Michael has come across something that implies that a company is doing a bad thing. Naturally, being a good boy, he decides to investigate.
Naturally, it isn't going to work out the way he expects.
But then again, it's not going to go the way the bad guys expect either.
Michael has come across something that implies that a company is doing a bad thing. Naturally, being a good boy, he decides to investigate.
Naturally, it doesn't work out the way he expected.
But then again, it's not going to go the way the bad guys expect either.
This started of as a totally different project, and mutated to its current state.
A while back, I came across Xanderchan's "Girluminati" strip (If you want to read, start here), which, in my opinion, stops far too soon. This started out as an attempt to continue the comic strip, and then it mutated into a text story, and then half the characters got killed off because I didn't think they would work in the direction that I was taking this story, and then it continued mutating.
It's a sort of not at all NaNoWriMo story, in that I'm writing this as fast as I can with almost no editing, but I don't have a target word count, and there is not deadline for completion.
Current plans are for this to mostly be a bit of sexy fluff, but I do have plans to explore some of the darker areas of my universe, and to throw in a few bits that are totally unrelated to the actual story (as far as it has one - the characters can't even keep their names straight, let alone the plot).
For those who find this sort of thing interesting, this story was written using DropBox on a Nexus 7, Notesy on an iPhone 3GS, and Scrivener on a windows laptop.
"I think I'm going to have to give up, Mrs P," said Michael over the breakfast table. "I've done everything that I can think of that might get me into their offices. You can't get past reception unless you're expected, the building security is too tight, and there aren't any jobs that I can even pretend to apply for."
"There is one possibility that you have not considered," replied Mrs P, "though I suspect that it is one that you would find embarrassing and distasteful. You may have noticed that there are a number of sissies running around the building. I think there is actually a school there on one of the higher floors, and I think the new term just started. There should be no problems with an unknown sissy wandering around, getting lost and into all the wrong places. When I was young, my family was rather well known for its training of sissies, and I suspect that if you dress as one of them, you would almost certainly be considered to be just another lost sissy, and you could be walk straight past the reception desk with no problems."
"A sissy," said Michael, suddenly sounding very uncomfortable. "The orphanage was very strict about that sort of thing; it was regarded as a sin. I think there was one boy a couple of years ahead of me, who might have been a sissy, but they transferred him out shortly after I arrived."
"Yes, there are a number of people who can't seem to accept that people have different tastes, and that sissies aren't evil or dangerous. Anyway, the orphanages' opinion is irrelevant here. Are you brave and determined enough to get the information you want, that you will do this?"
"Given the behaviour of the warden, anything that he thinks is right is almost certainly wrong. Even so, this scares me,"
"If you're willing to try an experiment, I could help you get dressed as a sissy, and we can see how you look. If it doesn't work, you don't have to actually try it. If it does work, I think this will allow you to explore the entire office with no difficulties."
"If you're sure that it will work, I can't really see any reason for not trying. However, if I don't look good enough, I want you to be totally honest, and tell me."
"Of course," said Mrs P. "But from my experience, I would say that you would make an excellent sissy. While you finish breakfast, I'll have a look in the spare room for some stuff that I'm certain I brought with me when I moved. It was far too cute to dispose of."
For the next few minutes, Michael heard banging and shuffling noises coming from upstairs. When he had finished his breakfast, he went to the bottom of the stairs and called out, "Do you need any help?"
The response was "No need. Just make yourself comfortable in the sitting room." After a few minutes, the sounds stopped, and he heard Mrs P coming down the stairs. When she came through the door, she was carrying two cardboard boxes, which she placed on the table. "It's amazing the amount of stuff that I have up there. Such a pity that I'll probably never use it again." She paused few a few seconds, and then carried on. "Let's get you sorted out. First all, you need a shower." Opening one of the boxes, she pulled out of number of bottles. "A good wash, using all of these magic lotions. And when you come back here, I want you to be wearing these." From the box, she also pulled a silk negligee and...
"Panties? Girls panties?" queried Michael.
"If you're going to get away with this, you need to do everything that you can, and these will help you get in the mood"
Sighing, Michael picked up the bundle of clothes and the many bottles. In the shower, he sorted through the bottles and was appalled at the number of them. There was also a sheet a paper entitled "A Sissies Guide to Washing". Washing? Who needs to be told how to wash? Out of curiosity, he had a quick read.
"Good grief," though Michael, "is it really this complicated to wash? I suppose I should follow the list. Why else would it be here?"
After what seemed like a long time, and a lot of effort, Michael was washed and dried, and was contemplating getting dressed. The panties were plain cotton, and apart from the large quantities of lace on the back, didn't seem that different from the normal man's pants he wore. The robe, on the other hand, was a slippery gold satin, and he found himself simultaneously fearing and desiring it. Until now, he hadn't really thought about what he was about to do. The shower had been more complicated than usual, but that had been it. Now, he had to make the decision. Was he to pretend to be a sissy? Was the information he was after important enough for him to do what he had been taught was a sin? He shivered, not sure if it was the cold after the warm shower or the prospect that lay before him.
It was a sin, but, in all likelihood, he wouldn't be able to pass a sissy, and he could simply pretend that it had never happened. He slowly slipped the robe on, the satin sliding over his skin caused shivers to run through his body, and he got flashes of the scent from the lotion that he applied just a few moments before. He paused for a few seconds, then wrapped the robe around himself, doing up the bow on the front with a decisive tug.
There had been some changes in the sitting room - the contents of the boxes had been unpacked into the table, and one of the reclining chairs had been moved to beside it.
"I don't have the time or stuff to do the full makeover, but I'm sure I'll be able to do enough that everyone will know you're a sissy. If you'll sit down, I'll get started." When Michael was seated, Mrs P started playing around with his hair. "You don't have a lot of hair, but I can get something suitable about it." Michael could feel her pulling at his hair as she did things that he could not see.
After a few minute, she said, "That should do," and placed a cap over his hair. With a click and a whir, the cap filled with warm air. "While your hair dries, I'll give your face a good going over. I doubt that you have ever had it properly cleansed."
The chair slowly tilted, and Michael found himself lying back, staring upwards at Mrs P and the ceiling. As she gently ministered to his face, he found the feeling of her fingers and the warm air both relaxing and arousing. He hoped that she wouldn't notice the erection that was slowly starting to fill his panties. He was on the verge of sleep, when he heard "There, we'll leave that for a few moments while I do your nails."
When Mrs P looked at his nails, she said, "You're not taking proper care of your nails. Everyone should, it shows you care."
For the next few minutes, Michael could feel the nail file rasping and shaping his nails. He then felt a cold liquid on his hand, that quickly warmed up as Mrs P massaged it in. "There, definitely the nails of someone who cares how they look. You'll be amazed at how this can change people's opinions of you, without them realising why. Hold still now, the polish is very delicate to apply." Michael looked down, where his nails were changing colour under the influence of the brush that his landlady was wielding. For some reason, he felt a bit disappointed that she wasn't using a bright red. "I'm using soft pink," she said, as if reading his mind, "as it's more appropriate for what you'll be wearing. A brighter colour is reserved for evenings or when you want to stand out from the crowd, which I doubt you want to do today." After a few more minutes, the task was complete. "We just leave that to dry now, and we'll see what else needs to be done."
Michael found himself shivering again, as Mrs P ran her hands over his legs. "Hmm. You don't have a lot of hair, do you? That will make things a lot easier, but let us finish with your facial."
"I think your nails are dry enough now - as long as you're careful, you shouldn't cause any noticeable damage. We can start getting you dressed." Removing the hair dryer cap, Mrs P freed him from the chair. "First, let's start with socks and shoes." Michael was handed a bundle, which he found to consist of a pair of low-heeled shoes in black patent, and socks. Putting the shoes on the table, he unfolded the socks, and found that they were long, white cotton.
After rolling one of the socks down to a little bundle, he stood on one leg, and attempted to unroll the sock up the other leg. After a lot of jumping around, Mrs P suggested that he sit down on the edge of one of the chairs, and start again. This time Michael found that he could actually manage to unroll the sock up his leg, but he was surprised at how far up his leg the sock went.
"Thigh highs," said Mrs P in response. "I don't think you'd appreciate tights, and with these, if your skirts flip in the breeze, you won't show anything you don't want to."
After Michael had donned both socks, Mrs P passed him the shoes. "Mary Jane's, the classic sissy shoe. The heel is low enough that you should have no problems walking." Mrs P continued in a wistful voice, "I used to love teaching sissies to walk in heels, the way they would grow from gawky, awkward colts, barely staying upright up as they attempted to walk in the lowest of heels, to poetry in motion, as they dance their way around the ballroom in the tallest and spikiest of stilettos."
"I won't make you wear a bra. For many sissies, their first bra is one of the big moments in becoming a sissy, and we we're not going there, yet. The dress I have chosen for you is quite a simple one, suitable for a young sissy who is just starting out. It's really a bit young for you, but with suitable makeup, you'll look the part."
Mrs P held up the dress for Michael to view. It was all in pink, soft pink cotton, with clusters of flowers embroidered into the fabrics. It had a high neckline, elbow length sleeves, and a knee length skirt that was held out by several petticoats. Around the neck, sleeves cuffs, waist and skirt were layers of white lace. It was most definitely not the sort of thing that Michael had ever contemplated that he would be wearing. In fact, he should really be doing just about anything to get out of wearing it, instead of sort of wondering what it would be like.
With a quick flick that defied Michael's eyes, Mrs P was holding the dress out, ready for him to put on. "Hold your hands out in from of you, and I'll slip this on." Raising his arms in front, Michael found himself enveloped in the skirts and petticoats of the dress. He felt a scratching on his arms from the lace of the petticoats that was quickly replaced by the soft feel of cotton. There came the soft smell of a rose perfume, and a sudden burst of light as his head shot through the collar of the dress. "OK," said Mrs P, "hands by your side, and stand up straight. Let's gets a good look at you."
Blinking a little, Michael look down. All he could see was pink and white. The skirts of the dress stood out around him, blocking the view of his feet, except where his squashed the skirt down, forcing the slightly scratchy lace against his thighs, bare above the long socks. "Can I have a look in the mirror, Mrs P? I want to see what I look like."
"I think you should wait until you're completely ready. At the moment, there are still things to do, and you would get totally the wrong idea of what you look like." Taking him gently by the shoulders, Mrs P spun Michael around on the spot to face away from her, and took hold of the dresses zip. Slowly, she pulled it up, and Michael could hear the slow rasp as the zip worked its way up, and the dress tightened around him.
Spinning him round again, Mrs P stood back, and looked at Michael. He could see that she had an odd look on her face, but he could not work out what it was. "Yesss," she said, "that dress is just about perfect on you. I just need to figure out what to do with your hair. It's far too short for a sissy, and I don't think I have a suitable wig." Michael kept his hair short, partly due to the way he had been brought up by the orphanage, and partly because long hair had made him looked girlish. "Maybe I can make use of its shortness, use it as a contrast to the rest ..."
Mrs P made Michael sit down again, and started attacking his hair with all kinds of mysterious implements and unguents. He could feel her pulling his hair in all directions, and she repeatedly stood back, looked at him, and started in again. Eventually, when she stood back, she nodded to herself, and smiled. "You know," she said, "if it wasn't for the fact that a sissy would have a panic attack if you suggested that she cut her hair, that style could almost start a new fashion trend."
"Just let me do your makeup, and I think you'll be ready for your debut." Mrs P dived in again, this time wielding brushes and sponges, and applying the mysterious unguents to his face. She muttered quietly to herself, and Michael picked up the odd phrase. "Perfect skin." "A bit heavy on the blusher, but we're not going for natural today." Michael nearly ran when she approached his eye with what looked like torture instruments, but all she said was "eyelashes to die for."
Eventually, Michael got the feeling that she was slowing down, and nearing completion of the masterpiece she was working on. For the final time, Mrs P stepped back, and had a long slow look up and down, up and down. "Perfect. Not quite the conventional sissy, not with that hair, but I doubt that anyone would think anything but."
Standing Michael up, Mr P said "Let's do the big reveal scene, and let you see your new self." She moved Michael to in front of a large mirror that had been covered up by a piece of cloth. "Are you ready?" she asked, preparing to pull the cloth aside. "Hold one, there's just one thing needed." Darting over to the pile of clothing on the table, she dug through it, and pulled out a pair of lace gloves. "The final touch." The fingerless gloves were made of a white lace that matched that of the dress, and had frills around the wrist. Crossing Michaels hand in front of him, one hand holding the other wrist, she walked back to the mirror. "Ready?" she asked again, and pulled the cloth aside.
All Michael could do was stare at the mirror. This could not be him. There was no way that this could be him. This was not the slightly scruffy 21 year old that he was used to seeing in the mirror. This was a young girl, in her mid-teens, 17 at most, and she was stunning.
After a few moments, Michael found that he could do more than simply drink in the image, and he could actually look at himself. The most obvious item was the dress. When he had looked down at the dress, it had seemed far too bright a pink, the pattern had been far too obtrusive, and the skirts had seemed massive. In the mirror, it was different. The white lace toned down the pink, and the pattern receded a bit into the background. The skirts still stood out further than he was happy with, but nowhere as far as they had seemed.
At first sight, the makeup seemed overdone, but he could sort of see what Mrs P had been aiming at. The colours were brighter than he was used to seeing on women, and his cheekbones had been quite emphasised. It was a bit like a little girl had been let loose in her mother's makeup, but it fit perfectly with the dress and his hair.
His hair. It was still short. Far too short for the dress and makeup. It was as if the little girl had rebelled against being made to dress up, and had cut all her hair off, and yet the result was incredibly cute. Its very shortness and lack of femininity emphasised the girlishness of the rest of the image.
Mrs P started crying. "It's amazing. I've never seen anything like it." She rushed over, and embraced Michael in a strong hug. After a while, she let him go, and said "I think there's absolutely no doubt that no-one would doubt that you are a sissy. Just a few quick lessons on behaviour, and I think you will be ready to go."
"The most essential thing is your walk. The heels on your shoes should ensure that you are aware of your walk, but you will still need to modify it slightly. The key is to take smaller steps, and to try to walk as if you are on a tight-rope, one foot in front of the other, rather than side by side."
Mrs P made Michael walk up and down the room, until she was satisfied with his walk. As he walked around the room, Michael could hear a rustling from the petticoats under his skirts. The sound varied with his walk, and he soon learnt when it sounded correct, and when it indicated that he was walking in the wrong manner.
When he complained that the walk was slow, Mrs P replied, "Speed is not important, style is. A sissy never runs, and never appears to hurry. If you do need do need to move quickly, smaller, but faster steps will enable you to move faster than people realise"
"Finally, check your make-up regularly, even if you know it's perfect. This gives you a pause, a chance to think. If you're nervous on the street, this gives you a reason to stop, to step out of the flow of people, and let them all go pass. Knowing your make-up is perfect adds to your confidence, and lipstick nearly always needs redoing."
After what seemed liked miles of walking, and thousands of glances into a pocket mirror, Mrs P finally said, "I think you're finally ready." Seeing the look of panic suddenly blooming on Michaels face, she added, "You're looking good. I doubt that anyone will see anything other than a rather pretty, young sissy." When Michael didn't look any better, she continued, "You don't have to go out. There's nothing forcing you to do this."
"No, I do have to. If I don't I'll never be able to live with myself."
"OK. In which case, I think you should go now, before you get too scared. Do you have everything you need? Money, keys, whatever it is you need to get the information?"
"Yes it's all in the..." Before Michael could complete the sentence, Mrs P had the front door open, and her hand on his back was gently urging him out into the street. The last thing he heard was a "Good luck" as the door closed behind him.
