Archive-name: Changes/paradsl1.txt

Archive-author: Donna Baker

Archive-title: Paradise Lodge - 1





I pulled down the sun-visor mirror and checked my face one last time in

the early morning light.  The self-assured image of a successful

businesswoman filled the glass.  My glossy red lips smiled confidently.

One long-lashed blue eye winked, its lavender-shadowed lid shining

through my large gold-framed glasses.  Every glistening black strand of

my short, bold, upswept hairdo was in place.  I grabbed my bright blue

leather purse and swung my matching five-inch open-toed pumps out of the

car.

  I was dressed to kill for my first day on the job at the Paradise

Lodge.  There was no one in the parking lot to appreciate the light

brown seams on my sheer hose peeking through the tall slit that ran up

the back of my tight blue velvet skirt.  Alas, the bit of black lacy

slip showing at the top of the slit was also wasted!  The confident roll

of my hips set my large breasts to jiggling and my gold earrings to

swaying, kissing my slender neck.

  My cheeks flushed beneath my heavy makeup as I stepped through the

employee's entrance, and my rigid corset thrust my breastflesh outward

under my ivory blouse and blue velvet jacket with each excited breath.

My heart pounded with anticipation!  My semi-swollen penis struggled

painfully to repudiate my obvious femininity by bursting loose from its

confined position, back between my legs under my blue satin panties.

After living as a man for thirty-five years, this was it - my first job

as a woman!

  Once inside, the guard checked my brand new Paradise Lodge ID card,

then opened the inner door to admit me.  A lovely young redhead dressed

in a soft green flannel jumpsuit escorted me to the manager's office.

She knocked, then motioned me to enter on my own.

  A stunning figure in a bejeweled, wasp-waisted evening gown from the

1890s extended her white-gloved arm in greeting.  "Margaret Whittaker!"

I exclaimed, taking her hand.  "You look absolutely fantastic in that

gown!"  This was the woman who had recruited me.  She had arranged

everything - my new name, my ID, moving me to Nevada, and handling all

the hundreds of excuses, tricks, and lies required to start a new life

with a new sex!

  "Thank you, Donna," she smiled, and curtsied - a difficult feat, since

the lace- and pearl-covered garment tightly encased her thighs, narrowed

dramatically down to her knees, then flared into a bouquet of ruffles

and roses.  Her platinum hair was piled high in Gibson girl style.  Her

blond eyebrows were unplucked, and her perfect complexion was innocent

of makeup save for a bit of pink lip blush, true to the style of the

era.

  "But why the costume?" I inquired.

  "Have a seat, dear, and let's talk," she offered.  "I'll have to

stand, I'm afraid.  How my great-grandmother lived to have children,

I'll never know!"  I could see what she meant; eighteen inches would

more than encompass her waist, dress and all!  Only the most severe

corset could have reduced her ample figure to those proportions!  It

made her swollen bosom, veiled in gossamer wisps of lace, flutter with

each breath in short, shallow puffs.

  I sat and crossed my legs, making sure as always that a half-inch of

stocking top showed below my skirt hem.  I stared at her tiny waist as

she talked, wishing that I, too, could wear such a restrictive corset!

  "I'll tell you about the costume in a moment, dear," she finally

replied.  "Did you have any trouble getting in?"

  "Not really," I replied.  "The ID card you gave me got me through both

gates and the back door, but I was a little surprised; I've seen less

security at a military base!  They even checked my thumbprint!"

  "You see, dear, some of our guests are very famous, and their privacy

must be well-protected.  Not all of them want the world to know they're

here!"

  "I see.  When can I start to work?" I asked, anxious to get going.

  "We'll start your training today, Donna.  But there are a few things I

need to explain, first," she smiled.  "I'm afraid I haven't been

completely frank with you about the nature of your position here."

  "I don't understand.  You mean, I won't be supervising the reception

desk?"

  "Oh, you will be in a couple of months, but first you need some

training, of course, and you'll have certain other duties in addition,"

she explained.

  "Such as?"  I was puzzled.

  "Well, for example," she continued, still smiling pleasantly, "suppose

one of our lady guests is tired and irritated after hard day travelling.

I might send you up dressed as a sweet little girl.  She might spank

your fanny and have you suck her off so she can get to sleep.  Or, one

of our gentleman guests might want to tie you over a chair back, throw

up your skirt, and take his pleasure with you.  It could be most

anything."

  I was frozen to my chair, my eyes spread wide in shock!

  "Paradise Lodge is a very special resort, Donna.  For example, I'm

wearing this costume because I'm going to help a guest act out one of

his favorite sexual fantasies in a few minutes."

