textfiles/sex/EROTICA/P/paradsl1.txt

Archive-name: Changes/paradsl1.txt
Archive-author: Donna Baker
Archive-title: Paradise Lodge - 1


I pulled down the sun-visor mirror and checked my face one last time in
the early morning light.  The self-assured image of a successful
businesswoman filled the glass.  My glossy red lips smiled confidently.
One long-lashed blue eye winked, its lavender-shadowed lid shining
through my large gold-framed glasses.  Every glistening black strand of
my short, bold, upswept hairdo was in place.  I grabbed my bright blue
leather purse and swung my matching five-inch open-toed pumps out of the
car.
  I was dressed to kill for my first day on the job at the Paradise
Lodge.  There was no one in the parking lot to appreciate the light
brown seams on my sheer hose peeking through the tall slit that ran up
the back of my tight blue velvet skirt.  Alas, the bit of black lacy
slip showing at the top of the slit was also wasted!  The confident roll
of my hips set my large breasts to jiggling and my gold earrings to
swaying, kissing my slender neck.
  My cheeks flushed beneath my heavy makeup as I stepped through the
employee's entrance, and my rigid corset thrust my breastflesh outward
under my ivory blouse and blue velvet jacket with each excited breath.
My heart pounded with anticipation!  My semi-swollen penis struggled
painfully to repudiate my obvious femininity by bursting loose from its
confined position, back between my legs under my blue satin panties.
After living as a man for thirty-five years, this was it - my first job
as a woman!
  Once inside, the guard checked my brand new Paradise Lodge ID card,
then opened the inner door to admit me.  A lovely young redhead dressed
in a soft green flannel jumpsuit escorted me to the manager's office.
She knocked, then motioned me to enter on my own.
  A stunning figure in a bejeweled, wasp-waisted evening gown from the
1890s extended her white-gloved arm in greeting.  "Margaret Whittaker!"
I exclaimed, taking her hand.  "You look absolutely fantastic in that
gown!"  This was the woman who had recruited me.  She had arranged
everything - my new name, my ID, moving me to Nevada, and handling all
the hundreds of excuses, tricks, and lies required to start a new life
with a new sex!
  "Thank you, Donna," she smiled, and curtsied - a difficult feat, since
the lace- and pearl-covered garment tightly encased her thighs, narrowed
dramatically down to her knees, then flared into a bouquet of ruffles
and roses.  Her platinum hair was piled high in Gibson girl style.  Her
blond eyebrows were unplucked, and her perfect complexion was innocent
of makeup save for a bit of pink lip blush, true to the style of the
era.
  "But why the costume?" I inquired.
  "Have a seat, dear, and let's talk," she offered.  "I'll have to
stand, I'm afraid.  How my great-grandmother lived to have children,
I'll never know!"  I could see what she meant; eighteen inches would
more than encompass her waist, dress and all!  Only the most severe
corset could have reduced her ample figure to those proportions!  It
made her swollen bosom, veiled in gossamer wisps of lace, flutter with
each breath in short, shallow puffs.
  I sat and crossed my legs, making sure as always that a half-inch of
stocking top showed below my skirt hem.  I stared at her tiny waist as
she talked, wishing that I, too, could wear such a restrictive corset!
  "I'll tell you about the costume in a moment, dear," she finally
replied.  "Did you have any trouble getting in?"
  "Not really," I replied.  "The ID card you gave me got me through both
gates and the back door, but I was a little surprised; I've seen less
security at a military base!  They even checked my thumbprint!"
  "You see, dear, some of our guests are very famous, and their privacy
must be well-protected.  Not all of them want the world to know they're
here!"
  "I see.  When can I start to work?" I asked, anxious to get going.
  "We'll start your training today, Donna.  But there are a few things I
need to explain, first," she smiled.  "I'm afraid I haven't been
completely frank with you about the nature of your position here."
  "I don't understand.  You mean, I won't be supervising the reception
desk?"
  "Oh, you will be in a couple of months, but first you need some
training, of course, and you'll have certain other duties in addition,"
she explained.
