Message-ID: <13310eli$9807231511@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) Subject: {VickieTern} New TG: Dolls 4/9 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: <1998072311581000.HAA12697@ladder03.news.aol.com> {VickieTern} New TG: Dolls 4/9 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. you want to." Stark naked and on his knees, Bob hugged her and sobbed, at first uncontrollably, then in spasms and short bursts of tears, then looking up to her in a kind of hopeful helplessness, gasping now and again. Diana stroked his hair and his back, and hugged him gently, looking over his shoulder at the wall, or at Nurse Erika, who waited patiently for Bobbi to compose herself, at least sufficiently to complete her toilet, her enema and douche, and to change her tampon. ********************* That day Bob wore all day the slip and bra he'd promised to wear, under the dress he'd somehow promised he'd wear, a simple purple wool with a flared collar. And panties. Then in the afternoon another blouse, a full skirt, and a cardigan sweater. >From her large suitcases Diana fitted him out first with rather plain three inch heels, then later in the day with four inch heels. By mid-afternoon the wobble in his walk had disappeared and had become a slight sway in his hips, and Diana decreed they could go shopping. Bob was still so demoralized he raised no objection at all, though this was his first time out in daylight while dressed in women's clothing. He felt numb. He had no choice but to trust her judgement that he was unmistakeably feminine, and to seek comfort in her reassuring smile. She told him to use his pale lipstick and only a little mascara, so he did, surprising himself that after last night it went on so easily. They walked into an upscale store where Diana was evidently known, to judge by the way two saleswomen immediately came forward to attend to her, and by their deferential smiles when Diana introduced them to Bobbi. She then bought Bobbi a really stunning dress, a draped red silk, sleeveless, beltless, flowing down his figure and touching each of his hip bones on its way nearly to his ankles. "This style's just coming in," she commented. "It's perfect for thin women like you. Dignified but still somehow provocative. Sometimes you'll want to wear shiny micro-minis for stepping out, but mostly these I think. We'll keep you thin this way, though I think that after a while you'll be getting a little more plump here and there, where it matters." He didn't understand what she meant and suspected he'd better not ask. Two less dramatic dresses, fit for posh luncheons but simple enough for every day, and they were off to buy other things. "Remember this store when you're shopping on your own," Diana told Bob as they were leaving. "They have lovely things, and these two women will always take good care of you." Bob nodded. Again he didn't dare ask what she meant, nor ask himself how he really felt about it. He'd wait for the right moment. He couldn't risk angering her, maybe losing her again. Before returning home Diana stopped with him at a beauty salon. There they both had their nails done, until Bob's fingers extended a half-inch longer than they'd been, his nails a near-natural pink, and he saw as he curled them that they seemed almost graceful. Then she had Bob's hair lightened just a touch, and trimmed so it seemed to fall gracefully onto his neck of its own will, even without rollers. When the beautician pierced one of his ears he worried how far this thing of Diana's would go before it retreated, but he thought it ill-mannered and pointless to object to his other ear also being pierced. By now he was altogether accustomed to being thought a girl by everyone, and no longer feared exposure. Diana gave him another tranquillizer pill, but told him as she handed it to him that he hardly needed it. "I'm so proud of you dear," she said that evening as they set out for another restaurant. "You're just lovely. And learning so quickly!" He did look smashing when they went out that night, wearing his new red dress and matching shoes -- four inch heels this time -- and carrying a red clutch purse, with little diamond studs in his ears, his hair beautifully set in the salon, and wearing what Diana assured him was her own favorite real diamond necklace. Relaxing, he realized that this could even be fun. His clothes were lighter than his usual suits, and floated on him. His bra and his panty girdle and stockings hugged him intimately, as if affectionately. He loved feeling hugged. As the waiter seated the two of them, Diana commented that he seemed positively radiant. He really did. He didn't know why. Except that he now felt prettier, the evening went like their first, was it only the previous night? This time it happened that two men across the room sent a waiter over to them with a bottle of very fine wine, and an inquiry whether they would like company. Diana looked up delighted, but Bob felt a sudden pang of terror. He watched her silently, horrified she might accept. But she said to him, "Don't worry, love. I told you, you're mine." She looked over at the men, and smiled at them, and