Wednesday, December 31, 1997

Fiction: Mad Scientist, More Detail

Slight modification, another grandiose plan for a huge story.  This one might just work, though.

The plan is this: The mad scientist works for the government.  The government wants to take over a foreign country, and wants to find an insidious way of disabling its enemy's resistance.  They plan some sort of propaganda campaign which will totally obliterate the enemy's will to fight.  So the mad scientist, being a sexist mad scientist, proposes a plan: make all the men in the country effeminate, and they won't want to fight.  It's a simple idea, but how does one accomplish this?
              The scientist has done research into gender identity and behaviour.  He hypothesizes that if men wear women's clothing, and are publicly exposed as transvestites; and if these men are well rewarded for their gender-bending, they will inevitably want to become girls.  Thus, if he can effectuate his plan, the men will become girlish in no time.  Implementation would be easy: Send in some female agents to seduce some of the men, and coerce them into femininity, and quickly the idea will spread.  The details are unimportant.  Suffice it to say that the government thinks the idea could use a generous grant for development.  The scientist is commissioned to carry out whatever experiments he thinks will prove or disprove his hypothesis.
              So the experiments begin.  The story is a logbook of his experiments.  He must try different methods of effeminating men: with force, with coercion, gradual, sudden, etc.  And he must try with many different men, each of whom has a different sexual history.  Thus, for each of the conditions, he must have a transvestite; a closet transvestite panty freak; someone who has maybe thought about it once or twice, maybe even tried it; someone who has never even imagined wearing women's clothes.  And so I have a dozen case studies right off the bat.
              Anyway, with all of these experiments, he gets to see the shocking results: he was correct.  Men want to become women when exposed to their underwear, particularly suddenly.  This alarms the scientist, and he takes drastic measures.
              As a shock ending, his prisoners, who have been transformed from mostly virile men to chicks with dicks, revolt, and capture him.  They plan to strip him down and force him to wear the sexiest lingerie imaginable, because they know that it would instantly transform him into a quivering mass of sheer girlishness.  But when they take off his clothes, they discover, to their horror, that he is already wearing lingerie, under his men's clothes.  He reveals that, as his experiments proved his hypothesis more and more, he became more and more frightened of what they might do to a man's psyche.  He had watched hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men willfully forsake their masculinity, to a most disturbing degree.  He saw men who never had any transsexual fantasies beg for bikinis and brassieres and garter belts to wear.  He did not want to ever become subjected to such a horrible devolution.  So he tried to immunize himself from the effects of women's clothing.  Here we enter the hierarchy: here is a man who must at all costs keep a very tight watch on how far he goes and how fast.  He started out with pantihose, and over his own underwear.  He did not dare risk his manhood further.  Then, when he felt comfortable enough in it, he dared to wear it naked at least ten times, until he could become used to it.  And so on until he got to the point where he could wear lingerie.  He wore women's underwear all the time, just to get used to it, in case he might ever be forced into becoming effeminate.  And so he forsook his own underwear for women's wear, only realizing too late that he had somehow succumbed himself to what he feared would be forced upon him. 
              In the end, after this little brouhaha, the enemy forces attack.  They are all effeminated men, and they force the entire population to become female like them.  And they all lived happily ever after.

So what are all the possibilities for test victims?
1)   raving trannie, out of the closet
2)   closet girlie, highly experienced with women's undies, like me
3)   only slightly experienced trannie, too scared to wear undies more often
4)   someone who has only thought about it a couple of times
5)   Someone to whom the idea of wearing women's clothing has never occurred.

And what are the possible test?  We first have to figure out the variables:
1)   amount of force (ranging from free choice to violence)
2)   severity (start with lingerie or with nothing?)

Each man is forced to tell how far he has gone, with the help of truth serum.  Imagine the embarrassment of number 2 and 3.  I think you can pretty much rule out 1.  The rest will be quite a blast.

Sunday, December 28, 1997

Fiction: Outline: Mad Scientist

Next fantasy: the mad scientist who tries to experiment with some men to make them want to become women.  His experiment will try to find the source of gender identity.  So he has to force some men to wear underwear, coerce others, and give others all the choice they want.  Or else, it's one guinea pig, and he forces him to become a her through all sorts of torments of women's clothes.  And he will keep meticulous records the whole time.  Only he will find the whole thing most disgusting, how a man can totally abandon his gender like that.  Then the man will escape, and force the scientist to live through his own experiments, and get a unique insight into his experiment.  I picture this: the scientist doing his experiment, and his victim not knowing what is going on, slowly and innocently going female; and then he realizes what's going on, and tries to escape.  One day, he succeeds, and knocks out the scientist.  Then: the scientist wakes up from his unconsciousness, and screams when he notices that he's wearing women's lingerie, or a bathing suit, or something like that, and he struggles to get out, and the more he struggles, the more he pleases his feminine side, and he goes insane, becomes a flaming woman wannabe.  His experiments, of course, will have to be very gradual, to make sure that his guinea pig doesn't lose his mind or feel an incredible shock at his new identity; his own experience, however, will have to be quite the opposite: instantly he will wear the most intense lingerie, and become a fiend for it.

Tuesday, December 16, 1997

Fiction: The Ultimate Sexual Experience, Part 3

[Part 1] [Part 2]

That's pretty well how I spent the next week or so.  I wore lingerie all day and all night.  They treated me like a girl.  They did their best to make me feel like a girl.  And at the end of every day, we all cuddled together, wearing sexy lingerie.  The first few days, I was tentative about choosing which outfit to wear.  Presented with a matching bra and panty set, a teddy, or a nightgown, I had to pick one.  "What do you want to wear today?"  they would ask.  How could I say that I wanted to wear any of it?  Why would I want to wear women's underwear at all?  How could I go about choosing, anyway?  Still, I felt that I did have a preference: I feel turned on looking at one or another of them.  I suppose that there's something sexy about women's underwear in and of itself.  They kept pestering me.  "See?  He likes the matching bra and panties."  "Wouldn't you rather wear the teddy?"  "Leave him alone!  He obviously wants the bra and panties!"  I couldn't stand it.  But somehow they could tell which one turned me on the most.  And they gave it to me.  And they made me wear it.

