Dodging Another Bullet

As I explained in my last post, I'm away on business, so I packed myself some fun pajamas. At first, I had packed drab pajamas, and had hidden my girlie items as well as I could in side pockets. But after spending half the day anticipating it, and fantasizing about being bold about it, I removed my normal boy pajamas, and re-packed my nightie and panties along with my regular underwear. Excited, I then added one of my teddies. 

I arrived last night, painted my toenails, and slept in my nightie, as planned. It was a pleasant night's sleep. I dreamed of being caught with nail polish, and struggling to remove it, and woke up horny a couple of times. I woke up and went about my day.

I spoke to my wife on the phone in the evening, and she asked if I had found her surprise for me in my bag. I immediately jumped to wish fulfillment fantasies of her being supportive of my fetish, and sneaking in some of her own panties or something, but I knew that this was highly unlikely to the point of absurdity. 

It turns out she put a Valentine's day card in my bag! She snuck it in when I wasn't looking. She tucked it under my pants. Somehow, she narrowly missed my secret girlie stash! I almost got caught again!

That would have been a painful episode indeed.

I'm now wearing nail polish on my fingers, and sleeping in my teddy. 

Wardrobe Malfunctions

The pumps I had ordered never arrived. First, I got a shipment of ugly pendant earrings as a consolation, with a note indicating that the Chinese shoe factory had to close for a while due to summer heat, and that they'd send the shoes as soon as possible. Why this was at all necessary, I'll never know. Eventually, a package arrived, but it wasn't what I had ordered. Instead I got some white knee-high boots, size 8--much too small for my gargantuan feet. I got my money back, but the whole ordeal wasted a couple of months of my time. It's the second time I've ordered glittery pumps, and the second time the order (and the wish) didn't get fulfilled. Never again.

The teddy turned out to be extraordinarily fun. The thrill I get from one-piece swimsuits gets amplified tenfold with a teddy! Somehow it feels like it fits better than any panties I've ever worn. It caresses my hips and naughty parts in a way that makes me feel more feminine than anything else in my stash. I tend to wear this most. The size M fits better, and it's black which unexpectedly gives me a bigger thrill than the size S, which is pink. Go figure.

The blue bathing suit was a bit disappointing. It's nice, but somehow the lining doesn't seem to stick to the outer shell, and it doesn't seem tight enough. I don't think size M is right for me for bathing suits, as they're not tight enough on the hips. Or rather, my hips aren't wide enough.

I'm planning to order pumps from someone more reputable. Maybe my troubles are a sign that it's not meant to be?

Building Up My Stash Again

I went nuts and bought a bunch of girl stuff again. I felt like I really need some shoes, so that was at the top of my shopping list. I ended up buying two pairs: wedge sandals and pumps, both glittery, along with a pair of teddies, back-seam stockings, and two more one-piece swimsuits.

The swimsuits are to replace my previous swimsuit purchases. I've struggled to get the right size. Too many t
imes, I've ordered something far too small, and struggled to get into it. Last time, I ordered size L, but ended up disappointed in the looseness of the fit. Bikinis are much easier, because the main problem with one-piece suits is the torso length. With the larger sizes, the hips end up not being nearly tight enough. This time, I ordered medium. I received one of them already, and it fits pretty well. It's just a bit too short, torso-wise, but the hips fit much better. We'll see how the other one fits when it gets here in September.

The teddies are something I've been thinking about for many years. I had "borrowed" one from a girlfriend many, many years ago, and it was exquisite, but I had almost no access to it. I think I wore it maybe once or twice. I ordered two, again because of concerns about the size: one S, one M. The S fits nicely, so I haven't bothered with the M, and will probably just return it.

As for the shoes, ever since my wife found my stash, discovered my secret, and forced me to purge, I've really missed wearing heels. Something about wearing women's high heels puts my fantasies over the edge. Usually, the focus is on my erogenous zones, but in this case, they're so unnecessary and so gratuitously feminine that somehow they become the best part. I especially like shoes with ankle straps, because they feed a sort of forced feminization fantasy. I've never had access to pumps that fit me. These new ones, when they arrive, will be a new experience. The wedges sprinkle glitter all over the place, so I have to be very careful with them.

