HypnoTherapy

by Bright Eyes

Chapter One – the problem

 

It seemed that as things got better for Philip, they got worse for Fiona. He got promoted – she got laid off. He came second in the county chess tournament – she dropped out of her clubs one by one.

Fiona's interests seemed to diminish as time went by. Where once she had been lively and vivacious, now she seemed indifferent and not to care about anything. Her once-bright blond hair hung limp, her wardrobe seemed to shrink to a few pairs of jogging bottoms and sweatshirts. Their sex life dwindled to almost nothing.

Philip knew something was wrong. "Why don't you try some voluntary work?" he asked. "It would get you out, meet some people. The library in Hunton has a notice up."

"It's fine for you to say that," replied Fiona, "You can sit around waiting for your bleeper to call out you to another job. You don't have to wait indefinitely. I do! My life has no purpose! I feel useless!"

"That's why I'm suggesting you do something," continued Philip soothingly. "Maybe then you'd feel like you had, er, something to do."

"You just don't understand!" came the retort, and a slammed door.

oo00oo-

 

That night, Philip had arranged for Fiona's friends to come round. At eight they arrived, and Fiona was in a better mood.

"I think I agree with Philip," said Jez, flicking hair from her face. She was a typical hippie chick, all beads and sandals. "Or maybe see a therapist. You sound really down."

"It wouldn't hurt," added Martha. Martha always seemed painfully shy to Philip, and dressed to match. Black and understated, unassuming. For this reason, when she spoke everyone listened. It was easy to forget she was there.

Philip found it hard to imagine her as company liaison for the civil service in the city. "It's all about image," she would whisper whenever he asked her about it.

"Maybe I should do something," conceded Fiona. "I just feel that whatever I do, it won't be any help. What good will it do?"

"What good will it do sitting around doing nothing?" countered Jez. "Just give it a try. Go to a session or two, and if it's not for you, quit. Easy!"

Fiona either couldn't answer or hadn't the oomph to argue. By the end of the evening, the arrangement was made. Philip was to forward her name at the library, and make an appointment with a therapist.

Fiona sighed and flopped back into her chair.

 

Chapter Two – the arrangement

 

No-one else had asked about the library work, and after a cursory interview, Fiona was accepted. Philip asked at the doctor's for recommended therapists, and was surprised to be given a card straight away.

"Dr Silverine is verry good," purred the pretty receptionist, looking out at Philip from under heavy lashes. "We have nothing but the best feedback from her clients." Her hand brushed Philip's as she handed him the card, not by accident.

"Er, thanks." replied Philip, smiling nervously. "Thanks a lot."

At home, he called the number on the card. A smooth and velvety woman's voice answered.

"Hello, this is Dr Silverine."

"Er, hello," said Philip, "I'd like to make some appointments for my girlfriend. She's been a bit down recently."

"Of course…" came the reply. "That's fine… When did you have in mind?"

Philip was struck by the timbre of her voice. It had some quality, something compelling about it. "Er, Wednesday?" He asked.

"We'll start on Wednesday at nine…" she answered. Philip felt dreamy. "I would like to work with both of you," Dr Silverine went on, "I find I can achieve better results for everyone that way."

Philip's mind was slow. "Yes…" he replied "Both of us…" But at that moment his bleeper went. Snapping his head up, he remembered – there was the fault at IncCo to see to on Wednesday.

"Er, sorry, no, I'm afraid I won't be able to attend," he stammered. "But thanks, Fiona will be there."

They traded details and Philip took down the information he needed before setting off to deal with another technical repair.

 

Chapter Three – Fiona's appiontment

 

By Wednesday, Fiona had put in two sessions at the library. Philip thought she seemed brighter already, and waved her off to her appointment before driving off himself.

"Good luck," he called.

"Thanks," Fiona called back. "See you tonight – if my head hasn't shrunk!"

