Now

The room was a cell. It had a comfortable queen bed, an ensuite bathroom, a large antique armoire, a sofa with a coffee table and end tables with table lamps on them and a kitchenette.

But it was a cell.

The stark grey door was heavily reinforced and had hidden hinges. It was fitted with a viewing port at eye level, a ‘cat-flap’ at the bottom and unnervingly, at waist-height, what appeared to be a glory hole. The floor was newly carpeted and the walls were freshly painted cinderblock. There were no windows. There were no light switches for the ceiling fixtures and although the vanity and table lamps had switches and dimmers, power to them was controlled remotely.

At first it seemed like total silence but when he listened carefully Colin could hear the faint hum of running machinery and road noises. There was also the faint swish of the ceiling mounted ventilator for which there was no thermostat or other controls that Colin could find.

The room was spotlessly clean and everything in it appeared new.

Colin Divine had come out of his fugue naked and alone in the big bed. The remnants of last night’s gin and tonics burned in his stomach and at first he thought he’d had his usual Friday night binge, staggered home and fallen asleep but there was something else besides alcohol making him drowsy. He’d fallen asleep again and woke up feeling a little better.

The first thing he noticed was that he had gone to bed naked still wearing his makeup and then he noticed that he wasn’t in his own home.

He was in the cell.

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the rainbow smears of blush, mascara and eyeshadow on the crisp white pillowcase and felt guilty. He saw a red and black, lace-trimmed, nightgown hanging over the bedhead and without anything else to wear he put it on and studied his surroundings.

Colin hammered on the door and called out at the top of his voice until eventually a disembodied voice came through a speaker fitted into the wall next to the door.

“Stop that!” the voice said.

“Fuck you! Let me out!” Colin screamed.

The lights went out leaving Colin in pitch black. Colin had been in dark places before but nothing like this. There was not a single light source and even after waiting fifteen minutes he still couldn’t see a thing. He managed to find his way to the small refrigerator in the kitchenette and he opened the door. There was no light. The bulb had been removed.

He tried the dimmer switches for the lamps and bathroom vanity mirror… nothing.

Colin had no way to measure time sitting alone in the dark but he guessed it was three hours before the lights came back on. During that time he had been able to feel his way to the toilet and take a piss and drink water from the tap.

“You fucker!” Colin screamed when the lights came back on and immediately regretted it.

The lights went out and this time it seemed like twice as long before they came back on.

This time when they did he remained silent.

“There are rules,” the disembodied voice said through the speaker.

“What rules?” Colin called out.

There was no talk-switch for him to toggle but whoever had Colin imprisoned in the room could obviously hear him. There must be a microphone or microphones secreted in the cell.

“They are on the wall next to the speaker,” the voice said emotionlessly.

“Fuck you! Where am I and why am I here?” Colin shouted.

The lights went out.

An eternity later the lights came back on.

“Read the rules,” the spectral voice said.

Colin found the rules etched onto a plasticised board mounted on the wall next to the speaker as he’d been told they were.

1. No unnecessary noise

2. Keep my room clean

3. Keep myself clean

4. Do everything my master tells me without question

5. I am to present as Crystal at all times and use my femme voice

“Ok. I read them. Will you please tell me where I am and why I am here?” Colin’s stomach lurched when he read the last rule.

How did his captor know about Crystal?

“Go to the bathroom door and read your daily duties,” the ghostly voice said with no emotion whatsoever.

1. Shave my body all over every second day

2. Shave my face in the morning and again in the afternoon

3. Douche after shaving, shower, brush my teeth and use mouthwash

4. Apply my makeup and perfume and put on my wig

5. Put on my lingerie

6. Dress as directed

7. I am never to present myself to my master unless dressed enfemme

“You're a fucking looney mate,” Colin screamed.

The lights went out.

Then

Colin Divine had been secretly crossdressing for nearly six months now. That wasn’t quite right! He’d been crossdressing since he was a teenager but only sporadically and not very well. He was what experienced femme transvestites called a ‘hairy panty-wearer’: a derogatory term for those who occasionally liked to slip into a pair of knickers, nylon stockings, possibly a satin slip and rarely, poorly-fitting high heels. What was a more accurate a statement was that Colin had been presenting as a convincing, unclockable transvestite for nearly six months now with the help of Mrs Maureen Cashmore.

Colin had been fascinated by lingerie and hosiery for as long as he could remember. Watching his aunt and cousins dressed in their short skirts, seamed nylon stockings and heavy makeup fascinated him. He let his cousins make him play dressup. Colin pretended to complain but he loved it when they made him wear frilly knickers, party dresses and put makeup on his face.

His father had caught him parading around dressed like that in front of his three older female cousins and despite his cries that he been forced to do it, his old man had beaten him senseless and told him that he didn’t raise a sissy for a son.

The beating had worked until Colin entered puberty. He supressed the urge to dress like a girl but once those hormones began to rage and his libido kicked in he couldn’t help himself. He kept a little collection of knickers, stockings, slips and even a little miniskirt and blouse which he dressed up in when no one was home. He was too sacred to wear makeup because he knew his mother would find out that he’d used her cosmetics and besides which he was no good at it.

He’d dress up and read his mother’s glamour magazines, looking at the lingerie models until he needed to relive himself then he’s stand in front of the mirror dressed in his finery with his feet squeezed into a pair of his mother’s high heels and masturbate. He made sure that only his body was reflected in the mirror he didn’t want to see his boy-face.

Colin fumbled his way through puberty into manhood. He liked looking at girls who dressed like girls; he had no time for girls who wore jeans or dressed like tomboys. In the mid 1970’s miniskirts and pantyhose were a fashion statement and women flocked to the stores to buy them. For the fashion-conscious woman looking to wear a skirt shorter than stockings were long, pantyhose were the perfect fit. He had a collection of pantyhose and stockings.

