinging onto Keith to keep me upright. "I'll see you tomorrow after your shoot?" Keith asks me expectantly. By now my mouth is completely unable to form words, all I can do is giggle and nod. Keith plants yet another kiss on my lips and moves off, leaving me to grab onto 'my' bedroom door handle to keep myself standing. "See you tomorrow Keith," 'daddy says to the departing young man, before turning his attention on me. "Shoot tomorrow. Make sure you know what you're doing." "O-okay," I stutter, still quivering from the emotional onslaught. "Assuming you can keep your mind off of him," 'daddy' teases. I smile and retreat back into my bedroom, collapsing on the bed. For the first time since this ordeal started, I finally have more or less unlimited time to myself. I briefly flick through the folder- the shoot tomorrow is for an internet fancy dress store, it looks like I'll be modelling costumes mainly, French maids, playboy bunnies, naughty nurses... I sigh and drop the folder on the floor, collapsing on my bed. There has to be some sort of clue in here, I think to myself as I lay still, trying not to focus on the snare of femininity I'm encased in. I briefly consider stripping down to either nude or a pair of pyjamas, but I figure that since 'daddy's already seen me in these clothes, I may as well keep wearing them- and as loathe as I am to admit it, they're not entirely uncomfortable, especially the warm boots. I decide there's no point in feeling sorry for myself and continue rummaging around Charlotte's room for anything that looks like a clue. Within seconds, my eyes fall across her laptop- pink, naturally- and I flip it open expectantly. Bizarrely, her password is attached to the screen with a post-it note (unsurprisingly, the password is '69keith69'). That's suspiciously insecure of her... I switch on the laptop and enter the password, and immediately I'm shocked as a video player opens and there, in front of me, wearing the same clothes I was wearing this morning is Charlotte. Wow, I think, she really does look like me... "Hello James," Charlotte begins in her voice, which I'm relieved to discover I've been impersonating fairly well. "I know you must be scared and you must be confused, but please hear me out, as my life my depend on it." "My father is... not a nice man," Charlotte continues, visibly trying to subdue her emotions. My god, has he been abusing her? "I'm sure you've noticed we are a rich family. My mother... was the heir to a fortune. When she died, my father inherited it all- I was just fourteen at the time, I wasn't eligible to inherit so it all went to him." "I know he loves me and I know the money will all pass to me once he's gone," Charlotte continues, wiping a lone tear from the corner of her eye, "but that money was my mother's. Over the past few years, I've become increasingly convinced that he killed her." I almost drop the laptop at this revelation. "I know where to find the evidence but getting it will take time. He's not let me out of his sight- other than to go out with friends- for ages, so I can't just disappear for days at a time without risk to my own life. This is where you come in." So Charlotte kidnapped me herself... she can't have done that alone, surely? "You only need to impersonate me for the next five days," Charlotte reassures me. "Then I'll return with the evidence I need. Daddy will be arrested and the fortune will come to me." Charlotte looks down, almost as if ashamed of something. It actually takes me time to realise that her shame is because of what she's done to me. "I stumbled across your facebook page," she explains, "and your similarity to me was uncanny. Believe me, if I could've found a girl to do this I would've, but I needed to act quickly. You'd be well within your rights to go to the police yourself once this is all over, but if you co-operate I can make it really worth your while. Daddy is presently worth two and a half million pounds." This time I do drop the laptop, snatching it just before it hits the ground. "If you play your part, all that money will be mine. I'll see to it that you get 10% of it. That's two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. All yours. No questions asked. I'm sorry I had to do it this way- I couldn't take the risk of you saying no if I asked you." And I probably would have... but a quarter of a million pounds? It'd have been seriously tempting... "On this laptop you'll find my schedule for the next few days. I've got two modelling shoots coming up- one for a fancy dress store on Saturday- " that'll be the one tomorrow, then- "and one for a lingerie store on Monday. I'll be back by Wednesday so all you need to do is fill in until then. I've left video tutorials on how to do your make-up, how to imitate my fashion, if you have any questions about how to be me, they should cover anything that might come up. Only one other person knows- my private ballet tutor, Ellen." I knew there had to be someone... "You'll be expected to attend the lessons in my stead, but you'll be able to confide in her if you suspect things are going wrong. There's just one more thing before I sign off-" I immediately sense where Charlotte is going. "...And that's the matter of Keith." I knew it. "He doesn't know about the deception. He can't know about the deception, his family are too close to my father, your life would be in danger if he got wind of it. But... Keith is the love of my life. I adore him, I really do. Please, I know I shouldn't ask this of you, but if you can, please maintain the relationship with him. If you have to break up with him-" Charlotte begins to cry freely now- "I'll understand, but I beg of you, please at least try to make it work. He'll know that for the five days sex is out of the question- girly reasons- so you won't have to be 'with' him. But... please treat him kindly." With that, the video ends, and I sit back on the bed in a state of shock. A quarter of a million pounds for dressing up as a girl for a week? Hell, I probably would've accepted. Following the recommendation of the video, I watch the other videos Charlotte has prepared. Over the next few hours I become an expert at applying and removing make-up, walking in heels, a couple of