Rebecca Do My Bidding CH6 Karen comes clean
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Thinking With My Dick - Ch6 - The Other Shoe free porn video
This is obviously a long time in coming, and has been half-done for a
while. But life gets in the way. Also, I'm aware that the story title
is...not great. I wasn't in love with it at the beginning, but had
trouble coming up with something I liked more. Now I'm dealing with the
fact that a good chunk of story is out there with the existing name, and
changing it is going to be a hassle and potentially throw off people
looking for a new chapter. That might be worth it if I had a great name
to change it to, but I don't. Maybe I will in the future and chapters
will start coming out under a new name, but until then, TWMD is it.
Thanks for sticking with me over long pause, though sadly I can't promise
it won't happen again. Hope you enjoy Jamie's further misadventures.
-------------------------------------
The day after I visited Dr. Hillard seemed utterly surreal. I couldn't
possibly be here at work, going through my normal day, grabbing lunch
with Nicole, griping about undergrads with Meghan, puttering around in
the stacks. Surely nothing can be this normal after what I'd done
yesterday. How could I have gone out in public, dressed as a woman, and
convinced a doctor to give me female hormones, and then be back at work
being my very male, very straight self.
Ok, the fact that I was still hairless from the neck down, and wearing
toenail polish beneath closed toed shoes perhaps made 'very' male a bit
of an reach, but still. I couldn't believe that no one had pulled an
Invasion of the Body Snatchers and pointed and screamed at me the moment
I walked into work. It shouldn't work that I could go out as a woman
yesterday and come to work as a man today. I figured my success last
night was probably just due to the stunning level of indifference most
random people you see on the street have towards each other, but part of
me worried, was I really that passable? Was my masculinity really so
easily hidden?
I was torn between shameful excitement over what I'd done, and just plain
shame. Going home that evening, I couldn't help recreating the outfit
I'd worn to the doctor's office. Jeggings and a girls top weren't
exactly the height of femininity, but something about their very
normality got me going. I was never going to go wandering down the
street in a skin tight dress and fuck me heels, but this outfit? If I'd
been born a girl, these are clothes that I realistically might have worn
on a regular basis. The fact that they weren't so different from my male
clothes as so much of what I'd been dressing up in made them feel so much
more dangerous, like the slip to being a girl would be so much easier
wearing this than some of the party clothes in my closet.
The next few days felt somewhat normal, or at least somewhat normal for
me. I kept dressing to a minimum, and when I did it was more normal
clothes. I kept away from my now frighteningly complete collection of
makeup, and I only once broke out a pair of earrings more significant
than the small studs I wore to work. Somehow, I almost managed to put my
visit to the doctor, and my flirtation with the incredibly dangerous idea
of hormones, out of my mind. I even managed to get through the weekend
without doing much.
My confidence was rocked the following Monday when I got a call on my
cell while back in the stacks at work. It wasn't a number I recognized,
and I almost didn't answer when I realized it was Dr. Hillard's office.
I froze, I hadn't been ready for this. I definitely hadn't been ready
for them to call me at work. I'd almost convinced myself that nothing
would come of the visit, but of course they'd follow up. They'd do the
bloodwork, and if it came back ok they'd assume I'd want pills. I should
just ignore it, but instead I thumbed the 'answer' button and put the
phone to my ear.
"Hello?" Oh god, I was even using the female voice I'd worked on.
"Hi, this is Rosalind from Dr. Hillard's office calling for Jamie Black."
"Speaking."
"Hello Ms. Black. I'm calling because we got the results of your
bloodwork back, and they were clean for any disqualifying conditions. So
we've put a proscription into your insurance system and the pills should
be delivered in a few days. When you get them you should begin taking
them immediately. The dosage is straightforward, just follow the
instructions that come with the medication, and please don't hesitate to
call if you have any questions. Could I just confirm that your mailing
address is..." She rattled off my address. I'd forgotten that our
health plan included a mail delivered prescription pharmacy. Nicole had
gushed about how convenient it was to get birth control by mail instead
of getting a prescription filled every month when the University had
switched providers last year. I wouldn't even be able to ignore the
prescription, the pills were just going to show up at my door!
"Ms. Black?"
"Yes, I'm here, that's the correct address."