Colin was very confused about his sexuality. The girls he looked at excited him but he didn’t want to do anything to them sexually. If anything he was jealous and often imagined himself dressed as the girls he was looking at. He wondered what it would be like to be one of those pretty girls who could dress so sensuously and beautifully. To feel those clothes on your body every second of the day. To taste the makeup. To feel the fluttery caress of the hem of your skirt tickling your thigh as you strutted in your high heels. To know that all the boys were looking at you and desiring you.

He would daydream at work, watching the pretty office girls. Wondering what their life must be like. Listening to his colleagues complement the girls to their faces whilst discussing the things they would like to do them sexually behind their backs. In his dreams he was a pretty office girl, strutting around the office in her little black skirt and white blouse and high heels and silky tights knowing that the men wanted and desired her. One of the executives would come to visit the firm and become entranced with her and take her away somewhere exotic where he would pour on her the adoration she deserved.

In his dreams he was the heroine of a stereotypical Mills and Boon novel which his mother loved to read. The storylines were similar but his mother had a whole collection and Colin would read them at night before going to sleep. The heroine of the cheap novels was usually a passive virgin who is submissive to the hero in every way. There was no explicit sex in the bodice-rippers but it was implied that the female protagonist would surrender her virtue to the hero after some climatic event in which he rescued her.

This fantasy served Colin well because he couldn’t actually imagine having sexual congress with a man. In his imagination he was adored, caressed and kissed passionately and when the man holding Crystal in his arms progressed beyond innocent foreplay his mind would cloud over. He knew that Crystal was surrendering herself to the handsome hero but he didn’t want to think about how.

It wasn’t until he was in his early-twenties that Colin was finally financially secure enough to leave home and get his own flat. He felt emancipated. He was not only free from the shackles of his overbearing father and mousy mother, he was free to crossdress. He bought himself an extensive makeup collection and two good quality wigs.

Acquiring the makeup and lingerie had been easy enough. He told the shopgirls in Debenhams that the lingerie and nylons were presents for his girlfriend and the makeup was a gift for a niece. He spread his purchases around so as not to attract too much attention. Acquiring skirts, blouses, dresses and heels was not so easy for a man in those days. There was nothing like the internet and Colin had tried and been disappointed with his attempts to order directly from a catalogue and have his purchases delivered by the Royal Mail.

The garments seldom fitted, were poorly finished and rarely resembled the apparel modelled in the catalogues. The same went for shoes and of the several wigs he had ordered; only two were actually wearable. The problem was that Colin didn’t really know his size in female apparel or shoes and just like men’s clothing, the advertised size was not a true indication of the fit; one needed to try on the garments before purchasing them.

Mrs Maureen Cashmore came to his salvation.

Mrs Cashmore was the manager of the local Oxfam shop. The shop specialised in selling donated clothing and other items for charitable purposes. Because the racks of clothing were juxtaposed, Colin could browse the men’s clothing section whilst secretly eyeing off the women’s garments. When the small shop had no more than a few customers inside it, it was possible for Colin to browse the women’s aisles and check out the high heels on the shoe racks.

Colin was just too scared to actually purchase anything.

He thought that he could possibly just grab a few items that were probably his size. As the items were so cheap, whatever didn’t fit he would just donate back. It was good plan but he didn’t have the intestinal fortitude to go through with it.

Then one day when he thought no one was looking, Colin picked up a high heel off the rack and put the sole against the sole of his foot to approximate the size. The shoes were cherry-red patent leather with a four inch heel and he wanted them desperately. His current shoe collection consisted of two pairs of beat up low heels and a pair of sandals.

“I bet they would fit you perfectly,” Mrs Cashmore whispered over his shoulder making Colin jump out of his skin.

He dropped the shoe and ambled his way towards the door, his face burning brightly.

Somehow Mrs Cashmore had beaten him to the door and she stood guarding it with her arms crossed against her ample bosom.

He expected that she would call the police. What on earth for he couldn’t imagine: was being a crossdresser a crime? Would she call out to the other customers that he was playing with women’s shoes in the store? Would she phone his parents and tell them that their son was a deviate?

Colin knew that none of those things were likely or even rational but his mind was in turmoil and he just wanted to get out of the shop but Mrs Cashmore blocked his way.

She put out her hand, which was long-fingered with many rings on her fingers and bracelets on her wrists, her manicured fingernails were bright red. She gripped his wrist and led him aside, just inside the door and whispered in his ear.

“Come back at five o’clock when I’m closing and I’ll get you sorted,” her breath tickled the side of his face.

Her perfume smelled exotic and her grip, whilst quite firm, was reassuring. Her red hair tickled his face when she leaned into him and although Mrs Cashmore was at least as old as his mother, Colin felt an attraction to her.

“There’s a good lad,” she let go of his wrist and cheekily spanked his buttock as she propelled him towards the door.

*****

Now

Colin lay on the bed in the total darkness and tried to make sense of his predicament. The last thing he remembered was being in the Black Sheep, a gay and crossdresser friendly pub on Canal Street. Crystal had met up with Wendy and Brittany and they had allowed several men to buy them drinks and during the course of the evening they had become separated which was nothing new. Wendy and Brittany often went their separate ways when they met a man they fancied, leaving Crustal to find her own way home.

Colin’s femme name was Crystal… Crystal Divine was a great name for a transvestite or a drag queen Colin thought when he first came up with it.

Crystal was not inclined to go with men nor bring them home. There was no doubt that she felt sexy around men and adored it when men pursued her but she was too scared to do much more than kiss and cuddle. Crystal had fought off a few fumbled attempts at sex in the dark up against the wall down near the canal with men who had been persuasive enough to get her down there but they had been unsuccessful because as soon as they put their hands under her skirt or tried to put her hand inside their trousers she froze.

The only consummated encounter as such had been a boy who had pulled out his penis and rubbed it on her leg while they were kissing. She hadn't even noticed that he had it out until he came all over her best sheers. She’d slapped his face and ran all the way home.

Crystal had not noticed the man who had taken a keen interest her for some time. The man stalked her until he knew her day to day routine. Crystal presented as Colin during the working week and transformed into Crystal on Friday evening after work and remained presenting as Crystal until Monday morning.

