Message-ID: <29734asstr$986663403@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail X-Original-Message-ID: <3ACA240A.3D53B1C@midnightx.com> From: tjr X-Accept-Language: en NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 03 Apr 2001 14:28:19 CDT Subject: {ASSM} Sissy Search Club (ch2) X-Original-Subject: ckought69@hotmail.com Date: Sat, 7 Apr 2001 13:10:03 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: assm-admin <1st attachment, "drkwansisy2.txt" begin> The following story is the property of Mid-Prod Com. This story is fiction and contains sexual content. If you are not of legal age in the state you live in to view such material or are offended by such material please do not read this story. No reprint without permission. Copyright (c) Mid-Prod Com May 3, 2001 Comments to webmaster@midnightx.com Sissy Search Club (ch2) TJR www.Midnightx.Com/ Illustrated Femdom/fetish stories (Author's note: There are three roommate services in NYC's Greenwich Village area alone, one free for blackowned white females. All have a sissy category and ties with over a hundred listed sissy training feminization pro and amateur dommes they exchange referrals from. This is one boy's story.) *NYC Midtown, 1997* I was still reeling from my interview with the coed at the Sissy Search Club and my mind numbed by prospects for feminization for several days. Anyway, I kind of wasted time for a week after that. I kept going back to their website, listening to beautiful Tiffanny's voice and staring at her photo, but after looking at the competition in full mostly passable drag I knew I didn't have any chance even to make a pitch, and that was when my editor called me in. "Tod," she says, "whats the deal on the news story? It's a hot national opportunity and all I got was a paragraph of filler?" I nodded, trying not to wince. "Yes, ma'am, but I can't get seem to get any further into this scene." "Why the hell not?" Patricia Broadwell was a mid thirties dykish but attractive woman with short brown hair and a firm chin. She was definitely letting me know the spot of Date Doctor can be filled by any journalism grad which is code for trained monkey and a word processor. "Um, well, to get any further, I'd ah, have to go undercover more. I'd need some special services and all." "Mmmmmhummm, look Tod," she said, crossing her legs, displaying lots of impatient body language, "I did mention I believe this is a national interest story. That we can sell it to the networks if it looks good?" "Um, yes, ma'am, you did, ah mention that." "And I did mention that national interest stories have a budget available?" "Ah, well, yes I believe you..." "And this is NEWS. It may not be NEWS next month or even next week. I can't expect our competition to be ignoring it." I nodded, knowing that if I didn't do it she'd find someone else. That night, after staring at Tiffanny's webpage again, I called a woman who I ran into doing an expose of dating services. Wasn't enough budget to use her then, and I had lots of reservations, but, looking at myself critically in the mirror, I wasn't having any success the way I was, that's for sure. I was in not great shape now. My roommate was leaving in two months, and I didn't even have enough to pitch in for the first month and deposit and last month's rent for a closet in the village. And now my job was on the line, as well as my social life at zero, which was at least normal. Okay, maybe I didn't make much of a male, socially, sexually, and now even professionally, but it took the loss of an entry level career job to make this call. I suspect Emma Manhandle was an alias, but she was a true professional at sissy makeovers, and truth was when I did the series on her a few months back she encouraged me to call back, and maybe it had been brewing. For one thing, I learned from that series that a professional mistress really earned it, because I had also done lots of pieces of amateur married crossdresser types who made the most ghastly parodies of women and most didn't even know it. On the way home I was directed by my cock and my emotions to visit a fantasy place, a place that fascinated and enthralled me if I wasn't careful, and now, well, maybe I didn't want to be careful any more too much. No, this isn't some tawdry sex shop or bordello or tea room at the Y. It was Pudwell's Yesteryear. I had a girl take me there once after I said I admired her clothes. It was women's fashions, ok? A women's dress shop, but kind of retro, when women wore skin tight sheer suits, miniskirts, high heels, lace bikini panties. The girl at the counter smiled at me when I handed my credit card to her in my trembling hand. I couldn't wait till I got to my small apartment that cost a bundle. Standing nude in front of the mirror, in my new bikini panties, my balls and boner projecting out, I sighed deeply. I made the call to Ms Manhandle wearing just panties, hard and dripping, with my new black buttplug dildo inserted. I knew when I called she wouldn't be surprised, and maybe that was why I had delayed so long. I blushed, humiliated at her chuckling. "Why Todd, I thought you'd be calling right back after you did that flattering piece in the Scene. Well, I can't take any full time clients at the moment, but the hourly rates are available, although my young assistant does most of the actual coaching." "Um, assistant?" "Yes, Pamela, very nice young lady, strict of course, which you have to be." "Um, yes, ah, of course." "So, why don't you come in on Wednesday for an initial makeover? And you do remember our rules here, Mr. Hornwell? And, oh, you know when I first met you I already had chosen your name. I just remembered it now. Prentiss, and we'll call you Prissy. Do you like it?" I was shocked, hadn't even thought of a name. Of course I couldn't call myself Todd in drag, but Prissy seemed so femme. However I had seen her in action and knew better than to contradict her. "Um, it's a, well, interesting choice, ma'am." Wednesday afternoon came and went, and while I thought about cancelling many times, I didn't. That night back in my unit, I looked at the long list of things to do. Still humiliated and aroused by the experience, I waited until I was half dressed in drag before tossing off, and then I remembered I wasn't supposed to. That Pamela was a really cute coed, which kind of made it worse. It was one thing getting adjusted to a woman in her mid thirties training me, but a cute teenager much like I dated a few years ago, that was another thing. On top of that I was also introduced, as if made to curtsy with cane accompaniment