Fashion's Slave

Fashion's Slave

by: Rhonda Wagram

Chapter I

It was the night of the presentation of our tenth couture show in Paris. Our company NIARTSER FASHION was not a big one, but we had grown steadily little by little and the number of the special kind of people that appreciated our art had grown and now people were coming from all over the world to see our presentations, which -- like at the big couturiers and the "pret-a-porter"-houses -- were held twice yearly. Actually we were more in accord with the timing of the "pret-a-porter"-houses, because our clientele liked to have their orders made to measure. Showing the fall/winter fashions in the spring and the spring/summer collection in the fall gave us the time necessary to fill all orders before the season started without having to employ a large work-force. We were a very well organized little group and -- I believe -- a unique one.

For the celebration of the tenth collection or our fifth anniversary we had prepared a big party and sent out invitations to all of our customers. In contrast to all the other Paris fashion presentations there was no press allowed -- our customers preferred to remain among themselves. The whole affair had more or less the atmosphere of a private party. Even the models themselves were customers.

As the co-owner of the company you would expect me to act as the master of ceremonies or in a similar position -- however, here I was immovably posted as a mannequin upon a pedestal among a row of very natural looking dummies all displaying in a retrospective the most popular models of our previous collections. I was wearing a very elegant evening ensemble, a gown with a high-waisted, skin tight skirt of black taffeta and a top in the form of a sphere starting at the lower ribs, leaving the shoulders bare, made of a sparkling, silvery, metallic looking material. My hair was swept up into a delicate arrangement of ribbons and curls, long dangling rhinestone pendants almost touching my shoulders were inserted into my ears and sparkled in competition with a flashing rhinestone choker just over 3 inches wide that tightly circled my throat and made me hold my head very high. Just below the knees the skirt seemed to merge into a bouffant wealth of the same silvery material that encased my upper torso.

I projected the picture of an exquisitely coiffed and extravagantly dressed lady about to enter an elegant ballroom, pausing for a moment in front of a mirror to check her appearance before making her great entrance at the arm of her escort.

However, the outward appearance belied the truth: the skin tight taffeta skirt continued underneath to below my ankles and prevented any movement of my legs. There actually were two zippers which -- when opened -- would have allowed me to take small, mincing steps, but now they were closed and my legs were securely tied by the skirt.

Oh and, of course, my arms: they were tightly folded on my back, hands facing outward close to my neck and the elbows laced into special pockets at the upper end of my corset which tightly encased me from breasts to thighs. The choker, the corset, the tight skirt, and the extremely high heels on my shoes really made all movements impossible. My makeup reflected and continued the static theme: it had a waxy texture and looked absolutely artificial in its glamorous perfection. The whole picture was that of an elaborate life-sized doll, like a display at a wax museum.

This ensemble precisely portrayed our specialty: High fashion that restrained the wearer to the utmost without being directly noticeable. Actually the company name spelled this out quite clearly if you read it backwards. We had a lot of male (and lesbian female) clients who bought our dresses and other items for their girlfriends and wives who liked this kind of bondage, but we also had an almost equal number of women (and men) who liked to cross-dress and enslave their male partners in our finery just as I had been ensnared and subsequently enslaved by Sylvia, my wife and partner in the business.

Just before the first guests arrived, Sylvia had observed, that I tended to follow the actions in the room with my eyes and what little movements of my head were allowed by the Rhinestone choker. Of course, I could not comment on them, as my mouth was kept shut by the intricate little mechanism which Sylvia had had our dentist install on my back teeth and which locked my teeth tightly together over a plastic gag that exactly filled the cavity of my mouth and held my tongue down. But the movement of my eyes and my head in her opinion disturbed the picture of the motionless doll that I was to portray because it made my pendants swing a little and send sparkles through the room. To end this, she inserted a pair of lenses into my eyes with blackened pupils which effectively blinded me without being noticeable by any onlooker. And not being one for half measures, she inserted little wax- balls into my ears which almost completely cut off my hearing.

As you can see, she had the power to give me freedom as and when she deemed fit. She could open the restricting zippers in my skirt and lead me around with my vision and hearing still severely checked, or ungag me and let me have a drink and again restrain my legs with the skirt wherever she wanted to leave me. She could unplug my ears and let me hear the conversation around -- and probably about -- me while not being able to see who was talking and not being able to take part because of the invisible gag. There was no way however that I could sit down because of the long corset and my arms could not be released until the corset was taken off. I was completely dependent on Sylvia or whomever she might appoint as my mistress or master for the night.

You think the situation I was in would make me feel terrible or humiliated? To tell you the truth: I cherished it, my mind danced in bliss. Waves of delight raced through my mind and body and I was incredibly excited. From time to time somebody (was it Sylvia?) stroked my legs and my behind and each time I came close to an orgasm.

Well, what had brought me here and to this? What had caused me, a grown man of 25 years, rich by most standards, contrary to everything one should expect of me under normal circumstances, to be immovably stationed on a pedestal, dressed in exquisite feminine finery and looking like the epitome of femininity, and be a willing subject to the whims and caprices of a beautiful, but strong willed woman? Let me explain and tell you how everything happened from the very beginning.

Chapter II

I, Rene de Brinville, was the only child of a couple, who had been extremely successful in the French fashion industry after the second world war. My parents were not actually creating fashion, but had an excellent ability to determine what would sell. They acted more or less behind the scenes, picking out young designers, backing them, building them up, and not only selling their creations but building a marketing empire around their names. When I was born, they had very successfully exploited every turn in fashion the fifties and early sixties and continued to do so. I grew up in my early years among fashion sketches, designers and fabrics.

I was not overly touched by all of this, I had the normal interests of a boy: I'd rather go out and play soccer with the other kids and generally make a mess of myself in the park, than sit at home. I abhorred little girls and I remember throwing a tantrum when my mother tried to persuade me to play an angel in a Christmas play. I definitely rejected the idea of being dressed up as an angel, which in my view was on par with wearing girls clothes -- a terrible idea.

As both my parents were working, I was sent to a boarding school when my time came. There is nothing exceptional to report from this period, except maybe that if any mischief or prank was discovered, the headmaster would at first enquire where I had been at the time of the incident and more often than not his hunch was right that I was the culprit or, at least, an accomplice.

My happy small world collapsed when my parents were both killed when their plane crashed on a flight from Milan to Paris. I was 13 years old and on the verge of puberty when it happened. Economically I had no problems. My parents had practically retired and sold their company to a multinational chemical company interested in it because of its potential to propagate new chemical fibers and fabrics, and just worked as advisors. All their money was invested in blue chip stocks which made me totally independent. By the Swiss definition that a rich man is one who can live comfortably on the interests earned on his interests, I would have been a rich man. But I was not a man yet. I was a school boy and the problems that I created at the school immediately grew immensely after the death of my parents. The headmaster found it necessary to inform my uncle, the brother of my father, who had been appointed as my guardian, that I had become so unbearable that he suggested I leave the school at the end of the year.

When the school year ended, I went to live at my uncle's house at least for the summer holidays. My uncle told me that he would decide later, whether I could stay there or be sent to another school. My uncle was not exactly poor either. He had a booming wholesale company in Paris. His wife and her daughter (from a previous marriage) lived in a small chateau (the English would have called it a manor) about 200 miles southwest of Paris and he only came to visit them once in a while. Now he was there to spend the summer vacations.

I soon found out that my aunt was the domineering figure in this marriage and my uncle's prolonged sojourns in Paris were his way of escaping her. Her daughter Sylvia was a very pretty girl, about nine months older than I was. Immediately, my aunt set out to correct what she described as my unbearable and impossible behavior. Before she had married my uncle, she had been a teacher. From this experience she had a wealth of methods of punishing me for all my wrongdoings without so much as touching me. She would for instance restrict me to my room and give me a task to complete -- like learning a poem with 24 stanzas in German -- before I would get anything to eat and the like. During the summer holidays she convinced my uncle that it would be best if Sylvia and I would not be sent to a school, but that instead she and another tutor would teach us together. My uncle was only too glad to be relieved of my schooling problem, and a teacher whom my aunt knew was employed.

The teacher turned out to be an attractive woman but at least as stern with me as my aunt had been before. Here I was with two domineering ladies as my teachers and no male to turn to. My future really looked gloomy. The only solace that I found was with Sylvia. She comforted me when I was down and out from the attentions that I got from our teachers.

Looking back from where I am today, I am sure however that all this was going according to a master plan devised by my aunt: I was to take Sylvia as my confidant and protector and thereby become dependent on her. It all was a variation of the age-old good-cop-bad-cop-scheme. Anyway, it worked and I soon accepted Sylvia as a higher authority who had it in her hand to help or to hurt me.

Hi, this is Sylvia. I simply have to break in here and tell my side of the story. Of course, there was a plan and it even then went much further than Rene suspects even now. When my father became his guardian, my mother at once saw the possibilities that opened up to subject him to our strong wills. We just had to steer him into a position which made him completely dependent on us -- in spite of all his money. We were not exactly poor, but my mother did not want to be dependent on the whims and the fate of my father, who recently seemed to have developed a separate life of his own in Paris. When my mother first saw her nephew, she saw at once what nature offered us: he was a boy OK and his behavior was the perfect definition for roughhousing, but his features were very pretty and delicate, almost feminine. Maybe subconsciously he tried to neutralize this outward appearance with his actions. My mother immediately hit upon the idea of completely feminizing him and slowly turn him into a girl and thereby make him totally dependent on us or -- later -- on me. She had distinct lesbian tendencies and rightly foresaw a similar inclination in me. Of course, she only took me into her confidence after some time when she explained her intentions. I was very enthusiastic about her ideas and did everything I could to further her plans as you will see.

Soon after my uncle returned to his work in Paris, my aunt found it advisable to have my health checked and I remember the visit of a lady doctor who examined me thoroughly and diagnosed that I was a little anaemic, and who prescribed some medication that I had to take in the morning with my breakfast. I took it assiduously, though when she returned after two weeks, she found it necessary to give me an injection and from then on I got one every week for the next two years. I did not notice any changes in my health, but she insisted, that if she did not give me the shots and I did not take my pills, my health would soon deteriorate.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened until, first, Sylvia, and, nine months later, I, became 16. The thorough schooling that we both had had enabled us to pass our high school graduation examinations before a state school board with flying colors. Living together with women only, I had not paid attention and had had no real chance to observe the development other boys went through during the same period in their lives. I did not notice, therefore, anything out of the ordinary with my own development. However the fact was, that I did not grow much more from the time I joined my aunt's household. At 16, I had reached 5'8" and was very slim. I tipped the scale at 115 pounds. I did not know it then, but I had very small hands and feet for a boy. When I said I did not notice anything extraordinary, I really lied to myself. At first, I had only noticed a slightly fleshier chest and tried to disregard it. However over the months my chest grew out more and more and there couldn't be any doubt, I was developing like Sylvia and grew girls' breasts. At first, I tried to hide them from everybody, I avoided being seen without a shirt on, I wore bulkier sweaters and wider coats and I shunned tight T-shirts. However during a visit of the lady doctor I summoned all my courage and told her about my problem. She was not at all surprised and explained to me, that this often happened to boys of my specific type of constitution, that it was a hereditary strain in me, but in due course it would disappear by itself. She also pointed out, that my voice had not really broken as was common in boys of my age, it had changed just slightly into deeper tones, more of an alto than a baritone. This too was caused by the same precondition and would rectify itself gradually over the next years. I was very relieved by this assurance.

I was less cautious now and even let Sylvia catch me with my chest bare. To my great surprise, she was delighted to see that I had a bosom like hers. She immediately offered to lend me one of her bras, but I flatly rejected this. I explained to her what the lady doctor had told me about it and asked her not to tell anybody else. She promised it solemnly. This -- what I thought to be -- our little secret drew us still more together. Sometimes she teased me a little and said that I would make a cute girl.

At that time Rene was brimming with the female hormones that the doctor had given him and had the smooth skin and the facial features of a very pretty girl. I did not have to break my promise not to tell anybody about it, because everybody of importance knew about it and even better, knew the real reason for it. Of course, we did not mention anything about it to him and I just once in a while teased him very cautiously a little about his female features to test his reactions. We just led him deeper into the trap by pretending that nothing unusual was happening. My mother even had encouraged him to let his hair grow out -- this was the time of the flower power and the hippie movements and long hair was a way of protest among the boys -- and he was only too willing to join this kind of protest against the suppressions of society. At the time of our graduation his blonde mane almost reached to the middle of his back when he tied it with a string at the nape of his neck. It had evidently escaped him, that his body was hairless save for a fluff under his arms and a perfect triangle of soft blonde curls somewhat lower. I had more hairs on my arms and legs than he had. All in all he already had a perfect girlish body and I was intrigued by it -- actually, I found him quite sexy that way.

Sex had not come very early in our lives, but when it came to me, it came with an incredible impact as if a tightly wound spring was suddenly released. In my case, it was shortly after my 16th birthday and the spring was released by our tutor. I had long suspected that there was something special going on between her and my mother. One night -- my mother had gone to see my father in Paris -- she introduced me to the Sapphic delights. She was very gentle, not a single spot on my body remained unkissed that night. She took me through all the stages of lovemaking up to a whole row of earthshaking, shattering climaxes.

Of course, I, with my slightly dominant nature, wanted to try everything on a subject of my own. I wanted to be the teacher, not the pupil. So, Rene was my natural choice. With his feminine body he tempted my senses and I lured him into my net in a fashion worthy of a French courtesan at the court of Louis XVI. I started with unexpected little touches and caresses. I discovered, that his nipples were extremely sensitive and hardened at the slightest touch. I made him help me undress and flaunted my nakedness before him -- always keeping him at a distance. It was hard for me not to jump into bed with him right away, but I knew I would lose a lot if I would let on my own desires. Sex for him had always to be a favor he would have to beg for. I instinctively knew it would only work for me if I made it look like I would magnanimously grant him something to soothe his desires and then only in exchange for something that I wanted from him.

This play acting, hiding my own desires and playing on his, in fact intensified my pleasure immensely. I showed him every trick that I had learned from my very good teacher -- and I think I even invented some new ones. After a while he was not only putty in my hands, he was sincerely devoted to me. On the other hand I had grown very attached to him, as someone who could fill all my desires for a soft feminine body and a submissive mind combined with some extremely male equipment. If you put aside all this reasoning and analyzing, you could bluntly say that we were both very much in love with each other and I intended to make absolutely sure that he would not slip away from me. I had several long conversations with my mother about the situation and together we formed a plan which we then carried out very successfully in every detail.

During the summer vacations after our graduation the family discussed what we should do next. My aunt suggested we should both go to a fashion school in the south of France near Grasse where the headmistress was a friend of hers. Sylvia had expressed a great interest and talent for designing fashion and in view of the profession of my parents and their former connections in the industry, it was suggested that I should be able to make a career in it myself, if not in designing, then in other fields like marketing. It all sounded so logical that I finally consented. The school was located in an old mountain castle and my aunt pointed out that she had already received the consent of the school if we would like to share an apartment there. I liked this idea very much because it relieved me from the problem of having to share the secret of my body with other guys. Everything came quite naturally and there was not the slightest doubt in my mind that this was the right move for me.

Consequently at the end of the summer vacations everything was packed and we went off to our new school.

Chapter III

The school was located in the French Sea-Alps off the Route Napoleon about two hours by car from Nice and Cannes. In former times it had been a fortified castle high on a mountain and it was still barely accessible. It still was very much self-supporting. We had our own electricity and well and were mostly independent save for the food supplies. There were large workshops and studios where every fashion-related item could be designed and produced from shoes to hats and everything imaginable in between.

It turned out that our living quarters were a little separated from the living quarters of the other students. We had two bedrooms, a large livingroom, a common bathroom and a little pantry. As we were told by the housekeeper who showed us around, this portion of the castle formerly was the living quarter of the captain of the guards. After we settled and unpacked our bags, we were requested to see the headmistress, who turned out to be a strikingly beautiful woman in her mid-thirties, a little on the severe side in dress as well as in behavior, but this was to be expected of somebody who would have to guard and chaperon about 40 students.

To my surprise I heard that I was the only male student, the rest were all girls -- which was the reason for our detached living quarters. The headmistress told us that it was strictly a school for girls. Only the personal friendship of my aunt with the headmistress and a sizeable donation to the school had let the school-board make an exception for me and only on the grounds that Sylvia and I were regarded as a couple already engaged to be married. Well, they could regard me as whatever they liked, it would not stop me from developing new and maybe even some intimate extracurricular relationships to at least some of the other 38 girls -- I thought.

The first weeks at the school passed without any special events. We had a tight class-schedule and mainly I had to learn a lot of new things. The school was exclusively dedicated to female fashion in all of its aspects. We had classes in history about the development of the female dress from the antique Egyptian, Grecian and Roman times trough the middle ages to today's clothes. Of course, we had classes in drawing fashion designs, classes that taught us all about the materials such as fabrics, leather, plastic and rubber and how to handle and use them and much more. The whole curriculum was scheduled for two years and from previous graduates of the school it was known that they all had been given excellent career opportunities. My life with Sylvia did not differ very much from our life at home and we both enjoyed it very much.

Now listen to the hypocrite! First of all I always arranged it so that I had a marvelous sex life -- but I let him have his share too -- if I felt like it. During the first days in our new school I felt it necessary to draw the reins tighter. It was the way he looked at and talked with the other girls that made me show him where his limits were. I had detected a few luscious morsels of femininity which I was not at all averse to tasting myself and if there was any playing around, I was determined to make sure that I, and not he, would do it.

I never argued with him about his relations with other girls -- I didn't want any discussions about jealousy, but I found other methods to discourage him from pursuing his outside interests like giving him a task to fulfill at the time he wanted to meet somebody else. And I introduced a new ingredient into our love-play: bondage. Very slowly and very low key at first, but steadily increasing.

I began one night by objecting his caresses with his hands saying they were too rough and that his nails hurt me. When he continued to stroke me, I tied his hands to the upper bedposts while he was lying on his back. I made this an uncommonly delightful experience for him because I caressed, patted, massaged and kissed every part of his body, taking extra care of the spots I knew to be extraordinarily sensitive, mainly his breasts and his nipples and, of course, his rod. I had noticed, that it had literally jumped to attention even during the tying of his hands -- evidently he was as much turned on by it as I was. I played with him for the better part of an hour. When he started to moan and his moans grew into cries I felt it necessary to silence him with a gag that I made up from my panties and a scarf. Finally, my own excitement had reached the point where I couldn't contain myself any longer. I straddled him and my first climax occurred the minute I lowered myself onto his shaft and it continued into a row of orgasms until he reached his and his rod weakened and slipped from my hot nest.

I did not find it necessary to ungag and unfasten him immediately after this. I remembered the old Roman truth my teacher had taught me: "post coitum omnis animal triste" (after coitus every beast is wretched, meaning every male beast), and I did not want to let him just slip away into sleep leaving me alone with my stirred up passions. I wanted to keep up the tension for him too, at least until my own excitement had cooled down a bit. So I started to play with him again very softly. Much to my surprise it took only seconds to put new life into his love-tool and it all started over again. Three times in a row it happened that night and it was long after midnight when I finally let him loose and sent him to the bathroom to clean himself up -- but only after I had luxuriated in the tub for quite some time while he was still waiting tied and gagged on my bed.

From this time on I found many reasons to tie him this way or other, e.g. to prevent him from smoking or eating too many sweets, or because he had caused a run in my stockings with his nails, or because he did not wash his hands before eating, or simply because I liked him to be quiet and not be disturbed by him while I was studying.

While at first I used whatever came into my hands to tie him, I soon gathered some special utensils for that purpose, like at first some ropes and straps, later some light chains and a whole bunch of padlocks of all sizes. The fact that the school had excellent workshops helped a lot. I devised and made or had made for me numerous items for special purposes. For instance I had made a U-shaped leather glove to tie his arms behind his back for longer periods without causing too much pain for him. He sometimes had to wear this over night. I also had soft leather cuffs made for him for his wrists, for above and under his knees with which I could hobble him and for his upper arms just above his elbows. When I fastened these on him, I could draw his elbows together behind his back until they actually touched. At first I could leave him like this only for very short periods but I trained him to be able to take it for a little longer time every time I used them on him -- which became quite frequent. Bondage became a steady element in our love play and which I could see from his reactions, Rene was increasingly turned on by it. Of course, he would deny emphatically if anybody would have asked him. I did not ask, however, I just put him into bondage more and more.

One night before I released him, I snapped one of the padlocks shut around the base of his cock and his scrotum telling him that I regarded this as my property and, therefore, had every right to keep it under lock and key. I told him, I had mailed the key to myself in the afternoon and there was no way he could get out of it before the postman brought it -- hopefully, because you can never be sure with the post -- the next day. He protested profusely but also fruitlessly and had to wear it throughout the next day until the key arrived in the post and I relented. I repeated this on several occasions and could be very sure then that he would not date any other girls.

Under the pretense of instructing him in the handling and care of feminine garments I made him perform maid duties for me. Not only did he have to do most of the hand washing of my delicate lingerie and stockings, he had to help me select the things I was going to wear and then dress and undress me from the skin out, brush my hair out, help me in the styling and setting of my hair and assisting me with my makeup. At the same time I insisted that he took good care of his own long hair by washing and brushing it thoroughly. He became quite proficient in his duties as a maid and there were days when I just relaxed and let him do everything for me and with me, starting with bathing and drying me, rub my entire body with sweet-smelling lotions, brush my hair and then set it, put on my lingerie and stockings, bring me some dresses to choose from, put on my makeup and finally dress me according to my choice.

This mostly was our routine for a Saturday or Sunday when we had no classes and we wanted to go down in my car to Nice or to Cannes to do some shopping or just mingle with the people there at a nice restaurant or discotheque. It was extremely convenient for me to have him around as a combination lover, escort and maid.

I also started him on the way to feminine dress. Also, very innocently at first by asking him to help me with some homework project: designing and making a set of lingerie. I told him, I could not construct the bra on myself and needed a model, but I did not want to go to any of the other girls for fear they would steal my ideas. He was very reluctant at first but finally I won him over. So I first designed and made a bra with half cups that pushed his breasts a little inward and up enhancing their sexy form, letting the nipples free.

The work on the bra was interrupted seriously when, while working on the thing, adjusting it here and there, I 'accidentally' brushed over his nipples and not only they hardened. There was no other way to quiet him down but by a quick roll in the bed -- which I wouldn't have done if I hadn't enjoyed it so much myself. After that I decided the only way to escape his roaming hands was to tie them on his back and while I was doing it I also tied his elbows tightly together to push his bosom further out.

Then I told him the set consisted of three more items: a panty, a garterbelt and a slip and proceeded to put these on him too, so that I could see how they harmonized with each other. Without waiting for an answer and thereby cutting off all protests, I snapped the garterbelt shut over his hips and drew the panties up over his legs. On the way up however, I again encountered a rather large obstacle that in no way would fit into the small panties. However, I immediately took it into my hands to remove this obstacle and reduce it to more manageable proportions -- evidently much to the delight of my model, who stopped complaining instantly.

After the garterbelt and the panties were in place, I observed that the straps hung loose and the garterbelt had a tendency to ride up to the waist and I would never be able to see correctly the complementing lines of it and the panty. So I told him he would have to put on some stockings that I could fasten to the garterbelt. Surprisingly enough, this endeavor was carried out without any protests but again the panty came within inches of being ripped apart from a raising inner tension and I immediately had to attend to this problem with hands and mouth to prevent serious damage.

After a while, I had everything under control again and made him parade up and down the room. He made such a cute and sexy girl now that his male equipment was out of sight that I could hardly keep myself from flinging myself into bed with her. I noticed that his nipples were still quite hard and erect. Obviously and contrary to his complaints, he still was quite excited in spite of having being drained three times in such a short period. His nature seemed to play directly into my hands. Mentally and intellectually he may have been opposed to it, finding it unbecoming to a man and opposed to everything he foresaw for his life, but there was no denying the obvious signs of sensual excitement that the wearing of the feminine garments caused him.

I already had set the trap and this discovery assured me that finally there would be no really strong opposition when the trap was sprung.

This evening I made him don the short slip too and had him wear the ensemble for the rest of the evening. To prevent him from tearing the stockings I even made him wear my mules which possessed feathery pompons and had two inch spiked heels, which he was able to manage perfectly. In this getup he was the perfect girl, cute figure, sexily dressed and very seductive. All it needed now was some makeup and another hairdo. However, I did not want to put too much pressure on him too quickly. I wanted to let it sink in a little, getting him used to the feeling of the lingerie, the stockings, and the heels before I set out to achieve my next goals.

The next morning I persuaded him to wear the ensemble under his male clothes explaining to him that I had to know how the items wore during a normal day, if they pinched, chafed the skin or changed position or what else they might do. As he was always easily persuaded by logical reasoning, he soon gave in after I had told him, that nobody could possibly detect it under his jeans and the heavy and wide sweatshirt he usually wore. I made him wear it for several days, always making him wash and dry it over night, explaining, that I had to know how the materials chosen responded to the washing and if they would change their size or texture or lose their color or form.

After a few days, I had made another set in a different color and the design a little different from the first and started the whole process over again until I had made him wear four different sets.

By now this kind of underwear almost came naturally to him and he put it on in the morning without much thinking about it. Of course, I stored the sets in his drawers. One day, I removed his jockey shorts telling him I would look through them if they needed repairing. I would do it for him as he was helping me so much with my lingerie project. I put them all in a basket and succeeded in ruining them thoroughly when I spilled a quart of latex- based paint on them, accidentally -- of course -- and only because he had startled me by unexpectedly entering while I was standing on the ladder repairing some painting at the upper window.

As he was wearing one of my lingerie sets that day, all of his own underwear was ruined and he had nothing but the lingerie sets I had made to wear until we could go to town the next time and buy some male stuff. Of course, we never got around to that and he never wore anything but the finest female underwear from this day on. On the contrary, I had prepared to put him into dresses completely very soon, again in a way that seemed purely accidental and he was in no position to resist it. To make it work, I had to enlist the help of my mother and the other girls at least to the degree that they kept quiet for whatever unusual might happen.

One day it was announced that our whole class would go to Florence in Italy to visit the museums and a famous Italian shoe designer and see his factory. We would go by bus very early in the morning to the Nice airport and fly by chartered plane to Florence and return the next day. Everybody was very excited about this excursion and the girls endlessly discussed what they should wear. They wanted to be elegant but not overdressed and as there was dinner scheduled in Florence, the problem was what to wear that was not too conspicuous during the daytime and still dressy enough for a dinner at one of Florence's elegant restaurants. Well, I had no such problem. I planned on wearing grey slacks and a blazer over a white shirt and at night simply add a tie -- things really are easy for a man, I thought and pitied the girls. Sylvia helped me and got everything ready the night before. She even brushed out the blazer and the slacks and hung them on the side of the large cupboard. Then she suggested I might want to refresh my summer tan a little bit and set me in front of the sun lamp before going to bed.

In the morning, however, disaster struck me. My face was burning like fire. I had evidently gotten too much radiation from the sun lamp. I called Sylvia who confirmed this. She immediately suggested that she would put on a soothing lotion and use special creams on the most sensitive portions of my face, the eyes and the lips, which would also protect me from further sunburn while we were walking around in Florence. I was glad that she was so competent and active and gladly reclined in the chair, closed my eyes and let her go to work. The lotion stopped the burning soon enough and I felt her creaming my eyes and lips, finishing with a peculiar tasting fluid on the lips which she explained was a sealing coat that would prevent the protective cream to be rubbed off while having breakfast or lunch.

As we were already very late, I jumped to get my slacks and coat only to discover another catastrophe. When hanging up the clothes Sylvia must have accidentally overturned a bottle containing liquid rubber which I had used for pasting together some drawings and left on the cupboard. Evidently the cap had fallen off during the night and the gum had dripped all over the blazer and the slacks. They certainly could not be cleaned in time for our departure -- if at all. Well, I would have to wear one of my usual jeans and sweatshirt outfits and maybe get some other stuff in Florence. When I was looking for my things, Sylvia informed me, that she had sent them all out the night before when I sat under the lamp, because I would not need them today and they all truly needed washing. That really crushed me: I really had looked forward to this excursion and now I sat there with not a stitch to wear.

But Sylvia came to my rescue. She would lend me one of her stretch pants and a pullover to go with them. However, I had trouble getting into them. Sylvia again knew a way out: I should first put on nylon stockings so that the legs of the stretch material could slide up on the slippery nylon. I did and it worked. However, I could not close the pants at the waist. About three inches were missing. When Sylvia saw it, she exclaimed "Oh, I forgot, I always wore these with my waist-cincher -- let me get it and put it on you and you will be able to close it easily." She went and came back with what I can only describe as a real corset. On the outside it was black lace but the inner part was a very strong pink material with heavy boning. It had a front opening and laced in the back. Sylvia clasped it around me from behind and asked me to draw in my stomach as far as I could. Then we both tried to close the front busk. It took some doing but Sylvia explained, that first the skin had to be drawn to the front by this because when closing the lacing in the back, it would automatically been drawn back again. If it was just laced in the back for the whole distance, the skin would be drawn too far back at the sides and in the back and it would be squeezed into the lacing and hurt.

Well, what could I do, I surrendered to her doings and let her lace me into the damned thing until I could hardly breathe anymore. I was sure I could not put up with this for the whole day but once we were in Florence I was sure I could run into a store and buy some decent clothes. The wretched thing had another unwelcome effect: it pushed my breasts in from the sides and up and made them stand out more without covering them. Fortunately, the pullover she gave me was a large affair which camouflaged this and my corseted waist effectively. Featuring a large stand-up collar, it reached down to my thighs so very little of the gleaming stretch pants, which looked like painted on, could actually been seen. I slipped into some western boots and was ready.

I helped Sylvia to get ready and we rushed out to the bus where everybody was already seated. We got in at the back door and sat down on the last bench thoroughly exhausted. When we got out and into the plane I thought I received some curious glances from the other girls, but nobody said a word about my strange get-up, they were all very nice about it.

In Florence we went to see the famous dome first, because the teacher accompanying us had explained, that in former times the painters of the ecclesiastical pictures clad the saints and other figures in their paintings in the fashions of their day and that way we had a very reliable source of information about the clothes of each period.

I was stopped, however, at the entrance by a guard with a deluge of Italian which I did not understand at all. All I could make out was "Signorina" and "non permesso". Our guide came to my help and she explained, that she had been afraid this would happen, when she saw me, but had hoped I would slip by among the others. It was not allowed for girls or women to wear pants to church and, therefore, I was denied entrance. When I was about to explain that I was not a girl, Sylvia took me aside and said "There is no use arguing with him. To him you look like a girl -- period. If you tell him you aren't, how can you prove it in the middle of all the people around here? And what will he say if you should convince him? Let's face it, you are wearing my clothes. Come on, let's get you something different to put on." I could not agree more with her and immediately followed her across the square. However, she entered a very chic boutique, pointed at a mannequin in the window and said to the saleslady "We want this outfit as it is, completely, I am sure it will fit her."

"Hey -- wait a minute, this is a dress, I am not going to wear a dress, this is the wrong store, let's get out of here!" I objected. "So you don't want to wear a dress. What else do you think you can wear to make the guard let you pass. Look into the mirror over there and tell me!" And she turned me around to face a mirror. I got the shock of my life: I looked into the perfectly made up face of a young woman, makeup base, blusher on the cheekbones, light blue eyeshadow and a vivid pink lipstick. I turned around angrily: "Why did you do this to me?" "I had to -- you were suffering from that sunburn and I had no other medication except my cosmetics. They are clinically tested to soothe your skin and help to heal minor irritations like you had this morning. I had to protect your skin from further sunburn and this was the only way to do it."

"Well I have had enough of your kind of kinky medication, let's just wash it off now and get me some male clothes."

"If you think you can just wash it off, you have another thing coming: this makeup is waterproof and can only be removed with a special cleansing lotion. Particularly the lipstick. I already have told you that I put a special sealing coat over it. The makeup will stay on until we get home and I can take it off with the special cleanser. Today your face and body look like a girl's and you better dress accordingly or you will be the laughing stock for all of Florence."

I was completely dumfounded when the truth of what she had said finally dawned on me. There was no escape now. I had to give in. I let her lead me to the back into a changing room and started to undress. I had hoped to at least be able to get out of the constriction of the corset but it soon turned out, that the outfit Sylvia had selected was a perfect fit with the corset. I did not have the power left in me to protest any longer. I felt like a calf being led to slaughter.

The outfit Sylvia had chosen consisted of a narrow black skirt of a linen like structure following the lines of my body closely, reaching to just below my calves and extending for about four inches above the waist which was marked and accented by a narrow red leather belt. The top was a deep red organza blouse with lots of vertical pleats and a high collar reaching almost to my chin. The blouse was buttoned on the back and a big bow of the same material was knotted in front at my throat. I slipped on a bolero jacket over it just reaching to the upper edge of the skirt with sleeves reaching just over the elbows. It was of the same color as the blouse but of a heavy raw silk, collarless and exquisitely tailored.

I had taken off my boots when I slipped into the narrow skirt and now wanted to put them on again. Sylvia intercepted this and brought me a pair of red patent leather flats with a black silk flower on each of them. I tried to slip them on, but the corset prevented me from bending down enough. The saleslady came to my help with a shoe horn and I managed to get them on.

"You should thank me for selecting flats with all the running around we have to do today. I could have selected these here."

Sylvia showed me a pair of black suede slippers with extremely high heels. And it sounds funny, but at that moment I really was grateful that she had shown mercy for me. It did not occur to me that without her machinations I would never have been in this fix anyway.

She thrust a pair of black suede gloves into my hands. "Put them on carefully." I did and they were long enough to disappear into my sleeves.

"Now in addition to this, we want to take this little bustier and these long gloves. And -- I almost forgot the hat."

With that she took a large black straw hat of the kind that Florence is famous for and motioned me over to a chair. She loosened the string around my hair and with practiced skill brushed it out and brought the end up under the other hair. She then tied it high at my neck with a black silk ribbon and fashioned a little bow on the outside. She spread the loop that she had created to the sides to give it more volume. Finally she adjusted the large hat upon my head and fastened it with three long and dangerous looking hatpins.

"Voila! here you are, ready for a fashion show runway. Perfect!"

While she was busy with my hair the saleslady had already wrapped up the other items she had selected and run her credit card through the machine. In a second she had signed and we were out on the street.

I could not resist the urge to glimpse into the mirror next to the door while she was signing the credit card slip. I could not believe what I saw: A young woman, not a girl anymore, an elegant, sophisticated young woman, dressed to the nines in perfect taste. I was shocked -- it was unbelievable. And the whole operation hat not taken longer than six or seven minutes.

It was only after we were out on the street again that I came to my senses. At first I was afraid that everybody would see through my disguise and read me as the man that I was. But I only saw admiring glances from the men and interested, sometimes even envious looks on the faces of the women. And when I recalled what I had seen in the mirror, I knew, that nobody could even have a suspicion of the truth.

We walked back to our little group with me trying to adjust my stride to the confining skirt that did not even have a vent in it to make walking easier. It really forced me to take small steps. "Walk from the hips, don't just throw your legs around. Move your behind in unison with your legs." Sylvia coached me. I tried it and soon got the hang of it and was not hampered by the skirt so much as before.

When we reached our class, Sylvia presented me saying: "May I introduce to you the entirely new and improved RENEE!" We were received with a round of applause and even the teacher mentioned something about a remarkable amelioration of my outward appearance. I could not believe it. Everybody knew I was a man but took it as absolutely normal that I was dressed as a woman. Crazy people these fashion people. All they obviously cared about was that I looked good, no matter what sex my dress proclaimed and whether it clashed with my real sex. All that mattered to them was my faultless outward appearance. And in this respect -- I must concede -- not even the harshest critic could have found any fault with me at that time.

Well, we did our tour through the dome and the famous Ufficii palace and then had lunch. Everybody was very glad to be able to sit down for a while. I had a little trouble sitting down and managed only after pulling the skirt up a little but still the tight corset made me uncomfortable. I ate very little and sat very straight.

Afterwards we were driven to the studio of a famous shoe designer and his factory. The maestro received us after our tour through the factory and held a colloquium on shoe design. He commented on the different styles and showed us how a design was turned into the final product.

Somebody -- I am not sure, but I think it was Sylvia -- asked him what he thought of high heels and he explained that at all times high heels were regarded as a method of beautifying the legs of the wearer. Even men used it in the era of the "culottes" at the French court. He wanted to prove his theory with a practical example and called me to the front.

"Here you see a very elegant pair of flat shoes and Mademoiselle (he was addressing me) certainly made an excellent choice for the purpose of today. She would probably not have been able to walk everywhere as she did today with high heels and if she had tried it, it would certainly have caused her great distress. She had to reach a compromise between the practical requirements of her day and sheer beauty. No doubt she did the right thing and I urge you to follow her example. But let me show you what a pair of high heels can do to her legs."

He motioned me to a chair and knelt down at my feet to take off my flats and put on a pair of shoes with extremely high heels made of black suede with red patent leather inserts. He helped me to my feet again and had to steady me. I almost would have fallen on my face. I was perched almost on tiptoe, had to straighten my knees and stand very straight. He led me up a few steps to some kind of a runway that crossed the room and urged me to walk up and down on it. I had some difficulty in doing it, but the maestro explained, that it is not easy to walk in heels of this height and it would take some practice.

When he asked the group if they did not think the high heels were a considerable improvement to the beauty of my legs, he provoked another round of applause. He ended his demonstration saying to me that he apologized for any inconvenience or embarrassment he may have caused me and that I would delight him very much if I would accept the shoes I was now wearing as a form of reparation and he would be enthralled if I would continue to wear them today.

In line with the role I had to play I thanked him profusely and cautiously stepped down from the runway. The maestro bade us all farewell and we got back into our bus to be driven to the restaurant for dinner. At first I had some difficulties walking in the high heels but with the coaching of Sylvia in the form of a few pinches in my backside I managed to walk quite naturally.

At first we were driven to the hotel where we would spend the night. It was beautifully located on the bank of the Arno river with a great view on the famous 'Ponte Vecchio', the 'Ancient Bridge'. All the girls rushed to their rooms at once to prepare for the night out.