"Great, I'll get it into the system immediately. The doctor will need to
see you in three months for a follow up visit, would you like to schedule
that now?"
In a daze I walked through making another appointment in three months
time, thanked her, and hung up. I stood there, shocked for a few
minutes. I had an appointment to check on how well the drugs that I'd
just had mail ordered were turning me into a woman. Why hadn't I done
something, said something, anything to stop this. But I knew exactly
why, and it was that despite the terror I was feeling, I was also
sporting an increasingly uncomfortable (and if anyone came by,
embarrassing) erection over the prospect. I tried to move on, and think
about something else, work, baseball, anything, and mercifully the
tightness in my pants eased, but the thought haunted me. I had asked
for, and received, all the tools to turn myself into a girl, and it
turned me on, and I couldn't forget about it.
-----------------------------------------------
I should have run screaming from what I was doing, I should have gone
home and immediately chucked all of my girlie clothes into the trash.
Instead I went home and repainted my toes, and wore panties to work every
day for the rest of the week. I hadn't done that before, and I was
terrified that I'd bend over at just the wrong moment and someone would
spot them, but, apart from the occasional break to jerk off in the
evenings, my sexual excitement didn't wane all week.
After all that, I just couldn't help myself on the weekend. I had to see
if I could pass in public again. Something low risk would be best, maybe
in the evening, someplace that wouldn't be too crowded. Perhaps the
supermarket that I went on that first day I wore nail polish, how would
that be for poetic synchronicity. I spent a lot of the afternoon getting
ready, trying to find the right mix of non-descript and feminine and
settled on a grey knee length sweater dress over black leggings, and,
because I was still a little paranoid, a old plain black baseball cap
from my boy days to hide my face and hair a little bit, underneath were a
pink thong and a bra, useless as it was. All my nails got repainted with
the bright fuchsia that was quickly becoming my favorite, it was just so
prominently and unashamedly girly. I did up my face, trying to keep it
relatively constrained, but I just felt like I had to do this with the
taste of lipstick on my lips. As a last touch I replaced my boy-mode ear
studs with big chunky girly ones, I bit my lip as I let go for the first
time, excited by the weight tugging at my lobes, I'd never worn earrings
this heavy before. It might have been the most girlie thing I'd ever
done.
Buckling the ankle strap on a pair of black pointed-toe flats, I grabbed
my purse and slipped out of my door down to the parking garage, praying I
wouldn't run into anyone. No one saw me on the way to my car, and no one
noticed me as I drove to the store. It felt so strange. I was an
imposter, surely someone should be pointing this out. But the drive to
the supermarket was just that, a pretty boring drive to the supermarket.
Walking into the store, I started having second thoughts. I was really
doing this? Every little thing that deviated from my normal male
experience seemed to jump out at me. From the pink of my nails on the
shopping cart handle, to the staccato sound of my flats on the hard floor
(so different from the quiet of my normal sneakers), to the weight of my
purse. Surely I must look like an imposter, the dress would hide any
bulge from my tucked dick, but I didn't have girl's hair, or breasts, or
curves. Even the decision to go out late at night seemed idiotic in
hindsight, there would be fewer people in the store, but that just meant
a smaller crowd to hide in. Surely I must just look like a skinny dude
in a dress and lipstick.
But no one noticed, or at least if they did, no one cared enough to do
anything about it. Apparently even if I did look mannish, it wasn't
obvious, and I started to calm down the longer I walked around the store
without anyone noticing, and instead, started getting into it. I felt
myself stand a little straighter, and put a little of the ass out wiggle
into my step that I got when I walked around in heels in my apartment.
Even my shopping habits seemed to get a little more girlie. I still
bought the basic staples like milk, but when I could I seemed to tend
towards lighter foods, Lite or Diet branded, or stereotypically calorie
conscious foods like yoghurt. Apparently the part of me that liked
dressing up, also liked the idea of a more slender me, skinny and ready
to fit into the tighter side of my girlie wardrobe.