dipped her head and raised her hands regretfully, as if to say "We'd love to, but . . . circumstances . . . you know." Bob mimicked her gesture to the two men, smiling at them, and like Diana he managed to make a charming moue and a similarly cute shrug. He felt safe with her. She laughed, and looked across at him affectionately. "What if I'd said 'yes' to them? I might some day, you know." Bob had no reply. Later they went dancing at Sappho's, and no one approached them at all. It was as if Diana had sent out word they were not to be disturbed. Later still, back in Bob's apartment, they made love again, Diana again on top of him, lifting and lowering her vagina onto his cock while he blissed out, chanting over and over how much she loved her darling girl. Again his sexual tension built, and at its peak she poised herself high over him until he had completed his catechism, confirming that he was her girl forever, that he would always do whatever she wished. Then after an excruciating pause she lunged down onto him and he spurted into her over and over, near fainting in ecstasy. She asked, and he repeated that he loved being a girl, as if a gender change had already occurred deep in his sense of self. When he'd come into her body yet a second time, she twisted again and immediately pressed her pussy against his mouth, and again clamped his head between her thighs. Again he licked her clean, swallowing gouts of his cum and her juices together as she squeezed them out of her, orgasm by orgasm, and he kept on slurping. It was delicious! In the shower the next morning, cleaning himself inside and out and douching himself, changing his tampon yet again, he marvelled at the lengths he had gone for her, how far he had come. As Diana requested, he applied a few small drops of perfume onto his wrists and neck, a kind Diana assured him would cling all day so that anyone who came near him would think of him the way she did, as a bouquet of flowers. It didn't matter that he'd smell flowery all day, he realized, because Diana had told him that today, for the third day in a row, he would be wearing only feminine clothing. But he was now musing about a key question, wondering at first idly, then seriously, why Diana wanted him dressed all the time as a girl. It no longer seemed peculiar to him, but it was certainly kinky. Was she a little afraid of men, more comfortable with one in the aspect of a woman? No way! He felt flattered it might be her way to misdirect her competition, other women, to steer them away from him. But as a man he had never been overwhelmed by hordes of designing women. Or was this her way to assure herself he wouldn't reveal himself sooner or later to be some sort of macho pig? She hated that kind of man, he knew, and he was glad he wasn't one of them. But she certainly knew he wasn't one of them. Was it her way to give him a deeper insight into the way women feel, so he'd become more understanding of her needs and desires? Maybe. It could also be a way for her to control him in her absence -- the perfume he was wearing, for example, would certainly keep him from going out on his own in male clothes when she went out and left him to his own resources. But that wasn't happening. She seemed to be spending the entire weekend with him as he'd hoped she would. Maybe she was attracted to women in some way but didn't want to admit it, and this was how she dealt with it? Maybe she was into humiliating men? No. She was always careful to strengthen the way he felt when he dressed for her, to make him feel proud that he was pretty. He was even beginning to feel deep pleasure that he could make himself appealing in a feminine way for her, and now and then, delighted, he felt a demure or flirtatious impulse! He had to decide he didn't know why she wanted him dressed this way, and in his euphoria he didn't care. Today was Sunday, and she had allowed him stirrup pants and a frilly blouse. But he'd found it difficult to pee while wearing pants with no fly. He asked for and was granted permission to return to skirts, and this time she allowed him to wear two small breast forms under his clingy knit sweater, just enough to imply a girlish figure underneath. He'd found he felt a little freakish without them, not quite shaped right, and though she kept saying she preferred him shaped as he naturally was, she was delighted when he told her he thought his chest should hint that he had breasts underneath. Sunday afternoon he went with her in his skirt and sweater to look at the apartment Diana had mentioned earlier in her conversation with Erika, It was wonderful! The building had a burly but fatherly-looking doorman who smiled at Bob, and told him Diana had asked him to take special care of her -- she should freely phone down for whatever she wanted, any favor or errand at all. The apartment itself was large, flooded with sunlight, with a view of the river from huge living room windows high above the traffic, and a huge pink canopied bed in the bedroom, and huge walk-in closets. When they stepped inside, Diana handed him the keys and told him they were never going back to his old dingy place, not ever again. What