In our room Sylvia unpacked her little bag and prepared herself, letting me just stand there. I actually preferred to stand a little after sitting in the bus. When she had changed, she looked delicious in a bright yellow sleeveless cocktail dress with a flaring skirt and a large collar framing her tanned shoulders. Sylvia turned to me: "Now let's get you ready."

With that she loosened the bow at my throat and told me to turn around. She unbuttoned my blouse and took it off. She also took off the skirt and told me to go to the bathroom. When I got back, she made me step into the skirt again and close its zipper in the back. In the meantime she dug into the bag that she had brought from the boutique and brought out a red strapless top made of the finest leather. She put it around me and hooked it shut on the back. It was cut so that my breasts were only half covered. Around my throat she snapped a wide red band made from the same leather with a large sparkling rhinestone clip in the front. She clipped long dangling rhinestone pendants to my ears and gave me the long black suede gloves to put on. When I had smoothed them up my arms Sylvia buttoned them at the wrists. They were so tight that I couldn't have done it myself. They reached almost to my shoulders. Around my wrists she fastened wide sparkling rhinestone bracelets.

With my large hat, the dangling, glittering earrings, the wide leather collar in contrast to the bare shoulders and breasts, which seemed ready to jump out of their confinement at any moment and my arms covered by the long gloves, I was again a daring vision from an extravagant fashion magazine. I was glad that Sylvia let me put on the bolero jacket again, for I felt really naked and exposed in my diminutive top. I was already beginning to feel like a woman. As a man I shouldn't have cared at all if anybody saw my chest but the dress had changed my outlook on the world: I felt like a woman already.

When we got into the bus again to be driven to the restaurant, our little group had completely changed its appearance: all the girls wore something dressy, almost formal.

The restaurant turned out to be what in France we call a "diner- dansant" a restaurant where people go to eat and dance. It was very elegant and we did not feel out of place in our finery. The men all wore tuxedos or dinner-jackets, the women all wore at least cocktail dresses, some even long stylish dinner dresses.

We were seated at a long table and had a very good view of the room. To my embarrassment Sylvia asked me to take off my bolero jacket as soon as we sat down. It was as if she had waved a signal flag: the minute I had deposited my jacket on the backrest of my chair, a young man came up and asked me to dance. I couldn't very well decline as several other girls were also asked and accepted.

Well, here I was, a young man in the finest feminine feathers imaginable dancing with another man. I was a good dancer but I was used to leading, not to being led. It was an absolutely new sensation to me. I really felt like giving up my own will, just holding on to my man and letting myself be carried away. Of course, my clinging tightly to him was also a precaution against stumbling with my unaccustomed high heels. However, it was not an altogether unpleasant feeling to dance with him. You could even say I enjoyed being a girl in these moments.

I was glad, however, when our dinner was served and we had to return to our table as he was beginning to get amorous and I wanted to avoid any situation which I didn't know how to handle.

Dinner was pleasant, but after we finished we all were very tired and glad to go back to the hotel.

The next morning I pleaded with Sylvia to go out and get me some male clothes but she flatly refused. She simply said she had enjoyed seeing me dressed as I was yesterday and I should continue for another day. Anyway, she reasoned, these rags were expensive and we deserved getting some more mileage out of them.

Well, what could I do. I could not go naked to the street to buy something, if I wanted to leave the hotel, I had to wear what I had worn yesterday. There was no escape without Sylvia's help. After some muttering about her bitchiness I had to give in to her and let her dress me in the outfit we had bought yesterday.

Victory! Victory! I had succeeded better than I had imagined in my wildest dreams. Renee (I shall use the feminine form of his name from now on and generally refer to him in the feminine gender, because to refer to him as a man now would be completely inappropriate) not only had worn the feminine outfit selected for her, but carried out the deception in a marvelous way. All through the day she had been the epitome of elegant feminine deportment. The original clothes horse. Of course, everything had been scrupulously planned ahead: I had asked my mother to go to Florence a week before and prepare everything: The guards at the dome, the guide (the church had long ago accepted women in pants, they only frowned upon nakedness now), the people at the boutique who prepared the mannequin in the window with the things my mother had selected for Renee, which then were changed to Renee's exact measurements I had given her. Nothing was left to coincidence, not even the high heels demonstration at the studio of the shoe designer and the 'present' of the shoes which curiously matched Renee's outfit in color and style perfectly. I thought the perfection of everything could give us away, but evidently she had taken everything at face value.

At night at the hotel I told her I would only let her out of the tight corset if she would agree to be a girl all through the night and wear a nightgown. She was in no condition to object to anything at that time. I even made her promise to wear the same things the next day, but she wanted to back out of this in the morning.

I did not relent, naturally and so she was dressed again in her new feminine finery. Just as the day before when I laced her into the corset for the first time, I took great pains to hide her cock under the front busk which reached down almost to her crotch. I did not want any embarrassing bulges to appear during the day, giving her away. As on the day before her cock was hard as rock during the lacing, but I left it that way and just continued. This way the cock would have its maximum dimensions while the corset was being laced, and if she was aroused later on, it could just grow into its former position without hurting her. The corset was, of course, specially made for her, I would never have subjected myself to something so restricting. It had a row of holes in the front and in the back to which a strap could be connected which would go between the legs and could hold her masculine equipment folded back between the legs. This method of hiding it had its advantages: she could go to the bathroom alone and sit down to pee, while with the other method I had to accompany her and help her to get the plumbing out and stowed away correctly. However, she was much too easily aroused now and folding it back and securing it there would cause her terrible aches and I did not intend to be this cruel.

For trying to persuade me to let her off her promise of the evening before I added a new dimension to her femininity: before we left I had a girl come up to our room from the hairdresser in the hotel and give her a comb out and a new hairstyle as well as a manicure.

As her nails were rather short and nothing really could be done with them I asked the girl to lengthen them artificially so that they extended for about half an inch beyond the finger tips, sculpture and color them in the same shade of red as the bolero and the blouse. Renee cringed when I asked the girl to do it, but when the girl started to work on her nails, she gave in for fear of an argument with me which would reveal her predicament to the girl, and remained silent in her role of an elegant young woman.

While the girl was busy with her hands and nails, I already occupied myself with perfecting her makeup. Her eyebrows were a little too scraggly and thick for my taste. I knew that the fashion now was going more for the natural line and I had seen pictures of models in Vogue and Bazaar with really heavy eyebrows. I was not, therefore, too disturbed by the appearance of her brows yesterday -- even in their natural way they looked feminine enough -- at least after I had smoothed them down a bit with my lotions when I secretly had made up his face in the morning. But they certainly could be improved.

I wanted a wider distance between them and a higher curve. So I started on them with my tweezers. Renee did not dare to protest in the presence of the girl. However, a few times in the beginning she tried to move her head away. A short, but evidently very painful jerk upwards on her earlobes soon curbed her objections and she let me continue until I thought the eyebrows were perfectly shaped. I had deliberately taken a little more off on the lower side than was, in fact, necessary, but I added some fullness on the upper side with the eyebrow pencil, giving her brows a marvelous high arch, which added an aristocratic appearance to her face.

I then proceeded with the blusher on her cheekbones and finished by giving her very full, sensual looking lips with a fiery red, wet looking lipstick. I enhanced the sexy look of her lips by just ever so slightly going over the natural edges of the lips creating a very round cupid's bow. She looked so sexy with this that I really had to restrain myself from kissing her on the spot and ruining the whole effort.

With her newly beautified hands I did not let her wear her gloves. I wanted to show off the new addition to her femininity to all the other girls. As we would have to do a lot of walking, I let her put on her flats.

From the hotel we walked the short distance to the Ponte Vecchio where we crossed the river to go to see the Museum at the Palazzo Pitti. The Ponte Vecchio is not only a bridge, it is also a fantastic market for jewelry. On both sides of the bridge are little shops with an unbelievable selection. No vehicles are allowed on the bridge and it is like visiting a mall for jewelers only. I started bickering with one of the jewelers for some pieces that had caught my fancy.

I told Renee that I wanted to make up for everything I had done to her in the last days and give her a present. As I wanted to make it a secret until I had finally decided what to take, I asked her to turn around and put her arms on her back to enable me to try out the different items without her seeing what it was. I selected two golden bracelets, broad rings actually, which were hinged on one side and closed with an almost invisible lock on the opposite side. They went closely around her wrists.

Furthermore I selected a ring for her. However, this was no single ring but rather four rings interleaving each other. I paid and had the bracelets packed into a little bag. The ring I divided by taking two of the interleaved rings and slipped them onto Renee's ring finger on the right hand. The other interleaved two rings were standing up on the outer side of the finger. Before she could suspect any foul play, I had slipped her left ring finger into these rings. Her hands were suddenly locked together behind her back by the interleaving rings and try as she might she was not able to get them off. Her hands were securely tied behind her back.

I did not mind her protests, just pointed out it would be unwise to attract too much attention in public. However, she continued her muttering until we reached the far end of the bridge. I detected a candy store there and went and got some lollipops the size of about a ping-pong ball. I broke off the stick of one and shoved the candy ball into her mouth, completely filling it, as I had expected.

"Now here is something to sweeten your life a little bit. And I don't want to hear any complaining any more (which was unlikely anyhow because the candy effectively gagged her). And don't you dare spit it out or I will take one of your hat-pins and run it right through your ass -- the whole length of it!"

She knew I would do it too and immediately was quite subdued. I just walked on and let her follow me. As long as she walked calmly, she knew nobody would pay any special attention to her and neither her sweet gag nor her secret manacles could not be noticed by any casual observer.

I do not know how long the candy lasted, but it certainly was more than two hours and then she had to keep the empty stick in her mouth, because she could not simply spit it out. I did not take off the rings until we sat down for lunch. When Renee started complaining about what I again had done to her, I simply reminded her that this morning she had broken the promise of last night and had to be punished for it. When she continued to argue with me, I just took another one of the lollipops from my coat pocket and slowly started to unwrap it without saying a word. Her quarreling stopped immediately and I put the lollipop back into my pocket for future use.

After a nice lunch in the old part of Florence we went back to our hotel to collect our baggage, were driven to the airport and flew back to Nice. Under some foolish pretense I made Renee put on her high heels again because I liked to see her in them and we would not do much walking anymore.

In the plane I showed Renee the other present I had gotten for her, the bracelets. She liked them very much and objected only on the grounds that she would not be able to wear them as they were not suitable for a boy. However since they would fit me too, I should keep them and the ring for myself. I put the bracelets on my arms and looked at them stating she was right, they looked good on me.

"But just for now, please let me put them on you, I bought them for you and you should wear them for the time you are dressed as a girl."

She surrendered to my wish and gave me her arms to put on the bracelets. With a single move I snapped them shut over both her arms and too late she noticed, that I had threaded one bracelet through the other before closing them and her wrists were securely locked together. Before she completely realized what I had done to her, I asked her in my sweetest voice "Would you like to have a lollipop, Darling?" She just gave me a nasty look, put her backrest down and leaned back, closing her eyes, evidently resigning to her fate. I did not take off her shackles until we were in our apartment. When we left the plane I just gave her my light coat to hold and draped it over her arms. This way we passed through passport and customs control and got into our bus back to the school.

In the bus that took us from Nice Airport to our castle, somebody suddenly suggested everybody should vote on my future appearance: should I resume my identity as a boy or should I be compelled to continue to dress as a girl. It may not come as a surprise to you now but it certainly was a surprise for me: The vote was unanimous: I should remain a girl.

The real surprise for me however came shortly after we arrived at the school. I was requested to see the headmistress and further requested that I should not change but should remain dressed exactly as I was dressed during our visit to Florence. I thought I detected a gleam of triumph in the eyes of Sylvia when I told her about it. I was in doubt what shoes to wear. In Florence in the morning I again had worn the flats for our visit to the Palazzo Pitti but for the flight back I had changed into the high heels because Sylvia had told me she had no room in our bags to pack these while the flats would fit in. Now she urged me to keep on the high heels. Actually I didn't have much choice, Sylvia just shoved me out in them. Here I was again out in the yard of the castle in my tight and rather long, black skirt, high heeled shoes, red blouse and bolero and the big black hat, my hands beautifully manicured with long red nails. Well I did not feel too well right now but I had no other choice than face the stern headmistress.

When I came to the headmistress's office, she made me walk up and down in front of her scrutinizing every move I made, every step I took. After about five minutes of silence she said: "I have heard about your escapade in dresses in Florence and I find very little to praise therein. But when I look at you now, I can at least state that you did not bring disgrace on our school."

I tried to explain how everything had happened and that I was completely innocent, but she stopped me short.

"I know you had an accomplice in Sylvia but do not try to tell me it all happened against your will. I refuse to believe such rubbish. Of course, I shall have to punish you. I should have kicked you out for running such a risk of disgracing, at the very least, embarrassing the school, your teachers, and the other pupils, but I'll show mercy and let the punishment fit the crime: for the duration of your stay at this school you shall wear nothing but the most feminine garments from the skin out. Absolutely no jeans or other pants are allowed, not even girls' jeans, tights, slacks, leggings or pantyhose -- one never would know where to draw the line between them."

"The reason I let you off so easily is first that I talked the situation over with your aunt and she consented to this if I would then let you stay here and, secondly, now that I now have an all girl school again I do not have to make any exceptions for a male student. All right -- I expect you to appreciate my leniency and respond to it with an increased diligence in your work. You may now go back to your work. Good morning."

With this I was dismissed. I could only turn around and slowly walk off. I knew Sylvia's opinion and the opinion of the other girls. They wanted to see me as a girl. My aunt had consented and the headmistress was evidently unmovable. I had no hope of finding any support anywhere. I was just stuck with it and had to face almost two years in dresses. I was sure Sylvia would try to intensify her power over me and make me her slave during this time, but I saw no road of escape.

Well if there was no other way, I would have to live it down and try to make the best of it. I knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel: I would, of course, resume my male identity when I finished the school. But as in so many other cases: the light at the end of the tunnel turned out to be the light of the oncoming train -- but this is yet another story.

Chapter IV

Things were soon back to normal after our return from Florence. That is back to normal for everybody but me. Or was it normal now for me to wear girls clothes? Well for everybody else it seemed so: it was the order of the headmistress and this order had coincided with the vote of all the girls -- including my cousin (and lover) Sylvia.

I was still confused about what was normal now. I knew I had to obey the ruling of the headmistress issued as an order of punishment to me, because I had appeared as a young lady during our excursion to Florence. That I had not done so under my own free will was not accepted as an excuse. Nobody seemed to believe me that it all had been a chain of very unfortunate coincidences that had forced me to adopt a feminine identity in Florence. At least it seemed that nobody wanted to believe it, everybody seemed to be quite happy to see me in skirts.

But I was a young man, 16 years old and soon to be 17. How could they do this to me, and even more, expect me to like it? But this was the catch. Something deep inside me actually did like it. I fought this feeling with all my willpower. I was to grow up to be and fill my place in society as a man, I was rich, I had ambitions, I wanted to move ahead in the business world and I knew I could only do it as a man. It is true that I was in love with Sylvia, but I regarded this as a teenage infatuation only. She was very dominant in our relationship and this was OK as long as we went to school together, but after that period she would either have to change her manners toward me or I would have to sever our relationship. If I wanted to fill my place in the tough world of business, I could not let myself be dominated by a mere woman.

Those were the thoughts that went through my mind when I returned from the headmistress's office to our apartment and which in one form or another I have repeated to me thousands of times since. But already while I was crossing the yard of the castle, which was our school, there was this unquenchable feeling of delight caused by the tight skirt and the high heels that I was wearing. Even the uncomfortable corset added to this delight deep within me, making me feel like a girl, stirring up my passions. But my common sense told me to fight these emotions.

However -- I debated the issue with myself -- what could I do now: I could leave the school to escape the ruling of the headmistress which forbade me to appear in anything but full female dress during the whole school term, which was a little less than two more years. But I liked the school, I liked the subject of fashion that was taught there and leaving it would mean a separation from Sylvia.

And there was the question of my body: during puberty my voice had not changed but instead I had grown a (in the original sense of the word) full set of female breasts, I had no beard or other masculine body hair. Except for one major difference I had a perfect female body. The lady doctor who had treated me for an anaemic condition had assured me that this stage of my development would pass in a few years and I would be a normal man, but to leave Sylvia, who had shared my secret understandingly and having to face the world without her help: I simply was too scared to do this. Maybe I should just sit this out. The two years would pass and I most certainly would have developed a man's body by that time and would revert immediately to my masculine identity. This way I appeased my intellect -- using its own methods. However -- I promised myself -- if I were to give in to the present situation, it would be for practical reasons only and certainly not because I enjoyed being a girl.

When I came back to our apartment, I found Sylvia and a whole bunch of other girls among a pile of female garments. It looked like our whole class was present.

"Hi Renee, hello, you are looking great again; that dress really suits you; what a beautiful hat -- just like the one Edith Head used to design for her forties pictures -- and the shoes, I wish I could walk in heels that high, and, my, what a beautiful slim waist ..." I was received like a homecoming queen by everyone and showered with compliments. I returned the greetings and thanked everyone very politely.

"We know you have not been able to complete your wardrobe yet, so we all wanted to chip in and bring you a few items you might want to wear for the time being." They were all very nice -- the news of my predicament had surely traveled fast across the campus.

Sylvia asked them to quiet down a bit and thanked them in my name for the consideration they showed me. "However," she declared, "Renee must find her own personal style. She will only borrow a few items for a few days. We will go to Cannes tomorrow, Saturday, for a shopping spree at the chic boutiques to select something that suits her style."

She selected a narrow light brown skirt, a fancy embroidered beige- and-brown sweater, and a wide cape in a heavy red-yellow-brown wool melange, just the colors of the fall leaves.

Sylvia asked me to make some coffee. I went to the kitchen and prepared and then served it together with some biscuits. I had to take great care not to stumble with my high heels while balancing the coffeepot and the cups. I could not bend down as I was used too as a boy, meaning from the waist. I had to bend in the knees and the hips, keeping my upper torso almost straight up: the stiff corset did not allow any bending at the waist. Of course, this looked very feminine and elegant, but it was a very exhausting exercise that I was not at all used to. Sylvia watched me intently and with great interest. The other girls just took it for granted that I moved and behaved like a girl. Why shouldn't I, I looked like one of them? Well not exactly: I was dressed far more elegantly than any of them. Everybody chatted for a while -- it was becoming a real hen party. The only remarkable thing was that the most sophisticatedly dressed of the group -- I -- had to do the maid's duties. Sylvia just hovered over the crowd and made me run around: "Give Denise another cup of coffee -- will you please? -- Get some more biscuits please! -- Please fill up the sugar bowl! Where is the milk -- will you bring it to Adelaide please!" You could have said she kept me on my toes -- if I hadn't been kept on them anyhow by my high heels. The narrow skirt did not help me either in getting around among the girls.

After a while, the teacher of our design class joined us. "You know," she started, "you have to design and make two items until the end of the semester, that is until the Christmas holidays starts, one for yourself and one for a common model. The first one will be judged for your proficiency to deal with your own body -- which may be less than ideal in some respects -- and the second one will let us compare your designing abilities with all the other students because you will all design for the same model. Thereby nobody has an advantage over the other because she has a better figure."

"Now during the last years the class always voted on who would be the common model. This year it should be the same procedure -- but let me make a suggestion: I think you cannot find a better model than Renee. She is slim, has an excellent figure, long legs, a very pretty face and long, beautiful blonde hair. And -- in my opinion -- most important of all, she wears clothes perfectly. And if Sylvia teaches and trains her a little bit more to move and walk like a model, she should be the perfect choice for you. Of course, -- I do not want to impose anything on you, if you have any better ideas, it suits me fine, but I think you should consider my suggestion."

After a moment of silence, everybody started talking. And I could not believe my ears: everybody was in favor of the idea. A whole bunch of fashion conscious and probably rather narcissistic girls wanted a boy to model their creations. They must all be mad, I concluded. However in this other part of me these strange feelings stirred again and excited me more than I cared to confess at the anticipation of the dresses that I would get to wear and to model.

"Of course, -- if you design something appealing to your model, she may just want to keep it and buy it from you. I gather she is in need of some nice things. From what I can see, she is not opposed to wearing sophisticated and a little extravagant things. This should inspire your creativity."

The question was not anymore whether I should be the model -- this was set aside as accepted by all -- evidently nobody was interested in what I had to say about it. When I wanted to raise some objections somebody who had obviously watched Perry Mason movies on TV a lot interrupted me: "Totally incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial". "Objection overruled!" the teacher answered laughingly laying down her decision in the best tone of an Erle Stanley Gardner judge. The only question to be solved seemed to be who should make what. The teacher said she would be the coordinator and suggested that every girl should propose a design and she would then assign the different tasks to the girls. "As much as Renee may like it, it would do her no good to have fifteen glamorous evening dresses and no sensible clothes for the day. And you should rather prove your creativity within the limited possibilities of day dresses than going overboard with glamorous evening wear."

Shortly after that the meeting broke up and everybody went. I was glad when they were all gone, because I knew I had to clean up the mess and wash the dishes.

When I tried to undress for this to make it easier for me, Sylvia objected and instead tied an apron around me. It was more of a pinafore though. I do not know where she had gotten it, I had never seen her wear it, maybe one of the girls had brought it. It had a skirt that was closed in the back and ended in a wide flounce all around that reached almost to my ankles. Similar flounces went up from the waist in front, ever widening up to the shoulders where they stood out like wings and continued getting narrower to the waist in the back. The pinafore was closed by buttons in the back and wide ribbons that were tied in the back to a large bow that bobbed up and down with every step I took. I was not even allowed to take off my high heels. Sylvia told me: "With the little time you have left until you have to do the modeling, you should grasp every opportunity you have to train graceful walking and moving around in high heels and tight, even hampering clothes." But she was nice and helped me clean up for the most part.

She then went to the bathroom to prepare herself for bed. When I had finished everything and came to bed, I found a shimmering satin full length nightgown laid out for me -- another surprise. I put it on and relished the sensuous feelings it inspired. However I was so exhausted, that I soon fell asleep.

Chapter V

The next morning after showering Sylvia requested that I cream myself with an expensive smelling body lotion which gave my skin a velvety texture all over. Then she made me put on a bra, panties and a garterbelt. I was glad she did not again lace me into the dreaded corset. When I drew on the shimmering nylon stockings, my emotions again were stirred. I relished this feeling of the soft almost weightless material gliding up my legs and still give the feeling of a certain tightness all over after I anchored them to the straps of the garterbelt.

She brought me the brown/beige skirt and sweater ensemble. "You know, when we have to try on things, it is much more practical to wear a separate top and skirt instead of having to take off a whole dress just to try on a blouse or a skirt." After I put it on, she sat me down in front of her makeup-mirror which stood close to the window. "When you make yourself up for going out at daylight, you have to make up yourself in daylight. The light of incandescent bulbs is much too red and all red colors are washed out under it. If you use red colors like blusher on your cheeks so you look good under incandescent light bulbs, you will look like a clown in the much bluer daylight. If you have no daylight available, try to find yourself a mirror with daylight colored fluorescent tubes."

I realized that the program to train me as a girl had begun in earnest. She gave me makeup base and showed me how to apply it with a little sponge -- not too thickly, just as a hue to blot out imperfections but still leave the face looking naturally. Then came eyeshadow and mascara, the eyebrow pencil and the soft brush with the blusher to accent the cheekbones, last was the lipstick. I was trying my best to get everything right, but we had to start all over several times until I did what Sylvia called an acceptable job.

"You will have to do this every morning now and I shall check it before you leave the house. During the day you must check periodically if it is still perfect. Nothing looks as bad as a girl with run or smeared makeup. Particularly after each meal or whenever you eat or drink something in between you must check and eventually repair your makeup. Don't you ever let me catch you with a less than perfect makeup."

Well, being a girl sure seemed to hold some inconveniences in store for me. Another inconvenience came up when Sylvia decided I should wear my high heels. "We will not walk around too much and you will be able to sit and rest in between. But for judging the length of dresses and skirts, you must wear high heels, because you will wear them mostly. Not these of course, actually they do not match your outfit very well, we will get some others first thing."

When everything was as perfect as I could get it on my first training day, we were ready to go. Sylvia had gotten herself into an ensemble similar to mine and already wore a light overcoat. She had the cape that I would wear in her hands and asked me to turn around. Before she put the cape on me however, she again fastened the two golden bracelets on my wrists -- again one threaded through the other so my wrists were locked together behind me. "Why are you doing this? And what will people say if they see me like this? It is so humiliating." "That is exactly why you have to wear them, love, to make you humble and submissive and to constantly remind you that you are completely dependent on me. And if you will be careful, nobody will notice." With that she put the cape around me and off we went.

We drove into Cannes and parked the car in the rue d'Antibes which is running parallel to the famous Croisette and a very good shopping district. I pleaded with her to unfasten my wrists when we got out of the car, but she was unyielding. "First, we will go to a shoe store, you do not have to take off the cape there and nobody can see anything." I was not so sure about that. I already had the feeling that everybody was staring at me. We had to walk a little distance and I slowly regained my composure when I noticed that nobody paid special attention to us. Just passing glances.

The shoe store was very elegant in a new building in a side street leading to La Croisette. Sylvia motioned me to sit down, which I carefully did. If you walk on extremely high heels and have your hands tied on your back so you cannot use them for balancing or holding on to something, sitting down requires much care if you want to avoid just falling down into the chair.

A very friendly sales clerk came up to us and asked what we desired. "We would like to see some high heeled slippers in brown and in blue, some evening sandals, some high heeled city boots and ... well we will see what else we can find for my friend here." The clerk took off my shoes and I could see he was very impressed by their design and then the name in them. He brought a large selection of shoes in my size and I had to try them all on and walk around a little. Sylvia always asked how they fitted and, after my reply, made her selection.

We bought about half a dozen slippers in all colors and different leathers, three pairs for evening wear in black satin and gold leather and one pair of sandals with very thin straps covered with rhinestones and finally a black and a brown pair of boots. All had very high heels, about the same as the ones I had gotten in Florence. Their heels were between just over four and five inches high but since I had a rather small foot for a boy (a small ladies' seven in US size), I was almost toppling over on the very high ones. Anyway, I was mostly concerned with not letting on that my hands were bound under my cape and let Sylvia carry out the whole transaction with me little more than a silent model. When Sylvia paid, she asked to have all of them, except a brown snake leather pair which I wore instead of the ones I had come in, send over to the Hotel Majestic where she had reserved a suite for us.

Out on the street again I thanked Sylvia not only for the wonderful shoes she had selected for me but also for keeping the secret of my bound arms to ourselves. "Well, since you have been a good girl so far, I think I can now take off the fetters and let you run free. But do not try anything funny -- you would regret it dearly." She warned me and released my arms but kept the bracelets on my wrists.

After that we went to a lingerie shop to select some underwear. I was very apprehensive because I dreaded having to try something on and thereby probably reveal to the saleslady that I really was a boy in dresses. However Sylvia was very sweet and just selected the things without making me try them on. She selected a wealth of panties, bras, slips, and garterbelts in all kinds of materials and colors. Mostly they were made of silk or shining satin, some plain but refined and stylish in their cut, some with an abundance of lace. The bras were all half cups which would leave my sensitive nipples free and I shivered at the thought of the feeling of the material of the dresses rubbing against them. She also selected some nightgowns with matching negligees.

Just looking at the bras and the other lingerie gave me the most peculiar feelings in my groin. As I was not wearing the corset which had hidden my masculinity yesterday, I was terribly afraid of being caught with a protuberance in my skirt front incompatible with the anatomy of a girl. And while I thought about it, it began to happen! Slowly the pressure rose and I could do nothing to make it go away. It seemed, as if the danger of being caught with it, only made it become harder and harder. I quickly retreated to a little stuffed chair in a corner of the store and sat down, holding my purse pressed into my lap. Sylvia immediately noticed my discomfort.

"Aren't you feeling well? Do you want to have a drink of water?" "Oh no, I just wanted to rest my feet a little bit." I lied bravely. From Sylvia's knowing expression on her face I immediately knew that she knew. She turned to the saleslady again and continued her conversation. "Yes, and then I want some tight and strong elastic panty girdles and some well made cache- sexes to wear under panty hose and tight pants to avoid the 'panty-line'."

The saleslady went to get the items and Sylvia looked to me smiling knowingly. I had tried to concentrate on dividing 23,456 by 13 to occupy my mind with something different and make the erection go away. When the saleslady returned, she brought a selection of panty girdles and some items which looked like some wide flesh-colored elastic straps. Sylvia made her selection and had the saleslady pack everything together save for one of these strap contraptions, which she had named cache-sex, and which she handed to me to try it on.

I had just reached 1804 in my computation, which had served its purpose, and could get up again. I stepped into a changing booth in the back, took off my panty and slipped on the elastic device. After some tugging here and there and repositioning of my male parts, it did just what its name implied: it hid my sex completely. My balls and cock were neatly folded between my legs and invisible. I tried not to envisage what would happen, if I got a hard-on again. The strong elastic would certainly prevent any rising, but I could foresee, that this would be a very uncomfortable, even painful state and I certainly wished to avoid it. However, I wished even less to see the situation I had just escaped repeat itself. So choosing the lesser of two evils I was thankful to Sylvia for having given it to me and kept it on.

When I returned to the front, I saw the saleslady wrapping up several larger items which I could not make out except that they seemed to me rather stiff and about 17 inches long. Sylvia paid and again had everything sent to our hotel.

Finally we visited two very stylish boutiques, to complete my wardrobe. I will not go into the details of everything we bought, suffice to say that everything was exceptional in style and quality, and -- I must say -- rather expensive. After that we checked into our hotel, the Majestic on the Croisette and had a light lunch in one of the little restaurants nearby. We both felt exhausted from the events of the morning and decided to have a little nap.

When we awoke, Sylvia stated that I should go to a beauty parlor and have myself thoroughly worked over. "I feel like having a splurge myself, so I will just come along with you." We phoned ahead and got an appointment for right away at the best salon in town. We were lucky: presently there was neither a festival nor a convention in town and it was off season.

We were received and immediately directed to two adjoining booths which were separated by a curtain. Sylvia opened it. "I want to see what they do to you," she explained. She ordered a hair wash for both of us and then discussed how my hair should further be treated. As a boy I simply had worn it long, straight as it fell down my back, just held together by a string at the nape of my neck. Long hair for boys was still fashionable then. It was considered denoting an artistic or creative personality.

"The color is very nice, a natural golden blonde. You may consider yourself very lucky with this. However, it could use a little more strength and body. It is quite straight and you can do very little with it. I suggest giving you a permanent for a nice curl and then we see what we can do, darling." Marcel, the young man selected to attend to me seemed to be very competent. He was a little effeminate in his movements and his speech. He certainly seemed not to be interested in girls except as raw material to practice his art on, for he clearly regarded himself as an artist. I wondered if he would be more interested if he knew I was a boy, but came to the conclusion that he probably was only attracted to burly he-men.

I let him go to work on my hair and relaxed in the chair. When all the lotions had been applied and I was finally sitting under the dryer, someone handed my several fashion magazines which I looked through. Oddly enough seeing all the beautiful dresses I started to think of how I would look in them. Was it possible that after only two days of being in skirts my personality had changed so much? And even more amazing to me was the fact that envisioning me dressed in these beautiful and elegant dresses again stirred my emotions -- I was getting a hard-on.

Hell no, this is the last thing I could want now. I closed my eyes and started to think of unpleasant things. The first unpleasant thing that came into my mind was having to wear a corset like I had to yesterday -- but unfortunately this produced a reaction entirely opposed to the desired one. My dick got harder and harder and started to hurt under the tight cache-sex that I wore. I saw no other way out of this than giving it the room it requested. As I was all alone for the moment I started to reach into the top of my skirt and under the tight elastic of the cache sex and turned my now really stiff symbol upward where it rested under the broad elastic strap that went up to the waist-strap. I hoped nobody would have noticed it as it was all done under the wide smock covering me from neck to thighs. However Sylvia sitting in the next chair had noticed my contortions and immediately guessed their reasons correctly. "I see you find the reading exciting." She teased me but did not further pursue the matter. I only hoped that the erection would subside before I had to take off the smock. However, assuming this would take some time, I thought I would continue to enjoy the pleasant feelings of the dreams provoked by the magazines.

After a while Marcel reappeared and took the rollers from my hair. He combed and teased my hair, brushed here a little bit and there. For the washing and drying he had turned me away from the mirror and did not turn me around until he thought his work was done. When finally he turned me around, I almost did not recognize me: my face was framed by wide soft curls. The curls almost touched my shoulders and when I shook my head a little bit I felt the delightful sensation of the hair flying around my head. Marcel was very content with his creation and admired me from a few steps way. "I gave you a very natural looking head for everyday wear, suitable for a young girl. But at the same time you can easily comb and brush it into very sophisticated and extravagant styles both for day or evening wear." He stepped closer and with his comb and brush took all of the hair around to the left side and arranged it in a big puff over the ear. The asymmetrical style gave me an entirely different look, very daring and extravagant. "For a big evening you could do it up like this." He took apart the coiffure he had just created and twisted the mass of the hair together on the top of my head, wound some red velvet ribbon around it and let the rest spill over the ribbon like a fountain. It looked great.

Sylvia had witnessed the show from her booth and freely applauded the maestro. "You really have surpassed yourself today, Marcel. I never imagined you to be able to create such a masterpiece from our little scraggle- head here." He bathed in her compliments and danced all around me, holding his head to one side and then to the other, fluffed the top out a little more and was really taken by his creation. "But do me a favor, Marcel, we want to shop for some hats for our little Miss and the hair should be set in a way that goes with hats." Sylvia interrupted his self-admiration party.

"But of course, Madam, right away, again this is very easy: look here." He undid the velvet ribbon and gathered the hair in the back where he fastened it with two combs so its curls cascaded down from high in the back to the neck. "This style goes well with little hats that are worn reaching almost into the forehead, maybe with a little veil." He undid the combs again and brushed the mass of the hair from the back straight up in the back and all around to the front where he brushed it into a tuft of little curls over the forehead.

"And this is the Betty Grable style -- remember the musicals of the forties? This goes with turban-style hats." He undid the clips that had held the hair and brushed it all down as it had when he began his demonstrations. "This style, of course, goes well with large, wide brimmed hats. It all depends on which kind of hat you are going to wear."

"I think the first style for the little hats is what is best today," Sylvia cut in. "Very well, let's do it this way then." And in a moment he had repeated the look of a few minutes ago with the two combs in the back. "I am opposed to using hair spray. A hairdo should look soft and natural and be able to move freely. Spray makes the hair look like steel wire. Nothing is as ugly as a very artificial hairdo with sits on the head like a concrete structure. Unfortunately not many of my colleagues share my views -- but it needs more work and a better cut to be able to do it without the help of spray." He rambled on as he worked on my hair. "Here we are," he finally declared, "all ready for a nice shopping spree and the admiration of an endless string of admirers at teatime."

While he turned to Sylvia to finalize his work for her, I was left to my thoughts seeing myself in the big mirror. I was almost stupefied from what I had just witnessed. What so far I had regarded as just plain long hair on a boy, had suddenly been turned in the most beautiful girlish head of hair you could imagine. Now the last thing in my looks that could have reminded me of my former existence as a boy had been erased. Now I truly was a girl, nothing remained from my boyish past. Even if other people had seen a girl in me because of my dresses and makeup, to me it had been different I still had the same hair as I had as a boy. This was the last tie which held me to my male past. Now this was gone too.

In a way it was a relief, now I was a girl completely -- nothing in my looks reminded me of my former existence. But at the same time I was a little scared. Would I ever be able to revert to being a boy? But I decided to enjoy the moment, to enjoy the fact that I certainly looked like a very attractive girl. I really had no other choice anyway.

When Sylvia was ready, she had a coiffure almost identical to mine, she paid, gave Marcel a large tip and we left. We slowly strolled through the busy streets and I began to notice and even enjoy the admiring glances of passing men.

Sylvia directed our steps to "Le Salon des Chapeaux", a sweet old- fashioned milliners shop which we had already passed before. I had detected some very nice little hats in their window and now was really eager to try some on. On second thought, reflecting on the situation and my feelings, I couldn't believe it myself: two days ago a rough boy in jeans and a sweat shirt -- now all decked out as a pretty girl from the high heels, the gleaming stockings, the narrow skirt and the matching sweater under a wide cape, coiffed by a master and artfully made up, thrilled to the bone anticipating a session in a milliners store trying on ladies' hats. What had happened to me?

We entered and were greeted by an elderly lady, the owner, and her young assistant. Sylvia explained that we wanted to see a few hats for me. I was not at all sure, what would suit me best, there were so many different styles and colors and materials, some with veils, some with feathers, some really outrageous models decorated with fake fruits, some with large brims, some little pillboxes -- the variations were endless.

Sylvia was not flustered at all by the endless variety presented to us. She selected a few small black hats made of lacquered straw and of fine felt all with little veils that could be drawn over the face down to the chin or arranged so it would just come down over the eyes. She made me put them all on and let me look into the three part cheval mirror that allowed me to see me from all sides. After some deliberation we selected a little three pointed affair with rolled up sides reminiscent a little of the ladies hats at the medieval courts. It too had a stiff veil of nylon net with little velvet like points in it. It looked best if it was placed far to the front and exactly centered with the front point reaching down to my forehead. I was delighted with it.

The next choice was a small cap with an asymmetrical design. It came down from the top on one side almost to the ear where it was decorated with a large blossom entirely made of chiffon petals with a rhinestone star in the center. "This one would go perfect with the asymmetrical hairdo that Marcel just showed you," Sylvia commented as she gave it to the assistant to be packed for us.

"Now we need one for daytime wear. Let's try this one here." She produced a dark brown felt hat designed almost like a low bowler hat. The hat band was folded taffeta and came down through a slit in the narrow brim. "It can be tied under the chin with a bow on one side of the face, or brought back and tied in a large bow at the nape of the neck," the shop-lady explained and showed us how to do it, "I think it is complementing your outfit perfectly, you should keep it on." Sylvia and I agreed and she tied the large bow at my neck. "If you want it to look dressier, just add a veil to it, like this one here," and she produced a nylon veil and attached it to the crown. She drew it down over the eyes almost to the tip of the nose. It looked great. "I knew you would like it -- and you have the face for it. You have to have a slim face for this hat, and the veil adds a little mystery."

