Earth s CoreChapter 19 Cultivation Inheritance
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The Inheritance - Part 1 free porn video
It was an easy life. I had drifted through university doing just enough
to be awarded a 3rd class degree. I had a nice apartment. No proper job,
just a bit of bar work. All possible because of a generous allowance from
my uncle. But then something unexpected happened. Unexpected for me and,
I guess, for him as well. He died. He was relatively young. And as it
soon transpired, too young to have got round to making a will. So his
wife inherited everything.
And she and I had history. She made no attempt to appear to like me and
was only as polite as convention required. And I had been pretty
dismissive, not just of her but of women in general. Not just privately,
but on social media. So I was not surprised that the allowance suddenly
stopped.
I soon had to give up my apartment and look for some cheap lodgings. And
try to get a proper job, but with poor academic qualifications and
without a steady employment record. I got into debt. Life was now very
hard.
Then I got a letter from my late uncle's widow. It seemed that she was
making me a very generous offer. But there were strings attached.
She said that she was moving out of the comfortable apartment that had
been their family home. They owned a cottage in the countryside some
distance away that they had used as a holiday home. She had decided to
move in there permanently. The apartment would be sold. Unless, that is,
I wanted to take it over. It would come with a sum of money that would
pay off my debts and pay the bills for a while. I would still need to get
a proper job, but I would be able to move out of a semi-slum into a more
than decent apartment. But in return I would have to publicly disavow all
the misogynous things I had posted online and visit her at the apartment
to make a personal apology to her.
By the time I had read this far I was already convinced that this was
what I had to do. I couldn't go on living as I was and I was getting
pretty desperate.
I carried on reading the letter.
"If you want to take up this generous offer, you must reply within two
weeks or the apartment will be put up for sale. The offending material
you have put online must be removed immediately. And you must come and
stay here at the apartment with me for a weekend. And when you leave
after the weekend you will do so wearing a skirt as a public
acknowledgement of your past misdemeanours and your determination to
change your ways."
This was a bit off-putting. Why would I need to spend a whole weekend
saying sorry? And wearing a skirt in public would be rather embarrassing
to say the least.
But perhaps not surprisingly, I sent a letter by return accepting her
offer. And immediately started taking down my offensive posts and instead
posted a statement that I had changed my views and would not be posting
that sort of material again.
A few days later the postman delivered a small package from Aunt Alice.
It included a fabric tape measure and quite a long list of measurements
that I was required to make of various parts of my body. There were
diagrams and instructions of how the measurements should be taken. I
could understand why my waist measurement would be needed in order to
ensure a skirt would fit me. And perhaps some of the leg measurements
would help getting the right length of skirt. And I suppose that it made
sense to have a pair of women's shoes if I was going to be wearing a
skirt. But I was beginning to wonder about what else I was going to be
expected to wear. Nevertheless, I sent off all the measurements as
requested.
A week or so later the invitation came. I was to arrive on the Friday
afternoon. It was only a short walk from the railway station to the
apartment. I did not need to bring a change of clothes - everything would
be provided for me.
I was a little apprehensive during the train journey. I wondered what was
in store for me. What would I be made to wear? And what would I be made
to do?
I got off the train and left the railway station. Now I was starting to
get rather more anxious. My heart was thumping. I consciously tried to
relax, to reduce my pulse rate. But the thought kept returning. On my
return to the railway station I would be wearing a skirt. And probably
girls' shoes. And who knows what else?
Eventually I turned a corner and saw my future home. I immediately
recognised the apartment block, even though it had been some time since I
visited it. I stopped for a moment. Did I really want to go through with
this humiliation? Well, no I didn't really. But I wanted the apartment.
In fact I needed the apartment and the security it would bring. I started
walking again. I told myself I had decided. But, at the back of my mind,
I knew that I didn't actually have a choice.
I arrived at the main door of the block and rang the bell of the
apartment. Aunt Alice told me to come on up. "My housekeeper, Mrs
Roberts, will help you get ready." The remote lock buzzed open and I went
across to the lift. The apartment was on the third floor. I wasn't
certain that my legs were steady enough to take the stairs in my present
nervous state. I rang the doorbell and the door was opened by a middle-
aged lady who I presumed was Mrs Roberts. She wore a rubber apron and
rubber gloves, and her hair was wrapped in a sort of turban. She didn't
speak but indicated that I was to follow her. We went into a bedroom and
she closed the door. "Take all your clothes off," she ordered. "Leave
them on the bed and then follow me into the bathroom."