basic ballet steps, and all of Charlotte's quirks and feminine mannerisms and her views on fashion. It turns out my choice of dress and bodysuit was a good one- but apparently Charlotte never meets up with Keith without heels on so I dropped a bit of a clanger with the Ugg Boots, luckily I got away with it. After two hours of practice, I'm almost more Charlotte than Charlotte herself, and when I'm called down for dinner by 'daddy', my performance is flawless. I spend the rest of the day chatting with 'daddy' and listening to music in 'my' room before pulling on one of Charlotte's nighties- as recommended by Charlotte herself- and drift off to sleep. The alarm clock rouses me from a dreamless sleep, and I am momentarily confused by the sight that greets me, of my purple fingernails and silky, light blue nightdress. Yesterday's events come flooding back though, and I lie still for a minute, trying to make sense of everything that's happened. All I have to do is impersonate this girl for four more days and I'm a quarter of a million pounds richer. How hard can it be? "Charlotte!" 'Daddy' shouts through my door. "Breakfast in twenty minutes, you've got your shoot this morning so get ready!" Remembering Charlotte's tutorial videos, I swipe back my covers and head into the shower. As I stand under the running water, I give my breasts a quick tug, but they're sealed tight to my skin. Fortunately I don't need to shave- I've never been very hairy, either on my face or my body. After cleaning the vagina panty and rearranging it over myself, I expertly apply my make-up for the day- including a fresh coat of deep red polish to my fingernails and toenails, as recommended by Charlotte for the photoshoot- and pull on some underwear (yet another thong- some of the costumes I'll be modelling today are skin-tight so I can't get away with regular panties), a pair of slippers and one of Charlotte's satin dressing gowns before heading downstairs. 'Daddy' passes no comment- clearly I'm living up to expectations. We quickly finish breakfast, and I head upstairs to change into my day clothes. I pick out a fresh pair of black tights and a tight black miniskirt- tight around my backside and the top of my thighs but leaving everything else very exposed- and a tight khaki top. I opt for a pair of ballet flats instead of Charlotte's recommended heels- given what I would be modelling throughout the morning, I just wanted to be as comfortable as possible. Finishing off by spraying on some perfume, putting on some jewellery and grabbing a back handbag, I head down to the car where 'daddy' is waiting to take me to my shoot. "Hi, I'm Charlotte," I hammily say in my mock-feminine voice with a big, sexy smile on my face, "and you can buy this costume only at costumes- unlimited.co.uk! For just ?19.99 you get these cute ears-" I play with the ears attached to the headband on my head- "these cuffs, this collar, this stretchy leotard and of course, this cute little tail!" I turn around and wiggle my backside for the camera. "So what are you waiting for? Grab a great deal today!" I blow a kiss at the camera, and we're done. "Cut!" The director says, hitting a button on the camcorder pointed at my exposed body. "Beautiful, Charlotte. Just got a few stills to capture, okay?" "Sure," I say, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible give how uncomfortable the costume I'm wearing is. Fishnet tights, a restrictive corset wrapped around my waist, a strapless leotard and 6" spike-heeled stilettos were not what I usually wore on Saturday mornings, but that's what I found myself wearing today. With a rosette on my hip proudly displaying the name 'Charlotte', I looked every inch the playboy bunny, but that was just the start. After stripping out of the bunny costume, I was ordered to exchange my tights for a suspender belt and a pair of back-seamed stockings- yet another new feminine experience- slip a pair of frilly French knickers over my thong and pull a French maid's dress over my constricted figure. Keeping my skyscraper heels in place, I grabbed a feather duster and repeated the whole experience again- only the script had changed this time. More costumes followed. A nurse's uniform, a stewardess costume, a 'ringmaster' tuxedo leotard costume, a sexy schoolgirl, a Vegas showgirl, a leather catsuit, even a Star Trek dress- complete with 6" heel go go boots, naturally. For almost four hours I pose for and flirt with the camera, voice the adverts and generally try to appear as sexy as I can. At the end of it, despite myself, I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. Fortunately, the director sympathises with me. "You did a great job, Charlotte," he reassures me as I kick off the heels and slump- still wearing my gangster's moll costume- into the nearest chair. Here I was thinking all models had to do was stand around looking pretty- this is damned hard work! Despite myself, I actually find myself looking forward to getting back into 'my' miniskirt and ballet flats and going 'home'. Naturally, my plans are again thwarted. "Guess who," Keith's voice teased as he covered my eyes with my hands. Again despite myself, I break into a smile as I stand up and face the young man- remembering Charlotte's advice and putting the dreaded heels back on- and give him a long kiss on the lips. I mustn't enjoy this, I think to myself as he presses his face into mine. No matter how good he smells... or feels... or tastes... I snap myself out of it long enough to realise Keith's hand straying dangerously close to my breasts. "Is this really the place?" I cheekily whisper in his ear. Quietly sighing, he withdraws his hands, instead wrapping them around my tiny waist. "I guess not," he says with an air of frustration. "I just wish this didn't, you know, happen all the time." "It's only a few days each month," I say, letting out an involuntary giggle. "The rest of the time I'm all yours..." This time I initiate the kiss, hoping to satisfy him enough that I can go and get changed. Oh crap, I think to myself, am I going to have to spend the whole day with him? "Are we still on for clubbing tonight?" Keith asks as he lets me go toward my dressing room. Dammit! I think, grimacing. The whole