Michael has managed to get out the door, but will he just turn around and hammer to be let back in?
Michael heard the door slam behind him. His first reaction was to turn around and go back into the house before anyone saw him. As this thought occulted to him, he heard Mrs P engage the door chain. It was obvious that she wasn't going to allow him back in without a lot of noise on his part, which would draw exactly the sort of attention that he did not want to see.
Michael started to think, something he hadn't been doing since Mrs P had come up with her suggestion. If he couldn't go back, he would have to go forward. After all, what was the worst that could happen to him? As the horrors paraded across his mind, he quickly rephrased the question. What was the worst that was likely to happen to him? OK, assuming it all went well, what was the best that could happen to him? As his panic dissipated, Michael realised that he had been too busy to look around, and see who was on the street, wondering what he was up to.
A quick glance reassured him that there was no one around, just the stopped bus with Danielle, Mrs Ps cute neighbour, and her niece getting off. Not wanting them to see him, Michael turned away and started walking up the street, in the opposite direction.
Trying not to standout too much, he put all the hasty lessons of the morning into effect. As he did so, he soon realised the some of the differences between the lessons and real life. The first thing he noticed was his shoes. The living room had been carpeted with something soft that had cushioned his steps and absorbed the sound of his shoes. On the pavement, he could feel his heels landing, and there was a constant "click, click, click" sound with each step.
The day was sunny and warm, with a gentle breeze, that Michael very quickly became aware of. The breeze would play with the lace on his skirts, making the skirt sway, and giving Michael the horrible feeling that at any minute the breeze would suddenly intensify and flip his skirts, revealing everything that he would not want revealed. Worse, the breeze would play around his legs, just where the long socks ended, sending sudden chills up his back.
Michael tried to ignore these, and concentrate on his walking. After a few minutes, it had got to the point where he could ignore all distractions, and it felt and sounded like he was walking properly. Trying to discretely look around him, Michael could not tell if he was attracting attention, at least, not the sort of attention that meant he was in trouble. People did seem to be seeing him more than they had before, but he wasn't sure if that was because of the way that he was dressed, or because he had never really paid attention to that sort of thing before.
After about 20 minutes of walking, Michael was beginning to regret not taking the bus. The shoes he was wearing were not as comfortable as his usual trainers, and he was starting to get tired. Trying to distract himself, he looked around. When he had travelled this route before, he had been on the bus and had not paid any attention to the route he was travelling. The street was pretty normal, apart from the occasional shop that appeared to be catering for sissies. "Sissies Pretties" had a window full of lingerie, the sort of stuff that Michael had only dreamed of - stockings, corsets, and the sheerest of nightgowns. It took Michael several moments to realise that he had stopped outside, and was starting at the content of the window.
The next shop was a shoe shop, and the window was full of high heels and bright colours. None of the shoes seemed the sort that someone could possibly wear. Centred in the display was a pair of knee high boots, with the most astonishing heel. Michael could not see how it would be possible to wear the boots, let alone walk. He looked closer. "Ballet boots, custom made by Mr Henry to your personal specifications. Book a fitting appointment now!!"
The word reminded Michael that he had a very discreet appointment ahead of him, and he turned away, but found that he was unable to get the image of the boots out of his mind. How could anyone walk in those boots? Why would anyone want to wear a pair like that? And yet,...
Turning away from the shop window, Michael could see the office building looming at the end of the street. Suddenly, the reality of what he was doing truly hit him. Here he was, dressed in a frilly pink dress, trying to sneak into the headquarters of an international company, and steal information. What was he thinking? What he found himself thinking was Mrs Ps mantra "If in doubt, check your makeup." Retrieving the small mirror from his handbag, Michael did precisely that. It was all fine, except for the lipstick. "There's none left? There's no way it could have gone, is there? Have I eaten it?" Feeling even more conspicuous, Michael reached into his handbag for the lipstick, and attempted to repair the damage. Working slowly, Michael managed to apply the lipstick in the appropriate places. He even thought that Mrs P might have approved of the result.
"This is it," thought Michael, "Do or die, now or never, piss or get off the pot." With this last thought, he strode towards the building. Hearing the difference in the noise from his skirts, he modified his walk to the correct step. As he approached, the doors sensed that there was someone there, and slid open, revealing the lobby.
Michael has made it to the office. All he needs to do is walk in, grab the data, and walk out again.
If he knew he would succeed, but also knew the cost of success, would he dare to enter?
Michael had previously found an excuse to look around the lobby, but he did not remember it being this big. It was huge - at least a mile from wall to wall, and the ceiling was so high that Michael could swear that he saw clouds.
After pausing and looking around, Michael realised that this was his fears talking, and the lobby was no bigger than it had been before. Michael resumed walking towards the reception desk, doing his best to walk and move exactly as he had beentaught, and desperately trying to think of what to say to the receptionist. Before he could reach her, the receptionist looked up at him, smiled, and pressed something on the desk. Michael tensed, expecting some sort of alarm or a security guard to appear out of nowhere. All that happened was that the gate next to the reception desk opened, allowing him into the building.
Desperately suppressing any sign of his panic, Michael said "Thank you," and walked through the gate. "No problem, sweetie," came the reply.
The elevator door opened in front of him, and he entered. In his playing around with their computer systems, Michael had learnt the office layout, so now he had actually got through the front door, he knew exactly what he was going to do. Pressing the button for the third floor, he waited for the doors to close. Looking out at the reception desk, he saw the receptionist look in his direction and smile at him, as the doors cut off the view.
On the third floor, Michael turned left, and headed towards an office belonging to someone that he knew should be on holiday this week. In the office, he sat down at the desk, and quickly had the information ready for transfer. After looking around for the actual computer, he bent down and plugged the memory stick in. One of the lessons that Mrs P had not thought that Michael would need was the correct way to bend down in a short skirt, so he simply bent over at the waist. Michael was so concerned with the memory stick that he did not see the security guard standing in the doorway, appreciating the sight of his frilly knickers outlined by the frills and furbelows of his petticoats. By the time the data transfer had completed, and Michael had stood up again the security guard was out of sight.
Looking around the room, Michael checked to see if he had left any traces. Satisfied that no one would ever know that he was here, Michael turned and walked out the door.
"Oooff", he went as he walked into the broad chest of a security guard. "_ello love" he said, "What are you doing down here? You should know that you're not supposed to be down here. Did you get lost?" Before Michael could say anything, the guard had grabbed hold of his hand, and was dragging him towards the lift. "No need to worry, luv. I know where the rest of your group is, it's no problem taking you up."
As the lift door closed behind them, the guard continued, "You must be one of the new girls. You lot have a habit of turning up in the oddest places, and in some of the oddest clothes." The guard continued on in this manner until the doors opened, revealing another corridor.
"Miranda? Annabel? Is anyone around?" he called out. A head popped out from a door further down the corridor. "Ah, Annabel. I just found another of your little chicks wandering around without a clue as to where she should be. Do you want to take her?"
"Another one?" replied Annabel. "I swear they get less intelligent each year. Ah well, pass her over, and we'll get her sorted out." The guard pushed Michael towards Annabel, and turned away. "Come on girl, you're not the first one to get lost." Not knowing what else to do, Michael followed her into the room.
The room appeared to be a dressing room of some sort, with mirrored dressing tables covering one wall, and racks of clothing scattered around the room. There was a second woman in the room, one that Michael presumed to be Miranda. Miranda was wearing a school girl's gym slip, with a badge that had "prefect" written on it, while Annabel appeared to be a teacher of some sort.
"What's your name girl?" asked Annabel. "Michael," was the eventual reply. "Michelle? I'm not sure I remember that name on the list. You must be a late addition. I don't suppose it matters. Lady De Morgan can sort out the paperwork, if it's gone wrong. All we have to do is get you ready. What size are you, Michelle?"
"Uhm," Michael didn't know how to reply to this. "I'm not really sure."
"A sissy who can't reel off all her statistics, at a seconds notice? You are unique."
"I'm new at this," said Michael, blushing and looking down at his skirts. "I'm still not sure that this is the right thing to do." Michael was pretty convinced that this was most definitely not the right thing to do, and all he hoped for was to escape as soon as possible.
Annabel walked over to Michael, and hugged him. "There's no need to worry sweetie, I'm sure you'll be the perfect sissy." Michael found this to be less than reassuring. "Anyway, we've still got to get you dressed." With this statement, Annabel pulled a tape measure out of nowhere, and started measuring Michael.
Over the other side of the room, Miranda was working her way through the racks of clothes. "I'm getting bored with gym-slip sissies. Am I allowed to dress this one in something different?"
"As prefect, uniforms are your responsibility, so you can do whatever you want. I would suggest that you avoid Lady DeMorgan having to acknowledge what you're doing, but apart from that, the sky's the limit." At this, Michael gulped nervously. What sort of horror would they make him wear?
"Hmmm," came from Miranda, "how about a cheerleader? Some place called Sunnyvale. And for some reason it comes with a wooden stake
"How sharp's the stake?"
"Hm. Ouch. Very."
"Probably not a good idea. If a fully armed and operational vampire slayer walks into the classroom, some silly sissy is going to panic and get herself staked."
The rustling and clattering from the far side of the room resumed. "That sounds like the sort of thing that those girls would do. How about a Chinese Cheongsam? No, far too sensible and mature."
The rustling and clattering got faster and more frantic, and Michael felt that he was either going to run away in panic or faint, right in front of Miranda.
Suddenly, the sound ceased. For a few brief moments, there was silence. "Yes. Perfect. The perfect school uniform for the perfect sissy." Michael felt the terror mount.
From out of the darkness, came Miranda, carrying what looked like a pink rucksack and some clothes on a hanger. "When I was young, I used to watch a Japanese anime called 'Sailor Sissy'. It was all about a young sissy who was called to defend the earth though the power of friendship and magic. I think it was one of the major influences that made me realise that I was a sissy." After a pause for reflection, Miranda continued, "Anyway, I managed to find a complete copy of the 'Magical School Girl Sailor Sissy' costume. It has everything, including gloves and wand, and since it is a proper school uniform, Lady DeMorgan will never know."
"This I have got to see," said Annabel. Spinning Michael around, she pulled down the zip on the back of his dress, and pushed him towards a changing room. "If you slip out of the dress, I'll bring your uniform in." Reluctantly, Michael entered the changing room, and let the doors close behind him. "Oh god," thought Michael, "how do I get out of this? They appear to think that I'm one of a group of sissies joining the school today, but for how much longer? Maybe if I let them dress me up, I'll get a chance to escape shortly."
Having made this decision, Michael removed his dress. This was complicated by the mass of petticoats below, but he eventually managed it. The changing room was chilly, so spotting a dressing gown hanging on the wall, he put it on.
Looking down at the dress and petticoats lying in a heap on the floor, Michael felt that the women were likely to react unfavourably to this sight, so he picked them, and looked for somewhere to put them. At this point, Annabel and Miranda walked in. Seeing Michael looking confused, Annabel took the clothes from him and had them hanging up in seconds. "You're going to look wonderful after we finish with you."
Miranda continued, "Take that dressing gown off, and we'll get you dressed." Seeing his reluctance, she added, "Don't worry, you don't have anything we haven't seen before. In fact, despite the way I look, you don't have anything that I don't." Miranda preened. "It's fun being a sissy, but sometimes you just don't want the hassle of people treating you like one."
Without warning, the two women turned and advanced on him. Within seconds, the dressing gown was lying on the floor, and he was being helped into his second ever dress. Accepting the inevitable, he cooperated as far as he could. The only problem they had was with the elbow length gloves that appeared to be a size too small. After a struggle, they were pulled up as far as they could go.
"I'm not sure about the boots," added Miranda. "It looks like they should fit."
"Naturally," thought Michael, "they're a perfect fit." The knee-high boots fit snugly all the way up, with the only problem Michael could find was that the heels were a lot higher and spikier than the Mary-Jane's he had been wearing.
When the process was complete, Michael was taken back into the main room, and shown what he looked like in a mirror. For a few moments, he could not understand what it was that he was wearing.
"What we have here is the classic Magical School Girl Sailor Sissy fuku with low level frills of power. Or, as the unenlightened would have it, a dress with sailor style collar and sleeves, and mid-thigh pleated skirt, with big red bows at throat and hips, and smaller ones on your boots and the wrists and cuffs of your gloves."
Michael didn't know if he approved of his new clothes or not. For the most part, it didn't stand out as much as the sissy costume, and while the skirt was short and bright red, it still showed less than had previously been on show. The problem was with the bows.
This started with one around his collar, bright red and floppy, with a large jewel in the centre. There was another one in the small of his back, a huge bow that stuck out massively on both sides. Looking in the mirror, no matter how much he twisted, there was no position in which the bow was not blatantly visible. Finally, the bows on his gloves and boots. Like the collar bow, there was a small jewel in the centre of the bow. Though these were the smallest of the bows, from them hung a number of ribbons. They weren't particularly long ribbons, but they were so light, with a habit of catching the slightest breeze, that they were in constant movement, streaming behind the bows.
Miranda sighed. "I never thought that I would see someone cos play Magical School Girl Sailor Sissy so perfectly. Even the hair is a perfect match for when she had to exchange her golden tresses for the soul of her best friend."
Michael barely heard it, but he was sure that Annabel had muttered "Obsessive fan girl" under her breath.
"Almost there," said Miranda, helping him put on a sickly pink rucksack, with some sort of deformed kitten emblazoned over it. "I've transferred all your stuff to the purse inside. And now, the final touch, your wand of power. Keep a good hold on it, and don't let go." His hand was wrapped around the shaft of a wand. At the end of the wand was another spherical jewel, a counterpart to the one at his throat.
Miranda then made him wave his hand around. As he did so, all of the jewels lit up brightly, and a voice spoke in broken English, "For Great Justice."
"That was her catch phrase," added Miranda, "For Great Justice. See if you can do the lips. Remember, for proper anime, your lips have to be out of sync with your voice." Miranda waved his hand around, and pinched him painfully, until she was happy with his lack of lip-sync.
"Miranda!" came a sharp exclamation from Annabel, "stop playing around with your new toy. If you don't let her go now, she's going to be late."
"Yes Annabel. OK, Michelle, the induction class is up on the 10th floor. Lady DeMorgan will be waiting, so no shilly-shallying. Oh, and make sure you don't crumple your big bow. I'm very strict about uniforms, especially when I went to all this effort getting you ready."
Annabel opened the door, and Miranda gently pushed him over towards it, with her hand resting on his buttocks. Quietly, so that Annabel could not hear, she said, "Of course, strict doesn't have to mean unpleasant." Opposite the door, the lift was open and waiting for him. With a final pat and push, Michael found himself in the lift. Turning around to the control panel, he pressed a button and the doors closed in front of him.
Back in the corridor, Annabel turned to Miranda and said "Sailor Sissy? A tale of the power of friendship? Really?"
"YES!", was Miranda's response. "OK, there was a lot of sex as well, but you can't really enjoy sex unless you're good friends with your partner." The women turned back towards the room. "I learnt a lot from that series, though I'm still waiting for my tentacle monster." Laughing, the women entered the room, and the door closed behind them.
In case anyone is wondering or can't figure it out "Sailor Sissy" is pretty much Sailor Moon with a few tweaks, such as a deliberate lack of style or taste.
Michael has escaped from the changing room of doom. Only a little further, and he'll be free.
As the lift doors closed in front of him, Michael thought angrily, "Why the hell did I reach for the 10th floor button? I want to go down and out, not up to yet more trouble. I hate to think what would have happened when the door opened, if I hadn't realised what I was doing."
In relief, Michael relaxed, leaning backwards against the wall, and then suddenly jerking upright before he could actually touch it, before the bow started to crumple. As he did so, the jewels on the wand and his clothes lit up, and the voice cried, "For great justice!"