  She picked up a typewritten sheet from her desk for reference as she

continued her unbelievable story.  "He's going to take me to lunch at a

cozy gas-lit London pub in 1891.  I'll be his fiancee, a most proper and

chaste lady.  He's going to lure me upstairs to his room, then tie me

up, strip off my gown, spank me, play with my cunny until I'm hot, then

force me to have sex with him.  He will continue to use me until

dinnertime, then we'll go back to the pub.  I'll be crying with shame as

he teases me and forces me to fondle him in the booth.  I may try to

escape or get help, but the rowdy pub patrons will assist him to keep

me.

  "Afterwards, we'll go back to his rooms where he has hired a

photographer.  The photographer will be astonished and disgusted by my

degradation, but will be well paid to shut up and take his pictures.  To

my eternal shame, they will record my initiation to the arts of

whipping, oral and anal sex, bondage, and whatever other perversions he

can imagine.  When he next takes me downstairs, I will be so excited by

the ordeal I will beg and plead not to be sent from his side, but he

will sell me, an utterly ruined woman, for a few pounds to a Chinese

pimp and take a new girl - a common streetwalker - up to bed with him

for the night."

  "My God!" I whispered, then aloud, "This is a brothel!  A high-class

cat house!  You hired me to be a whore, not a reception supervisor!"  I

stood up in indignation.  The idea was, to be honest, not without

attraction, but she had lied to and cheated me!  My immediate response

was anger!

  "I hired you to do both, Donna!" she retorted.  "The Paradise Lodge

staff is an amazingly diverse mix of sexes, ages, and races, but we all

have one trait in common - from the owner to the maids, we serve our

guests' sexual needs in whatever manner required.  Welcome aboard,

Donna!"

  She held out her gloved hand.  I stared at the antique gold jewelry on

her kid-wrapped wrist for several long seconds.  I found myself

strangely fascinated by this odd twist in my already odd life.  I should

have stalked angrily from the room, but I didn't!  In spite of my

amazement, I could not help but be aroused by the amazing adventure she

had just described, and by the obvious relish with which she related it!

  "This is crazy!"  I looked up at her smiling face.  Her friendly,

businesslike attitude was so utterly inconsistent with her bizarre

offer!  "Look, Margaret," I started, "I'm really flattered, and it

sounds like fun in a way, but I can't be a prostitute!  I'm an engineer

who wanted to be a girl so bad I took a job in the hotel business.  I'm

grateful for all your help, but - a prostitute!  I'm sorry, Margaret.  I

just can't."

  I hung my head, unable to face her any more, and went to the door.  It

wouldn't open, at first, so I tried harder.  I looked around for the

lock.  Mrs. Whittaker didn't offer to help me.

  I turned to ask for assistance.  Her friendly smile had been replaced

by an evil leer.  "I've got you by your sweet, feminine little balls,

dear!  Think back!  You never went with me to the Motor Vehicles office,

to the Social Security office, to the banks, or anywhere else.  I and my

staff arranged everything for you; you merely accepted your new life as

we presented it.  In fact, while your new papers may look authentic,

Miss Donna Baker doesn't officially exist at all!  Those IDs are not

registered anywhere in the world!  The bank accounts are totally

fictitious!  The only thing we did that was just exactly as you thought

was to cut all your ties with your male identity.

  "Donna," she lifted my chin to look her in the eyes, "if you went out

on that desert right now and dropped dead, the world would never miss

you!"

  As her words sank in, I tried frantically in my mind to refute her

arguments, but I couldn't!  She had taken care of me for the last six

months, helping me to make the great transition.  My parents were dead,

I never saw my divorced wife any more, and I had purposely left behind

the friends and acquaintances of my discarded male life.  I had gotten

rid of all my credit cards and other connections, living by cash to

clear the way for the change.  After taking evening and weekend training

from Mrs. Whittaker for six months, this was the first day of my new

life!

  "What do you want from me?" I asked, timidly.

  "Just to give it a chance, Donna."  She took my hand and stood me up.

"I know I am forcing you into this.  I know I tricked you cruelly.  And

make no mistake, the guards will stop you if you try to escape!

  I backed away in fright, but she grabbed my upper arms and pulled me

closer.  "Listen to your emotions, Donna!" she insisted.  "I've spent

too many hours talking with you and listing to you!  I know you too

well!  You are perfect for this job!  You want the most outrageous

sexual adventure of all time, and this is it!  Serving others' pleasure

is what you were made for, my dear!  You were born to be a courtesan!  A

woman of pleasure!  A whore!"

  I was shaking my head, confused.  There was a grain of truth to her

words, of course, but only a grain!  How could I do what she asked and

keep my self-respect?  The self-respect that I so carefully built up

over the years through my schoolwork and career?