The shoes also take up a lot of space, and I'm not sure where to hide them. I'll have to think about it before the pumps arrive, because my current hiding space is just about full.

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: The Seed Grows

The thought, I am sure, has at least occurred to everybody.

I mean, everybody's heard of transvestites, so they can certainly admit to having imagined a man wearing women's underwear. The first thing I think of is how disgusting and un-feminine they look, no matter how hard they try. It's a short step from there, though, isn't it? Girlfriends will cajole and kid when seeing a transvestite that, "yes, darling, why can't you be more like him?" Or ask straight out if they've ever worn panties. For most men, it's shockingly perverted. They wouldn't dream of forsaking their manhood, or even joke about it, around their girlfriends or wives or mistresses.

But then, that little seed has already been planted. 

Add to that living with a woman: even if she's the mother or sister or some other relative, there's always women's dainties around. What man doesn't get turned on thinking about women's underwear? I've read that men need to see their women in underwear, that it's more appealing to them; they need a signal of femininity. What's more feminine than women's underwear? Not only does it cover the sexiest parts, it accentuates them.
It's difficult for any man to shop for lingerie. That's because there's an uncomfortable stigma about being seen in such a den of girlishness. Who but a girl - or a sissy - would be seen in a place like that? And men know what's pretty, too.

So there's definitely an association.

Secretly, they think about it. They're embarrassed to admit that they're interested in women's underwear - so much so that they can't shop for lingerie without breaking into a cold sweat.

Imagine picking up an article of gorgeous, absolutely female underwear, and being aroused by it. It's so feminine. I have no right to touch it. Merely touching it jeopardizes my manhood. How can I handle being exposed to something so powerfully girlish? I can't: I get so horny that I have to do something about it. Even when I see it on a girl, it drives me crazy. It used to be when I was five or so that girls were icky. A boy could never survive the stigma of hanging around with a girl, or else suffer the humiliation of being called a sissy. The other boys would think that I'm one of them. They would think that I'm secretly a girl. All boys had to resist girls, because we all knew that they were out to assimilate us and make us do all sorts of stupid girl things, and make us wear frilly pansy pink girlie clothes. I'm not surprised if I carry a remnant of that with me even today.
As a matter of fact, there's the idea of the old ball and chain: she'll domesticate you if you commit; she'll turn you into a sissy! You won't be a man anymore, because you can't go bowling or boozing with the guys anymore. Girls are dangerous that way. They want you to be a girl, too.

But men commit all the time. There comes a time when they have to betray the boys, and give in to the girls. The danger exists from day one, when little boys clump together in frightened cliques, berating anyone who dares to show that they feel that same, strange attraction to girls that they each secretly feel individually. They make each other sense that it's powerfully wrong, yet they each feel that they desperately want to. And so the seed is sown.

I know it's wrong, thinks the little boy, but it feels so good when I think of girls. Maybe I am one of them, after all. Imagine: what if my parents are wrong, or what if they've decided to pull some cruel joke on everyone, and I really am a girl, but everybody thinks I'm a boy? That must be it! The girls want me to join their ranks, I can feel it. I am drawn to them. Oh, I would be so free if I could only join them! They would take care of me. They would rub me right here where we're different, and make me like them. Right here they would rub me. Rub me right off. And I would be a girl. Rub me here. Rub me! Oh, rub me! Girl! I'm a girl now! Oh, God, I'm going to turn myself into a girl if I just rub myself! Oh, it feels so good! I want to be a girl! I love feeling like a girl. 

Then it's over and I'm ashamed, and I know that I'm a boy, and that I let everybody down.

