My Cousin Nikki

by

Donna Dee

 

I have a cousin, well second cousin actually, twice removed, (whatever that means), who lives about a couple of miles away from me. It wouldn't be fair to call her mother weird, but I'm going to do it anyway, mainly because she has such strange ideas on family relations that I will tell you about some other time. I have never worked it out properly but I imagine she is some kind of great aunt to me (even though that makes her sound older than she is) and when you are with her she can really be quite charming, but, as I say, she is weird. Her main source of income – she is a single parent - is hypnotherapy, she treats people with considerable success. She offers to help people stop smoking or to make them thinner, (she should try it on herself!), but her speciality is to calm your nerves before visiting a dentist or help to allay the fear of flying. She believes in the power of positive thought – and teaches that if you want something badly enough (and you believe in your own ability) then you can succeed. I think Nikki is extremely beautiful, (but not a patch on Lucy) which makes some of the things she gets up to all the more remarkable, but you judge for yourselves. This then is Nikki's story; I have written it partly from my own knowledge of things that happened and partly as she told it to me. I believe it rather tends to prove my point. Tell me if you agree,

 

Hi! I'm Nikki and I fell in love with Michael when I was ten – or thereabouts. He was two years older than I, and a regular visitor to our house due to the fact that his mother and mine were related dating back several centuries – well that was how they made you feel anyway. My love for him was confirmed at high school when I was fourteen and I succeeded in getting him to screw me – which was part of what I thought of as my master plan to win him for all time. It seemed to me that all the girls loved Michael – he was never short of a partner and, I suspect, they were all willing partners for he was something of a stud. Having said that he was not the most athletic looking boy, he tended to be rather thin, but my goodness he was beautiful in my eyes. Donna has told you that my mother taught me the power of positive thought – I wanted Michael and I was determined to get him, whatever it took; and since we are now married it is clear that I succeeded, but first of all let me tell you how I went about it.

Mum was a hypnotherapist and I can't count the times I watched through a small hole in her office wall as she put someone under for the first time; I always paid careful attention to the way she did it. If it was their first visit to her surgery, they were given a drink of an orange coloured liquid that I imagine was a drug of some kind. She always ran a tape very quietly in the background, (a weird sort of tune that would never have made the top ten in a million years) as she talked to them very soothingly, relaxing their minds to receive her suggestions, and ended up by telling them what she wanted them to do – i.e. give up smoking or whatever. Her success rate was very high, but the thing that impressed me the most at the time was something I now know to be quite common; she would plant in their memories a word or two which, when she whispered those words to them again at a later date would immediately put that person back into a hypnotic trance without the need of the drink or the music. She shouldn't have taught me how to do it until I was at least 18, I knew that, but she did, having first obtained my promise on my very life that I wouldn't use this power, (for that was how she described it), to try to make people do things that were wrong. Actually she said it was impossible to make someone do anything they really objected to, so she wasn't all that worried.

So now you can guess how I got Michael to fall for me. He was a regular visitor to our house and he would always pop in if he was passing and smelled my mothers cooking, chocolate fudge brownies were his favourite, he just couldn't resist them. I was of the opinion that he probably screwed most of the girls in his year and a few besides so on a day that my Mum was going to be out for the whole afternoon, I dressed myself up in some sexy gear, used make up liberally and baked some of his favourite chocolate fudge brownies, leaving them in the window to cool where he'd be sure to see them. I had already taken some of the orange drink from Mum's surgery and put it in a glass in the kitchen. I put her special music tape in my cassette player and called to him as he passed, offering him some of the chocolate fudge brownies I had made, cakes I liked to think were at least as good as Mum's. But I didn't intend to rely on hypnotism alone, my main plan was to get his pants off and surrender my virginity and I wanted him to know what he was doing and to enjoy it as much as I was sure I would. Having got him indoors and with the music playing softly I gave him the orange drink and spoke to him quietly as Mum had taught me. I had never attempted to hypnotize anyone before, but two minutes later he was putty in my hands, literally. I gently told him that when I released him from my spell he would realise he wanted to kiss me, and that, if he tried, he just might be able to get my knickers off as well. I didn't forget to give him his code words, (chocolate fudge brownies, would you believe); just in case I didn't succeed this time. Then I told him to wake up.

Quite quickly afterwards his arm went round me, pulled me close and he kissed me, long and sensually, and I kissed him back with everything I'd ever learned from watching movies and reading love stories. Shortly after that we made love and climaxed in an orgy of unprotected sex. I had forgotten all about the risks, they didn't matter anyway, because if I got pregnant he was going to be mine anyway. Once we regained our composure and were just sitting there, talking and kissing, I pointed out the risk we had taken and I said that he must get some rubbers ready for the next time. You should have seen his face light up at the thought that he could have me again – anytime, any place as far as I was concerned – and I meant it, I really did. We were lucky, I didn't get pregnant, but I didn't let up on him; I had him between my legs at every opportunity. I never considered myself loose – he was and still is the only man to ever take me.

