I knew it was absolute lunacy to a have an affair with Godo's wife. Simple common-sense should have kept me well away. But when has common-sense been able to overrule the needs of the penis?

Author's Note: To celebrate Big Busts' tenth year, I have decided to republish all my Big Busts' stories which are not already on Big Closet, which I'll do at intervals throughout the year. Set in the fictional English seaside town of Seacombe, Big Busts products are considered state of the art by men who want to look like women, even when naked.
It's worth saying that this, like most other of my stories, is meant to be fun (and I don't think there's enough of it on this site) often combined with sex and mayhem. Whether you're a new reader of my stories, or you have read them before, I hope you sit back and enjoy, without becoming too serious about it all.

I knew it was absolute lunacy to a have an affair with Godo's wife. Simple common-sense should have kept me well away. But when has common-sense been able to overrule the needs of the penis?

I met Carol when she and Godo walked into the restaurant of The Crown Hotel, where I worked as waiter. I'd never met him personally before, but his reputation went before him. His real name was James Godolphy, but everyone just called him Godo (although never to his face). He was just over six feet tall — a good six inches taller than me — and built like the proverbial brick shithouse, with a face which looked as though it had once been really ugly, before being hit with a sledge-hammer. Legend said that he'd been given the facial adjustment when he played rugby, and that after extracting revenge on his opponent, he'd got thrown out of the club for being too aggressive!

But no one said he was too aggressive in his current role — no one would dare. He'd turned to crime after leaving school and never regretted it, something which had terrified both police and criminal alike. Definitely a man to give the very best of service you could, and just as definitely, not a man whose wife you should have an affair with.

The thought never crossed my mind when they walked into the restaurant on that Sunday evening. I was my usual attentive self; a professional waiter, well used to putting guests at their ease, and these were extra-special guests.

'Good evening, sir — madam. Can I take your coats for you? And can I get you a drink to start with?' (There's none of this: 'I'm your waiter for the evening and my name is Philip,' crap in our restaurant — every waiter attends meticulously to every guest, and we're all called 'Waiter' — or should be.)

Godo was first to peel his raincoat off, and he thrust it into my arms. It was pouring down outside, and his coat was absolutely sodden; it was like having a wet nappy slapped in your arms. 'Pint of bitter, sunshine. And make certain it's from your best barrel.'

He marched off towards the table where the manager was holding back a chair for Mrs Godolphy, and he promptly sat down on it. I turned back to Mrs Godolphy who had just removed her own raincoat to properly reveal herself for the first time.

'What a lovely dress.' At that time, it was nothing more than a small compliment to put her at her ease, although undoubtedly it was a dress which made the very most of her figure. To put it more bluntly, it superbly displayed her tits which were the size of boulders.

Now before I give a wrong impression, I'd better add that her tits were by far the most attractive part of her. OK, her face was round, and was quite pretty when she smiled, which she did after I paid her the compliment. But the rest of her body was even rounder: thighs the size of tree trunks; a chubby waist; and biceps which would ensure no one challenged her to an arm-wrestling match.

And there was no doubt that the dress did an excellent job of hiding all her less attractive features, whilst displaying those wobbling jellies to full advantage. As she followed me to the table, I watched her in the mirror behind the serving area. I held the chair out for her as she sat down, and had a splendid view down the grandest of canyons. It was enough to make any man feel good to be alive.

'Watch your step, sunshine, or you might find you've stepped into something very nasty. Now, run along and get my beer.'

His words brought me crashing to earth. One did not play any kind of footsy with Godo's wife, unless you wanted to spend the next three months in hospital — if you were lucky!

'Certainly sir. Can I get you a drink, madam?'

***

The meal all went perfectly. The manager had warned the kitchen exactly who they were cooking for, and as one might have expected, it all came up swiftly, properly cooked and piping hot. I served it with panache, learnt during my many years as a waiter. It was only at the very end that things went wrong.

I was bringing them their coffees, with mints and a couple of complimentary brandies when another diner, with his back to me, stood up just as I was about to walk past. It was really no great shakes — that kind of thing happens countless times, and you learn to have quick responses. I did a kind of twirl through the air with the tray — which probably looked pretty spectacular but it was actually completely under control — and the diner suddenly realised the danger and stepped to one side.

By the time I'd finished my acrobatics, I was standing almost at their table and Carol had an admiring grin from ear to ear. I smiled back, realising I must have looked something like a circus clown.

Then Godo noticed Carol's smile and in an instant, his head turned and he was looking at the stupid grin on my face. He stood up quickly and before I knew it, with one hand he had deftly removed the tray from my hands and left it on the table, whilst the other he had behind my shoulder blades and was propelling me towards the lobby.