night, too? However, Charlotte instructions are still ringing in my ears. "Sure!" I say with a forced smile as I go and get changed back into my earlier day clothes, only swapping my comfortable ballet flats for a pair of the studio's 5" black stilettos (it turns out Charlotte always takes some clothes from each shoot as payment, 'fortunately' for me). Sure enough, the rest of the day is spent in Keith's company, but to give him his due, he knows how to treat a woman. Despite the fact that Charlotte is mega-rich, he insists on paying for all my meals, tickets to see a movie- in which we naturally spent most of the time kissing- and even bought me a new necklace- a fancy gold one worth over ?150! Everywhere we walk we hold hands- when I'm not having to tug my skirt down, that is- and he lavishes absolutely all of his attention on me. I also have my first encounter with a ladies' public toilet- which I have to force myself to enter instead of the gents'. By the time we arrive 'home' at 7:30pm- having stopped off for a Mexican meal first- I'm absolutely exhausted. Still, I knew Charlotte's instructions, and they stated that the night was still young yet... Leaving Keith in the living room I dragged myself up to my room and stripped off all my clothes, even my underwear. Charlotte was very particular about what she wore out clubbing- which meant I had to be too. I was too far into this to back out now... After relieving myself and washing away any sweat that had accumulated on my body, I reapply my make-up according to Charlotte's instructions- which for nights out were 'more, more, more'. Fake eyelashes, thick eyeliner, blush, glitter absolutely everywhere. My red nail polish is replaced by a shiny silver colour- on my toes too, of course- and I spray myself down with an absolute cloud of perfume. Fortunately my hair- and by extension, Charlotte's- is short enough that I didn't need to do much with it, but I add a few waves in it like I had been shown. Fighting back the urge to just climb into bed and cry myself to sleep, I pick out Charlotte's recommended clubbing outfit and slither myself into it. A frivolously tiny lace g-string and matching strapless bra is followed by a tight, scandalously short halter black dress- that thankfully covered up my breasts in case any wandering hands tried to make their way onto them. A pair of shiny nude tights and another pair of torturous black 6" stilettos later, and all I have to do was grab my handbag and I'm 'ready'. Sighing at the gorgeous looking 'girl' in the mirror, I head downstairs to where 'my boyfriend' was waiting. We stay out until 11:30pm that night, bumping and grinding and, of course, snogging at every nightclub we could find. I didn't drink- citing girl problems, which Keith is fortunately none the wiser about- but by the time I got home I was barely able to stand, my feet were in such agony and I was so tired. "Thanks for tonight," I mock-enthuse. "Actually, thanks for the whole day! I had such a great time..." Keith responds by giving me one last, longing kiss on my lips before letting me go back inside. I stagger up to 'my' room, finally kick off my heels and collapse on the bed. Fifteen minutes later and I'm in yet another of Charlotte's babydoll nighties and I'm asleep pretty much as my head hits the pillow... "Charlotte!" 'Daddy's voice yells through the door. "Wake up! Church in thirty minutes! And I don't care if you have a hangover, this is important, you're going!" Dammit, I think to myself, I forgot they were god-botherers... My morning routine goes as it had yesterday. Showering, cleaning my vagina panty, reapplying my make-up- subtle lipstick, eyeliner, eye shadow and mascara, something a bit more appropriate for church than last night's- and redoing my nails with a clear polish. I spray on some perfume as well, but a lot less than I was wearing last night. My outfit of the day- by Charlotte's recommendation- is a very formal knee-length high-necked sleeveless white dress with matching handbag, 4" peep-toe stiletto heels, short cotton gloves and a very posh hat. The dress is form-fitting- very tight around the legs, like a pencil skirt- so naturally I have yet another thong riding between my buttocks underneath a pair of tan-coloured tights. My whole looks is at least fifteen years too old for either myself or Charlotte, but as Charlotte stated in her video, that was the goal. The service goes without a hitch- 'daddy' seems more interested in the vicar's tales of forgiveness and redemption than in my indifference to the whole religion. Could Charlotte be right about him offing his wife? We arrive back home at 12:15- after having stayed for a cup of tea with the vicar, which I drink in as ladylike a manner as I can. As I head up the stairs to 'my' room, I pause for a moment to stare at 'daddy' as he hangs his coat up. His complexion has turned pale, almost ghost-like. "Daddy?" I ask, feigning a daughter's concern. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?" "Huh?" 'daddy' asks, startled by my question. "No, no thank you Charlotte. Come here, please?" Nervously, I stride over to 'daddy' who takes me in his arms and gives me a tight, loving hug. "You're a good girl," 'daddy' continues. "You have the rest of the day to yourself and prepare for tomorrow's shoot. You've earned it." I smile- this is the first piece of good news I've had all week. "Thank you, daddy," I say, beaming a wide, girlish grin at the middle- aged man. I head upstairs into 'my' room and quickly strip out of the dress and heels, changing into a denim miniskirt, a pair of thick black tights and a slouchy pink hoodie. I briefly consider changing my thong, but to my horror I'm finding I'm beginning to find it comfortable... I slip my feet into my- Charlotte's- comfy Ugg boots and collapse back on the bed. Once I've studied the brief for tomorrow, I have the whole day to do absolutely nothing- just as Sunday's should be- but still I'm restless. Looking over Charlotte's list, I quickly slip a few CDs into her stereo- she's big into chart music and has CDs from just about everyone who's ever appeared on the X-Factor- grab her laptop and watch some of her videos again. At Charlotte's suggestion, I pick up her phone