It didn't matter to me what he intended to do for a living – he could have swept the streets for all I cared but in reality this wasn't a problem. He was something of a computer buff and wrote technical drawing programmes that were of great value to architects, structural engineers and the like – and they were selling like hot cakes. He kept bring out improvements which earned him loads of money but the downside for me was that he now needed to travel the country demonstrating its value and instructing on its use. I have to admit that our sex life took a back seat, but we could never have kept that pace up indefinitely. We were married when I was 19 and it was a great event, all my aunts and uncles, cousins by the dozens and loads of friends came and my Mum and Michael paid for the lot between them. Amazingly we could easily afford it even though Michael was only 21.

His work travelling the country was not as demanding then as it became later and Michael loved to write stories. I liked the stories he wrote but he was very frustrated at not being able to interest a publisher. He had, by this time, written a couple of dozen short stories and three novels. Now any would be author will tell you that the hardest part is getting your first work published, after that the gates open and it is possible to make a decent living.

At my suggestion he tried his hand at romantic fiction for the mass paperback market, you know the sort of thing, beautiful teenager is bullied and/or harassed by a middle aged millionaire, hates him for the first 200 pages, falls in love with him on page 201, marries him on 202 and they live happily ever after on page 203. He tried one and sent it to Mills and Boon who snapped it up. I was of considerable help to him with these books, I would jot down whatever plot was necessary and leave him to pad it out. We soon discovered that he could turn this rubbish out at a book a week for which he used six different nom-de-plumes, (all female) and to our amazement, earned extremely good money just from his writing.

I became a teacher – and a good one at that. I am sorry if that seems big headed but I found I had a way with me that persuaded even the most stubborn student to do as I wanted (partly, I suspect, due to the lessons learned from my mother) and I used this talent to persuade my students to want to succeed. Michael said I should have been a sales woman, because he was sure I could sell the Eiffel Tower to the French! Our marriage was based on trust – and I don't think it was ever abused. Even though it was less frequent because of his travelling, our sex life was still fantastic – and I know he agreed with that. What made him so desirable was, frankly, everything because in my book he had no faults – and I know he agreed with that as well. Having said that we never crowded each other, we didn't live in each other's pockets, I had my free time and he had his.

I imagine that few men notice everything about their wives, subtle changes in hair-style for instance, a different lipstick or eye shadow, the re-arrangement of lounge furniture, and, the worst error of all, the failure to notice a new dress, and Michael was as guilty of this as the next man. To me it was a cardinal sin and I frequently threatened that if he didn't pay more attention then I would do something drastic. (I once told him I would have had him flogged and clapped into irons if we lived on a boat). With this in mind you will understand his amazement at the events that occurred just a few weeks ago. When he came home from a week's trip to Texas, I had changed my appearance completely – a somewhat drastic new hair colour, a much sexier dress and more make-up than I had used for a very long time. I eagerly awaited his reaction, but then I didn't even give him chance to notice those changes. What brought this about? What did I do? Read on, dear friend, read on.

The cause of my sudden change wasn't really sudden at all for I had been planning it for some 8 months. Eight months beforehand while Michael was away on business, I had nothing better to do and so I started to rough out a few more romantic story plots on the computer. Now I was very new to this computer lark and I wanted to search the files for a story that Michael had written some time before. It was there somewhere, I was sure of that, but it refused to appear for me. Unable to find it under any title I could remember I started to search for words from the story, thinking that perhaps my husband may have decided on a different one. I began by searching for the name 'Veronica' since I distinctly remembered that was the leading characters name. How it happened I may never know but I was suddenly presented with what appeared to be the home page for a site called Fictionmania, several screens of what I thought were hyperlinks (words underlined in blue on a white background). Since I wasn't logged on to the Internet at the time I was unable to open up any of the headings, all except one. That one was a story by Karen Elizabeth L entitled Christy. I was shocked, not by the content, for I am very broad-minded as you will come to realise, but by how entertaining and plausible the story was. By the way, this story tells of how Carole persuaded her husband to start cross dressing and how it went too far. It is on Crystal's pages, and if you haven't read it then you should because I think it is one of the best stories I've ever read, (apart from the ending). The antics of Carole and her husband excited me so much that I read it right through a second time and enjoyed it even more. After lunch I logged on to the Internet to search for similar stories – and that was when I discovered Crystal's Story site. I started to 'speed read' my way through author after author, marking those I liked best to be read properly later. I sat there reading these tales late into the evening, and I was amazed at how turned on I became at the antics of some of the characters. Finally that night I turned back to 'Christy' once more and later, alone in my bed, I tried to envisage just what that obviously beautiful man would look like dressed as a woman and that got me turned on even more. Before I got into bed I extracted our dildo from the drawer to help me relax. Lying there sliding Ben Hur (my name for the dildo) slowly in and out I imagined Christy with all kinds of famous faces, bewigged and made up like a glamour queen and then, quite suddenly, the only face I could see was my husband's.

For the rest of that week I did nothing but read stories of men and boys who had started cross-dressing and remained at least partly feminised for the rest of their lives, and each time it took me back to Michael. I began to wonder what he would look like dressed up as a woman; his face was certainly pretty enough, or it would be once I'd painted it.