'No need to keep the coffee warm,' he called to Carol. 'This won't take long.'

We were in the Gents before I could even take a breath, and then I was being turned towards him, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see a knee travelling upwards, towards my goolies.

'A-a-a-g-g-g-h-h-h!!!'

'Say hello to the wash-basin, sunshine.'

I was crouched on the floor, gasping with pain when he grabbed me by the hair and forced my head back from my doubled-up position. The wash-basin was a foot in front of my nose, and I knew there was absolutely nothing I could do to prevent him ramming my face into it.

'Stop that at once!'

In the mirror, I could see Carol standing behind him, just inside the half-open door.

'Listen.' He turned to her with a look on his face which he probably thought resembled a conciliatory smile. 'Me and sunshine, here, have got some business to attend to. I'm not having you two crooning like love-sick teenagers. OK? Now, piss off.'

Instead of doing as he bade, she pulled a mobile out of her handbag, short-dialled a number, and then held it to her ear.

'Audrey? Hi, it's Carol, here. Listen, I need to speak to Tommy urgently. Is he around?'

I could see the look on Godo's face was indicating he hadn't got a clue who Tommy was, but caution made him hesitate, my precious head still clutched between his enormous hands.

'Tommy, it's Carol. I'm afraid Jimmy's up to his old games. He's just hit a waiter at The Crown where you're having your meeting of the Round Table tomorrow, and he's just about to rearrange his face on the wash-basin.'

She listened for a second, and then passed the phone towards Godo, saying, 'The Chief Constable would like a word.'

By the way, did I mention that Godo was a Detective Inspector at the local nick?

As Godo realised that Tommy was none other than his Chief Constable, my head was released and Godo took the mobile as gingerly as an unexploded bomb.

'It's nothing sir. The waiter just appears to have had an accident. I was simply help… Yes sir… Yes sir…'

Carol grabbed hold of my shoulder as he spoke and helped me stand. She gave a swing of her head to indicate we should leave the immediate vicinity. I was more than happy to oblige.

The knee in the goolies hadn't been as bad as it might have been. I could almost walk upright back to her table, although I wasn't in a position to hold back the chair for her to sit down. Instead, I grasped the table for support.

'I'm, terribly sorry about my husband. I do hope he hasn't done any lasting damage.'

I gave her a forced smile. 'I don't think so, madam. A bit painful, but I think I'll live.'

She gave me a sympathetic smile. 'Please call me Carol. What's your name?'

'Phil, madam, er… Carol.'

'Well, Phil. We need to ensure you're not permanently damaged. You'd better get them tested.' She said it with such a broad smile that I had a sudden panic that Godo might see her.

'Well I don't think…'

'There's only one way that I know to test them,' she said, still smiling. 'Shall we say nine am tomorrow, at my place.'

There was a tremendous thump across my shoulders. I turned my head, fearing the worst. It was Godo, but he was forcing a smile onto his face.

'The Chief Constable would like a word with you,' he said, pushing the mobile towards me.

***

They left shortly after, and I breathed a sigh of relief that she had made no further attempt to set up an assignation. I mean, no man wants to turn down a woman's request to shag her, but since I really wanted to keep my balls attached to my body, the Chief Constable's apology had been a well-timed interruption.

Except that, as I was clearing the table, I found Carol's glove stuffed down the side of the seat; her address was written inside. So there was the fateful decision. Logic; common-sense; self-preservation — call it what you will — all said keep well away, but my prick ignored all three, and where my prick went, the rest of my body inevitably had to follow.

***

She and I were the classic large woman/small man couple. OK, we were both about the same height at five-feet, six inches, but she was at least twice as powerful as me and three times my weight. It worked extraordinarily well. She decided the action and set the pace, and I simply did as instructed. Any time she felt I was getting too far ahead of myself, a simple twist of the hips would shrug me off, and then a hand would clamp around my head and force my lips to the place where my prick had been, just a second before.

Some men, who feel that man always has to be on top, might have felt emancipated in such a situation, but I've never had preconceptions about man or woman's rightful roles in life. I can only say that the sex was great.

Almost as nice, was the knowledge that not only was I fucking Carol, I was also fucking Godo — the guy who, but for Carol, would have slammed my face into the washbasin for the simple act of smiling at his wife. And the thrill and the danger — the knowledge that at any moment, Godo might suddenly come strolling into his own home, just as Carol was rolling about in orgasmic pleasure on the end of my prick — it made our affair irresistible.

***

On the Wednesday of the first week, Godo came strolling into his own home, just as Carol was rolling about in orgasmic pleasure on the end of my prick! Fortunately, the sound of the front door slamming would have stopped an elephant shagging and we stared at each other, aghast.

