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Message-ID: <47932asstr$1085112604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} Teasing by Vickie Tern 6/9 TG femdom
Lines: 488
Date: Fri, 21 May 2004 00:10:04 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Teasing by Vickie Term 6/9 TG femdom hum



Six


"Oh, heavens, Pattie," Tara suddenly interjected.  "You aren't even
dressed!  You need to shower and lotion your body this minute, so
you can try on your new lingerie.  It's ultra-feminine.  Today you
need to feel you're a girl from the skin on out!  With no doubt in
your mind!  What are you, Pattie?"  

"Why ma'am, how can you ask?  I'm a girl!"  I felt uneasy about the
next part, but today was for Tara, so I went all out.  "A girl with
an extraordinary clit who loves ultra-feminine lingerie!"

"And why do you love ultra-feminine lingerie, Pattie?"

"Because it's attractive!"  What was she driving at with these
catechisms?  "It helps me feel sexy.  It turns men on!"

"Oh, you show men your underwear, Pattie?"

I saw where she wanted me.  And I sensed that she wasn't teasing,
she wanted me to feel the sexual power women know they've got when
their men are feeling randy.  "If I feel attracted to a man, then
yes, when I'm alone with him I just might."

"But men can't see your undies when you're properly dressed, can
they?"

"No ma'am.  But I'll know they're there.  I'll know I'm attractive. 
And men can sense that in a girl."

Tara looked at me with respect.  "You're a quick study, Pattie. 
Men certainly can sense that.  Do remember to be the teeniest bit
provocative.   This man can do us both a lot of good if he's so
inclined.  We don't want to disappoint him."

"No, ma'am," I said.  I had my orders.  Tara not only wanted me to
look like a passable woman when we met this business prospect of
hers, she wanted me to feel feminine, sexy.  So whatever signals
this man got from me would be helpful to Tara's negotiations.  "I
hope you'll find me satisfactory"

"I'm sure I will, Patricia honey," she said.  And bent over to kiss
me.  I felt so warm, so wonderful, that my rear end clenched up
gratefully at her kiss.  As her lips touched mine, I remembered
that it was Tara who was supposed to do the flirting, not me. 
Well, she's the boss, I thought.  And besides, being a girl who
feels sexually attractive might be a fun thing!  This one day I'd
give myself the full experience.  No, that was the wrong way to
think.  Beginning today and every day to come I'll have the full
experience.  Then tomorrow deal with that lip paint and return to
normal.

Would that be possible?  Not altogether.  Because now, not only was
I all those other lovers Tara liked to imagine me, I was also
Patricia.  Well, I considered further, with my bottom feeling so
deliciously comfy, that's not a bad thing.  At least I'm me when
I'm Patricia, not a helpless stand-in for one of those men Tara
tells me she fucks.

As I headed for the shower, I realized that this was a very
peculiar way to think of myself.  Genuinely a girl, yet a stand-in
for men more attractive than me.  But that was what Tara wanted.

An hour later, I was stepping carefully on high heels -- "for the
practice" -- across a parking lot and through a mall and then into
the capacious lobby of what looked like a brick professional
building.  I felt a little foolish, but Tara kept insisting I
looked just fine, so I tried to pay no attention.  I could feel
against my skin the sexy lingerie Tara had provided out of nowhere. 
A bra and silicone boobs were visible under one of Tara's gauzy
blouses, squeezing my chest, and I'd worked my legs into a skin
tight pair of stretch jeans.  Tara'd thought that for a casual
expedition to a beauty salon pants were more suitable than a skirt,
though they had to be women's pants unequivocally.  So they were
brightly flowered and tight, my genitals tucked way under so my
crotch looked as flat as any woman's.  

"All part of the show," Tara had said.  "We wear tight clothes to
show off our bodies, but always as if nothing could be further from
our intentions."  

I commented that I didn't have a woman's body -- my ass was too
slim and my waistline too wide.  

"All in due time," was all she replied.  "Meanwhile, enjoy being on
show.  Walk with one foot in front of the other so your rear rocks
with each step -- that always attracts eyes."  She'd handed me some
clip-on drop earrings.  "These will do for now.  And now mascara,
just a touch so people won't wonder why you aren't wearing any. 
Sarah will do you up properly."  