My hands would shake as they got hold of them.  Normally, I would be unhooking these, or slipping them off of female hips.  I always did love the feel of silk and satin, and the feminine look of lace.  I always did love the look of feminine underwear.  I was getting a very close look at it, and it was bringing back all sorts of memories of sexual encounters when I would be looking at sexy girls wearing things just like this.  The panty and bra set was femininity itself.  Something about its shape, about the lacy trim, about the delicate elastic, all of it made me quite horny.  I held in my hands a most potent symbol of female sexuality: the style and design of the outfit is made to highlight feminine sexual traits.  It's made to make girls look even sexier than they are.  And I had to put it on my masculine body, a body that has been in contact with countless hordes of females wearing just this kind of sexy outfit.

They always had to push me into putting it on.  I mean, there I stood with a powerful female sexualizing tool in my hands, and I just couldn't make the connection to my own body.  They just couldn't connect in my mind.  They would snap the whip at me to get me going.  I was so confused.  I didn't really know how to go about putting it on, except for what I had seen the girls do here, and everything else I'd seen over the years.  I just stepped into the panties like I would my own underwear.  Except I hesitated.  In part, I didn't want to stop looking at the girlish garment I was sliding up my legs, particularly the crotch.  But I had to go up, all the way to my own crotch.  It looked just awful contoured on my male body.  But it was still feminine.  It hugged around my hips and butt just like it would on any woman.

Next, and most difficult, was the bra.  I didn't even know how to begin.  Danielle had to show me the first time, because she didn't want me fooling around for too long.  I guess she thought that I was procrastinating.  She took me through it step by step.  I couldn't help but stare at her incredible body as she showed me how to put on a bra.  She started off by holding it up straight, and right side up, so that the top was on top, and the outside facing away from her.  I did the same.  Then she grabbed each end and wrapped it around her waist, with the two ends at the front.  I did the same with mine.  She clasped the two little hooks.  I clasped my two little hooks.  It felt tight and smooth around my waist.  Then we turned them around together, in unison, and pulled our bras up by the shoulder straps, putting our arms through them as they came up.  I was so embarrassed when I realized that we both snapped the shoulder straps when we got them on.  I did it completely by accident.

Then, when I had it on, they told me to feel my underwear against my skin, until they had me dirty dancing like a girl in front of them.  I felt so incredibly horny with all this girlishness around me.  I couldn't get over having something so feminine on the source of my masculinity.  I wanted to feel every bit of that femininity all over me.  The outfit seemed to feed on my every move, seemed to become more and more feminine with every undulation of my hips.  Every touch reminded me of what I was wearing, and how girlish it made me.  
Femininity was rubbing off on me.  I was moving more and more like a girl, and it felt better and better.  I think they could tell that I wasn't hamming it up anymore.  I could feel the panties and bra making me more girlish by the second, and I couldn't resist.  Worse, I was relishing it.  It just felt so good, I wanted more and more.  I knew what was happening to me, and with every second, I wanted it more.  While I wore that bra and those panties, I wanted to besmirch my manhood.  I wanted that outfit to effeminate me.  I wanted to feel like a girl.  

Those girls were smart.  They knew what was going on.  I didn't, yet.  They didn't let me come until the end of the day.  As I came, I experienced the most intense sexual experience of my life, and I knew it.  After I came, I was so incredibly degraded.  I wasn't a girl.  It was all an illusion.  I had worn women's underwear all day, looking like a freak, and wanting desperately to be feminine.  They had devastated my manhood; or rather, they had made me do it all by myself.  I never said to them how I felt all day, but there's no mistaking my actions.  I willfully pranced around like a girl.  I looked forward to wearing more lingerie as I did it.  I had abandoned manhood that day.  They knew that I had.  They also knew that there was no turning back.  I hoped beyond hope that there was a way out.

I lay there in a pool of my come when I realized this.  I was still male, still wearing women's underwear.  They kept me from taking it off.  I resolved then and there that I would never let them take me for a ride like that again.  I would not play their game the next morning.  If they insisted, I would leave.

The next day, as you no doubt know, didn't go quite as I had planned it.  I was forced to choose another outfit for that day.  I was still wearing the bra and panties from the day before.  Oh, how weak I was!  I didn't have the guts to tell them off.  They were still so beautiful.  They brought out the undies again, and I was captivated again.  It was far worse than the day before.  I had a definite desire to wear a pretty, lacy teddy.  I tried to deny myself.  I really did.  But they could tell that I wanted it.  I needed no help putting it on.

The next day, I had resolved the same thing as before.  I practically wept when I slipped into another gorgeous panty and bra set.  I didn't want to stop.  I was feeling so good when I wore their underwear.  I so desperately wanted to never take it off.  Until I came.  Then I never wanted to see women's clothes again.  
Then the next morning, I wouldn't be able to resist another shred of silky panty.  Pretty soon, I wasn't just pointing at just anything to get the ordeal over with; I was begging to wear specific items of women's clothing.  At first, they would each bring something out, and I would take a long time to waffle it over before they finally figured it out.  Within a week, I was whispering coyly that I wanted the black silk teddy, or the red lace panty and bra.  "Ummm, could I please have the, uh," I would start, stuttering, mumbling.  

"You'll have to speak up, Pamela would say.  

"I'd like the, uh, the black silk teddy."  

"You'd what?"  

"I want the black silk teddy," I would say louder, blushing.  

"Why, what for?" they would ask.  

"I want to wear it," I would whisper.  


"Because it feels nice."  

"What do you mean it feels nice?"  

"It feels sexy."  

"Hmm.  You're right.  It sure does feel sexy, doesn't it?  But it's made for girls to wear.  You're not a girl, so you're not allowed to wear it."  