I said nothing about the stories to Michael when he returned for the weekend but the sex was much hotter than usual. Whenever I had the opportunity after this I logged on to the site and eventually read almost all the stories, skipping only those dealing with domination, (sissy's and bondage are not to my taste though God bless those who do like it). More and more I kept imagining my Michael dressed up and made up, wearing sheer nylons and high heeled shoes, pretty dresses and with a fancy hairdo – and I knew the only way I'd ever get this out of my system was to persuade him to try. I was pessimistic about his cooperation and I felt sure that the only way forward would be for me to drag out the 'chocolate fudge brownies.' This did seem grossly unfair – under hypnosis he wouldn't stand a chance to refuse and fairness demanded that he really did ought to have a say in such an important matter. However, since every story ended with the male being absolutely delighted to have made the change, I was sure he too would be delighted, if he tried. IF HE TRIED. If I could just get him to try.

It seemed logical to me that some of those stories must be true or have been based on real life experiences and I had heard of transvestites and transsexuals in our own local community. I removed the site from my list of favourites and resolved not to read any more stories, but still the thought wouldn't go away. I was almost permanently wet because I desperately wanted to dress Michael up, if only the once. I was sure that once would be enough to get him hooked and that I could then get him into dresses regularly, but I also knew that I wanted him to go the whole way, I wanted him to be another Christy. I wanted him to be a full time woman, go to the training school Christy went to and I really wanted him to have the final operation.

Are you shocked? I was shocked at myself for even thinking it, but it was a lovely thought and now I didn't want it to go away. I knew it would be easy if I used the "chocolate fudge brownie" technique and by now I was so desperate that, if he reused to do it by persuasion, then I knew that I definitely would use hypnosis. There was no longer an alternative; it had to happen, and soon. But it may not come to that, there was always a chance he'd be willing; or was I kidding myself? Either way I'd have to find out where I could buy the things we'd need, breast forms and those things they used to hide their pricks, and I had no idea where to shop for those. I wondered if my cousin Donna could help, (she's the lesbian that lives with her sister). Donna made no secret of the fact that she was a lezzy and I'd always thought it strange that she had moved in with her sister after Lucy had walked out on her old man, but I had no time to think of that now; she claims she never once had the hots for a bloke, not even for a boy at school. She is so physically perfect she could have been man made and it is inconceivable to me that anyone so beautiful as my cousin could keep men at arms length all her life as she claims to have done. But then it was none of my business and I gave her a call.

I told Donna I wanted to dress Michael up for a fancy dress party and I told her what I wanted to buy. I think she knew I was lying, she asked far too many questions for my liking and so eventually I admitted that I wanted him in dresses. Bless her heart she didn't laugh at me, but she did ask if this was to be with his co-operation or not. I said it depended on which was the quickest. She said she understood and she didn't suggest that what I wanted to do was wrong; "I know quite a few men who now dress as women Nikki, they do it all the time and they love it – they wouldn't have it any other way, so if he won't co-operate and it is OK with your conscience to do it anyway then that's fine just so long as you don't go too far. (What on earth could she mean?) I couldn't tell her that it wasn't just a case of it being OK – nor was re gendering my husband merely desirable, doing so was now absolutely fucking essential. The very thought filled my every waking moment and I was already more than ready to use my hypnotic powers to achieve my goal. She didn't know, at least I don't think she knew that I could hypnotise people just like my Mum could, and I fully intended going as far along the road as I needed to. Donna said she'd make some enquiries and would then tell me if she could help.

Next morning she rang to say she had decided to help me because in her heart she knew he'd love it even if he moaned to begin with. She said she'd come round in an hour and take me shopping. When she arrived, she followed me up to the bedroom while I got changed and then she asked me if I loved him, (of course I loved him, why else would I be doing this for him?) I said that my prime reason was to make him as happy as the men I'd been reading about. I didn't need to elaborate on the benefits of his being able to wear much nicer clothes because she already knew that. Donna said she was in favour of the plan in principal, the world would be a better place if someone turned all men into women, but she felt sure he ought to have the final say as to whether he wanted to go all the way or not. She told me that she had read the story about Christy and she wanted to know just how far I intending going; did I really want to have him castrated and fitted with a vagina?

I wanted to say 'Yes, of course I bloody well do you stupid cow,' but I told her that if he would go along with me, let me dress him up and just pretend to be a woman that would probably be enough for my needs, that I would leave it to him as to whether or not he went all the way, but if he made things difficult and I had to get my mother to hypnotise him then I would certainly take things further, but I added that I loved his prick too much to get it cut off. Trouble was that was true.

"You don't need a prick to get yourself fucked properly, Nikki, and I should know," Donna answered, all female sex is the ultimate, believe you me. The problem was that the closer my dream came to being realised the further I wanted to go and unless he really did do what I wanted voluntarily then I was going to push it as far as I could. If cousin Donna was content being sucked to a climax, why couldn't I be?

She told me of a shop in the mall, an adult bookshop that had a separate store in the back that sold all the things I'd need – and since the owner was himself a part time transvestite he'd certainly be pleased to help me. She even offered to go with me just to make sure he'd let me through to the back. .