can be used to express this exercise, to one of their male trainers. I'm sure Dushawn is one of Madame's muscle types, even though he wore a black silk suit. Big and black, thick gold rings on his huge calloused hands, he awakened all the black homoerotic submission that I kept stifled. It was not possible to suppress that urge any more, let alone the personality change that came over me when I wore women's clothes. And I had to strip naked in front of Pam and Ms Manhandle while they took notes, and pictures. Sort of a 'before and after' they joked while I blushed almost head to foot. Besides letting my hair go longer, I had to lose 10 pounds, get 34c breast implants, lose every bit of hair except the top of my head and eyebrows, and tongue stud and left nipple ring as well as both ears pierced. A tall order before next session, only two weeks away. I also had to practice a wide variety of walks and gestures. I enjoyed reading the positives from their professional appraisal. I had good skin, light beard line, and was smallish and small boned. I didn't have a lot of weight to lose. My arms and chest weren't that well developed, my adam's apple was not too noticeable, because that was an operation I really had second thoughts about. My voice range was okay without attempting to speak like a cartoon. That was pretty good actually. When I think of all the ghastly tv's that didn't start with that much; we called them 'big-boned Barbies' at Provincetown. I was closer than I thought! So close it gave me a certain chill, both fear and desire. They both thought I was definitely a sub, laughing, making me blush. I'm not sure I liked that as a positive, kidding myself that I might be a switch. Maybe I still am, I wondered, still kidding myself? On the negative column I had some things also. My hands were too mannish, but those are typical of maids and women who do manual labor. Could be hidden by gloves, I thought, imagining myself in hat and veil, tight mid thigh suit, medium heels. My genitals! Too big. I used too much vacuum pump and ginseng and those special exercises. Not huge, of course, more than average for my build.Of course that brought up a discussion of how femme to go for. Some of her clients were pre-ops. They were gonna lose their genitals anyway, and that was up front nothing I had any interest in, did I? No, for now at least I want to keep them. I also didn't want to use hormones to chemically change my body, decreasing testosterone, increasing estrogen etc. Those make male genitals smaller and hard to get an erection. So, I was shown sheath straps and other artifices to conceal nor only genitals, but an erection. A semirigid nylon sheath that actually prevents an erection works for some times, and a subtle alteration of dress around the crotch totally conceals it. The good thing about a dress is that things can dangle between your legs unseen. However, getting an erection is allowed by flipping the sheath up, where it at least runs straight and flat against my belly, which I'm firming up with 50 situps a night. Concealable with a busy plaid waist skirt with pleats. Unless someone dances close, as Pam explained and demonstrated, leading me. Last physical problem was hard to conceal. My butt was too small. Besides not being able to buy off the rack, I needed a certain roundness where it was now a rectangle. Madame had a range of options, but suggested implants again. I hesitated. For one thing I liked the idea of breasts but had not given any thought to my butt being feminine. How was I going to turn this expense voucher in as it is? And I wasn't finished. Madame had made other suggestions. I didn't think they had a chance with my editor. To my surprise I was sitting at my desk at the Scene at 10 am the next day, having submitted this expense estimate as soon as I got in at 8, and got a call to come to the editor. Ms Pat Broadwell sitting behind her mahogany desk with her associate editor and 'friend' Edie, or Eddie, not sure which. I had sent in the entire package I had gotten from Madame, her estimates and thoughts on my transformation. I really hoped Ms Pat didn't show it to the world. "Hi, Todd, been going over your project here with Edie. Please take a seat while we discuss it." "Um, ah, thank you ma'am. I mean, it's just an estimate you know, really just suggestions. I can do without a lot of that stuff." "mmmm," she murmured, ticking them off with a pencil, "well Edie and I think this story might have legs, if we do it right. No, we want you to follow the full treatment, Todd, or should I say Priss?" "Uh, " I was very surprised, she had declined a month ago to pick up my parking expenses, "thank you, ma'am." "Yes," she smiled, "I'm sending it back all checked off. And we want to do some extra coverage. In addition to your logs, we want to film some parts of the process, not just before and after, right Edie?" "That's right Todd, we'll send a photographer to some of your sessions. Also we want you to debrief every day for the camera, when it's all done we'll edit it." My jaw dropped open, and I blushed, which they both noticed with amusement. Of course I had no choice, we were talking about maybe twenty thousand in expenses here. I murmured an assent but it didn't stop there. "We have," Edie continued, "identified two markets for it. The straight and the kink, so we want lots of detail. We want the readers and maybe viewers to see the whole process, up to and including your first crossdressing practical experience, right Pat?" "Absolutely, your dancing in clubs, making out, the boy's reactions, relationships, everything, and of course your sissy maid service." I stammered at that point. "Ah, ma'am, I don't think I..., I mean I don't." Pat turned business then, the smile disappearing. "Let's get this straight, Hornwell, your'e asking us for a lot of money and effort here. The paper has to show results for it. I want your answer by tomorrow, our way or forget the paper." I realized as I slumped off she didn't say forget the story, but also forget about a job They basically wanted details of everything, and I didn't think I could handle the interview with my 'dates' or 'clients'. So I went home and looked at my bank acccount, 1460.53, which didn't even allow me to move to another closet apartment, and the estimate, which was now up to thirty thousand. They had added the thinner nose, fuller lips, and cheekbones bringing it up another ten k. The next morning I did some hard bargaining, and basically, I agreed to all of her terms. (Continued) <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+