Ayesha

by Cordellian

 

Chapter 2

 

I was in a nervous state as I slunk back towards the male halls of residence on campus, petrified that someone might spot me, despite it being nearly two in the morning. I had begged Emma to let me stay in her shared room until it was late enough for me not to be seen. I would have preferred to wait until three, but Emma grew impatient by 1.30 and said she wanted to go to sleep. The reason for me being so anxious as I slipped from tree to tree, and doorway to doorway, eyes and ears open for any sign of a nocturnal walker, was due to me being freshly diapered and wearing a long skirt. I had of course left my black jeans behind at the car park of the country restaurant. Jill's waist and hips were skinnier than mine, so that ruled out all of her jeans and casual trousers. Emma on the other hand had a little more flesh on her (and most voluptuous it was too) but to my dismay she didn't own so much as a single pair of jeans. Just skirts and dresses. She was kind enough to let me pick whatever I liked, but in the end that wasn't much of a choice at all. Emma's taste in skirts usually involved the words 'long' and 'black' and usually together. I must have looked a pitiful sight, with the bulge of the diaper clearly showing through the thin material of the ankle length Victorian skirt as I crept out of the girl's dormitory. At first I protested that I didn't need to wear a diaper, but Emma would have none of that.

"You're obviously not toilet trained, so you can wear that home to teach you a lesson. If you persist in arguing with me I'll be forced to spank you."

I pleaded again that I had never wet myself before, and therefore I must be ill for this to have happened, so really it wasn't my fault, right? Emma just frowned and warned me that I would have the rubber dummy in my mouth again if I persisted in annoying her.

"Please don't tell Jill about any of this," I said as I stood there nervously, watching the minute hand on the clock drag itself slowly around the clock face. "Or anyone else for that matter."

But Emma seemed pleased with herself, and so she might be as her plans had all worked out well and in a few hours time the enormity of my situation was going to come back to haunt me.

"A few things before you go," she said as she smoothed down my skirt. "There are going to be a few rules in your life from now on. From time to time you may receive the word 'Ayesha'. That is my special name, and it will mean one thing – you are to leave whatever you are doing and contact me immediately."

I tried to speak but a warning look and the appearance of the wet rubber dummy in her hand motioned me to silence. "Secondly, I know you have a mobile phone. You are to always carry it with you. Thirdly, you will no longer have your hair cut. I want you to have long hair. The other things I will tell you tomorrow."

I wasn't really paying too much attention to any of this and as for tomorrow, well, my only thought was to get out of here, put this sorry evening behind me, and spare myself the embarrassment of ever having to talk to Emma Reid again.

By the time I reached my room, without incident, thank God, I was tip-toeing quietly inside. Mick had already gone to sleep in the bed closest to the door, so it was up to me to make as little sound as possible while I was still dressed like this. I was in no mood to explain away a skirt and diaper to my homophobic room mate. Luckily, he tends to sleep like a drugged sloth so I made it to my own bed without incident. My mobile phone was vibrating silently every 30 seconds on the bedside table which indicated I had received some calls during my evening with Emma. Force of habit made me pick it up and check my messages before I did anything else. There were four messages in all: and the first two gave me nothing short of a heart attack. The first one was a picture of me crouched over a potty with a baby bonnet on my head and a rubber dummy in my mouth, peeing. The second showed me freshly diapered, again with the rubber dummy in my mouth. I realised then that Emma had snapped pictures of me using her own mobile. But how had she known my telephone number? Oh Christ, what did this mean? Was the bitch going to humiliate me? She wouldn't show these pictures to Jill would she? Oh Christ, no, she couldn't be that cruel? It was suddenly obvious that I had been well and truly set up last night, but why? The clue lay in the body of the third message. Unlike the first two, this was a plain and simple text message, but from the same source as the previous pictures. It read simply, in an unabbreviated style, 'She Who Must Be Obeyed'. Emma had even gone to the trouble of typing the capitals. The fourth message was from Jill and it simply read 'Missing you loads. Mum and Dad are fine. Will be back Sunday evening. xxxx."