At least she's put some effort into her appearance, he thought. Those smart casual trousers and proper shoes make a big difference from trainers and scruffy pants. Let's hope this therapist has something useful to offer and it's not just a waste of time and money.

The day passed quickly for Philip. It was a complex fault, but one that he'd fixed a number of times before. It always took a day or two, and this time it would take two. He could see that it would need some money spending on the setup to fix it properly but the company weren't prepared to pay. So it was dark and late when he pulled up into the garage.

"I'm home!" he called softly, "Where are you?"

When there was no reply, he crept into the bedroom to find Fiona fast asleep on the bed. There were carrier bags strewn across the floor, and a selection of new clothes draped over the bedroom furniture. His eyes alighted on one black lacy bra on his side of the ottoman, and a pair of expensive-looking high heeled shoes on the floor. Fiona was sleeping in a new silky red nightie.

"Huh," he muttered under his breath, "Retail therapy!"

oo00oo-

 

The next morning they woke up together. She surprised Philip with a quick but passionate kiss, and a fleeting brush of her silky nightwear.

"Good morning!" he mumbled, sitting up to watch her bounce out of bed. "You certainly look brighter today!"

"You wouldn't believe it!" answered Fiona. "It's like Martha says – it's all image! Dr Silverine says that I was feeling down because I felt like I didn't look good, and she was right. I went shopping yesterday for some new things – it was fun! - and I just can't wait to get into them!"

"So I see," interrupted Philip, watching with interest as Fiona pulled out a black basque from one of the bags still littering the bedroom.

"Dr Silverine says a new image will be a new me," she went on, unperturbed. "She says that's why you should go too. We can both start over, and work through a new start together." She cast him a meaningful glance as she slowly drew thin black stockings up her legs.

"But I'm ok as I am, really," answered Philip, shocked by the suddenness of his girlfriend's change. "I'm happy for you to make a new start but – "

"No, no," cut in Fiona. "We must move together. Dr Silverine says that we can both start again and both grow together." She paused to slip into a red pencil skirt, cut above the knee. The contrast between the skirt and her stockings was shocking and suggestive. Philip felt himself harden at the sight.

"Dr Silverine says we can become closer than ever if we both share the same interests and goals! You should come. Please come today – I'm going again at two-thirty." Fiona launched herself at Philip, still sitting in the bed, and kissed him again. "Please."

Philip's mind raced. What had happened to Fiona? Where was the calm and ironic girl he had met at college? Where had this siren come from? He felt a little excited and a little scared.

"I can't," he answered. "I've got to finish off at IncCo. Maybe the next one?"

"Oh." answered Fiona, idly caressing his leg. "I was looking forwards to making some changes."

"Still," she added, brightening up and jumping off the bed, "Jez is free today. Maybe she'd like to come. It's such fun!" She slipped on the shoes he'd seen in the dark last night. He could see now that they were black stiletto heels, about four inches high. His eyes widened.

"Are you going to work dressed like that?" he asked. She paused and looked at him. Her patent black heels, her sheer stockings and her tight red skirt were topped with a black secretary-ish blouse, undone to the third button. Her basque plumped up her breasts to froth naughtily under tickling wisps of blond curls.

"I am," she replied, and with a cheeky grin and a blown kiss added, "Dr Silverine says we should all have more fun in our lives!"

Philip listened to her click down the hallway. I wonder, he thought, what else Dr Silverine says.

 

Change in Jez

 

It was medium to late afternoon when Philip got home. He cracked open a beer and sat down in front of the TV.

It wasn't long before the door opened and he heard the sound of giggling voices, and was greeted by a sight that wouldn't have looked out of place in a lad mag.

In came Fiona and Jez, arm in arm and foreheads pressed together. They were laughing and giddy, and Philip wondered if they were drunk.

"Are you OK?" he called. They stopped and looked at him for a moment, before breaking out into a fresh fit of giggles.

"We're fine! We're having fun!" replied Jez. "Why don't you have some fun?" and they giggled again, swaying into the room still hand in hand.