I started to get undressed. "Come on, hurry up," she called from the
bathroom. "I haven't got all day." A few moments later I stepped into the
bathroom. Naked, with my hands clasped in front of me to conceal my
maleness. She handed me a plastic shower cap. "Put this on. Make sure you
tuck all your hair in." Of course, I needed two hands to do this. I
glanced at her and saw the hint of a contemptuous smile on her face as
she looked at my body. Admittedly I wasn't Adonis. I wasn't well-muscled.
Nor slim-waisted. "Now stand still with your legs apart. I'm going to
cover your body with hair-removing cream."
She started at the back, using a small plastic spreader to apply the
cream. She worked from my ankles up to my bottom. She covered the cheeks
of my bottom, then in the crack between them. The spreader touched my
bum-hole, then the crotch area behind my balls. Then my back up to my
neck and then the backs and sides of my arms. Then she moved round to the
front and started on my feet. She spread the cream up my legs and then
applied a generous amount to my pubic area. This wasn't in the least
arousing. There was nothing titillating about it. Apart from the facts
that there was nothing sexually attractive about Mrs Roberts and that she
was wearing rubber gloves to avoid touching me directly, the cream was
quite cool and it felt as though my balls were shrinking. She stood up
and coated my stomach and chest. She told me to keep my mouth closed as
she coated my cheeks and sideburns, chin, neck and upper lip. Then she
told me to lift my arms and she applied the cream to my underarms. "Now
put your hands on your head and stand still until I come back," she said
as she put the cap back on the tube of cream and washed her gloved hands.
"The cream needs a few minutes to act. If you feel a burning or tingling
sensation, call me. I'll just be in the bedroom getting things ready." I
noticed that the large tube of cream was now nearly empty. She left me
standing there.
I stood still for what seemed ages. I began to start wondering if she
would ever come back. But eventually she did. She rubbed a small area of
my arm and seemed satisfied that the cream was working. "We'll leave it
just a few more minutes," she said, and left me alone again.
When she returned she had removed her apron and gloves. She was wearing a
sort of smock. She turned on the shower and held her hand under the flow
until she was satisfied with the temperature. "OK. Wash the cream off,"
she instructed. "Rub your arms, legs and other bits gently to help
release the hairs." I had never been very hairy, but I was surprised how
much hair flowed across the white base of the shower to the waste outlet.
"Make sure the hair has been removed from your bottom and the parts
between your legs," she said, "or we will have to treat them again." It
was rather embarrassing to have her watch me rubbing these parts, but she
stood there until she was satisfied that the hair removal process had
been successful. "Now use the shower-gel," she said. "It will help re-
moisturise your skin." I did as I was told. The shower-gel did seem to
have a nourishing effect. Not just like ordinary soap. I also noticed
that it was strongly scented. And not with a masculine perfume. She
handed me a towel as I stepped out of the shower. "It's better to pat
your skin dry rather than rub vigorously," she said. "It needs to be
treated a little more tenderly after using the hair removing cream."
Back in the bedroom Mrs Roberts handed me a pair of pink knickers to put
on. Although these were particularly feminine articles I was glad to put
them on to cover my nakedness. And as I pulled them up round my bottom
and bits they felt very nice. Comfortable and comforting. Cool and soft,
gently supporting my now hairless balls and sliding on the smooth skin of
my bottom. I felt a slight tingling in my cock and desperately hoped that
I would not become visibly aroused. Glancing round the room, I saw that
there was no sign of my male clothes, but that a dress and some other
items of female underwear were laid out on the bed.
"I'm afraid you're not quite the right shape to fit into the dress
properly, so we will need to augment your bust and diminish your waist,"
she said. She picked up a silicone breast form from a box and sprayed it
with adhesive. "Stand still," she said. She carefully positioned it on my
chest and told me to hold it in place. Then she sprayed the other breast
form and positioned that too. It was rather strange standing there
wearing nothing but a pair of pink knickers and holding two falsie
boobies in place. After a short while she picked up a white bra. When I
let go the breast forms to put my arms into the bra, I realised just how
heavy my falsie boobies were. It was quite a relief when my bra was
properly fastened and adjusted, so that the weight of them was
distributed onto my shoulders and back.