"Please let me wear it."  

"But you're not a girl.  You have to be a girl to wear it.  Do you want to be a girl?"  

I would hesitate for a few seconds.  Then I would blush and say, almost inaudibly, "yes."  They had me.  

"Well, in that case, we'll let you wear it."  

And I slipped into it and reveled.

After that it got easier and easier.  I had nothing to be shy about anymore.  They offered me lingerie to wear, and I chose it.  It was all I wore, and all I wanted to wear.  Except when I came.  When I came, I wanted to crawl into a hole.  But I even got used to that; or rather, I came to terms with it.  Somehow.

But my new-found hobby ended abruptly one morning.  The girls came in as they had for the past two weeks, but didn't offer me anything to wear.  

There was something dangerous about the situation.  I had no direct access to women's underwear anymore.  As far as the girls were concerned, I didn't have to wear lingerie anymore.  They just wanted to have sex now.  

It was very difficult the first day.  I was clumsy.  I couldn't just fuck the shit out of them anymore.  I wanted them to stay in their underwear, so that I could play with the elastics.  It was such a let-down from the days previous, when I, too, pranced around in silky panties and bras.  I still wanted to dress up.  I mean, it was just so fun.  But it never came into the program.  I was embarrassed to ask.  But I was desperate.

"When do I get to wear your undies again?" I asked.

"Oh," answered Pamela, "That's over now.  We want to move on to something else."

It didn't sound like I'd ever wear women's clothes again.

I couldn't sleep anymore.  A part of me was extremely relieved that this problem I had had been taken out of my hands.  I wouldn't be pressured into wearing women's clothes again, so I would never do it again.  I would never damage my manhood again, because I had no access to women's clothes.  Yes, at one point I was very thankful of that.

It didn't last very long.  The girls weren't even mentioning it anymore.  I felt ashamed.  I couldn't ask them, because I would be completely embarrassed.  Yes, even though I was there for the ultimate sexual experience, and even though they were whores, I was afraid, deathly afraid to ask.  They would think less of me, I thought.

I had to take matters in my own hands.  Every night, I needed it more and more.  I sweated in my bed thinking about it, dreaming of wearing something girlish.  I felt like I was missing something.  I dreamed of wearing bikinis and one-piece swimsuits.  They had never let me wear any before.  I wanted to, desperately.  
I felt that I could never be completely effeminated if I never wore it.  I fantasized that wearing a woman's bathing suit would push me that much further over the edge, and make me that much more effeminate.

The plan was so simple.  Three gorgeous sluts lived here in the same house with me.  All I had to do was sneak into their bedrooms, and steal whatever I wanted.  I planned it for days.  They just wanted to have sex, but I was staking out the room.

I waited until nightfall.  I needed that bathing suit.  I was sweating again.  I had left Danielle on the couch, where she fell asleep.  I carefully snuck into her room.

Once inside, I gave myself little time to act.  I hurried to her dresser, and rifled through her drawers.  I found a very nice silky smooth swimsuit, very sexy and high cut.  I stuffed it down my boxers and shuffled back into my room.

It took me a few minutes to put it on.  First, I wanted to make sure that no one was coming.  Then I examined it, to relish in all of its wonderful girlishness.  I put it on in the dark, under my covers.  It was incredible.  I felt so effeminate.  It was everything I had wanted it to be.  I could feel my masculinity choke in the tight spandex.  I rubbed my crotch against the covers as I felt my body all over.  The whole time I thought to myself that this was going too far, that I could never recover my manhood now.  I mean, I had worn all sorts of lingerie before, and I had been masturbated in it and came in it, but it was always at the insistence of others.  If I'm forced to do it, I can't be totally responsible for my actions, no matter how much I like it.  But this time, no one forced me.  I wanted it, and I went out and got it.  Nobody even knows about it.  And this very thought that I am damaging my masculinity beyond repair makes me feel even more effeminate, gives me even more pleasure, makes me want to obliterate my gender.  I don't ever want this feeling to stop; it feels so much better than sex.  Maybe this is how a girl feels when she's fucking...

Suddenly, I'm stopped dead in my tracks when someone opens my door.  Claudia is sneaking in here for some reason.  She thinks I'm asleep.  I lay still as a log.  She looks around a little, turns around, and walks out, closing the door behind her.  My heart pounds like a jackhammer.  But I slowly resume, and work my way back to a fever pitch, thankful that I hadn't been caught.  How wonderful it must be, I imagine, to be a woman!  And I affirm to myself my desire to become a girl, and come all over myself and the swimsuit.

Now I'm in trouble.  I can't bring this back to Danielle's dresser in such a condition.  It's filthy, and she'll know immediately what happened to it.  But I can't avoid replacing it, or else she'll miss it.  And Lord knows, I don't want anyone to know about this now.  I don't want to be a girl anymore.  I just can't understand how I got myself into this situation.

Clearly, I must take the chance that she won't miss it.  I can't put a dirty bathing suit back into her drawers.  I have to either destroy it or hide it.  Again, I can't destroy it without risking getting caught.  I stuffed it under my mattress.

As much shame as I felt after that experience, the very next night I wanted more.  All day I worried that Danielle would notice her missing bathing suit, or that someone would find it under my mattress.  I couldn't stop thinking about how much pleasure I had derived from my little crime.  And no one seemed to have noticed.  Sure, I was embarrassed after, but so what?  I had to expect that, considering what I had done.  And what had I done?  I had worn women's clothes and liked it.  Immensely.  The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to relive the experience.  I wanted to be a girl again.  So that night, I dug it out from under my mattress and masturbated again.

Again, the same result.  I was always ashamed.  It was like being brought down from a daydream, except that there was that shame, that gruesome shame, that made me regret my pleasure.  I knew that it was unnatural at the time, and I treasured it for that reason.  It made me so much hornier to think that I wanted to dress like a girl, and that it's socially unacceptable for me to do so.  Imagine what it would do to my image as a macho stud!

