Message-ID: <13305eli$9807231508@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) Subject: {VickieTern} New TG: Dolls F/m M/M F/F femdom Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <1998072311551000.HAA01952@ladder01.news.aol.com> {VickieTern} New TG: Dolls 2/9 F/m M/M F/f femdom I'll appreciate knowing what you think of this:VickieTern@AOL.COM Other Vickie Tern stories are archived in http://www.fictionmania.com and http://library.gaycafe.com/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Vickie_Tern I'll appreciate knowing what you think of any of these too, if you can still write after reading them. If you shouldn't be reading this, don't. lived. From the exchange he was dialing, somewhere south of town. But she'd always picked him up in her BMW, or they'd met somewhere, and then she'd always dropped him off again at his place. The penalties of not having a car of your own. He heard her answer the phone, and he said simply, trying not to sound contrite, "It's Bob." "Well?" was the way she answered him. Her voice sounded hurt and distanced, even a little impersonal he was horrified to notice. She'd half-written him off? "Diana, for you, yes, anything at all," he replied "If that's what you want me to do. I'm sorry I've been such a wimp. I told you once, I'll always want to try anything you want, whatever you like." Now that she had him, she played with him. "Anything, Bob? Always? That's a lot more than I'm asking from you now. But now I just might want a lot more. You'll do anything at all for me? >From now on?" From now on! Bob realized with joy that he hadn't blown it. She was still thinking they had a future together! He felt enormously relieved. "Of course," he said grandly. Then he realized she might not be feeling altogether playful about this. Be serious! He thought a moment. "Yes," he said. "I will. I think so." "Remember that, dear. Keep thinking it. I'll hold you to it. >From now on. Remember that." Bob had no idea what she was talking about, but he didn't care. "How do you want to do this?" Bob asked. "It isn't Halloween. We haven't got that excuse when people see me." "That's why we have to be perfect. You'll look real. Don't worry, you'll pass just beautifully. You'll make a lovely girl. I don't want to embarrass either of us, you should know that. I want you to have a wonderful experience. You'll be my date. Don't give it another thought. I'll bring everything and decide everything. Just be home next Friday at five p.m., naked, and we'll take it from there. I'll want to remake you from the skin on out. Trust me. You'll love it. It'll be exciting. It'll be our little thing together." "Let me tell you one thing more, Bobbi honey. It won't end Friday night. Now that I have you I won't want to let you go. Not yet. Maybe not at all. Maybe we'll spend the whole weekend together. Maybe all of next week. And I really mean together. As long as you're the person I want you to be, I'll see to it that you're very, very happy. This will be wonderful for you. You'll see." She then hung up. Bob just sat there, the phone still in his hand, unable to move, tears slowly filling his eyes. He blinked. He'd nearly lost her! The most wonderful girl in the world, and he'd nearly lost her, just because she wanted to play this game with him and he'd balked. Never again! He didn't understand some of the things she'd just said, but whatever she wanted, from now on that was what he wanted! **************** Now it was Friday and nearly five. Bob was already naked, pacing up and down, waiting. He had no idea what to expect. It seemed to him a little silly, Diana wanting him to date her wearing women's clothing. He'd heard of men who liked to do that, and he'd always thought them a little strange. Well, a lot strange. Probably gay. He loved seeing women's things on women, where they fit, and curved, and declared soft, delicate things about their bodies. He'd always felt there was something mysterious about dresses, and blouses, and bras, and those other things women wore and men didn't. Their clothes were like themselves, desireable, remote, different, erotically charged, a large part of what being a woman was like. They had their things, Bob thought, and we have ours. That's what makes them feminine, and us masculine. He tried not to remember that in anticipation of tonight, all week long whenever he'd seen a girl his age and shape in the mall, or the street, or in an office, he'd looked over their dresses, and jackets, and blouses, and hosiery, and high heeled shoes, and hairdos, and tried to imagine himself wearing them. Is that what Diana wanted? His imagination had already submitted to her. It's only clothing, he told himself. Wearing it won't make me feminine. Will it? Or was it that when other people saw him and thought he was a girl, then that would that make him feel feminine? Maybe. Was this some supreme test Diana was putting him through to see if he was worthy of her, or sincere in his feelings for her? Bob wanted her to be happy. But as the moment approached his heart started beating faster. For some reason, what he was about to do seemed very dangerous, a threat to something fundamental in himself, something vulnerable, even fragile. When