I could hardly take my eyes off the mirror. I think, I was falling in love with myself right there. Anyway, if I had seen a girl looking like that when I was a boy, I would have walked ten miles to get a date with her. It was a strange sensation: sixteen years as a boy I had never bothered much looking into mirrors. I knew what I looked like and I really was not very interested in it. A mirror I needed maybe once a day for combing or for checking if my tie was on straight and I had to look into it when brushing my teeth. But now -- what a strange excitement my image suddenly produced in me. I simply could not turn away from it. An entirely different creature was suddenly looking back at me -- a really beautiful one, sophisticated, elegant, even a little haughty with full red lips and large eyes set off by heavily mascaraed lashes and expertly applied eyeshadow under the veil. Was this really I, the boy that had existed for sixteen years until two days ago? Could anybody change so much in so little time? Was I under a spell? If I was under a spell, it must have been the spell of a good fairy, because I looked so beautiful.

We tried on and bought a few more hats, then I put on the brown bowler again which went so well with my outfit. I could not stop looking into the mirror.

"Come on beautiful, stop the self-admiration-session, we are ready to go." Sylvia interrupted my reveries. She was already at the door with the bag with the other hats. I got up immediately, thanked the shop-ladies in passing and hurried after Sylvia. I think I had turned bright red because Sylvia had caught me in my self-admiration.

Chapter VI

We directed our steps back to the Croisette and to the Majestic Hotel. Sylvia told me to change and check my makeup. She told me that she had booked a table for us at the Moulin de Mougins restaurant. This really was a pleasant surprise. I knew that this is one of the famous ***-star restaurants of the Guide Michelin. Three stars in the Guide Michelin mean "it is worth making a whole trip just to eat there".

I undressed and went to the bathroom first to check my makeup and repair any damage that it might have suffered from the activities at the millinery store.

"I put your dress and the other stuff on the bed. Be careful putting it on." Sylvia disappeared into the bathroom when I was done there to get herself ready. I picked up the dress from the bed. It was one of the dresses we had bought this morning, a waltz-length cocktail dress made of a deep purple velvet. The neckline plunged to below the breasts and the decollete was filled with three rows of the finest lace standing up, a few shades lighter than the velvet. The skirt was very wide and stood out from three petticoats, one a stiff nylon net to get the crinoline effect, a taffeta one with large flounces which rustled deliciously and on top another taffeta one which was covered in the back with the same laces as appeared in the decollete. The first one, the strong nylon net, had another petticoat sewn into it which was rather narrow and checked the length of my steps severely.

In the back the velvet was taken up from both sides and seemingly knotted into a bow over my buttocks so that the laces on the uppermost petticoat were freely seen. It was a beautiful gown and I had loved it already in the store, when I had tried it on.

I changed my stockings to black ones with seams and took off my bra. I knew the gown would support and even lift up my breasts so that they were nicely nested in the lace and the round top of them could easily been seen. I had felt a little naughty when I tried it on this morning, flaunting my feminine charms like that, but if I had these charms, I decided again, it was no sense in hiding them.

I stepped into the dress first. I would put on the petticoats under the dress later. I adjusted the shoulder straps and tried to close the back zipper. It would not go up. Try as I might, the waist of the dress was too tight. It was impossible. It had fitted well this very morning and I could not have gained several inches in one day. They must have sent the wrong size. Oh shit! I went to the bathroom and showed it to Sylvia. "Why, what do you mean it doesn't fit. You haven't put on your corset yet. Put on the little black one that I laid out on the bed and lace it tightly, then it will fit," Sylvia stated matter- of-factly, not at all surprised.

"But it fitted this morning without a corset! What did you do?"

"Well, you don't really think you could just do as you please and not worry about your figure. Of course, with that figure of yours you will have to wear a corset with this dress. It will look ten times better with a corset than without one. And since we are going out to dinner, a tight corset will remind you not to eat too much and this again will be good for your figure. But if you don't want to go out with me, just be comfortable and stay here. You cannot escape your corsets anyway. The outfit you are wearing today will be returned to Adelaide and I had altered all the dresses and skirts we bought today to fit with a corset. By the way I was very easy on you with the daytime wear. They are only three inches less in the waist than your uncorseted waist. It is just the cocktail and evening dresses that are made to fit over a fully laced corset. So relax and do not fight it. There is nothing you can do now. Nor tomorrow for that matter."

I was flabbergasted. She had done it again. I had to wear a wretched corset again. This certainly was enough for me to ruin the whole evening. I had persuaded myself not to raise any objections against being treated and dressed like a girl -- but this was outrageous. None of the girls I knew wore a corset. Why did I have to? Sylvia and her scheming. I certainly will give her a piece of my mind if she comes out of the bathroom.

In the meantime I struggled to get the corset around me. I had taken off my garterbelt, panties and the cache-sex to be able to move more freely. When I had succeeded in fastening the busk and began lacing up the back, a strange sensation came over me and suddenly my prick slowly rose and rose until it stood up like a flagpole. When I finally had succeeded in closing the gap entirely, I tied off the laces and wound the long ends around my waist. My prick would not go down. I fastened my stockings to the garter straps hanging down from the corset and walked over to the closet where I had hung the dress. I had to pass the floor length mirror at the wall. It was a very strange picture that I made. A pretty girl in full makeup in a corset with her nylons tautly gartered to it and her breasts lifted up with very erect large nipples -- and a very masculine prick sticking out from her at full attention.

The whole picture was a contradiction in itself, yet it was true. And it was also very exciting. As long as I saw me, the erection never would subside. I turned away from the mirror.

It was impossible to put on the dress in this agitated state. I thought I would occupy my mind with other tasks and hope my prick would calm down enough to allow me to finish my dressing. On the bed I found the long evening gloves that we had bought in Florence and I thought I might as well put these on first. After I had smoothed them onto my arms almost to the shoulders and buttoned them at the wrists, my prick had stubbornly refused to retract to more manageable dimensions.

Well, I thought, gaining time is everything now. It cannot hold forever. I sat down in front of the makeup mirror and brushed my hair. Then I got up again and fetched the hat that I was going to wear, the little three pointed one, put it on and fixed it securely in place with several hairpins. I was so engrossed by this task, that the prick slowly lost its stiffness. Ha -- my plan was successful. To gain more time, I fetched the evening sandals I was going to wear, put them on and fiddled with the new and yet unyielding little straps until I succeeded to close the buckles. The pressure of the corset which almost prevented me to get enough air for breathing during this exercise and the concentration needed to get the damn little buckles closed, further deflated the little devil. There -- I tricked him, he was soft again. I could proceed to put on the dress now.

However when I got up and walked to the closet again and saw myself in the big mirror, it was all in vain, my prick jumped up as if a spring was released. And I defy any man who is not entirely dead to have the same reaction when he sees a picture like I saw in the mirror: a beautiful young girl, perfectly made up with a saucy little hat and a veil coming down over her face to her wet-looking full red lips, dressed in a very tight corset giving her a real hourglass figure with long suede evening gloves covering her arms to the shoulders, her breasts lifted up by the corset and presented as two round apples with large and evidently hard and excited nipples, her gleaming nylon stockings gartered to the corset and her feet balancing in evening sandals with rhinestones on the straps criss-crossing her feet and with heels almost 5 inches high. The only incongruous part of the picture was the prick. But be it as it may, there was a girl in the mirror, a sexily dressed or rather undressed girl, there could not be any doubt about that, and if there was a prick attached to this girl, then it was a girl with a prick, but for all intents and purposes a girl -- period.

I did not know what to do. I sat down on the bed and slowly started to stroke my prick, watching my image in the mirror in total confusion. The girl in the mirror was I -- but I knew I was a boy and the prick proved it. But there was this girl that moved when I moved and which obviously were I too.

Suddenly Sylvia burst upon me. "What the heck are you thinking you are doing? Who gave you permission to play with yourself? Why aren't you dressed anyway?" I tried to explain what had happened and that I could not get dressed in this condition. She was fully made up but stark naked as she had come from the bathroom. This too was not exactly the medicine I needed to make my prick go down.

"Just you wait, I will teach you play with yourself without my permission. You know quite well that I own this thing and I and only I have the right to use it. Come here!" She used a tone that did not permit any disagreement. I got up and slowly walked over to her. She had a pair of black nylon stockings in her hand. "Fold your hands before you," she commanded and I complied. She wound each stocking around one wrist, knotted it leaving one long end. Then she took another stocking and knotted it around my neck, finishing it off with a little bow on the left side of my chin. "Here, now go ahead and play with yourself if you can." With this she took the long ends of the stockings around my wrists, stepped behind me and drew my arms over my head, knotting the loose ends to the stocking around my neck. My arms were securely anchored behind my head. The position was not at all uncomfortable but I was totally helpless.

She directed me in front of the mirror. She got another pair of stockings and tied my legs together above the knees and at the ankles. I was totally immobilized. The picture I saw in the mirror did nothing to dampen the excitement that had again welled up in me. Sylvia, however, did not pay any attention to me or to my excited state, she just progressed with her dressing, combed and set her hair, put on her dress, her gloves, her hat and her shoes.

I must say she looked lovely too. She was in a black crepe dress which had a high collar around her throat and clung to her figure like wallpaper. The skirt was narrow and flared out only from the knees down to allow comfortable walking. The dress had long, narrow sleeves down to the wrists. It was in no way exceptional but everything had gone into the cut of it. The big surprise came when she turned and I saw her back. The dress had none. From the shoulders it plunged to the buttocks and you could see the start of the crease dividing them. A thin gold chain held the two sides together at the waist so they would not fall forward when she bent down. She looked deliciously sexy in this outfit.

She came over to me and stood beside me. "Well, have you repented your sins? I see you are still in no condition to get dressed. OK then, if it is there and does not go away, let's put it to use as it is." She bent down and unfastened the stocking binding my ankles. "Move over to the bed now and lie down on it on your back." I did as she had commanded. She retied my ankles and then raised her skirt to her hips and straddled me. Slowly she lowered herself on my rigid shaft, engulfing it with her warm and moist pussy. All I could do was moan. I was totally immobile and helpless. I looked into the mirror on the side and saw two girls one fully clad, one in a corset, with gloves and hat, screwing each other like mad. "Don't you dare come before I have!" Sylvia warned me. I was continually on the brink of my orgasm but as soon as she sensed it, she stopped all movements only to begin again a little while later very softly and very slowly. After a while however she could not control herself any longer and bucked up and down like a cowboy riding a bronco at a rodeo. We both came simultaneously in a long lasting wonderful orgasm. She was quite exhausted, glided down and rested next to me for a few minutes, slowly stroking my nipples.

"I really should just leave you here this way until I come back as a punishment." She got up and went to the bathroom to clean herself. When she came back, she brought a wet towel and started to wash my lower parts, never making a move to unfasten my nylon fetters. I pleaded with her to let me come along, promising I would be a good boy. "What do you mean you will be a good boy, if I should take you along, you would have to be a good girl." "Anything you say I will be, but please don't leave me like this, please." "OK then, I will take you along but: you will really have to concentrate on being a good girl and not get excited again. You will not be allowed to wear any panties or any cache-sex. Your dress has a lot of room under the petticoats and the narrow one might hold you down a little, but I cannot guarantee that a real erection would not be noticeable. Agreed?" "Of course, I agree, anything you want, but please untie me now and let me come along."

She released me, I put on my dress and the three petticoats, checked my makeup and my hat and off we went. When I got the wrap that Sylvia had given me and which was really nothing but a long shawl of taffeta which I put around my shoulders, I noticed that I had to be very careful with my decollete. When I drew both shoulders forward, my breasts lay quite open in their nest of lace and anybody standing at my side or in front of me while I bent forward a little bit, could see them in their entire beauty. Well, I would be careful to avoid this -- or wouldn't I? Maybe I could tease some unsuspecting male a little bit by allowing him some glimpses now and then.

We went to the car. I was shivering a little bit in the cold November evening. Walking on the high heels with small steps, hearing the clicking of my heels on the concrete and feeling the petticoats swinging and softly touching my legs made me shiver too but from excitement.

Sylvia started the motor and turned the car into the traffic heading for Mougins, which is a little town on the route to Grasse. While she was concentrating on the night-driving, I thought I had a good chance to take up the question of the corsets again without risking immediate reprisal. "Say, Sylvia, why do I have to wear corsets all the time when none of the other girls at our school is wearing one? Corsets have long gone out of style and girls are even running around with no bras now. How come you make me wear one all the time?"

She was seemingly ignoring the criticism in my words. Here tone was the tone of a patient mother explaining the facts of life to her child: "Look, you are a boy, right?" "Right." "And therefore you have the body of a boy. -- Or don't you have a prick like boys do?" "Yes I do." "See, the body of a boy is different from a girl's body. Now it is true, you have very pretty girlish breasts, but the basic structure of your body is still boyish and therefore we need the corset to correct this. Your waist is too wide in relation to your hips. Now we could pad your hips and your behind to correct the relation to feminine standards. But this would ruin your figure as a whole. You would just look like a fat bottomed housewife. I therefore took the other alternative: reducing the waist to get the correct relation to your slim hips. This looks much better as you can see any time you look into a mirror. Slim hips make you a first rate model for dresses but only if they go together with an even slimmer, well-defined waist and since you do not have one naturally, we create one with the help of the corsets. Isn't this obvious even to your little birdbrain?"

"Yes, I understand this, but I do not have to have the perfect figure. I did not choose to wear girls' clothes and if I look bad in them, you are responsible for it. You started it all. I want to wear comfortable clothes like jeans and T-shirts and baseball boots instead of blouses, tight skirts and high heels. They are so uncomfortable for a real boy." "Now listen to the cheap imitation macho! Your comfort is all you ever care about. But who ogles girls in high heels and tight skirts and sweaters all the time and whistles after them? Who wants to see us wear these things? It's you and your kind. But you were right with one thing: I am responsible for what you wear. Therefore, and while you brought up the subject: I do not want to hear any objections from you if I tell you to wear something. My decision from this moment on is to be final and has to go undisputed by you whatever I tell you to wear -- and this includes not only your clothes and all of them from shoes to hats and from lingerie to coats, but also makeup, jewelry and everything that influences you appearance. Is that clear?"

I was sorry that I ever touched the subject. I tried to get around an answer by just keeping quiet. "Is that clear? I asked you something!" she insisted. "Watch this curve!" I tried to change the subject but to no avail. "Don't interfere with my driving. If you do not like it, you can get out and walk home or take the bus."

She brought the car to a stop and turned to me. "Let us settle this right here and now. I want you to promise me solemnly not to object to any of my wishes concerning what you have to wear and how you should look. And if I want you to walk down the Croisette in nothing but a corset and high heels on Christmas eve you will do this without a word of protest."

This was crazy and horrifying and yet the thought stirred strange feelings in me when I envisioned this strange picture: me in high heels and corset, my breasts jiggling up and down for everyone to see, my naked behind swinging with every mincing step I took and my prick sticking out in front of me, walking down the Croisette among busy last day Christmas shoppers. The thought was terrifying but at the same time it caused strange sensations deep within me. Sylvia eyed me curiously, she seemed to be reading my mind.

"Well, give me an answer now. And if you don't want to give me this promise, you may as well get out of the car here and now and get lost because I never want to see you again." She even leaned across me and opened the door on my side to emphasize her threat. The cold breeze crept under my skirts and again made me shiver. Or was it the decision I had to make now? I knew I would give myself into her hands completely now, If I surrendered to her wish, and I was to be a man, and it was for the man to tell his wife what to do and not the other way around. But there was this little voice in me that told me of the sweetness of surrendering to the wishes of a woman, to succumb to her will and I saw pictures of me in beautiful dresses with Sylvia showing me off to her friends. I was torn between the two sides in me: the rational reasoning "you have to be a man" and the troubling emotions dragging me into Sylvia's net.

"Well, what is it now, have you reached your decision, do you want to walk home?" That did it. I simply could not leave the car in the middle of nowhere miles from the next house dressed just in a cocktail frock and skimpy high heeled sandals which were made for a polished dance floor but not for a rough country road. My rationality suddenly sided with my emotions.

"OK, I promise," I heard myself say, still not sure whether I meant it. But there would certainly come a better occasion to discuss this promise with Sylvia than in a dark night on a country road with her holding all the trump cards.

"All right darling, you will not regret it. I will make you so pretty, you will love it." She leaned over again and closed the door. I was still in a daze. "And I promise you not to send you down the Croisette in just high heels and a corset -- at least I would give you a mink coat to wear over it." This picture again stirred my emotions and I cuddled against her to seek shelter and comfort with her warm body. The tension slowly slacked off when Sylvia started the car again and continued our trip to Mougins.

It was exactly as the Guide Michelin had promised: the food was excellent, the wine great and the prices out of this world. But we did not care tonight. We both enjoyed dinner immensely and not just the food and wine but also the attention we got not only from the waiters but from everybody who saw us. We apparently made quite a hit with the male population up there in the mountains. Of course, there were actually no locals present. All of the guests had come here from the cities and towns along the Cote d'Azur. Most of them reeked of money and some were even very good looking.

One or two invented some business that required getting up from their tables and pass ours a few times and each time they passed, I had to turn their way and reach for my purse or my napkin and lean over a little bit, playing peek-a-boo with my decollete. Several times I could see that their stride suddenly changed and they somehow seemed to bend over a little from their hips so as to reduce some strain. I could well imagine the reason for this and I smiled inwardly. Outside I was quite innocent looking and seemingly oblivious to what was going on and what troubles I had caused. Sylvia however had instantly become aware of what I was up to and I earned several kicks in the shin from her. "Don't do this, you little cock teaser," she hissed to me, "you just wait till I get you outside, I will make you pay for this." But I enjoyed this little play so much, I wouldn't stop.

It was about 10:00 or 10:30 p.m. when we finished our meal leisurely and Sylvia had paid the bill. This is the good thing about plastic money: you do not feel as bad just signing the slip, as you would if you had to hand over a big stack of big notes in hard cash.

Before we went out Sylvia led me into the ladies room which at the moment was quite deserted. Once inside she stepped behind me. "Give me your hands," she ordered. I complied and before I could realize what was happening, she had knotted a stay-lace around each wrist. She then pulled down my gown in the back just enough to get at the top lacing of my corset, threaded the stay-laces through it and began pulling. My wrists were suddenly anchored at my shoulder blades and she knotted the ends of the laces together. The whole operation had taken about twenty seconds or so.

"What are you doing -- you cannot make me go outside like this. We have to cross the whole restaurant to get to the entrance." "Of course, I can and I will. That's your punishment for being such a cock teaser. People should see that you are being punished for your bad behavior. But I will show mercy. I will arrange your wrap so your predicament will not be too obvious. Only people familiar with such things will notice anything out of the ordinary." She draped the taffeta wrap around me from the front and knotted it high on the back so that its long ends covered my bound arms completely as I could see in the mirror.

"All right, off we go." She simply turned around and left the ladies room letting me stand there. I hurried right behind her trying to walk as nonchalantly and looking as inconspicuously as possible keeping close to Sylvia and averting all looks from the people around us. We finally made it to the street but not without a detour through half of the restaurant because Sylvia wanted to go back to our table to check that we did not forget anything, always with me in tow.

I was quite disheartened when we reached the car. Sylvia opened the door for me and motioned me to get in. "I can't with my hands tied like that." "Oh yes you can." She turned me around with my back to the open door, held one hand behind my neck and shoved the other into my groin, doubling me up like a jackknife. I fell into the seat when I lost my balance and my legs flew up. Sylvia grabbed them and simply turned them into the car. "See how simple it is? But we will have to rehearse this some more some other time to teach you to do it more gracefully. "Please untie me," I begged. "Why, does it hurt?" "No it doesn't but what will people say if they see me this way?" "Nobody can see it in the car." With this she went around to the driver's side, got in and started our descend toward Cannes.

Chapter VII

When we had parked the car, Sylvia suggested a night cap at the bar of the hotel. I agreed but begged her to release my arms before we went there or I would rather not go. "Why this? Nobody noticed it at the restaurant, so why should somebody see it here? It's very late already and there won't be many people around anyway. And you have to be punished for your cock- teasing back there, you know that. But if you don't want to come along, suit yourself and go upstairs. However you will have to go to the concierge and get the key first and I wonder how you would explain to him that you take it between your lips." So what could I do but agree to come along. All she would do, was adjust the wrap at my shoulders and my back so my bound arms were at least not too obvious.

We crossed the empty hall and went into the bar. There were about two or three couples that were very engrossed with each other and did not pay any attention and one table with four or five people engaged in a heated conversation who couldn't care less who else was around.

We sat down at the bar on the high bar stools and Sylvia ordered a bottle of champagne. "Don't you think this is too much for the two of us?" "Don't worry, we can take the rest upstairs. I am not going to ruin the good memory of the wine at the restaurant with some ghastly concoctions of different spirits and waters that remind me of the waste of a chemical plant." "But, please now let me free, I can't get a drink this way, pretty please." I pleaded with her.

"All right then, if you insist, I won't keep you tied against your will -- but remember, punishment time is not over yet." I turned my back to her and she cut off the strings that had held my arms in a double hammer lock. Was I glad to be able to take down my arms! I had to stretch them for a few seconds to get the stiffness out. Sylvia suddenly reached into my decollete, unfastened some snaps and with a flick of her hand removed the lace insert that had covered my tits. "You were showing your titties all around at the restaurant without my permission. Now you have it, now you can flaunt them anyway you like."

All I could do was to quickly fold my arms across my breasts and sit very still, hoping that nobody had watched what had happened, but evidently nobody paid any attention to us. I wanted to grab my wrap to cover myself but Sylvia had already snatched it away from me and announced she would go upstairs and change her shoes because the ones she was wearing were a little uncomfortable. Before I could decide if it was better to follow her or just stay put, she was gone and had taken my wrap with her. Here I was sitting in a public bar with bare tits all alone. What if some man were to just wander in and sit down next to me -- I was too afraid to picture the inevitable consequences. I shivered.

But to my luck nobody came until Sylvia returned after a few minutes. She held her glass high and said cheers to me. I did not know how to respond. I could not raise my glass without uncovering myself. So I just sipped from it trying to hold my arms over my bosom in the most natural looking possible way. Although I was not tied now, I could not use my arms as I wanted; in reality, I was still in bondage.

Sylvia clearly enjoyed herself and the situation and chatted away about the clothes we had bought and that I needed another purse and more stockings and about the school and the other girls and on and on. The champagne had rekindled her spirits thoroughly. I was not tired either but for me the situation was much less enjoyable.

After some time, two other girls came into the bar. Both were very elegantly dressed in short evening gowns. They sat next to us at the bar. The barman had just stepped out to get something from the kitchen and they could not get a drink right away. "Boy, what a night -- we were lucky to get away alive," I heard one of them say. "Yes, but the show was good and they were very responsive. Maybe we were coming on a little too strong for them. They got a bit over-enthusiastic at the end," the other replied. "I need a drink right away." "I, too, where is the barman?"

Sylvia took up the conversation with them: "He just went out to fetch something, he will be back soon. But in the meantime allow me to invite you to share our champagne, it's too much for the two of us anyhow." The girls accepted gracefully and soon we were all drinking champagne and talking. It turned out that they had played at a private party in Antibes but were staying at our hotel. They were from Paris and had come down just for this party. They told us the name of the show they had worked in Paris, but I had not heard of it before. They explained, that at the end they did something like a reverse striptease, coming onto the stage undressed and slowly and with much ado they would dress each other for a night out, talking about the boyfriends they were going to meet and how the night would probably end. When they were completely dressed, they would step down from the stage and walk through the audience just as two other guests and disappear in the back.

We chatted along with them, they were very funny and we laughed a lot about their stories. After a little while we introduced each other and another bottle of champagne later we had already reached the first name stage. They were Lise and Louise, Lise (in French this rhymes with freeze) being the taller one, a stunning redhead who was obviously in command. Louise was a charming brunette, less extroverted and as I watched them I noticed that Louise was paying a lot of attention to Lise's actions and whenever she needed some help, a match, a napkin or just the right word for her tale, Louise would be there to supply what was needed. Lise took this absolutely for granted and did not even acknowledge the help.

We were the last guests and even the barman grew a little impatient with us, disappearing for longer and longer periods, always hoping that we would be gone when he returned.

The conversation became more and more erotic, all these stories about the strip shows and the reaction of the men -- we were suddenly teasing each other about our erotic preferences and such things. Sylvia suddenly took me by my hands and spread my arms wide. "Well, what do you think about our little cock-teasing friend here, sitting all night at a bar with bare titties?" She drew me down from the bar stool and started dancing with me around the room, still holding my hands. Suddenly my petticoats began to slide down and soon rested on the floor. I did not grasp how this could have happened, but there they were on the dance floor. Sylvia continued to whirl me around so that the other girls saw my back. Oops -- it suddenly dawned on me that not only my bosom was bare, but my bottom was completely naked too as the velvet overskirt left my entire lower back uncovered. Sylvia, the sly fox, must have cut the strings that held up my petticoats when she cut the strings that held my arms.

Lise and Louise started to applaud us and joined our dancing. "Great show, excellent!" Suddenly I was dancing with Lise cheek to cheek. Lise did have very roaming hands and intermittently caressed my bosom and my backside. Sylvia seemed to have as much fun with Louise. Sylvia suddenly stopped and said: "Why don't we all go up to our suite -- it's much more comfortable there and we'll have a lot of fun." Everybody agreed at once. Lise took the champagne bottle along and I tried to get hold of my petticoats, but Sylvia had already snatched them up and led the way across the hall to the elevators. I had no choice but to follow her in my shocking state of dress. Luckily nobody seemed to notice us, not the concierge nor the doorman nor the bellboy -- or they were just too well trained to let anything on.

When we got to our rooms, the first thing Sylvia said was: "Let's fix up our little cock-teaser here so she cannot tease us too." She proceeded to tie me up with the stockings in the same way as she had tied me before we left with my arms anchored behind my neck, elbows sticking up. "Here Louise, go ahead and tease her a little, so she gets to know what she did to the men all night long. Don't be afraid, she is quite harmless this way."

We were -- except me with my naked tits and bum -- all still fully dressed, I had even my little veiled hat still on and the long gloves.

Louise came over to me and started caressing my breasts and my bottom, kissing my nipples that had been excited and erect for the whole evening, kissing me deeply on the mouth playing with my tongue, twirling my nipples with her fingers, never giving me a chance to relax. I started moaning and rubbed myself against her body. Of course, my prick had risen during these activities to its fullest dimensions and was now pressing hard against her body.

"Hey, what is this," she suddenly drew back and lifted my skirt, grabbing my prick. "Lise, look what I found here!" "OK, darling, you know how to handle this situation, go ahead you have my blessings," Lise just threw one glance over to us, registering the fact that this other girl, I, had a prick and was really a boy with not more amazement than she might register a compliment by her hairdresser. She was deeply entangled with Sylvia on the bed and left Louise to pursue her own interests. Louise started right away by taking my hard prick into her warm, soft mouth, licking and sucking it, moving up and down its shaft.

"Don't drain her completely, I want to have a go at her too later on," Lise shouted from the bed after a short while. Louise continued her ministrations to my cock with great expertise, never letting me come, always driving me to the brink but never pushing me over it.

It was a very troubling picture that I saw in the big mirror. There was I, still in my dress with hat and long gloves, my hands tied, unable to do anything, perched on my high heels and having a beautiful girl suck my cock. I almost swooned but I did not want to lose even one second of this.

Suddenly she stopped. "Now it's your time, baby." With that she got up from the floor and helped me to kneel down in front of her. She reached under her skirt and took down her panties, then raised the skirt up to her hips.

I thought somebody had touched me with a live wire: from under her skirt appeared a cock just as big and just as hard as mine. I backed off: "Sylvia, Louise has a cock, she is a boy!" I shouted. "Well, now you know it too. What do you think I am riding on here -- Lise has one too and a beauty it is too. I don't know what you especially should find so shocking about it. Enjoy yourself with it. You should know what pleases a cock most."

I couldn't do very much anyway, Louise had pressed her big thing into my open mouth and started to really fuck my mouth. I had to take care that I got enough air between her thrusts. She was so excited, that it took her only seconds to shoot her load into my throat. I just had to swallow it all, I would have gagged otherwise. She did not take it out right away but urged me to suck it dry and lick it clean. I complied, I was too dazed by this surprising and totally unexpected turn of events, I just did was I was asked to do, not thinking at all.

Meanwhile back at the bed things seemed to have progressed to the final stage too if I interpreted the sounds emanating from this direction correctly. When I turned, I saw Sylvia, still fully dressed too, riding up and down in sheer ecstasy and Lise thrusting from below, moaning and rolling her head from side to side deliriously until suddenly both collapsed like punctured tires.

Louise had picked me up from my kneeling position and started again to fondle me, my tits, my bottom and my prick that still stood straight like a flagpole. I was really frustrated. Everybody else had come already, only I had been denied relief from my tension and desires. But tied up as I was, I was helpless, I could not do anything about it.

"Come here darling," Sylvia had noticed my gloomy looks, "now we will all make you happy. But first let's all get undressed a little more. Untie her please, will you, Lise?" Lise came over to me and undid the knots in the stockings that held my wrists to the back of my neck. She then unzipped my dress in the back and let me step out of it. Sylvia had shed her dress too and since she had not worn anything under it but a garterbelt and stockings, she was quite naked now. Louise had also taken off her dress but she had a beautiful corset underneath to which her stockings were tightly gartered. When Lise was finished with me, she too took off her dress and revealed a very sexy corset too. Both boy-girls had really pretty tits too.

"See," Sylvia pointed out to me right away, "all boy-girls have to wear corsets." She was not one to let a good chance slip away to make a point. It was only much later that I learned, that these corsets of Lise and Louise were part of their show. People apparently got a special kick out of watching these girls on the stage lacing each other into their corsets.

We all were in a sexy state of undress now. We all had a glass of champagne from the bottle we had brought up from the bar and standing together we caressed each others bodies. Sylvia took the now soft penises of Lise and Louise and slowly began to masturbate them. "Let's see if we cannot instill a little life into these sorry looking little creatures." She was obviously succeeding as soon again their pricks seemed to show some life and began to rise again.

I started nestling with my hairpins to take off my hat without pulling out too many hairs. Sylvia stepped behind me to help me but when I finally had untangled the hairpins from the hairs, she had cunningly threaded the stockings, that were still knotted around my wrists through the stoking around my neck again and pulled my arms to my back, fastening them as they had been before. Again I was completely helpless and in the power of the other girls. Strangely enough this did nothing to diminish my excitement, on the contrary, when I realized what was going on, my prick that had slackened down a bit during my fumbling with my hair sprung up again and betrayed my innermost emotions like a compass needle.

Sylvia directed Louise to lie down on the bed on her back and me to kneel astride her in the old 69-position. Sylvia gave me a little push and when I fell forward, she directed my fall so that Louise's penis slipped directly into my mouth. As I could not use my arms to support me, I could not get up again, all I could do was to lick and suck the growing rod. Sylvia pushed a pillow between my shoulders and Louise's groin so I could move my head more freely. Louise helped by moving her ass in all directions. She had pushed a big pillow under her head and taken my prick into her mouth, licking and sucking it as I did hers. My ass was sticking out big and round at the edge of the bed.

After a few minutes of quiet sucking and licking Sylvia suddenly announced "And now my dear girl we will pop your cherry." I couldn't see what she was up to and was taken by surprise when she suddenly started to massage my anus. She had put a little cream on her finger and began to shove it in and out the tight hole. "Just relax, don't clench your cheeks together, just relax, doesn't this feel good?" I remembered that it is impolite to speak with a full mouth so I did not answer. I really was ashamed to let on that I liked it a lot, but I am afraid that by my movements she undoubtedly saw that she caused me great pleasure.

Suddenly she stopped and I felt something bigger at my asshole, pushing and prying to gain entrance and soon succeeding.

"My god, I am being fucked up the ass!" The thought terrified me but at the same time it caused such a sensation within me that it took only a few minutes more to bring me to orgasm -- the strongest, most intense that I ever had reached. I cried in ecstasy and finally slumped to the side totally spent.

When I recovered, I tried to sort out the thoughts that started flashing through my mind. Was I gay now? I had had sex with two boys -- or had I? They were girls -- weren't they? They dressed like girls, they looked and smelled like girls, they even had girls' bodies with real tits -- they must be girls -- but they had pricks and I had sucked one and had been fucked by another one in the ass. Girls did not have pricks. I had a prick too and consequently I was a boy -- but I looked like a girl too and today I really had felt like a girl, I even had teased the men at the restaurant with my sexy body. Was I really still a boy? And I had been fucked like a girl, did that make me a girl now? The champagne had made me dizzy. Was I just drunk and imagining things? Was all this just a dream -- a dream -- a dream -- a dream ...?

Chapter VIII

I must have passed out then. When I woke up, it was bright day already. I tried to recall the events of the previous evening but I did not know if all the things that I seemed to remember really had happened or if I had just dreamed them. Sylvia was in the bathroom, I heard her sing in the shower. I still had on my corset, stockings and gloves but somebody had untied my hands. I was alone. I got up with a strong urge to go to the toilet. When Sylvia heard me entering the bathroom, she greeted me: "Hello, good morning lazy bones, did you finally wake up? It's close to eleven already and I have ordered a nice brunch for half past eleven. So hurry, remove your makeup, take a shower and put on your corset, slip into a negligee, and put on fresh makeup. Lise and Louise will be over for brunch and I want you to look presentable."

While I was getting myself ready, I asked Sylvia why she didn't seem surprised by the fact that Lise and Louise were boys in dresses. "Well, they told us, didn't you hear it?" "I heard nothing of the sort." "Well they did not exactly tell us they had pricks, but they told us that they had worked in Paris at the Carrousel and at Madame Arthur's -- and everybody knows, that these shows are all male. All of the showgirls really are boys. Some are transvestites who just dress as girls, many are transsexuals who ultimately go through the operations to become girls completely. At first I just did not know of which kind Lise and Louise were, but I had checked this already down at the bar with some casual touches and knew what to expect." "Then why didn't you tell me?" "And ruin your surprise? No way baby, I wanted you to find it out for yourself."

Half an hour later I was scrubbed clean, perfectly made up and had my hair set. I was wearing a negligee set of dark blue satin with lots of lace around the shoulders, at the long cuffs and around the hem. On my feet I had a pair of high heeled pretty blue velvet mules covered with gold embroidery. Sylvia had asked me to put on my corset again, but under the wide nightgown and negligee I thought it was not necessary -- I would probably have to put it on later anyway when we would depart, but I wanted to be free of it as long as I could. I supposed Sylvia could not see whether I wore one, because the folds of the satin would hide my forms thoroughly. Actually I did not even wear panties or a cache-sex under my nightgown.

Half past eleven the room service wheeled in a table stacked with all delicacies imaginable and set the table for four in our salon. Five minutes later Lise and Louise walked in. They looked great, almost like twins. They wore floor length morning gowns in an identical design: they had wide, large collars that left the shoulders almost bare with a plunging neckline. They were buttoned all the way down to the hem like coats. They had short but big puffed sleeves and a narrow waist. Their skirts widened all the way down to the hem and stood out all around, the skirts must have had a stiffening lining to make them stand out that way. The material was moire taffeta, Lise's was emerald green, Louise's ruby red. When they passed me, I saw they both wore high heeled mules with swan downs on their insteps.

"Well, how do we look? These coats actually are the costumes we make our entrance in for our "reverse striptease act" that we told you about yesterday. We come in wearing these and after some going back and forth to show them off we start taking them off. Of course, we do it slowly and teasingly, starting to unbutton them from the hem up, let the audience see our legs first, then unbutton the top and let them have a glimpse of our tits and then take them off altogether with our backs to the audience."

"What are you wearing underneath then?" I asked Lise, who was explaining and at the same time doing it together with Louise just as if they were on the stage.

"Well, that depends on where we work and for what kind of an audience. If it is a public hall or theater, we wear our corsets half laced and keep our pricks well hidden. If it is a nightclub with a sophisticated clientele, we wear at least panties, but we make sure, that one can see the male bulge in them to physically prove beyond anybody's doubt that we do have male equipment. And sometimes, if we work at a wild stag party or for a similar private audience, we are stark naked underneath and make sure, our pricks are showing their full dimensions, if not erect. This usually shocks the guys completely. First seeing us as perfect females, then our male pricks and then have them watch us turn into girls in beautiful dresses again."

Today they wore their corsets but no panties and their penises really were half erect. Instead of taking of their coats, they put them back on again and sat down at the table.

"You know, the big crescendo comes at the end, after we laced each others corsets and are all dressed up to go. We appear to switch out the lights on the stage. At the same moment the house lights come on and we leave the stage through the audience -- mingling with the other people just like some normal, if exquisitely dressed girls. Sometimes -- like, for instance, last night at this private party -- we have to be very fast to reach the exit safely. But ordinarily we take our time, usually in theaters, to slowly walk up the aisle, even flirting with some men from the audience. People usually crane their necks so far that they are in danger to dislocate a disc, just to watch us walk out to the last moment."

"Sounds exciting, but do start to eat now, please, the coffee is not getting any hotter, neither are the eggs," Sylvia invited everybody and soon we were all having a delicious brunch.

"You know, our little darling here," Sylvia sometime later began, looking at me, "really could use some training in feminine movements like you just showed us with your big entrance. She has been in skirts for only three days, so her former personality still shows through sometimes. Louise, why don't you show her how to disrobe sexily and with feminine charm. Go ahead and give her a demonstration and show her how to do it." "Great idea!" Lise seconded her. "Go ahead you two, give us a show."

Louise got up and motioned me to follow her. She first walked with me around the room, correcting the way I set my steps, the way I held my hands and arms and much more. After a few minutes she started to take off her coat again, telling me to follow her lead, showing me how to step out of my negligee and dropping my nightgown sexily.

"Hey you little imp," Sylvia shouted when I was naked, "didn't I tell you to put on your corset this morning? You thought you were clever enough to pull a fast one on me, eh? No such chance! Or did you forget what you promised me yesterday? You promised to always dress just as I requested it and I distinctly told you to put on your corset this morning. Not later on. This morning is what I said. Well, if you think you can rebel against my wishes, you will have to face the consequences. First: Louise, please get her corset from the bedroom and lace her into it -- and tightly, until the sides meet. I told you, you would not have to close it all the way," she was speaking to me again, "but as a punishment you will have to wear your corsets laced to the limit now for a whole week, day and night."