  "Such as?"  I was puzzled.
  "Well, for example," she continued, still smiling pleasantly, "suppose
one of our lady guests is tired and irritated after hard day travelling.
I might send you up dressed as a sweet little girl.  She might spank
your fanny and have you suck her off so she can get to sleep.  Or, one
of our gentleman guests might want to tie you over a chair back, throw
up your skirt, and take his pleasure with you.  It could be most
anything."
  I was frozen to my chair, my eyes spread wide in shock!
  "Paradise Lodge is a very special resort, Donna.  For example, I'm
wearing this costume because I'm going to help a guest act out one of
his favorite sexual fantasies in a few minutes."
  She picked up a typewritten sheet from her desk for reference as she
continued her unbelievable story.  "He's going to take me to lunch at a
cozy gas-lit London pub in 1891.  I'll be his fiancee, a most proper and
chaste lady.  He's going to lure me upstairs to his room, then tie me
up, strip off my gown, spank me, play with my cunny until I'm hot, then
force me to have sex with him.  He will continue to use me until
dinnertime, then we'll go back to the pub.  I'll be crying with shame as
he teases me and forces me to fondle him in the booth.  I may try to
escape or get help, but the rowdy pub patrons will assist him to keep
me.
  "Afterwards, we'll go back to his rooms where he has hired a
photographer.  The photographer will be astonished and disgusted by my
degradation, but will be well paid to shut up and take his pictures.  To
my eternal shame, they will record my initiation to the arts of
whipping, oral and anal sex, bondage, and whatever other perversions he
can imagine.  When he next takes me downstairs, I will be so excited by
the ordeal I will beg and plead not to be sent from his side, but he
will sell me, an utterly ruined woman, for a few pounds to a Chinese
pimp and take a new girl - a common streetwalker - up to bed with him
for the night."
  "My God!" I whispered, then aloud, "This is a brothel!  A high-class
cat house!  You hired me to be a whore, not a reception supervisor!"  I
stood up in indignation.  The idea was, to be honest, not without
attraction, but she had lied to and cheated me!  My immediate response
was anger!
  "I hired you to do both, Donna!" she retorted.  "The Paradise Lodge
staff is an amazingly diverse mix of sexes, ages, and races, but we all
have one trait in common - from the owner to the maids, we serve our
guests' sexual needs in whatever manner required.  Welcome aboard,
Donna!"
  She held out her gloved hand.  I stared at the antique gold jewelry on
her kid-wrapped wrist for several long seconds.  I found myself
strangely fascinated by this odd twist in my already odd life.  I should
have stalked angrily from the room, but I didn't!  In spite of my
amazement, I could not help but be aroused by the amazing adventure she
had just described, and by the obvious relish with which she related it!
  "This is crazy!"  I looked up at her smiling face.  Her friendly,
businesslike attitude was so utterly inconsistent with her bizarre
offer!  "Look, Margaret," I started, "I'm really flattered, and it
sounds like fun in a way, but I can't be a prostitute!  I'm an engineer
who wanted to be a girl so bad I took a job in the hotel business.  I'm
grateful for all your help, but - a prostitute!  I'm sorry, Margaret.  I
just can't."
  I hung my head, unable to face her any more, and went to the door.  It
wouldn't open, at first, so I tried harder.  I looked around for the
lock.  Mrs. Whittaker didn't offer to help me.
  I turned to ask for assistance.  Her friendly smile had been replaced
by an evil leer.  "I've got you by your sweet, feminine little balls,
dear!  Think back!  You never went with me to the Motor Vehicles office,
to the Social Security office, to the banks, or anywhere else.  I and my
staff arranged everything for you; you merely accepted your new life as
we presented it.  In fact, while your new papers may look authentic,
Miss Donna Baker doesn't officially exist at all!  Those IDs are not
registered anywhere in the world!  The bank accounts are totally
fictitious!  The only thing we did that was just exactly as you thought
was to cut all your ties with your male identity.