On Friday night’s Crystal went out to The Black Sheep pub because it was a safe space for her kind. She had befriended Wendy and Brittany, two other passable and pretty crossdressers around the same age. The man had no interest in Wendy or Brittany. Despite or perhaps because of their feminine good looks and overt sexuality they attracted a certain kind of man who admired their type. It came as no surprise to the man to find out that these men were in fact referred to as ‘Admirers’.

What the man disliked about Wendy and Brittany was that they were promiscuous. The three ‘girls’ would gather at the pub and natter whilst gentlemen bought them drinks and asked them to dance, which all three of them did but as the evening drew to a close Wendy and Brittany always left with men and not always the same men. Saturday night was drag queen bingo and Crystal, Wendy and Brittany played and were entertained by the two sassy drag queen hostesses. After bingo it was a sing-along led by the drag queens and a gay guy playing piano. Crystal would go home alone while Wendy and Brittany were picked up by their regulars.

The man had followed Wendy and Brittany to see what they got up to. Wendy lived by herself and took the men back to her flat but Brittany was actually a married man with two children and she usually ended up down by the canal, shagged up against the wall or on an old mattress under a cut-out in the brick wall. One night to his disgust he saw Brittany take on a procession of men one after the other or two at time both anally and orally. He found her repellent.

Crystal was a different fish. She was just as attractive as Wendy and Brittany, probably more so, and had caught the attention of plenty of Admirers but other than a kiss and a cuddle she seemed unable or unwilling to consummate sexual congress. The man listened to the Admirers in The Black Sheep talk about the ‘trannies’ as they called them; comparing notes. Crystal was considered a ‘cock-teaser’ and there was a standing bet amongst the men that whoever finally got to shag Crystal would get free drinks for a week from the other Admirers.

Crystal was a perfect fit for what he had planned. The man was indeed an Admirer, but a special kind of Admirer. He wanted a ‘tranny’ he could keep for his very own; a special woman who he could train to behave just how he wanted her to behave and serve him and only him!

Yes… Crystal was prefect!

Then

Mrs Maureen Cashmore was what Colin’s mother referred to as: ‘mutton dressed as lamb’. She had to be at least forty-five but she was dressed in a light grey high-waisted A-line skirt which showed a lot of leg, a white rayon long-sleeved frill-necked blouse, patent leather black high heels and tan tights. The jacket that matched the skirt was draped across the back of chair behind the cash register.

Her highlighted tresses were permed in shoulder-length bouncy curls, framing a pretty face enhanced by cat eyeliner, heavy mascara, creamy bright eyeshadow, rouged cheeks and red lipstick. Her costume jewellery was large, sparkly and clunky.

Colin paid attention to all these things because they mattered to his alter-ego Crystal Divine. Crystal liked the suit, shoes and blouse and would dearly love to have the woman’s makeup skills. It was the kind of outfit she would like to wear around town on a Saturday afternoon before changing into something a little retro for an evening in the pub… if she ever got the nerve to do so.

Maureen met Colin at the door of the Oxfam at five o’clock as agreed. She ushered him inside and closed the door flipping the sign over to read ‘Closed’ before leading him over to her desk next to the register where a tea service had been laid out. All of the blinds had been closed and the overhead lighting switched off but enough light to see was projected by the standard lamps dotted around the small store.

The very same pair of cherry-red patent leather high heels with the four inch heels were laid out on the desk.

Colin blushed.

“What’s your name sweetheart?” Maureen asked.

“Colin. Err… Colin Divine,” Colin stuttered.

“Not that name silly. What is you femme name? What do you call yourself when you are dressed as a woman?” Mrs Cashmore put her hand over Colin’s to keep it from trembling.

His face went bright red and he looked away from Maureen Cashmore, unable to meet her gaze.

“Don’t be ashamed dear. There’s plenty do it and plenty come here to buy their clothes,” she patted his hand.

“How… how did you know?” Colin whispered.

“Well darling you have a few little tells; your nervousness around ladies footwear and apparel for starters. You also need to ensure you get all of the nailpolish from under your cuticles and remove the last skerricks of eyeliner from your eyelids. Most wouldn’t notice but a practiced observer like myself can see those little signals quite easily,” Mrs Cashmore began to pour tea.

Colin wondered how many Mondays he had gone to work with the vestiges of makeup still on him. Had any of the office girls noticed? Surely not! They would have said something. They would have teased him.

“Tell me all about it,” Maureen handed Colin a tea with milk and two sugars without asking him what he wanted.

There was something about the matronly but pretty woman that made Colin feel comfortable in her presence and he told her everything.

“So you’re just a beginner then. But you have the right stature and build to present quite convincingly,” Mrs Cashmore smiled at him and sipped her tea.

“So how do you know so much about men like me?” Colin asked.

“Well I guess over the years I’ve seen so many of your type in here and I started just being friendly and offering advice without being intrusive. Then a couple of crossdressers actually asked me direct questions about how to pass and I helped them out. I suppose I’m kind of like a stepmother to some around here,” Maureen dunked a McVitie's digestive biscuit in her tea and daintily nipped at it.

“I have two girls, Wendy and Brittany, who shop here regularly and take my advice. I might introduce you to them at some time but first I would need to get you sorted,” she dunked and swallowed the remainder of her biscuit.

Sitting talk to this woman, immersed in the cloud of her flowery perfume and listening to the slight Scottish lilt to her voice was comforting somehow and Colin instantly trusted her.

“Crystal… Crystal Divine,” Colin felt a little embarrassed saying his femme name out loud.

“What a delightful and appropriate name,” Maureen’s face lit up in a beatific smile.

She picked up the red high heels and dangled them in front of Colin’s face.

“Shall we see if they fit?” she smiled at him conspiratorially.

Colin nodded.

“But not like this. Not while you are wearing your male attire. Come back tomorrow at the same time and bring your best wig and makeup and you can take a few items off the racks and we’ll see what we have to start with,” She patted his hand again.

“Are you sure Mrs Cashmore? Do you really want to help me?” Colin was very pleased that she had offered.