I was crestfallen and tried to explain, that I hadn't understood her words to mean to put the corset on under the nightgown, but she didn't relent.

Louise came and on her face I could see she was delighted to have the opportunity to lace me in. She started right away and did it expertly. To my greatest sorrow my prick started to grow and grow with every pull she took. When she was finally done, it was quite agitated and fully erect. When Lise discovered it, she cried out "Look what we got here! Why don't we bury it in some nice, warm, dark place." She got up from the table and came to us. "Turn around and bend over this stuffed chair here." She directed Louise toward it, pulling me along. She turned back to the table and dipped her finger into the butter, which she then rubbed into Louise's ass. "All set now, do your best, she loves it -- at least she loved it an hour ago with me." And she guided my hard prick to Louise's ass. I shoved and shoved and soon entered her round behind. I reached around her and held on to her tits, kneading them and playing with her nipples. Soon she was moaning with pleasure and from the way she moved her ass and pressed it against me, I could see she liked it a lot. One of her hands went down to her cock and started to massage it. I was so excited, it only took a few more minutes for me to reach the top and shoot my load into her.

"Hey, you are a spoil sport. Haven't you learned yet that you have to withhold your orgasm until the lady you are with has reached hers?" Lise scolded me, when I withdrew from Louise exhausted. "Just look what state you left her in." When Louise slumped into the big chair, her prick stood up like a flagpole. "Well, do something about it, use your mouth and I don't mean for talking," Lise continued. Louise pulled me around facing her and made me kneel down in front of her, grabbing my head with both hands and directing my mouth over her prick. I opened my mouth and started to suck and lick its head, letting my tongue play around its rim, taking it into my mouth entirely, letting it slip out, licking and sucking away as best as I could and stroking up and down its shaft with my hand. It seemed to please her a lot and after some minutes, I felt the hot semen spurt into my mouth.

"Now that our two love-slaves have had their pleasure, I think they should serve us in the same way," Sylvia suggested. Lise was all for it. The show that we had presented apparently had started their juices flowing too. They called us and made us kneel in front of them. They raised their skirts and spread their legs. "Come hear my little darling and show me what a versatile tongue you have. After that nice big cock it can now go to work on my eagerly waiting little clit." She had moved to the very front of her chair to give me easy access to her sweet cunt. Before I was covered with her skirt, I could see that Louise was eagerly engulfing Lise's big and erect prick. I did my very best to please Sylvia as I had done so many times before and led her to several quivering orgasms before she raised her skirts and let me free again.

"Well," she finally stated "This was a very nice and exciting morning, but I think we should all get dressed now and pack our things. Are you flying back to Paris today?" she asked Lise. "Yes, there is a plane at four p.m. from Nice, we are booked on that." "Great, then we can take you to the airport before we return to our school."

Louise had already put her coat back on and was about to leave. Lise halted for a moment and took up a plastic bag that she had deposited at the door when she had come in. It bore the label of the "Lise and Louise Boutique" in Paris. Last night at the bar they had already told us that doing shows was more of a hobby for them now and mainly their work consisted of running their own boutique on the left bank, on the Boulevard Saint Michel to be exact.

"Here I brought you a little "bag of tricks" with some items which I used in training Louise, I don't need them right now and I am sure these will be put to good use by you, if you plan on training Renee some more. She seems in need of some training as she appears to be a little sassy sometimes. This will certainly her dampen spirits a bit and prevent her from shooting off her mouth." "Well thank you! It's just what I had in mind to get for her anyway, but down here these things are hard to get. I had planned to do some shopping in Paris during the holidays. But I am glad to have this now." Sylvia was pleasantly surprised when she looked into the bag. I was curious of what this bag may contain, but I didn't dare ask, because the hints of Lise did not sound as if the contents would bring much enjoyment to me and I did not want to provoke an immediate demonstration.

We agreed to meet in the hall in 30 minutes and hurried to get our things together. We packed all the new things that we had bought into two big suitcases that we had brought for this purpose. The skirt and sweater ensemble I had worn yesterday was packed too. Sylvia laid out a chic little skirted suit of dark red wool for me to wear. Its jacket had a velvet collar and sleeves with little puffed shoulders and upturned velvet cuffs. When I put it on later, it turned out to be very tight in the waist and it accented my hips with a peplum with large soft folds. With it came a pink organza blouse which closed in the back in the Victorian style with a high collar reaching almost to my chin and with leg-o'-mutton sleeves.

Before I put it on, I had to repair my makeup, draw on my stockings which were the same color as the suit and slip on black high heeled pumps. When I put the skirt on, which barely covered the knees, I discovered that since I had tried it on at the boutique not only the waist had been altered to my corseted size but also the slit in the back that had allowed normal steps had disappeared and my legs were quite hobbled by the skirt. However, not wanting to risk another reprisal, I kept my mouth shut about it and let it go at that.

Just when we were ready to walk out the door, Sylvia dug into the bag Lise had brought and took something out. She told me to turn around and fold my hands on my back. I heard two clicks and couldn't move my arms anymore. When I looked back over my shoulder into the mirror behind me, I saw my wrists encircled by a pair of shining golden handcuffs.

"Please don't make me go down like that," I begged, but instead of removing the handcuffs Sylvia just gave me a flat handbag to hold. "This way nobody will see your fetters. Just walk naturally and nobody will notice anything." With that she shoved me out the door. Downstairs, she paid our bill and asked to have our bags brought down and put into the car. Lise and Louise came down too. While we waited for the bags, we stood in the hall chatting. I was embarrassed having to stand there with my hands tied on my back. I leaned with my back to the cashiers high desk and hoped nobody would notice my predicament but I think I saw some sly glances in my direction by two bellboys. Nobody however said anything. The staff of big hotels probably sees so many strange people, they overlook such things with stoic professionalism. Lise suddenly rummaged in the "bag of tricks" and came up with a good handful of gold chains "You should wear a necklace really," she said and proceeded to fasten one tightly around my neck. I couldn't see it yet, but it had an intricate design like a choker, almost two inches wide with a big golden ornament in front. It fitted my neck very snugly. Not that it hurt, but I could feel it all around my neck. I was about to say "Thank you, Lise!" when she suddenly affixed a golden chain leash to the ornament and gave the looped end to Sylvia. Instead of me, Sylvia said "Thank you, Lise!" and quietly turned around to walk out to the car, leading me on the leash. I hoped the earth would open up and swallow me, but no such luck. All I could do was follow her. I cannot describe the feelings that befell me as I was led through the now busy Hotel hall on a leash fixed to my collar, I still shiver thinking back to it.

Finally we were all sitting in the car and on our way to Nice Airport. Sylvia went all the way down the Croisette until she missed the left turn to go to the highway to Nice and I told her so. "Please let me drive, I know where I am going and if I need your advice, I'll ask for it." I was sitting in the front seat and Lise behind me. Suddenly Lise reached around my head and told me to open my mouth wide. As I started to ask her why, she shoved a rounded, oblong object into my mouth somewhat larger than a golf ball. It was made of a strong elastic material and filled with some kind of thick fluid or gel because it adapted itself immediately to the inside of my mouth, filling it completely when I closed it. A little chain ran through it and I felt it being pulled back and then heard a little click when the ends were locked together. I was very thoroughly gagged. "That will stop all unwanted back-seat driving," she stated flatly as she let herself fall back into her seat.

I could not close my mouth completely over the thick gag but managed to close my lips over it in the attempt to hide it from the view of others. I couldn't even protest or object, it all had happened so fast. Lise must have had considerable practice fastening the necklace with the chain and the gag judging by the time it had required to put both on me and I pitied Louise who probably had been the subject Lise had practiced on. Strange as it may seem, the terrible situation I found myself in, thrilled me to the bones. Sure, I was gagged and led on a leash and my hands were fettered on my back, but somehow this and the fact that I was dressed as a girl all caused a whole avalanche of pleasant sensations in me. I tried to push them back as I knew it to be wrong for a boy to have such feelings, but I did not succeed. In spite of the fact that I was tightly corseted, gagged and had my hands bound behind my back, the only way to describe my innermost feelings was bliss. I never knew I had this in me, but there was no way of denying it now.

While we were driving and I was left to my thoughts, I let the events of last night and this morning pass in review. Something troubled me again. I never had liked men. I had never found any erotic attraction whatsoever in their bodies even if they were aesthetically perfect. Yet yesterday and today technically I had made love with two boys and had thoroughly enjoyed it. It must have been that I had not seen boys in them despite their pricks, but had been attracted to them as girls according to the appearance of their bodies. I had simply just seen the girls in them and if they had pricks, well then they had been girls with pricks but still girls. So really I had not made love with boys, I had made love with girls. And if I had permitted Lise to fuck me, it was that I at this moment felt so much like a girl myself, that it was the natural way of making love. So we had made love to each other as two girls would do. The only sensible conclusion therefore was, that I was a girl who had had a lesbian affair. When I had reached this result, my troubled mind quieted down and I again drifted into the state of elation that had been interrupted by my thought stream.

Before we left Lise and Louise at the airport, they made us promise to visit them in Paris during the coming Christmas holidays. They invited us to their home, where we could stay and feel comfortable. Sylvia turned the car around and waved a cheery good-bye to the two chic girls. As they were standing there negotiating with the sky-captain, nobody could have the slightest suspicion that they both really were boys in girls' dresses.

We soon turned north to the road to Grasse and were on our way back to the school.

"These were two rather eventful and I think important days for you, my dear," Sylvia began in a sober tone. "I hope you understand, that your position and status in life has completely changed during these days. You are no longer a boy at all. It is not only that you are now wearing girls clothes. You have been fucked like a girl and sucked cocks like a girl. So now you really are a girl. And presently you are corseted, gagged and bound. That means you are a slave too. My slave to be exact. You already promised to obey me in all my wishes regarding your appearance. Now I want you to promise me that you will accept me as your mistress, your absolute mistress, your owner."

"I do not offer you any inducements, I do not make any promises -- well except maybe that I will never injure you, I may have to hurt you now and then, but I will not cause you real injuries. Now it is your decision alone. You can either accept it or we will part and go our separate ways. If you do not accept, I shall turn around, get you some jeans and other boys stuff, take you to the train station and you can go home. If you accept, you will live with me as a girl and as my chattel at least until we finish school. I do not want you to make a decision now for any longer time. But for the next two years this is what your position in life will be and there will be no escaping. Think about it for a moment and then tell me."

Somehow I had known since we stepped into the car that it would come to this, but now I was still surprised when it really happened. However, the feelings that I had experienced during the last days and especially during the last hour or so were so overwhelming, that I really had no free choice. I could not go back to jeans and sweaters after I had tasted the joys of wearing girls clothes even if they were much less comfortable. I could not give up the feeling of receiving approving or envious glances by other people, men and women alike, for my elegant and fashionable appearance, nor could I give up the delights that Sylvia had caused me during the last days, even if it meant to be totally subjected by her. The venom of subjugation was already in my veins and I did not have the power to break away.

After a while, when Sylvia asked me "Well, what is your decision, do we go on or turn around. Do you accept me as your absolute mistress?" I could only nod my head in silent agreement. "I expected you to accept. I will make you very happy, darling." Sylvia turned her full attention to her driving again and sped through the narrow curves on our way back to the castle.

Chapter IX

I was glad, when we finally reached the castle which was our school. Sitting in the car tightly corseted in a short hobble skirt with my hands cuffed behind me was becoming more and more uncomfortable and the fact that I couldn't even complain because of the big gag locked into my mouth did not help either.

Sylvia parked the car in the garage which was directly below our apartment. Formerly it must have been a stable for the horses of the guards. She got out and went around to my side, opened the door and released my safety belt. I swung my legs out and got up and out of the car with some difficulty because of the very high heels I was wearing. Sylvia took the leash, which was dangling down from my choker necklace and threaded the car's antenna through its handle loop. She then turned around to collect our handbags and some other small stuff from the car. All this she did quite naturally as if tethering me to the car like a horse in front of the saloon in a western movie was the most normal thing in the world.

I was furious, but what could I do. I tried to get the loop of the leash back up over the antenna, but was unsuccessful. I tried to attract Sylvia's attention by stamping my feet on the ground and making whatever noise I could and tearing at my leash, but she simply took no notice at all. When she was done and had the things she wanted to take up to our apartment in her hands, she just came around to me, took the leash from the antenna and walked out. Whether I wanted or not, I had to follow her.

When we stepped outside, two girls from our group who were just passing, stopped and came up to us, greeting us with a cheery hello. "Do you need any help with your stuff?" one of them asked. "Yes, in fact you could help me bring up our bags, but let me just unload all of this upstairs," Sylvia replied, "why don't you come up first and get a drink." Sylvia started going up the stairs to our apartment with me trailing obediently on my leash. The two girls followed us.

In our living room Sylvia put down our hand bags that she had brought and started to make a drink for all -- except for me. She made no attempt at removing my handcuffs or my gag, she just let me stand there. I sat down on a chair and tried to attract as little attention as I could. But, of course, the other girls had noticed my predicament at once, however they seemed to pay no attention. They just chatted with Sylvia about our shopping spree in Cannes and complimented me on my dress and hairdo.

After a while they got up and fetched our bags and the "Bag of Tricks" that Lise had given to Sylvia. After the big suitcases were in my room and their contents unpacked under many "Ohs" and "Ahs" of the girls as the examined each item that was unpacked, they returned to the living room where I was still sitting quietly on my chair waiting for Sylvia to release me from my bondage. Finally she started looking for the keys to my handcuffs, my gag, and my choker, but as much as she rummaged through the "Bag of Tricks", she could not find them.

"Maybe they are still in the car somewhere." She went to go downstairs to look for them. Denise, one of the girls, came over to me and asked me to get up to have another look at the marvelous ensemble that I wore. Flattered, I complied with her request and she made me walk a little up and down modeling the suit for her. When Sylvia called from downstairs: "I can't find the keys, I have to go and call Lise if she knows where she put them," the two girls called back "Wait a minute, we'll come down."

I was glad to be rid of them but before they left, Denise took the chain leash, opened the handle loop and got up on a chair. She then threaded the leash through a sturdy ring in the ceiling, which evidently was there from ancient times. She closed the loop again and here I was securely tethered, this time to the ceiling and only able to stand still or take two little steps into each direction. I could not sit anywhere or even lean to something. It was terrible. And I could not call Sylvia to help either because of the gag. Denise and her friend just put the chair back and started after Sylvia. "Don't go away now, Sylvia will be right back, I suppose!" Denise chortled as she closed the door after her.

Here I was now all alone, chained to the ceiling in my elegant outfit with my hands chained behind me and a gag locked securely in my mouth. I took a few cautious steps in my high heels to see how far I could get. I could not reach any wall to lean to nor any piece of furniture to sit on. I tested the strength of the ring in the ceiling if it might come out altogether -- no such chance. They probably used it in olden times to hoist cannons up or something else as heavy. I had no other options but to stand right there and wait till Sylvia came back. After a while -- I had no idea how long I had waited because I could not look at my watch -- my feet began to hurt. All I could do was shift the weight from one leg to the other by walking around in a narrow circle.

After I had waited for what I thought to be hours, Sylvia came back. When she saw me, she at once let me down from my tether and made me lie down on the couch. She could see, I was furious even when I could not speak. She assured me that it had not been her idea to string me up this way and that Denise hadn't told her what she had done. After she had phoned Lise, she had found the keys in the car. They had slipped into the back seat cushions between the seat and the backrest. First, she unlocked my necklace, then my gag. "I don't want to hear any complaints now. Of course, it was not nice of Denise to string you up this way, but things like these happen in the life of a slave and you have to accept it. If you complain, the gag will go right back in again at least until tomorrow morning or until you stop complaining -- whatever occurs later. Actually you should thank me for releasing you from the tether and ungagging you."

I knew better than to oppose her. I knew she could follow through with her threat. I could not even try to stop her as my hands were still locked in the handcuffs on my back. Instead, I tried to get to her good side by thanking her for releasing and ungagging me. When I asked her to undo the handcuffs, she wouldn't hear of it. "What do you need your hands for as long as you are just resting there? If I want you to do something and you need the use of your hands, I will free them. Right now they stay locked together as they are. It is a good reminder for you of your new status as my slave. Slaves usually are restrained one way or other. And you agreed to be my slave, right?" I could only nod. I had, however, second thoughts about it. What if she decided to keep me handcuffed all the time I was not required to do something? A terrible outlook into the future. Or was it? A strange feeling crept up and down my spine and made my prick swell.

Sylvia had taken off my high heeled shoes and started to massage my feet, which were still aching from standing and balancing in my heels for so long. It felt great and I really loved her for doing it. It showed that in spite of her harsh words and her role as my slave mistress she really cared for me and I could trust her. After a while she released my hands and we started out for dinner at the dining room with the other girls.

We were greeted with many hallos and I was much admired in my stylish getup. I had to strut and turn quite a few times and I must say I relished the admiration of the other girls. It is often said that women do not dress for men, but to impress other women. If this is true, I felt like a woman having reached her goal in this respect that night. The compliments I received flattered my girlish feelings. When I was a boy nobody ever took so much notice of me, if I was noticed at all. They marveled at my narrow waist, the high heels, the stylish Victorian blouse and even my ability to walk in such a tight skirt. I could not get enough of this and strutted and turned again and again to provoke more compliments. Was this really I, a boy, savoring these compliments for his girlish appearance? What had happened to me during the last few days?

All through dinner we had to report on our visit to Cannes and what we did and bought. Of course, we left out the more intimate details of our doings with Lise and Louise, but Sylvia described our dinner at the Moulin de Mougins and how I teased the men there with my decollete and how she punished me for it at the bar of the Hotel later on. All the other girls wanted to see this dress that I had worn then and after dinner the whole bunch came to our apartment to see it. I had to model it for them and Sylvia showed them how she had removed the lace insert covering my breasts. Again, I tried to hide the fully exposed tits from the gazes of the girls, but Sylvia asked me to lower my arms. "There is nobody here but us girls so there is nothing to hide. Actually you should be proud of them." When I complied, a wave of amazement and even disbelieve swept through the room.

"She is a girl." "That's no boy." "How could she have passed as a boy all this time?" "And why did she live as a boy?" "She must be a girl with these tits." Suddenly everybody was talking and staring at me. Sylvia in the meantime had again removed my petticoats and turned me around so that everybody saw my naked behind. "What a great ass!" "That's a girl's ass for sure."

Among all this discussion some girl suddenly stepped up behind me and reached through my legs to the front. "But she's got a prick! She really is a boy! I have the proof in my hand! And it's working too. It's getting hard!" She was telling the truth. All this, first the dressing and then the undressing in front of the girls and the way Sylvia and this other girl handled me had stirred my passions. I should have been ashamed and humiliated by the way everybody was treating me, but all it did was to produce a marvelous hard- on.

Sylvia turned me around and raised my skirt in front. "Here is the proof for everybody to see: He is a boy. By a strange caprice of nature, however, he has feminine breasts and other feminine treats like his skin and his voice. It seems to be a hormonal imbalance that should go away when he gets older. But at the moment he looks like a girl and, therefore, I think he belongs into dresses." Everybody agreed, of course, and after Sylvia had lowered my skirt again and made me sit down on the couch, the attention drifted away from me to related topics. Everybody had something to say about men who liked to dress in women's clothes, about hormones and their role in shaping the body and this and that. I tried to stay in the background and covered my bare bosom as much as I could with my gloved hands. When I looked up and to the side, I saw myself in the big mirror. And what I saw was a very sexy picture: a pretty girl in a cocktail dress trying to cover her naked breasts but succeeding only partly. Somehow it seemed she was just presenting her breasts like ripe apples to the onlookers.

There it was again: my prick started to grow. I put one leg across the other and arranged the skirt trying to hide it. On the other hand I could not resist to start a little play with my image in the mirror. It was strange really: that girl in the mirror was teasing me, the boy, by allowing little peeks at her breasts, by slowly stroking them, now and then letting a nipple peek through the fingers -- and that immediately caused typically male reactions in me, the boy, which were greatly intensified by the tactile stimuli generated by the slow stroking of the breasts and the nipples. It was all so confusing to my mind but oh so exciting for my passions.

After a while the girls started to leave. Sylvia had, of course, noticed my dallying with my mirror image and my growing excitement. After all had gone, she immediately took me to the bedroom and took off my dress and hers in a hurry. She was naked while I still had on my corset, stockings, and gloves. She evidently was as excited as I was. She threw me on my back and took the stockings that she had worn and used them to tie my hands to the top of the bed and was straddling me in no time. It was fantastic. We fucked and screwed like mad until we were both entirely spent and fell asleep in each others arms -- and I really did not know anymore if I was a boy or a girl, and I really did not care about it at all. Or had it all just happened because I was a girl now? Was I?

Chapter X

During the next days a new kind of normalcy developed. I lived as a girl among the other girls and if there was any difference, it was that I was just a shade more elegantly, more sophisticatedly dressed than the others. However the eternal competition among girls soon caused them to pay more attention to their dressing, select the most appropriate clothes for each occasion and generally try to outdo the others, mostly me. The fact that they all had seen that I really was a boy probably added to this: what girl would be willing to accept that a boy wore more stylish and elegant dresses than she?

It finally reached the stage where everybody really dressed up for dinner. Cocktail dresses, smart long dinner dresses, sometimes even evening gowns, if there was a special reason for them like an after dinner program of some kind, they were 'de rigueur'. I was very glad for this development because it gave me the opportunity to show off all my new dresses. I was already girlish enough to want to show what I had even when -- more often than not -- my dresses were not at all comfortable to wear with the constricting corsets they required or with very tight skirts that made walk almost impossible or high collars that held my neck like a vice. And always on such occasions I wore the highest heels possible and mostly shoulder length gloves.

Soon everybody started to design and make the dresses that were to be entered as the designs to be judged at the end of the term. As I had been selected as the common model for all creations, I had to be available for a lot of fitting sessions. This was a very strenuous and exhausting job with all the standing still and people working on my body and I complained a lot and objected to standing still. Sometimes I interrupted the work by simply sitting down for a while. One day suddenly Sylvia told me she had prepared something that would help me stand still.

When I came to the large room where the girls all worked, I saw a steel tube vertically mounted to a steel plate which in turn rested on small wheels. At the top of the tube was something like a narrow bicycle-saddle. The height of the saddle was adjustable. After I had taken off my dress and had on only my corset and a cache-sex and, of course, stockings and shoes with four inch heels, Sylvia directed me over the saddle and adjusted its height so that my weight was equally distributed between my feet and my ass. I wiggled a little so that the saddle rested comfortably between my ass- cheeks and Sylvia adjusted the height once more.

Just when I thought I could relax a little and wanted to thank Sylvia, she stepped behind me and started to quickly turn a small crank-handle. Suddenly I felt something come up through a hole in the saddle and irresistibly glide into my anus. Before I could react, I was literally nailed to the saddle. I could not raise myself as my feet which stood on tip toe anyway in their high heels just reached the ground and there was nothing to hold on to with my hands to pull myself up.

Sylvia did not stop until the shaft entering me must have been within me at least two or three inches. It was not very thick, maybe half an inch or three quarters, but it was very uncomfortable. "There -- now you will stay put. And I do not want to hear any complaints if you don't want your mouth stuffed and locked up with a nice big gag." With this she just wheeled the entire stand I was fastened onto the girl who was next in line for fitting her creation on me.

When the lunch break came, everybody went out to get food and drinks. I was just left there like a lifeless tool. Sylvia went last and when she was at the door, she turned around and said: "now don't you go away, I'll bring back something for you too." The moment she closed the door however, I began rocking to and fro trying to get the terrible thing to a window. With a lot of trying and some real pain in the ass I finally succeeded. I hung on to the cross bar of the window and thus could pull myself up from the shaft that had held me. It was too late however. When I reached the door, three or four girls were just entering, Sylvia among them. They quickly caught me and within seconds I was back on the stand, impaled as before.

The only result my attempt at escape had was that on the next morning there were two steel clamps welded to the upright tube where my ankles would be. They were not to be locked, just clamped shut as there was no possibility for me to bend down far enough in my corset to undo the clamps. Sylvia again positioned me on the saddle and impaled me on the shaft, then closed the ankle-clamps. This time I would really stay put as long as the girls needed me.

Just to be absolutely secure, Sylvia locked my wrists into handcuffs behind my back anytime I was not needed and because I always had something to say about the work of the girls or complaints about how they handled me, she decided it would be best if I always wore a gag and as soon as I was positioned on the stand. Each morning she locked the gag that Lise had supplied her with into my mouth. This was not a very uncomfortable one because it did not really spread my mouth wide open, but it filled it completely and I could not utter a word, just make some whining noises if one of the girls did not pay attention and stuck me with a pin. I was the perfect dummy. Not only was I securely anchored to one place, I was free to move from the hips up and the girls could see how the dresses they designed and pinned on me behaved or shifted with my body movements.

Actually Sylvia was so pleased with her invention that when we finished school, she took it with us and it is still used in our salon when she designs dresses on me. Not only that, she had another one made for home use. This one is even more intricate. Its base and its upright pole is covered with white leather and the butt plug does not have to be cranked up by hand, it is motor driven and the ankle clamps close and open automatically whenever the but plug is raised or retracted and the whole thing is remote controlled. She even has a timer added so she can put me on it for a certain time even when she is not at home. Many were and still are the hours that I spend on this thing because Sylvia thinks it makes me a pleasure to look at, it is a good place to park me if I don't have anything to do, and it makes her feel comfortable to know where I am and that I cannot get into trouble.

After some of our clients saw me posted on it and found out the reason for my immobility, they wanted to have one too and we sold quite a few of them. The model for women, of course, has two plugs and the more refined models even have little motors that can move the plugs in and out an inch or two (selectable) at high speed (also selectable) to give the user some thrills. I was glad that Sylvia did not take home one of those models, but she said this thing was not supposed to give me any erotic pleasures (which I doubt would have occurred), it was just a means to keep me where I was placed, a pure utility for her.

My time as a dummy finally came to an end and the show for the dresses the girls all had designed was set. I too had made something, a traveling ensemble consisting of a brown tweed jacket and skirt and -- at Sylvia's suggestion -- a wide cape with a big velvet collar that -- when turned inside out -- became a big hood, giving the whole outfit a very feminine, romantic look. The skirt and jacket in contrast to the cape followed the lines of the body closely, the tightly corseted lines of my body of course. Since I was used as a model at the regular hours, I had to do all the work on my own creation at night, but Sylvia helped me a lot. She did not really help me in making this ensemble but relieved me to a large degree of my now usual duties as her personal maid.

The show was a great success and I really got into the spirit of being a high class fashion model. We had rehearsed the show for several days to make sure that everything would go according to plan. All the dresses and the accessories going with them had to be carefully arranged and placed together so I would have no difficulties in changing from one dress to the next. Of course, some girls were always there to help me, but it was a lot of work. Then the way of presenting each dress had to be staged and rehearsed. A funny little day dress needed a totally different kind of presentation than a gorgeous ball gown. The girls had prepared a tape with music all in tone with the dresses it accompanied and sometimes I really had to dance down the runway, which was no little task in the extra high heels I was wearing. But everything went well and it was a huge success for everybody involved. All the girls -- and that included me -- got very good marks.

The day after the show Sylvia simply bought all the dresses that I had modeled and suddenly I had the biggest wardrobe of all the girls at the school, right down to a wedding dress which traditionally had closed the show. I did not know why she had bought this one too, because I was sure I would never wear it. If I would marry, I certainly would be the groom and not wear a dress, I thought. Anyway, she had bought it too and now I had it. And it was beautiful too. When I wore it at the end of the show I knew exactly how a girl would feel walking down the aisle at the church. It was a really thrilling and delightful feeling and I envied every girl for this experience.

A few days after the show the Christmas holidays started and everybody went home. We packed as much of my new wardrobe as would fit into the car together with Sylvia's things. I was proudly wearing my new ensemble that I had made myself. Before I had put on its jacket Sylvia had fastened leather straps around my arms just above the elbows. I did not know what they were meant for at that time but now after everything was stowed in the car and we were finally ready to get in ourselves, I detected their purpose: Sylvia made me raise my arms and poked her finger through the side seams of my jacket which she must have prepared for this and pulled out two ribbons. They must have been anchored to my corset. Then she threaded one of the ribbons through the inner seams of my sleeve and the strap around my arms and pulled it out again where she knotted it tightly to the other end of the ribbon. She did this on both sides and as a result my upper arms were securely fastened to my sides. Nobody who saw me could notice my restraint however.

Then she told me to raise my skirt to above my knees and quickly strapped my knees together with a wide leather strap. This strap had a small golden ring sewn to it in the middle. After I dropped my skirt again, nobody could see my knee restraint. Sylvia then made me get into the car. After I had swung my legs inside, she poked her finger through the center seem of the skirt and pulled out the little ring. With a little padlock she locked this ring to the center of the little chain connecting a pair of handcuffs and a moment later the handcuffs clicked shut around my wrists. She pulled up my gloves and again nobody could see anything of my bondage. "As you won't be doing much walking in the car, we'll just tie together the ankle-straps of your shoes so you won't scratch them." She fastened the ankle-straps as she spoke and soon I was sitting there totally and helplessly bound. Finally, she fastened the seat belt and went around to get into the driver's seat.

I was contemplating protest for just a second, but I knew it would not change her mind anyhow, it would probably just give her an excuse to gag me, so I kept quiet. I could not move at all. With my legs strapped together and my arms tied like this all I could do was sitting there motionless like a puppet.

When Sylvia motioned to start the motor, she interrupted herself. "Oh, I almost forgot. I want to be sure there will be no criticism of my driving." With that she leaned over and held the gag that Lise had strapped into my mouth on our way to Nice Airport in front of me. "Open up, darling," she prodded me. I knew better than to resist her. Strapped up as I was, I had not the slightest chance against her. Probably she would just pinch me so hard that I would howl and then push that thing into my mouth. So I opened up obediently and she shoved it in deeply, locking the thin chain behind my neck. I knew that you would notice it only if you looked twice and who would be able to in a passing car?

During the whole procedure my prick had grown bigger and bigger from the excitement that Sylvia's doings caused me, however, with my hands locked to my legs like that I could not even give it a sly squeeze. It was all very frustrating but that made it all the more exciting.

Sylvia let me sit like that for the whole duration of the trip which took almost seven hours. She went with me like that through the toll gates of the "auto route" and to a filling station. I was afraid that somebody there would get curious about the motionless passenger while she went inside to pay -- but nothing happened and we finally reached our destination without any unwanted attention.

Chapter X

At home we were greeted by Sylvia's mother and our erstwhile tutor, her lesbian lover. Sylvia only released the strap that held my shoe's ankle straps together and the little padlock that held my handcuffs to my knee strap. This way I could get out of the car. I had quite some difficulty to walk to the two women waiting for me at the door. They had been alerted to our arrival by Sylvia's sounding of the horn. They both hugged and kissed me welcome on the cheeks and complimented me on my appearance. I could feel that the hugging was also used to test the degree of my corseting. I had been afraid of some humiliating remarks about my restraints, but they both evidently took it as quite natural that I wore handcuffs and could not move my arms and had to take the smallest steps because of the tight strap around my knee.

We all went inside and Sylvia's mother, my aunt, called the maid to bring in our luggage. As I was very hungry and thirsty, I was glad that a delicious dinner was waiting for us. Unfortunately, Sylvia removed only my gag but left the handcuffs on and I had a hard time cutting the food and getting it safely to my mouth. It took so much time that all the others were already done with each course before I had eaten only half of it and the maid appeared to take away my plate. When I protested, my aunt told her: "It's all right, take it, she's had enough, she should not eat so much anyway and keep a strict diet to improve her figure". I probably could not have eaten much more anyhow because there was no more room inside the tight corset, but I would have lied if I had said that I was not hungry anymore when we finally got up.

The rest of the evening was spent with reporting on our life at the school, about the trip to Florence which had caused me to be changed into a girl and a million other things. They wanted to hear every single detail about my life as a girl and the way Sylvia treated me as her slave. Sylvia quickly demonstrated how she had packaged me for the trip by again strapping my feet together and locking my handcuffs to the knee strap. I was glad she did not insert the gag, but the two older women were eager to hear my tale too. I told them that I had agreed to this kind of life for the duration of our stay at the fashion school because I did not want to drop out, but that I would go back to being a man afterwards. "I think it is a very good experience for me as a future fashion designer to experience the feeling of wearing dresses and to know how the creations I may design feel when worn, but I do not want to remain a girl all my life."

The three women exchanged meaningful glances but quickly consented with me in this statement. "Of course, it's your decision how you want to live after the school." "I doubt however that you will want to give up the luxuries of women's clothes in exchange for drab business suits though," the tutor maintained, "just think of the many ways a woman can express herself and her feelings in the way she dresses at any time. A man may have a choice between a single and a double breasted jacket, but that's about it. And even if there are slight changes in men's fashions, everybody practically still will look the same. They are all wearing either tight or loose trousers, broad or narrow ties or lapels. But look what choice women have even under the strictest of fashion dictatorship."

It would have been an altogether enjoyable evening if I hadn't been restrained so severely. This way, however, I could relax very little. My corset forced me to sit very straight and the straps around my legs held them closely together and my hands had to stay demurely folded in my lap. When we finally got up, Sylvia's mother asked her: "Oh, before I forget, the maid is going to see her family during the holidays and is leaving tomorrow. Can you see that Renee will fill in for her from tomorrow morning?" She did not ask me -- she asked her daughter. Evidently I was considered a "negligible quantity", whose opinion on a thing like that you did not have to worry about. That stuck a needle into my balloon of pride, but at the same moment it caused a curious thrill in me, the thrill of being a slave and totally dependent on the decisions of others.

About the night that followed I can only say that it was wonderful. Sylvia let me stay with her and we made love in every possible way. Of course, Sylvia exercised her dainty tyrannies over me, taking command in every way and tying me this way and that way just as the fancy struck her -- but I loved every second of it. Needless to say, we both got very little sleep during the night.

The next morning Sylvia brought me the maid's uniforms that I would have to wear, a light blue one for morning wear and a black one for the evening. The blue one had a medium wide, long skirt coming down to the ankles and came with a ruffled pinafore and a stiffly starched cap. It was really a pretty work dress, but a real work dress nevertheless. The skirt of the black one did not quite make it to the knees but was very wide and had the shape of a dome over several stiff petticoats. It had a very small lace edged white apron and a deep decollete which showed a lot of my breasts in the half cups of my corset.

I really had to wear one of my corsets to get into them. That triggered my curiosity: the maid of my aunt was not a very slim person and she did not look as if she wore a corset. And I could not remember having seen her in one of those outfits either. They could not have been hers -- they must have been specially made for me. Oh no, that meant that we would certainly take them with us when we would leave and I was sure that Sylvia would make me wear them a lot. I could hear her reasoning already: "Now that you have them, let's get some mileage out of these togs."

Sylvia and my aunt kept me really busy all morning, giving me all sorts of chores in the house. In the afternoon and after I had changed into the black uniform I was just serving them tea when the lady doctor who had treated me before we went off to school came to pay a visit. She too was obviously pleased with my appearance. "Well, this is one way to treat your condition," she addressed me. "If your body characteristics do not coincide with your attire, dress according to your body characteristics." When she saw the crestfallen look on my face, she quickly added: "Now don't you worry, after you finish school, we will find a way to make you happy."

After a while, Sylvia's mother said: "Doctor, while you are here, could you do me a favor? I mean I could do it myself, I have done it for Sylvia, but Renee would probably prefer if you would do it for her." I was wondering what she was talking about. "I mean pierce her earlobes." Oh, that's what it was. "I was planning to give her some earrings for Christmas which are for pierced ears." "Of course, I would be glad to." She turned to me. "You don't have to be afraid, I will not hurt you. In fact, I have something here that you inhale and then you won't feel a thing. Let's do it right away. Go to your room and take off your dress, I will get my stuff from the car and will see you in two minutes."

I looked questioningly at Sylvia but she nodded her assent. "Go up and do what she said. We don't need you anymore tonight, so you may go to bed afterwards. I will come and look after you later on." I did as I was told, went up, undressed and waited, sitting on my bed. The doctor came and brought her bag along. She took a small vial out of it, broke off its top and emptied its contents into a cotton ball which she gave me to hold under my nose. "Inhale deeply through your nose now." I did so for a few seconds -- then I don't remember a thing. I must have passed out completely.

When I woke up, it was broad daylight. I must have slept the whole night through. I felt a faint burning in my ears but I also felt some burning pains in other areas of my body: My nose, my breasts and -- yes, my cock. I reached for my ears and felt little rings in them. Then I felt my nose and there was something stuck in my septum. I jumped out of bed and almost lost my balance, I was still a little "under the weather" from the narcotic I had received last night but I succeeded in getting to the dressing table with its large mirror.

I sat down in front of it and could not believe my eyes. Not only my ears were pierced and sported little gold rings in them, my nipples were also pierced and little gold rings adorned them and there was a little stud with tiny gold balls on each end sticking through my septum. But what was the pain between my legs? I tried to pull my cock forward, it would not come, it only hurt more. I tried to look down but could not see anything. I grabbed a hand- mirror and held it in front of me spreading my legs wide apart.

The first thing I noticed was that all my pubic hair was gone. Upon further investigation holding and turning the mirror this way and that way, bending over further and feeling with my free hand, the horrifying truth dawned on me. My prick had been pierced too on the underside at the point where the little ribbon of the foreskin joins it to the shaft. A little golden stick with balls on each end, much like in my nose, only thicker, had been inserted. But this was not the only new hole in my hide. A little way back not far from my asshole the skin had been pierced too and a little ring was threaded through the whole. This ring was connected to my prick by what seemed to be a special little lock, because I could see a keyhole in it. At its back the ring disappeared in a small slot. From the front a U -- shaped fork protruded, obviously hinged at its base. The one of its ends ended in small ring or hole through which one end of the stick that pierced my prick was passed, the other end was stuck through a hole in the ball at the other end of the piercing stick. This way the U could not be pulled off this piercing stick -- the only way to remove it was to unlock its base so that the legs of the U could be opened.

I tried to pull the legs of the U apart but I did not succeed. I could not slide the U's ring from the stick through my prick, neither could I retract the other end of the U sticking through the little ball on the other side. It was a very simple but also very effective construction. It was horrible. My prick was securely locked between my legs.