  "Donna," she lifted my chin to look her in the eyes, "if you went out
on that desert right now and dropped dead, the world would never miss
you!"
  As her words sank in, I tried frantically in my mind to refute her
arguments, but I couldn't!  She had taken care of me for the last six
months, helping me to make the great transition.  My parents were dead,
I never saw my divorced wife any more, and I had purposely left behind
the friends and acquaintances of my discarded male life.  I had gotten
rid of all my credit cards and other connections, living by cash to
clear the way for the change.  After taking evening and weekend training
from Mrs. Whittaker for six months, this was the first day of my new
life!
  "What do you want from me?" I asked, timidly.
  "Just to give it a chance, Donna."  She took my hand and stood me up.
"I know I am forcing you into this.  I know I tricked you cruelly.  And
make no mistake, the guards will stop you if you try to escape!
  I backed away in fright, but she grabbed my upper arms and pulled me
closer.  "Listen to your emotions, Donna!" she insisted.  "I've spent
too many hours talking with you and listing to you!  I know you too
well!  You are perfect for this job!  You want the most outrageous
sexual adventure of all time, and this is it!  Serving others' pleasure
is what you were made for, my dear!  You were born to be a courtesan!  A
woman of pleasure!  A whore!"
  I was shaking my head, confused.  There was a grain of truth to her
words, of course, but only a grain!  How could I do what she asked and
keep my self-respect?  The self-respect that I so carefully built up
over the years through my schoolwork and career?
  "And if I refuse?" I queried.  I had to know.
  "You won't, dear, if you just give it a chance!" she promised.  "You
will be earning a great deal of money here, with your salary deposited
for you.  You're not a slave, or a twenty-dollar-a-trick whore!  You
will love your work, I guarantee!  All you have to do is give it a try!
  "But if I don't?" I insisted.
  "You will!  But if you don't," she paused, deciding just how to phrase
her reply, "I'm afraid there is too just much money involved to let you
go.  As I said - no one would miss you."
  The same girl that brought me to Mrs. Whittaker's office now came to
escort me to the medical section for a physical.  On the way, we passed
an amazing assortment of people, every one of them extremely attractive
- at least to someone!
  They all seemed to be on the staff.  Out of nine, there was a pair of
punk rockers, man and woman, three girls in diaphanous harem costumes, a
streetwalker at least 50 years old, a pretty, petite yuppie in a
business suit, a gal in a torn safari outfit, and a blond muscle-bound
boy in a posing strap.
  If the sight of these sexy people wasn't enough to arouse me, the
redhead was gushing, "I couldn't help but peek at your folder.  You look
so scrumptious!  Are you really and truly hiding a big fat whanger under
that pretty blue skirt?"
  When I nodded, she put her arms through mine and walked with one pert
little breast pressed against my shoulder.
  "Oooh!" she gushed.  "You remind me so much of my piano teacher!  She
was just your age, and always so absolutely clean and pretty!  Her
makeup and hair were always perfect, and she used the exact same
perfume.  Jeez!  I had such a crush on her!  I used to wear tight
sweaters and shorts because I could tell she liked me, too.  I wanted so
badly to kiss her and lick her between her legs I could die!  I never
had the guts to try though, and she probably didn't either, 'cause I was
too young."
  Before I could respond to her exciting story, we had reached the hotel
infirmary.  Once she turned me over to the nurses there, I completely
forgot the existence of the little secretary!
  The young nurse in charge stunned me!  Her light brown hair and makeup
were straight from a 1941 Vogue magazine - a roll of curls framed her
face, then fell to her shoulders within a net.  Her eyebrows were heavy,
her mouth an oval of deep red that matched her short nails.
  Her white, short-sleeved military-style uniform had a twist - I could
see right through it to her period underwear, a heavy white bra, girdle,
and seamed white stockings!  Her tiny white shoes fit the era with
sporty bows above their round toes, and three-inch heels.  Even her
white garrison cap was transparent.
  Her perfectly businesslike attitude was more Lauren Bacal than Betty
Grabel as she took my purse and instructed me to strip for my physical.