I sat down on my bed in a state of bleak despair before I remembered that I was still wearing Emma's long black skirt and the diapers and plastic baby pants. Thankfully Mick was a heavy sleeper, but the last thing I needed now was for him to suddenly wake up and see me like this. The skirt came away quickly, but the diaper took a little longer to remove once I'd figured out exactly how Emma had fastened it on me. I found an old carrier bag and stuffed the diaper, pants and skirt inside and hid the bag under my bed. And then I climbed into my own bed and sank into a fitful sleep.

My sleep however was rudely interrupted some hours later when the doorbell started buzzing. I had no intention of getting up this morning so I left it for Mick to answer. He climbed out of bed, grumbling, and asked me what time I'd got back in last night. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I pondered what I was going to say to Emma if I ever saw her again. But before I could consider the problem for long, lo and behold Emma Reid walked through the door. After the events of last night I wasn't in much of a mood to see her again so soon, particularly in my own room with Mick within earshot. What the hell did she want, and why had she come round so early?

"Hello Robert." She stood there with a knowing smile. As ever she was dressed in a long black Victorian skirt, with a matching top, long leather boots, black jacket, silk scarf and a little hat, perched at a girlish angle on her luscious gypsy-like locks. Mick raised a curious eyebrow as he looked at me, at Emma and then back at me again. He was obviously putting two and two together about my mystery date last night and seemed amazed and a little impressed at my bare faced cheek in going out with my girl friend's room mate while Jill was away.

"I'll make some coffee," he said with a wink, meaning he'd leave us two to talk in what little privacy we could get. "How do you like your coffee, Emma?"

"Nothing for me, thank you." She regarded Mick curiously with interest. My room mate noticed the way she was looking and assumed the best when he should have been assuming the worst. But then he didn't know Emma Reid in the way that I was about to. Emma waited until Mick had disappeared before she dropped a black shoulder bag on my bed. I was paralysed with embarrassment, after the events of last night, and consequently I couldn't look her directly in the eye. Emma pointed at the bag. "Put them on. Then get dressed. I want to show you something."

Confused, I opened the bag and stared, uncomprehending at its contents. There was a soft pair of white silken panties, white stockings, and a matching suspender belt with lots of frilly lace. When I hesitated, Emma reached into the bag and spread the contents over my duvet.

"For God's sake!" I could just imagine Mick returning with coffee at any moment and seeing all this frilly underwear on my bed. I tried to return the panties and stockings to the bag but a sharp slap from Emma's right hand stopped me in my tracks. "I think you're forgetting the pictures I took last night." So it was going to be blackmail then. Emma stood there with her arms folded and looked down at me. "If I were you I'd get dressed now before your room mate returns." One look in her eyes showed she wasn't joking. My choice it seemed was plain and simple. Whatever sort of game this was, whatever the crazy rules were, I had to wear these items of underwear or else who knows what she would do with those photos of me diapered like a baby. My hand trembled as I picked up the suspender belt and fastened it around my waist. Then, taking the first white stocking, I placed my toes into it and carefully rolled it up my leg. How long did it take to make coffee? When had Mick begun to make it? I had to finish this quickly before he came back through that adjoining door. Fastening the suspender clips on the stocking was fiddly since I'd never had to do anything like this before. Emma watched with amusement as I hurriedly slid the second stocking over my left leg. It was a strange feeling to have sheer nylon over my legs. I should have felt nothing, but to my disgust the tight nylon felt quite sexy against my bare skin. Of course I didn't want Emma to know this, but as soon as I picked up the lace and silk panties, as soon as I felt their softness in my hand, my penis began to twitch and rise, betraying me without question in full view. I slid the panties up my legs and over my sex, hoping to hide my state of arousal but the touch of all that silk and lace coupled with the agonies of being forced by this woman to dress like this, stiffened my penis even more. There was now a very noticeable bulge in my panties. Emma nodded as if this simply confirmed what she believed was true about men.

"It seems you're a panty slut, Robert."