I gave up any attempts to remove this terrible gadget because it only hurt more. Furthermore I had to go to the toilet. I had to sit down now like a girl but otherwise it did not pose any problems. I staggered back to my bed and crawled under the covers -- completely destroyed. I knew that now I was totally in the hands and at the mercy of Sylvia who literally held the key to my life. Of course, I had promised to be her slave and to obey her, but that were only words that were binding me and being a slave to her could be rated as play acting, playing a role. Now there was a very material object that bound me and submitted my entire being to her power.

I did not know whether I would have wanted our relationship to develop so far. Before this I could always have put a stop to anything I did not like -- at least theoretically -- but now I was totally locked up, fettered and jailed by this devilish little device and only Sylvia had the power to release me.

I just lay there quietly for some time contemplating my new situation. Should I try to find some tools to remove this terrible thing or just wait till somebody came? Should I protest, raise hell with them or wait until I was alone with Sylvia and try to persuade her to take it off or should I try to force her to open it? How could I do this? What would be the consequences of each of these possibilities?

Before I could reach a decision, Sylvia entered with a cheery: "Good morning lazy-bones. It's time to get up. Come on, we are all waiting for you." I looked at her silently but if looks could kill, she would not have survived five seconds. "What's ailing you? Does it hurt so much? Can't be, all the holes were made with a laser beam which automatically sealed all the blood vessels that were affected. This way there are no real open wounds at all and what is left will heal in a few days. Or don't you like your new jewelry?" "I want everything off and out," I growled. "Get that idea out of your pretty head. We did not go through so much trouble for nothing." "Then I will find a way to remove these terrible things." "Try, just try it if you really want to hurt yourself. You know, these things look golden, but they are only heavily gold plated to give them a corrosion-proof surface. They are really of a specially treated steel alloy that cannot be cut with ordinary cutting tools. It needs a diamond studded saw to cut these rings and sticks."

"The nipple rings and the stick through your prick are there for good, they have been put there permanently. The stick through your septum I can remove with a special tool and the earrings are easily exchangeable." I started to sob uncontrollably when my hopes of being able to remove these things were thus destroyed. "Now don't cry, darling, look at it this way: the nipple rings are really pretty and the thing between your legs eliminates the necessity of wearing a cache-sex all the time. You now can even go naked and nobody would have the slightest suspicion that you are anything but a girl." "But you promised that I could be a man again after the end of the school and with these things I am marked for life." "Oh no, my promise still stands. If you really decide to go back to your ugly existence as a male, I will have all traces removed -- that is if you want to, because I heard that that little stick through your prick can give great pleasure to a woman and you may just want to keep it for that reason."

"Anyway, for the time being these things stay on. Of course, I will release your prick when I want to use it -- but there are so many other ways you can please me that I really don't need it all the time."

"But what about me -- I can't even get an erection locked up like this. What about my pleasure?"

"A good slave should only be concerned with the pleasure she can give to her mistress, not with her own pleasure, to begin with. Anyway, not allowing you to get an erection is the most desired result of the device. But I do not want to be unkind. Let's make a new rule. For every five orgasms you give me, I will let you have one. If you are very obedient and behave without fault for some time, I may lower the rate to three to one. If however you act sassy or obstinate, I will raise the rate to ten to one or even higher. The doctor told us about a husband whose wife had the same device installed on him who is down to a rate of a hundred to one. I think all in all this is a very useful way of making you behave like a true slave without employing any violence."

I thought I could not believe my ears. But she spoke in a very businesslike matter-of-fact tone. She really meant it. She did not joke. I saw a very gloomy future before me.

"Now get up and get dressed and come down to breakfast. You do not have any maid duties today and tomorrow, you should go back to bed and rest so the healing process is shortened." With this she left me. As I had become hungry, I just put on a negligee and made up my face, removing all traces of the tears and went down.

The entire day and the next day passed uneventful. I spent most of the time in bed reading. The next day was the day before Christmas and I was again requested to work as a maid preparing for the nights festivities. We had a beautiful Christmas tree, all decorated in red and gold. At night we all dressed up in evening gowns and had dinner. The presents were still wrapped and waited under the tree. Mine were all wrapped in red paper, Sylvia's in gold, my aunt's in silver and the tutor's in green. I could hardly wait to open mine.

When my aunt allowed us to leave the table and open our presents, we raced to them like children and couldn't open them fast enough among many "Ahs" and "Ohs". The biggest present was a wonderful mink coat for each of us. Sylvia's was very dark and cut like a trench coat. Mine was almost white with the slightest golden haze over it. However it was no coat, it was a cape that hung straight down from wide shoulders narrowing quite a bit to about the knees where it opened into a wide skirt reaching to below my ankles. It did not open in front in the middle but on the left side on the shoulder. The collar was wide and deep and when put up covered almost the entire face, just the eyes looked over its rim. The whole thing closed with snap hooks over which little mink bows were fixed that ran down from the collar over the left shoulder to the hem. It was a beautiful thing. I had never seen such a design and with its color it looked really extravagant. I loved it.

I put it on, Sylvia closed the snap hooks and I strutted around in it trying to wrest compliments from everybody, which, of course, I got. I walked up and down in front of the mirror watching myself with pleasure. I had become girl enough already to relish my looks. The thing looked wonderful on me. However I found it a little impractical because there were not slits for my arms and when all the snap hooks were closed, I could not even use the left arm. When I remarked about this to Sylvia, she said this was the idea of the cape. If she had wanted me to be able to use my hands while wearing it, she would have seen that I got a real coat with sleeves.

"In fact," she said, "this one has sleeves too. Let me show you." She unsnapped the hooks and took the cape from my shoulders. She held it behind me like a coat and guided my arms into what she had described as sleeves. When she pulled up the cape and draped it over my shoulders again my arms slid into some kind of inner sleeves in the back of the cape so that the lower arms were fixed parallel to each other in the small of my back. When she closed the snap hooks, I was securely fettered by the silk lining of the cape. "This will be the way you will be wearing it most of the time," Sylvia explained. "It is very comfortable, you can wear it like this for a long time and the restraint is not detectable from the outside and this way I will be sure that you will stay out of trouble."

Actually she made me go like that to the Christmas midnight mass. I was lucky that the church was already very full when we arrived and we had to stand at the back so I did not attract any unwanted attention. I attracted a lot of attention anyhow with this extravagant piece of fur but as I was standing up nobody noticed that I could not use my arms and hands.

Chapter XI

The next day we all rested and took it easy. Even Sylvia did nothing to disturb my peace -- she had done enough already and I could use the rest for healing of my wounds which still hurt sometimes. The following day we set out for Paris to visit Lise and Louise, where we would stay, and my uncle, who had stayed in Paris over the holidays. The car again was packed with all our luggage and our new furs deposited on the back seats. I again wore the tweed ensemble and, of course, Sylvia had fettered my arms, ankles, knees and wrists as before. This time, however, the journey took only two hours and we were in the middle of this marvelous city. We parked the car in a garage and had the attendant call a taxi for us. It was absolutely impossible to find a parking space near our destination and Sylvia did not want to run the risk to have the car or at least its radio stolen if we parked it on the street. All of our luggage was loaded into the taxi by the driver and in five more minutes we stopped in front of the "Lise & Louise Boutique." The driver brought in all of our bags and while Sylvia paid him and gave him a large tip, I was mincing into the store with the smallest steps possible because of my knee strap.

Lise and Louise were both present and greeted me with a great "Hello!" Louise came at once over to me and grabbed my hands (still handcuffed) and swung me around that I nearly lost my balance. She gave me kisses on both cheeks and said that I looked wonderful. Sylvia had come in too in the meantime and was greeted with like enthusiasm. Lise was busy with a client but waved us to come and join her.

She introduced us to her client: "Here are our dear friends, Sylvia and Renee de Brinville, and this is Mme. Grimaud. Her husband is a famous opera star and through her we managed to get a whole booth at the opera for "Le Chevalier de la Rose" the day after tomorrow. She will join us there and your father," looking at Sylvia, "and uncle," -- looking at me -- "and his lady friend will come too. And afterwards Mr. Grimaud will join us too and we will all go and have a late dinner at a good restaurant." Mme. Grimaud was a very good looking woman of uncertain age. She probably had left her twenties but you could not be sure. Maybe it was just that aura of authority about her that made her appear older than her years. We all shook hands politely during Sylvia's explanation of her plans. "Well, I am looking forward to meeting you then, but now I have to run along. Have a good time in Paris and enjoy yourself." Her voice was pleasant but had a decisive tone. She had not batted an eye when I gave her my hand to which the other was evidently joined somehow, although I was sure she must have noticed it. She was not the type to miss anything.

After some more hugging and kissing with Lise and Louise, Sylvia finally released me but only to make it possible for me to carry all bags upstairs. I had to go four times until everything was in our room.

This night we all dressed to the nines because Lise had booked a table at "Madame Arthur", one of the famous night clubs that featured female mimics, where Lise and Louise had worked before. It was in a little side street off the Boulevard Clichy, the Rue des Martyrs, in the Pigalle district just below the famous "Sacre Coeur". I wore a really clinging ankle-length gown of crushed black velvet that showed every curve of my corseted body to best advantage. It had long narrow sleeves but left the shoulders bare. Its skirt was very tight and allowed only the smallest mincing steps. "You will be sitting most of the time anyhow," Sylvia said, stopped my protests about it. My hair was swept up and crowned by a little hat that mostly served to hold a beautiful lace veil that covered my entire face and was caught in a large bow under my left ear. I would not be eating anything as long as I wore it and I hoped to get a straw with my drinks. Of course, I wore my new mink cape over it to protect me from the cold and, of course, my arms were locked behind me in the inner sleeves.

The others were dressed in similar extravagant gowns and coats and when we disembarked from the taxi that had brought us there. The four of us created quite a sensation. Even in Paris four beautiful women dressed in elegant evening gowns don't go unnoticed at night. We had to wait two or three minutes outside among other people who waited to get in before we could enter and we were the center of the attention during this time among the little group waiting there. I must confess that I relished the interested looks of the men and the envious looks of the women. I was just curious if anyone of them suspected that three of the four women they saw were actually men and that I was completely helpless with my fettered arms and my tight skirt.

When we finally entered the little cabaret and shed our coats, again all eyes of the people already seated were focused at us and I think most of them watched me as I passed through the middle aisle between the tables mincing in the tight skirt on my ridiculously high heels. Our table was right next to the stage. It might as well have been on the stage for all the attention that we got from the other people. I was seated so that I could see the stage very well and at the same time everybody in the audience could see me.

We were greeted as old friends by the waiter and ordered champagne. Soon after we got it, the show started and I must say, it was a good mixture of very funny and very glamorous numbers and the "travesties" as the performers are called there, were very beautiful and real artists in their profession. It was obviously not enough to have a pretty face and figure to get on this stage, you had to have a professional act to present.

After the show was finished and the other people had slowly left, several of the performers joined us for a chat. They were old friends of Lise and Louise. At first nobody said anything about my sex and I was obviously accepted by everybody as a girl. Even the sharp and trained eyes of these people evidently could not see through my disguise. When finally Lise mentioned that I was a boy, nobody would believe it and it took the joined efforts of all four of us to convince them. From then on I received tons of compliments and the manager finally said: "Well, anytime you get an act together dancing or singing, you can work here -- not as a comedienne though, you are too pretty."

Strange as it may seem for a boy, I was flattered no end by all this, first the admiring glances of the people, then the compliments by the artists and last the invitation of the manager. Was I really so much a girl at heart already?

Although we got home very late, we were up and out by ten the next morning. There is so much to see and we had so little time. Sylvia selected a simple and rather comfortable ensemble for me with shoes with low heels and a saucy little hat. Even the skirt was wide enough to permit normal steps. "We'll do a lot of walking today." She explained her leniency, but when it came to putting on our coats, she insisted on anchoring my arms in the inner sleeves of the cape again. "Just to keep you out of trouble." Anyway, this was not uncomfortable and I looked forward to our first day in Paris with great expectations. First we took the Metro to the Place de la Concorde and walked down the Rue de Faubourg de St. Honore, the street with the best -- and, of course, most expensive -- fashion stores. It was wonderful to window-shop and even go into one shop or another and have a look. Now, just after Christmas, they had reduced their prices and we bought a few little things, like a foulard at Hermes and some other things which we intended to give to Lise and Louise for their hospitality.

Form there we turned back and took a taxi to the district at the Opera where the big department stores are, the Printemps and the Galeries Lafayette. They have wonderful fashion departments and we strode through them leisurely. Then we turned to the "Grands Boulevards" to look at the stores there. Of course, it did not just stop with looking, we bought several little things: a perfume here, a belt there, some costume jewelry, fancy hosiery, a pair of gloves and ... and ... and ... . Sylvia had to carry all the parcels as I could not use my hands so she called a taxi and sent everything back to the store of Lise and Louise. We finally took a break and had a light lunch in a nice restaurant. I was glad to be able to sit down.

After about an hour's rest we set out again and strolled over the Place Vend“me with its big obelisk that Napoleon had brought back from Egypt and had a look at the Cartier store. The jewels in the windows can really take your breath away. "Would you like to wear those?" Sylvia asked me. I could only nod. "Well, you'll have to find yourself a really rich boyfriend then. But with your looks, this shouldn't be a big problem." I liked the compliment in Sylvia's words, but the idea of having a boyfriend made me shudder. Maybe it was wrong for me to want to wear these marvelous jewels, but they were so beautiful.

It took a while to get me away from these disturbing thoughts and I hardly noticed the remarkable architecture of the whole place. Actually Sylvia interrupted my gloomy mood by asking: "By the way, do you know the pinnacle of snobbery for a girl? -- wearing a spiral by Cartier." I laughed and we continued to walk to the Tuileries and ended at the museum Jeu de Paume with its wonderful exhibition of impressionists. When we left it, we were both really shot and hurried home to Lise and Louise.

We had to take a nap before we again set out into the Paris night life. This time we were scheduled to go to the Carrousel at the Rue Vavin in the Montmartre district, a sister club to "Madame Arthur". During a light meal Lise told us about the old "Carrousel" club in the Rue du Colisee during the forties and fifties, to which she had never been but of which she had heard many stories from the old-timers in the female mimic profession.

The Carrousel there had a big stage like a theater that allowed large production numbers. In one program in which the famous Coccinelle was the featured star she, apparently late, would arrive during a lavish production number coming in through the audience in female street clothes and street makeup, waving to the other performers on the stage and get there seemingly just barely in time to do her part in the number. Of course, everybody in the audience noticed her and had a good look at her as she passed through the rows. "Is this where you got the idea to walk out through the audience in your "Reverse Striptease" number?" I asked Lise. "Exactly. We thought it a great idea to take the "travesti" idea down from the stage into the real world and to confront the people with the fact, that not only on the stage there are males dressed as females. Now people who had seen us could never be sure again if the pretty girl they were watching in the street was not a boy."

When it was time to dress and makeup to go out, Sylvia brought me an evening gown of red satin to put on. It was very short on its upper end, my nipples were barely covered. At the lower end the dress reached to just below my calves. As all my dresses seemed to be, its skirt was exceedingly tight. I could again only take the smallest steps. A sash of black rustling taffeta was draped around my hips and knotted into a huge bow just above my "cul" with its broadening ends falling to the floor so that from the rear you would think I was wearing a black floor length skirt. With it I wore high heeled black suede pumps decorated with rows of rhinestones and shoulder length suede gloves. When I looked into the big mirror, I saw a very attractive, rather daringly clad young lady, a picture that immediately stirred up my emotions.

"I think you should be reminded of your status of a slave tonight." Sylvia had come up behind me and took my hands to my back where she crossed my wrists and wound a strong ribbon of black taffeta vertically and horizontally around them, finishing with a knot on the inside. Then she lifted the big taffeta bow of the sash just a little bit and slipped my bound wrists under it. When I turned around and looked at it, it seemed that my hands were loosely held by the bow. But she was not yet finished with me. When I protested against my restraint, she popped a gag into my mouth and strapped it behind my neck. The fact that I was wearing it was then cleverly disguised by a delicate veil, which she draped from under my chin over the lower part of my face, leaving the eyes free, and knotted it high on my head where she draped the ends into a crown. My feelings were rather mixed at that moment. I was very embarrassed by the fact that I would have to go out this way and be with a lot of strangers. On the other hand, this situation made every nerve within me tingle with excitement.

"I know you are embarrassed to go out like this. But this is only because you see the other people looking at you. I will save you from this embarrassment." With this Sylvia led me over to a table and sat me down. She took something out of a tiny bowl, placed it on her finger and with her other hand pushed my head down. With a careful motion she touched my left eye, which I closed in surprise. "Open up your eyes again." She commanded and when I complied, she repeated the maneuver on the right eye. Again I closed my eyes which seemed to hurt a little, producing some tears. "You can open your eyes now. I have just inserted some contact lenses."

When -- after a minute or so -- I opened my eyes, I could not see a thing and I tried to convey this to Sylvia with whatever expressions were left to me. "This is the whole idea. The irises of the contact lenses are blackened. Now you can't see anybody and this way you will not be embarrassed by noticing the looks other people give you. And it is not necessary for you to see anything tonight. It is more important that the other people see you. You can always hear what is going on around you." With this she steered me to the stairs and led me down, not an easy task for me with the high heels and tight skirt, unable to hold on to the rail and seeing nothing.

The evening was an unbelievable experience. We evidently again had a very prominent table and I heard several other people comment on my guise. From the comments of Sylvia and Lise I understood that the show was a little different in character from the show at "Madame Arthur" last night. There were less comic and campy numbers, the "travesties" seemed to put the emphasis on elegance and sophistication. They were mostly singers who tried to present perfect emulations of females. Between the acts I felt the looks of the other people on me but not being able to see and having to look into their eyes or to avoid their stares made me feel like in a cocoon and safe from their thoughts.

When we finally got home, I was so excited that I only hoped that Sylvia would release my locked up cock that already was straining painfully against its bondage. Luckily, Sylvia seemed to have similar feelings and we soon were making love in an almost violent fashion. Sylvia, however, stuck to the 5:1 rule she had introduced and before she released my cock, I had to lick her to a whole row of shuddering orgasms. But strange as it may seem, this only heightened my excitement and when my cock was finally freed, it jumped up like it had a steel spring inside and would not go down until after Sylvia had ridden me to several orgasms.

The next day we slept long into the day. Today we stayed on the "Left Bank" of the Seine in the "Quartier" of St. Germain de Pres. There are probably hundreds of small stores in this quarter and we probably went into half of them, mostly just looking around, sometimes buying a thing or two. We picked up a few old fashion engravings in delicate pastel colors which we planned to use in our apartment at the school. They were from the 18th and 19th centuries and showed fashions from the French Rococo to the "Gay Nineties".

When we got home around five, we were hungry and exhausted as true tourist should be but recovered after a light meal that Louise whipped up for us and a shower and a nap. Tonight we would go to the Opera to see "Le Chevalier de la Rose." It started at eight and we almost had to hurry to get dressed and made up in time. Again we dressed in stylish evening gowns. Mine was made of a rather stiff icy blue silk rep with a medium wide skirt, a very narrow waist and a very large collar which left my shoulders bare and did very little to hide my breasts. It was sleeveless and I wore long white kid gloves and satin high heeled pumps with it. Louise had done my hair up and had artfully woven some white and blue satin ribbons and flowers through it. When I saw myself in the mirror, I saw a beautiful, sophisticated young lady who had sprung from the pages of a fashion magazine, perfectly styled, almost too beautiful to touch.

Sylvia and Lise wore pant suits in tuxedo style like Yves St. Laurent had shown them in the fall. They had a distinct masculine touch, although they were without doubt feminine garments. Sylvia and Lise accentuated this touch by a severe hairdo. They had combed their hair straight back and tied it in a tight bun at the nape of their necks. Both wore only light makeup, no eyeshadow, no mascara, just a touch of red on their lips -- almost unnoticeable. Louise, however, wore a lovely romantic and very feminine gown with a wide skirt in black lace and many rustling petticoats beneath it. To people who did not know us, we must have looked like two lesbian couples with Sylvia and Lise being the butch part.

We all wore our furs and Sylvia hadn't even insisted on putting my arms into the inner sleeves -- it was a sensational feeling of freedom for me when we entered the taxi. Lise and Louise rode in the back with me between them, Sylvia sat in front. The cabby stole more than one glance at his pretty passengers in the back seat. I wondered what his reaction would have been if Sylvia had told him that she was the only girl and the other pretty creatures in his cab were all boys.

At the Opera we made a great entrance. Even at the Paris Opera four pretty young ladies dressed in elegant evening attire turn the heads of the other people. We found our booth and settled down. Mme. Grimaud arrived shortly afterwards -- also in a St. Laurent tuxedo pant suit; later, my uncle arrived with his young lady friend, both wearing evening clothes too. My uncle, of course, had heard that I now lived as a girl but it was the first time that he saw me dressed as a girl and I could see he was totally shocked by what he saw. The difference in dress between Sylvia and me accentuated my femininity even more. There was, however, no time for conversation as the overture was just starting. From the program I saw that Mr. Grimaud played the role of Octavian which surprised me, as Octavian usually is played by a girl, because the role is written for an alto voice and Octavian has to disguise himself as a girl for most of the play. Mr. Grimaud however made a very believable and pretty girl and his voice was fabulous.

The performance as a whole was marvelous. During the intermission we all went out to promenade in the foyer and have a drink. I was a little apprehensive that my uncle would start to question me, but he did not. He just walked behind us and watched us very quietly all the time.

After the performance had ended, we went to the restaurant. Mme. Grimaud explained that she would join us a little later as she would come with her husband. At the restaurant we had a table in a little alcove off the main room. My uncle was seated at the head of the table, flanked by Lise and -- later -- Mme. Grimaud. I sat at the opposite end facing him and was flanked by Louise and my uncle's girlfriend. As long as we were sitting there, he could hardly take his eyes off me. I think he still was not able to believe he was seeing his nephew.

The really big surprise for him came with the arrival of the Grimauds. Instead of the husband and wife couple he expected, Mme. Grimaud brought another lady in a stunning evening gown to our table and introduced her as her husband. My uncle was completely perplexed. He did not know whether to shake or kiss her (his) hand. He was completely lost now. He knew that Lise and Louise were boys, but had regarded this as an eccentricity of some offbeat artists, and he evidently found it hard to believe and wanted to find out why I had accepted to live as a girl. But Mr. Grimaud, a famous opera star -- his entire world seemed to crumble beneath him. After the introduction he remained speechless so that Lise ordered a double martini for him to rekindle his spirits.

During the meal -- which was excellent -- I could not follow the conversation at the other end of the table in all details because Louise and my uncle's girlfriend were soon deeply engaged in typical girl-talk and Sylvia talked with Mr. Grimaud about the performance, his other work, and plans. At my end of the table the fact that of the five males present only one wore male attire was not a topic of discussion; it seemed quite natural and not worth mentioning.

From what I could hear of the conversation at the other end of the table, however, I took that men in women's clothes was the main topic. Once I heard Mme. Grimaud state: "I keep him as a girl most of the time. I like him this way and with his voice, his figure and his face he is a natural for it." A while later I heard her say: "Well, I introduced him to the feminine way of life when we were both studying at the conservatory. In my opinion it was only logical for him and I did not let up until he gave in to my wishes -- and I believe he not only accepted his fate now, he is quite happy with the way I make him live. Am I not right, darling?" She turned to her husband who immediately nodded his assent. "Of course, at certain official functions and when we travel to other countries he has to wear male attire, but as soon as possible I make him change into the lovely girl you see here. You have probably seen his picture as a man in the program. Alright, he is not bad looking as a man either, but don't you agree that he is much prettier like this, as a girl?"

My uncle confirmed this at once and I believe without first thinking about it, because the next moment a shadow of doubt crossed his face. He still was not sure it was the right thing for a man to pose as a girl. I could see, however, that the joint efforts and arguments of Lise and Mme. Grimaud slowly eroded his former point of view and he slowly relaxed and began to feel comfortable as the only man with seven beautiful women. By and by, he seemed to forget that four of them were men or, at least, he did not care about it anymore.

Soon after we finished our meal, the Grimauds excused themselves explaining that he had to get his rest after the strain of the nights performance. We all got up and said good-bye with a lot of girlish kisses all around. When they had gone, my uncle asked me to sit next to him. "You know, when I heard that you now wore girls things all the time, I wouldn't -- and I couldn't -- believe it. I heard that this was a punishment at school and I expected you to resume wearing male clothes during the holidays. I had heard of putting a boy in girls' clothes as a punishment and that some men imitated women on the stage but I had not heard of it as a lifestyle. Tonight, however, I not only saw you, I saw your friends Lise and Louise and even Mr. Grimaud actually living as girls. With all of you this doesn't seem to be a disguise -- you are girls when you are dressed up like this -- aren't you?" He looked from me to Louise and Lise who consented immediately before I had a chance to get a word in.

"Well I never believed this possible -- but here I saw it with my own eyes. The four of you looked much more feminine than real girls." He turned to Sylvia "Well, if this was all set up as a demonstration for me to prove that my nephew looks better as a girl than as a boy, you have made your point. He really is much prettier this way than I ever saw him in his torn jeans and dirty sweatshirts. If this is the way you want it, go on with it, you have my blessings."

"Oh no," I thought, "you too, Brutus!" There went the last straw that I had hoped to be able to cling to. Way back in a corner of my brain I had always nursed the hope that I could break away from Sylvia and her mother if I got tired of the games they were playing with me and flee to my uncle. Now he had given Sylvia the green light to go on with my feminization. But this was not all.

"Remember, Daddy, you asked me what you should give to Renee for Christmas and I said let me take care of it, I will get something you can give her as your Christmas present. Here it comes." She waved to the waiter who brought her a beautiful box covered with leather in red and gold. "It's a jewelry set. All things match: necklace, bracelets and all." I was very curious but also afraid of what it might contain. Sylvia opened it and took out one item after the other. "Here Daddy, you put it on her." She handed him a golden necklace which seemed to be made like the bracelets on expensive watches. It was about two inches wide and so perfectly crafted that you could hardly see the individual links it was made of. When he closed it around my neck, it fit snugly. I had to keep my head well up, otherwise its upper rim would cut into my skin. The bracelets she then gave him looked exactly the same, same width, same material. They had a thick ornamental knob on one side and when I touched my necklace I found that it had the same kind of ornament in front. It really was a beautiful set.

Everybody congratulated me on the wonderful present and I thanked my uncle with a little kiss on each cheek. Sylvia, however, was not done yet. "You see, Daddy, these things are not just beautiful jewelry, they serve a practical purpose too. Look here." She came to me and with hardly a motion of her quick hands she had clicked a link into the ornamental knobs on my bracelets joining them closely together. A short chain, maybe four or five inches long, ran from this connecting link. She pulled the other end of the chain up and clicked it into the ornament on my necklace. She had done it again. Here in front of everybody in the restaurant she had put me in handcuffs and chained me up. I did not know what to do. The pleasant smile on here face did not deceive me. It was a triumphant smile and I knew that If I should try to disturb her triumph, I would have to face bitter consequences. So I smiled too, just as if I liked what she had done.

My uncle was quite surprised but he had seen so many unexpected new things tonight that he did not want to appear as an unknowing boor again and just commented on the "clever little trick". Sylvia explained that there was more in the box, some bracelets for the upper arms and a matching gag set as well as a leash to guide me. "Well, at the price it cost me," my uncle finally stated, "she should wear it a lot to make it a worthwhile investment." He was already playing the worldly gent who saw these things every day and I noticed that he already spoke of me in the feminine gender. I knew that I had lost him completely now.

We finished our last bottle of champagne -- no easy task for me now with my hands locked so closely to my throat -- and went off. I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible on our way out but I think I received a few knowing glances.

When we came home, I was very tired but Sylvia was in the highest of spirits. She insisted on showing me the rest of the set and we spent at least an hour in which she locked me up in every conceivable way. When we finally went to bed, I was unable to claim my release. Sylvia fell asleep after her fourth time and I was glad about it, I was so exhausted that I was asleep five seconds later.

The rest of our stay we spent much like the first day, seeing the city during the day and going out at night. We spent New Years Eve with my uncle and his lady friend again. We all went to a festive "Diner Dansant", where we had dinner and danced into the new year. This time he was completely relaxed around us and treated us as the pretty girls we all appeared to be. Sylvia told me later that the bondage idea had caught on with him, because his lady friend had confided in her that he had started experimenting bondage with her during their lovemaking. She was later one of the first customers and models of our company. She loved the idea of restraining fashions and evidently my uncle is still thrilled by them too. To this day they take part in every showing we hold and every time he buys at least two outfits for her.

For me it was a strange experience to dance with men. In spite of my first experience as a girl dancing in the arms of a man in Florence I was scared at first but relaxed more and more. Sylvia and the other girls had danced with me at the school, all making sure that they would lead, so this was nothing new for me. But dancing with a male partner, giving myself into his arms to be held tightly and led around the dance floor was again a disturbing but also somehow a very thrilling experience. This dancing made me feel very, very feminine indeed. At first, I had doubts whether this feeling was appropriate for me, a boy, but when I saw myself in one of the big mirrors that lined one wall of the room, I saw it was right. There was nothing of a boy to be seen, only a pretty girl dressed in the latest fashion in an elegant evening gown dancing with her cavalier. Eventually, I gave in to my obvious femininity and I just enjoyed it and could hardly wait for the next boy to ask me for a dance until my feet just wouldn't hold me up anymore.

Chapter XII

When we got back to our school, it was like an anticlimax after all the excitement in Paris. The daily routine of the classes set in again and there was even nothing to look forward to like the fashion show at the end of the previous term. It was all hard work now. Even my birthday passed without special festivities. The girls gave me little presents that they had made, most of them fashion accessories. Denise gave me a pair of lovely long white satin evening gloves with beautiful silver embroidering running from the back of the hand up the entire length of the arm. She insisted that I try them on at the little party we were having and made me don a strapless gown first so they would look right. I had to stretch out my arms and Denise and a friend pulled the gloves on my arms and buttoned them at the wrist. Only when I had them completely on I noticed that they were seriously restraining me. Denise had inserted something stiff like corset boning into the hands on the inside. I could not move or bend any finger, not even the thumb. The boning continued to beyond my wrists so I could not bend my wrists either. My hands were entirely useless to me, I could not grab anything. I could not get them off either because I could not undo the buttons at the wrists.

Of course, after having played this trick on me, the girls refused to let me out of my bondage. I just had to sit there with my stiff hands and wrists and wait what would happen. The girls were nice, however, and gave me coffee and fed me biscuits.

The school work was not my only work though. Sylvia insisted, now that I had the proper dresses, that I take over all the duties of a maid. That meant making breakfast, cleaning up, keeping all our clothes in order, washing, pressing, repairing, and, of course, serving her most personal needs like brushing her hair, manicuring and pedicuring her and much more. I did not resent these personal duties as they were usually performed at night and more often than not in the course of my ministrations I would slowly start to caress her and get her excited and we would usually end up in bed. This was the only way to get her to unlock the terrible device that held my male plumbing back so cruelly. I had gotten accustomed to it quite well and in fact I did not notice it anymore under normal circumstances. Only if something would excite my sexual appetite, I would be painfully remembered of its presence. This made having to wear it so humiliating, not being able to follow your most basic urges.

Sylvia used this to demonstrate her power over me. She hired me out as a maid to some other girls with the silent understanding that they could use me any way they wanted. And they made use of every talent I had and even taught me a few new things too. Actually I got to lick most of the sweet cunts and asses in school but never had a chance of an orgasm of my own at those times. It was frustrating -- and very humiliating -- having to service a bunch of girls who all knew of my predicament. I was clearly marked the property of Sylvia, who could do with me as she liked.

Hi, this is Sylvia again. He makes me sound like a slave driver which I am not. I just like to have things go my way and to make them go my way I usually put in a lot of thought. There are people who would call me a scheming bitch because most of my actions are well planned in advance but I just refuse to go bumbling along from one day to the next like an idiot and accept what the so-called fate (which is usually brought on either by other people's planning or by lack of your own) dishes out to me.

To clarify my position with regard to Rene(e) let me tell you this: I liked him ever since he joined our family after the death of his parents. I liked his easy and soft ways, his way of never having any problems really, his ability to easily accept any given situation and to adapt himself to it. He has a quick mind, is very intelligent and has a lot of humor. In his "laissez-fare" way, he was directly opposed to me, but maybe this contrast attracted me so much to him and probably him to me. However -- I did not find him very attractive as a boy. I was not very keen on boys to begin with. Most boys I had met were downright chauvinistic, overbearing and just out to show a girl her place -- which in their opinion was either just below them or at least at the three C's: children, church and cooking. Not for me this kind of life. Girls were so much nicer, warmer, even sexier. With boys it was -- as I had heard from many conversations among women -- just a wham-bang-affair. Most men evidently cared very little about the feelings of their women and whether they liked the gymnastics performed on them or got any kind of satisfaction themselves. I liked girls because they understood the feelings of another girl and their eroticism excited my own emotions much more. Of course, I was introduced to the love of girls by an expert, our tutor, my mother's lesbian lover.

I, therefore, decided very early that I wanted Rene as my partner in life but I did not want him as an ordinary male partner, I wanted him as a female partner in every aspect but one. I knew how much pleasure a girl could derive from a nice, warm and very active penis -- there is hardly a substitute for it. Even the most sophisticated replicas cannot compare to the real thing. A penis is life, it is exciting when you can make it grow, when you watch it become bigger and bigger, when you feel it growing in your hand. Then you know that you excite your partner and that in turn heightens your own excitement. Therefore I wanted Rene as a girl in body and mind as much as possible but with this exciting appendage.

I had succeeded splendidly. He was the perfect girl now. He had the body of a girl, the face, the skin, the hair, the figure -- all was perfectly girlish and I had completely subjected him to my will, made him dependent on me in every way. And he was a great lover not only in a girlish way with his stroking hands and his nimble tongue but also as a man with his great tool -- but only if and when I wanted it. I was totally in command now. However, I had to think ahead. The transformation of his body had been brought about with the help of female hormones which over time could practically castrate a man. Only the fact that Rene was in his most active years now as a seventeen- year-old had made it possible for his male functions to survive the hormones. If, however, I continued to administer these doses of hormones, he would lose all masculine abilities in a short time. I had to change the course now.

I had talked this over with our doctor and she had explained that now that his female body characteristics had been fully developed, a much lower dosage would be sufficient to maintain this status. However, some of the typically male attributes could develop, most notably the hair on his face and body. I asked my father, therefore, to send me an electrolysis machine which I set up in Rene's bedroom and used it every night on whatever unwanted hair appeared. Soon enough he had no more hair than the average girl in spite of now very low doses of hormones which meant that his sexual appetite had greatly grown. Sometimes I had a hard time controlling it -- not that I could not handle him physically, I had him under lock and key, but his ardent passion nearly overcame me and I had trouble then controlling my own desires.

During the entire school year his education as a girl continued in every way. For the summer vacations I had rented an apartment in Cannes because I thought he had to get more experience in his relations with the other sex -- boys, I mean. I knew he was not gay and would never fall for a good looking hunk of a man. But he should learn to be quite natural around men -- as a girl of course. I anticipated his feelings as a girl would intensify if he had a lot of male admirers. Meanwhile, I continued my little tyrannies all intended to show him that I was his absolute mistress. I remember one instance where he opposed me. I wanted to go to a costume ball during the carnival season and decided that he should go as an ugly witch. He refused this adamantly -- which in a way I liked because it showed how girlish he had already become. He wanted to go as a glamorous princess. I told him, I would give in, if he won a bet that I would set up. I bet that he would keep a gag in his mouth out of his own free will and furthermore not use his hands just as if they were bound although they weren't until I would allow him to ungag himself and use his hands. For him this seemed to be an easy bet to win. He agreed at once. Next Sunday morning I called the bet. After breakfast I made him undress to his corset and high heels and gave him a rather heavy log to carry which I had equipped with a lot of sharp spikes all around. "Hold it for a second," I told him and without thinking twice he took it. Before he realized what I was up to I fastened two small strings that were attached to the log to his nipple rings. Now he had to think twice before he let go of the log. Without any delay I took out the little stud he was still carrying in the septum of his nose and replaced it with a ring. To this I connected a small chain, which in turn was fastened to a large ball-gag which I popped into his mouth. Of course, he could have spit it out, but when he saw that two inches below the gag the chain was fastened to a lead weight of about two pounds, he made very sure that the gag would not slip from his mouth for fear that the weight would fall down and tear at the nose ring.

He could not lay down the log, he tried to lie on his back and rest it on his chest but gave up the idea as soon as the spikes came into contact with his skin. He simply had to carry it and hold the gag in his mouth until I released him two hours later. Grudgingly, he had to concede that I had won my bet. Having shown my supremacy again, I relented about the witch costume and made him a modern, glamorous witch. This, however, did not prevent some boys from hunting her and holding a tribunal which sentenced her to the pillory. By some inexplicable coincidence (and a lot of careful underground planning on my side), a pillory was suddenly wheeled in and within seconds the witch was locked into it. She stood there for at least an hour and a half with her neck and hands securely held between the wooden beams. Of course, there were sympathetic souls who gave her drinks and some food but I also saw some boys taking a few liberties with the pretty helpless girl, stealing a feel here and there.

During the summer vacations I took Renee to the beach in Cannes and -- as all pretty girls are wont to do -- we went topless and with the tiniest tangas imaginable. She created quite a sensation with her nipple rings. Nobody, however, suspected that there was a sizeable prick hidden between her legs. At the beach topless girls did not spur any noticeable excitement among the boys, not more in any case as they would have had had they worn a full one piece swimsuit. At night, in the disco, where everybody was dressed, it was completely different. The boys ogled the girls with the deepest necklines as if they had never seen a female breast -- the very same girls that they had seen going topless all day long at the beach. This only goes to show that a dress can be an extremely powerful erotic stimulant, even more so than a naked body.

Of course, the boys wanted more than just to dance with us but I showed Renee how to keep them at distance. We never took any boys up to our apartment to prevent any unwanted complications. Of course, there were a few occasions where the night ended with lots of kisses in the car in front of our apartment on the Croisette, but this brought no harm to her. It just showed her how desirable she was as a girl. She really lapped up the compliments and provoked more and more, actually you could call her a real cock teaser. Once -- while I was pleasantly occupied in the front seat with a guy and could not watch the proceedings in the back seat all the time -- she came close to being raped right there by her date whom she had made so horny that he nearly lost control of himself. She later confided in me that she had to give him a hand job to quiet him down a bit.