and dial Keith for a long, heartfelt chat. I of course lie when asked what I'm wearing- telling him I'm wearing just a bra and a thong- but he 'sees' right through it. We talk for almost 45 minutes about recent events, each other- Keith's studying history at university so can talk for ages about that- and I find myself not wanting to put the phone down on him. God above, I think to myself, am I falling in love with him? Shuddering at the thought, I bring the conversation to a close and turn back to Charlotte's laptop- fortunately as well as her videos, she has enough games and movies on there- all chick flicks, of course- to keep me entertained until dinner. After dinner- which passes off without a hitch, fortunately- I keep myself entertained by preparing a bit more for tomorrow's photoshoot, painting my nails the recommended shiny black colour and trying on some of Charlotte's lingerie. In addition to bras and thongs, she has all manner of stuff (that she's thoughtfully identified for me in one of her videos)- basques, teddies, bodysuits, bodystockings, corsets & corselettes, she has three dresser drawers full of the stuff. I can't help but feel that the vast majority of it is intended to be taken off by Keith rather than herself... I eventually slip into one of Charlotte's nighties- after a two-hour long msn conversation with Keith, of course- and head off to sleep, hoping I was mentally prepared for the photoshoot tomorrow... Morning goes the way it has for the past three days. Woken up by 'daddy', showering, doing my make-up (Charlotte's mandate today was 'posh' so subtle eyeiner, silver eye shadow and deep red lipstick are the order of the day), pulling on a fresh bra & thong, eating breakfast and heading off to the shoot after choosing my outfit for the day (another tight black miniskirt, this time paired with a clingy black top, fishnet tights and a pair of 4" stilettos). Keeping with the 'posh' mandate, I bring along plenty of jewellery as well in my black handbag. I spray on some posh perfume- even though I know the photoshoot won't be in 'smellovision', I need to maintain the character. It's sunny outside today. so I slip on a pair of Charlotte's expensive oversize sunglasses. The shoot goes flawlessly. My practice last night- combined with Charlotte's tutorials- ensure I am the perfect model. I model over fifty sets of lingerie for the cameras- all stills this time, no videos- mostly bra & panty sets but a few teddies, bustiers and tightly-laced corsets as well. Of course, each set of lingerie is modeled with a pair of hold-up stockings on my legs and 6" stilettos on my feet, and for the corsets & bustiers I don a pair of bicep-length black opera gloves too. As loathe as I am to admit it, I look damned sexy, even if I do feel nervous posing in front of a camera with just a thong to hide my dignity- as well as other things. I worry that the amount of time I take between each set- adjusting the vagina panty underneath each set of knickers so that nothing shows- might give the game away, but I'm never even so much as sighed at for being late. Unsurprisingly, Keith shows up after the shoot- it being school holidays and all- but fortunately he waits until I've changed back into my day clothes before grabbing me and sticking his tongue down my throat- which I find myself eagerly reciprocating. For the first time- scarily- I'm not thinking of another girl whilst I kiss him, but instead I'm just leaning back and enjoying the moment... "Hey gorgeous," he says, making me blush and giggle girlishly. Scarily, that last part wasn't an act... "Got time for lunch before your appointment?" "Sure," I say, linking my fingers with his and walking off together toward the nearest restaurant. Needless to say, the lunch goes as well as the photoshoot. The odd thing is, the more I see of Keith, the more he seems to like me- Charlotte- whatever. Am I actually becoming more 'Charlotte' than Charlotte herself? As scary as it may sound, am I becoming a better girlfriend than her? The appointment Keith was referring to was at a nearby beauty salon. Charlotte has a regular pre-paid appointment there every Monday so I have to keep up appearances- but unlike the modelling, this isn't nearly as much hard work. All I have to do is sit back as the girls treat my hair and face with what seems like every lotion under the sun. My make- up is expertly reapplied, my finger- and toenails are manicured to perfection and recoated with a layer of glossy pink polish and my whole body comes out of the salon tingling all over. Naturally, as I exit the salon clutching my handbag, 'daddy' is waiting there for me. I now begin to realise that Charlotte wasn't joking when she said he dictated her every move. "You look beautiful," the older man says as I slide into the passenger seat of his expensive Mercedes. "Just like your mother..." "Thanks, daddy," I reply quietly as we drive back 'home'. They were the only words exchanged between us throughout the whole trip home. As I arrive 'home', an older woman is waiting for us in the driveway with a knowing look on her face. This must be Ellen, I think to myself as I get out of the car. "Hello Charlotte," she says stoically. "Sorry we're late," 'daddy' interjects, "you know how she gets when she's at the salon!" Ellen simply smiles in response. "That's okay," she says. "I'll be waiting in the studio Charlotte, get changed and meet me there as soon as you're ready." "Okay," I reply equally stoically. Ellen goes back inside, but before I can follow her, I feel 'daddy's hand on my elbow, making me jump slightly. "Have the two of you had a falling out or something?" He probes firmly. I've been impersonating Charlotte for four days now, but every time I'm put on the spot like this, I get nervous. "She- she-" I stutter, trying to think of an excuse. "She's just been giving me some difficult steps to learn, that's all." 