"No…" My face must have blushed bright red again as she simply laughed. In the kitchen I could hear the kettle boiling, which meant I had very little time left. I grabbed my shirt from last night and a fresh pair of jeans and wrestled myself into them in double quick time. But when I reached for some socks, Emma stopped me with a sharp "No!" I would be allowed shoes, but not socks. I pulled the legs of my jeans down as low as they would go, hoping no sight of the white stockings would show between trouser and shoe.

"Yes, a panty slut. If that's what the touch of nylon, silk and lace does to you, then we are going to have fun today."

Mick returned to the bedroom, carrying two mugs of coffee, but Emma told him I wouldn't have time to drink mine. "Robert's taking me to a café for brunch."

"I am?" I wriggled a little bit where I sat, feeling the coolness of the stockings under my jeans. The bulge in my crotch had receded a little but I was still nervous of standing up until it was less noticeable.

"Yes you are." Emma picked up her shoulder bag. "Come along, or will I have to put you on a leash?"

I laughed nervously at that, and a little too loud to seem genuine, but Mick just assumed it was the sort of thing a new girl friend would say as a joke. If only he knew her better. If only he could see her eyes right now. She wasn't joking and I truly believe she would have produced a leash and clipped it around my neck, while Mick's jaw would have hit the floor in amazement, if I hadn't got up then and there, and followed her out of the door. If Mick saw my semi-stiffy, he never mentioned it.

The café opened at eleven o' clock and we were the first customers of the day. We sat down at a window table and waited for service. The waitress when she appeared seemed surprised to see us, but recovered sufficiently to ask us whether we were ready to order or not. Emma smiled sweetly, which was unusual for her, and asked for two coffees, a ham and brie baguette for herself and a light Mediterranean salad for me. The waitress noted our order down, turned and left towards the kitchen.

"Don't I get to choose my own food," I asked, as Emma hadn't even consulted me.

"No you don't. I'll be telling you what to eat from now on."

I fumed silently, knowing there was no point in arguing over the matter of a café meal, but if she honestly thought she'd be able to dictate my eating habits 24-7, well, what she couldn't see she couldn't get upset about.

"What did you think of the waitress?" asked Emma innocently enough. I thought about the young girl and glanced over towards the counter where she stood, handing over our order. She was about five foot seven in stockings, and a couple of inches taller in the heels she wore. Nice legs, long brown hair, firm breasts and well applied make up. The waitress outfit was tight, cheap looking and short skirted. I always felt uniforms like that were very demeaning for the low-wage women who had to wear them. They certainly weren't functional in a straight forward 'gets the job done' kind of way. No, their purpose had to be to remind the girl in question that she was a servant, and therefore subject to orders from her betters. The waitress uniform also boasted a dainty little apron with frills around the sides – again, hardly necessary, but it added to the demeaning nature of the outfit. I've always had a thing for girls dressed like that, so it'll come as no surprise that I found the look quite sexy. I said as much to Emma.

"She seems cute. But in that outfit most women would be."

Emma smiled, pleased with my reply. "Would you say she's your type?"

"I have a girlfriend," I said defensively.

"Yes, and we all know how faithful you are to Jill in your mind. The waitress – is she your type?"

"I wouldn't say no," I replied. Indeed, I could well imagine sliding my hand up her stocking clad legs, up under her skirt, and playing with her clit through her panties. I could imagine myself pressing her back against a wall, hearing a little squeak of outrage as I forced my mouth on hers.

"You may be interested to know then that she was my first boy friend three years ago."

"What!" I stared at Emma, then glanced back at the 'girl' by the counter and then back at Emma again. "You're not serious?"

"I'm very serious. She's called Louise now, but she was called James Bradshaw when I first knew her."

"But, but… that's impossible."

"Of course it isn't. It's just an application of my power. James was my first boyfriend. I fell in love with him and gave him the most precious gift I had - my virginity. What I didn't know was that he had another girl at the same time. He wasn't interested in anything other than sex with me. He lied and, when I found out the truth, he just laughed and told me to get over it."

"I'm sorry." I glanced at 'James' again. His body certainly looked convincingly feminine.