Philip wasn't sure where to look or what to say first. Were they drunk? And what about Jez? Jez wouldn't have touched lipstick on her wedding day in order to save the whales, yet here she was with her lips a shimmering crimson, split into a wide smile, creasing up her painted face and with her eyes sparkling.

Her eyes were framed with thick black mascara, her lashes fluttering as she looked at him. A smoky dusk eyeshadow smouldered under her thin and neatly plucked brows, and her cheeks glowed with the illusory health of several applications of blush.

Her hair, normally hanging loose and free, was piled elegantly onto her head, looking for all the world like she was going out to a ballroom dancing society.

Not that she could ballroom dance in that leather skirt. Jez had never worn leather, objecting ideologically, but now she sauntered over to him in a white leather skirt that despite covering her to her calves, only brought out more of her curves by the way it clung to her with her every move. Philip's eyes lifted to her tight red peasant top, laced provocatively around her breasts as she leant over him. The laces strained.

"How about some fun?" she asked. "Dr Silverine says that dressing up is fun, and she's right! I have a patchwork skirt in my bag that I don't want any more. It would fit you – shall we play dress up?"

"Oh, shall we?" gasped Fiona, taking Philip's hand. "Let's have some fun!"

"Er, Jez," began Philip, but she interrupted him.

"Not Jez now, call me Jennifer. It's so much prettier, I don't know why I shortened it. A new start for a new me!"

Philip's bleeper bleeped. Never had he been so glad to get two jobs in such quick succession.

Jennifer and Fiona waved him off from the window, standing again hand in hand and smiling at each other broadly.

 

 

Chapter Five – Martha and Philip

 

Philip was plain mystified. Another weekend passed a few more sessions with Dr Silverine and Fiona still was bubbling over. She was strutting about the house in stilettos, wearing tight clothes to go out, and more and more makeup each day.

Fiona was out at the library. She had said goodbye what Philip though looked like a cocktail dress: short, velvet, strapless and black. She had worn the same shoes again as she had that first day, patent leather and four inches high. Her legs looked as smooth and brown as an egg, and her hair shone like a shampoo advert.

She planted a kiss on his lips, playfully patting his bum, then stepped back.

"Hang on," she said, whipping out her lipstick to reapply it. "That's better. A little had come off when I kissed you. But now it's not good bye anymore! I'll have to kiss you again!" and she grabbed him for another kiss.

"Oh!" she gasped dramatically, "now more of it has rubbed off on you! I need more on!"

Philip raised his hand to wipe his mouth, but Fiona slapped it away. "No you don't," she said, looking him in the eye with intensity. "Now goodbye." And she kissed him again.

Stepping back, she continued to examine him intently.

"Now my lipstick is smudged on you," she said. "Here," and in a flash, had whipped her lipstick up to Philip's lips. He could only hold still as she guided it back and forth his bottom, then top lip.

"Rub your lips," she said, demonstrating. Philip did as she said, feeling very silly. He smiled nervously.

"That's lovely!" cried Fiona, "You look marvellous! You've never done anything like this for me before! I love you!" Fiona launched herself at Philip in a giant and heartfelt hug, and then shot off to the library.

Philip stood for a moment or two in the living room, wearing her lipstick, and wondering what had happened to his girlfriend. He though he'd done lots of things for her, much more important or impressive than wearing lipstick. Still, girls are funny, he thought. And she hadn't said I-L-Y for months.

With a smile and a shake of the head, he went to the bathroom to clean his face.

oo00oo-

 

Soon the doorbell rang. It was Martha, who stood nervously on the doorstep before Philip invited her in. She sat down in the living room, in a chair by the window, and drew her legs up under her.

"I'm worried about Jez," she started in her quiet voice. "She seems so different. She hardly seems to care about the things she used to care about. Since she went to see Dr Silverine, she's become a completely different person.