She still insisted Michael was entitled to know what I had in mind before it went too far, and in the end I had to agree she was right – and so I promised on my mother's life that I would tell him before I made any irreversible changes. I made no promise that he'd be able to hear me tell him though. I was sorry I'd asked her to come in – just talking about changing Michael was making me soaking wet again.

We went to the mall, she took me to the adult bookshop, (even that was an eye opener) and she introduced me to the proprietor. The first thing that caught my eye in the bookshop was a big poster that announced

 

 

TRANSVESTITES WHO HAVE TRIED THE REST

NOW SAY

GORDON BENNETT

FOR ALL YOUR TRANSGENDERING AIDS

 

ASK THE PROPRIETOR FOR DETAILS

 

We were ushered through to the back, but not before I had picked up one of the leaflets. The room at the back was the size of a warehouse and was an Aladdin's cave of sex toys; dildo's, bondage gear, handcuffs and leg irons, a dozen different gags, numerous sizes and qualities of breast forms, male corsets that locked at the back, chastity belts (some of which looked like a medieval torture tool, thongs, and the cutest little plate that fitted over a man's cock to make him as flat as any woman. There were whips and a cat 'o nine tails, wigs and hair pieces, high heeled shoes in larger (men's) sizes, steel collars, body and ear piercing guns, blanket and theatrical make up, nail extensions, belly button rings, and a booklet giving full instructions on how to carry out the Prince Albert piercing, though I hadn't a clue as to what that was. I never dreamed there could be so many wonderful toys.

 

I looked around for an hour or so and promised to be back with an order very soon, and that was a promise from the heart that only my death would have stopped me from keeping. Back in the car I started to scan the Gordon Bennett pamphlet. Page one announced that you could "Go from man to woman the easy way with Gordon Bennett's feminisation tapes." It said that there were six tapes in the set but the tapes alone would not feminize my husband; what they were designed to do was strip away his masculinity layer by layer leaving him open to suggestions and medicinal aids. 'The first layer' the pamphlet said, 'will open his mind to wearing female clothing, but it wont make him WANT to wear it – that would be up to me, but what the booklet promised was that once he had listened to just the first tape he WOULD ACCEPT my suggestion that he should wear my panties under his trousers – and probably a lot more besides. I could hardly wait to go back inside and buy the tapes, whatever they cost.

Bob Jenks was the proprietor of the store and, picking up another copy of the leaflet, he took me through it, page by page. The leaflet was designed for people like me who wanted to help their man make the big change, but it was also possible for those men who sought femininity to do as much for them selves. He said the first tape was the key – once he'd listened to that he would actually WANT to listen to the rest. The second tape will take away his aggressiveness and make him calmer. The third tape will ensure he accepts that he is changing, persuades him to adore his new bust that by now should be developing nicely, providing you are using the bust enhancer of course. The fourth tape will make him agreeable to wear women's clothes when you go out and also make him more observant, just like a woman in fact. The final tape will make him want to do anything you want him to – which leaves you plenty of scope. This was stronger stuff than any hypnosis my mother performed, I was sure of that. I asked him about the various products that were recommended for use with the tapes, the bust enhancer for instance. He turned to the back of the booklet and showed me a list of recommended extras. He said I would need one or all of them, depending on how far I wished to take it. I nearly said, "Give me the lot," there and then. I looked down the list

 

The GORDON BENNETT bust enhancing cream and tonic

The GORDON BENNETT hair growth-promoting tonic

The GORDON BENNETT finger and toenail protection varnish

The GORDON BENNETT body hair removing cream

The GORDON BENNETT voice-softening tablets

The GORDON BENNETT waist-reducing tablets

The GORDON BENNETT skin-smoothing tablets

The GORDON BENNETT hormone treatment

 

"Not only those, but there are, of course, a whole range of special cosmetics designed to remove wrinkles etc. I know this may sound as if I want to supply you with everything, and I do of course, but I want you to have the very best," Bob said.

I levelled with him and told him what I wanted to do – that Michael wasn't going to know anything about it until it was too late for him to stop. Bob listened attentively and finally said that Michael was going to be one lucky man. Bob then emphasised the importance of my taking accurate measurements for any corsetry, breast implants, chastity devices and extra-high high-heeled shoes if those were the things I wanted. Was he kidding? Of course I wanted them – all of them, regardless of cost.

"If you use these tapes in conjunction with the other products in the range," he said, "you will find that he accepts the changes they induce, at first without complaint and then with eagerness. Take the Gordon Bennett bust enhancer for instance. Three doses of the tonic a day will give him "A" cups by the fourth day at the latest and "D" cups inside a fortnight. Be careful not to go too far or he'll end up looking like Jordan! The Gordon Bennett cream for removing bodily hair will work well on its own, but used with the tape he will not allow even one hair to re-appear. The hair and nail products will make them grow much quicker and they would be healthy and strong; the waist cream will remove every scrap of fat from his tummy area. All the time, the tapes will be telling him it is the right thing to do. I absolutely guarantee you will be delighted, I trust you can afford them?

"Money isn't a problem if it gets me what I want. I really do want a completely feminised hubby and I want him soon."