"Don't feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for poor James. He has a new life now."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened, and I'm telling you this as a warning of what happens when someone annoys me. I demand respect from men, and if I don't get it, well…" Emma sniffed and regarded me. "There are worse things that can happen to a sissy than simply having to wear panties, stockings and suspenders."

"I'm not a sissy!"

"Quiet!" She snapped. "Sit up straight and stop slouching. We're going to have to work on that posture of yours in future." Emma played with a fork that lay on the table as she began to tell me the story of James and how he ended up as pretty Louise. "I'm sure you've heard rumours about me, that I'm into black magic and the like. Well, it's true to a point. I have studied the occult, though Hollywood distinctions such as black and white have little relevance to the real world of sorcery. When James betrayed my love and trust, I decided to have my revenge. I cast a spell to change him into a woman."

"You don't expect me to believe that?"

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes. "I don't really care what you believe. I'm just telling you what happened as a warning. But you obviously don't understand how magic works anyway. You probably assume I chanted an evocation and James woke up the next morning with a girl's body. No, it doesn't work like that."

"Then what?"

"I practice sigil magic. I don't expect you to know what that is, because you're a stupid sissy who's led a narrow and pampered life. Magic simply applies your will to a situation. But it has to act in conjunction with physical action. There's no point, for example, in casting a spell to win money on the lottery if you don't then go out and buy a lottery ticket. And yes, before you ask, I have won money from the lottery that way. There's no point in casting a spell to make some one love you if you don't then make the effort to meet them and speak to them. You can cast a spell to get a new job, but you have to apply for it and attend the interview. Magic, when properly performed makes an action succeed. It doesn't count as a substitute for action."

The coffees arrived on a tray, carried over by Louise. I tried not to stare too obviously, aware that Emma was watching me, but I wanted to get a second look at the waitress now that I knew who she was. It was possible – the features could have been a man's, though the lips seemed feminine, and the nose very dainty. The tits were very convincing – the way they curved under the tight, cheap dress, they had to be real, and that most certainly wasn't a man's body, the way it curved delightfully at the waist, and flared out again into a beautiful little ass. Emma smiled sweetly and sent Louise away.

"So when I say I cast a spell to change James's sex, the spell simply guaranteed that my actions would succeed. Once I made the required evocations at the appointed hour, inscribed my sigil using the correct planetary correspondences, the matter was as good as done. The physical side of the spell was easy enough. I knew James still wanted me for sex, so I played the weak willed girl. I begged him not to leave me and he laughed, sensing his power over me. I wept and told him I'd do anything for him; I couldn't bear to lose him. Well, this was like gasoline on a fire to James – he was obviously so sexy that even when I knew he was sleeping with other women, I was begging to be kept as his girlfriend. Men have such simple egos. It's easy to play on that to engineer their downfall." Emma paused to sip her coffee. I noticed that she drank it black without any sugar. "I had to retain his confidence and remain with him for my spell to work. It was simple enough over the next few weeks to use his credit card number on his computer. I subscribed using his name and credit card details to a variety of illegal child porn sites on the web. I set up a hotmail account in his name, for the subsequent e-mails to be directed to so that he would be none the wiser when he logged onto his Outlook Express bucket. Every day I clicked onto the porn sites and ensured that his cookies recorded the visits faithfully. I knew James had subscribed to a couple of normal porn sites, so the entries on his credit card statement could easily have been mistaken for those if he didn't look closely enough. James was very careless with his finances, so it wasn't difficult. After a month of this I copied the contents of his hard drive onto a DVD and hid it somewhere safe. James was now mine. It was simply a matter of closing the trap."

The enormity of what she had done, or claimed to have done, didn't escape me. Any allegation of child porn was a serious matter these days – something as simple as a subscription to an illegal web site could send you to jail for several years and ruin the rest of your life. Your name would be permanently added to the Sex Offender's list and you would be hounded by lynch mobs wherever you went.

