Message-ID: <29932asstr$987793803@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) X-Original-Message-ID: <20010420002528.13820.00000244@ng-cj1.aol.com> Subject: {ASSM} Tiny Tim by Vickie Tern 5/9 TG Femdom F/m M/M wife Date: Fri, 20 Apr 2001 15:10:03 -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: RuiJorge, gill-bates New TG: Tiny Tim by Vickie Tern, 5/9 femdom, F/m, M/M, wife v. I remember only a few things from the next few hours. Sitting under a dryer somewhere with my hair so tightly bound up in rollers that my scalp hurt, even though I knew that beauty knows no pain. The scent of perfumed hormone oils on my skin (from now on, someone told me, perfumes would have "scent" or "fragrance" but would not "smell"). Three women leaning into my face and pricking my cheeks and chin and my upper lip while I felt nothing at all. And everyone repeating to me, over and over, "How beautiful! You'll be so pleased when you see this! So proud! So glad you decided to become the woman you've always wanted to be!" And asking me to repeat those things in a softer voice, higher in my throat, with wider variation of pitch, over and over, until they could smile and say "Yes, perfect!" I was sure I looked lovely. Four hours later when I came fully aware of myself I was feeling very pleased, very mellow indeed. A little constrained and swollen here and there, around my waistline and chest especially. But so very feminine! Me! I found I was seated on a high stool, my ankles crossed demurely, my hands clasped in my lap, smiling to myself. At that very moment, I realized, my "bee-stung" lips were being discussed by my Charm School make-up instructor. She was demonstrating on me how to outline full lips on them with dark lip-pencil or brush, then how to fill them in, then gloss them. "Slather on the red, girls," she was saying. "Then wait. The man hasn't been born who can look at lips like these without thinking about how they'd feel wrapped around him like pillows and sliding up and down. He'll be stiff before you can get near him. Then if you do get near him, he's yours, and you can make whatever further arrangements please you." I was in full view of the whole class on that stool. All eyes were on me. Suddenly I felt frightened. The instructor had just demonstrated a technique on me, and I knew what it was because I'd been listening, though I didn't remember listening. And now about fifteen other women were seated along a large table and imitating her on themselves. That is, imitating me. "May I see?" I said in my new small, high voice. She handed me a mirror. I looked. An unfamiliar streaky blonde girl with some of my features stared back at me. She had large, sleek, still-dazed eyes under two thin pencilled arches of eyebrows, my familiar small jaw, flawless skin stretched over her cheekbones, a full, pursed mouth, and wildly crinkled hair gathered in back in a high ponytail. Dainty gold hoops penetrated each earlobe and swung from them. What I saw offered not even the faintest excuse for a male. She was familiar, but female! I blinked at her. She blinked back, as puzzled as I was to be looking at my own face as if at a sister's face. The instructor was right about the lips. Mine seemed to beg for something to slip between them, a lollypop, a finger, a banana, a cock, whatever. They were moist, ripe and plump, and at the moment they were expressing that familiar doll-faced "Oh!" As I looked I imagined those lips wrapped around my own dick, and I felt a familiar pressure mount in my crotch. Thank God it was still there! But it felt bound up. By a girdle? "Thank you, Teena," I heard the instructor tell me. "You can step down now." I hopped off my stool and sat back down in the empty space I knew was mine, between two other girls. My gait, I noticed, was more pert than rangy and relaxed. The girl on my left smiled at me reassuringly. I smiled shyly back. In front of me as indeed in front of everyone else was a shoebox-sized plastic box filled with cosmetics, brushes, and swabs, and a small standup mirror. And a small notebook filled with page after page of notes I'd apparently taken. How to stroke on liquid eyeliner was no longer a mystery -- I knew tricks to assure a straight thin line flared at the outer corners! There were daytime and night time shades of eyebrow pencils for different hair colors. Four-tone eyeshadowing for whatever the effect desired. Blush for the apple of a girl's cheeks. More blush for shadowing underneath her cheekbones. For blending into a rosy-toned skin. All things I now knew! I'd heard them and I'd written them down and I'd done them and I knew them! Like the other girls I was now wearing the clinic's standard make-up smock, a pink front-button cotton dress with short sleeves. My