"I'd better put that away, I don't want it going off at the wrong moment." Michael quickly discovered that things were not going to be that simple. For some reason, he could not unwrap his fingers from around the wands handle. It was as if they were glued in place. No matter how hard he strained his muscles, or pulled with his other hand, the fingers would not move. All he managed to do was cause a 'Son et Lumiere' show.
"Maybe," he thought, "the wand has attached itself to the gloves. If I remove the gloves, the wand should come with them." Unfortunately, not only was the wand attached to the gloves, the gloves appeared to be attached to his arms. As if to taunt him, he could just get his fingers under the cuffs of the gloves, just below his elbow, but that was it. The gloves were immovable.
As if that was not bad enough, Michael soon realised that the handle was growing in size. With each flash, it would grow thicker and longer. It soon became clear that what his fingers were too tightly wrapped around was a penis, and one that was constantly growing. By the time he discovered this, the tip of the penis was protruding from the bottom of his fist by several inches, and its circumference had grown to a matching extent.
Abandoning the attempt to release the wand, Michael tried to stop it growing. Not finding any visible controls, he felt all over for a hidden control. At the tip of the penis, he found what felt like a switch of some kind. By squeezing the tip, Michael was able to get the handle to shrink back to its original size. However, he wasn't surprised when the next twitch of his wrist caused the handle to grow again.
A bit of quick experimentation proved that the only way to hold the wand to prevent it from triggering was with it pointing straight up, and with only a very small amount of movement. There was going to be no way that he could hide the wand.
With a ping, the lift stopped moving, and the door opened out onto the reception lobby.
Michael is almost free. He can see the door into sunlight, he can smell the sweet breath of freedom. All he has to do is best the guardian of the portal.
With a ping, the lift doors opened onto the lobby, and the receptionist. "Fuck it," thought Michael, "How could things possibly get worse?" He strode out of the lift towards her and the gate that would set him free, trying to fake a confident attitude.
As his heels hit the marble of the lobby, he realised another difference between his Mary Jane's, and these new boots. Rather than the previous, slightly muted click, these heels rang around the lobby. They even sounded more confident than before, and Michael subconsciously took this in, and without knowing, he walked taller and more confidently.
"Hello, sweetie, how did things go? Did you get everything you need?" she asked.
"Pretend everything is OK. If you sound good, you should get away," thought Michael. "I think so. A few unexpected issues, but it should be fine."
"That sounds good. I love your costume. Who is it, and where did you get it?"
"According to Miranda, it's Sailor Sissy in her Magical School Girl costume. She said she was getting bored of gym-slip sissies." For some reason, Michael gave a twirl to show off the costume, finishing with a swish of the wand dramatically pointing it into the air and adding the fake lip-sync. "With luck," Michael thought, "she won't see the wands growth."
The gentle applause felt like a reward. "That was lovely," said the receptionist. "When I was young, I loved Sailor Sissy. My favourite bad guy was the Slime Monster. The way he would envelope her in his slime, holding her tight until she managed to raise her power to free herself, would keep me awake at night."
"I appear to have managed to miss Sailor Sissy. I'll try to catch up with it."
"It was a great series, but I doubt that you'll be able to find it now. Oh, I just realised, I missed your name, when you came in, a very naughty thing to do."
"Uhm," said Michael, "It's Michelle."
"Hi Michelle, I'm Samantha. If you need anything, just come and find me, I'll usually be either on the front desk, or in the office just behind."
"Thanks, though I hope that I won't need any further help." said Michael. "God yes please, nothing further."
"Well, I'd better let you go. It's a lovely day out there, and I'm sure you want to enjoy it." The only thing Michael was planning to enjoy was getting out of his costume. "You know what be good? A picnic in the park. Can't you just see yourself, relaxing in a blanket, enjoying the sun and a meal?" Michael could. He could also see himself getting into massive trouble.
Samantha pressed something on her desk, and the little gate swung open. Michael took advantage of this to make his escape. Just as he was about to walk out the main door, he turned and looked back. He was glad to escape and didn't want to come back here, and yet... Miranda, Annabel and Samantha were all nice people who had done their best to help him, even if he didn't really like the results. He didn't get to meet that many nice people, and he had exploited them.
Feeling doubtful and confused, Michael left the shade of the office, for the bright light of day.
Freedom! Michael is now on the way home, but first, …
This is probably far too short a section, but it means that I have a daily post, and tomorrows section is much larger, with some new stuff.
The sun was bright and warm, as Michael walked down the flight of steps in front of the office. He brought his hand up to shade his eyes, and the wand immediate flashed spoke and grew. He quickly whipped his hand back to the "no action" position, and brought up his left hand instead.
There appeared to be no-one within hearing distance, and only one person looked like they had seen the flashing, and turned and walked away. The sun neat down on Michael, and he found himself getting hot. "Maybe a drink in the park, not a picnic of course, but a nice cooling drink."
There was a small grocery store by the park entrance. With care and effort, Michael was able to get a basket over the wand, and hang it from the crook of his right arm. Never having been in the store before, Michael wandered around, looking for something to drink. While doing so, he managed to accumulate a beef sandwich, a scotch egg and a small pork-pie, topping it off with a can of coke.
"Bonjourno, Bella Donna," came a voice from behind him. "How may I help you?" Michael was very lucky that he just managed to avoid triggering the wand when he jumped. Turning around, he saw a middle age Italian, obviously the shop keeper.
"Thank you," he replied. "I have everything I need for my picnic." "Picnic? I wasn't planning a picnic was I?"
"Bella, bella, bella," the shopkeeper objected. "A beautiful sissy like you requires a proper picnic, not like that." Before Michael could respond his basket was empty, the Italian had taken him by the left hand, and was leading him around the shop.
"First, the signorina requires a blanket. The park is a poor one, and unfortunately, none of the seats are suitable for the lady. And if she sits on the ground, she will ruin her so pretty dress." The blanket was quickly followed by a small salad, and a sweet dessert.
"Finally, and most import, what is the young lady to drink? A wine, obviously, but which one? Something light, delicate, fragrant like the bella herself." His fingers flicked over the bottles on the shelf, and then grabbed one. "Perfect. I think the signorina will be delighted with this."
"Maybe some light reading? The latest edition of 'Sissy' is out today."
At the till, Michael paid for his picnic, carefully making sure that his name wasn't visible as the credit card went into the machine.
"Is the signorina happy with her picnic?" asked the keeper, as he packed the purchases away.
"It's not what I was planning, but I think I'm going to enjoy it." Michael smiled at him, while wondering, "What the hell was I thinking? This is nothing like what I had planned. I should be one the way home!"
As Michael left the shop, the shop keeper called out, "Buongiorno, signorina. Have fun with your picnic."
Michael is desperate to get home, so having a picnic is the obvious thing to do.
As he entered the park, Michael realised why the streets had been so quiet. Everyone was taking advantage of the warm weather to enjoy playing in the park. The place was packed with men, women, children, and, from their dress, what Michael took to be sissies. There were a few singles walking about or running on the paths, trying to keep fit, but most people were in couples or family groups.
Not wanting to be disturbed, Michael wandered around until he found a quiet area, and found a shady spot to settle in. After unpacking his picnic, he stuffed the plastic bag into his rucksack. Normally, when doing something like this, Michael would throw himself on the ground, not paying any attention to the mess it might make of his clothes. This time, that felt wrong, and Michael carefully lowered himself to a sitting position, with his legs off to the side, and the skirt laid out, so that he did not sit on it and crease it.
This was the point at which Michael realised that he had been freely using his right hand, having put the wand down. He could see it, lying on the blanket, innocent, as if it had not been holding his hand to ransom.
Looking at his gloved hand, he could not see any trace of whatever it was that had stuck his hand to the wand. It was as if it had never happened.
Reaching out with just his forefinger, he gently prodded the wand. Nothing happened. He prodded again, and still nothing happened. Using just his thumb and forefinger, he picked up the wand by its stem, keeping well away from the handle. When nothing continued to happen, he twirled the wand in a way that had previously worked. Emboldened by the complete and utter lack of response, he grasped the handle in his hand, and waved.
The sudden flash and broken English caused him to jump and drop the wand. He stared at it, where he had dropped it. No stickiness, and the handle hadn't changed, hadn't grown into the phallus. Maybe whatever it was that caused that had worn off? A sudden thought had him scrabbling at his gloves in an attempt to remove them, but whatever it was that held them in place was still working.
Resigned to his fate, Michael moved the wand and turned back to the picnic. While eating, he idly browsed through "Sissy" magazine. Did he really want to know what Tamara Pennyworth had got up to last weekend, or who Jacques Bruin was going to select as his next muse? Oddly enough, he did find the article on the life of Mr Henry interesting, and he found himself recalling the very odd looking boots he had seen in the shoe shop window that morning.
Finally, he found himself filling in one of those self-help quizzes entitled "What kind of a sissy are you?" Some of the questions were surprisingly deep and seemingly unrelated to being a sissy, and he had to think about some of the answers. Others just seemed totally irrelevant.
Nail style:
Underwear:
Clothing:
Legs:
Shoes:
Totalling up the answers, Michael read the conclusions.
Mostly A:
Baby sissy. You want a mummy or daddy to look after you. Your favourite dress is a short satin party dress worn with loads of petticoats and a well-padded nappy. Your favourite meal is anything that comes in a baby bottle
Mostly B:
Secretary sissy.
The perfect second in command, whose boss will always be at the right place, at the right time, with the right documents. Your favourite dress is a smart business suit, with a knee length skirt. Your favourite meal is a sandwich take at your desk.
Mostly C.
Super diva sissy.
For you, life is an adventure to be enjoyed your way. You don't have a favourite dress, you have far too many for that, but they are all drop-dead, knock-em-out gorgeous. Your favourite meal involves the best seat in the best restaurant in town.
Michael laughed at the answers. "Obviously, the correct answer is D, none of the above."
Just as he finished the quiz, he finished his meal. That had been surprisingly tasty, and the shop keeper had been right, he had loved the wine. As he still had some of it left, he decided he would relax and enjoy the park for a while longer.
Holding the wine in his hand, he looked over the park. It appeared to have quietened down a bit, no doubt due to people returning to work. gently relaxing, Michael contemplated his situation. Here he was, stuck in a dress that had great big flashing beacons attached, carrying stolen information, with far too many people having seen him for him to be safe. One the other hand, it was a warm day, he was comfortably seated in the shade, and he had some excellent wine. The obvious this to do was to have some more wine.
In fact, Michael was so relaxed that when a little girl suddenly appeared in front of him, he barely blinked. "Hello," she said. "My name's Tiffany. In a few weeks time, I'll be six years old. What's your name? I like your dress. Mum won't let me wear anything special, coz she says that I'd only ruin it. Is your dress a special dress? Why does it have all those bows and jewels?"
"Hello Tiffany," responded Michael, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the rush of words. "My name is ... Michelle. I'm 21, and its ages to my next birthday. This is a very special dress. It's designed to look like the dress worn by a character in a TV show. I don't know why it has all these bows, but I think it's to make the dress look impressive."
"I like your bows. Do you think I can have bows like yours on my birthday dress?"
"You'll have to ask ..."
Completely ignoring Michael, Tiffany continued. "Is that your wand? Can I play with it?" Before he could stop her, Tiffany was wildly waving the wand, and being fascinated by the light and the voice. When Michael realised that the wand was not up to anything nefarious, he relaxed.
From over the park, Michael heard someone calling, "Tiffany, Tiffany, where are you Tiffany?"
"I'm over here, Mommy," Tiffany called back. A woman who had been frantically searching, turned in their direction, and walked towards them. As she got closer, Michael could see what his next problem was going to be. As he should have expected with his luck today, Tiffany's mother was his cute neighbour Danielle.
"Mummy, this is my new friend Michelle. She wears a very special dress, and she has a wand that does this." As all the jewels lit up, Danielle smiled at Michael.
"Hello Michelle, I see you've meet my little monster." Danielle's voice slowed down, as she looked at Michael. "Michael, is that you? What are doing dressed like that?"
"I can't even begin to explain," replied Michael. "Let's just say it started as a bad idea, and went downhill from there."
"I thought it was you that I saw this morning, but I didn't want to embarrass myself by asking."
"Yep, that was me. At 9 this morning, I had never worn a single item of women's clothing, and now I'm on my second dress, and managing amazingly well in these heels." Michael stretched his leg out for Danielle's inspection. Nervously waiting for her response, Michael automatically checked his lipstick. He'd only just refreshed it, after eating, and you would have thought there should be some left. Danielle admired the boot and the trim leg that it covered. Watching him redo his makeup, Danielle thought "That's far too well done for someone who started this morning. There is more to this than he's telling."
"I won't ask for more details, but that's a very impressive costume, especially with the flashing lights. Is it meant to be anyone in particular?"
"Supposedly, it's Sailor Sissy in her Magical School Girl costume. Until today, I didn't even know she existed. Apparently everyone does, and they all seem to have a favourite villain. I don't suppose you have a favourite villain?" asked Michael, struggling to remain calm.
"I think I only saw half an episode. I wasn't that impressed with Sailor Sissy, she seemed the type that was intended to be a role model. As I recall, the villain was called The Spiral, and his weapon was something called The Hypnodisc. I never found out what actually happened, as my mother caught us, and turned off the TV."
Tiffany interrupted. "Mummy, it's time to go back to school." She handed the wand back to Michael, saying, "Thank you for letting me play with your wand." Holding her hands out, she imperiously demanded they take her by the hand, and follow her to school.
Over Tiffany's head, Danielle whispered, "If Sailor Sissy had looked anything like you, I would have been a lot more annoyed at my mother - you look so cute like that." Both adults suddenly blushed, and looked away from each other. The thought of Danielle finding Michelle cute was ... disturbing.
One of the school entrances was off the part, so it was a short walk. At the gates, Tiffany let go of their hands and turned to Danielle. In what she thought was a whisper, she asked "Mummy, can Michelle come to my birthday party? It'll just be you and granny, and I would love to have a friend there!"
Looking over at the embarrassed Michael, Danielle replied, "We'll see. I'm not sure Michelle is free that day, she'll have to check her calendar." Tiffany seemed satisfied with the response, and ran off into the school, waving back at them.
"I'm sorry about that, Tiffany tends to be very direct when she wants something."
"I noticed," Michael said dryly. "I think it's time I went home and changed into something that made me less cute. It's been an interesting day, but I don't think it's something I want to repeat."
"Are you sure?" asked Danielle in a teasing voice. "After all, you do look so cute." After a short pause, she continued in a more serious tone of voice, "Tiffany would really love someone to come to her party."
"I... I ..." stuttered Michael. "I'll think about it," he said knowing that he would almost certainly be unable to deny Tiffany's pleading.
As they walked out of the park, Michael felt a change in the wand, and the way he was holding it. "Oh god," he said, and tried to peel his fingers off of it, knowing it was going to fail.
"What is it?" asked a concerned Danielle.
"This ... wand." It was clearly possible to hear the missing word. "When they gave it to me, it somehow stuck itself to my hand, and did odd things. When I entered the park, it appeared to relent and let me go. Now it's taken hold again, and I cannot let go! Worse, watch what happens when I wave it." As the lights went off, the handle grew. "See?" said Michael waving the wand again. To any one paying attention, it was clear that Michael was tightly holding an erect penis.
"Fortunately, if I do this", said Michael reaching for the hidden switch, "It resets itself." The switch clicked under his fingers, but that was the only response. "What?" went Michael, and tried again. This time there was a response, the penis started gently throbbing and vibrating. "Oh god! No! What's it doing?"