On another occasion -- I had taken a walk to the beach with my date -- her admirer grew so ardent in the car that she had no other choice than to take his large thing into her mouth and give it a special tongue lashing. We had come from a disco, Renee and her date sat in the back seat. When they had gotten in, I had engaged the children's security latch so the back doors of the car could only be opened from the outside. I had planned to take this little walk with my date and I did not want Renee or her date following us. It seems however that they had discovered that they were locked in and the boy took advantage of the fact that Renee couldn't just jump out of the car. When we came back, we saw, that he had succeeded in tying Renee's bracelets together with his handkerchief behind her back and held her by her ears pumping her head up and down on his prick. When we reached the car, he obviously just reached his climax and shot his load into her throat.

Of course, I scolded myself for having put Renee into such a predicament, but the boy seemed to be of the quiet type and I had not expected him to become so aggressive. However, I didn't let on these thoughts to Renee. On the contrary, I reprimanded her for allowing a guy to tie her up and then sucking his cock. She was all in tears and told me that it was a terrible experience. "You should then not go around all night teasing the guys. You probably provoked the scene with your actions, showing off yours tits, the way you looked at him, etc. I even saw you playing with your tongue over your lips a few times. What is a guy to expect from a girl that does all this? And then, if she does not come through, he gets a little rough -- what else can you expect?"

Except for these incidents (and a few more similar but less dramatic ones), we lived a quiet life at the school. All the while however I was pursuing my ultimate goal, the complete feminization of Renee.

After the summer vacations we all started at a new project to be finished at Christmas: designing and making historical fashions. Again I was voted the model and -- because in the historical department we had to include male fashions -- Sylvia became the model for these. I thought it really strange that I, the male half of the couple, was to model the female fashions and Sylvia, the female half, the male fashions, but apparently I was the only one to see it that way.

I was glad, however, that my body began slowly to develop male characteristics as the doctor had predicted it would. I began to grow a beard, and other male hair appeared on my body too. Sylvia did not like this and removed every hair that showed up with her electrolysis machine. At first, we had a quarrel about this as I did not want to lose my male hair permanently, but Sylvia pointed out to me that I had promised to obey her in all aspects of my appearance until we finished school and until this time she had the right to remove all hairs she found undesirable. She pointed out too that I should -- and would -- be grateful to her because I never would have to shave. As always, I finally gave in to her reasoning.

The historical fashions proved to be both exciting and at the same time more uncomfortable than the present ones. Our historical review started with the baroque period and ended at the first world war. For most of this time women seem to have worn very constricting corsets and so I had to. During the summer Sylvia had allowed me to go without one practically all the time because we were practically naked on the beach anyhow and to wear a corset at night would probably have resulted in unsightly marks on my body the next morning at the beach. Now, however, corsets were back again -- and tighter than ever. My uncorseted waist had been reduced to 23, sometimes even 22 inches. Most of the gowns I had to wear now were made for a 18- inch waist and I had to adjust to it. I felt like being cut in half.

On the other hand the fashions were very exciting. To walk around in the long swishing skirts with their numerous petticoats caused a lot of quite pleasurable sensations in me. I particularly liked the gowns from the middle of the last century with their enormous hoop skirts or crinolines. At first the widening skirts in the 1830s had been puffed out by petticoats that were stiffened by horsehair. From these they derived their name "crinolines" because the French word for horsehair is "crin". Finally, the skirts were so wide, that only steel hoops in a petticoat could hold them out, but the name "crinolines" stayed.

The other period I liked very much were the "Gay Nineties" with their enormous leg-o'-mutton-sleeves. During both periods, however, the women wore themselves laced in to the absolute minimum waist size and I had to lace down to below 18 inches. After a long training period with several fainting spells I reached 17 inches, however I could not stand this for any prolonged period of time without fainting again and any kind of exercise was completely impossible, even sitting or walking were very exhausting tasks. But I liked the picture I saw of myself in the mirrors everywhere. The period Sylvia liked most was 1912. Her suits were almost modern and in that year the long "hobble skirt" was at its most extreme and, as one fashion book we used described it, "seriously impeded walking". Although women laced much less in that period than in the previous ones, I had to continue the strictest tight lacing to stay accustomed to it for the other dresses I had to wear. The hobble skirts left me almost no room for walking, but they looked very elegant. The girls who made them used original sketches by Worth and early Erte designs.

Sylvia made me wear some of the historical dresses every day. "To get the feeling for them and to practice moving in them, so you will look like you really are from that period. A modern girl without this practice would probably get entangled in the petticoats and fall down." It took a lot of training actually to be able to walk with ease with the long trains of the 1870s and 80s. You had to pay attention at every turn you took. And no matter what period, going up or down steps in these long skirts meant having to take special care. Ordinarily you could gather your skirts with one hand and lift them up or gracefully bend your knees as in a curtsy and pick up your train behind you, but if you carried something in both hands or if they were tied on your back (as Sylvia did more often than not), you first had to throw out the skirts a little and then set down your foot. All this had to be done in a natural and not exaggerated way.

Another set of very pretty dresses was that of a lady-in-waiting to the unfortunate queen Marie-Antoinette. It consisted of a ball-gown and a shepherdess costume. Both had the extremely wide hips over a tiny waist and both had very deep plunging necklines. I had to pay attention not to let my tits jump out of the dresses at a sudden movement. However sudden movements were forbidden in these costumes anyhow because with them came two of the most elaborate wigs you can imagine. The one for the ball-gown was about two feet high and had to be balanced carefully, the shepherdess' wig was only a little bit smaller. Sudden movements while wearing them were clearly not in order. To fasten them to the head, they were cleverly laced into my own hair.

As the shoes with the real high and slim heels only came into fashion in the twentieth century, it would have been right for me to wear shorter heels or flat shoes under all of the historical dresses. However, everybody agreed that my walk looked better in high heels and since nobody could see the difference, I should wear modern high heeled shoes under the dresses. I had hoped to be relieved from the extremely high heels I usually wore during the "historical period", but again I had no luck. Everybody voted for high heels.

Again after the show, which was a triumph, Sylvia bought all of the costumes for us. This time I did not see the logic in this because in little more than half a year I would go back to being a man, but she did it anyhow.

The Christmas holidays were again spent at home with my aunt and in Paris with my uncle, Lise and Louise. When I told everybody about the final advent of my beard and that I expected my body to change now into a masculine one and that I would then change back into male clothes, I saw a lot of doubtful looks and Sylvia always concluded such explanations with something like: "OK, we will see, but for the next seven months you will remain a girl."

During these holidays Sylvia brought up the topic of our wedding. I had never thought about it really, but I found it absolutely natural that we should marry. Sylvia wanted a wedding in June, when we would still be at school and to her that meant that I would be dressed as the bride and she as the groom. When I suggested a postponement into the fall when I could be the groom, she flatly refused. So it was to be in June and in the little town where our school was. It turned out, that my uncle knew a friend of a friend of the mayor of this town and through this connection the rather strange wedding could be arranged the way Sylvia wanted it. Of course, it took a sizeable donation to the city's account which -- as I heard later -- was used to buy a second hand fire engine and a new car for the mayor. "Monsieur le Cure", the priest, was also approached and he forgot all possible objections against the strange ceremony after he received a complete set of furniture and toys for the church's kindergarten.

Well, apparently everybody agreed on the wedding in this odd style. I could have shouted my arguments to the sea in a storm with the same effect. Nobody listened to me. Everybody was so taken with the oddball idea of a marriage with exchanged roles.

Finally, the day was set for a Saturday morning in early June. It was a clear and sunny day, not too hot yet, just pleasantly warm. For the civil ceremony I wore a cream colored dress with a midi skirt just covering my calves, with sleeves to just below the elbows, with long kid gloves of the same color disappearing into them. My hair was elaborately done and crowned by a little cream colored hat with a very delicate lace veil that covered my entire face. Of course, I was laced to less than 20 inches and with the more than five inch heels I did not know whether I rather wanted to sit down and endure the pinching of my corset or stand up in my pinching shoes with their too high heels.

Sylvia was very formally dressed in a morning coat with striped trousers and a grey top hat. She wore a short hair wig and a dark beard to cover the girlish features of her face. She really looked like a very attractive groom. The ceremony was nice and fortunately short so that everybody returned to the castle, where lunch was served. After lunch we prepared for the ceremony at the church. I, of course, wore the wedding gown that had been the final number of our first fashion show at the school. It consisted of a very tight long underdress which was slit at the back to the knees to give me room for walking. My figure had changed a little since the dress had been made for me about 18 months ago. At that time I had to be laced down to 22 inches which was now my uncorseted size. Sylvia had, however, thought about it and adjusted the waist size to 20 inches and again I had to wear a very tight corset. But she had apparently forgotten that my breasts had grown since those days. Anyway, when I got into the dress I had a lot of trouble getting my much larger breasts covered with the fabric available. Again I would have to be very careful to prevent them from jumping out of their confinement.

Over this silk underdress I wore a very romantic dress made of the sheerest white organza in a very innocent little girl style buttoned all the way down from the large collar to the hem. It had a very wide skirt that floated around me, a narrow waist and very big sleeves that ended at the wrists. It was completely transparent. The tight underdress spelled "naughty" all over and contrasted vividly to the naive style of the overdress. It was a fascinating ensemble and I liked it very much. I just had to take care not to raise my arms to keep my tits covered. Of course, I wore a long veil which was carried by two little children from the town. My uncle acted as the father of the bride, Lise was the best man (probably the first time in years for her to wear male clothes) and Louise was among my bridesmaids. Sylvia looked every inch the perfect groom. It might seem bizarre, but at this time I really felt like a bride. I was just happy and in bliss.

When we returned from the church, everybody congratulated us and kissed me. When it was time to throw the bridal bouquet to the bridesmaids, I forgot about the problem with my tits and sure enough they jumped out and into clear view of everybody. They were greeted with a large round of applause and I got red to the roots of my hair. I started to fumble to adjust the underdress but Sylvia cut in: "Just leave them like this, darling, everybody has seen them already and they are pretty enough to be proud of." So for the rest of the day and the night my tits were covered only by the transparent organza. In my opinion it was a most erotic view that I presented and this opinion was confirmed later at the dance, because I do not believe that all of the boys I danced with carried a flashlight in their trousers.

Well, now that we were married, things did not change at all. It was about two more weeks to graduation, all of our exams were done already and it was a really relaxed mood that spread among the girls. The most important thing seemed to be what to wear and whom to take to the graduation ball. Sylvia and I had no problem with either question. The graduation ceremony would take place in the morning and we had all day to prepare for the ball at night.

I had told Sylvia that I planned to resume male clothes right afterwards and upon my request she had bought me a business suit, male socks and shoes and other accessories, in short a complete male outfit. Yet she insisted that on my last night as a girl I should be as pretty as possible. She had, therefore, hired a hairdresser from Cannes and a famous "visagiste" and had flown her in from Paris with all her equipment just to get me a perfect makeup.

First, however my hair was styled. It was all piled up high on my head. The hairdresser had brought a long hairpiece the color of my own hair and fastened it into the pile of my own hair from where it dangled in a softly waved thick strand down below my neck where it softly touched and brushed my shoulders and back with every movement of my head. On the top a wonderful big diadem was fastened into my hair which sparkled from endless rows of rhinestones.

Then the visagiste went to work. First, she attended to my eyes, squirting a liquid into them. "To make them less sensitive against the irritations during the makeup session and later on against the smoke in the ballroom so they will not water and lessen the chances that tears will ruin your makeup." She explained to me. At this moment my eyes certainly were watery. I could hardly see anything. Sylvia meanwhile explained that the visagiste would use special natural colors which would hold better and not run under hot lamps or when I got hot during the dance. The visagiste then gave me a paper to sign explaining that she had once experienced an allergic reaction against her special colors and to be on the safe side legally, I should sign a release form. As I was not allergic to anything I quickly signed the form. I could not really see it with my watering eyes but found the dotted line all right.

It was a very special process that she used. The colors were applied with a kind of electrical pen that hummed and caused a warm feeling where it touched the skin. She was very meticulous and interrupted her work every few seconds to take a look at what she had done. The whole process took about two and a half hours but when I finally saw myself I had to agree it was worth it. I had never looked better. My face was a work of art. The makeup was not overdone, on the contrary, for a "grand ball" I had expected her to use more makeup and heavier colors. This makeup I could even wear on the street without looking out of place. When I told her so, she explained that this was her intention, an almost natural makeup, because as a young girl with my fine features it would only hurt to do more. Anyway, she had applied a soft blue eye-shadow which was darker on the lids and became almost silvery where it reached the high arches of the eyebrows, which had been permanently shaped by Sylvia's electrolysis. The eyes were lined with dark lines which were joined at the outer edges into small triangles. The blusher on the cheeks looked absolutely natural and the lips looked as if they just waited to be kissed with their bright red color. To give them the final touch, she added some kind of colorless, transparent lipstick which added a sparkling sheen. When I saw myself in the mirror, I wanted to kiss her for what she had done on me but she kept me away saying I should be careful not to ruin her work.

The dress that I wore this night was fabulous too. It was of shiny white silk with large printed pink flowers on it. It had a small strapless top which actually ended below my breasts. Two of the printed flowers had been cut out and embroidered following the lines of the print so that the flowers looked almost real and arranged so that their leaves cupped my breasts. It looked fantastic. The skirt was long and had a little train. A broad sash of pink satin accentuated my slim waist and was knotted into a large bow over my "derriere" with its ends falling to the ground.

I wore very high heeled evening sandals which sparkled with rhinestones. A big rhinestone choker and rhinestone bracelets over my shoulder length white kid gloves completed my outfit.

Sylvia had not made me wear a corset nor had she used any kind of restraint on me this night. I believe she wanted to make my last night as a girl a pleasant one for me to remember. And it was a pleasant one. I danced, I ate and drank, I was among all my friends and I enjoyed myself immensely. I had loved my life as a girl and I would now gladly remember it. You always tend to forget the less pleasurable moments, the hardships and the sufferings of a period and remember only the moments you were happy. This was a night I would surely remember even when I was the successful businessman that I wanted to become. I danced until the musicians packed up their instruments and everybody had to go home.

At home Sylvia and I had a fantastic session in bed at the end of which she handed me the lock and the key that had held my penis her prisoner during the last one and a half years and told me I was now free to go and do as I wanted. She had faithfully kept her side of our deal. I was in tears from all the emotions that came over me at this moment but I was also absolutely exhausted. Sylvia, however, insisted that I should tell her what would happen to all of my female clothes and other female stuff. I was too tired to discuss this now and in a first eruption of bad male behavior I told her she could all shove it up her ass or anybody else's she liked. "OK," she stated rather coolly, "I take it that you want to give it to me as a gift. But I want this in writing. I somehow expected it and prepared the necessary document. Here, would you please sign it." She handed me a sort of legal document. I looked at it and it stated that I turned over, assigned and conveyed to her my entire possessions in female attire including, but not limited to dresses, coats, underwear, hats, gloves, stockings, jewelry and ... and ... and ... . I wondered what else could not have been included in this list. Lawyers have a funny way of earning their money, making people believe all of this garbage is necessary. Most people would probably have been impressed. I was not. I was tired. I signed it, gave it to Sylvia saying: "Here it is. I hope it will make you happy." She almost had ruined a perfect evening with this, but I was still too elated to really get angry. I got into bed and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning I got up early. It would be the day of my rebirth as a male. I showered, took off my nail polish and put on a tight wide elastic band around my chest to at least partially hide my feminine charms there. I put on jockey shorts and a T-shirt. They felt uneasy and rough after almost two years of the finest silk underwear. When I looked into the mirror, I thought that the makeup of the visagiste had really held up as promised, it was still as fresh as yesterday when she finished it. Well, a hand full of cold cream would take care of it. I hesitated for a moment to have another long look at my face. Would I ever see me again like this? I decided not to cut my hair now. I would use Sylvia's short hair wig until I could go to a barber and have it professionally cut. He would probably be glad to buy my long blond tresses. Anyhow, now that I thought of it, I was quite glad now that I would never have that hassle with shaving every morning and possibly again at night like other men.

Looking into the mirror, the strange feelings came over me again that always befell me when I saw myself in a mirror as a girl. Strange but pleasurable emotions were stirred by the image I saw. Should I really once and for all give up the pleasures that being a girl had given me? They were like something forbidden that had an irresistible attraction. I knew it was not right for me to have these feelings. I should be glad to be able to return to manhood. But it was so exciting being a girl, it brought so many delights and they were so much more delightful as they seemed to be taboo. Well, maybe I could now and then change back into dresses, for a night on the town or on a weekend maybe or even during vacations. I decided that for the moment I should not go and have my hair cut. I would do it when my breast condition would change, maybe this would stop my urge to dress as a girl. I was already doubting whether I should go back to being a boy at all but with all my willpower I decided not to give in to these emotions. I had to be a man, I had plans, I wanted to be successful.

I picked up the cold cream and smeared a whole hand full all over the face and really rubbed it in. I closed my eyes, taking care of the eye-shadow and the liner, the blusher on the cheeks and finally the lipstick. I fumbled for tissue paper, found it and wiped the whole mess off. When I opened my eyes and looked into the mirror -- a ton of bricks hit me.

The makeup was as fresh as last night, only my skin had a greasy sheen from the cream. It could not be possible. I tried the same operation again, this time with pure Vaseline -- no effect whatsoever. I tried a skin cleansing lotion, spot remover, even turpentine and thinner which we still had from painting the apartment. Nothing had any effect on my makeup. The skin got red and irritated in spots, my eyes were red and burned but the makeup stayed on. Oh no -- this couldn't be true. Was it really possible that she had pulled the same trick on me twice? In Florence she had brought me to put on a dress for the first time because I could not remove the makeup she had put on me under false pretenses.

I stormed into her bedroom. "Hey you, wake up, wake up! What did you do to me this time? Look at me. I used everything I can think of to get it off and now -- look at me." Sylvia looked up from the bed as if she just had wakened from deep slumber. "Hey what is all this shouting about?" "Look at me -- what did you do?" She brushed her hair from her face and smiled at me. "Well -- what should I see? If you would take off these stupid cotton shorts and the T-shirt, you would look delicious. Well, take them off and come to bed." She cooed sexily. "I am not in the mood for sex now. I want to know what you did to me." "Well, have it your way then. I did not do anything to you. You wanted it and you got it." "What did I want and what did I get?" "Well, permanent makeup of course." "I never wanted anything like this -- never." "Well, you have it in writing signed and sealed. Let me see. It must still be around here somewhere." She got out of bed and went to the dresser. "Here it is. Read it. And let me go back to sleep. I have only had four hours so far." She handed me a piece of paper with my signature at the end.

I sat down to study it. At first I thought it was the document with which I had turned over all my dresses and other stuff to her. It was not. It was a contract between myself and a certain Madame Bellecour, visagiste, under which I had hired her and she had agreed to put on me a permanent makeup. She guaranteed it to last at least 18 months. It was all perfectly spelled out. Oh yes, there it was: I released her from any responsibility in case the treatment should cause an allergic reaction of my body. I could not believe it. That was how they had done it. I remembered it now.

I was completely devastated. All my plans were suddenly ruined. If I had hoped to be able to hide the female forms of my body -- I knew I could not hide my face all the time. I knew I was beaten.

I turned to Sylvia. "What's next?" "Well nothing, go ahead and be what you like." "But I can't the way I look." "Don't tell it to me. You should have paid more attention with what you do and what you sign. The paper says it quite clearly: You only got what you had asked for and agreed to. Any complaints? Go, tell it to a judge." She was really sarcastic and wallowed in my misery.

"There must be a way to get this off. I will see a skin specialist." "Rest assured, there is not. The color is implanted into the upper layer of the skin. Not as deep as a tattoo, but into the skin as well. It will only fade when the upper layer of the skin will be replaced in the normal biological process. You could grind off this upper layer everywhere else, but it is impossible on the lips and the lids. The skin there is much too sensitive. Mme. Bellecour actually is the only one who has developed a treatment for these areas. All the others stay away from them in the first place. But now it is on -- or rather in - - you for good."

I tried to think, to get my options straight. I wanted to be a man but somehow I seemed to be fated to remain a girl. I could not go anywhere with this face and be accepted as a man. People would deride me everywhere. But I could not hide for 18 months either. The only solution was to go on living as a girl for the time necessary for the makeup to disappear. I had to go on living as a girl. There was no alternative.

I told Sylvia that I wanted to wait until the makeup faded and gradually change into a masculine being. "So you try to take the easy way out, hide behind my skirts. No -- not with me, you don't. What do you think I should do during this time? Watch my girlfriend turn into a boy? How should I explain it to the world? How would I look living with a freak? Furthermore, I do not like you as a male -- I told you so long ago. If you want to be a male, go ahead, but don't ask me for help."

She was really cruel. "If, however, you decide to remain a girl and give up the silly notion that you could become a man again ..." Her voice was pure honey now. "Well, if you resolve to stay a girl until I and I alone decided to let you become a man again, I promise you to make your life very happy."

I saw no other way out. I was not fit to face life on my own. It was true, I was so settled in the life as a girl, I could not just turn around and be somebody else. I needed her and I loved her. I did not want to lose her. The only way to hold her was to give in to her. I told myself that later on I would probably be able to persuade her to give me back my male identity.

On the other hand -- if I looked back on my life as a girl: it was mostly very pleasant memories. I loved the clothes, I loved being admired by men and women alike for the way I looked. What did I have to gain as a man? Maybe Sylvia was right, I might be happier as a girl. And right now, I didn't even have a choice.

"All right then," I suddenly heard myself say, "I accept. I will live with you as a girl until you let me become a man again." I wanted to turn around and get dressed. "Where are you going?" "I am getting dressed. We shall be leaving soon -- aren't we?" "Well, I will. But what are you going to wear? You can't go naked. And remember -- you gave me all your clothes yesterday, they are all mine." "I am sure you can spare something to tie me over until I get some new ones." "You just gave me a great idea: tie you. But as to the clothes you want, they are not for free. In fact, you can have back everything you gave me on one condition: just as before you are to obey me in everything. You will dress as I direct you to, you will do everything I ask you to, in short: You will continue to be my girl-slave."

I do not know why, there is absolutely no logical reason or explanation, but her words made my nerves tingle. The most pleasant sensations suddenly raced through me. I already saw myself dressed up again in the most elegant, extravagant way and at the same time restrained and hobbled being led around by her. I almost swooned. I rushed to her and embraced her. I promised that she could do with me whatever she wanted. All my former ideas of becoming a man again suddenly had vanished. All I wanted to be was her girl-slave.

"I knew you would give up your crazy idea about becoming a man. Being my girl-slave is what you really want deep inside you. I just had to bring it out again. But I want to have some proof that you really mean it. Go and undress yourself, fetch the lock and key that I gave you last night. Put on a tight black corset, dark stockings, high heeled black shoes and long black gloves, do your hair up and come back."

It took me about 10 minutes to get ready the way she wanted to see me. Most of the time I spent lacing myself in. When I returned, she was standing in front of the big mirror in a sexy negligee.

She approached me and gave me the necklace and the bracelets I had gotten the Christmas before last from her father and a large gag. "Here, put the gag into your mouth and lock it behind your neck, put on the necklace with the leash on it, lock the bracelets together and put them on your wrists -- in front." I did as she had ordered. "Now get down on all fours and kiss my feet." I did it. "Give me the leash." I did it. It all should have been absolutely humiliating, but I loved doing it. I wanted to give myself into her hands now. My true feelings were betrayed by the fact that I had a most spectacular hard- on. She went around me as I kneeled there, took a stocking and tied my bracelets to my necklace in the back, raising my elbows over my head. I was absolutely defenseless now. I was nearly delirious with excitement. She pulled me up and pushed me onto the bed, straddling me, engulfing my erect member with her wet pussy. Without word but looking into my eyes steadily she started to move slowly. At first I lay very still, but as her movements grew faster I could not contain myself any longer and started to rock and buck in unison with her until our gyrations grew into a frenzy and we both exploded at the same time.

It took both of us a few minutes to recover. Then she got up and put on a dildoe, a V-shaped thing, one end of which she shoved slowly into her love-nest before pulling the straps tight. She pulled me up from the bed and bent me over a big stuffed chair. "Now you will be fucked like a real girl." She positioned herself behind me and started to shove the other end of the V- shaped dildoe into my ass. With her right hand she grabbed my prick, with the left hand she started to knead my tits. It took only seconds for my prick to reach its full dimensions again and in rhythm with her thrusts she started to massage it. Soon her movements grew faster and faster and again we climaxed in unison. I was completely spent now and simply slumped over the backrest of the big chair.

After a while I felt her pulling on my leash and got up again. Without saying a word she handed me the terrible gadget that had held my prick prisoner for so long.

I knew what she meant, but it was very humiliating to follow her request or was it an order? Whatever, I had promised to obey her and so I locked away my male pride and handed her the key. I was totally in her hands again and there was no way out and no end to it. But I was happy.

We spent a lot of time traveling all over the world before we settled down and opened our business in Paris. We met a lot of interesting people, we even met several who shared our ideas for a lifestyle. Lise and Louise and we were not the only crazy couples in the world. A lot of them however were just too afraid of coming out into the open because they would suffer too much, society in general did not easily accept people like us. We were very lucky that we were in a position to be entirely independent from what other people said or thought.

As Sylvia had promised, we led a very exciting and happy life. I got all the dresses I could wish for and quite a few that I had not wished for but wore at Sylvia's request -- they always looked great though. If you want to know what kind of dresses I wore -- just pick up any one of the leading French fashion magazines, look for the most extravagant styles and you have it. We went to all the big showings of the haute couture as well as the pret-a- porter houses, we became friends of most of the famous designers. We took many of the newest ideas and adapted them to our own style and our collections. Our favored designers were Thierry Mugler and Claude Montana. Look what they did in any one season and you have a pretty good idea of what I wore.

There were never "middle of the road" fashions for us. If skirts were short, mine would end about four or even six inches above the knee. If they were long, mine would be ankle length. And most of the time Sylvia hid some kind of restraint in my dresses and coats -- that is I mostly wore capes instead of coats for obvious reasons. My skirts -- when tight -- were really hobbling me and if I wore wide skirts I usually had a hobbling petticoat beneath them. And the ways she devised to immobilize my arms were too many to count: in pockets, under big bows on my derriere, folded under my breasts, in a muff and many others. Sometimes the dresses were designed in a way that arms would just disturb the line of the design. Then I usually wore a corset into which the arms were laced too, either with the elbows lashed closely together and my hands on my tush (very uncomfortable after a while) or folded across the back.

I could go on forever telling you about the parties that we went to, the opera, the theaters and about the sexy encounters that we had. But life was not all that easy for me. I would also have to tell you about the time Sylvia thought that I needed some more training as a slave and sent me for six weeks to a professional dominatrix. "The difference between a good slave and a perfect slave is," she explained to me, "a good slave does everything she is asked, a perfect slave does it before she is asked. You will never be a perfect slave, but you should try to and I will provide you the best training you can find, regardless of the cost." I had a suspicion that she wanted to have me out of the house because at that time she had an eye cast on a very good looking fellow from Australia and at the same time on a lovely girl from Brazil. When I returned -- much improved as Sylvia attested me -- they were both gone and I never heard anything from them or about them again. When we finally settled down and opened our salon, Sylvia hired a very pretty, exotic looking Eurasian boy as a housekeeper. Of course, she dresses him as a girl. He got breast implants and has beautiful tits now. S-he is very sexy and most of the times we include her in our love sessions at home where we sometimes act out whole plays in which I inevitably am a damsel in distress and get tied up very early. Sylvia usually is the villain and I never can tell in advance if crime does or does not pay in this game. There even are times when the other participants seem to forget I am there and leave me bound and gagged but always sexily dressed till the next morning.

However, life is not all fun and games. Right now our work at our salon requires all our attention and most of our time but we both enjoy it. We belong to the few people that succeeded in making their hobby their business and we love it.

Chapter XIII

Let me take you back to the very beginning of my story: The party on the occasion of the presentation of our tenth couture-show in Paris. You may remember that I was held immovably by my corset, a tight long evening dress and a rhinestone choker on a pedestal, my arms laced into the corset on my back in a hammer-lock position, an exquisite fashion mannequin among a row of dummies displaying some of our previous designs. I could not see anything for the contact-lenses with blackened pupils and could not hear anything for the solid wax balls inserted into my ears.

The deprivation of these senses seemed to make the other senses more receptive: I could sense people from the wafts of sensuous perfumes that reached my nostrils as they passed which translated into pictures dancing before my eyes of beautiful women elegantly dressed in evening gowns and their masculine escorts in equally elegant tuxedos. And I could feel. My entire skin under its silken encasing seemed to be waiting and expecting soft caressing touches -- and when they came, they were still surprising every time and triggered ecstatic shivers running from the top of my head to my toes and back up. I almost came to orgasm every time someone's hand lingered for more than a short touch, stroking up and down my legs, circling my derriere.

The exciting part was, that I did not know, who touched me, not even if it was a man or a woman. Of course, I always imagined it to be a woman, but I could not be sure. I knew very well that some of our domineering female guests had a very strong, masculine grip and some of our more submissive male guests had a very feminine, soft touch.

To the uninitiated observer it must have appeared that there were many more women present than men, about two or three to one. However, you could not trust outward appearances here. If you saw a couple of two women together, it was an even bet that one of them was actually a male and often enough it was the more feminine looking one. Even if you saw a mixed couple, you could not be sure that the actual gender coincided with the outward appearance. Many of our male guests were transformed into very beautiful women -- some just for the night, many however lived as women all the time. I was sure that many Francs had been spent for coiffeurs and visagistes during the day as each of our cross-dressed guests tried to look their absolute best and outshine the others, most of all the real women.

But even an uninitiated observer would have found something peculiar about our guests. If you looked closely, one part of each couple almost always seemed hampered or handicapped in its movements or expressions: their steps were hobbled by tight skirts or some other restraint and some apparently did not have any arms and had the mouth or entire face covered by scarves, veils or even the intricate design of the dress or hat, hiding all kinds of gags. Some evidently could not sit down for the excruciating long corsets that they obviously wore.

If you would have looked closer, you would have seen that many of the heavy gold bracelets and other jewels actually were restraining the wearer like handcuffs and that very often the ankle straps on high heeled slippers and sandals were held together by a short black and therefore almost invisible steel cable. Had you have been given the opportunity to examine closely the bracelets, collars, ankle straps and other seemingly decorative parts of the clothing, you would have found that most of them were actually inescapable fetters.

Again, almost all of the so restrained people among our guests appeared to be women, but I knew that many of them were males who had willingly or with some coercion by their mates become she-male love-slaves of their sweethearts (not all of them being women), much as I had become the completely feminized love-slave of my wife and cousin Sylvia.

Of course, I could see nothing of what was going on around me, but after an almost endless time when all our guests had arrived and been greeted by Sylvia, I felt that somebody opened the zippers running upwards from the hem of my dress to allow me to take at least the smallest steps. Strong arms lifted me from my pedestal and I was led away. I was very glad to be able to walk a little because my feet had started to hurt from being motionlessly perched on the 15 cm (almost six inches) high heels on my evening slippers.

I knew what would happen next: I was scheduled to be the "Mistress of Ceremonies" during our fashion show. At first Sylvia removed the contact-lenses that had blinded me, then she took out the wax-balls that bereft me of my hearing and finally she unlocked the lock that held my teeth together and took out the mouth-filling gag. Oh -- what a relief. My only remaining restraint was the tight corset which not only squeezed my waist to a ridiculous small size but also immovably held my arms on my back. I found myself backstage among the usual chaos preceding any fashion show.

We had about sixty creations: dresses, suits, coats, evening and hostess gowns, dinner dresses and what you might call "home-wear", meaning very sexy outfits for strictly private parties. All our models were friends and clients and if a professional model was among them, it was not for her professional qualities but rather because she (and/or her partner) was partial to our special kind of fashions.

In fact my good friend Lee, an extraordinarily elegant, tall and slim creature was a professional model and cover girl, much sought after by the top designers and photographers and once a prime target of the jet-set playboys. Their interest had ebbed off completely however after it became known, that none of them ever "scored" with her and she was living with a girlfriend -- she was written off as a confirmed lesbian and worse, even an intellectual, because she was very bright and had an excellent college education which she did not hide if somebody tried to treat her as a dumb blonde. What none of those empty-headed macho types knew -- and would not have understood in the first place -- was that she was really a boy who lived very happily with his wife, both having chosen a life-style that suited them best.

He had told me he was not much into bondage but liked very much and was a good customer for our more normal dresses because they always emphasized the femininity of the wearer by accentuating the feminine forms of the body and giving the wearer an aura of helplessness. Tonight he had volunteered to model for us even our most extravagant and restraining creations. His wife acted as his dresser.

If I just said he was not into bondage, I may have to correct this statement for the future, because during the preparations and the show itself I saw some very excited looks on his face as well as on his wife's when she put him into some very restraining gowns or restrained him in other ways. These looks were not meant for the public, they were intimately exchanged between them. Anyone not familiar with love bondage may not have noticed it, but I was too experienced in the feelings that being made helpless by your loved one could inspire not to see the telltale signs of his excited slight pressures and rubs against his wife's body begging for caresses.

Chapter XIV

Actually I think I should tell you all about my friend Lee, how everything started and how he became the top model he is now. As always with a successful man you have to look for the woman behind him, "cerchez la femme" as we say it.

Lee is an American boy and it all started in Beverly Hills High about ten years ago, when Twentieth Century Fox had sold its back lot and Century City had grown and was still growing on it right across from the school. Lee lived in a little apartment across the street on the other side of the school. At 17 he was fully grown at 5'10 but rather thin, blond with a very fair skin that looked almost translucent some times. He was at the top of his class in everything. His intellectual accomplishments, however, did not make him overly popular with the girls. In Beverly Hills perhaps even more than elsewhere the girls favored the linebacker types. Lee lived alone in his apartment because his father, an engineer had been sent to Singapore by his company to set up and manage a new plant and had taken his wife along. Not wishing to interrupt the final year of the high school education of their son, they left him to finish school at home.

Noreen McCullough attended many of the same classes and was rather impressed by him. She was an only child too. Her mother had married at 18 a man three times her age. She was very beautiful and a volcano of a woman; two years after their marriage her husband died of a heart-attack, leaving his widow not only with a beautiful big house in Beverly Hills but otherwise well provided for too. She raised her daughter as her companion -- there were no secrets between them. Being young, beautiful, wealthy and alone, there was no dearth of suitors, but she never remarried. She had many affairs, some lasting for three months only, one for three years. And her companions were not always men. In fact the three year affair was with a female script-writer for one of the big studios.

Noreen therefore saw a lot that other girls never even hear about and she was not disturbed very much when she discovered that she was turned on by girls as well as by men -- to her swinging both ways was the accepted thing. In discussing her feelings with her mother she once had said: "The ideal partner for me would be a very feminine man, who could fulfill my need for a feminine companion and a be a male with that essential little difference (not too diminutive though) at the same time -- but I think there is no such animal." Her mother told her to just keep looking, there is one of every kind around, you just have to find him.

Lee was rather shy with girls, the result of some prior disappointments and it took Noreen some scheming to coax him into asking her for a date, which turned out to be a big success. After that they were dating on a regular basis and soon became lovers. It then was only natural to go together to the annual Halloween costume-dance.

Discussing the costumes they should wear, Noreen suggested that they go as Snow White and the prince. Lee was all for it until they were at a costume house in Hollywood to rent their costumes and he found out that Noreen had intended for him to be Snow White. He put up quite a fight.

"I'm not going as a girl, I would just look ridiculous and furthermore I am blond and everyone knows that Snow White had hair like ebony."

At that moment the clerk returned with the long black wig. "Here you are Sir," she said, "I am sure you will look marvelous in this costume with your slim figure and your fair skin, it's perfect for Snow White. I am sure you'll win a prize. Your friend made a very good choice, and she'll make a handsome prince."

Not wanting to embarrass Noreen on front of the clerk, he finally agreed to take the costume but said aside to Noreen: "This isn't over yet -- you can wear the Snow White dress and I'll be the prince."

Noreen did not object, but when they got to his apartment where they intended to dress as it was just opposite the school, she beseeched and pleaded with him to at least try it on to see how he looked until he gave in and agreed to try it on. Noreen had well prepared for this. From a bag she produced a load of the finest feminine underwear.

"I am not going to wear anything like this. Why can't I just wear my boxer shorts, nobody would see them anyhow under these skirts and petticoats."

"It is the feminine feeling they create," Noreen explained patiently. "You must feel like a girl entirely. Otherwise your behavior would remain masculine and everybody would see that you are a boy in skirts -- and you don't want his to happen."

"No -- of course not." He did not realize that with this he somehow had already accepted that he would be seen in the costume.

When he undressed, Noreen saw that he had grown a tremendous hard-on.

"We can never hide this in these panties." She pushed him back onto the bed, took off her panties and straddled him still fully dressed. While she moved up and down on him, she whispered: "You will make a beautiful girl, you will be a real princess."

This did not turn off his excitement at all -- to the contrary, the more she spoke, the more his excitement mounted and when they finally climaxed together, his big rod would not subside and they went right along into round two.

When finally they were satiated and his rod returned to what Noreen described as manageable proportions, they showered and dried each other. Lee shaved meticulously although it was not really necessary. His beard was almost non-existent, only a light blonde fuzz.

"Listen," she began again after he was done, "if we are going to do this right -- and we are -- I must shave your legs. You can't have hairy legs peek from under your skirts when dancing. And while I am at it, I will shave your underarms as well."

He did not yet have any hair on his chest or anywhere else on his body save his head and pubic hair. He tried to object -- but Noreen was already doing it. After she finished and he was smooth all over, she produced a set of very realistic, lifelike falsies from her bag. She covered their back with an adhesive fluid and pressed them firmly in place.

"Hold them for a few minutes until the adhesive sets."

They had the weight and feeling of the real article and holding them, feeling them firmly attached to his chest as if they were his own, sent a new shiver of pleasure through his loins.