Then it starts again. The longings come back. Then I begin to think that girls wear some pretty specific clothes. Boys don't have flowers and frilly lace on their underwear. Girls look so good in their underwear. If I want to be a girl, then I have to wear some of that, don't I? But do I dare? That's the trick, isn't it? I don't want anybody to know, but I want to try it. I start to imagine all sorts of bikinis and bathing suits and stockings and garter belts and panties and bras and teddies. . . I want to wear them all! Just thinking about it makes me feel so good! Imagine how good it must feel to be that sexy! I figure that I've only thought about being a girl so far. I've never actually tried to be one by wearing girls' clothes. Surely doing that will instantly transform me into one, and I'll never be able to regain my manhood. I know it's dangerous. I'm afraid to try.
I try. I don't care that I'll never be a man again. I just want to be a girl now. To Hell with being a boy! It feels so good when I touch women's clothes! I imagine myself wearing only silky women's panties and garter belts and bras from now on. I'm Hell-bent on becoming feminine. I'm only wearing pantyhose on top of my own underwear, but I'm picturing myself in lingerie, bikinis, etc. etc. etc.. Physically, I've barely done anything; mentally, I'm willingly going way too fast. I can't go too fast physically, because I'll never be able to turn back. If I take it slow, I'll be able to work my way up to it, and hang onto my manhood. If I go too fast, I'll be totally transformed overnight, and I'll have a lot of explaining to do. But it's so much more fun to go fast! I want to be girlish NOW!

Before I know it, I'm wearing all the stuff I fantasized about, loving the way it makes me feel so delicate and girlish. And I can't stop.

Fiction: Transformation and Choice

[transcribed from a notebook, many pages earlier, near my class notes from 1998; I remember coming across this while studying, and a girl noticing my writings...]

I guess it doesn't even matter how I got into this mess. An unpredictable and unstoppable chain of events brought me to this place, to this fate. Was it fate? Was it destiny? Did my own free will have nothing to do with my ending up here? Oh, they keep telling me that only those who want to, come here. Nobody gets forced into this. Some may protest vehemently, but it's their own choices, ultimately, that bring them here. Like I said, it doesn't matter.

It came as quite a shock, this radical transformation. I would never have thought it possible if I hadn't experienced it myself. I remember when that wonderful bevy of young women awakened me to allow me to witness it.

Imagine emerging from a druggy haze to see the most beautiful woman on earth shaking you awake. She wore nothing but a lacy red teddy with matching stockings. She looked like a lingerie model. Five more girls, each more beautiful than the next, milled about the room in equally revealing outfits. A__, the sexy one in red who woke me up, cuddled up to me lasciviously, and told me to wake up, or I'd miss all the fun. I couldn't even speak. I couldn't move, either. She was so sexy, so pretty, and I wanted to jump on her right there. But I couldn't.

Somehow, I realized that I was vertical, not lying down. I was chained by the ankles and wrists like a star. And I was buck naked. Drugged as I was, I couldn't understand what was going on. I felt like I was in paradise.

They began their work as soon as A__ gave the signal. All six girls descended on me like buzzards on a corpse. At no time did any one of them ignore me. At lieast one at any time cajoled me and caressed me suggestively. I still couldn't move. They kept me informed at every step.

They started by shaving my chest. They used pink disposable razors and women's shaving gel. They were very delicate. Not the slightest cut. The whole time they fondled me. They saved my legs for last.

When it came time for the legs, they gave me a most sensual treatment. They worked with such care and delicacy that I already began to see my legs the way I saw theirs: hairless, smooth, sleek, and above all, sexy and feminine. The way they handled my legs, the way they caressed them, I thought of supermodels in pantyhose or lady leg shaver commercials.

Finally when they finished rinsing me, and I was as hairless and smooth as, if not more so than, them, they began to dress me. First they wrapped a think lacy garter belt, white, around my waist. Simultaneously, white fishnet stockings went up my legs, slowly, sensually, up to my thigh. Their hands slid against my shaven skin all the way up, reminding me of how effeminate my legs had become. Then they slipped on a satiny white teddy with lacy trim. One at a time, and attached it gingerly over my cock. They rolled in a full length mirror and showed me what I looked like. Except for the bulge in the crotch, the body in the feflection looked entirely female.

Then they slipped me more drugs; and they teased me with their bodies. They each showed me, up close, the sexiest parts of their bodies.