The sound of his feet thumping up the stairs broke our spell. I dashed through to the en-suite whilst Carol had slipped on her dressing gown by the time he came through the bedroom door. Fortunately, I'd always made the point of keeping my clothes tidily in the en-suite, just in case of such a situation, so there was nothing to give the game away in the bedroom, other than the potent smell of our lovemaking.

'Hi! It's me,' he said with a smile. 'I just came home for a quickie.'

From my position behind the part-opened door, I could see a narrow slice of the room through the crack by the hinge. I applied my eye more closely to it.

'Just fancied a quick fuck,' he said, unbuttoning his trousers, and letting a monster dangle out.

To be honest, I hadn't seen another bloke's prick since I was at school. I'd always accepted that, at three inches in length when erect, my prick wasn't the biggest in existence — indeed, some women had been downright rude about it. But I never imagined monsters like that could fit into a pair of trousers.

It was almost as thick as mine was long, and hung right down to his knees. At least, initially it hung down to his knees; but within a few seconds, it was pointing up in the air, and the knob had turned a deep shade of purple.

Carol appeared totally unmoved by it. She simply sat down on the edge of the bed, undid the belt of her dressing-gown and pulled it apart, letting it drop from her shoulders and then flopped backwards, her thighs and buttocks mainly supported by her spread-eagled feet on the floor.

He pushed his monster between her legs and she used both hands to stretch the lips of her cunt wide apart, and helped him feed it in.

'Fucking great,' was Godo's sweet murmurings of tender love, as he brutally grabbed her by the tits and forced inch after throbbing inch into her, until she'd taken the whole, right up to the hilt.

Then with a vicious lunge, he pulled it out, until I could see the purple head just lurking between Carol's pussy lips — but only for an instant, for it was being shoved back in as quickly as it had come out.

In — Out — In — Out. And then he was shouting, 'Fucking hell!' and 'Yes! Yes!' There were two more ferocious thrusts before he pulled the monster right out of Carol, stood up and pulled up his trousers.

It was only at that moment that I realised my own actions whilst that had been going on. I had my prick in my hand, all highly aroused three-inches of it, and was giving it long, slow strokes. I sped up slightly, as I could feel my balls tightening and tingling. And then, just as I started to ejaculate, the bastard walked towards the en-suite.

***

I shall never forget that moment of exquisite pleasure combined with absolute danger, as he stepped in, opened the front of his trousers again, lowered his monster towards the toilet, and let his waters flow. I watched him in the mirror as I stood behind the door, holding my clothes under one arm, whilst with my free hand, I silently ejaculated into what was obviously his dressing-gown, hanging on the back of the door. I knew that as soon as he stepped over to the wash-basin to wash his hands, he would see me, and if, somewhere a little voice was muttering something about being hanged for a sheep instead of a lamb, another little voice was pointing out that the important difference was between being hanged by the neck or by the balls.

But then, without bothering to wash his hands, he used the towel (the towel I had frequently used up to that point, and never since) to wipe both his hands and the end of his prick, and left the en-suite.

'I'll be late home tonight,' he said. 'Nice fuck. Bye.'

***

You'd have thought that I'd have got the message then — or at least, my prick would, since I'd known my folly all along. Not one bit. OK, I was a bit put off after Carol came into the en-suite with her hand firmly clamped between her legs, sat down on the toilet with legs wide astride, and then allowed the bucketful of Godo's semen to ooze down into the bowl.

'I used to think this was really erotic,' she said, working her hand inside her pussy and scooping out another great splodge of semen and dropping it into the bowl. 'Now, it's just a mess. Still, I am a lot better organised now.'

She reached behind her and withdrew a douche, which she started to feed inside her cunt. 'I've tried to convince James to get a bidet installed, but he won't have it. He says I can always lick his arse clean if it needs it.'

'He's er… quite a big guy, isn't he?' I'd been wondering how to phrase it, without seeming envious, when in fact, I was livid with jealousy.

She sensed my feelings, and gave a quick smile. 'Phil, don't worry about that. One mammoth prick is more than enough for me. If you think having something that size rammed inside you is pleasant, you should ask him to stick it up your arse.'

Bloody hell, the thought was horrifying.

'No,' she continued. 'Your prick is the ideal size for reaching the parts his prick can't reach.' She sensed my lack of understanding, and clarified. 'My clit of course. Your prick is just the right size for the end of your knob to reach my clit and give it a wonderful massage. It's the best sex I've ever had. Are you OK for tomorrow?'