Danielle watched, fascinated, with her hand over her mouth. "I think I know why my mother was so against my seeing Sailor Sissy. Despite being animated, it was definitely not for children. Most of the villains had some sort of sex based attack, and they would use this to incapacitate the heroine. The only way she could escape was to 'manipulate' her wand to raise her power, which would then be released all at once."
"Are you suggesting that to get myself free, I have to play with my wand until it comes? Oh god, no wonder I never heard of the show."
"I have a feeling that it's going to be the only way. I think we'd better get you home, before it goes off in the street."
After a few minutes, desperately trying to think of a distraction, Michael asked, "Why won't Tiffany have any friends at her party? I would have thought that a cute girl like her would have hundreds of friends."
"That's really my fault. When I got pregnant at 16, the local busy-bodies went ballistic, so I went away for a while. I only came back because my mother is getting on a bit, and the busy-bodies are still causing trouble, so none of the parents allow their children to visit."
After some fast but careful walking, they were standing outside their homes, with only a few more accidents. The penis was now larger than anything Michael had ever seen, and there was a worrying pink flush running up and down it. The vibration and throbbing had gotten so strong that Michael could barely stop the wand from triggering itself.
"I think you'd better go in and deal with that monster," said Danielle with a smile. "Please, think about the party, Tiffany would love you to come." She lent in, and kissed Michael on the cheek. In a genuine whisper, she added, "I'd quite like to see Michelle again, as well."
The magic wand gets all metaphorical.
This is probably the shortest scene in the entire story (if they get any smaller, I'm going to panic), but I think it's a rather climactic one. The rest of the scenes should all be much larger.
Michael closed the door behind him and relaxed. The journey home had been a mixture of emotions. He had been scared that the wand would do something even more outrageous, yet he had been enjoying his walk with Danielle.
Hoping for silence, he called out, "Mrs P? Are you there?" When the silence continued, he let out a deep breath. In the sitting room, he sat down and started waving the wand around. While he got the voice and the lights, nothing else happened. "Oh fuck, what is it this time?"
Pressing the hidden switch did little either, but Michael did notice that it responded to his brushing across the head of the penis. When it responded to a second stroke, he thought, "_Damn it," I'm actually going to have to masturbate this thing."
It responded amazingly well to Michael's hand. It grew and grew and grew, until it reached a size that he would not have thought possible. The jewels starting pulsing, glowing brighter and darker in time to his hand.
As he continued, the voice changed and started moaning, orgasmically. The jewels pulsed quicker and brighter and Michaels hand subconsciously sped up to match them.
Just as Michael's arm was beginning to get sore, a voice came from behind him. "Michael, what are you doing?" As if that was the trigger, the wand reached its moment of peak power. All the jewels flashed to their maximum, dazzling brightness. The top of the jewel on the wand came adrift, and fired sequins and confetti around the room.
Michael collapsed sideways onto the sofa.
Michael has made it home, and safe. No doubt about it.
Michael did not quite fall unconscious, so he was aware of Mrs P sitting beside him and raising him to an upright position. "Michael, are you all right? What were you doing?"
Michael wondered if he could put off answering Mrs P for a moment, while he went and changed his panties. As he had played with the the wand, it had felt like there was a hand around his penis, stroking in sympathy with his efforts. He didn't want to tell her that the results of his and the wands simultaneous orgasm was slowly congealing, and sticking him to his panties. However, from the concern and worry in her voice, he was sure he would not be able to get away without telling that which he did not want to.
"I think I'm all right, Mrs P, just a little tired and emotional. However, it looks like they were expecting me and set a trap." Michael recounted the adventures, suddenly realising how odd it was that he had been so amenable to doing what people told him to do. "Why did I do what they ask? It's not as though I wanted to do it. Did I?" He kept back some of the details about Tiffany and Danielle, feeling that it was too soon and private to talk about, even though he was sure that he would have to ask Mrs P to help him find another sissy dress for Tiffany's party.
"I think the point of this was for them to have some fun, and persuade me to leave them alone. Well, I've learnt my lesson, and apart from cleaning up, it's all over." Michael added to himself, "Well, apart from Tiffany's party, and that glint in Danielle's eye."
"If it is over," Michael thought, "and the dead wand seems to back this up, maybe?" He reached for the cuffs of his gloves, and cautiously pulled. The glove slid down his arm as if there never been anything stopping it. The only impediment was the bow at the wrist. If he pulled the glove any further down, it would crumple the bow, which he knew was a bad idea. A sudden memory of Miranda saying "I'm very strict about uniforms," flashed across his mind. Michael was stumped as to how to remove the glove until he remembered a film, where a lady was doing a striptease, and she removed very similar gloves by pulling on the fingers. Within moments, both gloves were lying in his lap.
His arms showed no sign that they had been enclosed in gloves for several hours, or of how they had been so irremovable. For some reason though, his arms now felt heavy and clumsy.
"Yes, it's all over," said Michael.
"Uhmm, well, aahh," went Mrs P, desperately trying to find something to say. "I think you should have a look at your room. While you were out, some people came, and they ..."
With dread lying heavy on his stomach, Michael slowly rose from the settee, and went upstairs. Michael's room was a standard, if very generously sized, bedsit - bed, desk, and rickety wardrobe. At least it had been.
Everything had been stripped from the room, except for the wallpaper and carpets. His bed had been replaced by a wrought-iron delicacy that had a canopy and curtains. One entire wall was covered in mirrored wardrobes, which meant that there would be nowhere in the room where he would not be able to see himself in one. The final indignity was his desk, which had been replaced by a dressing table with light up mirrors, and a glass top covered in makeup. All in all, it was a room to delight any girl or sissy.
Looking around, the day caught up with Michael, the highs, the lows, the terror of getting caught, and the relief of making it home, and thinking that it was all over, only to find it was only the overture to what looked like a nightmare. He collapsed on the nearest seat, a chaise longue covered in damask, and broke down in tears, great long, sobbing tears.
His landlady sat down beside his, and put her arms around him. He turned his face into her shoulder and let go. She patted him on the shoulder, murmuring tender words. When he carried on crying, she just held him until he shuddered to a stop. When he struggled up, she released him, and gave him a glass of water.
After he had taken a refreshing drink, Michael put the glass down on a side table, picked up a cosmetic mirror and lipstick, and redid his lips. Aghast, he held his hands out in front of him, as is they were traitors. "What am I doing?" he cried. Dropping the makeup, Michael scrubbed the back of his hand over his lips, smearing the lipstick over his face.
Reaching over to the table, he picked up some makeup wipes, cleaned his face and redid the lipstick again. "No, no, Noooooooo!" screamed Michael. "What am I doing? WHAT AM I DOING!?!!?!!!? I can't live life constantly wearing lipstick!"
"Michael! Michael!" called Mrs P. When he did not respond, she slapped him across the face. He looked up at her, betrayed. "I have an idea. Listen." Emphasising her words, she continued, "You. Do Not. Need. To. Check. Your. Makeup. Any. More." She then wiped his face clean with another wipe. Michael sat there, staring.
"Right," she said with a sigh. "You said you were doing whatever people told you, and you didn't know why? When I was getting you ready this morning, I told you to always check your makeup and repair your lipstick. It seems that you were paying more attention than I thought."
"I don't know about you, but after all this emotion, I need a drink. Let's get you out of that dress, and then we can talk." Mrs P helped Michael out of his boots and dress, leaving him standing in knee socks and frilly panties. Searching through the wardrobes, all they found was the dress from this morning and two dressing gowns.
"I don't think you'll want the silk one," said Mrs P, and handed him the other one. This did not seem feminine in any way, so Michael had no objections to wrapping himself in its flannel warmth. Mrs P had to suppress a smile. In the oversize dressing gown, he looked like a little girl who was having a bad day, and was wearing her mother's dressing gown for comfort.
Down in the kitchen, she prepared cups of coffee with large dollops of brandy. "Just after you left, some people arrived, and started making changes to your room. One of them took me aside, and said that they knew what we were up to, and that if I didn't cooperate, we'd both end up in jail. I didn't know what to do, so I left them alone."
Mrs P handed Michael a letter. "They also told me to give you this." The letter was impressive. It was written on a thick velum, with a shield logo in the top corner, with the words "Lady DeMorgan Academy for Young Sissies. Liberare interius puella" underneath.
In a firm, yet feminine hand, the letter said.
My dear Michael, or should that be Michelle?
I'm sure you are aware that the penalties for stealing propriety company information are draconian. In your case, I shall be pushing for the full weight of the law to apply, and your stay in prison is likely to be long. Considering the way you have been dressed today, it is also likely to be unpleasant.
However, I am generous to a fault, and tomorrow we will discuss a possible alternative to prison. I am sure a smart sissy like you has an idea as to what that will involve, but I have a few more special experiences for you before you make your decision.
Before you make your decision, I would advise you to carefully consider the effect on your dear landlady of a stay in prison.
Yours, sincerely
Lady DeMorgan
PS. Only you, I and your landlady know what's going on. Everyone else thinks we're playing "Reluctant Sissy", and everything you do will be seen as part of this.
Enclosed with the letter were a number of photos, all of Michael, from the point where he left home, to leaving the office, including a few of him getting changed.
After reading the letter, twice, he passed it over. "What am I going to do?" he said. "They appear to have everything under control."
"Lady DeMorgan is a powerful woman, possibly the most powerful one in the Demi-Monde, but I think she's bluffing. If you refuse to obey her, and it goes to court, I'm sure that they would consider her response to be excessive."
"Possibly, but even if I win, the whole thing is going to be horrible, humiliating and embarrassing. No, I think I'm going to have to do what this Lady DeMorgan wants, at least until we meet tomorrow, and I can try to talk her out of this."
"Possibly, but I think you would have more luck trying to call her bluff."
Thinking back over the letter, Michael realised that he had not understood one part of it. "Mrs P, what's a 'Reluctant Sissy'?"
"Oh, that's a lovely game. It's mainly about pushing a sissy beyond her normal bounds. Either she is reluctant to admit she is a sissy, or there is something she wants to do, but is scared of. So you pretend that there is some reason that she must do it. Sometimes you have to come up with a genuine reason for them to do something that you are sure that they must do, for their own good, but there is never any consequences for failure, unless you over do it and break the sissy-trainer bond."
"Do you think there will be no consequences for me, if I fail?" Mrs P's silence was all the answer he got. Michael barely stifled an enormous yawn. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was barely into the afternoon. "This has been an exhausting morning. I'm going to rest for a while."
Liberare interius puella. This is what you get when you ask Google to translate "To free the inner girl" into some suitably pretentious language.
With the author having skipped an evening, and having gone to a comedy club, Michael has to make up for the calories with some exercise.
Mrs P knocked on the bedroom door, and called out "Michael?" Not receiving any reply, she pushed the door open, and entered. The young man was fast asleep in his new bed, with the dressing gown lying on the floor where he had dropped it. Lying next to him on the bed was an overly frilly satin nightdress that matched the other dressing gown. It was obvious that he had seen it, and equally obvious that he had rejected wearing it.
Shaking Michael by the shoulder, she repeated his name. Blearily, he opened his eye. "It's time you got up again. There's someone downstairs, and it appears that know what you're meant to be doing next." Michael threw his blankets aside, and slowly sat up, revealing that he was naked, except for the pair of silk panties that had come with the nightdress.
Looking down at his lack of clothes, Michael said, "I hope she has something for me to wear. I really don't want to get back into that Sailor Sissy costume. Do you know what she's going to make me do?"
"She didn't say. Maybe she's going to take you shopping to fill up all those wardrobes."
Groaning, Michael picked up the dressing gown from the floor, and stood up. Wrapping himself in it, he said, "Shall we go and see what horrors await?" After a few steps, he turned around and stuffed his feet into the slippers, muttering "cold feet."
The visitor was waiting in the sitting room. "Hi Michelle, I'm Reba and I'm here to take you to your next appointment." Reba was a tall and sinewy woman, with short blonde hair. She was dressed in black form-fitting leggings and a pink T-shirt. Even seated, she gave the impression of barely restrained energy. "I've got your costume here," she said, indicating a large flat box lying on the table. "If you get changed, I'll drive you to the studio."
"Studio, what studio?" asked Michael.
"No time for questions, there are people waiting for us. Chop, chop!"
Picking up the box, Michael found it to be a lot lighter than he expected, and turned to go to his bedroom.
Throwing the box onto his bed, Michael stared at it, as if it was a vicious animal about to attack him. "I don't think I want to know what's in there. Actually, I know I don't want to know."
Mrs P pushed past him, saying "We have to get you dressed, so I'll open it." Opening the box and looking in, Mrs P continued, "Oh my, that is pretty! The good news is, you're not going shopping. The bad news is," Mrs P reached into the box, and pulled out a ballet tutu. "It looks like you're going to have a ballet lesson." The tutu was white, with black decorations, and had a large tulle skirt that went out horizontally in all directions.
"They appear to have everything here, tights, shoes and even a very cute little shrug top, to keep you warm."
Michael had sort of got used to not seeing himself in the mirror, just the costume that he had been wearing. This time, he could see himself. He stood there, looking at himself wearing a ballet tutu, with white tights, ballet shoes and yet another pair of odd elbow length gloves that had no hand, just a loop over his middle finger that pulled then taught. A trail of black leaves ran over the bodice from his right shoulder down to his left hip, where it split into multiple branches that covered the top of the skirt. The layers of white tulle underneath ensured that the skirt stood out, with very little droop. The fingerless gloves had embroidery to match the leaves. After he had donned the gloves, he had removed and replaced them several times, just in case they weren't going to come off. The final detail had been a hat of some sort, Mrs P had called it a fascinator, which continued the leaf theme, and clipped to his hair.
Feeling, not stupid, but odd, he stood there, staring. There was something about his reflection. He didn't know what it was, but there was something. Vaguely recalling a program he had seen, he shuffled his feet in to what seemed to be the right position. He essayed a slight bounce. The tulle netting of his skirts bounced in time. Another bounce. Harder. Michael was fascinated by the movements of his skirts.
Rising to the balls of his feet, he experimented with walking, running and jumping, while trying to move his arms in an appropriate ballet like way. Looking on indulgently, Mrs P said, "Come on, Margot Fonteyn, I don't think Reba will wait much longer." With a last glance at the mirror, Michael followed her downstairs.
Like Reba, her car had a lot of suppressed energy, and she had no compunction in throwing the Mini around corners at speeds that Michael thought excessive. The way he had to sit forward in the passenger seat to avoid crumpling the tutu, and grasp desperately at the door and dashboard only added to Michael's worries.
Before he could begin to consider the possibility that he might survive the journey, Reba stopped the car. In a mutter, Michael said, "I knew I was going to be made to do things that scared me, but that was beyond a joke."
"Don't be such a sissy. I haven't killed anyone yet. More important, all these years, and not a scratch or dent on Daisy here," said Reba patting the dashboard. "I want you to be polite to Madame Soligny, when we get inside. It was she that taught me, and she's not taking on students at the moment. Lady DeMorgan went to a lot of effort to get her to agree to this," continued Reba, revealing her disdain for the game she thought Michael was playing.
As Reba bounced out of the car, her mood changed. "Come on, come on, we do not want to keep Madame Soligny waiting." Inside the building, Reba disappeared down a side corridor, leaving a "wait for me there," trailing behind her.
Normally, Michael would have slouched against the nearest wall, with his hands in his pocket, but the tutu interfered. Crossing his arms, he tried to give the impression that he belonged here, and was waiting for a friend. As he waited, several classes finished, and the students flew past, chattering. Most of them ignored him, but a few looked at him with either curiosity or disdain. He noticed that the students fell into two groups, those wearing functional leotards, or those in overly elaborate tutus, and the two groups tended not to mix. Most of the disdain was coming from the first group, while the curiosity came from the second.