She handed the purse to the other nurse, ordering her to help me and
giving her a hard slap across her enormous breasts to quicken her pace!
  In her late twenties, the second nurse was trapped in a fantastic
bondage caricature of a nurse's uniform!  Her boobs must have measured
forty-five inches.  The long-sleeved white dress was drawn very tightly
over them to her tiny waist.  In the shape and place of her vest pockets
were two patches of white netting, through which her large brown nipples
were thrust!  The swollen nubbins were each gripped by a small white
enameled clamp, and the chain between them drawn tight.  Her companion's
slap to them had nearly pulled the clamps loose!
  Her cap rode on the long straw-blond hair piled above her cute face.
Her innocent blue eyes flashed in fear of her bitchy boss between long
spindly false lashes.  Between her glossy pink lips, a large white ball
gag filled her mouth, held in place by a white leather strap.  Twin
weighty chandeliers of gold and glass sparkled and jingled below her
ears.
  Her skirt floated on several layers of frilly white petticoats, but
the whole affair was not quite long enough to cover her!  Curly blond
fuzz peeked delicately between the halves of her sheer open-crotch white
pantyhose!
  Her feet were hobbled first by white, seven-inch heeled shoes with
ballet toes, and further by the white enameled spreader bar that held
her slender ankles a good fifteen inches apart!  A similar bar clamped
her elbows apart behind her back, leaving her slender white hands waving
ineffectually at her sides, their incredibly long pink nails further
reducing their utility.
  In spite of her handicaps, she managed to take my garments as I
stripped and fold them neatly on a table.  She worked under a constant
stream of abuse, physical and verbal, from the bitch in the transparent
uniform.  Her huge breasts shuddered under the blows, and tears rolled
continuously from under her blue-shaded lids.
  The bitch-nurse was very polite to me while mistreating her slave.
When I was down to my blue satin bra, corset, and panties, she stopped
me and introduced herself.
  "Welcome to Paradise Lodge, Donna, my name is Helene," she said,
rhyming her name with "remain."  Her expression was neutrally pleasant;
she hadn't smiled, yet.  "I'm the head nurse, and this is Beatrice.
She's in training.  The doctor will be in later to examine you.  Has
Mrs. Whittaker explained our medical procedures?"
  "No," I answered, sitting down beside her on a padded bench.  I was
confident and cool in my blue undies.  Beatrice, the slave-nurse, stood
before us ready for more abuse.  She shuffled her weight on her
obviously painful shoes, which generated a soft, steady tinkling from
her earrings.
  "Our greatest fear here is sexually-transmitted diseases.  That's
another reason for our tight security.  No one enters the premises
without a thorough examination.  When medical security is breached, we
have to shut down all operations immediately until everyone can be
tested, again."
  "You are not cleared, yet," she continued.  "If you so much as come
close to touching the face or genitals of anyone in this building, that
person will have to stop work and be re-examined.  If you run amok and
cause a serious breach of medical security, you will be fired.  Do you
understand?"
  My attention had been wandering to look at Beatrice; I could now tell
that she had a dildo strapped into her fanny.  Helene's last remark
brought me around with a start!
  "Yes," I responded, suddenly vulnerable, again, and wishing I were
dressed.
  "Good," she stood, and I found myself bathing in the sparkling, warm
rays of a sunny smile from Miss Bitch, herself!  "Let's get on with the
tests!"
  For the next hour, she was all smiles and light while she sampled and
tested everything testable in and on my body from my blood pressure to
my urine.  During the process, I was gradually stripped completely.
Obviously familiar with the sensitivities of boys like me, she saved my
bra and breast prostheses for last, even after my panties and harness!
I could tuck my penis back between my legs; I couldn't fake my flat
chest.
  Helene motioned Beatrice to stand right between us, facing me.  She
hurled a few more insults to the poor girl, and reached around to slap
her boobs, again.  Her lovely, innocent face plainly revealed that the
pain and humiliation were very real - and very welcome!  My prick
finally betrayed me, and stood stiffly before my loins to share the
sight of this woman's intense arousal!