"She wears totally different clothes now. She never wears any shoes but high heels, and she coats her face in makeup. She dresses like a tart! We've got to do something. Something's not right."

Philip sat down opposite her, considering the options. On the sofa was a dvd which he absently picked as he thought. It had a picture of an alluring brunette in a suit jacket showing some cleavage. Superimposed over the picture it read, "Home link 01" and under that, "For more information on how to use this dvd, please contact Dr Silverine on…" and went on with the details. He threw it over on to the table.

"I know just what you mean," he said. "Fiona's just the same. Can you talk to Jennif – I mean, Jez, about it? If I try to braoch the subject with Fiona, she just tells me that she enjoys dressing up in sexy clothes. She makes jokes about how I should try it."

"Jez is just the same," Martha almost sobbed softly. "She bought me some things last weekend, some underwear. It was so kinky! She gave me a corset, and a leather choker. She's never been into anything like this before. She just keeps saying, 'new look, new me' whenever I say anything about it."

Philip was surprised at her openness. He began to wonder at the nature of Martha and Jez's relationship.

"Er, how about if we go along Dr Silverine's place? You know, just check it out, and get a feel for if it's all above board and such? We could just go into reception and then leave. Then we'd have some idea about what we were dealing with. It would be a start."

They agreed. After arranging to meet later that day, Martha left quietly, only a little less upset, but ready for the next part of their plan.

oo00oo-

 

Philip sat back down and looked at the dvd again. He sat looking and thinking for a full five minutes before he picked it up and inserted it into the player. Know thy enemy, he thought.

It ran automatically. The brunette in the picture was Dr Silverine herself, and she filled the screen.

"Welcome to the Home Link," she cooed in her magical voice. Philip was instantly put in mind of when he had heard it on the phone last week.

"This programme will help you to relax and broaden your mind," she went on. Philip again noticed the certain quality she had, the compelling way of speaking. He felt funny.

"I will guide you to a new start," continued Dr Silverine. Philip found it hard to look away. He was looking at the eyes on the screen as they seemed to draw him in, pools of warmth, pools of shadow, pools of truth…

Interlude: Philip

I seemed to wake up. Except that I hadn't been asleep. The screen was blank, and I knew instantly that he had made a mistake.

Despite just having agreed with Martha to try to deflect Dr Silverine's influence on Fiona and Jennifer, I could tell that I had just exposed himself to it. I had been so stupid!

I understood now what had happened to the other girls – they had been freed! Even as I put the dvd back where it was, and I stood from the sofa and stretched, I felt my old stale, male self withering, and a new start, a new me filling my veins.

A new pretty self. It was as though from my toes and fingers there spread a tingling sensation, then a burning. I flopped back down on the sofa as the sensation grew.

My feet and my hands felt hot, felt red. I looked at my hands, they looked normal – but they'd look better with some nail varnish, I thought.

I tore off my shoes to see that my feet were all right too, and stopped to look at the ugly loafers I had been wearing. The feeling was spreading up my calves as I flung them away. Ugh! I needed pretty shoes, I needed court shoes, I needed shoes with a heel, I needed sexy shoes! I arched my feet with the sheer pleasure of the thought, and drew my hands sensuously up my leg, raising my slack as I went.

The feeling was still rising up my legs as I realised with horror that my legs were covered in hair! I was so ugly, so ashamed. I couldn't forget how Fiona's legs had looked as she had worn her short dress and her high heels, how smooth, how sexy, and how awful mine felt. There was so much to do!

I was trembling as I realised what was happening. This hot red feeling was infecting me, corrupting me as I sat there. The dvd had somehow altered my mind and filled me with these unnatural desires.

Dr Silverine had won!

But even as I thought it, I realised that she hadn't. I could fight it! I fell to my knees, my hands on my head. I was tingling all over and images were flashing through my mind.

Images of shoes, of thigh-high boots with teetering heels, images of suspenders and skimpy thongs.