was there that he needed would be brought over, she said. And none of it would be his men's clothing. The closets and drawers here were already filled with clothes in his size, clothes befitting the young woman he'd agreed to become. She emphasized that last by looking straight at him again as she said it, though her voice remained casual. He raised no objection. He wondered when she had prepared this apartment, and felt a little flattered that she cared so much for him, and told her so. "Bobbi," she said to him, "You *do* love being a girl! It's obvious! So that's what you are and that's what I want you to be from now on. You want it too, you know it! The rent on this place is paid, and now its your place. I want you to stop looking for work and just be yourself. Take some time off. You can have all the fun in the world trying out your new looks and your new life. But here is where you'll be when I want you. Here is where I want you to be." So from then on, there he was. That night was the nicest of all. They went out for a pizza and a movie, nothing special, just two girls together, chatting and giggling. Then they came home and made love in the huge bed. Bob felt transported. As she leaned over him, smiling, his prick buried deep inside her, he rolled his hips to gratify her as if she were the man and he were the woman, and he reached up and delicately wrapped his arms around her neck, and pulled her face down to his, and kissed her closed eyelids gently, and as she fucked him he heard his throat making a soft, long, languorous, amorous moan, then another. He felt wonderfully feminine, wonderfully her lover. She didn't ask him that night if he was her darling girl. She just said it, over and over, in that slow, sweet, dark voice that so entranced him whenever she mounted him, as if she couldn't believe her luck and needed to reassure herself. He kept uttering small, delicious, ecstatic squeals as she spoke, his cock soaking itself deep inside her sweet pussy, too enraptured to find words. They both knew he was her darling girl. The next morning, their first in the new apartment, she patted his cheek and told him she had to attend to things, and wouldn't be back for a few days. She told him to wear whatever struck his fancy in his closet, and to go anywhere to pass the time, but to remember that he was hers, and that he needed to practice being the girl she loved him to be. "Look how far you've come in just a few days, my darling," she said. "While I'm away, you'll go much, much further. Erika will see to your every need. She knows what I want. You'll do everything she says." It was a statement, not a request. And he was astonished to realize it, but he had come far! A vast distance. Last night he had felt not like a man but a woman in love. He had crossed an invisible line in his own psyche. Erika would look in on him and attend to things each morning, Diana said, and she would call soon. And she hugged him, and pressed her cheek to his, almost as if they really were girlfriends instead of lovers. Then she was out the door. Life in the new apartment took on its own flavor. The next morning Erika showed up and cleaned up, and fixed his breakfast, and saw to it that his pussy as she called it was clean, well-douched, and gave him his tranquillizer and some shots, medications Diana had ordered to build him up. He felt fine all day, relaxed, even languorous. If it was one of his mornings to soak in fragrant bath oils instead of taking a shower, Erika prepared his bath and rubbed him with more oils afterward, and he noticed after a few weeks that his skin was softening. Each day she put him through his exercises, walking in high heels or holding his arms and hands just so while bustling through the apartment. It was as if she were a dance instructor teaching him ballet. He read the papers, and the different women's magazines that came in the mail almost every day. Increasingly he became interested in hairdos and styles of makeup, because every day he realized he would be making decisions about which were more becoming for him. He looked carefully at the ads in magazines like Vogue and Cosmopolitan, to see what the beautiful women there were doing with their faces that he could emulate. There was a beauty salon in the building, and Diana set him up with two appointments each week. One was to set and maintain his hair -- Diana liked it long, but it needed more lift and body, and the beautician -- a gay man altogether uninterested in Bob's birth gender -- was magical in the way he coaxed it to wavy fullness. One was for his nails, complexion, and what he later learned was electrolysis, elimination of what few hairs he had on his chin and body. This session always finished with a rather extensive makeover, and Bob looked so chic and well-groomed afterward that he always went out shopping afterward -- it was a waste to carry such an exquisite face back to his apartment, with no one to see it. But he always looked smooth and elegant, even when out walking casually dressed in jeans and a slouch coat. And after Erika arranged some advanced tutorials for him in feminine movement, how to use his hands, and