Shortly after the crowds departed, Reba returned talking to another woman, who Michael presumed to be Madame Soligny. She was talking, "I was surprised when Jane said she was personally training a sissy, and so I agreed to assess this one out of curiosity. I doubt she'll be that good, and she can probably go into one of the sissy classes."
Reba introduced Michael to her. "Madame, this is Michelle. Michelle, this is Madame Soligny, who will be assessing you to see which class you are to attend." Like Reba, Madame Soligny was tall and sinewy, and despite her apparent age, and use of a walking stick, the best word to describe her was 'spry'. Michael had the feeling that she was about to dance him into the ground.
"Well, girl," said Madame Soligny, "let's have a look at you." Like some of the students, she had a disdainful expression on her face, and this became more pronounced as she looked at his costume. "Hmm. Turn around. Slowly." Michael turned as ordered, showing her every side of him. "Well, there's nothing obviously wrong with you. Reba, I suggest that you go and have a cup of coffee, this shouldn't take too long."
"Yes, Madame," said Reba, and walked away.
"You, girl, follow me," said Madame Soligny.
"Yes Madame," replied Michael.
crack went the cane across the back of his legs. "Silly sissies like you address me as Madame Soligny. You have not, and may never, earn the right to call me Madame."
"Yes, Madame Soligny."
"Better. It appears you can at least learn the simple stuff." Madame Soligny lead him into a private dance studio. One wall of the studio was a window looking out onto the road. Michael could see Reba seated at the coffee shop across the road, apparently enjoying a coffee and a magazine. The other walls were covered in mirrors, and a waist height barre went all around the room. Madame Soligny caught his nervous glance at the window. "I wouldn't worry about people looking in, I'm going to be enough of a problem."
"So, girl, have you ever danced before, or had an interest in dance? Anything else that might help?"
"No, I've never danced, though I have been to see the ballet a couple of times. I do do tai-chi regularly, if that helps."
"No dancing? Not even when you got your lovely little costume?"
"Uhhmm. I did do a little playing around, but nothing that I would call dancing."
"Show me what you did." When Michael was reluctant to obey, the crack of the cane provided impetus. He tried to reproduce his previous little 'dance', while trying not to die of embarrassment. For some reason, he decided to throw in some pirouettes, seeing how long he could manage it.
Michael didn't know whether it was kindness, or wanting to ensure that he heard everything, but Madame Soligny waited until he had recovered from the dizziness and got up from where he had collapsed on the floor, before starting to lambaste him.
"Silly girl. What on earth made you think that you could get away with something as stupid as that? You make it obvious that you know nothing about ballet. I doubt that you will be able to learn anything about ballet. Still, I promised Jane that I would do this, and I will, even if it kills you."
Madame Soligny then proceeded to drive Michael to the limits of his flexibility, stamina and self-control. If he was not bending his body into positions it was not intended to take, he was trying to move his arms with precision and grace. If he wasn't dashing, lightly, across the studio, he was trying to balance on one leg, with his other leg and arms pointing in various directions. If he wasn't doing any of this properly, he was getting hit with a cane.
When Reba reappeared in the studio, he thought his torture was over. "Perfect timing," said Madame Soligny. "This silly girl needs someone to demonstrate the correct positions, and my bones are getting a little old." With that, the torture resumed. The only improvement was that Michael could take a breather when Reba was demonstrating, for the fifth time, the correct way to do something. Michael managed not to show it, but he was amused when Madame Soligny decided a couple of times that Reba also deserved the cane of correction.
Eventually, "enough. You have done enough and you have both done very well. Reba still needs to practice her entrechats, but then she always does." Michael was astonished at this complement, and pleasure welled up inside. In the mirrors, he could still see himself, drooping, breathing heavily, and looking less than pristine. His costume was sweat stained, and the skirts also drooped, as if in sympathy.
"Now, girl you have an important decision to. It's yours and yours alone. Not even Jane can make this for you, no matter what she has on you. There are two types of students here, at this studio. The sissies for whom it just part of the games they play. It is just something they are expected to do, or it is some silly fantasy of theirs. They are appalling students, and rarely learn much."
"Or there are the proper students, who actually want to learn to dance. It may not be their life or passion, and they may not actually be that good at it, but they want to learn, want to dance. Which one are you?"
Michael wanted to say neither, he was the victim of a blackmailer, but he knew that no one would believe him. He considered his options, sissy or dancer. The dancing was hard work, and he expected it to get even harder if he committed himself. However, there had been a feeling of achievement in the few times Madame Soligny has praised him, and the one moment he felt he had got it right had been so perfect.
He looked at Madame Soligny. She was quietly waiting, and appeared to be happy to wait. So, what did he want? "I think, ... I'm not sure, ... I don't want to waste either my time or my teachers, so I don't want to be a sissy dancer, but. I'm not sure that I want to be a serious dancer, at least not yet." Michael's voice trailed off.
Madame Soligny's response was a surprise. "A good answer. It is far too soon for you for you to make this decision. What we will do is have a trial period. For one month, three times a week, I shall be your teacher. At the end of the month, you will make up your mind. Does this sound good to you?" Overwhelmed, Michael nodded. "Good. However, there is one condition, which you must fulfil, or I will hand you over to another teacher. Get rid of that ridiculous costume. Only a silly sissy would wear it to practise, and if I see it again, you will be transferred to the sissy class, and never come back."
"Reba, I presume that you have further plans for Michelle today? If so, I think we should let her get showered and ready."
"Yes Madame. Michelle, the bag by the door contains washing stuff and clean clothes. The showers are dead opposite, and I will meet you in reception, when you are ready."
Just as Michelle walked out the doors, he heard Madame Soligny call out to him and he turned around. "Michelle, under the circumstances, I suppose you may call me Madame."
"Yes Madame. Thank you Madame."
When the door had closed behind Michael, Reba turned to Madame Soligny. "What's going on here? When you retired, you said you would never take on another student. Why this one?"
"I don't suppose you'd believe that I'm bored. Students are annoying, but they give me someone to shout at. Also, this one has potential. She'll never make Prima Donna, but with effort she will get out of the Corps De Ballet."
"That might be true, but it's not all of it, is it?"
"You feel it too? There is something wrong here. When Jane told me she was taking on a sissy, I knew something was up. She only runs the academy because it's a family tradition, not because she enjoys it. Now that I have met Michelle, I'm even more suspicious. She's not your standard reluctant sissy, if she was, she would have gone for the sissy classes."
"I'm worried about the real reason for this, and I have a feeling that it will go wrong, badly wrong, and she will need a friend she can trust."
In response, Reba said, "I think you might be right. Something is odd here. I'll keep an eye on her for you. Speaking of which, I had better go and shower myself, and take her to the next appointment."
Revolution Dance - Falling Leaves
The only true beauty is inner beauty, but Michael is about to discover that while untrue beauty can take time, there can be some interesting events to provide distraction.
Michael had expected the showers to be some big communal changing room, where everyone would mingle, but for this one, there were three large changing cubicles with smaller shower cubicles inside. Randomly selecting the middle cubicle, he entered, and dropped the bag on the counter. Reluctantly, but feeling he had no choice, Michael opened the bag, and pulled out the contents.
They were a lot more restrained than he was expecting - washing stuff, flat ballet style shoes, a pair of knickers and a sun dress. The knickers were frilly and matched the sun-dress, but that was about it.
Shrugging, Michael grabbed the shower stuff, and started his ablutions. Halfway through, the door to one of the other cubicles slammed, and he heard a voice, "Michelle, is that you in there?" It was Reba. "Yes," he replied.
"Great. As soon as we have both showered, I'll take you next door." Michael heard her enter the shower and start singing. She had a surprisingly low and powerful singing voice that echoed off the tile walls. It took a while for Michael to figure out what she was singing, and when he did, he found it to be astonishingly dirty[1].
After drying off, and blow drying his hair, Michael quickly dressed. As this was his fourth change of the day, and it was a pretty simple and normal costume, he had almost no compunction in wearing it. It was beginning to feel normal and usual.
Michael was beginning to get the feel of what was being done to him, and so he was not surprised to find that the shop was a beauticians. As they entered the shop, Michael was relieved to see that while several people turned to look, they all turned back, uninterested. The woman behind the reception desk had a hair style that was obviously designed to show off the skills of the salon. The left side of her hair was a bright white and set in elaborate ringlets and curlicues. The right was electric blue, dead straight and cut with precision. She did not appear to be wearing any makeup other than a pale lipstick, but given how perfect her skin was, Michael was sure that it was as complicated as her hair.
"Hiya Reba," she said, "I suppose this is the new girl? If you'll take a seat, I'll let Miriam know that your here." Picking up a phone, she spoke into it, "Miriam, your next appointment, Michelle, is here." After a short pause, she continued, "Sure, I'll let them know," and hung up. "Miriam says that she'll be through in a couple of minutes. Reba, it's going to before Michelle completes her appointment, so there's not really a lot of reason for you to wait. We have your mobile number, so we'll give you a call shortly before she's finished."
Reluctantly, after a long look at Michael, that he could not decipher, Reba agreed and left. "While you wait for wait for Miriam, would you like something to drink?" asked the receptionist.
"Thank you, could I have a coffee?"
"No problem." The receptionist came back with a small tray on which was a cafetiere, a china cup, and some chocolates. Michael was amused to see that there was also a copy of Sissy! Magazine. He sipped his coffee while paying more attention to its contents this time. If, as it appeared, he was going to be forced to be a sissy, he had better get more idea of what he was getting into.
As he read the magazine, he realised that it was more than just a gossipy, fluffy magazine. OK, it had articles on the best way to give a blow job, what to do if you buy exactly the same shoes or dress as your wife (it appeared that you two options, either look nowhere as good as her, or look so hot that she just wants to fuck your brains out) and the quiz on what kind of a sissy you were (whose results Michael still didn't believe). However, there were also articles on the rights of sissies (Michael was astonished that if you were a sissy, you didn't become a legal adult until 21, 3 years after everyone else), reports of violence against sissies, and attempts to get the police to do something about it, and amazingly detailed advice on how to invest and deal with money.
He had just finished reading an article entitled "My first Time", all about how sissies had discovered themselves, when he heard his new name being called. "Michelle, Miriam is ready for you now. If you can come through, we can get started."
The treatment room was at the back of the salon. and was rather cramped. The walls were covered in shelves full of mysterious, and possibly scary equipment. In the middle was a padded table that Michael knew he was shortly going to be lying on. There were four women in the room, or possibly three women and a sissy, Michael wasn't really sure.
"Hi Michelle," said one of the women, "I'm Miriam, the owner of this place. Let me introduce you to the team who will be working on you. Karen is our facial specialist, Miranda does manicures and pedicures, while Sissy Isabella is our general gopher and sex-toy." Michael blinked at the last comment, but he was able to murmur polite hellos.
The women were dressed in white cotton smocks with the name of the salon embroidered on their left breast. Isabella was dressed in something vaguely similar, except that it was made from white latex, with red details on the pockets and seams. In addition, she wore long latex gloves that came up to the cuffs of her sleeves, and latex stocking. Finally, this was topped by a tight, white, latex helmet that left only her eyes and lips visible. Her hair appeared to come out of the back of the helmet, in a high pony tail, but it was so wrapped in white latex that Michael couldn't really be sure that it was hair.
"Shall we get started?" asked Miriam. "If you'll just pop off your dress, and anything you've got on underneath, and lie face down on the table, we can start your treatment." Michael froze at the suggestion that he remove his panties, and prepared to complain. Miriam continued, "There's no need to worry, nothing bad is going to happen to you. Just relax and enjoy the experience. Just relax."
Michaels first thought was that if anyone ever tells you not to worry, that's exactly the point at which you should panic. His second though was "_She's right. There's no need to worry. It's going to be OK. If I relax, it should be a very enjoyable experience." With a rustle, Isabella hurried to behind Michael. and undid the zip of his dress. He felt her latex enveloped hands on his back, as his pushed the sun-dress off his shoulders, and it dropped to the floor. "Very nice," said Isabella, and kissed him gently on the nap of his neck. He the felt Isabella's hands inside his panties as she pushed them down. As she stood up, she ran her hands from his ankles, up his legs, over his buttocks and up to his shoulder blades. He felt his penis responding to this, but it was nothing to worry about.
With care, Isabella helped him face down onto the table, with his face in a conveniently positioned hole. Michael had no idea what they were doing to him, but it appeared to involve washing him, applying various unguents and waiting and them washing off him again, and turning him over several times. A couple of times, this involved latex clad hands doing things to his balls and penis, and this left him with a solid erection. A voice said, "Please miss, may I? It'll help him relax." and Miriam replied, "I suppose so, if you must."
Michael felt a mouth engulf him penis. He groaned in response, and Miriam said, "Relax Michelle. Just lie back and enjoy it." Whoever the mouth belonged to was obviously had a lot of experience, and they were using all of that experience on his penis. After a while, the mouth was joined by latex covered hands, and Michael came with a squeal. "Thank you, miss," came the voice that he now assumed to be Isabella.
A blanket was pulled up over Michael, and Miriam said, "OK Michelle, we'll now leave you for about half an hour or so, so just rest and relax." As the room darkened, Michael drifted off into a light doze.
After an unknown time, the door opened, and Miriam stuck her head in and asked, "are your awake, Michelle?" "Just about," replied Michael, and Miriam switched the light on, and entered, followed by Isabella. This time, when they washed Michael down, the water was cold and quickly woke him up.
"Are you ready to see what we've done for you, Michelle?" asked Miriam. "Remember, calm and relaxed, calm and relaxed." With this she revealed the mirror. At first, Michael could not see what they had done, and then with a gasp, he could. All his body hair had been removed, down to the hairs on his testicles, and he had a gentle, all over tan. At a second glance, he realised that the tan wasn't all over, he had two white patches, exactly where a woman would have worn a strapless bikini. When Michael started feeling his body, as if to check that it was still his, he discovered the third change, his skin. It was so smooth and satiny
"Isabella, you have outdone yourself," said Miriam, "you can even see the rings holding the bikini together." Michael wanted to shout and freak out, but instead he was calm and relaxed.
"Thank you, Miss Miriam," said Isabella, who came up behind Michael, and wrapped her arms around him. Running her latex covered fingers around the white circle on his chest, and then the two on his hips, in counterpoint to Michaels that were still exploring his skin, she said, "I think I was inspired today. Michelle here is so delicious." Michael could feel his body responding to Isabella's warmth behind him, and her teasing hands. As before, his penis attained a hardness that was rare. "I think he likes it, miss," she continued.
"So I see," replied Miriam. "The only problem with these artificial tans is they fade so. In a month, there'll be no trace, unless it's renewed."
On hearing this, Michael felt, relieved, disappointed, what? Did he like these brands of femininity? If the reflection had been a girl, Michael would have been in no doubt about its sexiness, but knowing it was him, ...
His cock looked out of place on the very feminine body. The lack of hair on his balls appeared to cause them to disappear and emphasised the size of his cock. This in turn emphasised the femininity of the reflection.
The reflection of his cock disappeared into the reflection of a pair of latex hands that he could feel playing with his cock. For the third time that day, Michael exploded into orgasm, spraying his semen all over his mirror self. Isabella continued until she had completely milked him dry, and he collapsed back against her, relying on her arms to keep him upright.
When Michael was able to stand again, Miriam told Isabella to clean up the mess she had made. She knelt before Michael, and gently licked his cock clean. Michael was so shattered by what had just happened that it barely twitched. When she decided it was suitably clean, Isabella turned round and licked his semen off of the floor and mirror.