She then covered his entire body with a sweet smelling body lotion and dusted him with a perfumed talcum powder taking special care to cover the edges of the fake breasts until the fine line where they started was barely noticeable.

After that she started to put the underwear on him. Panties first, then a corset, a really old-fashioned boned lace-up thing. God knows where she had dug it up. He mused silently, protesting only lamely: "Hey is that really necessary?"

"Of course, it is. This is a historical costume and women wore corsets at that time."

"Oh is that so? I am sure you can give me the exact year when Snow White was rescued by the prince."

"Listen, smart-ass, women had to put up with corsets to make themselves attractive to their men from the middle ages to the beginning of this century, so take your pick. And if women have been able to wear them for several hundred years, you will be able to wear one for a few hours."

He did not reply to this one. Actually he found all of this very exciting. It touched a chord within himself that sent his emotions tingling. He was all excited by the idea of being a girl for the night -- but, of course, he would never dare to show or admit it to anybody, not even to his love Noreen.

When Noreen started to lace up the corset, he again began to howl in feigned protest to protect his masculine image, but she did not pay any attention. She had a far more reliable way of assessing his real feelings: the more she pulled at the laces and the more she tightened the corset, the bigger the bulge became in his panties. However, she did not pay any attention to this at the moment.

When at last the gap at the back of the corset was fully closed, his waist size had gone from 29 inches to less than 25 over the corset, producing a very slim, girlish waist to which the 34 inch hips presented a nice contrast. His breasts were half covered by the cups supporting them and looked absolutely real.

Noreen did not pause for a moment. She pulled up a pair of diaphanous nylon stockings and fastened them to garter straps dangling from the corset. His legs looked very girlish in them. The petticoats were next. He noticed that the first one had not come with the costume, she took it from her bag like the corset and the panties. It was made of a rather heavy taffeta, following the curve of his hips and thighs very closely and allowing only small steps. It rustled enticingly with lots of flounces on the outside.

When he had it on, he noticed the restriction to his stride: "Hey, I can't walk in this, it's too tight!"

"No, it isn't -- you cannot walk like meat-packer in a dress like this, this petticoat will make you take the dainty steps becoming to a princess."

"But how am I supposed to dance?"

"All the girls dance all the time with small steps -- that's normal. You will get the hang of it very soon. Girls often wear much tighter skirts and still dance in them."

Two more petticoats followed, the next was of a strong nylon net with lots of flounces and with nylon hoops that made it stand out. To cover this she put on him another rustling taffeta one, with multi-tiered flounces starting from the hips. Finally the dress itself. It had a tight dark red velvet bodice leaving the shoulders bare, with separate little puffed sleeves and a wide purple satin skirt. The bodice emphasized his well rounded breasts and his narrow waist.

"See -- without the corset the dress never would have fit you. It was really necessary." He could not deny this.

She then sat him down in a chair by the window and started putting makeup on his face.

"If you are so interested in the historical accurateness of my costume that you made me wear a corset for it, let me remind you that the first lipstick was invented in Paris in 1883 and cost about $ 25 at that time and women generally did not use makeup until after the first world war."

It was not even a real protest, just a comment from him to show that he did not agree to everything she did.

"One: Maybe not women in general but certainly princesses used makeup since the time of the pyramids, just think of the Nefertiti bust, and two: I don't care so much about historical accurateness, I care about you looking the best I can make you look. And three: you are not wearing the corset for historical reasons, as I just pointed out to you, you are wearing it because otherwise the dress would not have fit you."

He did not know what to say to this. His keen intellect was obviously dulled completely by new and unknown feelings that had taken over his mind. Noreen had started to pluck his eyebrows to a fine line -- again he voiced no real protest but accepted his fate, mollified by the fact that they would grow back soon -- at least he hoped they would. After that she put on a translucent makeup base, eye-shadow, and blusher accentuating his prominent cheekbones. She curled his eye-lashes and put mascara on them, lengthening them at the same time. Finally she outlined his full lips with a carmine red pencil and filled in a creamy looking lipstick of a slightly lighter shade.

When she was done with his face, she took up his rather long blond hair, turned it together and fastened it with some pins on the back of his head. She then placed the wig of long black hair on his head and fastened it with pins too. She took all of the hair to the left side and braided it loosely together that it hung down over his left breast.

She then turned to his hands and glued almost inch long nails on his own, lacquered in the same shade as his lipstick. Finally she brought from her bag a pair of silver pumps with the new slim and at least four inch heels. She had to use a shoehorn to get his feet into them and but they fit very well - - snug but comfortable. As he looked at them, he doubted that he would be able to walk on heels of this height, much less dance, but he was thrilled to the bone just watching them on his feet.

"Here you go my beautiful princess. Ready for the arms of your prince. Come, I'll help you get up."

She gave him her hand and pulled him up, steadying him as he tried to adjust to his heels. "Take a little walk around and practice walking in the heels while I get myself ready."

He walked unsteady at first but soon adapted his stride to the high heels and tight petticoat. The dress was a little longer than ankle-length, not quite reaching to the floor so that with each step his silver slippers peeked out from under the skirts. He walked to his closet and opened the door to look at the full length mirror inside.

He was completely stunned. A beautiful girl was looking back at him. Not just young and pretty -- downright beautiful. Noreen had outdone herself with the makeup. The feminine curves, the beautiful dress, the hair -- everything spelled out beauty. He had never believed this to be possible. He had to look and look again, taking in the whole picture inch by inch, telling himself again and again that this girl was he, he himself, a boy. Unbelievable! Yet he was seeing it with his own eyes. When he moved, the girl moved too. It was too much. He turned around and slowly walked to the kitchen. He needed a drink. When he got there, Noreen was already waiting for him holding two glasses of sparkling champagne.

"Here's to the beautiful princess, may she find lifelong happiness in the arms of her prince!" she toasted giving him one of the glasses. He drank it down in one big gulp and asked for another.

"Don't drink too much now -- you will need all of your sense of equilibrium tonight for the dancing." She left him to change into her costume. He went back to the mirror to look at himself (himself? Was he really this strange beautiful girl on the other side of the mirror?) again, saluting and drinking to his image.

He walked around the room, practicing. It was not so bad as he had thought it would be. He even began to do some dancing steps humming a waltz. His tight petticoat and high heels checked his stride severely, but as Noreen had predicted, he could dance in them.

After about 15 minutes of walking and dancing around always returning to the mirror for another glance at himself, Noreen appeared in her costume. She really looked masculine. Her costume was of dark green velvet with soft brown suede boots with about 2 inches of thick heels and a high hat with a large peacock feather. She had removed all of her previous makeup and added a dark blond beard and moustache and brown bushy eyebrows. She looked great. Being as tall as Lee to begin with, her heels and hat made her look even taller than he even in his heels. When she joined him in front of the mirror, a perfect couple looked back at them. There was not the slightest clue visible that in reality she was a he and he was a she.

"Aren't we the perfect couple? Come on now, let's get over there and show off your beauty. Just raise the tone of your voice a little and talk softly and nobody will know you."

The night went like a dream. Nobody recognized them. They danced together a lot but Lee could not avoid being asked by other boys and had to dance with all. Nobody suspected that he was not a girl. When the judges announced their decision on the costume contest, Lee won second place in the girl category and Noreen was third among the boys and together they were voted best couple. When they revealed their identity, there were lots of oohs and ahs and a lot of red faces among the boys who had danced with Lee.

When Noreen showed her mother the pictures of the ball, her mother asked her, if she had noticed anything in Lee's behavior, that could have been caused by the cross-dressing. Noreen replied that he was obviously turned on very much by it.

"Well, you may have landed yourself a real transvestite. I have known one some years ago and through him I met a few others -- all very sweet and lovable people."

Her mother asked her if she was really in love with Lee. When Noreen confirmed this and added: "Even more since I know that he can make such a pretty girl," her mother said, "well then, let's do something about it. Let's really feminize him. It will be to the benefit of both of you. However, we must go about this very cautiously. Most transvestites will never admit that they love to dress as girls. It is directly opposed to everything they have been taught and what they have experienced. Most men are even afraid to weep because they think it's feminine. If we want to make Lee accept his feminization, we will have to set it up so that he will never know what happens to him before it is too late to revert."

She laid out a plan to which Noreen agreed wholeheartedly. Noreen would suggest to Lee that she'll move into his apartment. Of course, Lee would not object to this. As soon as Noreen moved in, she should start giving Lee pills with female hormones in his food. Then she was to tell him that she had told her mother she would move in with another girl, because her apartment was so near to the school and they would have more time to study together. Her mother would never have allowed her to share an apartment with a boy.

Everything went to perfection. Noreen had told Lee not to answer the phone or if he did, to use his "Snow White" voice and speak softly in feminine tones, just in case her mother called. If it was a friend of his, he could always say, he had something in his throat, cough a little and then change to his masculine voice.

After a few days it just happened that Noreen -- who had taken up the responsibility of doing the washing and ironing for their household (Lee did most of the cooking) -- got a little behind with her work and there were no fresh pajamas when Noreen accidentally dropped a glass of juice on the one Lee was wearing as they were preparing a late snack in the kitchen, already in their night-wear.

"You'll just have to wear one of my nightgowns today," she told him, handing him one. She had carefully arranged it so that she did not have anything plain available, only a very frilly satin one with a long swishing skirt, sleeveless with lots of lace on top and a deep plunging sexy V in the back. He appeared to be very reluctant to take it.

"Don't you have a simpler one, something like a plain cotton T-shirt type?" he asked from the bathroom.

"I'm sorry, no, you can look for yourself, this is the only one I have - - don't you like it? You liked it very much when I wore it a week ago, didn't you?"

"Yes, but for me -- it's so terribly girlish."

"Then go ahead and make believe you are a girl tonight. You did it before, be a princess tonight again. I'll love you as a princess. And here -- this negligee comes with it, put it on too."

She handed him a matching velvet negligee with long wide sleeves with lots of marabou-feathers at the sleeves and the hem. When he put it on over the nightgown it was too long, the feathers brushed the floor.

"Hey, be careful where you step, don't ruin it." Noreen called out when he almost tripped over the long skirt. "Better put on these."

She handed him a beautiful pair of black high heeled satin mules decorated with silver and black sparkling embroidery and a thin silver metal heel, easily four inches high.

"Why should I?"

"So your skirts are raised off the ground and you don't step into them all the time"

He unwillingly complied with her request and followed her into the living-room, where she had set up the snacks and drinks they had prepared in the kitchen. When he sat down, she looked at him for a few moments.

"I can't stand seeing you in all this feminine finery and your head looking completely out of sync. Let me at least arrange your hair a little differently."

She got a brush and a comb and some hair-spray and brushed and teased and combed his long blonde hair into a very pretty girlish hairdo, setting it with some spray. He had decided to submit to her wishes to prevent an argument. When she was done with the hair, she just went on dabbing a little eye-shadow on his lids and some vivid pink lipstick on his lips. It was not a full makeup job, but enough to conceal all his masculine features. He looked like a pretty girl again when she let up.

"Go over to the mirror and look at yourself, don't you think I made you a pretty girl again?"

He did and again was enraptured by his reflection. The only thing disturbing the girlish picture was the big tent the satin made at his crotch. He had tried to conceal his growing arousal from the moment he put on the nightgown and succeeded bravely by thinking of rather unsexy things. But this view simply was too much for him, he could not suppress his feelings anymore.

"Look what I found here!" Noreen's voice whispered. She had sneaked up from behind and put her arms around him, grabbing the hard shaft, massaging it slowly in its satin confinement. He put his arms back and started to massage her behind, never taking his eyes off the mirror. He thought he would surely go crazy if this kept on another minute. A song flashed into his mind: "Killing me softly with her love, killing me softly ..." That was what she was doing to him -- but he didn't want it to end -- ever.

After a few minutes of this -- Noreen making sure that she never brought him to orgasm -- she slowly turned him away from the mirror and steered him to the bedroom.

When he awoke the next morning, he knew that the last night had been the best ever. He still felt her body as she had put him on his back, raised his skirt and straddled him. It had been unbelievably good. He had not known to be able to reach this level of erotic pleasure.

The practical result of this night, however, was that his pajamas were never used again. He willingly would don all of the frilly nightgowns Noreen would put out for him from this day on.

Some of the nightgowns of the baby-doll type came with matching panties and soon he was wearing panties even without a nightgown and not only at night, but during the day too.

Chapter XV

Noreen had always gone back to her mother for the weekends because there was no real excuse not to. Lee felt very alone and frustrated during these days missing the nightly love sessions with Noreen. For her it was all a part of her plan. When she thought the time had come, she told him, her mother wanted to meet the girl she was rooming with. Noreen said that she had tried to get around this and made excuses but after her mother had seen "her" picture as Snow White she wanted to meet "her" in person and was growing impatient and he would either have to come and play her roommate or her mother would insist on her living at home again.

After a long argument back and forth between them he finally gave in and agreed to do it -- but just this once.

Noreen used every trick to make him as pretty a girl as possible. To prevent any disturbing bulges she made him wear a tight panty-girdle. When she was finally done with him, he again presented the picture of a very pretty girl when they went to her mother's house Friday night. Mrs. McCullough received them joyfully and showered Lee with compliments on his looks. This night they stayed home and talked. Noreen's mother wanted to know everything, why Lee lived alone and where "her" parents were and much more. Lee stayed close to the truth wherever possible. Noreen's mother then told the girls about her plans for the weekend. Saturday morning she had booked all three of them for a complete treatment at her beauty salon.

Noreen squealed with delight. "Oh -- thank you Mom -- I just love to get my hair and nails and face done by them."

Lee was much less enthusiastic but managed a polite: "Thank you, this is very kind of you, but it would not have been necessary."

He knew he had to play along to be a believable girl.

"Of course, it is not necessary to survive. But if I see your hair, it looks as if it could do with a professional treatment. You girls should learn that it is most important to constantly take good care of your body and this, of course, particularly goes for your hair."

She then invited the girls to have dinner Saturday night at a very chic restaurant. When Lee told her he could not go because he had nothing to wear, she just said: "That's no problem, we'll go shopping first. I intended to get some new things for Noreen anyway, so you just come along tomorrow afternoon and we'll get something for you too."

After a late breakfast Saturday morning they all went to the beauty salon. Lee was sat in a separate cubicle divided by drapes from the main room and other cubicles along the walls. Noreen's mother discussed his treatment in low tones with the owner who let her fingers sift through his hair, feeling the texture.

"Of course, I see what you mean. We will do our best, but we cannot work miracles. This hair was evidently maltreated for a long time, it is completely dried out and lifeless. It needs thorough conditioning over a longer period to gain back its elasticity. And the skin of the face needs some conditioning too, mainly around the eyes and at the throat."

She turned to Lee: "Just using soap is not enough. It will cleanse your skin but soap will also take off most of the body oils that your skin needs to protect itself from drying out. The best is to provide your skin with the necessary moisture and fat by using a good oil-in-water emulsion after every shower or bath, let it set for a few minutes and then wipe off the surplus with a soft tissue. Today we will do a little more and let your lids refresh themselves under a special cream-lotion with herbs."

She called one of her girls and gave her instructions what to do. Before Noreen left for her own treatment she gave his hand a squeeze.

"Don't be afraid, be patient, you will come out a beauty. Just let them do everything, they know their job. If you need me, just call, I'm in the next stall," she said reassuringly.

The first thing they did was to soak two little cotton balls with a lotion and put them over his eyes, fastening them with strips of adhesive tapes. He suddenly was blinded and almost panicked. "Hey -- I can't see anything," he called out to Noreen. "Just relax, nobody is going to hurt you. If you can't see anything, go to sleep and have sweet dreams of princes and princesses."

He decided to resign to his fate, it was too late now to do anything about it. He felt his hair being washed and then dried off with a towel, some other liquid was poured on and rubbed into it just to be rinsed out again, then strands of his hair were treated separately, some evidently were cut a little. Rollers were put into his hair and a dryer placed over his head. Somebody else had started to fuss with his hands, soaking them in a liquid, cleaning his nails with some solvent and more things that he did not understand. They evidently brushed on a thick lacquer or similar substance, let it dry and repeated the procedure and after a while filed and shaped each nail for an endless time before again putting on additional coatings of paint or whatever.

By this time his hair was dry and they removed the curlers. It was combed out and brushed, teased here and patted there and finally set with a light mist of hair-spray.

When they finally took the pads off his eyes, he could not see himself because they had covered the mirror in front of him with a curtain. The only thing he could see, were his hands. They had lengthened his nails incredibly. They were long and slim and had softly rounded oval tips and gleamed in the brightest red he had ever seen. But when he looked closer, he saw that there were not artificial nails pasted upon his own, the new long nails were his own. He could not conceive how they had done it. When he tried to pick up a magazine from the table, he found out that he now had to use his hands differently. He could not grab anything with the tips of his fingers anymore, the long nails were in the way.

Then the girls started on his face: using tweezers on his eyebrows, cleansing, creaming, dusting with powder, using colored creams and sticks and pencils and brushing colored powders on with soft hair-brushes. His lashes were treated again and again with a special mascara and finally his lips outlined and filled in with the same bright red as the nails.

Noreen and her mother had come in and watched the last part of the action. They looked great. Their hair was freshly done in a way that it looked completely natural. Their makeup was perfect: it was so artfully done, it was almost not noticeable.

Noreen gushed over with compliments on how pretty Lee was and her mother stated what a remarkable improvement it was over "her" former appearance.

Finally, everything was ready and the owner of the beauty salon came to draw back the curtains from the mirror. Lee almost gasped when he saw his reflection. He was so pretty, he could not believe it. The biggest change was his hair. It was full of large curls from the very top down to his chin and when he moved his head, it bounced as if each hair had a little spring in it. His makeup was not overdone, just right for daytime. His looks spelled out sophisticated, expensive grooming. He looked like he had sprung from the pages of Vogue. He was speechless.

"If you plan to go out tonight, you may use a lipstick a shade darker and more blusher under your cheekbones. A little darker eye-shadow on your lids perhaps with some silvery accents toward your brows would be OK too. But don't do too much," the owner of the salon advised Lee, walking around him, evidently proud of her work, tugging at a hair here and there to get it just right.

"We gave your hair a light perm to give it more body. If possible do not wash it yourself. It will be OK for a week and we'll see you next Saturday same time then."

Lee was completely at loss with his feelings. Part of him felt on cloud seven, the other part was close to tears as he foresaw the trouble ahead if he went to school with hair like this. He barely managed to thank the girls and her boss as he followed Noreen's mother toward the exit. He was in a daze.

On the way to their car Noreen nudged him. "Cheer up, what's wrong with you? You look marvelous, you certainly never looked better in your life."

"I know," he whispered "but I look like a girl, how can I go to school like this. Just look at my hair and my nails. Even if I wash off all makeup, the curls will stay."

"There are two full days to Monday, until then we'll think of something. You can always cut your nails and even get a crew-cut."

He shuddered at the thought of exchanging his long hair for a crew- cut and cutting his beautiful nails seemed like destroying a work of art. He consoled himself that there certainly must be another solution and they would come up with it till Monday morning. Until then he decided to enjoy his feminine beauty.

They had a light lunch in a little Italian place on Little Santa Monica Boulevard and after that went window-shopping along Rodeo Drive and Wilshire and the other little streets between Santa Monica and Wilshire. However, they did not buy anything there. When they passed the Neiman Marcus store Noreen said: "The name is not spelled correctly. It should read "Needless Markups"."

Noreen's Mother objected: "They are very expensive, but have excellent quality and sometimes you find things there that you cannot get anywhere else at any price. But I'll take you somewhere else. Let's go back to the car."

They went to the new shopping mall at Century City and combed every store and boutique, Robinsons, Broadway, Julia's and about two dozen other shops, buying everything from lingerie to dresses, shoes, stockings and gloves. Mrs. McCullough was a very discriminating shopper. She had a feeling for quality but did not simply buy "designer labels". She even came up with some real bargains. Her taste, however, tended toward the extravagant and Lee sometimes objected on the grounds that he would never dare to wear something like this.

He was so involved and caught in the action that he did not even realize that he was shopping for girls clothes -- and not only for Noreen and her mother -- but for himself too! At the end of this crazy raid on the Century City mall he must have tried on at least fifty different outfits and thirty pairs of shoes.

Finally, he actually had four pairs of high heeled shoes ("You girls should not always run around in loafers and sneakers, that may be OK for school but you should learn to behave a little more ladylike and this starts with being able to wear high heels gracefully"), three dresses, several skirts and tops to mix and match, five pairs of gloves (Mrs. McCullough's comment: "My mother used to say: "A lady is never seen outside without gloves."") and several sets of slips and matching panties, two figure controlling foundation garments ("You know, dear, your waist should be a little slimmer in relation to your hips. You wear dresses very well, you could become a real clothes horse -- but your waist must be smaller. Wear these a lot and your figure will surely improve."), and even two hats, one of soft black felt and another creation that you could call a hat only by stretching the term considerably. It was more of a large silk flower in a bed of veils that were embroidered with small rhinestones and sequins and could be pulled down to the chin.

The 'piece de resistance' had been a beautiful big dark blue coat, ankle length, of soft wool with a touch almost like cashmere, sleeves big at the shoulders, tapering down to narrow, upturned cuffs and a wide collar that could be taken up to cover most of the head and face. It was marvelous and Lee loved the feeling of wrapping himself up in it.

In the beginning he had objected to Noreen's mother buying so much for him, he said he could not accept it.

"Don't worry about it, I can afford it. Anyway, it's a pleasure to buy pretty things for a pretty girl. But most important of all: you are rooming with my daughter, right? Roommates always share their clothes, right? So if I bought everything for her, you could wear them anyway, right? But if you did not put anything into the pool this would cause bad feelings between you, making you envious and giving Noreen a bad conscience. Now you are equals and, consequently, you have no reason to quarrel. So regard this simply as a preventive measure against possible tension between you two in the future."

Her logic was impeccable: firstly, he could not object because he knew that most female room-mates swapped clothes and, secondly, he could console himself with the thought that the clothes -- which he would not be wearing after the weekend -- could pass to Noreen so it was as if Noreen's mother had been buying it for her daughter in the first place.

To Lee, the idea of not wearing all these pretty things after this weekend suddenly did not seem to be such an enjoyable prospect. He really enjoyed shopping for new clothes -- but he reminded himself that he was a boy and boys did not wear dresses and high heeled shoes and crazy little hats. But there was this unquenchable feeling deep, deep within him that made him want to wear these pretty things again and again. Well, he had a whole weekend to revel in his (his? his!) new things and he could worry about the future when it came. He pushed away the somber thoughts and cuddled into his new coat as they walked back to the open underground parking lot. It had gotten really cold and he was glad he had it. Noreen's mother had insisted that the girls both wear a pair of their new high heels and he had to be very careful not to totter and stumble.

They went home and had just enough time to dress for dinner. Noreen first started to dress him. However she soon found an obstacle that would severely mar the feminine form she intended to create and it was only after a rather short but quite satisfying tryst in bed she was able to continue.

After putting on some of the new panties, black, high cut and lacy, a black garter belt and black stockings with seams, Noreen selected for him a long skirt of heavy Thai silk with big squares in several interchanging blue and green colors, high heeled blue satin pumps and a black silk bustier top that was well boned like a corset and really tight which compressed his waist several inches. Around his shoulders she draped a wide stole of the same silk as the skirt.

She renewed his makeup, dramatizing it for the evening with heavier eye-shadow, more lash-lengthening mascara and slightly fuller crimson lips sealed with a shining wet look gloss. After brushing out his hair and resetting it, she fastened the little veiled hat into it and drew the veil deeply over his face. Finally, she made him put on black suede gloves reaching over the elbows to the top of the bustier. When she pushed him to the mirror, he again was entranced by the view. He walked up and down in front of it to check his appearance and movements. The skirt was not exactly tight but fell straight from his hips. However, it still checked his stride considerably and he had to remember to take small steps. The heavy silk rustled deliciously with every step and when it swished against his nylon clad legs it caused shivers of delight to run through him.

He decided to go downstairs and wait for Noreen. Her mother was already waiting and offered him a drink, a glass of champagne and orange juice. She was dressed in a midnight blue cocktail gown with a wide skirt, narrow waist, sleeveless, and with a wide collar draped around her shoulders. She was one of these beautiful women who don't seem to change between thirty and fifty and at 36 she did not look a day over thirty. They chatted for about 10 minutes until Noreen appeared. She too was very elegant in a black suit of crushed velvet with long narrow sleeves, puffed at the shoulders, and a very tight skirt barely covering her knees. She wore no blouse and showed considerable cleavage.

The evening was enjoyable for all. The food and wine were excellent, the service attentive yet unobtrusive. Of course, three elegant women making a great entrance turned quite a few heads and for the first time Lee found himself the object of admiring glances of men. He smiled at the thought what would happen if they knew that they tried to flirt with a boy.

The evening ended without any disturbing incidents with a fantastic love session between the girls -- in fact, Noreen did not even wait for them to get undressed. As soon as they were alone, she raised his skirt, pulled down his panties and started to kiss his shaft which sprung to life as soon as it was released from the confining panty-girdle. After bringing him to full arousal, she made him lie down and quickly took off her skirt as it was too tight to be pulled up over thighs and hips. Lee was shocked and got even more excited when he realized, that she had not worn any panties all night. She joined him in the classic 69 position and if anyone would have been able to see them, he would have sworn he saw two beautiful girls in a hot lesbian embrace.

They got up late Sunday morning. Mrs. McCullough had been invited to a charity brunch at the Beverly Hilton ballroom and wanted to take the girls too. They dressed accordingly. This time Lee wore the crushed velvet suit that Noreen had worn last night but he wore a purple blouse under its jacket. He was amazed at the tightness of the skirt. "I cannot walk in it at all," he stated flatly.

"Of course, you can, I did it last night. If I can, so can you."

She made him practice in front of the mirror and showed him how to walk gracefully in his high heels and tight skirt.

"If you need more practice, we could drop you off on the way and you could walk the last mile or so."

"You're a bitch!"

"Just trying to help."

He finally learned how to handle his movements in the tight skirt and he even was able to negotiate the steps with relative grace considering his lack of training.

The brunch was a buffet affair and people milled around a lot. Noreen and his mother were constantly greeted by friends and acquaintances and Lee was always introduced as Noreen's roommate.

One couple was there with their son, an extremely good looking, tanned young man of about 20. In spite of all his good looks he seemed a little shy. His mother, however, was the born matchmaker and did not rest until she had Noreen agree to a date for the following Friday. When Noreen first objected because she had intended to go out with Lee, she just said: "That's just marvelous, Tom will bring a friend and you can double date -- that's four times the fun."

Noreen's mother finally accepted on behalf of both girls in spite of some stammered protests from Lee about having to visit his grandma in Pasadena. Ultimately the date was fixed. Tom, like Lee, did not look too happy about it. The most that could be said was that Tom was very polite about it.

When they had left, Noreen moved closer to Lee and whispered to him: "You know, Tom is gay but his mother will never give up trying to turn him around. He has a steady boyfriend. Don't laugh now, but his name is Jerry. Tom and Jerry -- they are really inseparable. This can turn out to our benefit. I'll call Tom during the week and tell him that I'm in love with you and he should bring Jerry and we'll be the perfect foursome."

Lee agreed laughingly -- not realizing that he had just agreed to become a girl again next weekend. After all he would probably have been able to renege regarding the dates Mrs. McCullough had made for him, but Noreen would never allow him to go back on his word with her.

When Noreen had cleared the situation with Tom, he was most eager to keep this date and bring Jerry too. When they finally met, they hit it off fabulously, because nobody had to hide anything from anybody else and Tom and Jerry were the perfect consorts for the girls. They looked great, they were very polite and attentive, intelligent and well informed on all feminine topics. In fact, no girl could have wanted a more perfect companion if you did not count one little flaw: no sex. But this was the best that could have happened to our bizarre couple. So both sides were very happy with the arrangement and they continued to date on every weekend thereafter. Lee, of course, had to remain a girl on all these occasions but he enjoyed these dates as if he were a real girl.

Because now that Noreen's mother had met Lee and liked "her" so much, she had made it a habit to drop in on her girls unexpectedly during the week. Noreen had, therefore, persuaded Lee to dress as soon as they came home to the apartment -- just in case her mother might show up.

When Lee noticed a certain swelling and new sensitivity in his breasts and told Noreen about it, she took him to a doctor, an endocrinologist, that her mother had recommended, who took some tests and then gave a long explanation about the possible causes. Words like gynecomastia, fibroadenoma, Leydig's syndrome and more were hurled at Lee, who did not understand anything. However, his explanation sounded competent enough and when the doctor said it certainly was not cancer, Lee was put at ease again. In more plain language the doctor said that it was some kind of hormonal disorder that would with all probability correct itself after a few months. He recommended not to counteract the symptoms by giving Lee male hormones. The better treatment was to strengthen Lee's masculine glands and help them to produce more male hormones themselves. The doctor prescribed weekly tests to observe and examine the development on a continuing basis. The doctor further prescribed weekly shots of a mineral and vitamin mixture with some vital amino-acids. He warned Lee, however, that the swelling of his breasts would probably continue for some time until his body was able to revert to normally functioning glands.

The swelling continued as predicted (and in fact was unavoidable, since the weekly shots Lee received were carefully dosed female hormones, powerful enough to cause Lee's body to change to feminine proportions but not enough to chemically castrate him) and by Christmas he had quite noticeable female breasts, almost filling the A-cup bras which Noreen had given him to wear on their weekend dates and visits to her mother. For school she had made him a tight wide elastic band to hold them in. His skin had softened too and his sparse beard had practically vanished. Even his voice had changed a little making it easier for him now to maintain it on the higher feminine level.

Noreen did evidently not mind his new breasts at all -- on the contrary, she seemed to love them. Whenever they were in bed together, Noreen would start to play with his nipples, stroking them softly, nibbling at them, and letting her tongue play with them. This always sent electric charges to his nether regions and within seconds rather than minutes he became hard as a rock.

When school closed for the holidays Lee came to live at the house of Noreen's mother for the holiday season -- of course entirely as a girl. The visits to the beauty salon had become a weekly routine that they all enjoyed. This time Noreen and his mother had decided to experiment on the color of Lee's hair. Lee's protest that he could not go to school with a different hair color was immediately put aside by the beauty salon owner.

"Of course, we can give you back your original color any time you like. But why don't you try it for a few days. Your skin is so fair, it would look wonderful with a reddish blonde, and it would look entirely natural."

With three women standing around him coaxing and urging him to have it done, having two good reasons to do it for every objection he could think of, he finally gave in.

When he saw the results, he was thrilled. It really looked great and when they went to the car to go home afterwards, he felt a lot of admiring stares from people who passed them. While Noreen and her mother were extremely good looking, even beautiful sometimes, Lee had an extra outstanding quality, a mixture of sophistication and extravagance that made people, and not only men, stare at him in admiration. It was not only his looks, it was the way he carried himself in his feminine finery. Noreen saw it too and was proud, because lastly Lee was her creation, her Pygmalion.

Lee seemed to be very happy with his new life. The only thing bugging him was that he could not be honest with Noreen's mother. She was so kind to him (no: kind to "her") and he hated having to go on and deceive her. He became moody in her presence and when Noreen asked for the reason, he told her he could not bear to go on cheating her about his true sex and his relation to her daughter.

One night after dinner however Noreen's mother made him sit down with her and told him that she had known all about him for a long time and she had encouraged him to go on being a girl because she saw that Noreen and he really enjoyed this lifestyle.

At first he was shocked but then tears of happiness welled up and he hugged her, thanking her for her understanding.

They all celebrated Christmas at the house of Noreen's mother. Lee was showered with feminine gifts: dresses for all occasions, lingerie, shoes, cosmetics, everything a 17-year-old girl could dream of and Noreen insisted that they try out everything at once. The biggest gifts however were furs for the girls. Noreen received a fabulous mink coat, gleaming almost in black, very fully cut and almost ankle length. Lee received a marvelous mink cape with a large hood that gave it very romantic charm. Color and length were the same as Noreen's and when they both tried them on they looked more like sisters than ever.

Lee did not want to accept this doubtless very expensive gift, but Noreen's mother did not want to hear about it. She said she would be offended if he didn't take it and would rather give it to charity than taking it back. Lee finally decided to keep it on the ground that it would anyway go to Noreen as soon as he returned to being a boy.

The holidays were spent in a whirl of skirts and parties. The girls went out every night, either with Noreen's mother or with Tom and Jerry. The boys loved to take the girls out because they were very decorative companions that flattered their egos. They were real aesthetes who enjoyed and treasured feminine beauty as an abstract value, not as an enticement to sex. They went out to every party, dance or ball they heard of.

In addition to their own evening and cocktail gowns the girls had plundered the closets of Noreen's mother and her storage bags in the attic and found real treasures from the last 30-35 years. They came up with ball gowns from the fifties with strapless bodices and yards and yards of tulle skirts over multilayered stiff nylon petticoats that made the skirts stand out almost three feet at the hem all around. Or there were slinky dresses from the sixties with micro mini skirts, entirely made out of inch-wide round plastic pieces as Paco Rabanne had invented them.

The girls reveled in these treasures and tried out each and everything, sometimes changing three times a day. Of course, Noreen's mother had not worn all of them herself -- she had bought many at rumble sales at the costume departments of some Hollywood studios, just as collectors items. The girls put them to good use and were the center of attraction wherever they wore them.

On New Years Eve they were all invited to a big Hollywood-type party at a fabulous home in Bel Air high in the hills where they had a wonderful view over the celebrating city. When everybody sang Auld Lang Syne Noreen and Lee embraced each other tightly and kissed for the longest time -- oblivious to anything that went on around them.

When they finally got home in the wee hours of New Years Day, they were both completely happy and exhausted from the dancing. They undressed and went to bed in their slinky nightgowns even before taking off their makeup. But when they cuddled together, the satin of their gowns rubbing and slipping between their bodies, their sexual appetite was instantly awakened. After caressing, kissing and licking each other's most sensitive parts they could hold back no longer and Noreen sat down on his rock hard shaft, continuing to play with his nipples as he did with hers.

Noreen made sure that Lee did not reach orgasm, stopping all movements as soon as she felt him coming. This must have gone on for the better part of an hour. Finally Noreen could not suppress her own orgasm anymore and they both came at the same moment in a wild bucking frenzy. After it had ended and they started to come down from their cloud, Noreen did not slip off but just lay down on him, their breasts pressed together.

"You know, we should get married this year," Noreen said after a while. "You will look fantastic in a white wedding gown."

"Come off it, of course I'll be the groom and wear a tuxedo or a morning coat at our wedding," he protested.

"You don't really believe I will ever let you become a man again. I love you as you are now, not as a skinny boy. You can put that idea out of your head. And at our wedding you will be the bride and wear a gown and I'll be the groom -- or no wedding. Just think of yourself in a white gown with heavy cotton lace over a tight satin bodice hugging your corseted waist and over a wide rustling satin skirt puffed out by lots of swishing petticoats, long white stockings tautly gartered to the corset, extra high heels on your white satin slippers, long white satin gloves and a beautiful veil covering your face, streaming down to the ground in the back."

The picture forming before his eyes caused the most exciting feelings in his loins and Noreen felt him growing again within her. She knew she had him hooked.

"This is the first day of the first year of your new existence. You'll be a girl exclusively from now on."

"But what about my male existence? What about school -- I can't go to school as a girl." He was really pleading with her.

"You not only can, you will have to."

She started to move again, letting his strengthening rod slip in and out in a very slow rhythm. He could not think clearly -- what did she just say? He would have to be a girl in school? It was impossible!

"I can't, it's utterly impossible, the others will jeer at me -- I could never bear it," he almost cried.

"Everything has already been arranged. Mother has talked to the principal and explained that you have been changing into a girl over the last months due to an incorrigible hormonal disorder. She has shown him pictures of you not just being dressed but really living as a girl, pictures at the beauty salon, your new hair color, going shopping, holding up dresses against yourself, trying on shoes in several stores, having lunch and dinner at several places and, of course, you dancing with Tom and Jerry and other boys. You know, she had a professional photographer follow us everywhere, you just never noticed him."

"And, of course, the principal remembered your clever disguise as Snow White at the Halloween dance. A letter from the doctor who treats you every week supporting her explanations finally swung him over. He thought losing your masculine identity must be a tragic development and promised not to make it any harder for you than it must be already. He was most understanding."

"When mother suggested it would perhaps be better to take you out and send you to another school, he objected emphatically -- no, he would personally make sure that you were treated right by everybody. He has already talked to the faculty and the school-board and everybody approved his decision already. His letter confirming it came yesterday. Of course, mother has a lot of connections in this town and had pulled a few strings before to assure there wouldn't be any objections. So -- you can't go back to school as a boy, everybody is expecting a girl now."

Lee didn't know what to say -- he did not even know what to think, because his thoughts were interrupted all the time by the most pleasant sensations caused by her up and down movements. She had also started to play again with his now big and erect nipples and finally kissed him deeply, effectively smothering all verbal protest he may have come up with. His mind was in a turmoil. He as a girl -- forever. Forever? He thought of his days as a girl so far and found them the best time he ever had had. But forever?

But what could he do -- the die was firmly cast, there was no way out for him. He could not go to school and tell everybody that he had dressed and lived as a girl just for fun and now wanted to be a boy again. That would finish him completely. He had to go along and be a girl at least until they graduated. With this resolved he gave in completely to the exciting actions of Noreen and soon they swooned in a long simultaneous orgasm.

When Easter came around, Lee's breasts had grown to fill a B-cup. He did not shave anymore and his penis seemed to be smaller than before -- which was quite welcome to Noreen who previously often had complained that he was too big for her and hurt her. His figure was distinctly girlish with his waist now measuring 24 inches without a corset and his hips had filled out to 36 with well-defined rounded cheeks. His bust was now 34. He still went to that doctor for his shots, but not really expecting any changes -- in fact he was hoping that nothing would change. He had become so comfortable with his living as a girl, that he dreaded the idea of having to go back to being a boy permanently.

When they both graduated with highest marks, he filled a C-cup completely. He had a perfect 37-24-36 figure. During the last months of school he had become completely accepted as a girl. Maybe he got away with it because in Beverly Hills the unusual is more easily accepted with so many unusual and extraordinary people around.