***

It was in the second week that my lunatic infatuation started to wear a bit thin. We'd met every morning, and fucked from nine until eleven-thirty, when I had to leave to begin my lunch shift. But as my time of departure approached on the following Monday, and I was extricating myself from her clutches, she asked, 'Don't you ever get an evening off from your job?'

I shook my head. 'No. That's one of the problems of working in the catering trade.'

'But you must get some time off. What would happen if you needed to attend a funeral?'

I shrugged. 'I guess something like that would be OK, but it would be the lunch shift I missed — not an evening.'

I knew I should have left it there, and never have asked the question. But I did.

'Why?'

'It's just that I've got an important dinner-party on Saturday. I was wondering whether you could serve it up for us.'

I almost shit myself, and then tried to play it cool, hiding the panic which was bubbling underneath.

'Look, Carol. Aside from the problem that I never can get time off during an evening, especially Saturday evening, there's no way I could serve a dinner-party hosted by you and James.'

She was innocence, itself. 'Why not? It's very important. I'm trying to get James made up to DCI so I'm inviting Audrey and Tommy, as well as three other senior police officers with their wives. It's going to have a Victorian theme, so I want a butler in a proper uniform, who really knows how to serve properly.'

I didn't like to say that if she wanted to get promotion for her husband, she really should not have telephoned the Chief Constable to tell him he was beating seven kinds of shit out of a member of the public.

'Carol. I don't know how good a detective James is, but even if he's absolutely abysmal, he's probably going to recognise straightaway that there's a special relationship between us two — after all, he suspected as much, even when there wasn't. And even if he doesn't suspect, there will be four other police officers who undoubtedly will. The story will be all around the station on Monday morning.'

'When I saw how good a waiter you were at The Crown, I knew I had to have you for my dinner-party.'

So there it was — she didn't want me for my body, she was simply using me to get her own ends. Still, a guy has to make some sacrifices, and I guess I could live with being used as a sex object, just as long as I could head her off from this ridiculous idea.

'Look, Carol. You're a fantastic woman, but you must see that if I was to agree to wait at your dinner-party, it would not only be the end of our relationship, it would also be the end of me, and almost certainly the end of James's career when he kills the waiter in front of the Chief Constable. Let's not do anything to damage our relationship because I want it to last and last. Don't you?'

'I suppose you're right.'

'Look, I know a number of staff agencies who'll be delighted to supply a butler for your event. I'll give you their contact details.'

'I've already been to the agencies. The problem is there's a huge society wedding the same night, and no one has any spare people available.'

'Well, why don't you try going back to them again, or perhaps trying to get a student, or a casual worker.'

'But I want the service to be perfect — like you do it.'

Nonetheless, she agreed to have another think about it. I left with trepidation in my heart. I could sense the end of our fantastic sex was approaching.

Fortunately, the next day she told me she'd found a catering agency who claimed they had someone with experience. I was saved.

The next few days were almost as good as the first. We shagged ourselves silly every morning, and I spent the rest of the day thinking about what we'd been doing that morning, and what we would be doing the next morning.

***

The telephone call came about four am on Friday morning.

'Hello?' Only bad news arrives at that time. I was right.

'Phil, it's Carol. Listen, did you tell me sometime that you once had a conviction?'

It was true. My crime had dated back to the days when credit card slips were made out by hand, and they were passed to the customer for signing, with a space in which they could write a gratuity. I'd made the mistake of falsely entering a  £10 tip on a  £100 bill, after the customer had signed and returned it, with the gratuity space left blank. No one checks their card statement against the flimsy slips, I had reasoned; unfortunately, I was wrong.

'Why the hell do you need to know that at this time of night?'

'It's important. Look, James and I have been to a police function, this evening. We got back to our house only about an hour ago. It had been burgled.'

'Look!' I was livid. 'Just because I did a stupid thing with a credit card slip, several years ago, it doesn't mean I'm your automatic choice of burglar.'

'Sorry, I didn't mean to say that. It's just that James got forensics down here, and they took fingerprints. They found a load of fresh fingerprints, mainly in the bedroom, which were neither his nor mine.'

She let the fact sink in, before continuing. 'If you were convicted, it means your prints will be on record.'

Shit!

'I don't know how long it will take them to match the prints up, but James went off to the police station with them a few minutes ago. I think they'll probably do a dawn raid.'

Bloody hell! I couldn't confess to the truth. Godo would crucify me. It would be better to confess to the crime, except I didn't know anything about it. Why was my brain not working? I ought to be planning what I should do, but I couldn't get it into gear. Which presumably was why the police do dawn raids.

'You need to pull on a few clothes and get out of your house, now.'

She was right.