As Michael watched Isabella lick the mirror with relish, he heard the door open, and a voice said, "Miriam, have you finished with Michelle yet? Tracey has just got her stuff all set up, and you know how snarly she gets if you keep her waiting."
"Well," said Miriam dryly, "I think we've done just about all we can do here. Michelle? Michelle?" Miriam prodded Michael to get his attention. "Tracey is ready for you now. I think you should get dressed and go out to her."
Michael relaxed a bit when he found that Tracey's workstation was in full, public view. He figured that they wouldn't dare do anything too extreme in public, though the chairs resemblance to a dentist's chair did worry him a bit.
"This is an amazing device," said Tracey. "It's the only one in the city. It coats a fortune, but given the way sissies keep wanting to change their hair, it soon paid for itself." Tracery made Michael sit in the chair, after removing his shoes. It had a raised foot rest, and the arms were soft and comfortable. "First, we lower the hood down, so it covers your head, and then we start the machine off." Tracey sat down at what appeared to be the controls of the device, and became engrossed them. As she worked, Michael felt something playing with his hair, as if a hand was brushing through it, and pulling, and feeling it out. Tracey looked up, "There, that's it started. It will feel a bit odd as it works, but the results are well worth it. While you're waiting for it to complete, Miranda will be giving you a manicure and pedicure."
Miranda and Isabella appeared on either side of Michael, and moved to the foot of the chair, where they sat on small stools, and removed his shoes. "We start with a simple pedicure, and then we give you a full manicure." They both started playing with his feet, doing yet more stuff that Michael had no clue about. Isabella seemed to be putting more effort into her playing, gently teasing his foot and causing his erection to slowly return. "Isabella, stop that. The poor girl has already had two of your specials, and I doubt that she would survive a third." Isabella pouted, but toned down her massage. Michael contemplated a third of Isabella's specials. He wasn't sure that she would be able to manage it. He was developing an erection, but it was the sort he called a lazy erection, the sort that would show up, but just hang around, doing nothing of any significance. Not being totally stupefied by the day's events, Michael opted to remain silent, in case Isabella would take it as a challenge.
Under the influence of the gentle massages, the odd feeling from the hair machine, and the come down from his last orgasm, Michael, on drifted away.
"Michelle, honey, it's time to wake up." Michael slowly opened his eyes, to look into the latex covered face of Isabella. She took advantage of this to quickly kiss him on the lips. "We're almost complete, just one final step, and we need you awake for this." Isabella helped him out of the chair, and led him to yet another workstation. This time, the workstation had lots of mirrors, and the shelves were covered in make-up. He couldn't see his hair in the mirror, as it had been wrapped in a cloth of some sorry. When he reached for the cloth, Isabella intercepted his hand saying, "Not yet honey, let's save it for the reveal." Michael did manage to see that the nails on his hands had been extended so that they arced over the ends of his fingers by what seemed a massive length. Surprisingly, they were coloured a gentle pink, not the bright red he would have expected.
"Yeah, I know it sucks," said Isabella, "but they insisted that it had to be something smart and discreet, not a proper red."
"Time for the final stage," said Miriam, "And as usual, you're not allowed to see what happen." The mirrors were folded closed, and Michael braced himself for yet another horrible surprise. As she worked on his face, Miriam muttered to herself, "good skin, could do with a decent regime to make the best of it, but not too bad." Michael had the feeling that this "regime" was going too be long and complicated, after all, everything else seemed to be.
Michael found the feel of the brushes on his face and the smell of the makeup to be exciting and his lazy erection swelled slightly in his panties.
Eventually, Miriam declared herself satisfied with the make-up and removed the wrap from Michaels head to play with his hair. "Tracery really is a master with that new fangled machine, you would never know that this is artificial."
"Finally," declared Miriam, "I think we are ready for the final unveiling. Are you ready, Michelle?" No, Michael was not ready, but by now, he knew that anything he felt was irrelevant, it was simply going to happen. He was made to stand up and a veil was draped over his head, so he could not see. Miriam guided him to the centre of the room, where the sounds indicated that he was being surrounded by mirrors and the staff of the salon. "Are you ready?" asked Miriam, and whisked away the veil.
Michael stood there, eyes closed in defence of reality, listening to the comments. "Beautiful," "amazing," "our best yet," came from all around him. Michael could have sworn that the muttered, envious, comment of "I want my hair like that," came from the receptionist.
It was hearing Isabella's slightly anguished cry of "She's got her eyes closed, she's not looking!" that forced Michael to open them.
Michael looked at the woman in the mirror. She wasn't Michael. He didn't know who she was. Maybe she was this Michelle that they kept talking about, but she wasn't Michael. If forced to describe her, Michael would say that she was in her mid-twenties, some sort of fast track executive professional. She had light blond hair set in some sort of wavy style that came down past her shoulders, and she wore a strappy sun-dress that showed off her perfect, light tan.
"What do you think?" asked Isabella, "I think we did an amazing job." Michael slowly turned in front of the mirrors, trying and failing to see any sign of Michael.
"It is amazing," he replied. "When I woke up this morning, I could not possibly have believed that this is what I would be seeing in the mirror."
Isabella squealed in delight. "I knew you'd love it."
"OK, girls," came Reba's voice from behind Michael, "this is the best I have ever seen you do, and I'm sure our little sissy would love to spend the rest of the day enraptured in her image, but we still have one final appointment, before the day is complete."
[1] The Ballad of Sissy Sarah, where the crew of a whaling ship came into Portsmouth after a year at sea, and Sissy Sarah was the only one who dared to deal with them.
There may be a slight hiatus after the next section, "Strut your stuff,", as I am running out of buffer. I have outlines for "Up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire", "Bearding the Lion" and "Teddy Bears Picnic II: This time it's chocolate" but I don't have the actual words.
Primped and preened to perfection? There are still some things that Michael has to learn.
"So, how was your first ever spa experience? I find them amazingly relaxing and rejuvenating," asked Reba.
"I think I can quite honestly say that it was an experience, the sort of which I have never had, nor ever expected to have." Or ever want to have again thought Michael, before the remembrance of Isabella's lips and hands flashed across his mind.
"They are quite unique here. Just think of all those poor men, never knowing this kind of experience."
"Yes, poor them."
"Anyway, time is running out, and we still have one more stop before Cinderella returns home."
Michael baulked, stopping dead when he saw the next shop they would be entering. The windows were full of racks of clothes, all sorts of clothes, skirts, blouses, suits, dresses, ball gowns. Just about everything that it seemed possible for a woman to wear. The final horror was upon him, the one thing that no man could do and survive with his ego intact, the ultimate indignity. "Clothes shopping," he said in despair.
"What?" said Reba. "Oh no, we're not shopping for clothes. There's not enough time left. For a proper shopping trip, we really need to start first thing on the morning, not this late in the day."
"What we are doing is almost as important. There is nothing that matches a good shopping trip, but you do really need to learn a bit of deportment. You're pretty good, as it is, but there are new things required for your new world that you have to learn." For a moment, Michael wondered if Reba actually believed that he was actually just play acting, if she was one of the people making him do this, or she was digging for more information.
Apart from the racks of clothes at the front, the shop they entered was practically empty, just floors and walls and an odd selection of junk scattered around, no goods of any sort. Halfway to the back was a wide set of steps leading up to a mezzanine section.
At the front of the shop was a table set with a full tea set for two. Behind the table was yet another woman, grey haired, elegantly dressed and holding a bone-china tea cup, with perfect elegance and poise. Michael had the feeling that not even an earthquake would cause the cup to tremble, or worse, spill. Seated beside her was a young woman, or, Michelle suspected, a sissy. In her hand, she held a small sandwich, which had been cut into a triangle, with its crusts removed. She showed the same poise, and was as elegantly dressed, but in a much younger, sissy style.
"Lady Ruff-Diamond," said Reba, "may I introduce to you Michelle, a new sissy. Michelle, this is Lady Sybil Ruff-Diamond, who will be doing you the honour of being your deportment teacher for today. Georgina is one of her sissies." Michael was impressed. During the day, Reba had been in total control, even when Madame had been correcting her mistakes, she had still been in control. Now, Reba was terrified. She even had an effect on Michael, who found himself attempting something like a curtsy. Michael could see Lady Ruff-Diamond as the matriarch of a large family, all under her thumb.
"Thank you, Reba." Lady Ruff-Diamond turned her eye on Michael. "I'm glad to see that the current generation has some politeness, even if they don't know the correct way to curtsy."
"Jane asked me to give you a short introductory lesson in the correct behaviour expected of a sissy, though why she insists on doing it with so little preparation and planning, I cannot even begin to understand."
"Now girl, let us see what you are made off. I want you to sit down at the table, take a sip of tea, rise, walk to the top of the stairs, turn and walk back down, and take your seat again."
Michael performed the requested actions, feeling Lady Ruff-Diamonds eyes on him the whole time. Only after he was seated, did it occur to Michael that women went to great efforts to avoid creasing their skirts. The bone China tea-cup felt very fragile in his hand, and he was scared that he would accidentally crush it. He felt the scrape and rattle as the cup went back on the saucer.
Trying to regain control, Michael slowly stood up, gently pushing the chair back. While he had a horrible vision of the chair shooting uncontrollably backwards, the worst that happened was a not too loud grating noise from the feet scraping against the floor.
As he walked over to the stair, Michael felt heavy, as if he was walking clumsily and liable to stumble. Climbing the stairs felt even worse, as if he was carrying a heavy rucksack, his feet slapping down on the treads like wet fish. At the top, he shuffled around, turning to face down the stairs, and look at the three people seated at the table. Their eyes all stared back at him, and he felt the impact of their expectations. Responding to this pressure, Michael tried to descend in a more ladylike manner, his hand resting on the banister, and sliding down it. He lifted his feet carefully, and put them back down as lightly as he could. For some reason he felt a matching lift in his feelings, as if the two were connected.
This time, when he sat, Michael remembered to do something about his skirt, but he wasn't entirely sure that the way he attempted to straighten it as he sat worked. To finish off, he took another sip of tea, actually noticing the delicate flavour, and replacing the cup without noise.
"That was very well done, Michelle," said Lady Ruff-Diamond. "For someone who has never been taught the correct way to behave." A brief moment of joy, followed by sadness. "Though I do believe that I can teach you something in the next hour."
The lessons started with sitting, standing and taking tea. Georgina demonstrated, Michael attempted to follow and Lady Ruff-Diamond criticised. It seemed that no matter how well he did, Lady Ruff-Diamond was never satisfied with the way Michael behaved, though it felt like she was criticising smaller and smaller details. When she explained the etiquette of raising your little finger when drinking tea, Michael felt enlightened
Eventually, "I feel that we have progressed sufficiently for the moment. Georgina, if you would please fetch the Issey Miyake suit, we can move on."
The suit was, inevitably, Michael supposed, a skirt suit. It was in a plain black, with a white satin blouse, and required him to wear a pair of black patent shoes with the highest heel he had ever worn. Michael's mind flashed back to the ridiculously heeled boots he had seen that morning, even though these were nowhere near as high.
While assisting him into the skirt, Georgina's hand brushed over his cock, and Michael was certain that more would have happened if Lady Ruff-Diamond hadn't interrupted. "Georgie, leave the poor girl alone. She's had a tiring day, and we don't have time for time. In any case, I'm pretty sure that Isabella beat you to it." With both blushing red, Georgina zipped up the skirt, and helped Michael into the matching jacket.
Michael found the skirt to be constricting, whenever he tried to take a normal step, the hem would snap taught against his knees, and he would be forced to shorten his step. The heels only added to his problems. Despite Georgina saying that they were only 2 inches, they made him feel like a giant, and as if he was going to fall over at any second.
Despite any wobbles, his training resumed, with a few changes. The partaking of tea stopped, and was replaced by learning how to walk up and down stairs in a tight skirt. His first time up the stairs was only possible with him grasping desperately to the banisters, Georgina holding his other hand, and Lady Ruff-Diamond dictating every step.
At the top, he turned around and looked down the vertiginous slope to the ground floor. It was only the support from Georgina that stopped him from falling down them. After a long pause to consider the possibility of spending the rest of his life in the shops mezzanine area, Michael made his even slower way down the stairs.
When he reached the bottom, Georgina squealed and bounced with joy, hugged Michael tight, and kissed him, hard, on the lips. "It's hard the first time you do stairs in heels and a skirt, but we'll soon have you running up and down them."
Michael didn't get to the point of running, but he did slowly get to the point where he could sit down with grace, rise to his feet, and walk up and down the stairs with at least apparent confidence.
"Amazing," said Lady Ruff-Diamond, "such natural talent. I think, we shall do the car next. Georgie, would you please fetch it." Before Michael could wonder about this, Georgina appeared from the back, pushing what looked like half a car. On his second look, Michael realised that it was a wooden mock-up of just a car door, and the passenger seat. "Getting in and out of a car is surprisingly difficult, if you don't want to inadvertently flash your knickers. And it's even harder if you do want to - getting the angle right so only your target sees requires very careful planning."
In and out, up and down. Michael soon learned that the skirt was too tight to flash his knickers, but this also meant that getting in and out required more control than he was used to. He would approach the car, delicately turn and drop his bum onto the seat, and swivel on the seat to adopt the required posture. Getting out of the car was harder, even with Georgina playing the part of the smitten swain, especially when the swain would attempt to steal a kiss, and he had to try to avoid this without giving offence. After a couple of failed attempts at avoiding Georgina's kiss and grope, Michael wasn't sure he wanted to.
"Excellent, excellent," said Lady Ruff-Diamond. "You have learnt so much, I think we can skip all the way to final lesson. Georgina, if you would be so kind as to fetch it."
When Georgina came back, she was pushing a dress rack, on which was a vast mass of white frills. With a mixture of inevitability and horror, Michael realised that the approaching mass was a wedding dress. He was about to break and run when Georgina kissed him on the cheek, and said "you going to look fabulous in this," and for some reason, this calmed him down.
Georgina insisted that Michael could not simply slip into the wedding dress, but had to wear all the associated items. She quickly stripped him of all his clothes, leaving him standing there, with one hand covering him penis, and the other vainly trying to cover the rest of him.
Georgina made great play of slipping the silk panties up his legs, lacing him into his first corset, and gartering his stockings. Her hands brushing over his bare skin, silk panties and stockings quickly had his erection straining at his panties. By the time she zipped up the back of the dress, and threw the veil over his head, all he could think of was the feel of the dress, the pressure in his testicles, and the desperate need to come. The only thing stopping him was Georgina's whispered order, "No coming where you'll stain your beautiful dress."
Even when they stood him in front of a mirror, Michael could only think of his desperate need to come. "Lady Sybil," said Georgina, "I think she's far too distracted to continue with her lessons. Can I give her some assistance?"
"I should think that she is distracted, you've done nothing but torment the poor sissy since she walked in the door. I shall punish you later for being so cruel to her, but I suppose we don't really have an alternative."
Michael could hear what was being said, but he paid little attention until he heard a rustling sound from his skirts, and he realised that Georgina was throwing them around as she dived under them. Just as he felt his panties being pulled down and Georgina's mouth clamp itself around his penis, he heard Lady Ruff-Diamond muse to Reba, "When a sissy is in lust, there is almost nothing you can do to stop her."
This was blotted out, as Georgina's mouth meant that he would not be making a mess, and he lost control. For what seemed like hours, he shuddered as he pumped his sperm into the willing, no, demanding mouth.
When he finally regained awareness, Michael realised that he was only upright because Reba was holding him up, and Georgina was standing, watching him recover, licking her lips. "Delicious," was the only word to escape her smiling lips.