Unfortunately, I started getting sick of the bathing suit.  I needed more!  I dreamed of wearing lingerie again, and wearing a garter belt and stockings for the first time.  Soon, I had a basic collection under my mattress.  And no one seemed to be the wiser.  All day, I fantasized about wearing what the girls were wearing.  Sex didn't interest me so much anymore, except that my girls wore such sexy underwear.  It was only a matter of time until I got busted.

I had never felt so much shame in my life.  Pamela caught me one night while wearing her lingerie that I had stolen.  She noticed that it had gone missing, and all three of the girls staked me out.  I was fully into it when they knocked on my door.

"Yes," I answered, because they knocked loudly and persistently.  I could never have slept through that.

"R__!  Quick!  Come out!  There's a fire!"

I was shitting bricks.  I couldn't come out now, dressed like a girl.  "Hold on!" I answered.  "I have to get dressed.  There was probably a hint of a moan in my voice.  I was trying to pull off my panties, unable to get past the garter belt, when they all burst in and tore the covers off my bed.  My secret was exposed, for all to see.  And they all giggled at me.

They made me get out of bed.  I stood in front of them, even more self-consciously than ever before, wearing a black satin bra and panty set, garter belt, and stockings.  They had never made me wear a garter belt or stockings.  I stood there wearing both, and everyone in the room knew that I had put on the whole outfit of my own initiative.  And everyone in the room knew that I had worn it for my own private pleasure, and not to entertain anyone but myself.  They stood across the room, staring at me, decked out all effeminately.  They tsked, pointed, commented to each other.  I wanted to hide.  They had me cornered.  I wanted to take everything off, but I knew it was no use.  They already knew.  There was nothing I could do.  Finally, they spoke to me: "Oh, R__!  We thought you were so macho and sexy and masculine!  And now, now, you're dressing up like a girl!"

That comment made me blush.  I was so ashamed.  I curled up in the corner, mortally embarrassed.  The girls all came to comfort me there on the floor.

"Why did you do it?"

I couldn't answer.  They kept cajoling me, trying to get an answer out of me.  They seemed sincerely concerned and sorry.

"Is it because you're gay?"  

"Is it because you have some kind of fetish?"  

"Were you doing this all along?"  

They didn't even understand me.  They had introduced me to it, but they had no idea that this had happened because of them.  I started to cry.

"There, there, R__.  There there."

Danielle took me in her arms, and I wept on her shoulder.  "It's okay, R__.  It's okay.  We don't mind.  We just wish you had asked us, that's all.  We don't like you stealing from us."

"That's right," cooed Claudia.  "It's okay.  Don't worry, R__, we're not mad at you."

I sobbed some more.  I was a freak, and they knew it.  I still hadn't taken anything off.

"Maybe you should talk about it," urged Pamela.

I looked Danielle in the eye, still crying, and could see how honestly she cared about me.  She really did feel sorry for me.  She really did forgive me.  So did Pamela and Claudia.  And that's when it all came out.

"I just wanted to be sexy!" I cried.  "You girls get to strut around in all this sexy stuff, and I wanted to feel sexy too!"  I buried my head into Danielle's shoulder again.

"There, there!"  She giggled.  "It's okay.  I'm glad you think we're sexy.  But why did you want to wear our undies?  How does that make you feel sexy?"

"I dunno," I sobbed.  "It just does."

"You know, R__," Claudia whispered in my ear, "you do look kinda cute in that outfit."  

I giggled.  I was tickled.  "Really?"

"Oh, R__!  You're adorable!"

"You really mean it?"

"We sure do!"

"So you don't mind?"

"Well, we'd rather you wore your own lingerie."

"My own lingerie?"

"What, don't you want to wear sexy underwear all the time?"


"Then you'll need your own wardrobe, won't you?"

"I guess."

"Cool!  That means we get to go shopping!"  The girls all whooped and giggled together.

"You'll buy me some lingerie?" I asked, incredulously.

"No, silly, you'll buy your own.  We wouldn't want to pick it for you.  You know what you like."

"But I can't go into a lingerie store and buy undies for myself.  They'll think I'm a weirdo!"

"Why would they?"

"Because I'm a man, and I'm buying all sorts of stuff!"

"What makes you think they'll think you're a man?"

"What do you mean?"

"You do want to be a girl, don't you?"

I hesitated.


"I guess."

"Then we'll have to make you into a girl."

With that, they all picked me up off my feet, and walked me to the bathroom.  For the first time, I saw myself in the mirror.  I was a pretty gruesome sight, with my body hair sticking out all over the place, and my misshapen body distorting the femininity of the lingerie I wore.  In contrast to the girls, I looked just repulsive. 
"Let's get you naked," said Pamela, as she snapped the catch on my bra.  Before I knew it, I was stripped naked.  "We've got lots of shaving to do," said Claudia, coming towards me with a razor and some shaving cream.

When they were done, and I stepped into my stolen lingerie, I couldn't recognize myself.  Suddenly, I had very pretty, effeminate legs.  My belly was beautiful, even though my waist was too large in proportion to my hips.  My body looked almost female.  "Wow!  We're almost there!" giggled Danielle.

Then I slipped into a tight mini-dress and the girls made up my face.  I stuffed my bra with foam and toilet paper, and my tits looked really pretty.  Not only did I feel sexier than ever, I even looked like a beautiful girl.  I couldn't stop posing.  Then they gave me a pair of pills.

"What are these?" I asked.

"Those are female hormones.  You take enough of those, you'll have real tits and a nice waist."

My heart pounded as I tossed them into my mouth and swallowed.  This time, there really was no turning back.  It wasn't just fantasy: it wouldn't end when I come.  I was about to buy myself a wardrobe of women's clothes, and I had popped pills that would transform me into a girl.  I was very excited.  I knew that I could never be a man again, and that very thought made me hornier and hornier, and made me want to never look back.  