“Of course you silly boy. Now finish your tea and get about your way. I need to get home and make Mister Cashmore his dinner,” she patted his hand a final time and made herself busy getting ready to close up the shop.

The next day Colin turned up at Oxfam at the appointed time both excited and nervous. Mrs Cashmore ushered him inside and closed and locked the door. Colin felt quite the conspirator.

Mrs Cashmore was wearing another suit similar to the one she had worn the day before but this time it was mauve. He also noticed that she was wearing seamed stockings which made him envious of her.

“Look Crystal. There’s really nothing to be nervous about. This is a safe space and you are safe with me. The best way to get started is for you to go into the dressing room there and transform for me and we’ll see what Crystal looks like. I’ve put a skirt and a blouse that should fit you and those red high heels you like in there,” she turned Colin towards one of the dressing rooms and patted him on the buttocks to send him on his way.

Colin felt a little silly and anxious at first as he emptied out the shopping bag he was carrying onto the little table Mrs Cashmore had put in the fitting room. A platinum blonde wig stuffed with newsprint so that it kept its shape and wrapped in a hair net fell out on the table along with a makeup case, a pair of pink nylon knickers and matching bra, a package of Pretty Polly tights.

He pulled the curtain closed and stripped feeling very vulnerable being naked and alone in the store. His nightmare was that Mrs Cashmore would rip open the curtain while he was halfway through transforming and all of his family and workmates would be standing there laughing at him.

That didn’t happen of course and as soon as Crystal began applying her makeup, her attention was diverted to being as careful as possible putting on her cosmetics so as to try and impress Mrs Cashmore. She put on her knickers and bra, stuffing the cups with old pairs of tights to fill them and then slipped into her tights, marvelling at the luxurious feel of the silky garment as it slid up her legs. If Crystal was a real woman she would wear sheer tights every day she thought. Next she stepped into the skirt and pulled on the blouse, still unfamiliar with it buttoning on the opposite side to her men’s shirts.

She straightened the blouse and tucked it into her skirt which she zipped closed and adjusted so that the hem was level five inches above her knees. She put on her wig and brushed it out. It had a fringe that came just above her eyebrows and the nap fell to her shoulders. Putting on the high heels was quite a feat as she had never worn heels this high before but they fit perfectly and she was able to balance of them and check herself out in the full-length mirror.

Crystal was amazed at her transformation every time she did it. How she went from being a short skinny man to a svelte sophisticated woman never ceased to astonish Crystal.

She took a deep breath and pulled aside the curtain and stepped out of the booth, unsure of her footing like a new-born foal.

Mrs Cashmore suppressed the urge to laugh. Crystal might see herself as a beautiful sophisticated woman but the reality was that she was an awkward scrawny man in a skirt wearing costume makeup and a bus driver wig but she would never tell Crystal that and ruin their budding relationship and take away any confidence she had.

But Maureen Cashmore knew that she had her work cut out for her.

“You look beautiful Crystal. Come over here and let me look at you a little more closely,” Mrs Cashmore said.

Crystal staggered over towards Mrs Cashmore and was grateful when the woman reached out and grabbed her to stop her falling.

“I’m not used to wearing such high heels,” Crystal apologised as she clung to Mrs Cashmore.

“Nothing I can’t teach you. I can teach you quite a few things in fact,” Mrs Cashmore smiled at Crystal and she suddenly realised how beautiful Mrs Cashmore was.

Being held in her embrace, feeling her breasts pushing into her, smelling her perfume and looking into her cat-like green eyes Crystal suddenly found herself becoming concupiscent. Crystal was well endowed and her erection tented her skirt and she hoped like hell that Mrs Cashmore did not notice.

But Mrs Cashmore did.

“You don’t know how to tuck do you?” she pointed at the offending protrusion in Crystal's skirt.

Crystal was mortified. Mrs Cashmore had noticed that she was aroused. This was a constant problem for Crystal. Transforming was a ritual that was almost religious to her. As she progressively morphed from Colin to Crystal her psyche changed with her appearance; as her physical semblance changed, so did her mind-set. She actually became the woman she saw in the mirror. Nothing of Colin was left… there was only Crystal.

But there was also the fetishic aspect of the transformation: the delightful feeling of silky sleek nylons, knickers, and slips, the taste of lipstick, the scent of cosmetics and perfume, the luscious sensation of the hem of her skirt tickling her thighs. There was something downright sexual as well as psychological going on which usually resulted in Crystal becoming tumescent.

The most obvious way that Crystal dealt with this was to masturbate. This was part of the ritual anyway but usually occurred later, when she had been dressed for a while and could no longer resist the temptation to relive herself. On occasions when she didn’t want to be hindered by a pesky erection to spoil the lines of her clothes she simply masturbated before she transformed but she hadn't today and could hardly do so now.

“I’m sorry Mrs Cashmore. What do you mean by tuck?” Crystal hoped that by paying attention to the subject of tucking rather than her erection it would diffuse the issue.

But the two were intrinsically linked.

“There are several methods of tucking; it depends on what you are trying to achieve. If you want your pubis to resemble the female form then it will require the use of cosmetic or surgical tape. If you just want to keep your genitals from ruining the outward appearance of your clothing, usually the gusset of your tights and knickers will do the trick,” Mrs Cashmore explained.

“But I’m afraid either way you will have to be flaccid to achieve a tuck and once you are in the condition you find yourself in now Crystal, the only solution is to dissipate the tumescence,” Mrs Cashmore said a little sternly.

“I’m sorry Mrs Cashmore, what do you mean?” Crystal was still blushed with embarrassment.

“Oh for god sake young lady; you need to do this,” Mrs Cashmore stepped forward and slipped her hand under Crystal’s skirt.

It all happened so fast.

Maureen Cashmore was so close that Crystal could smell her perfume and feel her sweet breath on her cheek and her breasts pressing into her own. Mrs Cashmore took Crystal’s erection in her fingers through the slinky layers of nylon and softly caressed it.