Listless from his fourth orgasm of the day, Michael inspected himself in the mirror. The wedding dress made Michael think of the little dolls that used to be used to hide unused toilet rolls, with the way the skirt stood out like a huge meringue, covered in row upon row of lace. It's puffiness was supported upon both a hoop skirted petticoat and multiple layers of net petticoats. The bodice wasn't much better. While at first glance, it appeared to cover him completely up to the neck, a vast proportion of the material was translucent, with only a few patches of lace to cover his dignity. It was also covered in a swirling, disturbing pattern of glass crystals. The pattern of crystals continued down the train, which draped on the ground behind him. He supposed it was a small mercy that it was only a few feet long.
Michael knew that he was ignorant of women's fashion, but he had the feeling that the dress showed a distinct lack of taste.
"I know it's appalling," said Lady Ruff-Diamond, "but the important thing is the way that it moves, and requires you to move. As a second benefit, no-one will care if you put your foot down wrong, and tear a huge hole in it." From the look on Georgina's face, Michael wondered if he should take it as a challenge.
Walking in the wedding dress was yet another unique experience. When he started walking, it took about half a second for the dress to get the idea that it should be moving, the train dragged and made going round corners interesting, and if he stopped too quickly, the skirt would swing back and forth, like a ringing bell.
To enhance his learning, something like an obstacle course had been laid out using the bits of junk lying around the shop. A tight left turn at the aspidistra, slow down for the chicane formed from a delicate desk, and a chair that would fall over at the slightest contact and then a dignified glide down the final straight.
Michael was stumped when they added the stairs to the runway, as he could see no way to climb them without his multiple layers of petticoats getting in the way.
Georgina explained, "There are two ways you can do this, either you work your way through the layers of skirt and petticoat, until you find the bottom one, and then try to keep a good hold on the hem, or you make arrangements with your dressmaker." She showed him a couple of point on the skirt, where all the layers were tied together, and if he lifted there, the entire mass came up in a single movement that enabled him to slowly climb the stairs. "If you grab both points, you'll fund you can get up to quite a surprising speed on the flat. Perfect for when you need to do a Cinderella."
Coming down was a bit easier. "Put your hand on the banister, and use it as a guide. Feel for the first step with your foot. If you miss it, you'll either stumble or fall down the stairs. Look ahead, not down. You do it all by feel." Michael slowly felt his way down the stair, and he realised that the mass of skirts meant that even if he had tried to look, nothing would be visible. "Of course, the most important thing is to pause halfway down, looking all delicate and graceful. This gives you a chance to show off, and see if there is anyone you want to avoid."
As he progressed, they slowly became more picky about the way he moved. The skirts shouldn't bellow as he stopped, the picking up of his skirts should be more graceful, he shouldn't look like he was pausing as he started down the stairs.
Eventually, just as the universe will eventually run down, there appeared to be a general consensus that Michael had learnt as much as he could today.
Given the chance to relax, Michael collapsed into the nearest chair, causing his skirts to flare and show off that which a lady does not show, and another 10 minutes of lessons, this time how to sit down in a huge dress.
Lady Sybil Ruff-Diamond. Mixture of Sybil Vimes and one of the characters from "Carry on up the Khyber." I'm mainly thinking of the imperturbability from the dinner scene.
Michael slammed the car door behind him, half hoping to cause some damage, and walked off, towards his front door. All he wanted to do was get out of the dress he was wearing, and into some decent clothes. Behind him, Reba called out, "Goodbye, sweetie." After a short argument between his conscience and his desire to get away from everything. Michael turned around, faked a smile, and waved back at her.
Realising that he didn't have the key to the front door, Michael knocked urgently on the door, and waited for a response. With a honk, he heard Reba drive off behind him. Glancing around to check that there was no one around, he waited impatiently for Mrs P to open the door. Just as he thought he saw Danielle, the door opened, and he darted through.
Leaning back on the hallway wall, with his eyes closed, and breathing deeply, he heard Mrs P close the door. "How was your day, Michael?" she asked. Michael almost burst out laughing at the triteness of the question.
"Oh god," he replied. "If I never have another day like this, it'll be a day too soon."
"Go on into the sitting room, and take the weight off your feet. I'll get us some tea, and we can talk about it." As Mrs P. walked off to the kitchen, Michael noticed that she had changed out of the dress that she had been wearing earlier, and was now wearing a grey skirt suit and a white blouse with a frilly collar that had Michael thinking of Mary Poppins.
Once in the sitting room, Michael sat down and waited. Rather than his normal way of just dropping into the nearest chair, he found himself unconsciously sweeping his skirts out of the way as he sat down, and sitting erect in the chair.
After a few minutes, Mrs P came in carrying a tray, on which was a full tea set, and a selection of dainty cakes. Normally, tea would be served in a couple of large mugs, with the tea bags taken out, just before serving, but this time, Mr P had brought out the full, delicate, china tea service, including the little tongs for the sugar lumps.
Mrs P chattered idly while she poured two cups of the delicate Earl Grey tea, and cut slices of cake. When she had served them both, she sat down, and said "Now tell me everything that happened."
Michael delayed the start of his tale by taking a sip of his tea, and nibbling at his cake, but he was not able to extend these to take up much time. Reluctantly he began to talk, starting with his terrifying car journey with Reba. His segue into his ballet lesson was less reluctant, and by the time he had completed that portion of his tale, his enthusiasm was visible.
Michael quietened down as he started talking about his beauty session, carefully avoiding all mention of certain sections of it. Mrs P commented upon his new hairstyle and makeup, saying that it suited him, and it looked a lot better than his previous style.
Trying to avoid further comments, Michael hurried onto his deportment lessons, and his trip home.
"It sounds like you had a wonderful time today," said Mrs P. "It's been so long since I had as fun a time." Michael gave her a pained look. Laughing quietly, Mrs P added, "at least you now know the sort of thing that women go through when getting themselves ready. You'll have no excuse to complain when you are made to wait."
"Possibly," Michael said, "but I don't think it's a lesson that I really wanted to learn."
"Once you have completed your tea, we can continue with your little adventure."
"More dressing up? How much more is there for me to do?"
"The list they left does continue until sometime tomorrow, but the rest of today should be nice and relaxing."
"Do I have to change? I'm getting so fed up with this."
"You could stop if you want to, but I wouldn't like to say what Lady DeMorgan's response would be." Michaels only response was to sigh, and stand up. "While I go and get the things I need, you can change out of that dress. You might as well remove everything that you have on underneath as well."
Michael found that getting undressed was not as easy as it seemed. For the first time in his life, he had to fight with a zip that ran down the back of a dress, and it seemed that the zip was winning. Eventually it submitted and he was able to let the dress drop and step out of it. The shoes and tights were less of a problem, and Michael was wondering if he should remove his panties, when Mrs P. came back into the room.
"Everything, I said," she said, "including panties." Reluctantly he removed them, and turned to face Mrs P with his hands covering his testicles. Under one arm, Mrs P had what looked like a rolled up mat, while her other hand held a basket. She dropped the mat on the table, where it unrolled itself to reveal the teddy bears and dolls printed on the plastic that covered it.
"So what am I going to be wearing this time?" asked Michael.
Putting the basket down on the table, beside the mat, Mrs P reached into it, and pulled out a bright yellow dress. Holding it out for him to see, she said, "Tonight Michael, you are going to be a sissy baby." The dress was clearly a little girls dress, in a bright yellow. It had a peter-pan collar, and short, capped sleeves. The skirt was short, far too short for Michaels taste, and flared out due to several layers of attached petticoats. On the front of the bodice was embroidered a little pull along ducky toy. "If you will jump up onto the changing mat, we can get you ready for the evening."
Michael contemplated the dress, and all the other things that seemed likely to accompany it. It didn't seem much worse than the Sailor Sissy, and at least this would be in private. As a precaution, Michael asked, "You're not expecting anyone tonight, are you? And I'm not going to have to go out wearing this am I?"
"Don't worry, it's just you and me tonight." Reassured, Michael sat on the mat, and in response to Mrs P's hand on his shoulder, he lay down on his back. He was rather disturbed to see Mrs P pull on a pair of latex gloves, and when she started briskly washing his testicles and penis, he gave out a shocked cry. "Shush," she said, "all sissy babies need to be properly clean." Despite this reassurance, he nearly jumped up and ran off when she lifted his legs, and started cleaning between his buttocks.
Ignoring his reaction, Mrs P started to talk. "There are a number of rules for being a sissy baby. Given the way sissies think, they are very simple rules. Unless necessary, sissy babies don't talk, they babble incomprehensibly. If they do need to talk, they speak like a sweet little girl, with a cute lisp. Do you understand?"
Without any conscious thought, Michael replied, "Yeth, Mrs P."
"There's a good little sissy." While she had been talking, Mrs P had pulled a square of terry towelling from the basket, dexterously folded it into a triangle, and slid it under his buttocks. As Michael thought about his new lisp, she pulled the nappy into position, and fastened it with nappy pins.
"Also, sissy babies don't walk, they crawl everywhere." Barely getting and resistance from Michael, she slid a pair of plastic pants up his legs, and over the nappy. They crackled noisily as she did so. "There, that should prevent any naughty accidents." Seemingly find the plastic too plain, she covered it with a pair of white cotton panties, covered all over in golden yellow ribbons.
Sitting him up, she held the dress up in front of him, and said, "Just slip this on, and we'll be almost done." Michael wasn't paying much attention to Mrs P, he was concentrating more of the feel of the nappy. The feel was like nothing he had ever worn, and as he moved, the plastic made more crackling sounds. He also realised that there was so much bulk in the nappy between his legs that he was not going to be able to close them. At best, he would be able to waddle, and at worst, the crawl would be,... No, his mind ran away from that thought.
When his mind came back, he was wearing the dress, and Mrs P had just finished putting some cute lace ankle socks and flat shoes on his feet.
"That dress is just the perfect thing for you. I'll just add the final accessories, and then you can get down and play." With a brush and comb, Mrs P made some adjustments to his hair, and popped a bonnet on his head, tying the ribbons in a big bow, just under his chin.
"The very, very final touch is a pair of gloves. Gloves are quite de-rigueur for a sissy baby." The gloves were white wrist length lace, with a frill around the wrists that matched the frills on his ankle socks. "There, everything's done, and you look just ... perfect." There was a lot of emotion in the last word, but Michael couldn't figure what it was.
"Wait here, and I'll get the mirror so you can see what you look like." While Mrs P was away, Michael tried to think about his situation again, but the feeling from his new clothes distracted him. The ribbon holding the bonnet felt odd, as it ran over his face, and the bow tickled slightly. The elastics in the end of the short sleeves and the high waist scratched slightly as he moved, breathing. The nappy was the oddest thing. He knew he was sitting on a hard table, but he could not feel that, only the thick layer of padding and something solid between his legs. As an experiment, he tried to close his legs. He actually managed to do this quite easily, but whatever it was, it exerted a constant outward force, and when he stopped trying to close his legs, the pressures forced them open.
Just as his landlady came back, with a large mirror, Michael realised that there was something odd about the gloves. While the gloves had fingers, they were all joined together, effectively converting the gloves into something like mittens with thumbs, and rendering his hands almost useless.
Michael was about to follow this thought further when Mrs P held the mirror up in front of him and said, "Look at you, such a doll!" As had become depressingly common, there was no sign of Michael in the mirror. This time, all he could see was a little girl. OK, a rather big little girl, but apart from that, there was nothing that suggested he was looking at anything other than a little girl, dressed up for a fancy occasion.
The golden bonnet she wore outlined her face, like a halo, with two little curls of hair running down the sides. [[More description here - short sleeves, skirt, just covering nappy, legs spread inelegantly]]. The only thing disrupting the perfect picture was the rather grumpy look on her face.
"... grumpy doll, but I know how to fix that." Michael realised that he had been looking at the mirror with such concentration, that he had not been listening to Mrs P. In her hand, Mrs P held a babies dummy, and she was waving it in front of his face. "Sissy babies love their binkies. All their troubles just float away when they are sucking on their binkies." Suddenly Michael had an almost overwhelming desire, no a need, for the binky. He reached out for it, just as Mrs P pulled it away. "No! Naughty baby. What do sissy babies say when they want something?"
He had no choice, he needed the binky. "Pleath, Mrs P, may I hath my binky?" he lisped childishly.
"Of course, you may," his landlady replied, and popped the binky into his open mouth. As he closed his mouth around the binkies teat, Michael felt a wave of contentment sweep over him, as all his worries floated away. "There," said Mrs P, "I told you the binky would make you happy."
"Jump down, off the table, I've got excellent toys for you to play with." As Michael got down, his knees collapsed under him. If Mrs P hadn't caught him, he would almost certainly have hurt himself. As it was, he ended up on the floor on his hands and knees. "Did you forget that baby sissies can't walk? I'm sure you'll remember now," said Mrs P in a slightly sarcastic tone.
The toys were in a pile, the other side of the room, and Michael had to slowly crawl his way over, the bulk of his nappy forcing him to keep his legs well apart. Mrs P watched, fascinated. She loved the way his gait forced his buttocks to move, and that the short dress failed to cover anything but the smallest portion of his panties
The toys that Michael was to play with were all the sort that a little girl would love to play with, a mixture of horses and magical unicorns, dress up dolls and a large make-up head, with a huge selection of makeup to play with. It took him a few moments to realise it, but he noticed that the dolls and makeup head were perfect replicas of Michael, and the dolls were all dressed in the various costumes he had worn today, including his current one.
Accompanying the makeup head was "My Makeup Book", and Michael idly flipped through this. Each page consisted of a single look, with a description of the look, and where it would be worn, along with instructions and diagrams. Michael did not find it worrying, because he had his binky, but he knew he would late, that every look was accompanied by several photos of Michael wearing the look. Every photo was unique and individual, as if Michael had actually sat for the photo, but that was obviously impossible.
Trying to look like he was engrossed in playing with the toys, Michael thought hard about what had happened today. It was obvious that he had been setup from the start, and he was on a wild goose chase, but why? What did they want from him? Would this end tomorrow when he met Lady DeMorgan, or was there a longer term goal in mind? If so, what was it?
Even if they were just playing, and ended it tomorrow, there would still be consequences. Mrs P was obviously enjoying having a sissy again, and the chances of her forgetting this was minimal, so it was inevitable that she would try to get him to dress up again.
And then there was Danielle and Bethany. Danielle appeared to be interested in him being a sissy for totally different reasons, and how would Bethany react to the sudden loss of a new friend?
He had a feeling that those three ladies were not going to let him get away that easily.
Come to think of it, did he want to get away? The day had been nearly terminally embarrassing, and not the sort of thing that he had ever thought about doing, but the ballet had been an interesting challenge, and he wanted to learn more, and both Danielle and Bethany were people he'd like to get to know further.
Further thoughts were interrupted by Mrs P coming back in, and he started paying more attention to what he was doing with the dolls. It appeared that Ballet Michael and Wedding Dress Michael were about to take down Super Sailor Sissy Michael with an epic bitch fest about her taste in clothes and boyfriends, though her riposte that at least she had a boyfriend was going to leave a few scars. And what was this thing with wedding dresses? It wasn't as though there was going to be a marriage in the near future. Never even a bridesmaid, let alone a bride.
Mrs P sat down on the sofa, saying "It's nice to take a rest after a hard day." Michael doubted that her day had been as hard as his. OK, she was also having a bad day, but he doubted that it had been as hard as his ballet and deportment lessons.