"Sarah?" I asked.

"Use a higher pitch, honey.  Yes, Sarah.  An artist.  She does
movie stars and theater people, even female impersonators.  She's
perfect for what we need right now.  You're going to be seen up
close, remember."

"I suppose that's what I am now," I said glumly as we arrived at
the mall, me feeling like a clown in costume.  "A female
impersonator."

"Oh, no, honey!  You're the real thing.  Remember?"  

I tried to remember.  In fact, no one we passed in the mall gave us
a second glance, so I suppose I really did look authentic.   Now,
in the building's lobby, I checked the wall registry and saw lists
of doctors, dentists, accountants, real estate developers, and
finally, "The Gallery: Make-up Artists"

"That's Sarah?" I asked 

"That's her company.  A group of specialists in remaking women's
looks.  If we had a week you could emerge as any kind of woman
imaginable, gutter trash or a high sophisticate or a rocket
scientist in spectacles.  Even a schoolgirl for life, if that's
your fetish.  They do everything from nails to radical plastic
surgery.  But we have only a few hours for the basics, so pretty
and proper is how you'll end up this time.  For more you'll have to
come back."     

"Why would I want more, Tara?"  She'd resumed teasing me again, as
if I wanted to be doing this and she was only accommodating me.

"Oh, all women want to look as beautiful as they can, Pattie.  And
this is all at company expense, so cost is no object.  You'll want
everything.  You'll be back.

This wasn't teasing, it was performance.  Today, like all women, I
was a woman for the rest of my life.  So I'd be back.  But not
tomorrow.

Sarah was done up in high sophisticate style herself, her face as
if enameled, her hair sculpted.   "Lovely to meet you, Patricia,"
she said to me.  "I'm sure we'll soon be much better acquainted. 
Tara tells me you need all of the fundamentals right now, so let's
get started."  Then to Tara, "You're right, her facial shape cries
out for a long page boy ending just above the shoulder, curled in
on her cheeks, and bangs of course.  That way it'll swing quite
fetchingly whenever she moves her head, and her face will seem
smaller, cuter.  We'll lighten the shade just a little while she's
being depillated.  The naive look you want for her make-up will be
no problem at all, so I'm sure we'll have her ready for you in
plenty of time.  She'll be just lovely, trust me."

"I'm sure," Tara said.  "Have you told Henri what I want,
meanwhile?"

Sarah smiled confidingly, woman to woman.  "Oh, yes!  It'll be
heavenly, just wait and see.  He's in the Boudoir Suite waiting for
you right now.  Just put yourself in his hands and surrender
yourself and you'll soon feel ecstatic.  No woman has ever found
fault with him.  Marvelous hands -- his work is exquisite!"

"So I've heard.  That's why I've been eager to try him."  

Then as I was deciding that Henri was a hairdresser, not a male sex
companion, Tara turned toward me.  "Pattie, I'll see you later. 
We're both going to be scrumptious, just you wait.  Isn't it
marvelous?  Our first time in a salon together, and your very first
time ever!"

"Yes, marvelous," I replied, trying to be a good sport about it
all, especially her implication that I had many more visits to look
forward to.  This was it.  "But what was that about depillation?"

Tara was gone.  Sarah took me by the elbow and led me down yellow
and pink corridors into the "Colette Suite."  A bright, yellow
plush room with a matching leather-upholstered sectional lounging
chair leaning way back.  "You can use that dressing room there to
undress, Patricia.  Strip to the buff, we'll need access to all of
you.  You'll find a robe there you can wear back out here to
protect your modesty."

"You said something about depillation?" I repeated.

"Yes, I think you'll be pleased.  It's our own method.  No harsh
chemicals, painful electrolysis, or wax-stripping.  Just steam to
open your pores, a quick spray to guide a pulsing laser beam to
your hair roots, and your skin is as smooth and hairless as a
baby's.  Over your whole body.  The same treatment also evaporates
beard hairs and exfoliates the skin without causing the slightest
irritation, and leaves you with a wonderful complexion.  Just
think, no more shaving or pancake make-up for the rest of your
life!  Any translucent foundation will serve, you'll have a natural
look that saves endless time each morning.  And all in under two
hours!"