“See these legs?” said one, gorgeously. “Yours will look just like them.” And on it went. I passed out with visions of them, their bodies melding into mine, transforming me into one of them. I protested, I resisted with all my might, but it was no use. A__ herself shook her hips right in front of my face. “See this?” she said, pointing at her panty-clad crotch, “See this wonderful little curvy mound, this smooth, soft, exquisite space – you'll soon have one just like it.” I could feel the stockings slithering up my legs all over again, I could feel the garter belt tightening around my waist, I could feel the teddy slide over my chest, and the panties surround my crotch. I tried desperately to squirm free, but there was nowhere to go, no position to assume that would stop it; I tried to pull it off, but instead found my hands impulsively caressing the delicate fabric. It was on me, all over me, but I continued to squirm and fondle. How could I not fondle? My legs were girls' legs; my chest felt effeminate; my crotch, oh how my crotch burned with ecstasy as I moved my hips, gyrated my hips. It was like making out with a girl, and feeling her body's sensations on top of my own. Part of me still resists, in vain. Another begs for more. I know that I am not a girl, and yet I also know that I have essential items of girlhood on my body. This incongruously divides my will: deep inside, I fear this effeminacy. It means the destruction of my manhod. But on the surface I cannot resist the pleasure. I imagine wearing all sorts of girlish things like bikinis and lingerie and miniskirts. I dream of transforming my crotch into one as heavenly as A__'s.

At length, I emerge from my drug-hazed sleep still chained spread eagled and wearing lingerie. My lust for femininity has faded almost to nothing – but my outfit reminds me of my thoughts, my corrupted perversions of before. I blush with shame and feel a hot rush of horniness simultaneously.

I can forgive my wearing the lingerie. I was forced. But I cannot account for, nor forgive my transsexual fantasy. I can't even understand it. But somehow, just the memory of my drug trip fantasy makes me want to relive it. The stockings still decorate my shaven legs. I still look like a sexy woman. I can feel myself slowly succumbing again to the grips of feminininity, only this time without the drugs. I need only think about my visions of before, and quiver, guiltily, with desire. I am thankful to be alone. Not that it matters. Surely A__ and the girls know how much I enjoyed myself. They put it into my head.

I know I shouldn't but I can't stop. I want to feel myself, but I also hate myself for succumbing again. I Imagine wearing all sorts of other girlish things. The conflict raging in my head. I feverishly consider the possibility of wearing panties and a bra – maybe even, god forbid, a bikini. Perhaps even a one-piece swimsuit. I consider it fearfully, because I'm afraid of how exquisite such effeminate clothes would feel on my body. My fear becomes fantasy, guilty fantasy, and fuels my desire. Soon it becomes desire, as I picture myself slipping into a skimpy little bikini, my masculine conscience fades away.

Suddenly, as I'm lost in fantasy, writhing in my lingerie, the girls enter my cell. They saw me dancing hotly in the lingerie. I'm embarrassed. “What's the matter?” asks A__. “don't you like it?” I can't answer. “We're letting you go. If you don't want to be one of us, we'll understand. We're leaving it up to you.”

I feel the chains slacken, and I'm free. All the girls are looking at me. “So, what'll it be,” coos A__. “Are you with us or not?” She's got her hand on my suddenly girlish hip.

My first instinct is to remove the clothes I'm wearing. I look down at my lingerie-clad body. I unclasp the stockings from my garter belt, and start rolling them down. In shame and disgust. But my legs are so sexy. And they're so pretty in these stockings. I get to my ankle, and I hesitate. I feel up my sensuously girlish thigh. I look at each of the girls in turn. They all seem indifferent. And they're so damned gorgeous in their underwear. They don't seem to ccare either way. I stare at my clothes, how pretty they are. I want to keep these clothes. I look at A__'s crotch, her tits, her legs. I want them all. I picture my body as hers. I fondle the lingerie all over. Soon, I'm masturbating openly. I pull my stockings back up and announce my decision.

“I want to be a girl!”

A__ beamed. She was proud of me. They led me to a storeroom stocked with all kinds of female attire. Here I would pick out some fresh clothes, which would be the first new additions to my wardrobe. I had to choose from panties on outwards. I dressed like a whore, sleecting some dainty bra and panty set, in black, with a garter belt and stockings to match. Then I found a short red minidress that clung to me like a glove. Finally, I picked out some sexy black sandals, with two-inch heels. I had to hitch up my butt like a girl when I walked. I had to parade around like this all day to test my dedication. I put it all on in front of them. I hesitated again. Could I turn back on my decision now? The thought of having a strictly feminine wardrobe, filled with dainty panties and bras, enticed me into continuing. And I did prance around like that all day. I could hardly believe it. There could be no turning back now.