"Now you'll need to pull your knickers down to your hips to put this belt
on," she said, handing me a suspender-belt. It was essentially two pieces
of material with hook-and-eye fastenings at the front and joined with a
series of long laces at the back. "Fasten the front and hold the belt in
position," she instructed. She pulled the laces until all the slack had
been taken up and the suspender-belt was tight enough to stay in
position. "Now reach behind you," she instructed. She put the laces into
my hands. "You need to do this part for yourself. Hold your stomach in
and pull the laces fairly tight. The belt should be comfortable to wear,
and you obviously need to be able to breathe and to bend forwards, but
tight enough to pull in that flabby stomach of yours and give you a bit
of a waist. When I had done this to her satisfaction, she told me to tie
the laces behind my back, then to thread the suspenders down inside my
knickers and then to pull my knickers back up.
She told me to sit on the bed and inspected my nails. "It's good that
they are neatly trimmed. You need to be careful not to snag your
stockings when putting them on. She took one of a pair of stockings from
a new pack and showed me how to put my thumbs into the tops and to gather
the nylon up with my fingers until my thumbs reached the toe of the
stocking. "Now put your foot in and carefully spread the stocking up your
leg. That's right. Now fasten the stocking to your suspenders. There are
two clasps at the front and one at the back. Make sure that the clasps
are fitted properly so that they do not accidentally come undone." I then
put on the second stocking. I noticed that when I was reaching down to
put my feet into each stocking, my arms came into contact with my large
boobies.
She helped me slip my feet into a pair of shoes. "Stand up. Make sure you
can walk in these," she said. The shoes had heels about two inches high.
I realised that they made me a little taller. But this was not the main
sensation of wearing them. My legs felt a different shape. And my bum
seemed to be sticking out more. And as I took a few steps across the
bedroom floor I could feel my stockings pulling against my taut
suspenders. And brushing against each other with a faint swishing sound.
My bra straps gripped my body and supported my boobs as they bounced a
little. And my silky knickers caressed the hairless cheeks of my bottom.
My cock had started to stiffen as I put my bra on, but by now I had a
throbbing erection. Despite being in the presence of Mrs Roberts, I could
not suppress my body's arousal caused by the sensation of my female
underwear, my boobies and my heels. There was a sort of smirk on Mrs
Roberts' face. She knew that I was powerless to resist the stimulation
caused by what I was wearing. However, she made no remark.
She handed me a short slip, or what I now know is called a chemise. It
matched my pink knickers but was too short to cover them, so it did
nothing to conceal the outline of my hard cock inside them. I slipped my
shoes off as she helped me into my dress. It was red with long sleeves
and a long back zip. "You'll have to practise reaching behind your back,"
she said. "You need to be able to fasten your bra as well as the back zip
of a dress." Once I had mastered this I put my shoes back on. Mrs Roberts
now let me look in the mirror. I saw that I was still wearing the shower
cap, and took it off. The bodice of my dress clung to a pair of large
tits. The skirt flared out from the waist, but it was obvious that there
was something poking up under the front of the skirt. The hem line was
about eight inches above the knee, so probably only just concealed my
stocking-tops. But it revealed a pair of quite shapely legs. There was
nothing that I could see in my reflection that caused any diminution in
the size of my erection.
"OK," said Mrs Roberts. "Let's go and see what your aunt thinks." I
followed her out of the bedroom, along a short corridor, into the living
room. Although I was very nervous, my erection was still very firm. My
cock and balls were gently supported by my silky knickers. I realised
that the removal of my pubic hair resulted in a much more intimate
contact between my underwear and my bits. But now I was in the room. Aunt
Alice was sitting on the settee looking me up and down. I was very aware
of what she was looking at. My bust. My stockinged legs. And the way that
my skirt was not hanging as it should at the front. Under her gaze, the
latter problem began to subside.
"Hmm," she said eventually. "Not too bad. We need to sort out your hair
though. Come along." She got up and I suddenly realised that I was to
accompany her out of the apartment. "Don't worry," she said. "It's only a
block away. A friend of mine has a salon. She normally closes earlier on
Fridays, but she'll be staying open just for you today." As we were
approaching the door of the apartment block she said quietly, "Now take
my arm and walk slowly. Take ladylike steps. Try to look confident, but
don't make eye contact with anyone in the street. Especially boys.
They'll probably be watching your boobs and legs anyway."
It was summer and still warm. Not necessary to wear a coat, although I
would have felt much less vulnerable to have a coat over my short dress.
There was a slight breeze and I could feel my skirt being blown around
slightly. The streets weren't very busy, but we did pass a few people.