Diana's car showed up and he saw her walk toward his building with a large valise in each hand, he felt genuine fear. She sensed this immediately as she came in, set her bags down, looked his bare body up and down with a nod, and reached to kiss him. She locked both her hands behind his neck and stared into his eyes from just a few inches away, pressing her fully clothed belly against his naked, engorging penis. "Don't worry, darling," she said. "This is something I do every day. Half the world does this every day. Just think of yourself as one of me. I think you'll enjoy pretending to be me. Until you can decide for yourself what kind of a girl you are and then be you, with your own style and ways of feeling feminine, for the time being just pretend you're me. OK?" This was getting a little more extensive than he'd figured, Bob thought. What's on her mind isn't just tonight. But I've got to humor her. I did promise her. I want her to have what she wants. "Whatever you want, I want," he told her. "I'm yours." And for some reason, when he said that he felt reassured. What she showed she'd brought in the suitcases was also reassuring, a little. She wasn't planning on a high-styled date, just drinks and dinner for two in a restaurant already crowded with other couples absorbed with each other, two women together having a TGIF evening, then maybe a movie, then a casual drink at a bar where men wouldn't try to hit on them. She smiled when Bob looked startled at that last. Diana was dressed as always with a simplicity that seemed elegant, in a billowing silk blouse gathered at the wrists and a full tweed skirt to mid-calf. She'd brought him a similar blouse and a "dress for success" business suit, gray with a few purple threads highlighting the fabric, the skirt tailored and nearly knee length, the jacket short and nipped in a little at the waist. Not terribly effeminate or threatening. But form-fit, and decidedly a woman's suit. "No pants for my first time out," he asked hopefully? He realized he'd just agreed to go out with her this way other times too. "When you next wear pants on a date with me," she replied, "they'll be cut so fashionable or so cute that men will try to climb all over your sweet litte ass. You'll be eager to get back into a sound, sensible skirt, like this one." She held it up. "Your first Chanel classic. The basis for your future wardrobe. Isn't it just lovely?" Bob saw she was looking at it it with obvious pleasure, and thought he should share that pleasure with her, show he was a good sport. "It's just lovely," he said. She glanced sideways at him, not at all fooled. "Yes, it is," she said. "You'll love it. You'll see. But let's go to the bathroom and get you started." An hour later, Bob felt very peculiar indeed. First of all, his body was utterly hairless. He'd never felt so naked. She'd taken him into the bathroom and stood him in the tub, and directed him to shave himself everywhere. "You can leave a little triangle on your crotch, around those sweet little toys of yours," she said. "All girls have hair on their mounds, and yours proves you're a natural blonde. That's an asset. And we're going to give you a pretty hairdo, too. But all the rest of your hair goes!" When he was done she foamed his stubble with hair removing lotion of some kind, and then washed it all down the drain, and then soothed his skin with a perfumed body lotion, her slim fingers wiping it smooth over his curves and into his crevices. Now he was more naked, smooth, and exposed than he'd felt since he was born. She looked him over appraisingly, not disapproving but somehow speculative. Then something more shocking, that made him feel even more vulnerable. She suddenly produced two Fleet enemas and told him to use them to clean out his "you-know-what," first one then the other. He'd gotten to his knees on the bathroom rug and bent way over, shoulders also on the rug, asshole high, and inserted the first and squeezed in the fluid, while she watched him impassively. "I could fuck you with that," she said suddenly. "But I have better things in mind. Still, why don't you do yourself a little when you use the second one?" He didn't respond. This was her game. He held the liquid from the first inside himself under orders for nearly fifteen minutes, until he was convulsed with cramps. Then when she permitted he poured it all out of himself into the toilet, embarrassed that she was there the whole time, sitting on the edge of the tub watching him casually, waiting for him to finish. It smelled a little, but she seemed not to notice or mind. Then she'd made him repeat the whole procedure with the other enema kit, telling him this time to work the plastic nozzle in and out of his anus to make sure the area inside was clear, "as if you were fucking yourself with a pencil-sized dick." Only clear fluid came out the second time, when finally she gave him permission to sit and expel it. Then came a surprise. She handed him a Massengill Douche kit with a picture of a woman in a long white chiffon gown imaged on the box, looking somehow pristine and soft. She told him to use that too. "I want you to feel like that woman," she said. "Clean, as beautifully clean in your body's