'Right,' I said.

'Leave by the back door and go into that area of park behind your house.'

But what did I do then?

'But what do I do then?' I asked.

'I'll come over in my car and pick you up. Be waiting just inside the trees, on the corner of Victoria Rd and London Rd. But I can't afford to be seen, so if you're not there, I won't wait for you. Grab a few clothes, and get out of the house, now.'

She rang off, and for a second I was left listening to dial tone. But only for a second, since, a long way off, I heard a police siren commence its wailing.

***

The pick-up went smoothly. By that time, I'd pulled trousers and a coat over my pyjamas, and I had an odd pair of shoes on my feet. If I was seen by the police, they'd probably arrest me simply for my lack of dress sense. But I got into her car without incident, and Carol made kneel on the floor so I couldn't be seen from outside.

'Are you going to take me to the railway station, or what?'

'Do you have anywhere to go by train?'

'Not really.'

'Then it seems silly taking you to the railway station. I'll take you back to my house.'

'Your house! But James will be there!'

'James's never there in the mornings; you should know that by now. OK, he left for work a lot earlier than usual, but he's going onto an overnight conference this afternoon, so won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. We can go home and then decide the best action to take.'

***

Once inside her house, with a cup of tea in my hand, I started to feel a lot calmer, even though I could now see my position was hopeless. Once Godo realised who the fingerprints belonged to, he would probably guess exactly what we'd been up to. He'd have my details circulated to every force in the country, the ports closed, a watch kept upon my house and restaurant, and my bank account would be frozen. When I was eventually caught, he would personally rip the balls from my body. Or perhaps I'd be a "death-in-custody" — the kind you hear about all the time.

I needed to run away, but where could I run to?

'You can stay here, if you like.'

'Stay here? But James will be home tomorrow. He'll kill me!'

'Only if he recognises you.'

'Yes, but… You mean… disguise me, in some way… but…'

'The catering agency rang yesterday afternoon. The person they'd promised to send has cancelled.'

'Look Carol, I know you're concerned about your dinner-party…'

'Don't be stupid. The point is that the only way I could get someone for our dinner-party was to provide them with accommodation. They were scheduled to arrive today, and depart on Sunday.'

'Right.' At last, I could see some sense. 'So, I could put on a false moustache and pretend to be your butler until Sunday.'

'They were also going to help with cleaning the house in preparation for the party. I could suggest to James that we keep you on permanently. I could tell him you were an illegal immigrant or something, so we'd hardly have to pay you any wages.'

'Wouldn't James have a problem with that, him being a policeman?'

'Good God, no. Laws are made for other people to follow, not policemen. And which police officer is going to start investigating James?'

'The Chief Constable?'

'Heavens no! Audrey and Tommy already have an illegal working for them. How do you think the economy would survive if we all had to rely on legal workers?'

I had no answer.

'Anyway, I'm afraid if we're going to convince James, it will need much more than a false moustache. You see, I've already given him a description of the person from the agency, so I'm going to have to make you look similar. It's a bit of a radical change, I'm afraid, but on the other hand, the more radical the change, the less likely James is to recognise you.'

'Sounds logical. But what kind of a change are you talking about? After all, I can't act to save my life.' I had a think about that last sentence, and then added, 'Well, I suppose to save my life, I'm going to have a bloody good try.'

She smiled at my pathetic joke. 'That's great. I'm hoping that by putting you into the disguise, you'll simply fall into the role. After all, acting is just about being natural in someone else's shoes. I'm going to turn you into a black woman.'

'What!'

'Well, you're not racist, are you?'

'Well, no, but…'

'I'll dye your skin as black as I can. That will help to make your features more difficult to distinguish, and nowadays you can buy very dark suntan dyes.'

'But you told me you wanted a butler. They never had women butlers in Victorian times.'

'Oh, I had to abandon the butler idea, when you wouldn't go along with it. I thought I'd go to a Victorian maid, instead. And Victorians certainly occasionally did have black maids, as some of the slave-traders brought them back as chattels. It may have been unusual, but it certainly wasn't unknown. Anyway, apart from anything else, I didn't have a lot of choice when it came to finding someone with experience — it was taking a black waitress or nothing.'

'But now you have me, I could be the butler you wanted in the first place.'

'And of course, James would never recognise you, would he? Even if he did, it wouldn't matter as he would see the funny side of it, wouldn't he? I'm sure, he would never think of ripping off your testicles, just because you've been fucking me something rotten.'

She had a point. 'But I couldn't look like a black woman. Could I?'