"Then go home and read the booklet – it will answer all your questions, but do let me give you one word of warning. All the creams and tonics will go on working as long as you keep on using them – so don't go too far because if you give him huge tits that neither of you will like then it will need surgery to reduce them. The tits are not false – they are a part of him, and the nipples will be as sensitive to him as yours are to you. The same applies to the hair growth and nail treatment, though these can, of course, be easily cut, but nothing looks worse than excessively long nails." Maybe not, I thought, but he said himself that I could cut them.

As we left he gave me his telephone number and told me about a club where up to sixteen transvestites gathered once a fortnight to discuss their hobby and help each other with any problems. "You will find a few there who have used the Gordon Bennett system. Why don't you come with me, there is a meeting tonight and I will introduce you as a woman who has made the full change from being a man. We meet in a private house so as not to attract too much attention, and we all come fully dressed and made up of course." I said I would and took the address

But I wanted to make certain he wasn't having me on and so I rang him to make my excuses and promised I'd go next time. But that evening I did go and I watched the house from the car to see for myself eight 'women' enter the address he'd given me, so at least he wasn't having me on.

Two weeks later I bought an expensive wig, had a decent makeover in the afternoon, telling the salon staff that I wanted to wear very heavy make up and the brightest nail varnish. I wore five- inch heels, much higher than I was comfortable with. I tried to look as tarty as possible as I pretended I was a man dressed in women's clothes. It proved to be a splendid evening with everyone unbelievably friendly and anxious to help. When asked how long I had been cross-dressing I replied that I had been doing it full time for almost two years and that I enjoyed every minute. I soon found out that very few of the members are writers, but they all had interesting stories to tell, most of which they swore to be true and I noted down some of the more interesting tales for me to use.

But for me the best parts of the meetings were when practical demonstrations were given in the use of corsetry and chastity devices, (not that I suspected Michael of playing away, it just seemed the neatest way of hiding his cock until I booked him in for surgery). I was told that whichever of the devices I chose, accurate measurements were essential and these I set about getting that very weekend. This was an occasion when I had to use the chocolate fudge brownies – Michael would have been far too inquisitive as to why I needed to measure his cock so accurately to have simply let it pass.

I was thrilled that his code words still worked – I hadn't used them for several years, but as soon as I whispered them in his ear the response was immediate. I told him to remove all his clothing and, using the chart provided, took every measurement they required. He even got a hard on within a couple of minutes of being asked. I then told him to give me a quick fuck, get dressed and wake up. He didn't remember a thing. Armed with that information I started to make my purchases both from the bookstore and, of course, from ladies clothes shops as cosmeticians.

The tape system for changing someone's sex was fascinating, and it needed very little help from me. It was specially edited to use his name, and I had to pick his new name at the same time. I hadn't given this much thought up until then and the first thing that came to mind was Michelle – so that's what I gave them. I was told that I needed to start the first tape playing and make sure he could hear the opening lines – it didn't matter that they didn't register, and in any case, each tape repeated itself three times. Once he had heard the first three lines, he would ask me, perhaps later on, if I knew anyone called Michelle, and if he did then he was hooked. They suggested I start the tape as he came through the door, which I planned to do, and then jump him, kiss him thoroughly and then fuck him hard while the tape ran in the background. As long as he wasn't talking it would work. The tape merely worked on his mind and got him to think feminine thoughts. .

I was satisfied that the things I purchased were essential – I could get a refund on anything I didn't need and the plan to start work on him was put into operation, starting the following Friday when he got back from Dallas.

We had a fantastic weekend before his last week as a full man began, loads of loving and lashings of sex. On the Saturday I told him about the story I'd read (Christy) at which he blushed profusely and admitted that someone had sent it to him some time ago. He had forgotten to delete it. I told him not to be sorry, that I too had read it and enjoyed it; he was very relieved. I asked him if he had ever thought of getting dressed up as a girl and he looked at me as if I was barmy. "Don't feel embarrassed, darling, I think you'd look lovely in a dress with a nice hairdo and some make-up, don't you?" I queried innocently.

"I tried on my Mum's knickers when I was about 12, just the once, honestly!" he insisted, "and I've no wish to try it again. She tanned my arse black and blue. Subject closed, Nikki, OK?"

Yes, OK. Well, he was welcome to think it was closed, but it just reinforced my determination.

On the Monday morning acting a little coy, I begged him not to go away this week, (if he hadn't I'd have throttled him) but of course he said he must. I asked him to try to get back on Thursday, but that too was out of the question, he was taking the managing director out to dinner Thursday evening, but he would be back on Friday afternoon – he promised he wouldn't let me down, and, what was more, he intended taking at least a week off to spend some time with me. I kissed him goodbye so very tenderly that I thought he might change his mind but all was well. I asked him to ring me every evening, he said he would, and he did just that.

Suddenly he had gone and now I could begin the countdown to my dream fulfilment. The first thing then was to check that everything was ready for Friday.