arms were hairless, and my fingers were gorgeous, tipped with oval, glossy, wine-colored jewels, really fabulous! My chest projected a little. I felt pressure from the band of a bra that hugged me, and from two shoulder straps bearing the unaccustomed weight of two mounds. I felt them gingerly. Small, but they were real breasts! "Something to grow on" came to mind, Angela's words. "All right girls! Charm School's out, so it's time for you to practice what you've learned. I told you when we began that you were all going to feel more confident, more self-assured about your appearance than ever before in your whole lives. And now don't you?" I was! We all were! Her pep talk, delivered when I was still sort of asleep and very suggestible, had persuaded me. Or would have if the other women who'd been working on me all through the day hadn't already persuaded me of the same thing, reassuring me that I was becoming lovelier and lovelier. I remembered that last of all a marvelous woman, Moira, had seated herself confidently in front of me and taken both my hands and leaned forward and stared intently into my eyes and asked me my name and what day it was, what I liked to wear, things like that, and looked puzzled when I told her I was a man. "You were a man," she told me. "But now we've made you over into the woman you've always wanted to become. Look into a mirror and tell yourself that whenever you feel the slightest doubt or uncertainty. You're much happier now that you're a woman, Teena. It's a whole, wonderful new world!" It was. I believed her, and she had me repeat those things until I believed myself. My new feminine identity came with a delicious sense of danger, of risk, but I really and truly did love it! I felt perfectly at ease with myself now. I wasn't the prettiest woman I'd ever seen, but I knew I was attractive, I just knew it! I'd fix my hair just a little different as soon as I got home, that was all! Our Charm School instructor was giving us our last instructions. "Now girls, use your make-up remover on everything, and then each partner take turns lying down in those recliners while the other makes up her face. Then switch. Then remove it all and do the same thing again. Then finally, remove it and make yourselves up, and when you're satisfied, go home and astonish your partner! Meanwhile I'll roam and comment!" And so the last hour went. I got accustomed to feeling snugged and hugged by whatever my undergarments. And meanwhile what may have been a local anesthetic on my face wore off, so I could feel my fingers on soft smooth skin as I patted and blended foundation cremes with my fingertips. I felt silky. And my nipples felt so excruciatingly sensitive under my bra! They seemed swollen all the time, aroused and delightfully erotic. When I leaned over my partner to pencil in her brows I accidentally brushed my breasts against hers, and a ripe, sensation from that casual touching rippled through my whole body! Wonderful! And it was liberating to be able to lean over my partner, another woman like me, trying to please her, to make her look and feel good, feeling nothing sexual, only warm affection and a desire to do my job well. I got the same sweet feeling when she leaned over me to make up my face. We smiled and giggled and chatted together un-self-consciously -- she was wondering what to give her boyfriend for his birthday, and when she told me he wanted to but she was too shy to let him, I encouraged her to go ahead and let him nibble on her clit! The gift that keeps on giving! It was odd, my voice stayed mostly in that high range I'd practiced earlier, and made wild swings when I told her I was delighted with the look she'd given me. I hugged her without even thinking. And she hugged me back, sharing my pleasure. I just loved it, being a girl! We'd each done ourselves finally, and we'd each been inspected and graded, and we were just sitting and chatting about what we'd learned when I came aware that Becky was standing in the doorway surveying the scene. Looking around for me and failing to find me? She couldn't recognize her own husband? At that moment I realized that Becky had overdone it! She'd wanted to make me feel too ashamed, too embarrassed to follow her on her nocturnal jaunts! All I'd really needed for that was maybe feminine hairdo, maybe a perm, maybe dye my lips red for the week. That would have kept me hidden in the house! Let the world think me a feminized freak? No way! But had she been feeling too vindictive when she arranged this extensive reconditioning for me? Had she been intent to destroy my self-esteem altogether, to make me feel so emasculated I'd never want to be seen by anyone anywhere ever? She'd gone too far! The day should have been an elaborate exercise in