I balled my hands into fists.

Images of tight skirts, outlining my legs as stood feet apart.

I gasped and pushed my head against the floor.

Images of red nails slowly tracing up crossed legs as I sit in a miniskirt barely covering my lacy black stocking tops, my toes pointing in my strappy pointed court shoes as I lean back languidly, closing my blue-lidded eyes, lashes black and thick and brushing together.

I threw my arms forwards, knocking an empty cup.

I screwed my eyes shut tight as some newly twisted part of my mind conjured up a picture of me in a flirty skirt suit, two big buttons on the jacket holding in my bulging bra-cupped breasts as I perched in precarious black shiny knee boots with thin five inch heels, one stocking-clad leg bending forward slightly to brush against the other, leaning forwards and holding my long flowing hair back from my perfectly made up face to apply my lipstick in the mirror…

I don't know if I screamed, if I cried out, if I fell or what happened. I opened my eyes and I was lying on the floor, drenched in sweat and panting. I sat up and looked down at myself.

My shoes and socks were off, my trousers pulled up to my knees. I still thought my legs would look better shaved. I looked at my hands, and still thought they would look better with nail varnish. I felt compelled to go and dress up, but I took a deep breath, and sat myself down on the sofa.

I turned the sports scores on, and tried to check out my team, but I couldn't really concentrate. I kept thinking of the shoes I could be wearing, and my legs that needed shaving. I knew that these were not my thoughts, that they had been planted in my mind, and I gritted my teeth to ignore them.

Keep busy – make coffee. I boiled the kettle, looking at my fingernails. I poured the water rubbing one leg against the other. I carried the cup and stopped to look in the mirror at my unmade face.

I couldn't fight it – I put the cup down and my legs took me to the bathroom. I felt like a passenger in my body as my shaking hands reached out to the bath taps and filled the tub with steaming water.

Undressed and immersed, I could hardly help but cry as I watched what Dr Silverine had done to me. Stroke by stroke my legs became smoother. Stroke by stroke more beautiful, more feminine. Stroke by stroke my will seemed to sap, until I found myself drying off my shaven body and shuddering with newfound pleasure as the towel caressed my silky legs.

I wisped back to the bedroom, elbows held back like a girl. Gazing at the many sultry items hanging in Fiona's wardrobe, my heart quickened and my excitement grew.

But no, I closed my eyes, tight shut, turned and threw myself on to the bed. Inch by inch I crawled over to my own wardrobe and pulled from it some y-fronts and a pair of jeans. It took all my determination to get dressed in a shirt and I had to sit down to breathe deeply when I caught sight of a new pair of Fiona's boots. They were fawn in colour, and not particularly high compared to what she'd been wearing recently, but they called to me and held my eyes like a pendant.

I held the seat of the chair with my hands, my knuckles straining and white, my eyes seeing nothing but the heels on the boots, my feet arching as if in anticipation of wearing such lovely things. With a gasp, I wrenched my eyes away.

I forced myself to think about work, about the hardware fault at Reece Thompson's last week. I pictured the wires and the computer units. I noticed I wasn't breathing, so I took a breath.

I opened my eyes and stood up. I had won. I was dressed, dressed properly. Quickly, to remove myself from temptation, I walked down the hall, took my coat and car keys and went out.

 

Investigation

 

Fiona returned to an empty house. She catwalked down the hall, head back and stilettos clicking to the bathroom, where she freshened up her lipstick.

Philip was nowhere to be seen. This was not unusual, he must have been called out. She ran her fingers through her hair.

How much better she felt since she had been to Mistress Silverine. How free! How she longed for her next appointment. How could she persuade Philip to come? How could she help him to realise the pleasures of wearing soft and silky underwear? Of drawing out feminine lashes with a wand of mascara, creating a weapon of distraction to use indiscriminately on any man… or woman.

How could she feminise him into her lesbian lover? Fiona knew now what she wanted. She had known since Jennifer had come with her to Mistress Silverine's second session.