The first thing I checked was his new wardrobe, or rather the clothes that were in it. I'd bought six of almost everything, blouses, jumpers, cardigans, skirts, dresses, bras, slips, camisoles, panties, garter belts, a dozen pairs of nylons (varied), and just three very severe looking corsets. I was smaller than Mike and I wouldn't have wanted to try and get one of those on and laced up! Next came the cosmetics, though I realised I could always fall back on my own things if need be. I checked that I had the Gordon Bennett products and that the tape would play in my portable player, the vendor had assured me that without my name being recorded into it there was no risk of it affecting me in any way. I then checked I had made appointments for my hair to be done, (coloured on Tuesday, re-styled Friday morning) and I checked with the salon that my makeover appointment was also recorded for Friday. I knew I'd bought my outfit because I'd tried it on twice, but even so I made sure nothing was missing.

After I'd had my hair coloured on Tuesday, (a rich, vibrant chestnut) I popped in to the bookstore and told the owner that I had been having second thoughts about going all the way and subjecting him to the final operation. I asked what affect the tape and the tonic would have on him if I wanted to curtail the programme earlier. He told me once again that the tape was nothing more than a mind conditioner – that it removed his masculine traits rather than installed female ones. By the time he had listened to the first tape he would, or certainly should have lost interest in playing or watching sport, current affairs and other women. It should be easy to get him into a scented bath, agree to have his body hair removed and go to bed in a night dress, though I would obviously have to suggest these changes and maybe push him just a little. Later that weekend, once he had heard the fourth tape, it would be up to me to judge just how far he was ready to go. He should certainly be fully dressed and made up and should have no reservations about going into town dressed in women's clothes. He also said the tonic would start work on his nipples immediately, there should be noticeable results before bedtime and I should stop giving it to him when his tits were about half as big as I'd like them to be – they would carry on developing normally for at least two days afterwards. I decided to let him hear all the tapes but that I wouldn't push him into having the operation.

Time passed slowly – I was reminded of Christmas when I was a child waiting for the bearded wonder to appear. Those last few days were agony, I wanted action and I wanted it now. He did ring me every evening and Friday did eventually arrive. I had my hair styled and I had the salon put my makeup on and I let them choose the colour for my nails – all in all I was very satisfied with the results. They chose a very dark red for both my nails and my mouth and I'm bloody sure Donna would have had problems keeping her mitts off me had she seen me dressed to kill in an extremely short skirt, a low cut blouse and no underwear! The one downside to my week was that I had become a nervous wreck and started smoking again – and I was annoyed to find that I still loved it just as much in spite of a seven year lay-off.

He rang me from the airport when his plane landed, that left me just one hour to do a final check (perhaps you can see how nervous I was) but everything was OK as I knew it would be. He arrived at about 4.30 that afternoon. He had remembered to bring me a little gift, (failure to remember used to be a punishable offence in our house) and he found me in the kitchen preparing a meal for us to share. "MICHAEL!" I shouted excitedly as he let himself in through the front door. I rushed up to him just as he entered the kitchen, threw my arms around his neck and wrapped my long legs around his waist as I kissed him like he'd been away for a year. It was quite definitely a "please tear my drawers off and fuck me now" type of kiss – and I could tell that it was as much as he could to resist. In the end it was me who felt for his cock and dragged him down to the floor. A couple of hours later, over dinner, Michael told me that he did notice that I'd changed but that it he couldn't comment while I was giving him that kiss. "Are you complaining Michelle my darling?" I asked.

"What did you call me?" he asked.

"I've been reading an essay in French and the main character was called Michele – that's French for Michael in case you didn't know," I told him, "And I quite like the sound of it, don't you?"

"I can speak some French Nikki, but my head is buzzing a bit and I feel a bit odd. I thought I heard you call me that before, did you?"

"I may have done, it wasn't intentional before."

"So that wasn't an accident then?"

"No, not entirely; its no big deal is it Michelle?"

"There you go again, Nikki, my name is Michelle, I mean Michael. Shit! Why did I say that?

I was in too deep here to let it drop – he must be on the point of acceptance. "Well I prefer the French version, it's sexier, and I'm going to call you Michelle whether you like it or not."

"Please yourself, not that you wouldn't anyway. And what's that music you are playing over and over again? It's dreadful; put something different on will you?"

"It's a charm music from the East – I rather liked it, but if you don't then I'll change the tape for you, Michelle!" I emphasised the pronunciation that time just to annoy him even more.

"Do you know something, Nikki, you've changed this week, quite a lot." I did notice he shook his head once or twice as if trying to clear it of something and then he rubbed his chest with the palms of his hands. Now I knew it was working. I changed the tape putting in number two which was supposed to calm him down, but I didn't switch it on yet.

"So you think I have changed do you, Michael – don't you approve?"

"Oh, we've gone back to Michael have we? And I was just beginning to like my French name," he giggled, girlishly.

"You were going to tell me how I'd changed."

"Everything as far as I can see; your hair is different – colour and style, you are wearing far more lipstick and eye shadow than usual, you smell divine, I must try a drop of that perfume sometime." Again he shook his head as we both realised what he'd said, but I let it pass.

He was right about the changes. The normally severe hairstyle I wore for school and retained unless we were going somewhere special had been replaced by a mass of curls around my face and shoulders, what was more it was his fantasy colour. As we kissed I noticed that he forced one eye open to see that he was correct; and took in for the first time that my hair was now a rich chestnut and looked phenomenal. My closed eyes were indeed much more heavily made up than usual with three shades of eye shadow crowning the blackest mascara imaginable. I nearly fainted with excitement when he asked why I had put so much lipstick on. At least he was noticing things!

