Forced To Be Their Sissy!: They’re Making Me Dress Like A Woman!

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If you found out that your future employer was into crossdressers, would you dress up to secure the job? Would you wear makeup too? Change, but we just got started," she taunted. "Oh no, you're not going to change yet. You wanted to be me, and now you're getting your chance. You'll stand there for a good long time and be admired, just as you wanted to be. Look, here comes someone now. Smile pretty, dear." She said if I wanted to marry him I would have to dress as a woman on the wedding day. I would also need to pretend to be a woman for a while to convince the community her son isn’t gay.” Anyway, while the clothes she bought me were very stylish in the eyes of a girl at the time, I was a boy and I was super embarrassed. I had tons of mini skirts in the wardrobe, and bear in mind, when I DID wear shorts as a boy, I wore them to my knees. To wear a skirt that barely made it down to mid-thigh was humiliating. I remember going to school and guys were wolf-whistling at me. On my way to the cafeteria, one guy even told me I had pretty legs. They made kissy sounds at me and called me "sweetie" and "babe." It was so humiliating. My low-cut tops and dresses were very humiliating as well.

With his father," Mrs. Jennings answered curtly. Her pretty face with its short, blonde hair and attractive body suddenly seemed hard and stern. "In here, young man. We need to talk!" As the time past I got hot sitting there in the dress. All that silk and nylon I was wearing trapped my body heat, making me feel like I was roasting in an oven. I could feel beads of sweat forming over parts of my body. Mrs. Jennings noticed my discomfort and, perhaps in an act of mercy, turned on a fan and pointed it at me. Is that me? I open my eyes wider to realize that the girls, or at least Leanne, must’ve put makeup on my freshly shaved face while I was napping. They gave me the works, just like they would’ve to a female client at their kiosk. I was stunned.My brain was on sexual overload and I found myself getting very hard. How I wish I could reach down and relieve myself. My reaction to the slip didn't go unnoticed by Mrs. Jennings. In a cold and hard voice she lashed, "So, you think this is fun, do you? That this is some kind of game for your sexual amusement." Then in a more sinister tone she whispered, "Well princess, the fun hasn't even started yet." Another co-worker commented that I was much taller dressed as a woman. When I explained that I was wearing 4-1/2-inch heels, he said maybe he should start wearing heels, too. (He is by far the shortest male at work.) For many years now I haven’t owned a single item of male clothing. I’m trying to be me, so I am comfortable looking feminine, but continuing to be called Steven. Surely there don’t need to be any rules? And the boys – now young men – still call me Dad. Because, of course, however I have chosen to look, I’ll always be their dad.

My mum-in-law started calling me her daughter-in-law,” he said. “There was a time when I came down in slippers, not really dressed. She said I needed to maintain myself at all times and never come down again like that. Then I discovered casinos and that was when my life changed forever. I got into the habit of working a full day and then racing round to the Roulette Casino. At first, it seemed like good fun but gradually I became addicted and began gambling more and more. I got myself into an awful mess. Outwardly affluent, my house and car belonged to the bank, I had a huge overdraft and I owed money all over the place. Going over my finances one night, I realized that I would be bankrupt and homeless before long. I could see no way out, other than stealing money from my clients and even I was not daft enough to do that.

Mrs. Jennings left the room and returned a minute later with a full-length mirror in her hands. She placed it in front of me and grinned at my reaction. I couldn't believe the change. I didn't look like a boy anymore; I looked like a young woman. I was beautiful. Satisfied that I am not wearing or carrying anything that a prisoner might use as a weapon against other prisoners, guards or maybe themselves, my unsmiling, silent escort leads me to the isolation wing, where my quarry has been a permanent resident since he was admitted into the prison system ten years earlier. I pass a large area where female prisoners are doing weight training, using running machines, playing pool or just standing around talking. The voices drop to almost a whisper at the sight of my escort’s prison uniform and the female inmates look at me and the guard stonily. I note that the women, like their warders, are more masculine than feminine. Whoa, you look like a real woman,” Kit Clark observed as he greeted me in the Gold Room. “It’s almost too convincing.” So, earlier today, my wife took my out for my makeover. She took me to a salon and spa. She had me get the most difficult part done first; the full body waxing. It hurt like hell, but I survived. Now I'm all smooth; face included. Roger sat silent and miserable as he watched his mother tie two large bows in his blonde hair – one each side of his head.