  Helene reached into a cabinet for a white studded leather collar and
fastened it around Beatrice's pretty neck with a padlock.  She similarly
affixed the end of the silvery steel chain to the examination table,
then removed the spreader bar between Beatrice's arms.  She extracted
the white ball gag with a jerk.
  In a blinding flash of fury, Beatrice spun around to slap Helene!
Screaming a torrent of foul invective, she grabbed at her tormenter.
Expertly, Helene took her still-hobbled opponent about the waist and
wrestled her back until the pull of her collar bent her body over flat!
  Helene pinned her arms behind her back, and proceeded to spank her
exposed bottom until she was panting in fatigue, and Beatrice was
blubbering her apologies, her ass cherry red!
  "Stand up, bitch!" she shouted, and threw Beatrice towards the bench.
The girl fell, of course, and the white ankle spreader gave her a great
deal of difficulty in regaining her feet.  Helene stepped up, grabbed
the chain between her nipple clamps, and yanked them off in a single
motion.  Beatrice screamed and threw her sharp-nailed little fists up,
but did not strike her tormenter.  Deftly, Helene reattached the clamps
to the poor girl's labia!
  "That will teach you to turn on me like that, you little whore," fumed
Helene, as the loop of chain dangled between Beatrice's white-sheathed
legs.  "Now, get to work on Donna!"
  Through her sobs, Beatrice started asking me questions about my
medical history.  She donned a stethoscope and listened to my chest.
  It finally dawned on me.
  Beatrice was the doctor!
  With frequent reminders from Helene, generally administered along with
slaps to her buttocks and breasts, Beatrice performed a most thorough
examination.  During the process, she explained that hotel personnel
were not always treated to such a display when they visited the
infirmary, but that guests were.  She and Helene were trying out their
new routine on the staff, a common practice!  With all the explanations,
however, she never let up.  Helene was still in charge, and Beatrice
still wore her clamps!
  When she finished, Helene restored the gag and elbow spreader, then
removed the collar.  Beatrice was then prodded to help me get back into
my breasts, bra, corset, panties, hose, and shoes.
  Helene wouldn't let me put my blue velvet suit back on.  She
guaranteed me that I would never miss it, but it hurt to leave my very
favorite outfit behind!  I did manage to snatch my necklaces, though.
The gold and blue chains looked quite appealing against my bra!  I
marched proudly to the next station beside Helene, with a confident
stride, arrayed only in my undies and jewelry!
  The next chore was a complete makeover.  In my previous, bi-modal
existence, it had never been possible to get a professional makeup job.
I'd done pretty well by myself, but to Robert of Paradise Lodge I owe an
eternal debt; he took my pleasant countenance and somehow made me
radiantly beautiful!
  Although he was an exceptionally warm, empathetic, and caring man,
Robert displayed not the tiniest hint of homosexuality.  He was in his
late twenties, about six-one, with a solid, athletic build.  His black
hair was progressively styled, but without undue flash, neatly framing
his rectangular, clean-shaven face.
  We talked as he started on my hair.  His rich baritone voice,
commanding presence, and charming manner reduced my insides to jelly in
two minutes flat.  I'm a big, take-charge gal, but I nearly melted in
the grip of his strong hands as he helped me up into the high
beautician's chair.  He left me feeling positively frail!
  With surprising sensitivity, he replaced my eyeglasses with a pair of
blue plastic beach blinders before removing my wig.  The booth was
surrounded by mirrors - I'd have been terribly self-conscious watching
him watch my thinning, decidedly masculine hairline.  (Thank God I'd
taken my electrolysis treatments years ago.  I couldn't have taken him
shaving my face!)
  To my utter astonishment, he quickly proceeded to shave my head
absolutely bald, then replaced my glasses!  Somehow, in the bizarre
vulnerability of a small, bespectacled, heavily made-up face set on a
naked dome, I looked more feminine now than when I came in!