humiliation, in converting me into some sort of cringing closet transvestite. But now I was nothing of the kind! I was the woman I'd always wanted to be, confident in my femininity, more self-assured than I'd ever felt in my whole life as a man! My make-up instructor, my beauticians, Moira, everyone had told me how to reassure myself of that if I ever questioned it! And I believed them all, because it was true! I felt so pleased that Becky had decided to do this to me! Grateful to her! But I realized I'd better hide these new feelings! Because tonight when Becky left the house to meet whoever she meant to meet, and do whatever she planned to do, I'd be following her! Not a moment's hesitation! I was an attractive woman! No problem! Who could possibly recognize me? And if they did recognize me, so what? All they'd see is an attractive woman! I realized that now I could take charge of my own life again after all! Among other things I could now think through how to get back at those two bastards who'd gotten the better of me. How to recover my marriage if I could and get on with my life if I couldn't! No problem! I was free! But I certainly didn't want Becky to know that! So I took a moment to concentrate, to get into character the way actors do. Go back to last night, I told myself. Feel ashamed and disgraced! A little bit resentful, but also fearful, timid, overly-eager not to offend Becky. I want to preserve my marriage, and Becky's testing my sincerity. I'm now a ruined male clinging to a last few scraps of self-worth, I told myself. Pathetic! But so much fun! I walked up to her and waited for her to see. At first she seemed puzzled, but then she smiled and just said, "Well, look at you!" "Becky!" I told her in my soft new voice, "Yes, look at me! What kind of a man am I now? I'm so ashamed!" And I almost did break down and cry, I managed to feel so sorry for myself. Was I persuasive? Did a flicker of doubt cross Becky's mind, a realization that she may have pushed me so hard I'd come through to the other side? Could she see through me? Her face broke into an expression that looked positively triumphant. Because I felt humiliated? Because she could sense that I didn't? I poured it on. "I don't know how I can ever face anyone ever again! A week, you said? Some of this is forever! Look what they did! I'm a freak! A laughingstock! Did you mean for this to happen? Are you satisfied now?" She accepted my bait. "Yes, Teena, I'm satisfied. Don't forget for a moment that you deserve it and that you agreed to it! It's for your own good and its for our good!" Then she relaxed, and began sharing confidences again, almost girl to girl. "You know, Teena, this makes this whole process so much easier for me. I can't maintain a grudge against anyone who looks as cute as you do! It's hard to remember you were ever a man!" Was that a dig or a compliment? I took it as a compliment. "You look darling, Teena. I love your hair! But let's hurry home. I have another date with the man I introduced you to last night, and we have things to do. And we're running later than I'd expected." As we moved back toward the clinic's front reception area she asked casually, "Do you plan to wear that dress home, Teena? It's quite flattering, but it does belong to the clinic after all. We could buy it from them if you really don't want to part with it." She paused. "I think the neighbors'll like you in it too when they see you wearing it." She was being ironic! I'd completely forgotten I was still in my make-up dress! Of course! It felt so natural! But it was supposed to be shameful! I tried to make my face turn pale, but realized that it didn't show, because I was still wearing my make-up. Make-up! I was wearing full make-up down to my fingertips! I looked at my fingertips, polished red gems! I felt a surge of pride even while noticing that Becky was amused to think I was shocked. "Oh, my!" I said. I hoped I sounded terrified. "And my face, all this blush and lipstick and everything! I must look ridiculous! Please, Becky, wait for me! Don't leave me here!" I ran back to change into my men's wear. When I stripped off my salon dress I saw that I was indeed wearing a bra and a hi-waist pantygirdle, and decided to leave them on -- they felt right, fit and proper, even comfy. It was a push-up bra, and I saw in the mirror that my new little boobs filled its padded cups nicely, that they even formed pretty curves spilling over the tops with a cleft between them! How nice, I thought! And they're mine, and they'll soon be much bigger! I smiled at myself! I found the men's pants and T-shirt I'd worn here and I put them on anyhow. The pants hung a little loose on my waist now, but the T-shirt hid nothing of the new curves on my chest. So who could mistakeme