Fantasy Double-Feature: Lingerie Store; and, Captured and Forced

Okay, maybe something a little bit different.  I can tell that story over and over again over more than one hundred pages, and never get tired of telling it: the great metamorphosis.

Here's another fantasy: a man innocently goes to buy lingerie for his wife or girlfriend, but he unsuspectingly goes to a special lingerie store.  No, not one of those that cater to transvestites.  One that creates transvestites.  He goes in, and nervously picks out something for his girl, but when he goes to buy it, the clerks goad him into trying it on.  C'mon, they say.  You have to try it on to be sure that it fits her.  Maybe you won't like it once you see it worn.  The man cajoles the clerks: why don't YOU try it on for me.  I'm sure you'd look a hell of a lot better in it than me.  To which she replies, yeah, but this is for your wife.  I'm not your wife.  That wouldn't be fair to her, now would it?  Besides, I don't think your wife would care to wear something that another woman has worn.  It's just not sanitary.  You, she could stand, because presumably she pretty well shares your groin with you.  So it's not so bad on you.  Go ahead.  Just try it on.  There's mirrors in the change rooms.

So the guy tries it on, very reluctantly.  Over his underwear, in fact.  He feels foolish.  He looks foolish.  But it's his first taste.  He goes downhill from there.  He has to try it on again.  He buys more and more lingerie for his woman.  He tries it on all the time.  Without underwear.  He comes to crave it, without even knowing it. (there's the trick: how to convey that he's craving without knowing it?  How to tell that he's obsessed with not only panties, but wearing panties?) He keeps thinking about how good she'd look in a certain kind of lingerie.  He wants to keep returning to the lingerie store just to look at the panties, which turn him on more than his woman.  (Easily described: He looks at the fine detail, and how it would feel on skin, and how it would caress the body, but not about how it would accentuate certain parts of his woman's figure.) Eventually, he starts playing with her undies, in his hands, just to feel them, just to look at them.  He loves the way they look so feminine, moreso than woman.  They are the femininity that he craves.  He adores how they feel against his skin.  It's only a matter of time before they touch his dick.  And from there, it's only a matter of time before he slides into them in a passion of fetish, and rubs himself off in them.

Problem: is that the moment of recognition?  Is that when he realizes that he has a problem?  I suppose that it must be.  How could one not find that problematic?  I don't remember exactly what I thought when I first put on pantyhose by myself for masturbatory purposes, but I'm sure that it was scary and made me very ashamed after.  That's when we get into the tired story of obsession.  I think I want to stay away from that.  I've talked enough about it.

How about this: forced effemination.  I found an ad once in the back of Now magazine about an 'escort' who specializes in 'forced effemination.'  What would that entail?  No doubt, payment first.  Then she takes you up to her apartment, and ties you up and forces you to wear her undies.  But it has to go further than that, although that would be quite fantastic, I think.  I would love to have a woman dress me up in her lingerie, and shave my body, and make me up, and then make me prance around before I collapse in a fit of total abandon at her feet, worshiping her and her effortless femininity.  Here's something like a story that I never finished reading on the internet:

A guy answers a personal ad for some sexual fantasy.  He meets this couple to make sure it's cool.  Them for the same reason.  He's misled, intentionally.  He shows up, and they capture him, and turn him into a girl.


Here's my version: it would be totally involuntary, totally unexpected.  I'm walking down the street when I'm captured.  I wake up bound and gagged and blindfolded in the trunk of a car.  They lug me out of the trunk and toss me in a basement somewhere.  I can't escape: they're too strong, or I'm too weak from fighting or from being drugged.

I wake up naked in a dank cellar.  Hours later, a scantily clad woman (of course) comes down to see me.  I'm chained to the wall, so I can't escape.  I'm naked.  She tightens the chains, and makes it impossible for me to move.  She takes me to another room, where they nair my body, from head to toe.  I have no body hair left.  I still have head hair.  They toss me back in my cell, naked, and leave me there for a long time.  They put a choke chain on me.  They start commanding me, showing me who's boss.  When I disobey, or don't obey fast enough, they tug and cause me great pain.  In so doing, they make me put on women's underwear.  Just panties and a bra.  And they chain me up like that for the rest of the day.  

Later, as the days go on, they let me go to the bathroom.  But I have to wear women's underwear only.  They make me wear spiked heels.  They make me walk more effeminately.  They put pills in my food, which I must eat or starve.  I obey or I die.  They make me gesture femininely.  They make me act like a complete faggot.  Soon they introduce me to garter belts and other items of lingerie.  Stockings.  I nair or shave my own body.  My hair seems much more sparse after a while.  And my voice starts getting higher.  And my pecs start getting floppier and floppier.  

They are turning me into a girl.  In fact, they would tell me so from the very beginning.  They will turn me into a girl, whether I like it or not.  I don't.  Not at all.  But I have to get used to it.  It's that or death.  They eventually feel confident enough to remove the choke chain and allow me to prance around effeminately to our mutual pleasure.  I still have a dick: I am a chick with a dick.  But I want to be a girl.  Desperately.  So I dress like one, act like one, suck dicks like one, etc.  I become completely female, except for one thing: my genital organ.  I squeal for dicks.  I'm totally metamorphosed.  Female.

Let's go back: they start making me wear women's underwear.  I feel ashamed and emasculated, especially in my hairless skin.  I realize that I really do look feminine, sort of.  They move in and start rubbing my flaccid, embarrassed dick.  This goes on for quite a while.

They start doing things to make me horny.  They get close, and they touch me tenderly, and they fondle me.  They make me horny, but I'm wearing women's underwear.  They make me rub myself with my panties on.  They make fun of me, telling me that I'm a sissy, a girly-boy.  That I'll be female in no time.  That I can't do anything about it, and that I obviously love it.  They make me angry, but I can't help it.  They masturbate me.  They tease me to make me super horny, and then laugh when I relieve myself in the only way physically possible. (They've chained me to a contraption that I can rub my dick against, and I do, and I can't help it.  I need the relief.)

They make me prance around like a woman, so I get used to being feminine.  I have to do it consciously at first, but soon it becomes habit.  My only sexual outlet is when they let me jump on their machine.  And they only allow me to if I act sufficiently feminine.  That means different things throughout my development: First, walking like a girl.  Then, talking like a girl.  Then, gesturing like a girl.  Then, doing everything better than I ever had.  I come to realize that it's really not such a small price to pay.  NO!  First, they make me do girlish stuff for food, which isn't yet laced with estrogen.  They condition me to be feminine or starve.  If I do very well, they allow me to masturbate.  Otherwise, they keep me chained up in a way that I can never rub my dick on anything.  Just picture myself chained up, hairless, effeminate, in women's lingerie, a matching bra and panties, sweaty, struggling to break free.  Lace and silk elastics, so delicate, biting into my flesh tantalizingly.  So I become a bit more effeminate.  I resist at first, but I have to turn myself around to live.  I wear the clothes, I do as they say.  They masturbate me themselves, and accentuate my pleasure by making me imagine myself female.  And it starts to work, as I am angry to discover.  They always push me harder and harder.  Eventually, I suck dicks.  They let me get fucked, and give me a choice.  I choose men, because I want a penis in me.  I am totally effeminate.  I accept my new existence, and beg them to let me have estrogen, to make me into a girl.  But they refuse.  

By sheer force of will, my body changes.  I grow tits, a waist, keep hair off, etc.  I become a girl, by wearing women's underwear.