  Why in the world had I never tried this before?  For the first time in
my life, (a turn of phrase frequently appropriate over the next few
weeks) I could delight in trying on wigs without the irritating
intrusion of the "old" me into the scene!
  I say "I" tried on wigs - Robert ran the show surely and skillfully!
He was very careful, checking for cap fit and length, and he paid
particular attention to the color match with my skin and eyes.  He
worked each one with his tools, some briefly and some he almost
completely restyled.  When satisfied, he tilted my chair back and
proceeded to cleanse away every nonessential atom from my neck up!  I
shone like a new car!
  For the next hour, I had little notion of what he was doing.  Starting
on my eyebrows with fluids and tweezers, and ending with a heavy squirt
of candy-sweet perfume, he worked an endless sequence of miracles on my
face.  I never did get a good look at the manicurist who managed to do
my nails while Robert worked!
  When he finally whirled me around to face the mirror, I was genuinely
confused!  Only those fortunate women who have undergone a complete,
professional makeover will believe me when I say it took five seconds
before I realized that the darkly sensuous, almost sinister, creature in
the glass was my own reflection!
  My hair was black, an almost glossy smooth helmet that framed my
features with razor-precise bangs, sweeping forward to a point under
each ear.  Low-set, sharply-defined black arcing brows bounded my deep,
velvety purple lids.  Their color was blended downward to the shade of
dusty coal behind the almost impenetrable stockade of my long, curling
lashes.  My lower lashes were also thickened, with the merest suggestion
of violet surrounding the thin black band of liner.
  My skin is naturally a dusky beige, but my makeup was one shade darker
than that.  There was just a hint of purplish blue in the dark, burnt
red on my cheeks and satin-finished lips that made my complexion seem
almost Latin.  My cheeks were artfully hollowed; I even detected subtle
traces of shading on my septum and chin.
  My face could have been drafted and airbrushed, it was so perfect!  I
toyed with it for a while, mugging in the mirror.  As I warmed up to it,
I found that a sultry, sophisticated glare worked wonders!  A hint of a
smile was magically transformed into an evil smirk!  I was a modern-day
vamp - forbidden sex incarnate!  Just let an unsuspecting male fall into
my clutches!  He would sink forever into the hellfires raging behind my
penetrating black eyes!
  I could hardly wait to get to the fitting room, now!  I had been so
proud of my blue undies and necklace.  How utterly vapid they seemed in
my newfound wickedness!
  During the next four hours, with only a short break for yogurt for
lunch, the coercive nature of my employment was completely forgotten in
an intoxicating world of satin, lace, and silk!  I was helped by the
sweetest dear I ever met at the lodge, Wilma.
  Wilma was fifty-five or so, with a cute face, though she had never
been a stunning beauty.  She had not fought the advance of the years,
but wore them gracefully.  There were many single gray strands in her
thick smooth cap of short black hair.  Her dimpled cheeks and rich, full
mouth were particularly attractive.  Her makeup was very light except
for the thick, frosty pink gloss bordered with a dusky rose pencil line
that colored her lips.  Whenever she talked, my eyes were fixed on them.
Only Helene's horrible threats kept me from covering Wilma's inviting
mouth with kisses!
  Wilma also had a marvelous figure!  Her breasts were very large, and
were set off beautifully by her soft, slick coral and white nylon dress.
It draped snugly over her bosom, then fell loosely from her belt to
swish around her shapely legs.  I'd have paid erotic attention to her
gorgeous bustline sooner and more often, were it not for the cheerful,
almost motherly, warmth she exuded!
  We spent the first hour with shoes.  She measured my foot from all
angles, then had me try dozens of pairs of sandals, pumps, boots, and
bizarre creations that defied description.  She took a series of
photographs of my legs with a range of heel heights from flat to seven
inches.  The seven-incher had no sole as such - just a reinforced ballet
toe like Beatrice had worn!  She had me walk in all of them, while she
took a constant stream of notes on her clipboard.