So there I was, standing a good foot taller than Danielle, Pamela, and Claudia, my muscular build almost bursting out of a mini-dress.  I was dressed like a girl, from inside out, down to the very underwear.  I had shaven off all my body hair.  I wore makeup and styled my hair.  I, who once prided myself on being a great macho stud, now pranced in public as a woman, to go shopping for feminine wardrobe, yet.  I, who had striven my entire life to be the most masculine man alive, had just willingly taken pills that would infuse me with female hormones that would metamorphose my proud manly body into a sleek, slender, girlish body.  

And how did I feel about it?


It was then that I knew how right this was.  I stepped out in public as a girl, and I felt sexier than I ever had as a man.  For all those years, I had wanted to be the master of the female body.  I wanted to show womankind what pleasure was all about.  But I really knew nothing.  These women had shown me.  I, who had done everything imaginable with so many different women.  They showed me the ultimate sexual experience, and I was hooked.  Only now could I truly begin to know how to please a woman, because I would be a woman.  

Monday, December 15, 1997

Fiction: The Ultimate Sexual Experience, Part 2

. . . until I came all over the place.  

I just couldn't help it.  I must admit that I had never come while wearing women's clothes before.  I felt so utterly degraded, in a way that no dominatrix had ever succeeded in making me feel.  There I was, tied down, unable to escape.  They kept telling me how cute I was in women's underwear.  They snapped my elastics, to keep reminding me of what I was wearing.  They had me in a feminine position.  They kept asking me how much I enjoyed being one of the girls.  They could tell that I was quite overwhelmed, even though I begged them to stop.  They let me sleep bound to the bed in their underwear, so that I could wake up in it again.
They roused me from my deep sleep and untied me.  "So," asked Danielle.  "What do you want to wear today, Sissy?"

I remained silent, and probably blushed.  

Pamela and Claudia brought out a few lingerie outfits.  I had to choose something to wear. "I'm not wearing that!" I raged.  "I'm paying for this, and you can't make me wear that."

Danielle almost busted a gut laughing.  

"Nobody's making you do anything," explained Claudia, mirthful herself.  

"This is your fantasy, don't forget.  Everything that happens to you, you allow to happen."

"Yeah?  Well I don't want this to happen."

"Fine, then.  Suit yourself."

"You can leave any time."

I thought about this.  For a long time.  It was true, nothing was stopping me from leaving right then and there.  But I figured, hey, I paid for it, so I might as well stay.  I was sure that they would stop making me wear their panties now.  Except for this one last time.  Besides, it was a new experience, and, I had to admit, a pretty good one, degrading as it is.

So I just selected a lace teddy and put it on.  The three girls cheered.

The day went on much as the last one.  I got a serious boner as I pranced and danced in that teddy.  It just felt so fresh and dainty.  And feminine.

Another accident.

Wednesday, December 10, 1997

Fiction: The Ultimate Sexual Experience, Part 1

I've done it all by now.  I've had sex every kind of sexual experience you can think of.  I've had sex in every conceivable position, with every conceivable kind of woman.  I've done bondage, I've done S&M, I've done it anally, vaginally, orally.  You name it, and I've done it.  Many times.  What can I say?  I'm macho, and women love me.  I'm the very paragon of masculinity.

It was with the intent to debunk that I answered the ad in Now magazine about the ultimate sexual experience for men.  I had experienced it all.  I knew what the ultimate experience was, and I was prepared to transform whatever they were going to present me with and turn it over its head.  I would change their definition of great sex.

The deal was for me to invest a bit more time than usual.  I was promised the greatest sexual experience of my life, but the catch was time.  I had to spend 4 weeks, or 28 days, living in a certain house downtown.  I would have to promise to spend all of those days there.  I could not go to work, I could not go out with friends.  I had to stay in that house, or under the supervision of my sexual partenaire for the whole 28 days.  I would have to pay the sum of $2500 for my stay.  "What if I don't experience the greatest sex ever?  Is there a money-back guarantee?"  


"So how do you expect me to believe this if you can't guarantee my money back if I'm not satisfied?"  

"Because you'll be satisfied."

How could I argue with that logic?  I signed up for it.  I could afford it easily.  I would go on an extended vacation as far as all of my acquaintances were concerned.  What could I lose?  I would at least fuck around for 28 days straight.  What could possibly go wrong?  

My first day and night there was pretty damned good, I must admit-even by my high standards.  It was a day-long orgy.  I have remarkable powers of regeneration, and even I was a bit sore at the end of it.  I was met at the door by a beautiful blonde bimbo.  She looked like Pamela Anderson.  She was wearing a sleazy minidress.  She looked like a high-class whore.  She took me up to my room, and showed me around a bit.  "You don't have to worry about anything here, Mr. M__.  We'll cook and clean for you and make sure that your every need is fulfilled.   Then we can begin the most delicious sexual experience of your life."  With that, she rubbed my crotch and kissed me passionately, and turned to leave.  I didn't let go of her hand.  "Why don't we start now?" I asked, yanking her back towards me.  She yelped as I started tearing off her clothes.  But she was responding quite nicely.  She was fucking me before I was even fucking her.  

Just as we were getting started, two more girls came gambolling in wearing lingerie.  They jumped right into it, and we had ourselves a mighty good time.  We all fucked each other real good.  The girls each took turns on me and on each other.  Too bad this was old hat to me.  Still very nice, of course, but not new.  

When it was done, and we were all out of breath and in the throes of afterglow, I asked them, "So is that all you have to offer?"

They all giggled.  "We haven't even started yet, Mr. M__."

An easy promise to make.  I would wait and see what would happen tomorrow.

The next day they paraded around the house in their underwear.  I never saw such a wonderful lingerie fashion show.  They were all incredibly beautiful women.  I fucked each of them again.  The one that looks like Danielle House I fucked three times.