Finishing up, I swung through the health and beauty aisle. I couldn't
help buying some women's soap and shampoo. I'd have to be careful with
it, I didn't want to risk walking into work accidentally smelling like a
girl, but the idea of having a shower full of women's bath products, not
for some girlfriend, but for me made me giddy. Finishing, I almost
walked past it, but stopped at the small cosmetics section. This is
where it had started, well, where it had started while sober. Standing
here in nail polish and boy's clothes, trying to hide my hands. Now I
was standing here in nail polish and girl's clothes and there wasn't a
chance I'd be able to hide anything, I had to giggle, it was so weird.
Last time I'd tried to hide the fact that I was perusing the cosmetics,
now I could browse all I wanted and no one would give me a second glance,
at least, no more than they might already be giving me.
I moved on, both ashamed and excited that my cosmetics collection had
already outstripped the paltry selection at a supermarket. Heading to
the checkout I chickened out at the last minute and used the self-
checkout machine. I wasn't quite ready for a conversation with a
checkout clerk with my girl's clothes and my unreliable girl's voice.
Getting home, I grabbed my bags from the trunk and was about to make a
run for it back to my apartment when it struck me that I hadn't gotten my
mail today yet. My fuschia nailed finger hovered over the elevator
button for my floor. If I'd been in boy-mode it wouldn't be a problem,
but here I was dressed as a girl. I should just go up, get changed, and
then get the mail separately, that was safer. But I'd been looking
forward to enjoying girlie-mode a little longer. If I took off all my
nail polish, and makeup, I'd just be redoing it in an hour (let's be
honest, after a successful outing like this, I'd last an hour tops before
I was jerking off in girl's clothes). Getting it on the way up with the
bags would be so much simpler. It would be a little detour, and added
risk, but the building was big enough that no one who didn't live near me
would know me by sight. Most people would just assume I was a neighbour
they didn't know.
"Nut up Jamie." I told myself, as inappropriate as that phrase was for
this, but I don't have ovaries (and didn't want them), and 'boob up' just
sounds silly. "The faster you do this, the less chance someone sees you."
I pushed the button for the ground floor, where the mailboxes were,
before I could think about it anymore. Less worrying, more doing.
The elevator dinged as the doors creaked open to the building lobby. I
tentatively peeked around the door, and then sighed in relief, it was
deserted, which really shouldn't have surprised me given the time. I
scurried over to the rank of mailboxes, wincing at the loud sound of my
shoes on the tile, and twisted my mail key in my mailbox lock. I
gathered up the contents, several letters, a junk mail catalog for the
occupant before me, and a slim manilla package. It all went straight on
top of my emptiest shopping bag, as I closed the mailbox and headed back
to the elevator as fast as I could without running.
My worries had been unfounded, I got back to the apartment without seeing
a soul. I unloaded everything on the countertop, packed away my various
purchases, and then flipped through the mail. The catalog went straight
to recycling, I scanned the bills quickly, and then ripped the seal on
the package. I idly wondered what it was, had I mail ordered a DVD or CD
and forgotten about it? The spark of realization flickered slightly in
the depths of my brain as the contents rattled slightly as I upended the
package to slide them out onto the countertop. They slid to a stop, and
my brain finally registered what my subconscious had put together a
moment ago. Two packets of prescription pills lay on the table. I could
see the name Hillard listed on the label, and there was only one thing
they could be. Looking closer there was a packet of anti-androgens and
one of estrogens, with instructions for daily use.
Holy crap. They're real. Really real, and really here, and I'm supposed
to eat them. I had a sudden vision of Alice in Wonderland and the eat-me
drink-me scene. One pill to make me stop being a man, and one pill to
make me a woman. I could feel myself breathing hard, and tried to calm
down. I should throw these away. Throw them away and tell the doctor to
cancel the prescription. I'm a guy, I wanted to be a guy, and nothing
was forcing me to take these. I should flush them down the sink.
But even as I said that, I could feel the discomfort in my panties. Even
tucked back between my legs, and strapped down beneath panties and
leggings, my cock was stiffening quickly. I giggled, nervously and
involuntarily. I had a suicidal penis. My dick was excited about taking
pills designed to stop me being a man.
I picked them up, removing a dose from each package, and realized I was
doing it with my fuchsia painted fingers. That was a mistake. Seeing my
hands as a girl's hands, holding the chemicals that will make me fill out
this bra. I shouldn't. This isn't a thing to be done lightly, or for
sexual kicks. Who knows what kind of irreversal changes even one dose
was going to set in motion.