for a man? My brassiere's lace trim was fully visible through the thin fabric. I decided not to try to cover it. It was a charming accent, decorative! Then reluctantly I used my make-up remover one last time, consoled that I now had the skill to look this good whenever I choose. In fact Becky would insist on it! I couldn't bear to remove my gorgeous fingernails, and besides, I didn't know how. So I stuffed my hands into my pockets. It was hard to pretend that I felt embarrassed as we left the clinic and mingled with other women in the mall en route to the far lot where Becky had parked our car. She'd probably parked a distance away deliberately, I thought, to give me ample opportunity to feel vulnerable, an imposter, so I'd know what awaited me in my own neighborhood if I dared emerge there. This was women's country, as I'd noticed this morning. But now it was my country! Now I belonged! I couldn't help but check out other women as they passed, not for their attractiveness or availability as I'd once done mindlessly, but for what they were wearing, how they wore their hair, how well they'd made the most of their best features and hidden the others. Lots of us were wearing only T-shirts and jeans or khakis, like me, but we all looked like women! Clothes do not make the woman, a certain look and flair does that, I decided. Nice! I smiled at them and they smiled back. My hair and face was my ticket of admission to their sorority. Maybe my eyebrows too. And my breasts of course. As I shook my head and felt a tug I suddenly remembered my earrings! I have pierced ears! I'd forgotten! No wonder they all smile back at me. I'm no way a man, a possible challenge. Not any more! "Why did you remind me about my dress, but not my make-up or earrings, Becky?" I asked her. "Did you want to embarrass me when we got out here in full view of everyone?" "Do you feel embarrassed?" Becky replied. I thought I'd better not answer that question. There was something wrong with her calculations, in this scheme of hers to keep me from obstructing her freedom. Or with my calculations. She had to be noticing that everyone was accepting me as what I was. Even so, I kept up my performance, and Becky looked on amused as I hesitated to remove one manicured hand from my pocket long enough to open the car door, then did it. And she did try to reinforce my supposed humiliation as she drove us home. "While you were in there getting yourself prettified, Teena, I bought you a few new things to wear. Girly things! Your men's clothes are now boxed and in storage where you can't get at them! Girls wear girls' clothes! If you mean to spy on me you're going to have to go out dressed girly! Get used to that idea!" I already had! I loved it! I was looking forward to it! She looked me over more closely when we stopped for a traffic light near our home. "Those earrings don't come out, do they? I forgot to tell Angela to use hoops like those, not the usual posts or hooks, when she pierced your ears, but she knew anyhow! They're quite becoming. If you go astray in the wrong parts of town you'll find that some men like to hook their fingers into earrings like those, to haul your head down close to where they want your mouth. When that happens you won't be able to pull away. Just cautioning you, honey -- otherwise, wear them well! I do love what Angela did to your lips! I can't wait to feel them puckering up to kiss mine when your face is between my legs." I tried to cover my mouth with my hand, as if my collagen-swollen lips embarrassed me. Then staring straight ahead, as Becky drove on she told me in an even tone of voice, "I spoke to Kevin. And to Marshall. It's true, what you said. They were responsible. It was a practical joke they said. They spiked your last drink so you wouldn't have the slightest idea where they were taking you. They were pretty sure you'd never been there -- they thought it laughable in fact, the notion that you'd ever try to take on a house full of available women. When you can't handle even one!" She paused. I listened. Would I be forgiven? Would it matter? "They're amused by the way I'm punishing you. They loved fucking me and they asked for a return round. I told them maybe. They both think I'm doing the right thing, asserting my independence from you. "Whatever messes his mind is good," is what they said. They mean good for them of course. They want your accounts, and they know you can't service your customers in person now, and they hope you're too distracted to check up even by phone. So they've started calling your customer list themselves. None have switched over yet, they said, but they think it's only a matter of time." She mused a moment. Then almost affectionately she said, "You know, they really are something! I'm