"Sarah, I didn't discuss this with Tara.  It sounds permanent."

"It is.  Sometimes fine facial hairs reappear in six months or so,
but we'll attend to them easy enough if that happens.  Tara
understands.  She said you'll need to withstand close inspection,
so a beard cover won't do the job."  She raised her eyebrows at me. 
"She told me, she's looking forward to satiny kisses instead of the
sandpaper kind.  I think that's sweet!"

"I'll never again be able to grow a moustache or beard?"

"No more than any other woman, Patricia.  Were you planning to grow
a moustache or a beard?"

I shook my head.  No, I was thinking, but I'd have preferred to
maintain the option.  Without another word I went into the dressing
room she'd indicated, unpeeled my jeans, stripped off my blouse and
undies, and returned wearing the salmon-colored satin shorty gown
I found hanging there, uneasy now about my flat chest and fearful
that my testicles might be dangling visible below it.  Sarah was
still there.  She gestured me into the chair, and as I lay back she
velcroed me in.  I suddenly found I couldn't move.

"I'd rather you left my arms free," I said in as level and stern a
voice as I could muster consistent with civility.

"Oh, no, Patricia!"  She sounded genuinely shocked.  "That's not
possible!  This chair rotates on a long axis.  As we depillate and
nourish your skin we'll need to turn you for access to various
parts of your body, and your arms would flop about!  Also, they
need to be secured so our nail technicians can do their work.  This
procedure is rather strenuous -- you'll be glad you dozed through
it!" 

"I will?" I said, now alarmed!  "But I don't intend ...."

"That's how we can do so many things in under three hours without
causing our clients discomfort," Sarah declared in as firm a voice
as I'd used a moment ago.  "'Twilight Sleep' it's called.  It's
used by hundreds of thousands of women when they're giving birth. 
In a way that's what you're doing, giving birth to your new self. 
Isn't that wonderful?  Believe me, you'll be pleased!  Alicia, I
think we're ready."

A woman's voice behind me said, "Yes, ma'am," and I glimpsed slim
fingers and bright red fingernails fitting a plastic face mask to
my nose and mouth.  Then came a flowery, lemony smell, and I opened
my mouth to protest. 

Tara's voice asked, "Can she hear me?" and Sarah's voice replied,
"Yes, I'm sure by now," and Tara's said, "Honey, you really look
wonderful!  I don't think there's the slightest chance you'll be
mistaken for anything other than my secretary now.  And a rather
attractive one too.  Take your time waking up!"  Then in a
different voice, "She's just what I wanted, Sarah. I'm very
pleased.  Thank you!"

"Oh, you're very welcome, Tara," Sarah's voice said.  "I'll send my
bill to the usual address.  I hope you won't be too startled."

"Not at all, if this works out as I hope.  It'll be well worth it,"
Tara's voice replied.  "One must spend money to make money, and I
can't think of a better way to spend it.  All awake now, honey?"

I found that somehow my arms had been freed, and I opened my eyes. 
I was shocked to find long, gleaming, deep pink nails on the end of
each finger.  I stared at them bewildered for a moment.  Were they
my hands?

"You've had a lovely beauty rest, sweetheart.  Take another moment,
and then hurry and dress.  We need to get home to get ready for our
appointment!"

"All right," I said.  And that was shocking too!  My voice was way
high pitched!  "Tara!" I sang out alarmed, in soprano.

"Oh no, we didn't have your voice altered, Pattie," Tara said.  She
sounded a little amused.  "Though maybe some day, if you want to. 
That sound is delightful!  Sarah warned me, it's an incidental
after-effect of the 'Twilight Sleep' gases on your vocal cords. 
It'll last through the rest of the day, but you'll probably sleep
it off tonight.  So much the better for our purposes.  Say
something else!"

"How long have I been asleep?" I asked in falsetto.  This was
positively weird!

"The full three hours it took to make you beautiful.  Really, stop
admiring your nails and do get dressed!  I think you'll be very
pleased when you see how the rest of you came out.  But there's
almost no time!"

When I turned sideways off the couch and stood up, I saw that my
toenails matched my fingernails, the same deep pink.  Whatever for? 
This thing in the hotel room was a one-afternoon stand, as Tara had
described it, and I'd be wearing shoes the whole time.  To persuade
me that I'm a woman forever, so I'll act the role convincingly? 
That excuse was running threadbare.  These women were playing
dollies with me!