At night, I was to choose a nightgown. I picked one like a dress, a short one. It looked so feminine. There's no mistaking it.

The next day, after picking a new outfit, I was introduced to Joe. He was tall, strong, muscular. I was told that for the next week, I would be Joe's panty slave. I would be his little slut, and I would have to grant him his every wish. If not, they would throw me out on the street, to return only when I'm serious. It wasn't necessary. I felt so girlish. I wanted to rub myself all over his muscular body. I dreamed of him sticking his dick on my girly clothes. I was putty in his hands. His touch made me feel so ... feminine.

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.  


"Why?"  


"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?"

"Yes."

"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.

"Well?"

"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?

Fantastic!

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.  

Fiction: The Ultimate Sexual Experience, Part 2

[Part 1]

. . . 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.

Diary: Fully Dressed

Now, I've gone pretty far.  It's been a while since I've been able to update this document, but lots has happened.  I've had to hide my stash.  I put it in a locker at the [shopping mall].  I had to wear some of A__'s underwear for the past few weeks.  One time I actually did retrieve my magic bag from the locker.  Then I put it back.  But this time, it's gone.  I went to get it again, but the key didn't turn.  My stuff is as good as gone.  

That really put me off.  I was looking forward to looking like a girl tonight.  I had a big plan.  I knew that A__ was leaving for the night.  I could sleep alone.  So that means that I can take advantage of her absence to wear women's underwear.  I planned to get my stuff from my locker after work, get home, and change into my lingerie outfit.  Then I would have put on my outerwear over top and gone to the bank and the grocery store, and no one would have noticed, except me.  But that fell apart when I discovered that I couldn't have my stash anymore.  Then I got home and A__ was waiting for me.  She didn't leave until 7:15.  I went shopping in my own clothes.  

I was determined, however, to wear something.  I wanted to do it all.  I want this to be the night that I wear women's clothes all night.  I've tried many times, but failed.  So I took off and came back.  I wanted to check out [the local discount stores], to see what they might have.  I eventually returned from the supermarket to find an empty apartment.  I had decided to try the lingerie store on [the nearest major street].

It took a little while.  I was a very calm and deliberate shopper.  I know what I want to wear.  So I settled on a stretch lace teddy, a garter belt, and some black nylon stockings.  It cost me $60!  But I have my fix now.
I've gone as far as I dare right now.  I'm wearing my new outfit.  I cooked myself dinner with it on under my clothes.  But now, after dinner, I'm wearing A__'s black mini-skirt and her white button-up t-shirt.  I put on makeup for only the second time ever, and I didn't feel the least bit apprehensive about it.  I put on eyeliner, eyeshadow, mascara, and lipstick.  I preened myself in the mirror.  My God, what a transformation!  I might even look sexy, If I could shave my body hair!  My legs look gorgeously sexy in these nylons, and that mini-skirt.  My face even looks feminine.  I'm as much like a girl now as I can be.  The only thing I need now is a shave!  I even let my hair down, which really helps a lot.

I have never gone nearly this far.  I wish I could do this all the time.  I've been fantasizing about escaping for a month or so, somewhere where no one can find me, and shaving every hair off my body, and becoming totally feminine for at least one whole day and night.  I would put on makeup, a dress, lingerie underneath, and be totally cleanly shaven.  Then I would sleep in a nightgown, wake up, and wear women's underwear for the whole time I'm there.  That would be so incredible!  I desperately want to do it, but it won't happen for at least another year.  And now, for a little fantasy...

Fiction: The Superhero Mind-Control Trap

I've been following that mysterious, glamourous, long-legged goddess around now for days, and it's getting harder and harder on my leg.  I just can't keep up.  Her legs are at least twice as long as mine, and unlike mine, they're svelte and muscular and perfectly shaped and functional.  I don't think that she's noticed me.  Somehow, she hasn't seen the limping troll trailing her everywhere she goes.  I thought I'd be a bit more noticeable than that.  But no.  She's got better things to do, I'm sure.