"I explained the situation to James in a restaurant, and gave him a print of the records from my copy of his hard drive. As expected his emotions ranged from fury at first to ill-advised threats to quiet submission. You see at this point there was very little he could do. I had 'found' the details of his paedophile interests on his computer and, upset and tearful, I would of course go straight to the police. Even if he could prove his innocence, which I doubted very much, mud sticks and his life would be ruined. More likely he would spend five years in jail, and prisoners on that sort of charge don't have an easy time of it."

"My God." It all seemed so easy. Of course the magic part was bullshit. Emma may have chanted some mumbo jumbo before she set out on her plan to ruin her first boyfriend's life, but it certainly hadn't been necessary, nor had it accomplished anything extra.

"Your God had nothing to do with it, I assure you." Emma looked very pleased with herself. "James was now mine as long as I wanted him. I had him in panties and silk slips that very night. He of course severed all relations with other girls, and quit college. Being 18 years old – I was 17 then – that was permissible, though his parents were furious. He had some money – a college fund left to him by his grand parents, and I directed him to rent a small flat to live in. I had him decorate it in a feminine fashion befitting his new status. In the evenings I gave him lessons on make up and deportment. I threw out all his old clothes and bought him a selection of skirts and dresses. At first James refused to go outside, which suited my plans as it kept him a virtual prisoner in the flat. But after a while, with his money running out, it became obvious that he would need to work to pay the rent. He also needed some money to pay for the operations I had in mind."

I swallowed as I listened to this ghastly tale. My mouth had grown dry, and I was now convinced that what Emma was telling me was all too true. I was certain she wasn't lying about any of this.

"I got him a job as a waitress in this café. The owner happens to be gay, as are many of the clientele, so I explained how James was a nervous cross dresser, taking his first steps into public and he needed an understanding employer. James actually broke down and cried that first time I forced him to go out in public in make up and a skirt. But of course he had to do anything I told him. He said he loved me and that he would be faithful to me, and that I didn't have to do this to him, but I simply said it was far too late for any of that. The job doesn't pay very much, and the hours are long, which is a shame because James was originally on course to become a well paid architect. He had a natural flair for that kind of thing at college, but of course he faces very different career prospects now. His wages are paid directly into one of my bank accounts. I pay his bills, and give him just enough money to cover such essentials as make-up, sanitary towels, and food. I buy all his clothes for him. The remaining money goes towards surgery. His first visit to the clinic was to give him breasts. The doctor did a fine job, though James didn't seem as pleased with them as I was. Then I had collagen injected into his lips to give him a nice girly pout, and paid for a little work on his nose. His hair was fairly long to begin with, and once it grew I had it cut into the nice feminine style you see on him now. A tight corset gives him that lovely figure. The corset was quite expensive – I bought one that could be locked on his body. After all, I didn't want him squeezing out of it on his lunch break. Rafe – the café owner, gives him the key after work each night. First thing each morning James has to hand it back. The corset includes an attachment for a snug little chastity belt that keeps his precious little penis all locked up and well out of his reach. Poor James hasn't touched his naked penis since I first put him in petticoats. If he's very good I give him an orgasm once a month, but he has to beg for it, like a girly slut, and even then he has to be firmly restrained when the milking takes place. I tie him to his bed and masturbate him with a soft silk scarf around his penis. Sometimes it only takes a few tugs for him to come. Afterwards I sit astride his naked body, letting him feel the softness of my silk stockings and gaze at my corseted body, feel the smooth leather of my long boots, as I carefully spoon his cum into his mouth with a small tea spoon. He has to eat it all and thank me for each drop. I visit Louise – it's difficult to think of him as James anymore – once or twice a week when I feel in need of some sex. He pleases me with his tongue. So you see what happens to a man who doesn't show me the respect I demand?"

"Yes." my voice was quite low and quiet. I began to understand now quite how calculating and vindictive the lovely Emma Reid could be. This was a very worrying situation indeed, as she already had me wearing soft panties, stockings and suspenders under my day clothes.

"I am Ayesha, She Who Must Be Obeyed. Ayesha is my magical lodge name, known only to a few. As far as you are concerned, it is the name of your sacred Mistress."

My face must have shown some trace of alarm when she said that because it made her smile again.