The sensation was astounding. Crystal had frequently masturbated with panties and nylons wrapped around her cock but the feel of her organ being squeezed by this beautiful woman through her soft silky knickers and tights was like a thousand butterflies fluttering against her tender parts.

Mrs Cashmore held Crystal close and tenderly caressed her pulsing phallus through her knickers and tights. She was impressed with the length and girth of Crystal’s penis and she began to slowly stroke it, feeling the little globules of pre-ejaculate leak from Crystal’s glans and soak into her knickers. Mrs Cashmore used a steady rhythm, the swish of Crystal's knickers rubbing on her tights gusset the only sound in the room as Mrs Cashmore worked her fingers back and forth along Crystal’s throbbing cock.

“Ah…” Crystal sobbed quietly as she ejaculated into her knickers.

The feel of the gossamer garments caressing her turgid, tender parts and the unrelenting feathery pressure of Mrs Cashmore’s fingers was all too much. As she flooded her knickers with warm ejaculate Crystal's knees began to buckle and she held onto Mrs Cashmore to keep from falling.

Mrs Cashmore put her lips to Crystal’s and kissed her softly, slipping her tongue into Crystal’s mouth. Mrs Cashmore could feel her own knickers becoming damp but she would take care of that problem at home with the help of Mr Cashmore.

She softly kissed Crystal as she held her tight and expressed the last of her issue into her knickers and tights.

“Hold your skirt away from your crotch Crystal, we don’t want to get semen stains on it,” Mrs Cashmore said matter-of-factly, as if nothing particularly novel had just happened.

Crystal regained her composure as Mrs Cashmore disengaged and went to fetch some tissues. Not that Crystal had much in the way of composure, standing unsteadily on her high heels holding her skirt away from her semen-soaked knickers.

Mrs Cashmore returned with tissues, took a handful and dabbed at Crystal’s tights, soaking up the gobbets of ejaculate that had pooled in the front. Then she pulled them down around Crystal’s ankles and had her kick them off.

“Now take off the skirt and knickers and go and bring back a fresh pair of tights and knickers,” Mrs Cashmore said as casually as if she was asking Crystal to fetch a newspaper.

She handed Crystal a plastic bag in which to put her soiled underwear.

Crystal returned from the dressing room naked from the waist down holding her high heels, a fresh package of tights and clean pair of knickers.

“Ok Crystal; step into you tights and pull them up to your knees,” Mrs Cashmore instructed.

“But what about my knickers?” Crystal asked as she took the new tights out of their packaging.

“Ok darling. You might see a lot of women wearing their tights over their knickers but they are doing it wrong. The aesthetic is so much better when you can see the pretty panties properly. Why go to the trouble of buying nice knickers if you are going to spoil the appearance by putting the gusset of your tights over them?” Mrs Cashmore explained.

“Also for the crossdressing community putting your knickers over your tights helps hold your tuck in place as I’m about to demonstrate,” she continued and stepped up to Crystal who was standing with the new tights pulled up as far as her knees.

“Now, I’m going to touch your privates again Crystal but this time it is for very practical purposes,” Mrs Cashmore proceeded to show Crystal how to tuck.

She explained the procedure to Crystal as she did it.

“I’m going to push your testes back up inside of something called the inguinal canals. This is where they were before they dropped in puberty. With your index fingers, locate your testes and begin pushing them toward your backside. The next step takes practice: gently push them back and up, curling your fingers inward toward you as you do,” Crystal felt uncomfortable as Mrs Cashmore did this but it wasn’t really painful.

“Now pull up your tights a little and pull your penis and scrotum back between your legs and pull your tights all the way up and get them snug and put your knickers on and pull them up too. Your knickers and tights should now hold everything in place,” Mrs Cashmore helped Crystal do this.

“How does that feel?” Mrs Cashmore asked.

“It sort of feels awkward but I can see it looks fantastic,” Crystal beamed as Mrs Cashmore held a small mirror down low so Crustal could see the results.

“Looks just like a woman's pubis doesn’t it?” Mrs Cashmore grinned.

“That will work fine for around the house or just for a little while but if you're going out I strongly suggest you tape everything in place with cosmetic or surgical tape. Now untuck and do it again for me a couple of times so I can see you’ve got it right,” Mrs Cashmore instructed.

When Mrs Cashmore was happy that Crystal had tucking mastered she looked Crystal in the eyes and spoke forthrightly.

“You really are a beginner at this and you have amazing potential but you have so much to learn. You think that you look very feminine and beautiful after transforming yourself from Colin to Crystal but the reality is you would be clocked on the streets in thirty seconds. Let’s start all over shall we? First off makeup…” Mrs Cashmore spent the remainder of the evening having Crystal get her makeup right.

Over the next few weeks Mrs Cashmore taught Crystal all about makeup, styling wigs, how to speak with a feminine inflection, how to walk, how to naturally use feminine gestures.

Mrs Cashmore never touched Crystal intimately again but Crystal never forgot the delightful feeling of having Maureen caress her genitals and kiss her. It fuelled her masturbatory imagination for weeks.

Now

Colin was no more. There was only Crystal.

After two weeks of confinement Crystal had been conditioned to obey the rules. She had no other choice. What she eventually admitted to herself was that living full time as Crystal and abiding by the rules was quite comforting. She liked the routine of it, the regularity of it and hadn’t Colin often dreamt of living his life full time as Crystal?

She wondered what was going on in the outside world. After a week’s absence she would be missed. Colin worked in the offices of a stationery manufacturer. He didn’t have many friends there but there were work colleagues who would miss him and a client base whose accounts needed to be managed.

His family wouldn’t miss him until he missed a birthday or some other family occasion. His tyrannical father had no real love for his diminutive Nancy-boy son who would rather play dressup with his cousins than kick a football with his dad. Colin was useless at football and all sports anyway and had leaned into the arts which at first his mom had encouraged but had succumbed to her overbearing husband’s wishes and she then discouraged his participation in theatre and entertainment.

His mother and father were glad when Colin left home and they had undertaken a tacit agreement to meet only on special occasions. The only show of affection he had received before Colin left home was the gift of a pair of emerald earrings which his mother had given him, telling him that they were a family heirloom and that Colin should give them to his wife when he married.