openings as I am in mine. This is very special, what we're doing tonight. I want your body to feel different on the inside as well as the outside. A woman should always feel fresh everywhere when she starts out on a date. Remember that. Whatever scents and fluids then fill her body should be those aroused by her lover." She watched as Bob inserted the tip and administered the douche to himself. "Gently," she said. "This is a rare privilege. Don't let it seem routine. You are doing something very feminine. You should feel that it's helping you to feel feminine. Work that long tip in and out of your bottom just a little. Lovely! Only women douche themselves. And now you." She smiled at him. "Bobbi dear," she went on. "From now on, whether we're seeing each other or not, I want you to do this for yourself every day. Whenever you take a shower, cleanse your insides thoroughly with an enema, and always finish with a douche. I'll supply your douche kits for you, specially prepared the way I'd like them to be, perfumed and especially womanly in other ways too. So I'll know your insides are as sweet as any other part of you. And you'll know. We'll both be glad you did it, afterward." Bob nodded, amused and a little puzzled, but still willing to go along with whatever pleased her. He started feeling especially comfortable shortly after his douche. Nice. Calm, not at all nervous. He imagined this was how women feel, why they always looked so serene. Nothing extraordinary, he was only a woman going out on a date with his girl. Then just as they left the bathroom, she suddenly asked him to bend way over, and before he was quite sure what was happening she produced a tampon, swiped a bit of jellied lubricant on it, slipped the plastic tube into his rear end, and then withdrew it, leaving the tampon itself inside him with a string dangling from his anus. He let out a little yip, but it was over before he could tense up or protest. She patted his bottom. "Inside and outside," she said, and she smiled reassuringly as she led the way back into the bedroom. He felt as if he were waddling. His bottom waggled when he walked, with that tampon inside him. Was that why girls waggled when they walked? It was an odd sensation. Very full. Somehow not dissatisfying. He reached down to see what she had done to him, but except for the soft string his fingers found dangling out of him, his opening felt the same as when he'd showered or wiped it, now tight shut, it's new secret well hidden within. "Now darling," Diana said, her voice slightly amused. "Don't play with your pussy right now. Just imagine you're having your period, dear. Girls do, you know. I told you I want your body to feel feminine inside and out, and there's only one thing you can put into that opening that would make you feel even more feminine, isn't there? You don't want that just yet now, dear, do you?" Bob wasn't sure he had heard what he had heard. "What?" was all he could utter. She ignored him "Is it very uncomfortable, dear?" Diana replied, "If you're feeling cramps I can give you the kind of pill women take for cramps. Would you like one?" Bob just shook his head. "Then let's get started." They went back into his bedroom and she settled him into his straight-backed chair facing the bed, where both suitcases lay open. He was surprised to find he could bend with the tampon in him. He still felt sort of full, but it wasn't unpleasant. "You have enough new things to deal with tonight, dear, so we won't go anywhere that requires high heels." She grinned. "Maybe after tonight you'll want to kick up your heels and be a party girl. But not tonight. We'll have a lovely, gentle, easy time of it, relaxed. I want you to feel very comfortable, to get used to things." "What do you mean, get used to things?" Bob finally asked, not really disturbed but still, not lulled either by her reassurances. He was going along with her, but she seemed to have some extensive plans in mind. "This bra," she said, holding it out to him. "Put it on. Do you know how? You've seen how women put their bras on. Shall I help you?" She did. Bob didn't know if she'd answered his question or ignored it. She hooked it in front, and he looked down and saw that he now had a slight rounded cleavage between the cups, his smooth, hairless chest caught up and compressed by the bra to form two crescents. "Look at that," he said, in order to say something, anything at all. Then to let her know he was taking it all in stride, he added "Do I get big titties too, after a while?" "Don't worry, Bobbi. All in good time. No breast forms for you, love. I want you to feel, well...natural. I have wonderful plans for you. If that means right now you're just one more flat chested girl wearing a bras with a little padding for shape or for cleavage, then that's what you are. When you won't want to be that kind of girl, you won't be. Trust me." The rest went as he'd imagined and anticipated all week as he'd looked closely at the gear different women laced and buttoned and snapped and zipped and snugged and tucked and strapped themselves into. She showed him how to put on pantyhose, then watched as he practiced putting on several pair, until she was satisfied he could handle