Fiction: Massive Forced Feminization, Part 3

[Some candidate learns about women’s clothes, and becomes unbearably curious]

I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.  I’m not supposed to touch any of her things without her permission.  But damn it, I didn’t get to explore her bathing suit enough.  It’s so fascinating, and I need to know more about it.  I just want to look at it, admire it, marvel at how beautiful it is, and how beautiful it makes her.  Imagine the grades I’ll get if I check it out!  Nobody has to know.

He snuck to her dresser, hunched over as if to avoid being seen, even though he was alone in a room without windows.  His heart raced as he carefully and quietly opened each drawer, and pawed through the incredible variety of lingerie and swimwear.  So many possibilities!  A particularly sexy pair of black panties caught his eye.  He had never had a chance to explore lingerie before.  His hands shook as he took them out of the drawer and admired them.  He quickly folded them up again as close to their original format as he considered the consequences of his actions.  He was not ready for panties yet.  He would also have to skip past her phenomenal bikinis.  He finally found what he was looking for in the third drawer, among plenty of other utterly feminine unmentionables.

He drew the white and red swimsuit out of the drawer and held it in front of himself.  He could see where the fabric was built to emphasize waist, hips, crotch, and breasts.  The material was so soft to the touch that he longed to feel it on Susan’s body again, as he had in class.  He touched his face with it and luxuriated in the texture.  How wonderful she looks in it, he thought.  How wonderfully it caresses her perfect female body.  He felt keenly privileged to be in such close proximity to something so powerfully feminine.  Then with a sudden pang of guilt, he blushed and stuffed it back into Susan’s dresser.

[The next day, he took it out again and couldn’t help but masturbate while looking at it, the whole time imagining the power of femininity.]

[Soon thereafter, he began to look ahead to the topics of other lessons.  He masturbated – guiltily – to bikinis, then lingerie.  But it still wasn’t enough.  There was something much more sinister, and not altogether consciously acknowledged.]

His grades increased as his extra-curricular activities increased.  He made sure to not give away his cheating habits in class, at the risk of being punished, or worse, ostracized by the other men, who didn’t share his interest in the subject matter.  He could never admit to being as fascinated with women’s clothes as he was.  Still, they all suspected because of his grades, and his uninhibited enthusiasm.

He understood more than anyone, he knew, the power of women’s clothes.  They enhance to terrible levels the beauty, and therefore power, of women, which the entire class had necessarily accepted as paramount.  To understand women’s clothes is to understand their power; and with understanding of that power comes the possibility of wielding it.

He had begun to rub his penis against her lingerie when he examined it, and thoroughly trembled in its phenomenal potency.  He began to imagine it on himself, and blushed with a happy guilt.  He knew that its power was such that he could not ever jeopardize his manhood by willingly wearing it.  But he also desperately yearned to feel the power throughout his body.  He tingled with excitement when he imagined himself daring to put it on.  He could not dare.  The stakes were too high.

One day, after months of developing his taste for his tutor’s clothes, and becoming aware of everything in her closet, he took the plunge.  He mitigated his risk by experimenting first with something innocuous, barely sexy, but still unquestionably feminine, and he kept on his own underwear.  When he slid the pantyhose up his legs, he could feel its girlishness overpower his body and his mind.  Even this mildly enticing garment made him completely aware of its incongruity with his own body.  I am wearing women’s clothes, he thought, as he luxuriated in the tight stretchiness of the fabric on his legs and over top of his underwear.  Thank God I’m wearing my own underwear, or else I’d completely lose my manhood!  He couldn’t believe how good it felt to be wielding even this most harmless of female weapons.  It radically enhanced his own femininity, and he reveled in it.


He shed Susan’s pantyhose rapidly as soon as he felt himself ejaculating, and turned livid with shame.  It was one thing to fondle her underwear when she wasn’t around, but quite another to actually wear it.  Having learned the properties of pantyhose, he also knew that they would not retake their clean shape after having been worn and stretched out.  He would have to hide them, and pray that somehow Susan wouldn’t notice their absence.  Boy, he vowed, I’m never doing that again!

After the fifth or sixth time that he succumbed to the temptation of his secret pantyhose, and overcome with desire to further explore the rapturous rush of femininity he had been enjoying, he threw caution to the wind and wore them without underwear.  For the first time, women’s clothing that he had dressed himself in touched his genitals directly.  He danced and pranced in his geometrically augmented girlishness, breathlessly thanking God that he was at least still wearing his masculine t-shirt to at least anchor part of himself in manhood.  Below the waist, he was a girl as far as he was concerned, and milked the thrill of wearing girls’ clothes for all its worth.  I’m wearing girls’ clothes, he thought to himself, and I love it!  At that moment he longed to eradicate his manhood, and allow the sublime power of femininity transform him inexorably into a girl.  Every swing of his hips felt like a feminine movement that titillated him much more than sex ever had.  He could almost feel the pantyhose forcing his body into a more feminine shape.