But my greatest astonishment was when I entered the dressing room
and found a woman in a salmon colored robe entering the same room
through the mirror image on the rear wall.  Her hair was blonde,
curving down fetchingly to just below her chin.  Her eyebrows were
a high, thin arch over huge, dark eyes that gleamed mischievously. 
Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were two puffy pillows
begging to press themselves against something, and colored the same
shade as her fingernails.  A delicate circle of gold passed through
each of her ear lobes.  "My God!" I thought aloud as I began to get
dressed, my eyes fixed on her while she pulled on her lace panties
and re-secured her brassiere, tucked in her boobs, then wrestled
herself again into her too-tight stretch jeans.  I had trouble
tucking myself between my legs to achieve the flat crotch those
jeans required, because my cock had gotten half-hard at the sight
of that girl in her bra and panties.  Could I blame it?

All this for a single afternoon's non-speaking role in the ongoing
drama of my wife's career as a commercial office designer?  This
babe had been created just to play a walk-on?  With her plucked
eyebrows and collagened lips and pierced ears?  For one day only? 
What is Tara really up to?  For sure, I decided, I won't fall
asleep again while this play is acting out.  I will let nothing
further be done to my body.  No more orange juice or suppositories
up the rear -- even though I did feel good about each of them, I
had to admit it.  No more trusting that Tara's ambiguous sexual
talk means nothing.  

I grew quite grave as I realized it had gone beyond a sexually
provocative game, that I really did not know what Tara was doing
with me, nor why.  And as I left the dressing room, once again
clicking my way carefully in those high, high heels, I realized it
was too late to resolve much now.  To accept no more make-up on my
face?  It was already lovely, just as she'd said.  Beautifully
stroked on.  Perfect.  No one would dream I was not a woman.  If
this went on, soon not even me.  Was that what she wanted?  Why?

As I re-entered the salon, I saw that Tara's look had undergone a
few changes too during her session somewhere else.  She still had
her businesswoman face, but it seemed somehow more artfully
designed.  Her eyes looked darker-edged, drawn out, more sleek and
cat-like.  Her lips seemed larger, larger even than mine, and they
were bright scarlet.  Overall the impression she gave was now one
of forceful femininity, of dominant self-assertion, yet also of
self-satisfied relaxation, as if she'd just emerged from a
gratifying workout.  Or from some great sex.  I couldn't bring
myself to confront her with my misgivings about all this.  So we
left the "Gallery" together silently.  "Gallery" indeed!  A gal had
walked in with her agreeable feminized husband.  And now two gals
walked out, one of them feeling intimidated.

As Tara drove us home she tried to initiate girl talk with me, with
her newly certified girlfriend.  "Pattie," she said in a bright yet
confidential tone.  "I'm dying to tell you about some of the things
Henri did to me while you were having your beauty nap.  You'll
never guess!  A woman's body becomes a living, throbbing work of
art under his hands.  I was in raptures!"

"I'd just as soon not know, Tara," I said shortly.  "Not guess at
it and not think about it."

She heard, and was silent for a long while.  Then "This isn't fun
for you right now, is it, honey?"

"No," I said.  "If it ever really was."

"Oh, it was," she replied.  "I can attest to that and so can you. 
The way this kind of humiliation stimulates your ardor?  Night
after night?"

"All right," I acknowledged.  "I forget sometimes that it's me
having sex as well as me watching you having sex with different
men.  And that dildo last night was fantastic, I can't deny it. 
But look at me now."

She glanced.  "What's the problem?" she asked.  "You're gorgeous!"

"Yes," I said.  "But I shouldn't be gorgeous!  I'm your husband! 
Remember him?  Your maybe much-cuckolded wimp husband?"

"Oh yes, my husband!  I remember him.  A lovely man, who allows me
to indulge any fanciful notion my heart can dream up, who shares
them all with me and helps me live them no matter what it seems to
cost him in self-respect.  My partner for life.  My lover.  My
all!"

"That's right!  Look at him!"