"Don't you like it, darling?"

"Yes, I love it, but my mouth keeps sliding off yours. It's a good job you had your tongue half way down my throat."

He took hold of my hands and admired my longer nails, and the colour. Once he had regained his breath he complimented me on my new look; I asked him to be completely honest, did he really like it or was he just saying what he thought I wanted to hear? He paused briefly before saying that he loved it but he wanted to know what had caused the sudden and dramatic change. I chuckled mysteriously and said he'd find out later. He seemed to have regained his composure and was almost back to normal as we made to sit down to eat. I hoped he didn't notice me turn the cassette player on and he certainly made no comment about the music that was only slightly different. As we ate dinner I asked if he had any plans for the weekend, asked in the sort of tone that suggested he'd have to cancel them if he had. "Well," he said, "if it were for sex like that, he'd cancel the rest of the year! But I could tell that the macho bit had resurfaced and that he didn't want to make it seem too easy. He replied that there were things he wanted to do and there was, of course, his golf on Sunday morning. I took the huff, wheedled a little until he agreed that Saturday could be made free, but the golf was his only exercise. "Poof," I said. "You may never want to play golf again after I'm through with you this weekend." He asked me what I had in mind and I told him to wait and see – but I promised he'd love it.

By now I could sense that the second tape had started to work on his subconscious and I asked him if he'd like the sex to continue as it had started.

"Of course I would you wanton hussy."

"Michelle, darling, as a special favour to me, will you wear a nightdress in bed tonight?"

"If you want me to, darling."

Yes! "And before that, shall we have a bath together like we used to?"

"Yes, that might be fun" he said.

We had a large bath big enough for two, and within an hour of finishing dinner we were in it together, a bath so filled with scented water as to be intoxicating. I had slipped him a cocktail of the Gordon Bennett tonics and pills – he'd taken them all as good as gold and was very attentive to me in the bath, as I was to him.

"Let's get rid of your body hair," I said when we got out of the bath. He made no objection as I produced a jar of white cream that I proceeded to smooth onto every part of his body that had hair on it, apart from his head and his dick of course. I knew the effect of this cream from the stories, but it surprised me at just how well it had worked when I rinsed it off some 25 minutes later. I ran my hands over his new silky smooth arms, legs, chest and back, then got out his cutthroat razor and carefully shaped the hairs around his dick into a heart shape. My hearty was in my mouth but my hand was as steady as a rock. He said he wanted to know what all this was in aid of, so I told him it was a surprise and that he had to wait and see. I made him sit at my vanity and brushed his medium length hair into a unisex style that looked far better than I had expected. I lacquered it to keep it as firm as possible for the night of love that was ahead and told him I thought she looked fantastic. I swear he smiled at himself as he looked in the mirror.

I was delighted when he didn't object as I glued on two silicone breast forms, they were far more solid once they had set than I had anticipated and I rubbed a dark substance into the join where the edges met his chest. The gaps vanished; they now looked a part of him. I helped him into a bra, gave him some panties to put on and then helped him slip into a full length silk nightdress that he admitted felt absolutely divine against his skin and I could tell he was getting worried that he might get to like it. We fucked like a couple of rabbits for two hours or so and then fell asleep, at least he did. Once I was sure he was off for the night I eased the clothes from the end of he bed and exposed his feet, then I painted his toenails a deep pink, they looked fantastic so I gave them a second coat as a bonus. When they were thoroughly dried I covered him up, kissed him softly and whispered, "see you in the morning, Michelle darling." Then I cuddled my bum into his crotch and slept contentedly.

I had a shock in the morning when he awoke before me and offered to get the tea – there was a first time for everything. I asked him how he'd slept, "Like a log," he replied, "that nightie was so comfortable, I think I'll wear one all the time." He didn't realise just how true those words were going to be, because now that I knew the treatments were working there was no holding me back. Bob Jenks had suggested a little test I could try on Saturday morning, always presuming I'd got him started as planned on Friday afternoon, which, of course, I had. He told me to turn the central heating right down in our bedroom so that it seemed cold when we woke and to hide his dressing gown and slippers – leave them in the bathroom, and see what happened. When he got out of bed he didn't seem all that surprised to see he had pink toenails – he hardly even glanced at them, and when he went to leave our bedroom and couldn't see his robe he asked me where it was. I said it was probably in the bathroom, so he just said, "Oh well, I'll borrow yours while I make the tea." He put the almost transparent robe on and tied the cord before slipping his feet into my mules! He looked in the wardrobe mirror and patted his hair as he went out.

On his return he sat on the bed by my side and kissed me tenderly. "Darling," he said, "these breast forms are very uncomfortable, they make my chest itch."

"Oh my baby," I replied, "please don't ask me to take them off – they really look nice under your nightie and they'll look even nicer when I get you dressed, and you did promise to let me dress you up, remember?" (He hadn't, actually said that).