'Daddy' rolls his eyes at this excuse. Inside, my heart is pounding, expecting to be exposed at any second... "Well you need to keep at it," 'daddy' lectures me. "If you're going to be a professional model you need grace and poise and I am paying that woman too much money for you to give up now!" Outwardly, I appear devastated, but inside I'm breathing a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry, daddy," I say sadly. "I'll try harder, I promise!" "See that you do," the older man says, leading me into the house. I quickly head up to Charlotte's room and change out of my day clothes into Charlotte's ballet gear, a pair of soft pink tights and a very snug black spaghetti-strap leotard. After attaching a pair of satin ballet 'pointe' shoes to my feet the way I was shown in one of Charlotte's tutorial videos, I wrap a flimsy see-through skirt around my waist and trip off to the bedroom within the house that's been converted into a private dance studio. Once I'm inside, Ellen makes sure the door is securely shut, then breathes a sigh of relief. "I take it I'm not talking to the Charlotte I've known for eleven years," the middle-aged woman says sadly. "I'm really sorry we had to do this to you, it's just-" "It's okay, I understand," I interrupt, but speaking in my feminine voice. May as well get in as much practice as I can... "And besides, I've been promised a lot of money out of this." "Charlotte's a good girl," Ellen explains. "She'll make sure you're rewarded for your part. I just need to know- would you have said yes if we'd asked?" "I don't know," I reply honestly, moving with Ellen to the centre of the studio and sitting down on the floor cuddling my knees to my chest, wondering whether to wince or smirk at the feeling of the thong being dragged further into my backside. "I'd probably have said no but in hindsight, it's really not been that bad..." Except perhaps Keith, I think, but I'm even enjoying that... "Thanks anyway," Ellen shrugs, not satisfied with my answer. "Oh, and Charlotte's father will often come and observe her lessons, so we'd better go and stand by the barre- and can you take your skirt off please?" "Sure," I reply, untying the flimsy garment and placing it out of the way on the floor. "Charlotte's actually taught me a couple of steps in her videos, I reckon I could bluff if he does come in to observe." "Not in those shoes you can't, dear," Ellen replies condescendingly. "You need to have danced for at least 18 months to go en pointe." She's not alone in saying that- Charlotte warned me not to try dancing on the tips of my toes in her videos. "Wow," Ellen says, turning to face me. "Really- the illusion really is incredible, I'd never be able to tell." Smiling, I turn my feet out into the ballet first position- as demonstrated by Charlotte in a video- and hold my hands out in front of me. Ellen giggles and gives me mock applause. "Now try second?" I comply, and we eventually run through all five positions, and a couple of plies and tendus, even an arabesque- stretching my leg far out behind me- which Ellen applauds, laughing her head off. "You're better than I thought!" Ellen said with genuine praise in her voice. "Ever considered taking lessons?" "No, not really," I replied, returning to first position and causing the teacher to smirk some more. "Before all this, I'd never looked at a girly thing in my life." "Hey," Ellen says with mock hurt, "ballet can be masculine! ...Though perhaps not the way you're dressed. You do make a cute ballerina though!" Despite myself, I can't help but smile and blush. "Even cuter!" Ellen teases. Just then, we both jump at the sound of a knock on the door of the studio. "Damn," Ellen whispers. "Ellen? Charlotte?" 'daddy' calls through the door. "Can I come in?" "Just a second!" Ellen replies, dragging me over to the horizontal bar mounted on the wall. "Grab hold of the barre, go along with what I'm doing, and don't try to move or dance. Just hold that barre tight." "Okay," I reply, wincing as Ellen bends my feet outwards so that eventually I'm standing on the tips of my toes, en pointe to use the technical term. "I'll get rid of him," Ellen reassures me as I concentrate hard on not falling on my butt. "Just hold your balance- and don't try to lean your weight on the barre. I'm sorry, but it looks really fake and he'll see straight through it." God damn it, I think self-pityingly, how much more abuse can one pair of feet take? It takes almost two minutes, during which I can barely concentrate on what they're saying for fear of flying onto my backside, but 'daddy' finally leaves and I relax back onto the soles of my poor feet. "You held that well," Ellen reassures me, leading me to the centre of the floor where I sit down and take the weight off of my legs and feet. "Better than I could have hoped for, actually- are you sure you're not really a ballerina?" "Positive," I say, wiping the sweat from my brow. "Oh no," I mutter immediately afterwards as I spot a problem on my chest. "What is it?" Ellen asks with concern. "My left boob," I say, wondering when the hell a phrase like that became normal. "The glue's starting to wear off, I'm probably sweating too much." "It's okay, it's okay," Ellen reassures me. "Charlotte showed you how to cover that up." "But it's already started to peel," I whinge, picking at the latex edge clearly visible above my leotard. "Picking at it won't help!" Ellen scolds, and I quickly leave it alone. "You didn't bring along a sweater or a cardigan... I've got an idea but it's going to be tricky. Put your skirt back on." Hastily complying- and trying not to make the edge of my boob peel any more- I allow Ellen to fold my arms over my chest so that I'm effectively disguising the damaged area. "Follow me back to your room, we'll sort it out there." Ellen instructs. "Okay," I reply nervously. "What if daddy catches us?" I pause briefly, wondering when it became so natural to call him 'daddy'... "I'll think of something," Ellen responds, the nerves clear in her voice. Quietly- out of fear of making my boob situation any worse- I follow her out of the room. We don't get ten steps before we run into 'daddy'. "Is the lesson over already?" He enquires with slight anger in his voice. "It's only been 35 minutes..." "We, umm," Ellen stutters, before finishing boldly, "we need to get Charlotte's practice tutu! Big recital coming up!" "I wasn't aware of that," 'daddy' replies with suspicion. "It was only booked on Saturday," Ellen explains, hastily inventing her story. "And you didn't think to tell me about it a few minutes ago whilst we were talking?" 