There were women and girls in skirts and nylons. I realised that under
their skirts they would probably be wearing tights, not stockings, in
common with all the girls I had ever dated. If a breeze lifted their
skirts a little, it would only mean that they would show a bit more
nyloned leg. And in an extreme case, if their skirts lifted high enough
to show their crotch, it would be no more revealing than a swimming
costume. But in my case, it wouldn't need much skirt lifting to show that
I was wearing stockings. Forbidden fruit. Shiny dark stocking-tops. Taut
suspenders over hairless bare thighs. And if anyone should get a view of
my bulging pink knickers, the viewer would be in no doubt that they were
looking at a sissy boy in girls' clothes. And although the breeze was not
gusting much, my skirt was rather shorter than most of the skirts we
passed. I guessed that no real woman would go out in public wearing
stockings with such a short skirt.
It was quite a relief when we arrived at the salon. As we entered, the
salon owner put the closed sign on the door. She looked at my hair
critically, obviously working out what could be done with it. Then she
put a towel over my shoulders and led me to a chair. I had to lean back
so that my neck rested in a special basin. She ran water through a
sprayhead to adjust the temperature then started washing my hair. I had
never had my hair washed like this before. It was quite relaxing feeling
her fingers gently but firmly massaging my soapy scalp. After washing my
hair, and before drying it, she set to work with scissors and various
clips and lotions etc. As my back was still turned to the mirror I
couldn't see exactly what she was doing. Then before drying my hair she
said "I need to trim your eyebrows a little." I closed my eyes as she
used a small electric trimmer. Then she used an eyebrow pencil. She
picked up a lipstick and told me to present my lips in the way that she
moved her own mouth. After applying lipstick, she brushed some powder
onto my cheeks. "We'll just stay with simple makeup," she said. Then she
dried my hair, brushed it, did some finishing touches with the scissors,
and finally allowed me to turn around and see the results in the mirror.
I was amazed. I was looking at the reflection of a pretty girl. A girl
with a distinctly feminine hairstyle. A style that no boy would choose.
Unless he was a sissy boy.
"Thank you, Susan," said Aunt Alice. "That's much more suitable." She
turned to me. "Don't you think you look pretty now?". I felt myself blush
at the thought of being pretty. "Yes," I murmured. "Thank you."
It was still light and still quite warm as we walked back to the
apartment. I was still feeling pretty. Pretty hair. Pretty face. Pretty
legs. Pretty skirt. What if people could see my pretty knickers as well?
I felt a tingling sensation in my cock at this thought.
But before there was any chance of this happening we were back at the
apartment block. And as soon as we were inside the apartment Aunt Alice
said, "There's just one thing to remember. When you are sitting down,
remember to keep your legs together. I realised that I hadn't thought of
this when I was having my hair washed. As I had been leaning back my
skirt had probably ridden up as well. The bulge in my knickers was
probably on display. Seeing my dismay, Aunt Alice added, "Don't worry.
Susan knew your little secret anyway."
Mrs Roberts had gone, but she had left a meal ready for us. I found I was
quite hungry. After we had eaten, my aunt showed me some papers about the
flat, but to be honest I was thinking more about what I was wearing than
what she was showing me. Seeing that I was not really paying proper
attention, she said, "I guess you are probably feeling tired. Perhaps it
would be good to have an early night. Before you go I want to see what
you have put on social media." She opened her laptop computer. Once it
was up and running she told me to log into my facebook account. I did so.
"Right," she said. "There are a few things that you need to do before
getting into bed. Firstly hang up your dress when you take it off. Don't
leave lying around to get creased. Secondly remove your make-up. You'll
find some wipes on the dressing table for this. Thirdly you must hand
wash your knickers and stockings in the wash-basin and then hang them up
to dry overnight. There is a hanger in the bathroom for this. Now go and
have a good night's sleep and I see you bright and early tomorrow.
Closely shaved. Properly dressed. Make-up on."
I went to my room and took off my dress. I hung it up in the wardrobe. I
looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror. A pretty boy. With
tits and pretty underwear. It was soon apparent that there was something
else I needed to do. Something Aunt Alice hadn't mentioned. And after I
had done this I felt very tired. But nevertheless I managed to follow all
her instructions. The one about washing my knickers was by this time
clearly essential.
On the bed there was a shortie nightie with matching knickers. I put
these on. And as I snuggled into bed the knickers felt very comforting as
they encased my now shrivelled cock.
Mhairi
- 14.03.2021
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