planning something to accommodate them!" "Becky, please, no! It's so humiliating. They tricked both of us, they just admitted it! And look at me now! All because of what they did, what they made you believe about me!" It was bad enough that they had tricked my wife into fucking them when she was angry with me. But to reward them for it? Becky glanced at me a moment, then seemed to realize something that amused her. "Yes, Teena, I suppose they did get the better of you. They're clever. Look at you. They made you what you are today. But they made me a wife who's now free to deal with you any way she wishes, and that's quite an accomplishment! I should thank them. I think maybe you should help me thank them, in fact. How would you feel about sucking their cocks? I don't suppose they'd like to have a man kneel down and take them into his mouth, but for you I'm sure they'd make an exception. A pretty man like you? All dolled up!" "No!" I said. "Oh yes, if I say so," she replied shortly. Then realizing that I'd never agreed to that, only to tolerate her sexual adventures, she changed her tone. "You've practically done it already, honey, sucking their spunk out of me. Surely you'd rather swallow the stuff fresh as it spurts directly out of their pricks! Do you really want me to fuck them each time, to collect their semen for you and bring it home to you in my pussy? " What a choice! Suck their cocks or tell my wife to sleep with them so I can lick them out of her? Oh God! But an idea dawned! Lick them? Maybe, in a sense. Maybe now as a woman I could find a way to strip Kevin and Marshall of their clients! That would be a fit revenge for what they's done to me, and to my marriage, to Becky, even. As a man our competition had been two against one. I'd had to work twice as hard, and I couldn't make any real headway going head to head with them. I'd take some of their clients and they'd take some of mine. But as a woman? A woman can be much more persuasive if she wants! I grinned to myself. Would I do it to get even with them? Suck client cocks for fun and profit? I've sucked up to potential clients before, trying to get them to go my way, I thought. This is almost the same thing. This will take more than a week, I was thinking. But clearly, given what the Mystique clinic had done to me, Becky'd never intended to restrict my feminine appearance to a mere week. She has her own time table and her own purposes, I realized, and she isn't ready to reveal them to me just yet. She's set me up for at least six months, I was thinking, maybe a year. Longer? Why? She really does want me out of the way, I decided! And why not? She's just discovered the fun of humping out-sized extramarital cock, and she's having a good time feeding me the leftovers. As I thought about it, I realized that when this week ends she'll only want me to agree to more of same. Maybe for me to spend my life with my face under her snatch. Well, I was no longer in a hurry! I loved the way I looked. I no longer minded doing what she expected of me. I was the woman I'd always wanted to be, confident, self assured, just I'd been told! Was this a kind of feminine self-abasement, my willingness to press my new pouty lips against the lips of her cunt and sip whatever male juices she might wish to bring home for me? Was it as a woman that I sorta liked the idea? Or was it only my old accept-the-inevitable, live-and-let-live, who-needs-the-hassle temperament, still trying to make the best of things? No matter! Just as all those women who'd worked on me had repeated to me, and Moira had informed me, and just as my make-up instructor had told the whole class, it's simply marvelous to know that you're a woman and look your best! I decided to use my advantages no matter what! No matter how. Steal Kevin's and Marshall's clients? Of course! Suck 'em and fuck 'em, and as stockbrokers like to say about recommending trades, churn 'em and burn 'em! Again our car pulled into the driveway. Becky paused. "It's still daylight," Becky said. "Maybe you'd better wait in the car until I've pulled into the garage. It might be embarrassing for you, being seen with those earrings and eyebrows, and that hairdo. And that T-shirt hides nothing now, Teena!" I nodded. I hadn't seen them yet myself, but I could certainly feel them. "It's hard to see how anyone could recognize you now! Who'd dream Angela's work was so thorough! But remember, if anyone does see you and asks who you are, I mean to tell them. So stay out of sight." I wasn't worried. There was no Tim now, only Teena, and Teena was unashamed. Teena was proud of herself. But Becky didn't have to know that. She'd invented Teena in order to mock me, she didn't really believe Teena existed. But I knew now that Teena was real