'daddy' presses further. This is it, I think to myself nervously, I'm going to get found out, I'm going to die dressed up as a ballerina... "Well you never gave me the chance," Ellen replied with mock hurt in her voice. "You were all concerned with Charlotte's form, how well she's doing in lessons- which as we established, is great. I can't help but feel you don't trust me as much as you should..." You go girl! I think, smirking inwardly as Ellen's deception. "Okay, okay," daddy says, holding his hands up. "Can I see a few steps once she's in her tutu?" I start to panic again and Ellen and I briefly exchange a stare. "They're very complicated," Ellen improvised. "I want to give her more time to learn them before I make her perform them for anyone." To our collective surprise, 'daddy' nods in agreement. "Charlotte did mention she was struggling with them," the older man states, remembering my earlier deception. "Oh well, maybe in the future." "One more thing," Ellen asks before we move off. Dammit! I think to myself. We were in the clear! "Can we move Wednesday's lesson forward to tomorrow? I want to drill these steps into Charlotte whilst they're fresh in her mind." "Of course," 'daddy' nods, "as long as I can see a couple of them!" Inwardly, my heart sinks. Way to torpedo our chances, I self-pityingly think to myself. "We'll see," Ellen says with a smile, before we move off together toward my- Charlotte's bedroom. Once we arrive, Ellen springs immediately to action, handing me a wide, white tutu before rummaging through Charlotte's drawers for something else. "Wrap that around your waist," Ellen instructs, which I do, removing my dance skirt first. So now I'm wearing a proper ballerina's tutu, I think to myself. No matter how many feminine experiences I have, each one is even weirder than the last. Ellen quickly returns with a small bottle of what looks like glue. Like an expert, she applies it first to my chest, then to the peeling latex of my breast. Within five minutes, it has set solid and is looking just as good as it was before. "I'm afraid this'll take longer to remove than it otherwise would have," Ellen explains. "You'll have to put up with breasts for a bit longer than we'd hoped." "They're not too bad," I say, trying to ease the teacher's worries as I cup the two weights dangling from my chest. Ellen, for her part, simply rolls her eyes. "Typical man," she says quietly. "Give him a pair of breasts and he's happy, even if they are his!" I can't help but feel a little offended by this- but scarily, what I'm offended at isn't her accusing men of being sex-crazed beasts, but of her calling me a typical man... "We'd better get back to the studio before your father catches us," Ellen says, not realising her mistake at calling the older man 'my' father. The remaining 45 minutes of the lesson goes without a hitch. Ellen teaches me a few of the steps that I may have to dance for 'daddy' tomorrow- though she is still reluctant to let me up en pointe, to my relief. Once the lesson ends, I lead Ellen back to her car- changing out of my- Charlotte's pointe shoes into a pair of ballet flats first- where we exchange a girly air kiss before she leaves for the day. As I turn round to head back into the house- still feeling slightly ridiculous in my tutu- 'daddy' is waiting there for me. "We need to talk," the older man says, much to my chagrin. "Can't I change first?" I ask, nervous about the repair job on my breasts coming undone. "It won't take long," 'daddy' explains, leading me indoors. "I'm not happy with the job Ellen's been doing," he continues candidly. "She's been my teacher for years," I retort, "she's great-" "Let me finish," the older man interrupts. "You yourself have said she's pushing you too hard, and that little chat this afternoon was very interesting. I don't trust her." 'Daddy' coughs, as if to cover up that last sentence. "I don't trust her to do as good a job with your tuition as you deserve," he says, placing his hands on my shoulders. "She's my friend," I say, holding 'daddy's hands to my shoulders- and away from my latex breasts. "I know," 'daddy' says with genuine love and concern in my voice. "But I only want what's best for you." He leans forward and gives me a loving kiss on my forehead. "Go on," he says, motioning toward 'my' room, reminding me I have the rest of the day free. I quickly trip back up to Charlotte's room, removing the tutu but leaving the leotard and tights in place- Charlotte always leaves them on after her lessons- and pulling on a girly pink t-shirt (covering up my breasts just in case of any further 'accidents') and a layered, ruffled black miniskirt, opting out of yet another denim mini after remembering Charlotte's instructions not to wear the same type of clothes too much in a short space of time.. I also put some of Charlotte's jewellery back on, having removed it for the dance lesson. After dinner- which passes in really uncomfortable near-silence- I head back up to my room, still nervous about 'daddy's demeanour towards Ellen. Does he suspect me too? I think to myself. If he suspects Charlotte, I'm in trouble, but if he finds out I'm not Charlotte, I'm dead... I lie on my back listening to music for almost a quarter of an hour before deciding I need to talk to someone. I can't call Ellen for fear of 'daddy' finding out, and I can't talk to the man himself, so this leaves just one person... "Hey gorgeous," Keith says as he enters my bedroom, giving me a long, loving kiss on my freshly-made up lips. God, I think to myself, I've missed him... "You said you needed to talk?" "Yeah," I say with audible sadness in my voice, kicking off the 4" heels I'd changed into just to meet him and sitting down on the bed, with Keith coming and sitting next to me. "I don't even know what I want to talk about," I continue, giggling and trying not to cry. "It's okay, it's okay," Keith reassures me, taking my head in his hands. Good job I made sure my face is clean-shaven, I think to myself. "I'm your boyfriend, it's my job to sit back and listen," he continues, giving me one further kiss on my lips. For the next hour, we relax on the bed, chatting about our various woes (Keith's struggling with some of his university coursework- I mention struggling with my ballet as a way to try to sympathise with him). Throughout our chat, Keith's hands wander all over- my hips, my butt, my thighs (yes, underneath my skirt) and occasionally my breasts. Thank god I'm wearing a leotard, I think to myself- wondering when I would have ever had that thought in the past- as he caresses the unnatural bumps on my chest whilst I fake a satisfied sigh. "I've got a question for you," Keith says with sincerity in his voice. Holy shit, I think, is he proposing? "I'm not really sure how to word this..." My heart begins to beat faster. "Yes?" I ask, almost breathless with- genuine- excitement and anticipation. "Will you..." Keith leans in closer to me and whispers in my ear. "Dance for me?" I pull back, staring at Keith's face with confusion. Way to get a girl's hopes up, I think to myself. A fake girl's hopes up... I hastily correct my earlier thought. "I'm- I'm sorry?" I ask, genuinely confused by the question. "Well you said you're struggling with your ballet," he explains, gently caressing my thigh. "I'd like to see a few steps." "I'm struggling with them, remember?" I say jokily. "I don't want to look like an idiot falling on my bum in front of you..." "Well some easier steps then," Keith says pleadingly. "It's been ages since I last went to one of your recitals, and it's not like you're not dressed for it..." Rolling my eyes, I decide that one or two steps couldn't hurt. "Oh, okay then," I say, getting off the bed and fishing Charlotte's pointe shoes out of her dresser. "Cool!" Keith says, shifting to the edge of the bed so he can watch me strip down to my leotard, wrap the tutu around my waist and tie the pointe shoes to my feet. Damn it, I think to myself, why did I instinctively reach for the pointe shoes when she has other ballet slippers? Still, too late to backpedal now I suppose... I stand before 'my' smiling boyfriend and turn my feet and arms out into a perfect first position as he laughs and applauds, much like Ellen had earlier. I run through a few basic steps, much to his delight. "Do a pirouette!" Keith shouts, grinning from ear to ear. Blushing and wondering how the hell I'm going to pull it off, I sweep my leg back behind me, and rising onto my tiptoes, spin around 360 degrees, landing gracefully. How on Earth did I do that? I think to myself, blushing further and laughing into my pink-tipped fingers. "Nah, a proper pirouette," Keith says, slightly disappointedly. "You know, on the end of your toes. You're wearing the proper shoes for it, aren't you?" Crap! I think to myself. "Yeah, but I'm not supposed to go en pointe," come on, think... "On carpet," I explain, looking down at the floor. "It'd ruin the shoes." "Your dad's a millionaire, he can buy more," Keith says encouragingly. "Come on..." I sigh. How hard can it be? "Okay," I say resignedly, "but if I fall flat on my face it's your fault, understand?" Keith nods expectantly as I try to remember how Ellen manipulated my feet earlier. I sweep my leg back again and once again spin, this time springing up en pointe as I spin around. Miraculously, I land perfectly once again. I guess somebody up there likes me, I think to myself as Keith steps off the bed, coming towards me to give me another long, deep kiss... "Let me get dressed first!" I laugh, reluctantly pulling away from Keith's embrace. "No, come on," Keith pleads, "can't you stay in just your leotard?" "It's so cold!" I complain. Actually, with three layers of fabric and another of latex around my crotch, if anything it's too warm, but I need those layers on... "I can keep you warm," Keith says, coming up behind me and wrapping his strong arms around my waist before kissing my neck. I sigh for a second, wanting to stay in the moment forever- despite the feel of his obvious erection pressing into my lycra-covered butt- but I know I need to maintain my cover. "I've told you, two days," I tease. "Then we can be as warm as you want!" Keith pouts a little, obviously trying to elicit sympathy from me- and succeeding. "Okay," he concedes as I take off my tutu and pointe shoes and put my t- shirt and skirt back on. Once I've dressed again, I yelp as Keith scoops me up in his arms and lays me back down on the bed, before jumping beside me and giving me yet another passionate kiss. "Are these... times of the month as frustrating for you as they are for me?" He asks. Good question, I think to myself, before making up what I think would be the right answer. "You have no idea," I say, wrapping my slender arms around his neck. No more words are exchanged as we kiss each other passionately, working up a sweat as our hearts beat faster and faster. Good job I redid the glue, I think as Keith kisses what little of my neck pokes above the neck of the t-shirt. I gasp out of shock, however, as one of his hands finds its way underneath my skirt and begins to massage my groin, right on top of the vagina panty. "Is that good for you?" He asks, continuing to dance his fingers across the lycra gusset of my leotard. Again, I'm forced to hastily think of the correct answer. Do girls orgasm when on their periods? Keith sure seems to think they do... "Yes," I say breathlessly, "yes!" I cry as he probes further. Within a minute, I'm laid on the bed, thrashing and crying and faking the most violent orgasm I can. It lasts for over thirty seconds before I lay back down, desperately trying to catch my breath. "Wow," I mouth, as Keith leans over to give me another longing kiss. I wish there was some way I could repay him, I think to myself. To maintain my cover, I hastily add. But there is a way to repay him, a voice from inside reminds me. You have a mouth... But I'm not gay, I think in reply to my earlier thought. Says the person in the pink t-shirt and miniskirt with their tongue stuck down another man's throat... This is just to maintain cover, he kissed me first... Oh don't give me that. You've fallen in love with him, you know you have. What difference does it make if you put something else of his in your mouth? Who's ever going to know? You and him? I'm doing this for money, it'd make me a whore! Oh I think that ship has already sailed, don't you? Despite myself, I can feel my left hand reaching down toward Keith's fly, ready to unzip it. it's any consolation, just think of yourself as 'Keithosexual' rather than just regular gay. As Keith's fly comes undone, his erect penis springs into my hand, momentarily startling me. This is it, I think, I'm masturbating another man. I am now officially gay. 