"Yes, I remember, and I have quite gotten used to the idea, but surely they don't have to be stuck on. Wouldn't they look just as good if I wear them loose inside my bra?"

Did you hear that girls? "HIS" bra? And there was me worrying he was going to chicken out – as if I'd have let him at this stage. "Yes, I expect they would be fine, we'll try, shall we?" When I'd drunk my tea I got up, dressed quickly in slacks and a turtleneck jumper and fetched my own slippers from under the bed, (the mules had been put there especially for him). Meanwhile I'd sent Michelle, (I was starting to think of him as Michelle already) to wash. She returned in bra and panties; I helped her remove the bra and took the liquid glue remover and began to ease the silicone breasts from her body. As I did so I could hardly believe my eyes; the itching was being caused by the formation of his nipples and the aureoles surrounding them, both fully formed and topping a very definite breast form. It was too small as yet, but to make this much progress in less than 24 hours was incredible. Naturally he saw them for himself and I expected him to explode but he didn't. "You know Nikki, I rather thought that might be happening, they are soo sensitive. Why don't you kiss them like I kiss yours?" I didn't need a second invitation.

But time was of the essence and after a few minutes sucking and licking during which time he purred like a contended kitten, I said it was time to press on. I put a smaller breast form inside the cups of a clean bra and fitted it to him – he said that was lovely. I asked if his panties felt tight enough and explained they were supposed to. Then I got him into nylons, slipped a garter belt on him and pulled the straps through his panties and fixed them to the stocking tops. "Now my poppett, I want you in this," I said, producing a neat little corset that even I couldn't have got on. I made him stretch up towards the ceiling, pulled really hard on the straps and eventually secured it. "That was the easy bit," I said, "Now we need to lace it tight." It took ages, he helped me pull the laces, bless him, and when it was obvious it would close no more I took my tape and found we'd got almost four inches off his waist. "Tomorrow we'll try the full corset, that should knock off another couple of inches. He posed with his hands on his hips, turning this way and that as he admired his new shape. "Come on, darling, we must get on, here, step into this." I held him a waist slip which, when on, came four inches above his knee. His camisole smoothed the line of his body and made the simple dress I put over his head look quite something.

I fixed his hair and did his make-up; he sat still and seemed to approve of everything I did. I told him to pay attention to his make-up, as he would need to do this himself from tomorrow – and he didn't disagree. While I was working the third tape had been playing and he had taken his fourth dose of the tonic. I put him in high heels and showed him how to walk, sit and cross his legs correctly, he was a quick learner.

When we went to bed that Saturday night he took off his bra and we were both amazed at the size of his boobs. "How am I going to hide these when I go back to work, Nikki?" he asked.

"Why do you want to hide them," I replied, "I think they are lovely."

"Oh yes, so do I, but they seem to be growing so quickly and I have no idea how big they'll end up."

"Either a D or a DD cup," I said, its difficult to be precise."

"As I said, very difficult to hide."

"Then don't hide them," I said.

Then I'll have to wear a bra all the time – and I can't do that in a suit. I'll have to be a woman, wont I?"

"What a wonderful idea," I replied, kissing him tenderly. "Now, just lay on the bed for me, I want to pierce your navel." Do you know what he said? Can you even imagine what he said? Can you think how good a felt when I heard his reply?

He cooed… "Oooh – sexy!"

While I had the gun handy I put two extra studs in his ears. He yelped and pulled away, "That is too permanent," he complained.

"But darling, I always intended that it should be permanent, didn't you realise that?" I asked innocently.

The changes brought about by the tapes and the tonics were amazing, but I have not played him the final tape yet and I stopped the tonics early as well. The corset has squeezed him down to a 22-inch waist, his bust is a CC and his hips and gorgeous round bum are to die for.

Over the next two weeks he became virtually a complete woman – fixed his own hair and make-up, washed and ironed his and my lingerie and he quite happily went shopping for clothes with me, for himself of course. I suggested he might like a makeover for his birthday present – and a hair do if he liked. He liked. I asked Bob Jenks if he knew of a school similar to the one in the Christy story and, of course, he knew of several. I booked him in and sent him off at the end of his 2-week break.

On Michelle's return she described her three weeks there as the most enlightening of her life. She now seemed to have totally female characteristics, her walk, mannerisms, everything. What was more when I saw the taxi stop outside our house at the end of the course, and Michelle alighted wearing a full-length fur coat over a beautiful dress and carrying a large leather handbag, I knew my job was almost done. Her hair had been bleached and permed, her make up and nails were perfection.

I had telephoned around Michael's clients to tell them he was indisposed, and may be off work for some time but that they would receive a call quite soon from his new business partner – Michelle. There was one other bonus I hadn't thought of, the books he wrote for Mills and Boon under one of his nom de plumes. It seems he/she had won an award and now of course 'she' could collect it for herself.

But then I got worried, all of a sudden that, like Christy, Michelle might start fancying men. The hormones had affected his sex drive, it was largely oral now but still very satisfying and I am seriously considering having a chat with Donna on how to turn Michelle into a full Lesbian – or should I let nature take its course?

 

What would you do if you were I, boys and girls? Tell me and I'll finish the story in six months time.

 

 

 

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