enough. All those beauticians and clinicians had made her real. Once inside, both of us carrying Becky's packages, Becky stopped in the kitchen to make sure there was something in the fridge for me to eat before she went out on her dinner date. There was, not much. "You'll want to eat lightly from now on anyhow, Teena," she said. "You have a figure to look after." Oddly, as soon as she said it, I agreed with her. I did want to eat lightly and take care of my figure. I was still residually suggestive from those pills. How long would that effect last, did Angela say? Until tomorrow morning? "But we'd best begin getting ready. Bring your box of magic tricks upstairs, and we'll see if you can make me look as good as you looked today when I came to get you. Then if you can make yourself look that good again. But first, a nice, long soak. It's been a busy day." She paused on the stairs as we went up, and turned to speak to me again. For the first time her voice sounded different. No longer angry or mocking, or laced with calculated cheer. Now she sounded quiet, sincere, the way she'd talk to a friend. To a husband she loved. "You know, Teena, I really can't think of you as 'Tim' any more at all. You really do look like a girl now, even with your face scrubbed. Maybe it's the hairdo? Maybe you should have grown it longer and gotten it permed years ago? Whatever, I love you!" And she leaned forward and kissed me. "Thank you, I replied with equal sincerity, unthinkingly. "I like my looks too. And I love you too!" I then realized that was the wrong answer. My freedom of motion depended on Becky thinking I was so ashamed to look like a girl that I didn't dare step out of the house. She smiled, but "I'm glad," was all she replied. Then she turned and continued on into our bedroom. Another surprise awaited me there. "All right, strip down, Teena!" she said. "We'll take our baths together this evening. A really hot tub and a long soak! I want to see everything Angela's done to you. You're probably curious too!" I ran a steaming tub and sprinkled in fragrant bath oil beads. And bound up my hair in a plastic turban to keep it dry, and undressed. Sure enough, when my bra came off, there were the distinctive swellings in my chest that had filled my bra cups full. There were the large protruding areolas and fat nipples I'd been feeling all afternoon! That felt so delicious! My very own breasts! Enough to heft in my palms, and I did, pleased. When the panty-girdle came off, I saw some blotched discolorations on my waist where I'd been liposuctioned for that breast tissue, and I was still inspecting them when Becky came in and disrobed. "Those'll disappear soon, I'm told," she said. "But it's already worth the wait. You're six inches thinner in your waist, and now your figure curves out to your hips the way it always should have. And those bumps on your chest are very attractive, honey! Nothing like mine yet, but they're only a starter kit after all, something for a girl to grow on. I remember how proud I felt when mine were that size." Now Becky was naked, queenly, and she stretched herself tall and lifted her massive breasts in each hand almost as if offering them to me, and she looked at me with the most radiant smile! Loving, with a sparkle of wry affection, as if we two women were the most intimate of conspirators in some grand plan that was working perfectly! I was captivated! Despite everything! I did love her! It was worth all this, trying to keep her! Though looking like a woman seemed an odd way for me to make myself more acceptable to her as a man . "Did you tell Angela to ... reshape me, up here?" I asked, cupping my own chest outcroppings as she had hers, trying to look annoyed. "Yes, of course!" "But why? If this is supposed to be just this week?" "You don't like them? Didn't you tell Moira that you'd rather be the woman you're becoming? So aren't they appropriate?" I was silent. She'd spoken to Moira. I couldn't make myself feel aggrieved. They really were beautiful. My heart lifted as I gazed down at my distended nipples. "I thought so. You should see the expression on your face now, honey. You love them!" "But why something this extensive, Becky?" "You've just answered the question yourself. Men like breasts." "Not on themselves!" She looked at me with an indulgent smirk. "Oh? Teena, aren't you a little too pretty right now to be thinking you're still a man? Look at you! Your hair! Your lips! Your curves! Your waistline! Look at those nipples" She looked me up and down, and suddenly I felt naked! Exposed! Did she know I wasn't the slightest bit ashamed of my appearance? end 5/9 VickieTern@AOL.COM -- 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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+