She wanted to feel lipstick slick against lipstick when she kissed. She wanted to feel the rub of stocking on stocking when she snuggled. She wanted a woman… but she wanted her to be Philip.

She sat down to plot.

 

Chapter Seven – finding out

 

Philip met Martha on Bank Lane as arranged, and Martha got into the car. Philip watched her legs as she swung them into the passenger seat. Even with her in trousers, he found it hard not imagine Martha's legs in tights or framed by a skirt.

Martha never wore skirts. She was too shy and plain. Philip could hardly contain the thought of being able to wear skirts if he could. The reformed channels of his mind turned and turned. How he would have loved to change places with Martha, to be all woman, and she could wear his pants and shirts!

He held the wheel tightly and pulled off. It was a short drive, and with little conversation they were there.

"What shall we say?" asked Martha in a whisper as they both looked out at the large Victorian house that served as the therapy centre.

"Er, I think you should probably go on your own," suggested Philip, looking painfully at Martha's shapeless jumper. "They might er, recognise my voice." He was reasonably confident he could hold himself together now, but if he caught sight of Dr Silverine? Who knows.

"On my own?" asked Martha, shooting Philip an anxious glance. He met her gaze as she dropped it, noting that she had come out with nothing but mascara on.

"Yes," he affirmed. "Just go in, have a look around. See if there are any other therapists, anything else in there. We just want some information."

"Are you sure?" pleaded Martha, almost in a whimper.

"Yes," repeated Philip, leaning over and opening her door. "Go on. Just look and come back."

oo00oo-

 

Philip found the waiting hard. Every time he closed his eyes he would see himself in articles of female clothing. At one time when he let down his guard, his mind was suddenly full of an image of him sitting with Fiona in Tallulah's, a romantic restaurant they went to sometimes. They were both leaning forwards, flashing lipstick smiles at each other.

She wore a long black gown, hugging her figure at every curve, and he was in a short silk dress, red and tight across his breast forms. He pushed them out and his shoulders back, mind foggy and delirious with the sensual pleasure of it.

Fiona smiled approvingly and held out her hand to stroke his thin arm, her bracelet falling from her wrist to her elbow as she did. Her hair was up. Philip knew he was wearing a wig, its mousey tresses teasing his silky shoulders.

He closed his eyes, weighty with mascara and heavily made up, to look up again at his smiling girlfriend, who looked back at… her girlfriend.

In the car, Philip sighed and came in his y-fronts.

He groaned and rode wave after wave of explosive pleasure, his corrupted desires still dwelling on the silk stay-up stockings Fiona would wear under her gown, on the elegant gold five-inch sandals he would have strapped to his perfectly shaved legs, entwined all the way up to his knees, binding him…

As the image receded, he became aware once more of his surroundings. He was breathing hard as he quickly turned to reach for the wet wipes he kept in the car for after a grimy repair job, and was cleaning himself when he saw Martha emerge from the therapy centre. She had been a long time, he thought. But not long enough!

Swiftly stuffing a tissue or two down his trousers and flicking the wet wipes under the seat, he opened the door for her to climb in.

"It all looks normal to me," she said, looking him in the eye and patting him on the thigh. "I think perhaps we were quick to judge."

As she settled back into her seat comfortably and arched her back, Philip couldn't help but feel that something rung wrong with her summary.

"Is there anyone else there?" he asked, trying to sit in such a way as to hide his damp patch. "Or just Dr Silverine? Do they do anything else?"

"Why yes they do," replied Martha, her eyes closed. "They run a beauty therapy course and identity building clinics. There are other things too, but I can't really remember them just now. The receptionist was very helpful and introduced me to Dr Silverine."

"You met Dr Silverine?"

"Yes, and she was actually very helpful. She gave me a message for Fiona. She says that Fiona and Jennifer had talked to her about me – and about you, she's keen to meet you – and that I should probably have some fun too. You know, I think she may be right. What's wrong with having fun after all?