The next few days went quite the same way.  When I was done with Pamela on the fourth day, I asked her what this supremely intense sexual experience was.  "You'll see when it happens," she said.  "But I want it now!" I replied.

"It's already started.  You're well on your way to it already, even if you don't realize it yet."

I took that with a grain of salt.  I figured that I would just fuck the shit out of these gorgeous nymphos and then split.  Sure, I had to pay in advance, but the sex was good enough to be worth what I paid.  It just wasn't nearly as mind-blowing as I thought it was supposed to be.  But then again, it was supposed to be a 28 day job, and I was only 4 days in.  There was still quite a ways to go.  At worst, I would get great sex from three fantastic women for an entire month.  At best, I might get the greatest sexual experience of my life after all.

They brought in the bondage and S&M gradually.  It was pretty good, too.  At first, I got to be in charge.  I could tell that they were humouring me.  But hey, they're whores, they're used to this kind of thing.  They do it all the time.  But pretty soon, I was getting bored of it.  I like to be dominated, too.  Even though I've done it before, many times.  Danielle and Pamela and Claudia took turns forcing me to make love to them in disgusting ways that I've done many times before.  I wondered if this was what they wanted me to think of as the ultimate sexual experience.  Maybe they wanted to take control of me and make a macho man their little love slave.  Well, I've been there, too.  I've been a love slave before, and it was pretty fun, too.  It was still my pleasure, wasn't it?

It was Danielle who started going a little further than I had gone before.  She roused me out of bed in the morning of day eight and told me to get dressed right away.  I played along.  But my clothes were missing.  She had a cane in her hand, and she whipped me with it to get me to hurry.  She laughed as she saw my confusion.  "I suppose you want some help, do you?" giggled Pamela as she opened the door.  I stared at her blankly.  Danielle approached with the cane, threateningly.

"I'll tell you what, R__," began Pamela.  "I'll give you something to wear for now, but you'll owe me a little favour, OK?"  I agreed quickly, knowing what was coming.

She slid out of her panties and tossed them to me.  This is where I draw the line.  I put my foot down right then and there-but not in any way that they might have expected.

I practically jumped into those silky little panties, and I pranced around imitating them.  I totally hammed it up.  And I made it pretty clear, too.  This wasn't exactly my idea of mind-blowing sex.  I wanted to show them that I wouldn't take this seriously.  I imagine that it was pretty fun for them to see a macho man like me prancing around in women's lingerie, but I had to remind them who's boss.

They didn't react quite the way I expected them to.  I thought that they'd just laugh about it and let me take it off.  I mean, they could see that I didn't care.  Instead, they gave me a matching bra to wear, and dominated me all day.  

I had been forced to wear women's underwear before by my love mistress.  It didn't do all that much for me.  They forced me to do things to them.  Just like any old dominatrix.  I'm sure it wasn't hard for them to figure out how I didn't enjoy it.  I subtly reminded them that it's their job to please their customer.  Danielle seemed to feel genuinely sorry for me.  She came to kiss me to make me feel better.  She fondled me all over where her underwear was.  That is, she snapped my bra, and my panty elastic.  It was all very tender.  This was something that I had never experienced.  My dominatrix of old had always forced me to wear it to degrade me, and then tore it off me to make me masculine again before fucking me.  These girls were having fun with me as I wore their underwear.  

"How can you not enjoy this?" cajoled Pamela.

"Look!  Your panties look just like mine!" remarked Danielle.  And she wasn't kidding, either.  I think I blushed then.  I was turned on from looking at Danielle's body in her underwear.  I just wanted to touch all the girls in their underwear.  I wanted to fondle all of them, but not naked.  No, I wanted to feel their silks and satins, and how sexy they were underneath.  We all remained semi-nude like that all night.  In their underwear.
When I woke up, I stripped out of the panties and bra.  It had been a new experience, alright, but wasn't quite as mind-blowing as they had made it out to be. Bondage could be so weird sometimes.  But I would keep this little experience to myself.

Almost as soon as I was naked, Claudia opened the door, whip in hand, and told me to get dressed.  She had to whip me a few times before I put on the underwear again.  But this time, it was different: it wasn't like being dominated before.  Somehow, it was more degrading than ever.  They were laughing at me.  They were reminding me of the night before, and how much I enjoyed wearing their panties then.  They continued to snap my elastics.  I was humiliated.  

They made me do their laundry.  I was made to hand-wash all of their sexy lingerie.  They asked me to pick out the three outfits that I liked best, because they wanted to look good for me.  I was shaking.  I looked at each panty, each teddy, each garter belt, and examined them all.  I fondled the silk, the lace, the trim.  I was getting very horny thinking of each girl in each piece of lingerie.  The lingerie itself became very sexy.  It all looked so feminine.  I selected each girl's outfit very carefully.  

The whole time, they were caressing me and fondling me again.  But they were much more vigorous this time.  When I was done, they threw me down to the ground, spread my legs, and masturbated me in my girlie panties and bra...

Oops!  I just came!  Maybe I can continue this later. . .

Monday, November 24, 1997

Fiction: Secretary's Diary

OK, let's face it: that's not a very compelling story.  It's just not quite as interesting when I haven't been. . . converted yet.  The conversion is the best part.  There's little that's psychologically interesting about having already experienced it all, and just chronicling how I'm doing it again.  It's just that it gets so boring to tell the same old story over and over again.  I can pretty well reduce it to this: I am forced, duped, or otherwise compelled to wear women's underwear; I discover that I like it; I continue to wear it and get a sexual kick out of it, and long to become a girl.  The story ends when I decide at last that I want to be a girl.  The fun is all in the discovery and the forsaking of manhood.  So really the best thing I can do is come up with new fantasies telling that same story again and again.
              By the way, I had Anca petting on top of me, and I was feeling like our roles were inverted.  I felt like I was the girl, getting fucked by the strong body on top of me.  She was having her period, so we couldn't fuck; but I was in the right mental state to feel like a girl. 
              Anyway, another tedious fantasy:

Life is tough these days after graduating.  It's so hard to find a decent job.  So I ended up as an office temp.
              My boss was female.  She was a very aggressive woman.  She loved authority.  But she was also quite an attractive woman.