“Fat chance of that Nancy ever marrying,” his father had growled as he closed the door on Colin with a thunderclap of finality.

The only people Crystal had regular contact with who cared about her were Wendy and Brittany but she knew little about them outside of their shared adoration and devotion to crossdressing.

The post would build up, Colin’s rent and other bills would remain unpaid, his clients would pester his boss. Someone would miss Colin Divine. But who? And when?

There was a comfortable predictability in her life such as it was. Crystal explored her cell, because that’s what it was, a gilded prison cell, and had found that she had everything she needed. The bathroom was a small practical space with toiletries still in the packaging. A good quality razor, toothbrushes, hair brushes, scissors, tweezers were provided along with toothpaste, razor blades, soap, shampoo, conditioner, mouthwash, and other beauty products.

There was a shower, no bath but that was unsurprising given the room was likely a converted basement or coal cellar. It was newly tiled and functional. Hanging near the shower was an enema bag fitted with a hose and under the sink was a squeezable bulb douche. Crystal knew what they were although she had never used them before. The rules mandated that she use them daily and she didn’t want to think about why.

Crystal was a connoisseur of antique furniture and was fascinated by the immense wooden repository which took up the whole wall of the main room. It was a magnificent piece.

It was an antique Italian neoclassical burl walnut armoire with bronze mounts. It had two full-height doors on each side which opened to reveal an immense hanging space. The two cabinet doors at the centre opened to reveal a cavernous storage area fitted with shelves and a vanity mirror with a light fitted above it. Below that were four exterior doors with a graceful bow-front shape that provided visual contour to the massive piece, inside of which four drawers and a shoe rack were concealed. The exterior was swathed in exquisite burl mahogany bordered with satinwood marquetry in an intricate floral pattern.

It was a fine piece of practical art.

The clothes that she had worn to The Black Sheep the night she had been kidnapped were hanging in the hanging space along with an assortment of skirts, dresses and blouses. Her high heels were neatly arranged on a rack on the floor of the armoire along with three other pairs in black, red and white.

Three wig stands were lined up on a shelf and her platinum blonde wig was fitted to one and the other two had brunette and black-haired wigs fitted to them. They were styled identically: shoulder-length tresses cut into fringed bobs.

What Crystal found a little disturbing at first was that all of the shoes and clothing fit her perfectly, as did the abundant array of lingerie she found neatly arranged in the drawers.

The man who was keeping her prisoner knew her sizes. What else did he know about her?

The centre section of the armoire was fitted with shelves filled with cosmetics, perfumes, and makeup sponges and brushes. Above the shelves was a vanity mirror fitted with good quality lights. There was a walnut stool on which she could sit to put on her makeup.

When she followed the rules and daily duties to the letter she was rewarded accordingly. If not, she spent the day in total darkness alone. She began to crave listening to the disembodied voice that came through the door and looking at the hand that came through the cat-flap to deliver her food and necessary items and to take away the trash and her laundry.

Twice a week she pushed the little laundry basket containing her soiled clothes and bedding through the flap and the next day it was returned freshly laundered and smelling wonderfully of fabric softener. Her meals were delivered twice a day: cereal in the morning with toast, a salad for her to put in the refrigerator for lunch and a hot meal in the evenings. There was wine in the fridge and milk which was replenished regularly every second day but not much else. She realised that her diet was being controlled but she never ate much anyway.

She made no unnecessary noise; she had soon realised the futility of shouting or crying for help. She kept her room clean using the cleaning requisites provided and kept herself meticulously clean as she always had. She exercised in the morning running on the spot and doing a retinue of pushups, sit-ups and jumping jacks. She had no sneakers to wear but she did have tights and a t-shirt to wear while she worked out.

And of course, as directed, she presented as Crystal at all times. Not that she really had any choice; it was that or present naked. The only exception was before she went to bed she removed her makeup and wig but she wore satin babydoll pyjamas to bed and in her head she was still Crystal. Using her femme voice came naturally. Colin had an effeminate lilt to his voice anyway and Mrs Cashmore had educated her in practicing a pleasing inflection which Crystal automatically adopted when she transformed.

The daily routine was easy enough to follow. She had very little body hair but she shaved away any rogue strands that might pop up on her body. Mrs Cashmore had showed her how to shape her eyebrows with tweezers and manicure scissors. Shaving the fluff from her face before applying makeup was a routine she was used to and as she had a ‘day face’ and ‘evening face’ she shaved before each makeup session.

She found the douching repulsive but she didn’t argue and soon learned how to use the douche in the shower. She was glad that her diet was restricted because what she evacuated was distasteful enough; she didn’t want to think what she might expel on a diet of curry or steak, liver and onions that her mother regarded as staple meals when she lived at home.

But she had to admit that knowing that she was totally clean inside and out was a somewhat pleasant feeling and made her feel confident.

Every morning the disembodied voice greeted her at the same time. The man obviously worked a fulltime job and Crystal wondered how that might work to her advantage in her bid to escape.

That voice was her only contact with the outside world. In the morning the man was usually brusque and in a hurry. His commands were sharp and short. On her breakfast tray would be a note telling her what to wear each day in the evenings and on weekends when the man was home from work. The man obviously knew the entire contents of the armoire because he was very specific, right down to what hosiery she was to wear.

Once she had settled down and behaved herself and began abiding by the rules, in the evenings the man would pull a chair up to the door and open the viewing ports and cat-flap and talk to her. At first it was disturbing how much he knew about her, but he must have planned her kidnapping meticulously so it wasn’t that surprising. What was surprising was the rich timbre of his voice and his obvious passion and desire for her. Without seeing his face she replaced it with the face she had imagined her Mills and Boon paramour wore.

He complimented her on her obedience and always spoke flatteringly of her clothes, hair and makeup but was not averse to making suggestions or offering little criticisms:

“You should have brushed out the blonde wig a little longer so that it sat better.”

“I liked the red leather skirt and white satin blouse with the red high heels but you need to make sure your hem is straight at all times.”