"Why don't you come over here, and sit with me. I've managed to get a copy of one of the classic sissy programs, and I'm sure you'd love to see it." Michael slowly crawled over to the sofa, and climbed up. His attempts to sit up failed repeatedly, with him falling sideways, like a baby that had not yet learnt the trick. "Don't bother trying to sit up," said Mrs P, "just rest your head in my lap." After removing his bonnet, she helped him adjust his position. "Michael, before I start the program, can I ask you a favour? It's been ages since I've had a sissy around, and despite you having been forced into this, I would have to admit to enjoying it. As a favour, to complete things, could you, while dressed as a sissy, could you call me 'Nanny', and could I call you Michelle? Please?" Michael was surprised to hear pleading in her voice. He turned his head to look at her, and she appeared to be very serious about this.
Michael thought about the request. It wasn't a large request, and others had been calling him Michelle, but he had the feeling that despite the condition in the request , he would be a sissy again after things ended tomorrow. With a pop, he pulled the binky out from his mouth and lisped, "Yeth, Nanny."
Mrs P, or maybe he think of her now as Nanny, leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek, whispering "Thank you." As she leaned back, she started the television going. "Super Sailor Sissy is quite an old show, and I'm not sure that many of today's sissies have ever seen it, but I think that it is still worth watching."
From the way that the girls had talked about the show, Michael had gained the impression that it would be the standard "power of friendship" type show. As he watched it, he was forced to revise that impression. It actually appeared to be about the power of friendship, fashion, shopping and orgasms. And what the tentacle monster did with his tentacles was something he had never seen on a cartoon before.
As the cartoon ended, they both sat there, thinking. "Maybe I'm getting a bit forgetful in my old age, but I don't remember there being so much shopping there. Then again, I was probably concentrating on something else," said Mrs P. Michael was also thinking about the something else, and the comments that the girls had made about his costume. Only now was he beginning to understand some of the teasing.
A loud rumbling sound coming from Michael's stomach drew attention to the lateness of the hour. "Good grief, is it that late?" said Mrs P. "And I bet you haven't eaten properly since breakfast." Considering that all he had eaten was the small picnic, Michael had no compunction in pulling his dummy out, and saying "Yeth, nanny."
Nanny lifted Michaels head off of her lap, and stood up. "I shall go and prepare dinner, and you can join me in the dining room, if you can make it in time." Michael started crawling towards the dining room, but the nappy forced him to go slow, and a couple of time he went too fast, and collapsed face down on the floor. He had made it halfway to the door, when Nanny reappeared. "Oh dear, you're so slow, that it'll be time for bed before you get there. Fortunately, I have just the thing." From behind the door, she pulled what looked like a wooden horse on a trolley of some sort. "Walky horse is just the thing for a sissy baby that is just learning to walk. You can either ride her into the dining room, or she can provide you with the support you need to walk there."
Michael used the horse to pull himself up onto his feet, and wondered whether to ride or walk. The horse had a well-worn , comfortable looking, leather saddle for him to sit on, and reins for him to pull on. He was about to sit on the saddle when he noticed that the stirrups had been replaced by thigh and ankle cuffs, and the reins had wrist cuffs. He had a horrible feeling that if he did sit down Nanny would insist on strapping him in place, just for safety reasons, of course.
Michael took hold of the handle at the back of the horse, pointed it towards the dining room, and started trying to walk. The effects of the bulging nappy, and the conflicting orders as to whether or not he could walk resulted in him going slowly, in a very awkward walk, but it was noticeably faster than the crawl.
Michael was not surprised to see that his chair in the dining room had been replaced by an oversized baby's chair. Without prompting, he guided the walky horse over to it, and climbed up. The moment he sat down, he lost control of his balance again, and would have fallen out of the chair is nanny had not caught him and strapped him into the chair. "Naughty baby," said nanny, "you should have waited until I helped you into your chair. Still, no harm done, and you can wait there, while I prepare dinner."
Just as Mrs P started towards the kitchen, the doorbell rang. "Who could that be? I'm not expecting anyone.", said Mrs P, changing direction towards the front door.
"Hello Mrs. P, I hope we're not disturbing you." It was Danielle. Michael nearly panicked, but then realised that there was no way that Mrs P would let her into the house.
"Oh, no problem, I was just starting dinner. Would you like to come in?" Michael tried to free himself from the straps holding him in the chair, but with his hands stuck in the gloves, there was nothing he could do. Danielle and Bethany appeared at the door, and he froze.
"Hello Michelle," said Bethany. "I like your dress. I used to have one like that, but I grew too old for it."
'Oh, great,' thought Michael, 'My dress is too young even for Bethany.' "How was school, Bethany?" Michael asked, hoping to distract her from that train of thought.
"No one can come to my birthday party. They're all going to Mary-Jane's, and she doesn't like me, so I can't go to hers."
"Oh dear, I'm so sorry to hear that."
"Have you had time to think about coming? It could be just you, me and mum!"
Michael had a horrible feeling that he wasn't going to be able to get out of this, but maybe the party was at a time when he could genuinely be busy. "When's your party."
Danielle responded, "We had been planning on Sunday, but since it's only the three of us, we can have it at any time you find convenient." From her smile, it was obvious that she knew what Michael had been thinking. and she had no intention of letting him escape.
Michael gracefully accepted the inevitable. "Sunday's fine for me. I'm already looking forward to it."
"Yay!!!" said Bethany, "we can watch My Little Pony, and paint our nails, and eat cake and do each other's makeup and, ..."
Danielle interrupted her at this point, saying "Shush, no need to go on. I'm sure you want there to be a few surprises for Michelle." Given what Bethany already had planned, Michael shuddered to think what else could be happening.
Anything else that Bethany might have thought of saying was rendered a moot point, by Nanny calling out from the kitchen, "Bethany, if you want, we can have a quick look to what sort of a cake you want for your party." Bethany quickly disappeared into the kitchen leaving Michael alone with Danielle. From his position in the high chair, she towered over him, making him feel very nervous.
"I was expecting you to change when you got home, but I didn't think that you would be changing into something like this. What happened?"
"After I got home, I ... managed to get the wand to let me go, but while I was recovering Nanny came in, and caught me. When she was young, she used to mentor sissies, and I reminded her of this, and she happened to have some of her old stuff lying around, and she can be very persuasive, especially given the state I was in, and here I am," Michael hurriedly said. From the look on her face, Michael had the feeling that Danielle wasn't buying it.
"I really like the dress," said Danielle, leaning in, and running her hand over the fabric, causing Michaels skin to shiver as the hand moved. "I used to dress Bethany like that, until she insisted she was too old for so babyish a style."
Danielle leaned in closer. and Michael could feel her sweet breath on his face as she continued, "You should wear something like thing more often, it really suits you." Michael flushed red as he felt a complicated mixture of embarrassment, pride, humiliations and desire wash over him. Slowly, hesitantly, she leant on closer, and gently kissed him on the lips, so gently that Michael could barely feel their pressure. After a brief second, she pulled back and they stared into each other's eyes, confusion evident on both faces.
Michael got the feeling that something went click in Danielle's mind, and when she lent in again, she was less hesitant. this time the kiss wasn't gentle, it was more of a ravaging of his mouth as one hand held his head still, while her lips forced his open, and her tongue invaded his mouth.
Michael quickly lost all track of time, and when she released him, he was dazed and confused and unable to think of anything to say. "I ... I ..." was all that Danielle was able to say. A loud clattering from the kitchen provided an excuse. "I'd better see how Bethany is. She's probably talked Mrs P into something monstrous for a cake."
Michael watched her hurry into the kitchen, wondering what the kiss meant, and what consequences this would have on Sunday.
In the kitchen, Mrs P had to restrain a smile as Danielle came hurrying in, obvious trying to escape from something. "Are you OK?" she asked.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine," blustered Danielle.
"Good," said Mrs P. "I was hoping that you wouldn't be upset by the little game that I'm playing with Michelle. She was so sweet when she came home, that I couldn't resist it."
"Yes, she is very ... sweet," replied Danielle, clearly confused with the situation.
"Well, anyway, I think we have Bethany's cake sorted out for her party. What time do you want me to send Michelle over?"
"I think, if we make late-ish afternoon, with any luck Bethany will tire herself out, and Michelle won't have to spend .."
"I'm a big girl now," interrupted Bethany, "I can stay up all day."
"I wouldn't worry," said Mrs P, "I'm sure Michelle will have a great time, no matter how long Bethany stays awake, and there's no need to send her home early. She'll have work on Monday, but apart from that, she's all your." Danielle looked at Mrs P, wondering precisely what she meant by that, but her face was bland, and gave away no clues.
Deciding that she did not want to go any further at the moment, Danielle responded, ""I think it's probably time that we went home."
As she left, saying "See you on Sunday, Michelle," Michael tried to work out what she was thinking, but he could not. From Bethany's enthusiastic bye's, he knew that she was definitely looking forward to the party.
After a few moments, with a cry of "supper," Mrs P appeared at the kitchen door, carrying a tray on which was, he supposed, supper. When she put it down on the table, he could see that it was an example of contrasts. One half held a plate with a chicken salad, and a large glass of red wine. The other half had a large babies bottle full of a pink liquid, with a feeder nipple, and a bowl of what looked like jelly.
"Noooo, nanny, not a bottle!"
"Sissy babies always have a bottle. You'll find it quite delicious, and it's the perfect food for sissies." Before he could reply, she had picked the bottle up, and placed the nipple into his mouth. Automatically, his mouth closed around it, and he started to suck at it.
Michael expected the contents of the bottle to be something horrible or bland, but was quite surprised at how it actually tasted. It reminded him of a milk shake, possibly a strawberry flavoured one. After a few minutes of his suckling at the nipple, nanny wrapped his gloved hands around the bottle, and sat down to her own dinner.
"When I was young, and trained sissies, before I married Georgio, and moved to Italy, unless they were exceptionally well behaved, baby sissies would always be fed from the bottle. Depending on how well they behaved, the contents would vary from delicious, with famous chefs writing some of the recipes, to merely bland, to something quite disgusting. For some reason, broccoli seemed to be particularly disliked. Naturally, if they didn't finish, they were spanked until they did."
Hearing this, Michael looked down at the bottle, and was relieved to see that it looked like he would be finishing it shortly.
"Of course, in a more, intimate, relationship, the baby would often be breastfed." An image of Danielle flashed across Michaels mind, making him flush and duck his head.
With a sigh, and an unexpected, rather loud burp, Michael finished the bottle, and put it down on the tray attached to the chair. "Does Sissy Michelle need burping?", asked Nanny, with a smile
"No Nanny, Michelle will be fine," Michael replied. Carefully, but quietly, letting out another burp, Michael looked at the rest of his dinner, a rather wobbly jelly. This in combination with the fingerless nature of his gloves and a specially designed spoon meant that Michael was unable to eat without spreading half of the jelly all over his face.
"Here, let me do that," said Nanny, taking the spoon out of his hand and slowly feeding him the jelly. Even with her best efforts, more of the jelly got spread over Michaels face. "My, you are a messy sissy." Michael had a suspicions that half the mess was being deliberately caused by Nanny, but he felt that it would not be a good idea to suggest that.
When pudding had been finished, Nanny tidied up, and took all the plates out to the kitchen. As she came back in, she caught Michael restraining a massive yawn "I think that it is time for little sissies to be in bed." Michael tried to deny this but another yawn interrupted him, before he could do little but open his mouth. "You've had a very busy day and you will need all the beauty sleep you can get, as tomorrow looks like it will be another busy day."
Nanny remove the tray from the front of the baby chair, and helped him down, straight onto the saddle of the walky horse. Michael looked suspiciously at the restraints, but Nanny appeared to ignore them, and just started pushing it towards the stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, Michael looked up at Nanny, and realised that she wasn't going to help him up, and there was no way he was going to be able to walk up them. From his current position of sitting on a little wooden horse, the climb up the stairs looked extremely steep, and a long slow crawl. half climbing, half falling off the horse, Michael prepared for the ascent.
As he crawled up the stairs, he heard Nanny say "there's a good girl", and he found himself smiling at the praise. Once he reached that top of the stairs, Michael looked at the long crawl to his room at the far end of the corridor, but Nanny lifted him up to his feet, and holding his hands to provide the now essential support, walked him towards his room.
Michael looked at himself in the mirror. He was slowly getting used to his new lifestyle, and was even beginning to enjoy some aspects of it, but this outfit was taking things to extremes.
His ballet practice meant that he could manage to walk in the black patent, knee high ballet boots that Tamara had insisted that he purchase, even if the latex hobble skirt meant that the walk was incredibly slow, and his hips swayed amazingly and seductively.
The big issue was the matching corset. It wasn't *that* tight, and the half-cups gently supported his breasts, just covering his nipples, but the brevity of it still made him uncomfortable.
Michael turned to the front door, and slowly opened it. He really, really didn't want to go out, but Patel's Corner Shop closed in 5 minutes, and if he didn't, they would have no milk for breakfast.
Miscellaneous stories and text from the "Education of a Sissy" universe.
Susan is the MD and a senior developer at SkyLine Systems, the AI company she founded when she left university, with three of her classmates.
I thought it was an accident. One day, I found a pair of panties in my clean laundry. What I should have done was told mum. What I did was wear them. And then I kept them. And I kept wearing them. A bit later, maybe a month, mum came home with a pile of stuff that her co-workers daughter wanted her to donate to charity. For some reason, mum never got around to it. Oddly, all the stuff in the pile fitted perfectly, even the bras. I just assumed that flat girls wanted bras as well.
Another month passed, and then mum walked in on me just after I had got dressed and was trying to do my makeup. She said I was doing it all wrong, and spent an hour teaching me the correct way to do it. After that we talked, and I found out what had really been going on.
Mum had long had suspicions that I was not the stereotypical jock type, and had decided to try a little experiment. Obviously, I had fallen for it, and now it was time to face the consequences.
The town where we lived wasn't a good place for a sissy to come out. They just about accepted the gay couple next door, but that was about it. So, I was the quiet geek at school, and a sissy geek at home. Mum insisted a proper education was essential, especially for sissies. I'd come home, change and practise for a while, then do homework and my computer stuff. One big difference was that I'd stopped playing computer games, and started playing with dolls.
We would have day and weekend trips to the big city, so that I would get used to being out. This included trips to the theatre and ballet, something we had never done before, partly as an excuse to dress to the nines.
I transitioned the summer before I went to university. When I got to university, I wasn't the only sissy there, though they were mostly in the "softer" courses. I was the only sissy doing a computer course, with six men and three women. I went a bit wild during my time there, and managed to date all my class mates over the four years of the course, and accidentally converted one of the men into a sissy in the process.
After university, Fred, Rachel, who used to be Ryan, Clarissa and I set up our own company. As times were hard, we had to do everything, including covering reception when our one receptionist was at lunch. Fred and Clarissa did it as just part of the job, while Rachel and I got quite into the role. We still do it occasionally, when we want to have a good look at a new recruit or just have some fun. That's how I met my current boyfriend. It was ages before I let him know I was more than just a part time receptionist with an uncanny resemblance to one of the founders.
The old grange was haunted. Everyone in the village knew it. The ghosts made sure they knew.
Anyone they caught intruding on the granges ground would suddenly find that they had an impossible to resist need to dress in the pinkest and frilliest and sissiest of dresses. After a week, this would disappear, leaving the victim suddenly discovering, in the most embarrassing place possible, that they were wearing girls clothes.
The problem for the local boys was that the grange had the best apples and conkers in the county. The complicated mathematics of bravery, showing off and embarrassment all combined to produce the inevitable result of boys regularly turning up at school out of uniform.
The smarter boys figured out there was a pattern. The first boy to try each season always got caught, and after that it was every 2 to 3 weeks before the next boy got caught. The only exceptions were boys who took too many apples, smart boys who thought they had figured out the pattern, and the year the school swot said "If a lot of us go in at once, there is no way they could catch us all."
Shortly after that, he discovered that, yes, they could catch everyone, even if you hid on the other side of the village during the event, and the results are even more embarrassing.