OK, let's try this again, as a diary:

My interview at the Butterfly Corp. went quite well.  Must say that the woman who interviewed me, who will be my boss if I get the job (knock wood) was quite a sexy woman.  She wasn't necessarily beautiful, but something about her was sexy.  The way she carries herself, the way she moves, I don't know what.  But I look forward to seeing her every day.  Imagine having her to look at every day!  Yow!

So I started my new job at the butterfly corp today.  The boss, Ms. A., is quite the knockout, alright.  My job sucks.  I have to be her gopher, in effect.  I do all the dirty grunge work around the office, but mostly menial tasks for her.  I get her coffee and take her clothes to the cleaners.  I type up letters for her.  I'm almost her secretary.  I wouldn't bother with this job if the money weren't so good, and if the boss wasn't so attractive.

Still adjusting to new job.  Boss gives me lots of funny looks, I think.  I always wonder when things like this start if they're all in my imagination, or what.  But I can't help ogling her as she moves around the office.  She always wears skirts, to show off her wonderfully lithe legs.  I don't think I could ever love her or anything, but damn it, she's sexy.  I just can't get over it.  I might even say that I think I'm developing a crush for her.  Yikes!  What kind of weird position does that put me in?  I do look forward to coming in to work every day, though, and what can I say?  It's good for a start, I suppose.  Who knows?  There might be some room for advancement in there.

The following Wednesday
Argh!  I don't know what to do anymore!  The boss propositioned me.  She asked me if I would like to meet her after work for some dinner.  I didn't know what to reply.  First of all, I have a horrible crush on her, which makes working for her almost intolerable.  Second, I don't know whether I should feel threatened if I don't do it.  She'll probably fire me.  What will I do then?  I desperately need the income.  But hell, she's attractive enough, and I do have a thing for her, so what do I care if I whore myself to her?  Who knows, I might get a raise or a promotion. . . The trouble is, how do I explain all this to L [my girlfriend]?  She sure as hell doesn't have to know.

Dinner was tasty.  So was Ms. A.  She brought me home with her tonight for a nightcap.  I couldn't refuse her advances.  Even if my morals or my code of ethics had tried to stop me, I don't think I could have resisted her.  She has me in the palm of her hand, and she knows it.  She barked out commands in bed, which I gladly followed.  It wasn't about me, it was all about pleasing her.  We both want nothing more than to please her.  She sure has a nice body for a woman her age.  Christ, she must be only 30.  Anyway, she kicked me out when she was done with me.  I wonder how I'll face her tomorrow.  And she warned me not to tell anyone about it, or else I'd lose my job.  She'd fire me for sexually harassing her by spreading rumours about things that went on between us.  And who would believe me over her, anyway?  Well, that's fine with me.  Who would I tell, anyway?  It would be pretty embarrassing, I think.

Ms. A brought me into her office for a closed-door meeting today.  She had me fuck her right there against a wall.  It was a real quickie.  Then she told me to get out and the day went on as if nothing had happened.  I'm never leaving this job.

I thought about Ms. A all weekend.  She obviously hasn't.  She tells me now when we small talk before I bring her her coffee about what she does on the weekend.  She went out with some other man, she tells me.  Had a great time.  A wonderful man, possible husband, she says.  Is she saying that just to needle me?  She knows that I wouldn't dare mention what went on between us.  That would be taboo.  So I worked all jealous and pissed off all day long.  She must be playing mind games with me.

Ms. A didn't call me into her office today again.  I'm wondering if I'll ever have that privilege again.  Life sucks.

Finally, after a whole week without tasting of my boss's flesh, she called me into her office again.  "Rob," she told me, "You're doing such a wonderful job around here, but I'm feeling the pressure from upstairs.  I'm afraid that I'll have to reconsider your position with this company if I want to keep you."  I was scared stiff.  Was she letting me go?  "The department doesn't have it in its budget to keep a gopher around for me.  But there is a possibility of me getting a secretary."  "Secretary?!?" I ejaculated.  I don't want to be a secretary.  No way.  I'm a writer, not a damned typist.  "Yes, a secretary.  Now, since you're so good," she said, getting up from behind the desk, and sitting on the corner right in front of me, showing me plenty of leg, and fondling my shoulder, "I don't want to let you go.  You'd be doing pretty well the same work, but it would be more formal." 
              I can't repeat exactly what she said.  But she expects me, in short, to be her secretary, but not in the modern, gender-inclusive sense: she wants me to fill the role of a female secretary.  All the other execs have one, she whined, and she wants one, too.  But it wouldn't look right if her secretary were male.  For one thing, people would think she was doing it for sexist reasons.  For another, they wouldn't appreciate putting someone of my talents in such a tedious position.  I asked her what she meant by having me become her female secretary.  She told me that she would fill me in later as she gathered more information on the subject.  So she left me out in the cold on that one.  But then she made me give her head after, and then I resumed my workday.  I expect a more detailed answer by the end of the week.