They went to San Francisco together where he attended college as a girl. When the weekly shots were discontinued, his breasts shrunk a little bit but over all he kept his feminine figure with all its pleasant curves and the soft skin. He even reduced his waist size by keeping a strict diet and by constantly wearing tight waist cinchers or even laced corsets, which Noreen loved to see on him. His voice that had changed to a decidedly feminine, sexy timbre over the last months stayed the same.

They got married during this time and just as at the first time he ever dressed as a girl they both cross-dressed and he wore the bridal gown while she was dressed as the groom. They had no trouble at all to find a priest in San Francisco to perform the marriage ceremony for this odd couple. Noreen's best man was Tom -- of course. Lee's parents came to the wedding from Singapore. Noreen's mother had gone there and explained the changes that had come over their son, showing them all the pictures she had. After a long and serious discussion they finally agreed to accept him as he was, as he seemed to be so absolutely happy in his new existence.

Lee looked marvelous in his white gown, heavy lace over shimmering silk with a very full skirt held out by several stiff nylon petticoats. Noreen had insisted on an extremely tightly laced corset to emphasize his slim waist in contrast to the full skirt. The bodice was a cleverly cut bustier which just covered his nipples but still managed a deep plunge between them. It was almost indecent. For church Lee therefore wore a silk and lace bolero jacket over it with sleeves just over the elbows into which his shoulder-length white glace kid gloves disappeared. The little bolero jacket left the throat free. Around it Lee wore a collar made of a two inch wide white tulle frill held together by a satin ribbon in its middle giving him a very girlish and chaste look. His makeup was artfully done all in soft and pastel colors. His blonde mane was all pinned up and hidden by the large veil cascading in several layers of tulle and lace over his shoulders. He looked like the epitome of femininity in his gown.

Tom not only had volunteered to be the best man for Noreen but together with Jerry had organized the other ushers and the bridesmaids from the San Francisco gay community: the bridesmaids were all cross-dressed boys although they looked so pretty and feminine that no stranger observing the festivities would have noticed anything odd. To Noreen and Lee, the funniest thing was that none of them knew that Lee was a boy too. They all thought they were attending a strictly lesbian affair.

Noreen as the groom wore a midnight blue tuxedo with a full cut, wide shouldered jacket to hide her bosom. The pants were tight and much to Lee's surprise showed a generous bulge in front. When they were dancing Noreen pressed herself against her "bride" letting "her" feel her hard prick.

"Tonight I'll bust your cherry, Darling," she whispered in Lee's ear, causing a blush and a thrilling shiver of anticipation in him. He really felt like a virgin bride with her.

After the party had ended and they had retired to their apartment, Noreen started to slowly undress her "bride", sensuously kissing, stroking and fondling each part of his body after uncovering it. When all was left was corset, stockings and gloves, Noreen guided her "bride" to the bed and made her lie down. It took Noreen only seconds to shed her clothes and when she turned to her "bride" Lee noticed an almost lifelike prick on her, proudly pointing upward.

"This is my surprise for our wedding night," she said, "tonight you will become a real girl and be fucked like any bride by her husband."

She slid next to him onto the bed and started to caress and kiss his body all over. He just lay there passively, enjoying the totally passive role of a virgin bride getting more and more excited by her manipulations. She paid special attentions to his full breasts, kissing, nibbling, and sucking the nipples and playing with them with her tongue. Not once, however, did she touch his erect prick and when he tried to grab it, she took away his hands.

"Tonight this just doesn't exist. No bride has a prick," she whispered into his ear.

Finally, she dug her finger into a jar of cold cream and started to play around his asshole with it, greasing it thoroughly, pushing gently inward with her finger.

"Don't be shy now, press against it and it'll open up by itself," she whispered again when she slid upon him, pressing her artificial penis against his orifice. After an initial burst of pain it slid in easily, causing all kinds of unknown but pleasurable sensations in him. When she started to pump in and out, very slowly at first, he followed her every move, pressing his body against hers. When the rhythm got faster, he almost got delirious. Now he really was a girl, getting fucked by her man. It was pure bliss. The two bodies suddenly seemed to move on their own, not guided by the brain anymore in an ecstatic action that ended in a seemingly endless simultaneous orgasm.

When Noreen slid out of him, he did feel a little sore, but that was nothing compared to the delightful feelings of just a moment ago.

Noreen took off the contraption that had made her so male and Lee saw that it was in fact a double dildoe formed like a V with a special soft nub where it had pressed against Noreen's clitoris. After they both had cleaned up the mess that their eruptions had produced, Noreen slipped into the bed again and immediately started to play with his body under the covers. Soon enough he was hard as a rock again. This time however his prick was not left idle but used by her to her and -- incidentally also his -- best advantage. It took quite a while until they both fell asleep completely exhausted.

From this time on Noreen seemed to emphasize her "maleness" toward Lee. She often wore jeans with a T-shirt at least one size too big and a sporting-bra underneath to hide her breasts. Her footwear was changed to sneakers and masculine looking loafers. Of course, she always insisted that Lee dressed as femininely as possible, she never allowed him to wear jeans, at the most a tight denim miniskirt. He had to wear high heels all the time, even to the beach she insisted on very high cork wedgies. To anybody who saw this obviously lesbian couple it was clear at the first glance, who was the butch part of it.

After they finished college in San Francisco they went to New York University where Noreen went to law school and Lee studied economics and business administration. While living in a loft in the East Village, Noreen pursued her butch part more and more. Often enough on weekends or at night when they went out, she even wore the V-dildoe.

The first time this happened, Lee got a big surprise when they were dancing in a disco and Noreen suddenly pressed her "erection" against him.

"Come on, Sweetie, let's get outa here," Noreen coarsely shouted into his ear over the deafening disco beat. She took him by his arm and steered him outside. She did not let go of him until they were in a dark alley behind some kind of a shed. Noreen was all hands and Lee felt exactly like a young girl who had been picked up by a boy who had seemed quite nice and sexy at the beginning but turned out to be more than she could handle. Lee felt himself pressed into a dark corner. Noreen started to kiss him deeply, fondling his breasts somewhat roughly at the same time.

"Stop struggling: it won't hurt you and we'll both have a good time," Noreen said in a hoarse tone, sliding down the zipper on her jeans and pulling out the erect dildoe. Seconds later Noreen had raised his skirt and pulled down his panties. Suddenly with her right arm she reached around his back and grabbed his right wrist, pulling it sharply. Lee was caught unaware and whirled around, now facing the wall. All he could do, was brace himself against it with his left arm or his face would have been smashed into it. Noreen pulled his right arm high up behind him, forcing him to bend over at the hips.

He felt the tip of the dildoe pressed against his asshole. He never knew why, was it the sweat from the dancing or some kind of lubrication that Noreen had used, but the dildoe slipped into him almost effortlessly. When Noreen started to pump in an increasing rhythm, the strangest feelings ran through him: He was a girl being fucked in the street, anytime somebody could show up and see them. Worse: he was a girl being raped. He had had no say in the whole procedure. It just had happened to him without he being able to resist. His mind was in a turmoil. Somehow he was frightened, but the fact that Noreen, his love, was the aggressor made the whole thing terribly exciting. It was all part of their role-playing. He got more and more excited with every thrust he received and was close to orgasm when Noreen suddenly stopped and pulled the dildoe out, leaving him dangling in mid-air with his agitated feelings.

"Thanks, girlie, that was great," Noreen said in a flat, dark voice letting go of him. "Hope you had fun too." She lit herself a cigarette and walked toward the street. "Hope to see you around some other time."

He was furious. How could she do this to him? That was mean. He tried to start after her but was caught in his panties that were still around his ankles. By the time he had pulled them up and smoothed the skirt down, she was gone. He ran out as fast as the high heels and the tight skirt allowed. When he reached the street, Noreen was nowhere to be seen. For a minute or so he just stood there, fuming and swearing under his breath, thinking what to do, slowly calming down.

Suddenly two arms circled his body from behind, restraining his arms uselessly to his sides. Before he could panic, he heard the voice of Noreen -- now very soft and sweet.

"Forgive me -- I know that was a mean rotten trick. But this is the way so many girls have been treated by so many men. These brutes couldn't care less about their victim's feelings. And since you are a very pretty and sexy girl now, you must know what can happen to you if you are not very, very careful."

"But on the other hand, I think you found the experience rather exciting too -- being taken by your man by surprise. Anyway, I enjoyed it immensely and it could become a hobby of mine. So the best advice I can give you is, keep your back entrance clean and well lubricated all the time."

His anger evaporated in no time with her words. It was true, he had found this very exciting and if she was planning similar happenings in the future -- his excitement started even now, just thinking about it.

Noreen did everything to make him even more feminine. She watched his diet, saw that he took good care of his skin and hair, exercised to keep his body in shape and, of course, dress elegantly and fashionably all the time. She did not allow the slightest mistakes in this. Whatever he wore had to match, shoes, dresses, handbags, gloves, costume-jewelry, scarves -- just everything. Among the other students he was by far the best dressed. Noreen also insisted in graceful poise and deportment at all times. She was maybe a bit old-fashioned in this respect, but following her advice gave Lee natural very ladylike appearance.

It did not take long until they met a photographer who insisted on trying a few fashion shots with Lee. From then on his career as a model skyrocketed. His academic goals were not neglected and he got his master's degree.

They moved back to California after both had finished their final exams. He got involved in real-estate and displayed an excellent talent in selecting the right properties. Right now they have their own company with eight employees and are managing it together as a team. Between the two of them they made about two million dollars in the last three years. Of course, sometimes he is still working as a model because it gives both of them a kick that a boy should be the epitome and quintessence of femininity and a model for women, whose looks so many strived to achieve. They used state-of-the- art laptop computers to communicate with their office which enabled them to have as much leisure time as they wanted and still keep a tight watch over their business.

Chapter XVI

Hi, I'm Sylvia, and I think I should add something to the story that Renee has told you of our friends Lee and Noreen. He told you that he heard from Lee that he was not into bondage very much. Well, that may be true or not, but one thing I know and this is that Noreen loves bondage and puts Lee into it at any time she likes -- and she likes it a lot. Actually I think he likes it a lot too, he is just afraid to admit it.

Perhaps he thinks it would make him appear as having no willpower of his own. But regardless of what makes him tick, I know that Noreen loves it and if he would not like it as well, he would not have gone along with it for so long. Maybe he did not like it so much in the beginning, being afraid of putting himself entirely into the hands of someone else, but now that he knows she'll never harm him in any way he can give himself up completely to her and finds it increasingly exciting.

She told me later, that she introduced him to love bondage at this important New Years Day, when she told him, he would have to stay a girl indefinitely. After the first bout in bed she had taken two stockings and fastened his wrists to the top of their bed. Stockings were, and still are, her favorite item to use in bondage: "They're soft and at the same time incredibly strong, and they do not cut into the limbs."

She had devised a way of using them that was new to me even: she had folded the top of a stoking back in for about two inches and fastened it with an elastic, latex based glue all around. Then she cut a little hole into the top and threaded a soft cord through it, forming a drawstring. When slipped over the wrist and tightened, the fingers were caught within the stocking and when the stoking was drawn tight, they couldn't move or try to loosen knots.

"You know," she told me later, "I wanted to be able to tie him up in bed without making him lie on his arms or having his arms get in my way. So I tied his elbows to his side and the stockings that covered his fingers I drew around his neck and knotted them in the back. This way he was entirely helpless, he could not even scratch me in defense. At the same time I could leave him like this for a long time, even let him sleep like this."

I was very impressed by her ingenuity. In fact, when we met them first, Lee was tied up like this under his sweater.

This predilection for bondage actually was what brought us together. When Noreen and Lee were in Paris for a modeling job, they strolled down the Boul' Mich' window-shopping and came upon the Boutique of Lise and Louise, Noreen saw the little sign, "Articles for Bondage-Lovers," and dragged Lee inside.

Lise recounted this first meeting to me later. Noreen and Lee were both wearing their magnificent mink furs and were strikingly beautiful. Lee was a little hesitant following Noreen who walked up to Lise and asked straightforward what they had in bondage things. Lise enquired if they meant clothes or other restraints and when Noreen wanted to see both, a long session started during which Lise showed them all they had: several models of restraining clothes from our collections, retraining jewelry, plain and fancy other things like straps, belts, harnesses and handcuffs and an assortment of gags.

"Actually I am looking for a lockable controlling item for him. One that holds back his male parts but allows him to go to the toilet so that it can be worn all day without me having to help him. So far we have used tight panty girdles, but I would prefer something stronger that can be locked on so he cannot get out of it without the key that I would keep."

Lise told me later, at first she did not know who she was referring to but when Noreen looked at Lee who had become beet red at her words, she grasped that the other stunning beauty in the mink cape must have been a feminized male. She was completely dumfounded by this revelation because she always had cherished the idea that she could "read" any cross-dressed male, being one herself and knowing so many others.

Of course, this brought this American couple right to the top of the list of her preferred customers. She asked Noreen if they would not like to take off their furs as it would probably take a while and if her companion would care to try on some items.

When Noreen took off Lee's cape, Lise saw that her (she could not refer to him as a male in her mind) wrists were crossed and bound behind her back with a black nylon stocking.

"I often take him shopping this way," Noreen explained, "he is much easier to handle. Less objections to my wishes, etc. The only drawback is that I have to carry all the bags and parcels." She showed a shoe-box she was carrying. "We just bought these for him. Of course, we did not take off the cape there so the sales girl never knew his predicament. I would not have told you either if you were an ordinary store, but with the kind of merchandise you carry and the kind of contraption I am looking for, it was no use to hide anything. You have to confide sometimes. And I think we can trust you."

Well, when they left after several hours, they were not only thick as thieves and the best of friends with Lise, but several interesting items had been added to Lee's wardrobe.

There was a figure hugging long dress of black wool with tight long sleeves and with a hobble skirt so tight, Lee could not take the smallest step. In fact the skirt itself was not that tight, it was the strong taffeta lining and this had a zipper that could be opened so that small steps as the skirt itself allowed were possible. The dress was cut princess style which accentuated Lee's tiny waist by its line alone. The only interruption was a black satin band, about an inch and a half wide running all around over the tips of his breasts.

Before slipping on the dress, Lise had made sure that the nipples were exposed by folding back the lace at the top of the half cups of the corset Lee was wearing. Now it became apparent why: under the satin band -- which was only fastened on its top edge -- there were half inch wide round cut outs exactly were the nipples peeked through. Somebody knowing could reach under the satin band and caress the naked nipples this way, to everybody else it was just a very elegant, stylish dress as you would wear to a concert or a similar outing.

"Of course, a dress like this needs some jewelry. How about this here." Lise produced two identical bracelets and a matching necklace and put them on Lee. They were about two inches wide and encrusted with thick ornaments. The necklace really was more like a collar, it hugged the neck closely over the high Victorian styled collar of the dress.

"You see," Lise explained, "these bracelets can be linked together like this." With a short turn and press she had locked together the two bracelets in front of Lee. "They can be opened only with this key and when they are locked together they cannot individually be opened and taken off either." She produced the flat little key and opened the lock fastening the bracelets together. "Or, if you want the hands out of your way, you just do this." She took Lee's wrists and raised them to his neck, pushing the bracelets to the collar. Lee heard two little clicks and his wrists were securely anchored against the back of his neck. He felt completely helpless, his whole body was proffered unprotectedly.

Noreen seemed to like his predicament. She stepped up to him and started to gently massage the naked nipples under the satin band. "This is really nice and practical. We'll take this set."

The controlling item Noreen had asked for initially was not available. However, Lise had promised to have something ready in three days.

"You know, it must be made to the exact measurements of the wearer to be tight enough that it cannot be slipped off and not too tight so it wouldn't hurt the wearer," Lise explained. She carefully had taken Lee's measurements and Noreen had promised to be back with Lee in three days.

Of course, Lise took up the phone to call me before the door had completely shut behind them to relate the thrilling episode to me.

"Just think, I just met an American couple just like you and Renee. He is a fashion model. You simply must meet them."

This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Of course, Renee and I were present when they came to collect the controlling garment. When Noreen and Lee came again to the "Lise and Louise" Boutique, they wore their fabulous minks again. When Noreen took off Lee's cape, we saw that he wore a tight brown leather skirt, covering the calves, as was the fashion that year, with a magnificent sweater in the same color with two big tigers facing each other in front, their bodies continued around the sides to the back. They were done in vivid yellow and brown colors highlighted with glittering gold. The surprising feature was: he had no arms. I saw this at once, but to a casual observer it was not too obvious. The design of the sweater -- very wide at the shoulders and tapering down to the hips -- together with the wrapped around tiger-motif was perfect as it was. Sleeves would have interrupted the lines and disturbed the whole picture.

Lise introduced us, "This is Sylvia, the female half and this is Renee, the she-male half of a very happy couple. They designed the dress that you bought last time and the bracelet/necklace set and all of the other special kind of fashions here too. I was sure you would like to meet them since their lifestyle is very similar to yours. -- And here is Noreen."

"And this is my she-male husband, Lee," Noreen took over the introduction, "I'm afraid he can't shake hands with you."

We showered them with compliments on their looks and we meant everything we said because they looked great, Lee was even sexier than Noreen, but that probably was just the effect of Lee's artful makeup. I particularly complimented Lee on the sweater he was wearing. He told me, that Noreen had designed it. His arms were securely fastened beneath it.

I saw at once that Noreen evidently had the same ideas about a relationship with a man as I had and had carried them out much as I had done. Lise and Lee went off to fit him with his new controlling device which not only securely flattened his front, but at the same time served as a chastity belt. Lise had asked Renee's assistance, so Noreen and I sat down and talked. She told me in brief that they were in Paris for a modeling assignment.

"You know, the chastity belt was not really necessary for Lee. I am sure he will never cheat on me. It is just the psychological factor: he must feel he is under my control all the time, even if I am 10 flight hours away."

She really was a woman after my taste and we promised each other to get together soon and take the time to exchange views and experiences.

Chapter XVII

After this long excursion I really should get back to our show or I'll never finish telling you about it.

I was the "mistress of ceremonies" and had to introduce all models coming to the runway and explain the special features of each model. Louise and Chris, our she-male Eurasian "male Maid" helped the models. They demonstrated the hidden restraints of the dresses, etc. Some of the models were completely dependent on them. They had to be wheeled in and out sitting on a chair or a bar-stool or leaning against a pillar.

Both were dressed as parlor maids of the "Gay Nineties" in black dresses of chintzy cotton with long voluminous skirts and lots of rustling petticoats, tight bodices with boned high collars holding their heads proudly up, huge leg-o'-mutton-sleeves and starched white pinafores with ribbons over their shoulders having large, stiffly starched ruffles standing out like wings, narrowing down to the waist in front and back, their strictly corseted waists accentuated by big stiffly starched bows on the back that bobbed up and down sexily with each step they took in their 5 inch heels. Their long dark hair was piled up in identical hairdos high on their heads and crowned with white lacy maid's caps. Nobody who saw these delightful and charming female creatures would have taken them for the boys that they really were.

This year the Paris couture houses could not agree on the hemlines. Some showed models with skirts almost ankle length, some ultra short minis and Chanel's Karl Lagerfeld had shown very pretty and feminine suit jackets with no skirts at all, the legs covered by opaque "leggings", which were a combination of tights and panties. At the top but quite visible under the jacket the "leggings" showed sexy lace designs.

Of course, we had adopted this idea and featured some suits with a threefold option: a long hobble skirt reaching to about three inches above the ankle, a very tight mini and no skirt at all. Some of these suits had their sleeves joined in the back so that the arms lay across the back above the waist. When Lee tried one of these on with the "leggings", Noreen decided that she must have one of these suits with the two skirts and with an extra jacket with normal sleeves too.

Lee wanted to object against the taking jacket with the sleeves joined behind the back. "It'll be useless to take, I can never wear it anywhere."

"You'll be surprised how many opportunities I'll find where it is appropriate for you to wear it. There are many occasions where you really don't have to have the use of your hands. Since you gave up smoking you don't even need them to hold a cigarette anymore. Just think of going to a movie or to a museum. Wherever we go just to look at something, you don't need your hands," Noreen argued.

"But what will people say if they see me like this? It's too humiliating."

"If they'll notice it at all -- most of them are too preoccupied with themselves to see anything anyway -- they won't say anything if you just move around naturally and nonchalantly. If you project the notion that nothing unusual is happening, nobody, but nobody, would dare to interfere."

As always tight dresses were our favorites, mostly with mini skirts but some with stylish long skirts too. If the material was soft, like wool jersey, they were lined with taffeta linings that clung tightly to the hips and thighs of the wearer, accentuating the feminine curves as much as possible.

The main accent of our shows customarily was set on the more extravagant things like evening dresses and things you could only wear in private. One of the models for evening dresses was Mr. Grimaud -- the opera singer who played only women's parts because of his magnificent alto voice. Since our first meeting his wife had worked a lot on him to further feminize his appearance and make him more perfect for his roles. He now lived entirely as a woman, which had not disrupted his operatic career at all. People connected with the opera evidently are an unusual lot. All they cared about was the voice and it didn't matter in the least if the singer was man or woman or beast -- they couldn't care less. If the voice was extraordinary, so was their admiration of the singer. And since his voice was sensational he commanded the highest fees for his appearances.

By now he had a magnificent set of tits, mostly due to implants. He was a little shy showing them off but his wife had coerced him into being a model for us. And with his voluptuous body he was a natural for big dramatic evening gowns.

He modeled -- among others -- a gown of the richest brocade in purple and gold colors with an enormous skirt, held out by several stiff, rustling petticoats. The waist was laced in to its minimum in contrast to the huge skirt. He wore a jacket of the same material with it that was trimmed with sable at the wide sleeves and all around from the high standing collar over his bust down to a peplum reaching almost to his thighs in the back. It was sharply nipped in at the waist too but showed his cleavage to perfection. A hat again of the same heavy brocade as the dress with a sable rim completed the picture. It was a gown worth of a grand-duchess at the court of the Czar. When he reached the end of the runway, our maids stepped up to him and helped him take off the jacket. It was a really dramatic moment and with all his experience from the stage he made the most of it. One of the maids had gone behind him taking the jacket at its shoulders while the other stood in front unfastening the clasp that held it together at the waist, obstructing the view for the onlookers and moving away only after he had shed the jacket completely.

Even our audience which certainly was not easily impressed let out audible gasps before it broke into applause. The bodice of the gown which was so dramatically uncovered revealed a pair of magnificent breasts, lifted them up a little to form perfect spheres with large, fully erect nipples. The nipples had little gold rings inserted into them to which a heavy gold chain was fastened at both ends while its middle was pulled up a little to be connected to another single chain that hung down from a choker-necklace tightly encircling the throat.

The nakedness of the bosom was emphasized by the fact that the bodice covered most of the shoulders and had puffed sleeves reaching to the elbows where golden kid gloves disappeared into them. It was this discrepancy between the image of an almost chaste gown created by the full skirt, the heavy material, and the gloves and the sudden wanton presentation of the tits that made the gown so extremely sexy. I am sure, it brought life to quite a few male parts in our audience.

It would take too long to describe all of the models we showed. However, one more should not be kept from you. As in all Paris shows, the last model is the bride. Lee was going to model this creation.

Contrary to most bridal gowns it had very slim line with a tight skirt. The material was a shimmering white silk that was horizontally draped around the body. Over it Lee wore something like a cape made from a stiff, heavy, rustling silk that came down in front to just below the breasts but continued in the back all the way down to the floor where it formed a little train. It followed the neck closely and was closed by three big silk covered buttons in front. From under it the arms appeared, clad in white satin gloves, carrying a big bridal bouquet. The veil was rather short, just reaching to the throat in front and just a little over the shoulders in the back.

When Lee appeared in it, a picture of pure virginity, applause accompanied him all the way down the runway where again he was received by our helpful parlor maids. One of them took the bouquet and put it away, then both busied themselves for a minute or so at each side of Lee's waist, then under the cape in front. Finally again, one went to the back to receive the cape and the other opened the three buttons. When they stepped away, our bride had her arms tied with satin ribbons to her side and her hands attached to the front of the bodice just under her breasts forcing her hands to hold out her breasts provocatively as an offering to the waiting husband.

After she had turned a few times and the applause had subsided, the maids came back and took off the long tight skirt. It had been carefully concealed by the folds of the draping of the silk, that actually the skirt was detachable. After the removal of the skirt Lee was left with a micro mini skirt in front, just barely covering the top of his pale blue stockings. His superb legs were shod in silver pumps with heels at least six inches high, prohibiting any large steps even without the restriction of the tight skirt.

But the big surprise came, when Lee turned around and showed completely naked ass cheeks. The hem of the skirt in front continued as a two inch wide satin ribbon on both sides that was tied in the back in a saucy bow, like on a gift wrapping, just waiting to be opened by the husband. Again I was sure, that there were several people in the room who would have delighted to be able to unwrap this delicious morsel of femininity -- and who probably wouldn't have been offended or cared at all when they discovered Lee's prick.

Anyway, this was the end of our show. Sylvia and Lise took their bows as the designers and everybody celebrated into the early hours of the next morning. Noreen had made Lee keep on his abbreviated bridal gown and did not untied his arms and hands. Thus he was not much better off than I. But we had no lack of admirers of all and sundry sexes who wanted to dance with us and kept us well fed and supplied with drinks anytime we wanted something.

The next days were very busy for all of us because there were dresses and other items to be altered to fit the buyers, orders to be taken for future delivery, orders put in to suppliers, deliveries to be accepted and processed -- the usual melee after a big fashion show. Many of our customers, who came from abroad, wanted to wait for their purchases to be delivered within a few days.

Noreen and Lee stayed with us during these days as house-guests. They helped us a lot during the day at our business and at night we took them to all the good and special places we knew around town. Our wives had a tendency to show us off to each other. There was always an undercurrent of competition between them as to whose companion (we certainly didn't look like husbands) was the most feminine, best dressed for the occasion, had the best figure or whatever virtue was assessed in us at any given time. We, therefore, were both kept very strictly in the highest heels, tightest skirts and excruciatingly laced corsets. Normally we wore corsets only on special occasions, both our figures did not need them, but now there seemed to be a special occasion 24 hours a day. Our makeup was constantly checked and our hair had to be perfect all the time. Somehow in spite of the considerable strain this put us in, we both loved the attention we were getting from our wives.

Noreen and Lee had their own room at our large apartment, but the nights after returning from an exciting excursion into town like a "diner dansant" (dinner and dance), a nightclub show, or just a disco usually ended in our room with a nightcap. Usually we all were highly charged with sex at that time. It did never take much time before someone started to shed her clothes. Usually Noreen and Sylvia spurred us on to put on a striptease show for them and we were more than eager to comply.

We were, however, never allowed to undress completely. We always had to keep on our corsets, stockings, high heels and gloves. If we did not wear gloves before, we had to put on extra long ones of kid or suede leather because our wives both loved the feeling of being caressed all over with leather gloves.

This always brought Lee and I to the highest level of desire and arousal. Lee was luckier in this than I, because usually Noreen let him out of the strict controlling device early in the game. She loved to see her she-male husband still in his feminine finery with a hard cock jumping up and down. Sylvia almost without exception clung to her one-to-x rule, meaning that she would release my aching cock only after she had had x number of orgasms. Fortunately the whole atmosphere was so filled with eroticism that she reached the number set by her (by good behavior I was down to three now) in no time.

One night Sylvia had thought of something specially exciting. She said that her whole skin felt dry and she wanted Lee to rub her whole body with a moisturizing lotion.

"You can't do it with your gloves though, that would ruin them. Let me make sure that they do not get in the way." With this she turned Lee around and slipped a long single glove over his arms in the back, lacing it snugly, immovably pressing together his elbows, forearms, wrists, and hands, pulling back his shoulders and making his breasts stand out provocatively.

"I have a much better idea how to do it." She squirted a portion of the lotion on Lee's breasts and told him to use these instead of his hands to rub in the lotion, starting on her shoulders in the back.

Noreen at once felt that her skin was dry too and after a minute or so I found myself correspondingly laced up and occupied. Sylvia and Noreen would constantly squirt more lotion on our breasts and tell us where to rub it in. Lastly we were both kneeling on cushions behind them and massaging their asses and thighs with our breasts, while they stood in a tight embrace kissing each other passionately. After a while they just left us kneeling there and went off to bed. We were really frustrated being left behind like this, aroused to a fever pitch and helplessly strapped up. We followed our ladies to the bed (actually two king-sized beds side by side) and tried our best to make them realize that we were still there by continuing to rub, caress and stroke them with our breasts. It still took a long time before they let go of each other and turned to us to include us into the love-game.

Finally the day came to part. Lee could take along the items Noreen had selected for him from our collection with no trouble. Because he had modeled them, they fit him perfectly. They did not want to accept anything in return for the modeling, saying they were rewarded by the fun they both had doing it, but Sylvia had prepared a special gift for Lee. Noreen had confided in her that she had had Lee's nipples pierced some months ago and Sylvia had our goldsmith make up two little platinum rings, about 3/8 of an inch in diameter encrusted with little sapphires and diamonds on one side of each ring. Through the center of each ring went a little platinum wire that could be opened and closed.

Noreen and Lee loved them when Sylvia gave them to Lee and Noreen insisted that Sylvia inserted them herself. When she was done, Lee's erect nipples were surrounded by the sparkling sapphires and diamonds. Noreen went out and bought a blouse of the sheerest diaphanous dark grey chiffon with a high Victorian collar and long sleeves which did not hide anything and through which the rings sparkled clearly.

"Of course, you will wear a jacket over it when we travel. Actually, I think when we go on to London tomorrow, you should wear it together with you new suit. And you should wear the long skirt with it, sometimes there is quite a draft in these airplanes underneath and the long skirt is very sensible for this."

"But it is so very tight, I can hardly walk in it at all," Lee tried to object.

"Where do you plan to walk? Sylvia and Renee will take us directly to the airport terminal here, in the plane you'll be sitting anyway and in London we'll take a taxi right to our doorstep. And we'll make sure to be at the airport early enough so you can take your time walking to the gate in mincing little steps so becoming of a lady. And if the weather in London permits it, you can shed the skirt at the airport anyway and be the first in London wearing just a jacket and sexy leggings. Lagerfeld's designs will not be on the streets before the fall."

So it was settled and Lee put on his new long hobble-skirt over his new leggings. He looked great and very sexy in it with his high heels, his well defined round ass and thighs, and the see-through blouse with the rings sparkling around his constantly erect nipples. When Noreen helped him into the jacket of the suit, he had another surprise coming: she had selected the jacket with the sleeves that were joined across the small of the back, not the normal jacket as he had expected. But before he could react, Noreen had already pulled it over the shoulders and fastened the double-breasted row of buttons in front.

"No, please don't make me wear it the whole way to London," he pleaded with her.

"It's only an hour's flight. You are lucky that we aren't going to L.A. directly, but if you continue to balk: I give you the choice of wearing it now or on the flight from London to L.A."

This quieted him down immediately, because he knew she would do it too, tie him up in the jacket for the whole trip across the Atlantic and the States. Actually I wasn't sure she wouldn't do it anyhow even if he relented now, if she just felt like it. Sylvia told me later, Noreen had reported to her on the phone from London, that in the plane she had offered him to take off the jacket if he liked but he was afraid of so many people seeing the adornment of his nipples.

Anyway, we took them out to Charles de Gaulle Airport. I am always befallen by a shiver when we go out there and I see the signs pointing to the little town next to the airport. Its name is Poissy and invariably this name triggers pictures of the "Story of "O"" in my mind.

Sylvia parked the car after she and Noreen had checked the luggage. I could not help, because Sylvia had locked my arms behind me with some bracelets. "You should really want to wear the cuffs out of sympathy for Lee. If he is tied up, you should want to be tied up too, so actually I'm doing you a favor, enabling you to show your compassion," was her reasoning when I had tried to object.

We all got out then and brought our departing friends to the security gate. We caused quite a stir among the other people in the airport: four beautiful women, elegantly dressed in the latest styles will do so anywhere. If anybody who knew us had offered a bet that two of the four women were really men, they could have made a fortune on the spot -- nobody would have believed them. As it was a beautiful day, a warm, true "April in Paris" day, I wore one of our new suit jackets but without a skirt, proudly showing off my narrow waist and long legs in the high heeled sling pumps and leggings.

Noreen and Sylvia hugged each other and us and between kisses and promises to be back soon. After inviting us over to visit them, Noreen and Lee finally departed.

When we sat in the car going back into the city, I was a little uncomfortable because Sylvia had not removed the handcuff-bracelets.

"Can't you please take theses things off?" I asked her, turning my back to her and stretching my arms into her lap when we stopped at a light at the airport exit.

She didn't even look down on them. "You know," she started as if she was still deep in thought, "you have become a real little sassy during the last weeks. Of course, that was all caused by the humdrum around the show and the work you had to do -- and I will admit you did a very good job -- but nevertheless I think you have tried to push your limits a little to your advantage. Now that the stress is over, I think I'll have to correct this and put you back into your place."

"But I haven't done anything wrong -- have I? You never told me anything."

"It is not that you did anything specific to displease me. It is a general change of attitude that I noticed, not big things, just little things, like just now asking me that I should release you. What makes you dare to ask something like this? Do you by any chance doubt that I shall forget to release you the minute I think you deserve it? Are you perhaps doubting the prudence of my judgement? Do you realize the impertinence in your question? It's things like this that made me think you need a period of contemplation about your status."

"So I have decided to give you the opportunity to think about your conduct toward me at a different location. Lise has told me that she desperately needs help at the boutique after the show now and Louise is so tied up with the household and everything. So I have decided to give you to them as a maid. As of this moment you'll be the maid of Lise and Louise for two weeks. You will dress as a "sexy maid" and work at their apartment or at the boutique. And as I know their temperaments, I am sure you will not only have your hands full at night."

When Sylvia mentioned that I was required to dress as a "sexy maid", I was relieved a little. Of course, it would be hard work with them, I knew they were very demanding -- the sexy dress Sylvia had referred to was a short black satin maids dress over lacy petticoats and a tight little corset that lifted my breasts up. A lacy apron and maids cap, very sheer black seamed nylon stockings and patent leather pumps with 5 inch heels completed the outfit. This, however, was not the really sexy part of it. The sexy part was that the dress did not cover my breasts. They were left free in a roughly triangular cut out rimmed with white lace much as the demure little stand up collar and the short puffed sleeves. Usually I wore silver nipple rings with it and a light silver chain stretched between them from which a little silver bell hung in the valley in the middle between my tits tinkling with every step I took.

The thought of this immediately made me tingle inside. I knew that the 14 nights with these extremely sexy boy-girls would certainly not mean 14 nights of undisturbed sleep. On the contrary, I could expect that they would both try -- as Lise had once put it in a moment of very hot action vulgarly but accurately -- to fuck my brains out.

"You know, I might damage the whole purpose of it," Sylvia continued, interrupting my thoughts that had made me slither back and forth in my seat, "but I don't want to appear to be cruel and deprive you of sex for two weeks. I will give the key to Lise to use it at her discretion."

The key she was referring to, of course, was the key to the lock that held my cock back between my legs. When she said this, I knew that it was not a punishment that she wanted to dole out to me, on the contrary, it was a reward. However, she had to disguise it as a punishment to keep up appearances.

"When you come back after the two weeks you'll continue to work as a maid in our apartment."

I knew that this would become another exciting period, not always pleasant, but certainly very stimulating.

The truth is, we do a lot of role playing and if I was to be the maid, our she-male maid Chris would probably be promoted to be the consort of Sylvia for the same period. The last time I was the maid, he took over my position in Sylvia's bed and I was relegated to the maid's room for a week.

Each night, Sylvia gagged and chained me to the bed in the maid's room and all I could do was fantasize about what was going on in the master bedroom between the two of them. It was not that I was jealous. If Sylvia wanted to have fun with others, I was not going to stand in her way. But being excluded from the action only a few feet away, chained up in my bed, frustrated me and my fantasies ran wild with pictures of the wanton orgy that was probably going on next door.

It never failed to arouse me terribly, but, of course, it was hard to achieve any release the way I was fettered. My bracelets were usually locked to a collar with short chains and the lowest I could reach was my tits. If Sylvia did not unlock the lock holding back my cock, I was very uncomfortable down there to say the least. Most times however she unlocked me before tucking me in, saying "I am sure to have more than three orgasms soon, so I'll allow you to play with yourself." It was easier said than done.

Of course, I was instructed to fasten the locking gear to my male parts first thing in the morning. Sylvia had prepared an alarm clock to release the key to my fetters so I could get up and prepare breakfast. I had to get up as soon as the clock sounded, shower, put on makeup (not an easy thing if a penis gag is locked into your mouth), the tight corset that was necessary to be able to get into the "sexy maid" costume, slip on black seamed stockings and the five inch heels, and finally the maid's costume. I was not allowed to wear panties giving me a terribly naked and accessible feeling.

Then I had to serve them breakfast in bed. More often than not they were in a hot embrace when I entered and I had to wait until they were ready for breakfast.

Later I had to help Sylvia as her ladies' maid with her bath and tend to all her needs while dressing, setting her hair, and putting on makeup. Again this was very exciting and when she left to go to work, I was in a state of considerable arousal that did not regress for a long time.

The idea of Sylvia intending to repeat this situation made me shiver with delightful anticipation.

She brought me out of my reveries.

"I have arranged with Raoul Carriers -- you know, the gay publicity agent -- to go to Cannes for the film festival. He and his boyfriend have rented a two-bedroom apartment for the entire month of May and he invited us to share it. We'll stay there for the festival and perhaps a few days longer. We could visit our old school too. I am sure the headmistress would like to see what has become of you."

"It'll be your job as a maid before we leave to check all the outfits we want to take, have them cleaned and pressed and sent down by special messenger in time for them to get there before we do. We'll need a lot of evening gowns because -- as you know -- all the 6.00pm and 8.00pm performances require formal wear and I expect Raoul to take us to a lot of parties too where we want to go formal."

I couldn't be happier than when I heard this. A full two weeks of nothing but the newest movies, plush parties, interesting (if mostly crazy) people and -- most important of all -- being able to wear the most extravagant, even outrageous dresses all the time. Of course, I would be gagged and fettered in them a lot of the time, but this made the idea of having to wear them all the more exciting.

I knew I had made the right choice when I had agreed to become and then remain Sylvia's slave. I loved this life and the thought that I would be kept in dresses and skirts by her forever.

THE END