  With my legs in order, Wilma worked her way up.  She produced an
improbable contraption that looked rather like a pair of flesh-colored
rubber panties.  I pulled down my pretty blue satin pants.  By leaning
on Wilma's shoulders, I managed to wiggle my fanny into the surprisingly
weighty, and incredibly tight fitting, garment.  Its function became
clear as she helped me smooth it into place.  It was a combination
penis-restraint, vulva imitation, and fanny and hip pad!
  "We call this one the `rubber duckie,'" she joked.  "It's a bitch
because you have to take it off to pee-pee.  It looks real enough to
wear under a negligee, but it's best with dresses and pants.  There is
another model with an open crotch when you want to be a little more
honest."  We giggled together!
  She reached playfully for the remarkably realistic crotch.  "Put a
little K-Y in here, and some old fart can diddle you under your skirt
until you pretend to come!  He'll never know the difference!"
  We both laughed, but I was thoroughly intrigued by the thought; I
could feel her finger through the rubber against my throbbing prick!  I
wouldn't necessarily have to pretend to come!
  After numerous measurements and inquiries as to my experience and
taste, she next brought out a stout black satin corset and proceeded to
lace me up.  Repeatedly, she encouraged me to blow out my breath, suck
in my tummy, and bear up under the strain as she took in the slack.
  Just when I thought I'd never breathe again, she shouted in triumph
and tied off the laces!  I had been very proud of my twenty-eight inch
waist when I arrived.  I generally had a full-breasted figure, and had
considered my waist quite attractive!  I gasped, and Wilma giggled as
she showed me the tape - twenty three inches!
  She turned a panel to reveal a full-length mirror.  My eyes were
bulging out, and my forced shallow breathing was barely keeping me
alive, but my God!  I had never looked so good as now!  My new, wide
hips made a tremendous difference to my figure by reducing my shoulders
in proportion.  I was ten times more feminine than when I walked in!
"Imagine that in a clingy black evening gown," she smiled, and I hugged
the delightful woman in rapture!
  With my waist firmly bound, Wilma helped me work through a long
succession of different breast prostheses and bras to hold them.  We
tried so many lovely things while she maintained a stream of
complements, advice, and racy remarks!
  The tight corset had pushed up my own breast-flesh to respectable
proportions.  I got a big kick out of my pretty, feminine figure, seeing
and feeling my very own nipples through a transparent black tricot B-cup
bra!  We also tried some outrageously large, and amazingly convincing,
bazooms that had me drooling in the mirror.  Wilma even showed me how to
adjust my posture and my walk in order to wear them gracefully!
  My favorites, though, were a set of D-cup rubber and silicone falsies.
She took great pains to match my skin color.  Wilma helped me into a
slinky black satin half-bra to take their weight, then attached their
edges to my chest with spirit gum.  A little expert touch-up with non-
smear body makeup completely hid the seams.
  She told me how to take care of them.  They were tricky little devils,
with a concealed wick for handling perspiration, and even a way to make
the nipples swell or relax!
  I had never imagined it possible!  She let me alone for a while.  I
fondled and petted my new breasts for long minutes in amazement, staring
at the deep decollete beneath my chin!  Without a doubt, I could have
sex in this outfit right now, and my partner would never know my breasts
to be false!  I was in rapture, when the room started spinning dizzily
about my head!
  I sat down hard on the bench, almost blacking out completely before
Wilma's calming voice brought me around.
  "Relax, honey," she cooed.  "Breathe very slowly, but as deeply as you
can."
  "Oh my," I apologized.  "I can't believe I actually fainted!  I've
never done that before in my life!"
  "You've never worn a corset that tight before, silly!" she laughed in
relief.  I was falling head over heels in love with this marvelous
woman!  Behind her smile, she was almost crying, she was so glad that I
was OK!  What a gem!
  "You're all through, anyway, Donna.  Sit here for a moment and get
your breath, then you'll have to get dressed and go to dinner."
  In panic, I clutched my pretty new breasts with one arm and her with
the other.  "Oh, Please, Wilma," I begged, "don't make me take them
off!"