***

I decided to leave everything up to Carol. I was already totally beholden to her, and I simply had to trust her, as I had no one else. Anyway, women are so much better at disguising themselves, since they do it every time they apply make-up. If she couldn't disguise me, I was lost anyway.

She went out to the shops, leaving me on my own, and terrified in case Godo came back unexpectedly. She only seemed to be gone for a short time, considering the armfuls of parcels she carried in from the car.

'I think I've got everything we need, so let's make a start, straightaway. Now, before we can put the dye on you, we need to defoliate you all over. Jump into the bath, and I'll spread this cream all over your body. It may tingle a little.'

It was fine at first. She slipped on rubber-gloves, and starting with my legs worked it all the way up, giving my balls and the shaft of my cock a rather nice massage, but leaving the head of my cock untouched. She carried on right up my torso to my face, and had just finished covering my face when my legs started to tingle.

'Oooh! My legs are hurting like mad. Can we take it off, now.'

'Don't be such a baby. It can't possibly be hurting you yet. Now, just keep still for a while, and I'll…'

'Bloody hell! My balls are burning now. It's murder. I'm sorry, I have to wipe it off.'

I reached out to grab a towel. But Carol grabbed my arm and gave it a vicious twist, spinning me round. I heard something click in her hand, then she was pulling my arm upwards, to where a water-pipe came through the ceiling. She passed something behind the water-pipe then pulled even harder.

Jeez! I was almost being pulled off the ground by the chain around my wrist. I grabbed upwards to try to stop her dislocating my arm. There was another click, and I found I was handcuffed to the water-pipe, my body almost hanging from the ceiling.

'Did I ever tell you I used to be a police-officer? I always enjoyed that bit. Still do, actually.'

'Carol. My skin is burning. All over. Please let me down.'

'I have to be cruel to be kind. Just think how much it would hurt if James found out about us. It's a bit of pain now, or a lot of pain later. Anyway, I'm not going to let you ruin my marriage. You'll simply have to put up with it.'

And I did!

After the agony of the hair-removal cream, the rest didn't seem too bad. After a few minutes, she showered me off, washing all my body-hair away with it and leaving a wonderfully smooth skin. Then, she applied the dye to my body; putting on layer after layer, so that my skin went progressively darker, until it was a very dark-brown. Another shower to remove the residue of the dye, and then she let me inspect myself in the mirror.

'I may look black,' I said, 'but I'm never going to look like a woman. I'm just the wrong shape.'

I should have known better. She pulled a garment out of one of her bags.

'Right, feed your legs into this.'

It was like a black panty-girdle, made of a smooth latex-like material, except that, as she pulled it up my legs, I realised that far from slimming me down, it was going to make me substantially bigger. The buttocks and thighs had padding at least two inches thick.

'I thought women were always trying to lose weight in those parts, not put it on,' I ventured.

'And why do you think that is,' Carol replied. 'You want to look a typical woman, and typical women have large arses and thighs. And if men gave birth and had a baby's head pop out from between their legs, I wonder how wide they would want their thighs to be.'

There was no arguing with that logic, so I kept quiet, especially as she'd arrived at a particularly sensitive part of my anatomy. She'd raised the girdle up my legs until it was prevented from further travel by my prick, thrusting out further than I had ever seen it before.

She carefully took it in her hands and then slid one hand down until it was cupping my testicles. 'The shop told me exactly what to do at this point,' she said, and then she slapped my prick as hard as she could.

'Jeezz!'

'That's fine,' she said, watching my three inches wither down to a measly half-inch. 'That's exactly what the assistant said would happen.'

She gently squeezed the testicle sacs until my balls popped up somewhere inside my groin. Then she rolled the sacs around my limp prick and pushed the whole lot into the same place.

'I simply have to feed the head of your prick through this slot in your new vagina,' she said, 'and then I can pull the garment all the way up into position,' she said.

Thirty seconds later, I was staring down at the place where, until recently, I'd had a cock and testicles, and now there appeared the protruding lips of my vagina. I was itching to slip my hand down there to investigate, but I was still strung up to the pipe. Now that my skin was no longer burning, the ache in my arms was becoming increasingly unbearable.

'Carol. Can't you release my hands now? I can hardly bear the pain.'

She smiled, sympathetically. 'Sorry Phil. Just one thing left to do which will be much easier whilst you're trussed up like that.'

She pulled another black garment out of a bag, and my heart was suddenly pounding in my mouth.

'Er… what… what have you got there, Carol?'

She held it up so I could see, but I already knew the answer.

'It's a corset,' she said. 'I told you it's a Victorian function tomorrow night, so all the women will be wearing corsets — the Chief Constable as well, I shouldn't be surprised. Presumably you haven't worn one before, so we need to do a bit of urgent training.'