This is getting pretty weird.  I don't know who I am anymore.  I did things today that I don't think I'll ever admit to doing to anyone.  I can't believe what that woman made me do! 
              I don't know quite how to say this.  Suffice it to say that I did something very perverse, and very nasty.  Something that no man would ever admit to.  But what's a diary for?  I have to intellectualize this, I have to look back and figure out what the Hell I was thinking.
              Today, Ms. A surprised me in her office.  She had given me some lingerie outfit to take to the cleaners.  Or so I assumed.  She had me close the door when she called me in to get her laundry.  But that's when she started kissing me passionately, trying to seduce me.  Of course, it worked quite well.  This time, however, she had me take my pants off entirely.  I was wearing nothing below the waste.  We sometimes do this to enjoy some exotic positions on her desk.  But she took away my boxers, and handed me her lingerie.  "I'm afraid," she said "that you're going to have to change a couple of things in your lifestyle."  She commanded me to put on her panties.  I stood there dumb with her underwear in my hand, incredulous.  "Put them on," she growled, "or get out of my office and go home."  Intimidated by her threat, I stepped into her panties.  Yes, I wore her underwear.  But that's not even the worst part.
              We hadn't had sex yet.  She was still horny.  I had been, but I felt a little silly and very embarrassed to be wearing her underwear.  Nonetheless, she threw me on her desk and rubbed her crotch on mine.  "Get used to it," she said, "or else you're fired."  This time she made me come, and she made me clean it up myself.  She made me lick up my semen. 
              I came out of that office frightened out of my wits.  Underneath my dress pants I wore frilly panties.  I had no choice but to wear them all day long.  But it's worse.  Much worse.
              I think that that was by far the most intense sexual experience I've ever had. 
              She made me take home another lingerie outfit in a cleaner's bag.  She told me that I'd better be wearing it tomorrow, or else she would fire me. 
              This would normally be the place to ask: what should I do?  But I think my choice is pretty clear.  I don't even have trouble making it.  I'm going to wear that lingerie under my clothes tomorrow.  I need the job, for one thing.  For another, who has to know except for her and me?  And besides, it's really not so bad to wear.  I barely notice it.

What an embarrassing mistake!
              I had it all planned: I would keep the lingerie hidden in the trunk of my car so that L wouldn't see it.  Of course, it would be disastrous if she ever found another woman's underwear on my person.  So I would drive to work, and change into the lingerie in the washroom.  Simple.
              So that's what I did.  My heart pounded all the way.  I could barely eat this morning.  But I got to the washroom safe and sound, with the lingerie concealed in my tote bag.  I didn't realize how difficult it would be.
              I forgot how busy that washroom can be.  And, like every other washroom, there's a good foot-high opening between the floor and the bottom of the door.  How was I going to manage this without being seen?  I took my pants down, as if I were taking a shit.  I put the panties where my boxers were.  I quickly lifted my leg and put it back in, deftly removing my loafers as I did so.  I don't think anyone noticed me doing it.  It could have been quite noticeable: I had to put on these silky burgundy panties, very frilly and high-cut, and make sure that no one would see my legs.  But that was the easy part.  That and the bra.
              There were also some stockings in the package.  I hadn't anticipated that.  But somehow I managed.  It was very hard: I had to take off my sock somehow, and put it back on, without anyone noticing.  Then I had to do it again.  I must have spent 10 minutes in there trying to figure out what to do with the garter belt.  Fortunately, I gave myself plenty of time.  So off I went to the office with sexy women's lingerie under my clothes.  I was mindful to take a dark solid coloured shirt to make sure that the bra wouldn't be noticeable underneath.  Still, I feared that the strap would show under the material.
              With all this rigamarole, however, she didn't even call me into her office.  I prayed all day that my ordeal would have some kind of benefit, but she never asked to see me.  Only at the very end of the day did she come to my desk and tell me, "don't worry, I didn't forget what I told you yesterday.  Consider yourself lucky that I didn't have time to check.  You'd better wear it tomorrow, though, or else, you know the consequences.
              So, just like that, I was duped.  She made me wear her lingerie all day, and she didn't even bother to make sure.  So now I have to worry: will she check tomorrow?  And if so, I'd better be wearing it.  I cannot risk that she calls me into the office, and I'm not wearing it.

Finally, she checked me out today.  She was quite pleased.  She was glad to see that I had heeded her warning.  It was a test.  She had been playing with me all along.  She complimented me on it, too.  I was red-faced.  The things I do to keep a job!  It all paid off, though, because she mounted me like she did last time.  I'm not ashamed to say that it surpassed even that moment as the greatest sexual thrill ever.  And I did it all in women's underwear!  She told me to take it to the cleaners to get rid of my come stains, and she handed me back my boxers, which she had kept in her desk.  She told me that I could wear those again if I wanted to, that my job wouldn't hang in the balance.  That's when I asked her about my job.  "Oh, I still haven't found out yet.  I'll let you know as soon as I can."
              So what do I make of this?  I wore her lingerie for five days, and what for?  More importantly, she made me feel things that I'm not sure I can admit to myself.  What was it about that experience that made it so good?  I'll tell you: it was the lingerie.  She made me totally aware of what I was wearing when she humped me in her office.  She snapped my garter belt, my panty elastic, my bra.  She fondled my nipples.  I swear that I felt like what I imagine a woman feels when she's getting laid.  I don't know what this means, I don't know what this makes me.  But I wore women's lingerie, and I liked it.  Even so, I hope that I never have to do it again.  I can't handle it.

She has me like putty in her hand.  She has me begging to wear her underwear in her office.  She told me that she won't let me, unless I shave my body hair, and get my own.  So that's what I've done.  L is baffled.  She doesn't understand.  She caught me wearing her bathing suit today.  I wanted to see if it was anything like lingerie.  It was almost as good, I must say.  She is packing her things up and leaving me.  She hates me now.  But I couldn't care less.  Ms. A will certainly keep me satisfied.
              As by her suggestion, I bought some lingerie after work.  It's going to take me a while to build up a wardrobe.  But I'll go to work from now on all sleek and sexy under my business clothes.  All feminine.  As long as L doesn't tell anybody about this. . .

Finally, Ms. A has told me what I have to do to keep working for her.  She explained what she means by becoming her female secretary.  I have to become a woman, at least on the surface.  She's going to pretend to fire me, and I will come in for an interview as a woman, applying for the secretary's job.  So I'll be coming in to work from now on in skirts and blouses and dresses.  And I'll still be Ms. A's gopher.  Only, I'll be a girl now.

This could be more interesting if I have my narrator decide to wear women's underwear only after finding out what the new job entails.  But that could be tedious, too.