"It depends on the kind of fun you mean," responded Philip, glancing down to see that he looked OK. Dressing like a hooker might be fun once in a while I guess, but…" Philip trailed off as once again inappropriate picture came seeping into his mind. Dressing as a hooker…

"Stop here!" commanded Martha, pointing to a spare space on Park Street. Philip pulled over, his head rolling slightly, skirts too short to cover suspender straps flashing in his eyes.

"Come on, you don't look well," ordered Martha. "Let's get you a stiff drink."

Martha pulled Philip blinking from the car, and into an empty country theme pub. Sitting him down in a stall beneath an enormous plastic plough, out of sight of the main bar, she hurried to the bar and returned with whiskey.

"I don't really like whiskey," protested Philip weakly, but Martha picked up the glass and forced it into his hand.

"Drink this," she said, "and I'll get you something else. You still need a drink, look at you. I just need to make a phone call."

So saying, she strode back to the bar, dialling as she went. Philip sat back in the stall, his shaven legs in his jeans, his y-fronts moist from fantasies of crossdressing and his conscious thought peppered with alien yet mesmerising desires.

I guess I do need a drink, he thought, and gulped the whiskey down in one.

 

Chapter Eight – the end

 

Philip was glad for Martha's company as she bought him more and more drinks. As he became tipsy, he tried to tell her what he was experiencing.

"I can't stop thinking about wearing women's clothes," he confessed. "I try to fight it, but the feeling seems so strong."

"Don't worry," responded Martha. "I've called Fiona and she's on her way. We'll sort it out."

Right on cue, Fiona and Jennifer walked into the pub, peering into the dark. Martha waved them over, and spoke to them both quickly and quietly.

Philip couldn't really hear what she was saying. He looked into the half-empty glass in his hand and watched the light dance and glint. Like a diamond necklace, he thought, and his left hand absently reached up to caress his neck.

"Philip," said Fiona, breaking into his reflection, "are you ok? Martha said you wanted to wear women's clothes."

"No, no," Philip answered in drunken panic. What was Martha doing telling his girlfriend that? "Where is Martha?" he asked.

"She's gone to, ah, slip into something more comfortable," smiled Jennifer, sitting down opposite Philip and setting down a tray of drinks.

"Come on Phil," cooed Fiona, putting a short glass into his hand, "drink up and tell me about it."

Philip looked at her and smiled. How much happier she been recently. He thought back to their conversation when she had said he didn't understand how she had slammed the door and how he had worried they might be breaking up.

He thought how pretty she looked now, in a short green dress with one of her spaghetti straps falling down over her left shoulder.

She smiled back, white teeth in red lips. She leaned forwards and kissed him once, running her fingers through his hair.

"Drink up," she repeated, and moved the glass to his mouth.

Philip wasn't sure what it was, but it was sweet and it seemed to represent oblivion, so he gulped rather than sipped it, and felt the burn on the back of his throat that indicated strong drink.

"Now," resumed Fiona, replacing his empty glass with another as Jennifer leaned back into the shadows, reapplying pink lipstick. "Martha said you want to wear women's clothes."

Philip was fighting hard. The alcohol had given him determination, and he was a rock against which crashed the storms of his distortion.

"No," he said, "I sometimes might want to a bit, maybe, but I won't."

"Don't you want to wear a dress like this?" she asked, running her hand down the front of her dress, from the straps, over her breast and down to her thigh.

"No," answered Philip, but his eyes betrayed him.

"Don't you want to wear sheer and thin tights like these?" she asked, taking his free hand and running it gently over her knee.

"Ah…" answered Philip, his mind awash with what she was saying. Did she want him to? Was that right? Could he? No! Hold on!

"I want you to wear a bra," continued Fiona, moving his hand to her breast. "I want you to wear a bra to hold your boobs. Yes, I want you to have boobs - and I want them big!"