I've learned a lot about her in my stalking.  She seems awfully attached to some geek in the classier part of town.  Come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure where he lives.

Anyway, I've found something out about him: he gallavants around the city in tights fighting crime.  He's the famous Cockroach man: invincible with his cockroach like ability to withstand the most treacherous forces of nature, his proportional speed and strength, his keen sense of smell, and his astounding ability to adapt quickly.  He has put more petty criminals--and arch-criminals, too--behind bars than the entire police force.  But what a snotty little prick.  If not for those super powers, I'd crush him under my foot and run off with that goddess, who probably has no clue about his little secret.

I found out in a fit of jealousy.  I wanted to break his house apart when he was gone.  I wanted to trash the place.  He thinks he's so hot with all that money and all those women fawning over him.  I waited for him to leave, and I managed to break into his house.  The cocky bastard doesn't even bother locking his doors.  Now that I think of it, why should he?  He's a super crimefighter, after all.

Anyway, I was going to scout the place out, look for anything that I could use to ruin him, or to use against him in order to win that wonderfully beautiful woman of his.  When I got into his closet, I was amazed to discover the tights that had made him famous.  I had found the lair of the Cockroach man.  I ran screaming out of that place as if it were infested.  But I knew his secret, and I was ready to use it against him.

I thought of selling my tidbit of information to the government, or to one of those crazy scientists living in the hills outside of town.  But then I realized that I'd probably be better off blackmailing him with that little secret.  I wonder how much he'd pay to protect his secret identity.  

It was pretty easy, actually.  All I'd have to do is steal his outfit.  He'd be ridiculous without it.  Sure, he'd more than likely still have his super powers, but who the Hell cares?  I didn't think he'd have the guts to come right out and admit to running around like some kinda freak in his garish reddish leotards.

Amazingly, and wouldn't you know it, just as I snuck into his closet, he came home.  Not only that, he came home with that sex queen that I've been following around.

In short, she found me out, and she hid me.  She didn't give me away.  I don't know why.  She managed to sneak me out of there quietly enough, without him noticing.  "Meet me in the park at midnight," she hissed at me as I clambered down the front of the house.

She's a brave woman.  She kept her appointment.  She was alone, all alone at that hour in a crime-infested part of town, and wearing a tight little minidress.  Unmolested.  The cockroach must be watching over her, I thought.  But I went ahead anyway.

I found myself in her apartment.  It was a dream come true.  She was so hot.  She brought me to her bedroom, but, to my surprise, she left without a word, swinging her ass as she walked out seductively.  She stuck her head back in.  "Why don't you pick an outfit out for me," she purred, "And make it something skimpy and easy to remove."

I opened her closet, and my jaw dropped.  I couldn't believe all the sexy lingerie she had hanging in there.  Then I noticed the leotards: sleek, skimpy, black.  My heart stopped momentarily when I realized that I had found the identity of the infamous Mindbender.  I tried to sprint out of the room, but somehow, I knew that she was monitoring my thoughts.  As if to confirm my suspicion, she grabbed me from across the room with her telekinesis and easily halted my movement.  She took off what she was wearing right in front of me to reveal her outfit for me.  She was even more stunning in person than on the news or in photos.  Perfect athletic body, with all the yummy feminine parts that most women dream of having.  She was absolutely gorgeous.  But she was also a very, very bad person.

She took hold of my actions.  I could no longer control my body.  I prostrated myself at her feet, and began sucking them.  She was laughing at me, even as she controlled my actions.  She stood me up, and had me remove all my clothes.  Here I was, naked in front of her, totally unable to resist her.  I felt her telekinetic energies jerking me off, and doing it so well that I was overcome with pleasure, and embarrassed at the same time.  I didn't want her to do this to me.  I felt like I was being raped.  She stopped just as I was losing it.  "You like me so much," she giggled, "that you're almost coming where you stand!"

My heart pounded like a hammer on an anvil.  She released me and let me fall to my knees.  "I'm letting you have your own free will again.  What do you want to do?"