When he was done, he rolled them off his hips with disgust.  What was he becoming?  He swore never to even touch Susan’s clothes again, except in class, when he had to.

[He continues to experiment, being drawn towards more serious stuff.  He follows the same pattern with the bathing suit, starting by keeping on his underwear, and gradually abandoning everything but his watch, which he firmly believes is the only thing keeping him male.]

Now that he had established that he could wear a swimsuit and nothing else, and without Susan finding out, he began to rationalize his growing habit.  This is the way to wield feminine power without being female!  The sense of power it gave him to wear that swimsuit was unequalled by anything he had ever imagined.  He couldn’t even just enjoy wearing the swimsuit alone: he began fantasizing about how much more extreme it would be to wear a bikini, or lingerie, a garter belt, stockings.  He knew when he wore it that it made him undeniably feminine, and he realized as he reveled in his girlishness that he wanted to be completely female.  However, every time he stopped, he felt shame and disgust, knowing that he was destroying his manhood.  He blushed frequently in class now as he studied different aspects of Susan’s womanhood, remembering suddenly that he had imagined himself in the bikini she was wearing.  Then his shame would work itself up to a fever pitch again.


When he finally tried it on – just the panty – he did not attempt to protect himself with his own underwear.  He tingled with excitement as he recognized the recklessness of his newest experiment.  But he did not dare wear the matching bra, even though he had fantasized about it so many times.  Now he knew that wearing the panty was just an expression of his desire to touch something feminine with his cock.  He was not becoming dangerously effeminate, as he had feared.  It was all just about comfort.  When he succumbed to wearing the bra as well only the third time, he knew he could never wear a bikini without both pieces, and let the girlishness overwhelm him as he had always wanted.

Throughout all of this, he steadfastly kept on at least one article of male clothing, even if it were as insignificant as a wristwatch.  In fact, his wristwatch had become the only thing he bothered to keep on as he began unabashedly borrowing Susan’s underwear.  

[He eventually admits to his male friends that his secret to success in class is his wearing his tutor’s clothes.  The gasp in horror, as he explains to them that it’s the best way to keep ahead, because they had all heard rumors by now that the whole plan was to turn them all into girls.  He argued that his extra-curricular activities would prepare him for any such feminization, and that he would come out more manly than all of them – all while secretly knowing and loving the fact that he knew he would be the first to become a girl.  They dare him to prove his daring, and he agrees gives them a glimpse of the string bikini under his prison jumpsuit, which he wore in honour of the day’s bikini class.]

His experiments increase in elaborateness to the point where he tries on garter belts and teddies and corsets with only the slight concern for his manhood that he keeps on his wrist.  He prances around the bedroom wearing Susan’s fishnet stockings, a garter belt and matching thong underneath a tight little black vinyl dress when suddenly she walks into the room, without a word, and looks at him casually as if she knew all along.

“You know there are cameras in here, don’t you?  I’ve known about your secret since the first day you put on my pantyhose over your gitch.”  X is speechless.  He feels ridiculous and ashamed in her clothes, and wishes he could cover himself up.

“It’s not what you think,” he offers feebly.

“X, you’re wearing a dress and lingerie!  You’re turning yourself into a girl!  What do you think is going on here?”

“It’s not making me feminine or anything.  See, I’m still wearing my watch!”

But he knows that he’s done for.  He realizes how weak his position is.  He can feel his penis becoming flaccid in Susan’s lacy panties.  His cause is hopeless.

“Give me the watch.  It’s time for you to give in completely, and admit that you want to be a girl.”  She beckons for the watch.

“What happens to me when I take it off,” he asks.

“Nothing.  You’ll just finally be dressed completely 100% like a girl.  You’ll be admitting that nothing can help you now.  You will be completely abandoning any claim to manhood forever.  Now give it to me.”

X looks stupidly at his wrist.  A surge of emotion rushes up to his head, and he can feel his face swelling with blush.  His crotch tingles as he lets Susan’s words sink in.  He had always been terribly tempted to abandon himself that completely to womanhood, but steadfastly maintained his rule.  Now it was about to be broken, and he felt nothing but excited exhilaration about it.  He could not allow his manhood to disintegrate so totally.  It would be treason against all men.

“Just think of how pretty you’ll look in your own wardrobe when you get to wear dresses all day long in public.  Give me the watch!”