Another image in Philip's mind: standing before the mirror, naked but for black knickers and a black satin bra, and… big boobs…

"Oh…" he answered, shivering at the thought.

"And I want you to wear high heels," she went on in an urgent whisper, "I want you to mince and strut like you mean it. I want you to wear my pink blouse, the buttons undone and it just tied at the bottom, with nothing but a basque underneath!"

"And I want you to wear lipstick! I want you to wear lipstick now."

Jennifer held out the lipstick she had just been using, and Fiona extended it. As Fiona held it up to Philip's face, Martha re-entered the pub, changed dramatically.

Philip's eyes rolled as Fiona applied the lipstick to his face and Martha spoke.

"Mistress Silverine helped me, Philip. Now she will help you."

Philip swivelled his eyes to take in Martha's new image. He could hardly believe she could wear a skirt so short, shining around the very top of her thighs in pink pvc. Her legs, which he had so recently observed in trousers, were now shamelessly displayed to the public in black fishnet tights under her whoreish killerboots.

She struck her head back in a sexually aggressive pose.

"Submit now," she commanded through glossed lips. "Submit now and experience the pleasure of being free to be yourself – free to be a woman!"

 

 

Fiona finished with the lipstick and took Philip by the hand.

"Come on," she said, twisting round in her short dress and tights to face him, "Martha's got some things for you."

Martha picked up three bags and put them on the table. Fiona raised Philip's glass to his lips again and he drank another sweet alcoholic drink. He could hardly think straight.

Jennifer opened the first bag, pulling out a bundle of black lacy garments and a box.

"These are for you," whispered Fiona, "to make you into the person I want to love.

"No-one is looking, no-one is here," added Jennifer picking out a skimpy bra from the pile. "Come on, get them on. Dressing up is fun!"

Philip had no will. Again he felt like a passenger in his own body as his limbs moved of their own accord, but this time the ride felt woozy.

Before he knew it, his shirt was off, and the bra was being placed round his chest.

"Oh, yes," breathed Fiona as the straps went up his arms. She reached round to connect it and Philip found himself echoing her. "Oh yes," he breathed.

Jennifer opened the box, and took two breast forms from it. "These are a nice size," commented Fiona, slipping them in and stealing a quick kiss as she did so. Philip smiled as he looked down. Boobs! Bra! Fiona undoing his jeans!

As Martha looked on, she could see that Philip's polluted mind was bit by bit taking control of his consciousness. As Fiona slid off his trousers to reveal his shaved legs, he simpered and giggled.

Philip's very mind was receding into his memory as Jennifer moved the table to assist Fiona with his now dry y-fronts and socks. Fiona and Jennifer paused now and again to exchange kisses as they slowly eased the black silken thong up Philip's legs. Philip's eyes rolled back as his new self began to assert itself over the vestiges of his old male personality.

"No," he whispered as Fiona fixed the suspender belt around his waist.

"No," he whispered again – but quieter – as she rolled a smooth micromesh stocking up his leg.

As he looked down at his first stocking, Philip felt a new sense of awakening. As Fiona attached each suspender strap, he felt each bit more female. As Jennifer dressed him in the second stocking, he felt nothing but relief that his old life was falling away.

As the pink blouse and simple black knee-length skirt came on, Philip felt like a wisp of smoke. As Jennifer placed the wig on his head and Fiona slipped the stiletto shoes on his feet, there wasn't really anything left of Philip.

Who once was Philip sighed and stretched. He looked up at his mistresses and smiled. Wordlessly they left the pub, to the curious looks of the barmaid and climbed into Philip's car. Martha started the engine and drove them back to the therapy centre.

"Now," she said to Philip, as he caressed his crossed and smooth legs through his new stockings and dangled a high heeled shoe from his foot, "Time to meet Mistress Silverine."

"And then," added Fiona, "How about a date at Tallulah's?"

  

  

  

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