I desperately wanted to escape.  I hoped that she was happy to have made me feel like a weakling, and that she would allow me to run away naked, never to come near her again.  I started to bolt.

Unfortunately, she was just playing games with me.  She made me stop right at her door.

"Is that how to treat a lady?" she asked.  She was sitting on her throne, devilishly toying with me.  "If you try that again, I'll destroy you."  And I knew from the look in her eye that she meant it.

"Now come here and give me a hug.  And don't forget that if you don't, I not only can make you do it, but I can make you do other things, too."

She started rubbing her incredible body all over mine.  It was ecstasy.  I didn't even want to tear off her slinky tights.  It felt so good to just feel her gyrating cunt through the spandex, and her whole firm and soft and round body writhing in my arms in sheer pleasure.  She pushed me away suddenly, and rubbed my face into her crotch until she came.  Her telekinetic powers were let loose as her body shook from orgasm, and she squeezed me violently and threw me down to the ground.  Before she fell asleep, she went to the trouble of chaining me up to her wall as she brushed her teeth.  I was still naked.  And I wouldn't have escaped even if I had the chance.

The next day, she released me from my chains and told me to get dressed.  I couldn't find my clothes anywhere.  "What, didn't you pick something out from my closet, like I told you to last night?"  She was petulant.  I had incurred her displeasure.  She took me by the scruff of my neck and pushed me back to the closet.  "Choose an outfit.  I can't have you running around naked, now, can I?

I stared, daunted, into her closet.  Frilly corsets, silky teddies, pink, black, red, white, plum, panties, brassieres, garter belts, all kinds of sexy garments hung in front of me.  I could feel her anger mounting.  "Well?!?" she prompted.

"You mean, you want me to wear this?" I dared to ask.

"Of course I want you to wear that!  You're my little bitch now, and you'll do as you're told.  Or else I'll make you do something far less pleasant.  Understand?"

Blindly, I grabbed something off the rack.  It was a white satin teddy.  I stood staring at it with incredulity.  I couldn't fathom myself wearing it.  Not in a million years.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" she screamed, and I slipped it on, fearing her wrath.

I looked at my body, encased in lingerie.  I was dumfounded.  

"Now, don't you feel nice and sexy?"

"Um, I don't know," I stammered.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"Well," I admitted, "I've never done this before."

"Haven't you ever been with a girl before?"

"Yes."

"Haven't you ever seen her in her underwear?"

"Yes."

"Haven't you ever wanted to see her parading around in her undies for you?  Don't you think she feels sexy when she does that?"

"Well, I suppose so," I replied shyly.  She herself was wearing underwear as she spoke, and she looked very sexy.

"So now you know what it's like to feel sexy, don't you?"  She waited for an answer.  "Don't you?"

I couldn't speak.  I honestly didn't know how I felt.  I was quite randy from just looking at her, and from the kinky situation I found myself in.  And I think that she was massaging my genitals softly.  

"Well then," she decided, "if you don't feel sexy, then we'll have to make you feel sexy, won't we?"  With that, she began to telekinetically  fondle me with even more vigour.  She made me walk around against my will, made me walk like a woman, swinging my butt like a model.  She was making me model her lingerie for her.  The satin clung to me arousingly.  I practically came right then and there.  She dropped me suddenly, and I writhed on the floor, begging for more.

"That's more like it," she said.

I felt embarrassed.  She was right: I had felt sexy, but in a way that I had never felt it before.  I remembered that I was dressed in women's underwear.  

She made me stay in it all day.  I cleaned her house for her in her lingerie.  She made me move like a girl the whole time, and it gave me a most embarrassing pleasure.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I moaned.

"Why not?"

The next day, I was begging for more.  She didn't even have to force me, either.  I eagerly looked through her closet for the sexiest things that I could find.  I finally settled for a matching bra and panty with a garter belt and fishnet stockings.  I pranced around willingly.  I loved every second of it.  The thought that she had worn it before me turned me on even more.  I looked forward now every day to what I would try on the next.  I tried it all on: bathing suits, bikinis, teddies, nighties, panties, everything.  And she encouraged me every step of the way.  I felt so intimate with her that I could share her underwear with her.  

It was a bit different when she unexpectedly brought guests over without telling me. . .