'But I'm really not that fat. Couldn't I manage without?' I wasn't certain why I was arguing about wearing a garment I found so incredibly erotic. I think probably for the sake of form.

Carol firmly shook her head, and said, 'Hardly. Even I appear to have quite a reasonable figure when I'm wearing a corset. If they weren't such murder to wear, I'd probably wear one all the time. If you don't wear one tomorrow night, everyone will notice.'

'Well, you won't need to fasten it too tight, will you?'

'Look, I've got to get you into the serving costume I got for the agency girl. That means I'm going to have to reduce your waist by six or eight inches.'

Shit, that sounded frightening — but also incredibly exciting.

'So, the corset goes on now, as tight as I can get it. Then, every half-hour, I tighten it some more.'

I gulped, realising that protest was absolutely useless.

She slipped a chemise up my body, and then wrapped the corset around me and fastened it with the metal busks at the front. Then she went behind my back, and I felt her start to draw in the strings. It was incredibly erotic, to start with. In the mirror, I could see my body starting to take on a new shape. I already had the superbly round buttocks and hips, and the corset started to produce the kind of waist that every woman wants, but most would never achieve.

Tighter and tighter the corset got, and smaller and smaller my waist, until it was getting to the point where I was having difficulty in breathing.

'That's tight enough, Carol. I can't breathe now.'

'Christ! I don't think we're even half-way there. Hang on, let me get a tape measure.' I felt her tie a quick knot in the strings, allowing them to slip slightly, and me to draw a slight breath of air.

'No, you're nowhere near. Your waist has only gone down by about three inches. I need to get at least another inch to start with; then I'll be able to slip on your temporary dress.' She grabbed the strings and started to vigorously pull them tighter.

'No, but Carol, I can't breathe…'

'If you couldn't breathe, you wouldn't be able to talk, so I'll know it's too tight when you pass out.'

I thought she was joking at first, but as the corset got tighter and tighter, I realised she wasn't. I had brainwave, and I let my legs collapse and my head roll to one side. The whole weight of my body was hanging from my arms. It was absolute murder, but surely Carol would stop now.

'That's really helpful,' she said, drawing in another few inches of string. 'But don't let your head loll about like that, or else I won't know when you've passed out and you'll probably end up with a crushed rib-cage.'

I hurriedly pulled my head upright. I would have taken the weight off my arms, by pushing down with my feet, but there was a buzzing in my head, and I no longer knew what I should do to relieve the pain.

***

'There, there. Feeling better?'

I was lying doubled up over the bathroom stool, my head resting on the floor.

'Ehhh-hhh.'

You might as well lie there for a minute, as I can slip on your Bustlet quite easily in that position.'

I opened my mouth wide and managed to suck in a tiny gasp of air — there was just nowhere inside me for it to go. I released that little puff, then sucked in another, and another — all tiny little gasps.

'What's a Bustlet?' I asked, her words at last sinking in.

She produced another black garment from her bag. 'One of these,' she said. 'It's a flesh-coloured singlet which goes over your shoulders and stops below your nipples. There are bags inside which you can inflate with water — you can get breasts any size you like.'

I was intrigued. 'But they won't be very realistic, will they?'

'Well, you've never thought my tits were false, have you? I've been wearing them for years. They're not cheap, but they are incredibly life-like. I first got them when James picked up a nice bribe from a drug dealer. He gave me some of his kitty and told me to get a breast job.'

She pushed her breasts towards me, so as to display them for inspection. 'I found a Bustlet was a lot cheaper, looked just as good, and gave me a bit of cash left over for myself.'

I stared up at her. Her tits were the redeeming feature that had turned a fat, middle-aged woman into a Sex-Goddess.

'But they can't be false,' I protested. 'There's no join with your neck.'

'It comes right up to my chin, look.' She lifted her chin and pointed to an almost invisible line along the underside of her jaw. 'It also hides my double chins and wrinkly neck, so I think it's a bloody good investment. Fortunately, my supplier had a black one in stock, so we'll be able to give you a really nice pair of tits. With those poking out the front of your dress, there's no way James will even look at your face.'

She had a point.

***

After she'd pulled the Bustlet over my head and as far down my chest as it would go, she led me over to the washbasin and took a piece of plastic tubing out of the package, which she fitted onto the tap. Then she turned on the tap and flushed the tube through with water, before fitting the other end onto my left nipple.

'The nipple's porous,' she explained. 'I can force water through it to inflate the breast, and there's a one-way valve to prevent it coming out when I remove the pipe.'

She turned on the tap, and my left breast went from a size AA to a size B in about twenty seconds. 'It's like magic, isn't it. Now, let's get the other breast inflated to the right size.'