“I should have stipulated the tan tights with the burgundy pencil dress; not the black.”

“I liked that dusky hue to your voice this morning.”

Crystal soon figured out that the man was watching her somehow and then she discovered the camera lens mounted in the corner of her bedsit and another in her bathroom.

The man never overtly threatened her but he refused to be drawn into a conversation about why he held her captive, how long he was going to hold her and what was his purpose in keeping her hostage. He would discuss the outside world but steered the conversation towards the daily news, fashion and the social pages of the newspaper which he read to her. He also supplied her with Mills and Boons and other bodice-rippers for her entertainment as she had no TV or wireless.

Anything to do with Crystal’s family was off limits as was anything to do with the man’s life outside of the house in which he lived.

But for all of that, Crystal craved their social intercourse. He was someone to talk to and he was educated and well versed in a number of subjects that fascinated her.

She knew what was happening to her. The term Stockholm Syndrome had only recently become popular but Crystal knew what it was: a condition in which hostages develop a psychological bond with their captors during captivity resulting from a rather specific set of circumstances, namely the power imbalances contained in hostage-taking, and kidnapping. Emotional bonds were formed between captors and captives, during intimate time together, but these bonds were quite irrational in light of the danger or risk endured by the victims.

But that is what was happening in the basement of the house on Cooper Street. Even though Crystal didn’t know her captor’s name she developed an emotional bond with him despite the circumstances. He knew so much about her, more than her friends or family, he nurtured her and rewarded her when she was good and punished her when she was bad.

The demands for sex came during the third week of her capture.

She knew it was coming despite the man’s mostly pleasant demeanour. Why else would he hold her captive and have her presenting only as Crystal? There was no money for a ransom and Crystal held no state secrets.

The man’s emotions were torn apart. One part of him wanted to kick open the door, throw Crystal on the bed and ravage her. The other more genteel and rational part of him wanted him to take his time and seduce her; to have her acquiesce to his advances. At first she would be tentative, anxious and confused but like the heroine in her Mills and Boons she would submit willingly.

But watching the beautiful creature he held captive in his basement on the black and white screen was no substitute for actually touching her. When he spoke to her through the door he could smell her perfume, he could hear the delightful inflection in her voice when she was excited about something. He had seen her many times up close before he captured her although she had never noticed him and he watched her on his screen as she went about her day in his cellar.

He did not watch the camera fitted in the bathroom. He did not want to see the necessities that she carried out in order to transform for him. He liked to watch her select her clothes and lay them out after she had carefully applied her makeup and fitted her wig. Watching her stepping into her hose and lingerie always aroused him but she aroused him easily anyway.

The way she dangled a high heel from her foot when her legs were crossed, the way she absentmindedly straightened her skirt as she stood, the way she straightened the seams of her stockings, the way she preened in front of the mirror… every little thing she did was delightful.

Passion and lust finally overcame reason but the man would only go so far. His lustful self argued that the glory hole had been cut in the door for a specific purpose and his reasoned self argued that it was merely a peephole for him to spy on her while he was seated, talking to her through the door.

The man had not brought Crystal her dinner but she could hear him moving around upstairs so she knew he was home. Maybe he had visitors? But he never had visitors.

She eventually heard his footsteps on the stairs and she scurried to the door like Pavlov’s dog.

Instead of the cat-flat opening at the bottom of the door the glory hole opened and an engorged penis was pushed through the hole.

Crystal was shocked and stepped away from the door.

“You know what to do Crystal,” the man growled.

‘Had he been drinking?’ she thought.

He sounded different.

Crystal was repelled by the appendage. It was long, thick and veiny with a shiny pink glans and a tiny bubble of clear pre-ejaculate had formed at the eye.

It looked powerful and evil and she was repulsed by it.

Crystal was disappointed that the man had resorted to such a clumsy and callous form of seduction; if that’s what this was.

“Take it away! It’s disgusting!” Crystal cried.

The lights went out and she had no dinner.

That was Thursday night.

The lights came on Friday morning long enough for her to use the bathroom and dress and then the glory hole opened and the man thrust his appendage through it.

Crystal just sat on the bed refusing to move but unable to look away from the hard sleek flesh poking through the door.

The lights went out and she was not fed that day.

Nor the next, nor the next, nor the next.

Crystal knew that she couldn’t continue this way. She was hungry and living in total darkness except for the one hour of light the man granted her. Her days were torture.

She knew the man could easily come through the door and overpower her. She was slight and undernourished and half-blind and she could tell the man was powerful even though all she had seen was his thick, muscled forearm when he pushed things through the cat-flap at the bottom of the door.

The man wanted her to submit. To begrudgingly but willingly bend to his will. And eventually she did.

When the lights came on on the fifth day of her torture she carried out her ablutions, put on her makeup, perfume, knickers and nylons and dressed only in a satin full-slip and high heels she tentatively approached the door.

The man heard the click-clack of her high heels and he flung open the viewing port. She was coming towards the door. Even though she had rushed getting ready for the day she looked beautiful and alluring. Her green eyes embellished by her heavy eye makeup, her high cheekbones rouged, her lips all the more fuller coated in bright red lipstick. Her slim body contoured by the pink satin slip, her long legs encased in silky-sheer tan nylons.

He flipped open the cover on the glory hole and pushed his erect penis through it. His breathing was heavy and it became heavier as she approached the door. He breathed in her perfume and his eyes met hers and he could see the fear and trepidation in them. Part of him despised himself for causing that fear and he felt very sorry for Crystal but the dark half of him delighted in the consternation he had caused her and her eventual surrender to his demands.

Crystal looked away from the man’s icy-blue eyes staring at her through the viewing port and she looked down at his engorged manliness poking through the glory hole. For a fleeting second she thought of grabbing it and twisting it violently or raking it with her long painted nails but she knew she would do neither.

The phallus was fully erect and rampant: silky skin with steel beneath, blue veins below the translucent smooth flesh, the mushroom-shaped head smooth and shiny. Crystal had to admit to herself that it was indeed a magnificent specimen of manhood.