"You have a long road to travel Robert, and along the way the road has many turnings. Many of the detours could prove to be very unpleasant for you. Your choice is whether or not you stick to the main road that I have prescribed for you."

"What are you going to do to me?" there was fear in my voice as I said it.

"Whatever I want. Whenever I want."

I asked Emma to excuse me for a minute, ostensibly to visit the toilet, but really because I needed a moment alone to take in everything I'd heard so far. It seemed clear that I was at the mercy of a single minded woman who enjoyed nothing better than making men suffer. Oh why, oh why, had I been stupid enough to visit her last night? My eager cock had led me into deep water this time, make no mistake. Here I was, secretly wearing frilly panties and stockings under my day clothes, listening to an example of enforced feminisation from a woman quite capable of doing the same to me. There had to be some way out of this nightmare, but how? And what was going to happen when Jill got back in, oh, less than 36 hours now? I couldn't still be wearing women's underwear then, that was for sure. As soon as Jill got back on Sunday night she'd be on me like a hungry cat, peeling my outer clothes away to discover… no, it wouldn't happen. I hadn't hurt Emma in the way that her first boyfriend had, so she wouldn't feel it necessary to prolong this humiliation. This had to be a one-off thing – a simple exercise in power. If this was how she got her kicks, she'd be satisfied now that she had me in silken underwear. Tomorrow I'd be back wearing my own cotton men's undies again, and things would be back to normal. I walked through the door that led into the short corridor where customers could use a pay phone situated in a small alcove, or use the toilet facilities. All I had to do was walk back to where Emma sat, try to be as dignified as possible, tell her that I made a mistake last night, that I love Jill, and that I hope she understood it would be best to put last night behind us, and go back to our normal lives.

"Has she got you in panties yet?" The voice was low, soft, and feminine. I turned round to see James/Louise standing behind me, a look of nervousness on her face. We were well out of sight of Emma, but I could guess from the way she was casting glances over her shoulder that it would not do to be caught speaking to me. I hadn't expected this meeting and to be honest I was too embarrassed by the idea that she had guessed my role in this that I stuttered something non-committal. Louise was very close to me. In turning round my back had pressed itself to the alcove wall and she stood between me and the main café. Her crisply starched waitress uniform and the softness of her perfume were doing nothing to relieve my semi-stiff erection, even if she was a he. Louise was a most convincing looking girl even though, now that I knew her secret, I could tell her voice wasn't perfect. But still, the corset under her costume gave her a very sexy hourglass figure, and pushed those breasts up well on display. Her nylon clad legs brushed mine as if by accident. Seeing she wasn't going to get a firm yes from me, Louise reached towards my thigh and felt the unmistakable sensation of a suspender clip under my trousers. She smiled, pleased to have been proved right. My secret was out and I blushed red with shame. "Not just panties, but stockings too? Oh dear – you're in deep then – no backing out now. If it was just panties it could have just been punishment duty, but the full stockings and suspenders means you're going all the way."

I moaned and touched my leg to feel the suspender clip myself. I had been paranoid all day that it might be visible if the trouser material had been stretched too tight, when I sat down for example.

"Don't worry," breathed Louise. "It doesn't show. But don't let anyone touch your leg or they'll know. But that's the least of your problems – if it's stockings, then you'll be wearing a tightly laced corset and chastity belt before long."

"No…" my eyes grew wide with fright.

"Oh, but yes." Louise took my hand and squeezed it in sympathy. "She has a hold on you, hasn't she? Probably an even more serious one than she's actually revealed to you. You won't have a choice. I never did." Soft tears formed in Louise's eyes. "I can't talk any longer – she'll begin to suspect if I don't go back in there." Louise took the palm of my left hand and wrote something on it with her pen. It was a telephone number. "You can call me if you want to; if you need someone to talk to." And then she hurried away, back through the swing doors into the café. I breathed a sigh of dismay, both at my current situation, my future prospects, and with self disgust that a man in a dress had sustained my erection. My head felt dizzy and I was forced to lean against the wall for a moment to get my breath back.

To be ctd

 

 

 

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© 2003 by Cordellian. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.