them with care and respect. They felt incredible as his legs rubbed against each other. The same with a cute lace panty girdle she handed him, which turned out to be made of a tight spandex that held his penis and testicles tucked way down between his legs. He worried for a moment whether she expected him to sit on them. She did, so he did. He squirmed onto one haunch, and she told him to sit square on his pretty bottom, to keep his knees together, and to cross his ankles whenever he sat like that. Then she handed him a pair of low-heeled shoes with little leather bows in front, and a slip that felt wonderful whenever the insides of his arms accidentally brushed against it. "Now you're all gussied up, my dear. It's time for you to say your very own girl name. Bobbi. Say it." "Bobbi," Bob said. It was what his mother had called him when he was a kid. Cute, but a little helpless. "Are you sure ....?" She interrupted him. "Bobbi," Diana repeated, with the least hint of a stern tone in the way she said it. "Now you've been christened. Dear Bobbi, turn around, and we'll do your hair. There isn't much we can do with it now, but it should look a little fuller, don't you think?" He felt rebuked, and didn't answer at first. "If full hair isn't you, we can always give you curls, but that'll take a little longer. Do you want your hair curled now, Bobbi, or will you settle for a big hair look until we can bring in a consultant?" "Big hair is fine," Bob replied hastily. Every time he hesitated, she seemed to raise the ante on him. "I think so too, dear. It's more like what you're used to." Twenty minutes later his hair was up in heat rollers, and twenty minutes after that she had made up his face, carefully this time, and plucked his eyebrows until they were high and delicately shaped, like two thin comets arching together over his eyes. She hummed as she worked over him, pleased as under her long fingers Bob disappeared into Bobbi. She reminded Bob of a little girl playing with her dolls, with total concentration. While she was shaping his eyebrows, he realized his face would not look feminine just for tonight, but he didn't want to interrupt her. She said something about his nails being all right for now as they were, it was better to do them right later anyway. He was feeling quite mellow. He managed to smile to himself at just how far he seemed willing to go to please her. "I thought so," Diana said. "You love this almost as much as I do, don't you. Never mind answering, Bobbi, I don't want to embarrass you. Just slip on this blouse and skirt, and we'll brush out your hair, and you'll be ready for your grand debut. Hungry?" "Yes," Bob replied. She never seemed to ask him questions that allowed any other answer. He stepped into his skirt, fastened and zipped it up, and turned it on his waist until there was a pocket at each hip. He slipped his blouse over the rollers bulking out his hair, and tucked the tail into his skirt. She handed him a broad belt, and when he'd cinched that tightly, he could almost believe he had a figure. "Sweetheart, don't slump. Stick out your chest, and hold your head high." The full blouse completely hid Bob's flat chest -- its drapes and folds promised anything or nothing underneath. Diana looked closely at that part of him, then reached over, and with her long fingertips lightly caressed his nipples inside his bra cups. They felt exquisite! "Yes," she said aloud, to herself. "This is how we'll do it for now. Later we can get real." Bob still didn't understand her. Even so, her fingers felt delicious, and he thrust his breasts way forward into them. But she moved her hands on, patted his cheek, then handed him the jacket matching his skirt. He slipped it on, and saw that it flared out at his hips as if he really did have a figure. "See how much nicer this looks now?" She unrolled Bob's hair and began to brush it out. With the heat and the spray she had used, each strand curled loosely around itself, and his head was a huge cluster of soft curls. I'll never look male again with my hair like this, he thought to himself. But as Diana worked over him he found to his surprise that the clusters of curls brushed together didn't look curly but curved, falling full and abundant down his head and covering the back of his neck, well-shaped and full of bounce. Not much of a male look either, not at all. It was what she had called it, big hair, designed to frame his face with opulent excess, hair to make his face seem petite and pretty, hair a man could get lost in. But it was his hair. Bob stood up and looked in his mirror, the same one they'd looked into together a few days earlier, when she'd lipsticked him. Now he was lipsticked again. His eyes looked darkly romantic. And everything else, too. There was nothing masculine at all in what he saw. "See? You do look lovely," Diana said. "No ponytail tonight. You're much more attractive wearing it full on the sides and in back like this." She looked him over carefully, and apparently approved what she saw, and smiled, pleased. "You like?" end 2/9 (c) 1998 by Vickie Tern May be archived if made freely available. Not if not.  Vickie Tern@AOL.COM -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----