also how to walk, sit, and even turn his head like a lady, he began to look classy. It was a fun game, trying to be a beautiful woman with so few natural endowments. Above all, it pleased Diana. Whenever she saw him she would comment on some new evident feminine accomplishment, and ask him what else he had learned, and Bob would feel very proud. The dull and mediocre Bob began to feel like a gifted and happy Bobbi, someone very special. If he happened to wake up feeling male, as happened now and than, he felt depressed that he was still Bob, and he treated himself to something especially feminine to overwhelm Bob, to remind himself that he was not Bob. He and Diana saw each other a few times each week. They were casual together, girlfriend and girlfriend, usually informal in socks and sneakers and a plaid skirt, now and then more formal in a little basic black dress she bought him, and sometimes kinky in a leather skirt and red vest over a huge, balloon sleeved blouse. He learned to make himself up and to move as Diana did, and he added grace to his natural courtesy, and even a certain playful cuteness. He looked forward to dressing for his dates with her, because they gave him special opportunity to play with his look, to be beautiful in a new way each time. He was her girl until they got home. Then with unfathomable skill she rewarded him for his willinglness to fulfill her fantasy image of him. She put her adorable, precious girl into an erotic stupor that lasted for hours, where all he could do was utter small squeals and plaintive cries while she did magical things to him. He was hopelessly enthralled. Each time they made love, she chanted new questions at him, and he always answered "Yes! Yes!" as he approached his climax. He scarcely noticed it when her questions began to ask if he wanted to have breasts of his own, or a sweet little round tush instead of a bony bottom. But after a night when she asked him that repeatedly, and he had said "Oh, yes, yes!" over and over, and then had come gloriously melting into her, and had actually fainted from the exquisite intensity of it, he noticed that the following day and from then on, Erika gave him different kinds of shots, in his tush, and each morning a huge pill as well as a tranquillizer. Diana had taken to calling him "Bobbi" that first evening they went out together as girlfriends, but he didn't know how his new name was spelled until one morning she sent him flowers with a card explaining why -- she had made a carelessly abrupt remark to him the night before, and had hurt his feelings. The more feminine he felt, the more in touch with his feelings, the more easily he felt hurt. She respected him all the more for that, she wrote in her note to "Bobbi". He accepted her apology and sent her back a note (though no flowers), also signed "Bobbi." And that is what, with each date and each passing week, he increasingly became. One evening when he'd tried especially hard to be pretty for her, she complimented him when he opened the door and she saw how pretty he had made himself, and he glowed, and without thinking curtsied for her, and said, "Thank you kind sir!" Then he wondered why he'd said that. She was as always dressed in stylish but distinctly feminine clothes, so there was no question of her gender. Maybe because whenever they were together, she invariably took charge? Diana took due note that it meant he was a heterosexual man beginning to think of himself as a heterosexual woman. At dinner that night, as the two of them sat in a quiet and elegant little restaurant -- ourageously expensive, but she always seemed to have money enough -- she began the next phase of her assault on his mind and heart. "Bobbi," Diana said, "have you ever wondered whether we should take up one of these offers gentlemen are always making, what would happen if we did?" Bobbi enjoyed his femininity. It was not merely a way to feel, it was erotic, because of the way Diana tended to treat him when he was dressed. He loved everything about it. But to cope with a man was something else again. He felt faintly repelled. "No," he said. "I don't want it. I've never wanted it. I wouldn't like it. I wouldn't know what to do." "Now Bobbi," Diana said as their salad course arrived, "Some of those statements don't chime with others. You can't know if you'd like it until you've tried it. And not wanting it is different from not knowing what to do. Every girl knows what to do. It's instinctive. Mostly, it's let the man do what he wants to do." Bob felt somehow driven back to a second line of defense. "Diana, I'm not a girl." "You're my girl," Diana told him in a tone that allowed no disagreement whatsoever. He was her possession, her tone of voice told him, and she did with him what she pleased. "A girl who has never had any experience of men. A virgin. So far." And then she added, as if it were a casual afterthought, "We'll want to change that, I suppose, won't we? Girls do become women." Bob just sat there, petrified with terror. Diana saw she end 4/9 (c) 1998 by Vickie Tern May be archived if made freely available. Not if not.  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