Her voice took on a tone of mild surprise.  "Why, I can't, Pattie!" 
she said.  "He isn't here.  He promised to stay away today so my
secretary and I could attend undistracted to the most important
business opportunity of my career.  One that will change our lives
altogether, if it goes right."  She glanced at me again, this time
a bit longer.  "At least he promised to stay away."

We drove in silence a short while.  She was right.  A promise was
a promise.

Then with a faint smile, she said, "You didn't expect you'd end up
looking this pretty, did you, honey.  It bothers you, doesn't it? 
Does it excite you that you're so attractive to yourself?  And
maybe also to other men?  Does it scare you just a little, because
it opens up so many unfamiliar opportunities?"

"I guess," I replied, not sure what she meant.  "Mainly it scares
me that it looks so long-lasting."

"There's no other way to do this, dear.  That's how it has to look,
you know that.  Because that's how women are.  Committed to be
women for life.  All women look as if they'd never been anything
else and know they never will be anything else.  That's what's so
convincing about them.  You need to put yourself in that mind-set,
that this is you from now on!  Were you expecting Sarah to use
thick stage make-up that wipes right off afterward?  This isn't
Halloween!"

She was right again.  We drove a little longer in silence.

"Except for the body hair, there's nothing that can't be undone or
recovered," she said.  "Not yet, anyhow.  And the hair's no loss --
you've always complained about shaving, and I've always preferred
the rest of you smooth."

"What do you mean, 'not yet,' Tara?  You're planning on more?"

"It's possible.  That'd be your choice," was all she replied.  She
volunteered no more, and I didn't want to ask. 

And as we pulled into our driveway she added.  "Honey, you need to
reaffirm your commitment!  This is my big chance.  You have to be
my secretary and girl Friday now, and nothing but.  You're
disturbed, and I don't blame you, maybe I should have prepared you
a little better for what Sarah's done to you.  But you know it was
necessary.  Looking the way you do, no one can possibly doubt you
or embarrass you, and that's what we both want I'm sure.  Aren't
you sure?"

She waited.  I nodded, maybe a bit reluctantly.

"But I don't want to force you to do anything -- if you want to
back out, now is when, and I'll never ever say anything about it
again.  Because from now on I need your complete cooperation.  From
now on you need to be a woman, my administrative secretary, willing
to do whatever's necessary for the company you work for, whether I
tell you to or not.  So decide right now.  Who are you?"

It wasn't a fair question.  She'd reminded me what this contract
meant to her, to us, to the uses of the office she'd built behind
our house for managing projects on this scale.  And I was in full
make-up and costume, ready to go.  To back down would betray my
promise to her and her confidence in me and defeat both of us.  It
would waste talent, effort, and money.  

By now we were both out of the car, standing together in the
driveway.  She waited.

"I'm your secretary, ma'am, of course," I said in my syrupy high
voice, giving it a faint lilt.  "That's who I am.  And you can be
sure I'll try to do my absolute best to please you!  Whatever's
necessary." 

She relaxed.  I hadn't realized how tense she'd been.  "I do want
this to be a good experience for you, Pattie.  Of course it's
taxing, and probably humiliating, at least to your manhood.  But
your manhood isn't joining us today, is it?"

"No ma'am," I said.

"Today, you need to enjoy your womanhood."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I love it, I must confess it, being with you this way, with your
manhood on vacation, being just girls together.  It's a whole new
relationship!  You'll benefit from it too -- you'll learn a lot
more about how women live and work and feel.  Maybe a little about
men too from a woman's perspective.  Maybe more than you ever
wanted to know, I'm sure you're worried about that!  But relax and
take what comes good naturedly, and you'll find you can enjoy it
all.  Whatever comes.  Women do."

I saw her point.  In for a penny.  "Yes ma'am," I said.

"Please, just call me 'Tara' for now," she said.  "We're a small
firm, so first names are just fine.  But always say it
respectfully.  We aren't partners -- you work for me.  Understood?"

"Yes, I understand, Tara."  

And I noticed something odd.  I felt more humbled calling her
'Tara' than calling her 'ma'am.'  Because 'Tara' had been her name
as my wife, but it was now the name of my boss.  My wife was now my
boss.  I was her subordinate.  It changed our relationship.

end 6/9
VickieTern@AOL.COM

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