Crystal stopped short of the door and returned her gaze to the man’s eyes which seemed emotionless. She sensed that he condemned himself for what he was doing but somehow she understood his frustration. He had held her captive for over three weeks and had watched her, always dressed sophisticatedly or provocatively depending on how her captor demanded she dress. She could imagine the frustration she caused him, like a beautiful butterfly kept in a glass jar she was easily observed but if one was to reach in and touch her they would remove the pretty colours from her wings and if they touched her too often she would lose all of her colour and beauty.

Crystal was aware that she was partly blaming herself for her captor’s impatience and frustration which she knew was ridiculous but the two of them had developed a rapport, a relationship of sorts, during her captivity and she felt an emotional bond to the man.

She cautiously reached out and with one fingertip she gingerly touched the flesh which seemed to shudder at her touch.

The man gasped as he felt Crystal’s fingertip caress his engorged manhood. Finite sparks of delight rippled from the place where she touched him. Crystal saw his eyes gleam and heard his sharp intake of breath.

A second finger joined the first and she softly and hesitantly stroked the tender flesh and she heard the man gasp a second time.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Crystal could see the need in the man’s eyes; the yearning, the devotion to her. His desperation was palpable; it was almost like he was begging her.

She circled two fingers around the corona of the man’s glans which was so big that her fingertips barely met. A string of silvery pre-seminal fluid oozed from the eye of the man’s penis and Crystal became fascinated by it. She had caused this. She was responsible for the man’s responses.

The man sighed as Crystal’s fingers circled the head of his penis. Her touch was delightful and seductive; there was nothing seedy or repulsive about it. Waves of tingling delight ran down the shaft of his penis and he desperately wanted her to take his manhood in her hand and stroke it.

“Please,” he whispered and Crystal returned her gaze to the man’s eyes which were now full of needful respect.

Crystal unconsciously licked her upper lip with the tip of her tongue and the man’s penis shuddered in her grasp. He was begging her with his words and his gaze. For this single moment in time the power dynamic had been reversed. She could easily hurt him or just walk away and leave him frustrated.

Crustal took a step closer to the door so that her eyes were mere inches from the viewing port; the man’s engorged cock level with her thighs.

She stared directly into the man’s eyes and gripped his turgid weapon with all of the fingers of right hand and began to stroke it. The viscous rope of pre-ejaculate was gathered by her little finger and lubricated the steel-like shaft as she ran her fingers up and down it cautiously. She could feel the power in it, the heat, the masculinity and forcefulness in the sinews and flesh.

The man’s knees gave way and he clung onto the doorframe to stop himself from collapsing when Crystal began to stroke his organ. The closeness of her body through the door, her beautiful face framed in the viewing port, the musky scent of her perfume, the look of trepidation which concealed an undercurrent of quiet control in her emerald-green eyes, the feel of her silken grip on his manhood; it was overwhelming.

Waves of pleasure radiated from his throbbing manhood as Crystal slowly and featherlightly caressed it with her soft fingers.

The penis erupted in her hand but Crystal just stood her ground and glared at the man through the viewing port. She projected her shame and her disappointment in him with her gaze but the man cared not. He was enraptured by the orgasm that coursed through his body and his eyes portrayed only pleasure and lust.

She felt the scalding issue splash on her wrist and spatter on her thigh but she held onto the quivering spongy organ and stroked it harder, squeezing the semen from the erupting vessel until it was drained.

The man sighed and gasped and struggled to stay upright as the beautiful woman on the other side of the door gently but precociously milked him of his seed. He realised that for that moment in time she held the power; he would do anything for her to continue to stroke his quivering knot.

When the man began to recover from his orgasm Crystal let go of his organ. Her eyes slowly glazed over, her hands hung loosely at her sides, the fingers of her right hand dripped semen onto the floor, her slip soaked up the spend he had spattered on her thigh. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. The enormity of what had just happened; the change in dynamic hit her with the force of a comet.

The man regained his composure and extracted his cock from the glory hole. He wiped himself with the tissues he had brought just for that purpose. He had used them often enough when he masturbated looking at Crystal through the viewing port.

“Clean yourself up. Put on the burgundy pencil dress with the white satin blouse and tan nylons,” the man said coldly.

“I’ll be back with your breakfast,” he closed the viewing port and the glory hole.

Crystal went into the bathroom and removed her slip and dropped it in the washing basket. She washed her hands in the sink and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She hated the woman looking back at her. She had acquiesced far too easily; she should have stuck it out. The man would have seen reason or let her go eventually, now she had fuelled the fire.

What concerned the most was that her own penis was engorged, trapped inside her knickers and tights and she desperately wanted to relieve the stress of it but she knew the man had a camera in her bathroom. The man had confessed that he never watched her taking her ablutions because he found it distasteful and she deserved privacy while she did so.

Crystal guiltily eased her penis from along her perineum and freed it from her knickers and tights. She reached into the washing basket and took out the full-slip and held it to her nose as she masturbated into the sink, breathing in the heady scent of the man’s ejaculate. She wept briefly afterwards, disgusted with herself. Then she regained her composure and dressed as she had been ordered to.

After breakfast the man had her sit next to the door while he read her the morning newspaper and they both drank tea. Neither of them mentioned what had just happened, they chatted like it was any other day.

But things had changed and there was no going back.

To be continued

Author’s note: By way of explanation the word ‘pantyhose’ invokes an image of sheer hosiery which incorporates a fitted ‘panty’ sometimes made of the same sheer fabric as the legs and sometimes made of a heavier blend of lycra/nylon. The term pantyhose originated in the United States and in Britain these garments are called ‘sheer tights’. The term tights alone refers to all such garments regardless of whether they are sheer lingerie or sturdy outerwear. My hypothesis is that the Brits never adopted the word ‘pantyhose’ because they use the word ‘knickers’ rather than ‘panties’. I use both vernaculars in this story because it is set in the UK but hopefully it appeals worldwide audiences.

Oh… and don’t forget to leave me a comment or two.