'Keithosexual'. Whatever. The scary thing is, it doesn't repulse me as much as I thought it would. In fact, it doesn't repulse me at all... I slowly masturbate Keith's penis to full length, my heart now beating faster than ever, before I look deep into his eyes, smile, and duck my head down to meet his throbbing organ. Well, this is it, I think to myself as I stare at the penis's glistening head in front of me. Now or never... Leaning forward, I give the end of his penis a longing kiss, sucking some of the moisture off of it. And as much as I hated to admit it, it tasted good... I take the next few inches of his penis into my mouth, licking and sucking for all I was worth. Keith's moans and grunts tell me I'm doing a good job. Eventually, I have all of his penis in my mouth and I suck as hard as I can, desperately trying not to bite or laugh at the feeling of his pubic hair tickling my nose. Within a few seconds, his penis engorges, thrusting deep into me and shooting his seed down my throat. I try not to gag as I gulp down his juices before he finishes, his once-mighty penis going limp in my mouth. I give it one last suck- to clean it, before putting it back into his pants. I pull myself back up to Keith's eyeline, where he waits, a thousand-yard stare etched onto his face. "That was- that was-" Keith begins, before I silence him with a long, lingering kiss. "I love you, Charlotte." "I love you, Keith," I reply. And I mean it. I really meat it. That thought didn't horrify me or sicken me or cause any other reaction it would have last week. I love Keith. And in two days, I'll have to give him back... As I kissed Keith goodbye at the front door, I held his hands and didn't want to let him go, but I knew I had to- it was getting late and I had my last day as Charlotte waiting for me in the morning. I return to 'my' bedroom, strip out of my heels, my clothes and my ballet gear and inspect my breasts for any signs of the glue peeling- there is none. Ellen really had done a good job... My lipstick was horribly smeared, though- unsurprisingly! I change into one of Charlotte's nighties and climb into bed, dreaming all night of a boy... I was allowed- mercifully- to sleep in on Tuesday, my last day as Charlotte. Eventually rising around ten, I follow my- Charlotte's normal morning routine of breakfast, showering, putting on underwear (another thong, as I had ballet later today) and doing my make-up (subtle pink colours today, as I wasn't going anywhere) by getting dressed into one of Charlotte's short, tight grey sweater dresses (with a turtleneck)- it still being colder than usual outside- pairing it with a pair of thick black tights, a wide leather belt and a pair of over-the-knee leather boots, with a 4" heel, naturally. With my pink nails and pink lipstick, I'd never looked so chic whilst feeling so comfortable. My morning was spent on the internet, listening to music and on the phone to Keith, before being interrupted by 'daddy' knocking on the door at about 11am. "Charlotte?" The older man calls through the door. "Great news! The man from Spencer & Hall"- the modelling agency I'd interviewed with last Friday- "called and they want to meet us again!" "That's great!" I shout through the door with genuine excitement. "When do they want to see me again?" "That's the thing, they want to fit us in today," 'daddy' explain. "Can you get ready in half an hour?" "Sure," I say, springing off my bed and heading over to get a suit out of Charlotte's wardrobe. "Well that would make a refreshing change," the older man teases. "Very funny," I tease back, consciously worrying if I'd accidentally given the game away... I change out of my dress and tights into a white satin blouse, glossy, translucent black tights and a powder pink suit with a short- 4" above the knee- pencil skirt. To match my nails and makeup, of course. A pair of matching 5" stilettos and handbag later, and after applying more makeup, spraying on more perfume and sorting out my jewellery, I was ready. It was only as I hopped down the stairs to the car- perfectly comfortable in my- Charlotte's skyscraper heels- that I realised I was actually excited about the interview. For the first time since all this had begun, I was looking forward to what my future as Charlotte would hold. Whilst the ride to the interview was conducted in awkward silence- as the first one had been, only for different reasons this time (namely Ellen)- the interview itself goes swimmingly. This time around, I'm much more confident, much securer in my skin as Charlotte. I talk at length about what I wanted to offer the agency as a model, my various strengths and skills. I am again complimented on my look- this time I didn't even have to concentrate on keeping my knees together or my feminine mannerisms, they all come so naturally to me. "Well, Charlotte," the interviewer says at the end of the interview, clearly impressed by how well it's gone, "I'm happy to say that Spencer & Hall would like to add you to our books." "Oh my god!" I squeak, holding my hands up to my mouth. "Yes, obviously I accept!" I look to my side where 'daddy' sits with a wide, beaming grin on his face. Clearly, I'd done good, I'd made him proud. "Welcome aboard," the interviewer says, walking around the desk and accepting my limp handshake. Once again, he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek- only this time, even that action felt perfectly natural. After shaking 'daddy's hand, he laid out what would be expected of me- usually two shoots a week and a fashion show every other weekend. It's only at this point that it hits me- it would be Charlotte doing the actual job and not myself- and that fact makes me sad. I'm going to miss being Charlotte. And I wasn't ashamed of that fact one bit. The car ride 'home' was very different from the car ride to the agency. "I'm proud of you," 'daddy' says with