I'm not entirely sure what made me do it, maybe it was always going to
happen. But as I stood there, torn, I bit my lip. My lip that was
covered in lipstick, because I'd just had to have the taste of it on my
mouth when I went out. Now that taste was on my tongue again, that
flavor of cosmetics so alien to the male experience. While I'm not
absolutely sure what made me do it, I'll probably believe until the end
of my days, that the taste of lipstick pushed me over the edge. All I
could think of was being the person who would experience cosmetics this
way, from the inside, all the time, and I clapped my hand to my mouth and
swallowed the pills before I could think twice. They went down poorly, I
have a hard time taking pills without a drink, and I choked slightly on
the hard dry forms of the pills. I grabbed a glass of tap water and
washed them down, making sure all the girl-making drugs found there way
into my system.
My cock was straining even more urgently now. I could feel I'd made a
wet spot of precum on my panties, if not on the leggings themselves. I
needed relief. But I decided I would do this right. No halfway
measures, not now, not after that.
I headed to my bedroom, stripping off clothes. I started laying out some
clothes, slutty stockings and panties, a frilly but pointless bra, and
some skyscraper heeled sandals. Popping into the bathroom, I checked my
makeup, it was still good thankfully, but then thought of my nails. No
half measures. Grabbed some nail polish remover and quickly got rid of
all the fuchsia on my hands. Then I was back out to the clothes, and got
myself nicely tarted up before click-clacking back to the bedroom on my
heels, I wouldn't be able to deal with finicky stuff like stockings in a
few minutes. I rummaged around in my cabinets until I found them. A
pack of long false glue-on french tip nails. I'd bought them ages back
on a whim, but never used them, they would extend about half an inch past
my fingers when they were on. I had to go back to boy-mode too regularly
to go to the trouble of attaching long nails, but this was a special
occasion. I sat on the toilet, ass uncovered by my thong and cold on
the toilet cover, and erect cock bobbing obscenely, unable to hide behind
the small piece of fabric that made up it's front. With great care, I
glued the nails on one by one, each harder than the last as more of my
hands were hampered by the long french tips. Finally I was done, and I
waved them impatiently to dry the glue.
I stood, delicately. Everything about me felt slightly awkward, from the
keeps, to my nails, to the weight on my ears. As if it was the
cumulative added work of being a girl. My cock somehow managed to
stiffen further. That's what I was signing up for, all the awkwardness
that objectifying myself this way entails. I minced as quickly as I could
back to the bedroom, and carefully, minding my nails, dug out the dildo
set and lube from my cabinet. I hadn't used them much after the first
times, it was a lot of effort when wanking my cock worked just as well.
But no half-measures this time. I lubed up the small dildo, and settled
myself, head down, and ass up on the bed. Reaching up between my legs,
my long nailed hand eased the dildo into my back passage.
I groaned as it entered me. It felt so, so girlish. No man would do
this. This was a girl thing to do, and I was doing it, because I was
making myself a girl. I began to piston the dildo in and out of me, and
shivered at the sensation. "Jamie's ass is so tight for a dildo." I
moaned out loud to myself in my girl voice. "It needs to get fucked more
to open up. And Jamie needs boobs, she needs big round soft boobs." I
quickened the pace of my thrusts. "Boobs that will sway when she gets
fucked. Jamie's going to be a pretty slutty girl that gets fucked." I
was? Was that what I thought deep down? Or was that the building orgasm
talking, and it was building, I was fucking my ass vigorously with the
dildo now, and my voice was getting ragged. " Oh fuck! Jamie's going to
be a pretty girl with boobs. Fuck, oh fuck! She's going to be stuck as a
pretty girl with boobs. I'm going to be stuck with slutty boobs and
won't be able to come back. OH FUCK!" I quietly shrieked the last as I
pumped a load of thick sticky cum onto the bed below me.
Then it hit me, as it always did after orgasm. What I'd done. What I
was wearing. I'd crumpled into the wet spot of hot cum after I'd
climaxed. And even that hit me, that that might just be the heaviest
load I'd ever cum for the rest of my life with these pills. Then I
curled into a ball and cried, until I fell asleep, overwhelmed by the
enormity of what I'd done.
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