  "That's why I saved them for last, honey!" she replied.  "I knew you'd
love them!  Keep them on.  Just be sure to take them off for at least
sixteen hours out of forty-eight, or you'll develop skin problems.  I'll
have the spirit gum and things sent to your room."
  I squealed in delight and tried to kiss her, an attempt she fended off
sweetly.
  "Let's find you something to wear, honey," she said, picking up her
measuring tape.  "I've only got half an hour left to measure you, dress
you, and get you over to dinner."
  She recorded the distances between and around every conceivable point
on my newfound figure, then headed for the wardrobe room.
  "Can I look for myself?" I asked, following her.
  "Some other time, Donna," she smiled.  "You can follow me, but I'd
better pick out your things.  There isn't time to dawdle!"
  We stepped into the next room, and for the umpteenth time today, I was
flabbergasted.
  "This is the big barn I saw from outside!" I exclaimed.  I was in a
huge cavern of a room, at least a hundred feet long, with a ceiling
three stories above me, and the entire space was filled with chain-
driven laundry racks bearing every conceivable kind of costume, male and
female!  Some racks carried massive loads of heavy, voluminous gowns.
Others seemed to be holding little more than odd bits of string and
patches.  They seemed to be grouped more or less by function and color,
but there were so many that the pattern wasn't obvious to me!
  "This is mostly for clothes," she explained, starting a rack of
dresses humming into motion.  "The shoes, foundations, and accessories
are in the basement.  I pulled out a pile of things close to your size
while you were in the infirmary, so I wouldn't have to come back here
for bras and corsets.
  "Ah, here's the right area," she chirped, slowing the rack to inspect
a long line of slithery black dresses more closely.  "Just the one!"
  We went back to the fitting room, where I slipped the divinely soft
silk dress up over my enlarged hips and slithered my arms into the long
sleeves.  The midriff was done in stiff, horizontally-pleated folds that
perfectly complemented my tiny new waist!  The top of the midriff
pointed up in a shallow inverted "V" between my breasts, where it met
the neckline plunging down between soft, wide, pointed lapels.  The
sleeves were puffed slightly at the shoulder.
  Wilma replaced its thick shoulder pads with thin stiff ones before
zipping me up.  Wow!  The bodice was rather full, but it was stretched
tightly enough over the bare tips of my large breasts to make it
perfectly clear they were not covered by a bra.  I reached in to operate
the little devices that made my nipples swell!  It was electrifying to
see the stunning valley between my swollen breasts, each with a perky
little point begging to be kissed!  I closed my eyes to keep from
fainting, again.
  "Turn around and look at the back," Wilma prompted.  I spun around.
  "Oh, Wilma!" I gasped.  "I've never been so happy in my life!"  My
obviously un-pantied ass jutted out like a shelf in the rear, the soft
dress falling in two distinct cascades, clearly showing the crack
between the round cheeks!
  I hurried across the room, then walked back slowly, watching myself
approach the mirror.  Only in my wildest dreams had I pictured myself as
such an tantalizing, downright sexy, woman!  Not the least disturbing
trace of masculinity remained.  I was perfect at last!
  Before I knew it, I was blubbering on Wilma's shoulder.  "Thank you,
Wilma, thank you, thank you," was all I could manage between my sobs.
She patted my shoulder gently and cried with me.
  "There, there, honey," she soothed me with an emotion-choked voice.
"You know, I don't often get the chance to make this big a change in one
of my girls.  It's almost as rewarding for me as for you!"
  We blubbered at each other for a while, then started the first day of
my training.  For ten whole weeks, I walked, talked, ate, and even slept
as a vibrant, attractive woman!  I learned to be a wholesome maiden, a
flirty coquette, and a domineering mistress.  I learned to take care of
my feminine prostheses as if they were a part of my own body.  I learned
from the resident experts how to make up and dress myself to the best
advantage.  I even stopped envying real girls.  After all, how many real
women had the opportunity to add or subtract six inches from their hips
or bust as the occasion required?  Almost before I knew it, I was ready
to serve our guests!

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