After blowing it up, she took off the pipe and then stood back and stared at me for a few seconds. 'Looks like I've over-inflated the right breast. I'll put a little more in the left one.'

My left breast went from a size B to a C; then Carol decided she'd over-inflated the left breast, so she topped up my right one. I was beginning to have visions that I'd end up with tits the size of basket-balls, but she stopped before they'd even reached football size. When she came to measure me, she reckoned they were a whopping 40DD!

'Well, that's fortunate,' she says. 'That happens to be the exact size of bra I bought when I was out shopping.'

So, the bitch had intended me to reach this size all along!

***

I thought the indignity must be virtually over by then; little did I know! She pulled stockings carefully up each leg, and secured them with a lacy garter. Then she made me step into little booties, with high heels (she said they were three inches, but to me it felt like I was tottering on the top of a skyscraper).

After that, she brought out a strange bundle of concentric hoops, all attached to each other by tape. She dropped it on the ground in front of me, and had me step into the centre of them. Then she lifted the smallest hoop up around my legs and as she did so, the other hoops followed, one-by one. This, I realised was a Victorian bustle. She secured it around my waist.

A petticoat went over my head and she spread it down over the bustle, followed by a black skirt. I had to admit, with my narrow waist, and large breasts, the bustle gave me a wonderful shape.

'Why did I need the padded girdle, if I'm going to be wearing a bustle?' I demanded.

'Well, it needs to be realistic when you take it off,' Carol said. 'Or say you tripped over whilst you were carrying a tray, and we all saw your prick hanging down. People might suspect there was something wrong.'

'But aren't I going to wear pantaloons or something?' I protested.

'Don't be silly. Servants could rarely afford such luxuries in those days. You have to look authentic.'

I said nothing more. Personally, I was going to make bloody certain that I didn't trip over and expose everything under my skirt, and anyway, I couldn't see why I wasn't allowed to wear even a pair of normal panties.

Carol had a modern-day top made of black stretchy material for me, which she said I could wear in the meantime, until my corset was tight enough to allow the Victorian bodice to be worn. As I stood in front of her mirror, and swirled around slowly, I looked bloody sexy — and very much the kind of maid that, in other circumstances, I'd have taken a great deal of pleasure in working with.

***

'Good evening, master. Can I take your coat for you? And can I get you a drink to start the evening with?'

Godo hardly knew what had hit him when he walked into his house on Saturday evening, for in front of him was this gorgeous Victorian maid, with huge tits and an unbelievably tiny waist. He ogled me, and then ogled me some more.

Carol had continually tightened my corset until I'd been able to slip on the slim bodice, which buttoned up at the back. Over the top, I was wearing a lacy, white apron, with ribbon ties which crossed over at the back and then tied in a beautiful bow. In my black Afro wig, I had a matching white bow, with the tails hanging halfway down my back.

'Bloody hell. If I'd known there were women like you in Africa, I'd never have been against immigration in the first place.'

I smiled at him. 'Thank you, master. Now, can I take your coat?'

It had been a frenetic couple of days. Carol had made me practice everything about being a female — my walk, my voice, my behaviour, even how to handle my bustle, and now I felt pretty confident I could handle virtually everything that might come along.

I took his coat to the cloakroom, and followed him into the lounge.

'Well, I'm really impressed,' he said, his eyes running up and down my body. 'When Carol said she'd get a Victorian maid, I never realised it would be anything like you.'

I gave a little curtsy — Carol had shown me how. 'Thank you, master.'

'There was just one thing I want to check.' He was staring down at my boots, which were poking out from under my skirts. I wondered whether I hadn't spent long enough polishing them to a mirror-like surface. He bent down onto one knee, but instead of touching my boot, he grasped the lowest hoop of my bustle and lifted it — higher and higher, peering under my skirt.

Damn Carol, I thought. That was why she'd made me wear this garment with the false vagina.

'Well, I never,' he said, presumably as he realised I wasn't wearing bloomers. Then, with a swift movement, he stood up, pulling the hoop upwards with him, so that the rear of it caught me behind the ankles. Before I could react, he was thrusting the front of the hoop into my chest and pushing me backwards.

Unable to step back, I fell back, landing on the floor just behind me with a painful thump. He continued to force the hoop of my bustle up and over my head and shoulders, so the top part of me was encased in the hoop and skirts, whilst the bottom of me was totally exposed, my naked legs waving in the air — that's to say, my totally naked legs waving in the air, apart from the padded girdle which looked just like a woman's thighs and vagina.

Author's note: The story continues in the FINAL CHAPTER