X’s hands trembled as he unbuckled the watch and let it slide off his wrist and into his hand.  He sashayed playfully to Susan, and dropped the watch in her hand.

Diary: New Dress!

I now own a little black dress.

On a whim, and needing some fishnet stockings, I ended up getting this slinky black vinyl minidress.  It’s ludicrously feminine.  It’s so fabulously tight, and short.  It makes me feel ridiculously sexy.  It’s also strangely mundane.  I wore it outside on the patio, bathed in its stark, inescapable light, exposed for all to see. 

I still long to be with a girl.  But this is almost as good.  I get such a big kick out of being around sexy girl stuff.  And fantasizing about wearing it and becoming a girl in it.

Oh my God!  I can’t believe I’m actually wearing a dress!  It’s so astoundingly sexy!  I’m sashaying around the house in it, loving the way it clings to my skin.  I am experiencing a sensation that no man should ever be allowed.  I’m wearing a lace thong and matching garter belt, holding up my new fishnet stockings.  All I need now is shoes.

Diary: Shopping List and Epiphany

I am contemplating some new purchases and experiences, while simultaneously struggling with a recent epiphany.

I have recently discovered that girls find me attractive, especially since I slightly modified my appearance when I moved to California.  This realization, and my quick little tryst with N__, have clarified something for me which I have never been able to reconcile before: I wear women’s clothes because I need something feminine in my life.  It’s really as simple as that.  I desperately want there to be a girl in my house, who surrounds herself with girlish things, and who displays all the physical and behavioural aspects of womanhood.  I would probably settle for having a girl in my presence as often as possible.  I have found myself talking to girls in airports, and hanging around with them at parties, not because I feel any pressure to be with them, but because I crave their proximity.  Of course, in the absence of girls, I must make do with what’s available.  Being a solitary type of person, this more often than not means that I must rely on women’s clothes if I can’t have women themselves; and I might as well make myself my own feminine company if I can’t find any genuine women.


It all makes sense now.  I am obsessed with femininity, as I should be.  It is only my shyness and loneliness that make me want to be feminine myself.  I routinely imagine how much fun it would be to have a girl around, in all her pretty girlie things.  I wouldn’t have to wear them myself (although I know I’d be tempted) but it would be so much fun to be around such absolute girlhood.  Girl girl girl girl girl girl girrrrrrl.  I love them!  I worship them!

So now I struggle again with my impulse to make myself more feminine.  I love making myself feminine.  I love pretending to be a girl.  I love being as girlish as I can be.  I love striving to become a girl.  I love abandoning my manhood completely so I can enjoy girlishness in all its glory.  It’s so much more controllable.  There is no complexity in being alone.  I don’t need to worry about satisfying anyone but myself.  But I can’t ever have real actual genuine girlishness by myself: I can only simulate it at best, even if I go as far as taking hormones and getting a sex change.  There is a charm to me in going that far, just because it shows a true dedication, an utter capitulation, to femininity.  Meanwhile, I am still too chickenshit to ever publicly reveal my own feminine side, much less make myself feminine in any way that might be noticeable to anyone.

This is where I start pondering some of the things I’d like to do in the near future.  For starters, I need to improve my wardrobe.  I need a few key items to make myself truly a closet sissy.  Namely, I need some black fishnet stockings, off-white silk or satin bikini panties with a matching bra, a pair of two-inch sandals, and tight silk or satin nightgown, and a mini-dress of some sort.  However, I am constantly fantasizing about more swimsuits, much more than lingerie.  For some reason, even though I own three bikinis and two one-piece swimsuits, I want more.  I can’t get enough!  There’s something about swimwear that makes me crazy.  As much as I’d love being in public dressed like a girl, there’d be nothing more electrifying than doing so at the beach, in swimwear!  The thought fills me with sexual energy.  But I must resist the urge to get more swimsuits until I satisfy my need for the garments named above.  I could always use more panties and bras, too.

Another thing that I need is a dildo.  This dildo must be unmistakably penis-shaped.  I don’t care about the colour or whether or not it vibrates; I just want to have something as similar to a real cock inside me at times.  I want to feel it wiggling inside me, pumping in and out.  I’ve even been fantasizing about the real thing!  I’d love to secretly slip away into the night, make myself into a girl, and seduce some homo pervert who likes she-males.  I want to know what it’s like to suck cock, and to have a guy pumping me in the ass like I’m a girl.  I fantasize about somehow meeting somebody at the lingerie store when I go buy my things, and experimenting with some casual faggot sex.  Yes, I want to get fucked like a girl!  I want to have sex with men!

Now I wonder if I’ll ever have the nerve to try it.  I doubt I’ll ever even show anybody my fetish in action, much less suck cock.