  "And if I refuse?" I queried.  I had to know.

  "You won't, dear, if you just give it a chance!" she promised.  "You

will be earning a great deal of money here, with your salary deposited

for you.  You're not a slave, or a twenty-dollar-a-trick whore!  You

will love your work, I guarantee!  All you have to do is give it a try!

  "But if I don't?" I insisted.

  "You will!  But if you don't," she paused, deciding just how to phrase

her reply, "I'm afraid there is too just much money involved to let you

go.  As I said - no one would miss you."

  The same girl that brought me to Mrs. Whittaker's office now came to

escort me to the medical section for a physical.  On the way, we passed

an amazing assortment of people, every one of them extremely attractive

- at least to someone!

  They all seemed to be on the staff.  Out of nine, there was a pair of

punk rockers, man and woman, three girls in diaphanous harem costumes, a

streetwalker at least 50 years old, a pretty, petite yuppie in a

business suit, a gal in a torn safari outfit, and a blond muscle-bound

boy in a posing strap.

  If the sight of these sexy people wasn't enough to arouse me, the

redhead was gushing, "I couldn't help but peek at your folder.  You look

so scrumptious!  Are you really and truly hiding a big fat whanger under

that pretty blue skirt?"

  When I nodded, she put her arms through mine and walked with one pert

little breast pressed against my shoulder.

  "Oooh!" she gushed.  "You remind me so much of my piano teacher!  She

was just your age, and always so absolutely clean and pretty!  Her

makeup and hair were always perfect, and she used the exact same

perfume.  Jeez!  I had such a crush on her!  I used to wear tight

sweaters and shorts because I could tell she liked me, too.  I wanted so

badly to kiss her and lick her between her legs I could die!  I never

had the guts to try though, and she probably didn't either, 'cause I was

too young."

  Before I could respond to her exciting story, we had reached the hotel

infirmary.  Once she turned me over to the nurses there, I completely

forgot the existence of the little secretary!

  The young nurse in charge stunned me!  Her light brown hair and makeup

were straight from a 1941 Vogue magazine - a roll of curls framed her

face, then fell to her shoulders within a net.  Her eyebrows were heavy,

her mouth an oval of deep red that matched her short nails.

  Her white, short-sleeved military-style uniform had a twist - I could

see right through it to her period underwear, a heavy white bra, girdle,

and seamed white stockings!  Her tiny white shoes fit the era with

sporty bows above their round toes, and three-inch heels.  Even her

white garrison cap was transparent.

  Her perfectly businesslike attitude was more Lauren Bacal than Betty

Grabel as she took my purse and instructed me to strip for my physical.

She handed the purse to the other nurse, ordering her to help me and

giving her a hard slap across her enormous breasts to quicken her pace!

  In her late twenties, the second nurse was trapped in a fantastic

bondage caricature of a nurse's uniform!  Her boobs must have measured

forty-five inches.  The long-sleeved white dress was drawn very tightly

over them to her tiny waist.  In the shape and place of her vest pockets

were two patches of white netting, through which her large brown nipples

were thrust!  The swollen nubbins were each gripped by a small white

enameled clamp, and the chain between them drawn tight.  Her companion's

slap to them had nearly pulled the clamps loose!

  Her cap rode on the long straw-blond hair piled above her cute face.

Her innocent blue eyes flashed in fear of her bitchy boss between long

spindly false lashes.  Between her glossy pink lips, a large white ball

gag filled her mouth, held in place by a white leather strap.  Twin

weighty chandeliers of gold and glass sparkled and jingled below her

ears.

  Her skirt floated on several layers of frilly white petticoats, but

the whole affair was not quite long enough to cover her!  Curly blond

fuzz peeked delicately between the halves of her sheer open-crotch white

pantyhose!

  Her feet were hobbled first by white, seven-inch heeled shoes with

ballet toes, and further by the white enameled spreader bar that held

her slender ankles a good fifteen inches apart!  A similar bar clamped

her elbows apart behind her back, leaving her slender white hands waving

ineffectually at her sides, their incredibly long pink nails further

reducing their utility.

  In spite of her handicaps, she managed to take my garments as I

stripped and fold them neatly on a table.  She worked under a constant

stream of abuse, physical and verbal, from the bitch in the transparent

uniform.  Her huge breasts shuddered under the blows, and tears rolled

continuously from under her blue-shaded lids.

  The bitch-nurse was very polite to me while mistreating her slave.

When I was down to my blue satin bra, corset, and panties, she stopped

me and introduced herself.

  "Welcome to Paradise Lodge, Donna, my name is Helene," she said,

rhyming her name with "remain."  Her expression was neutrally pleasant;

she hadn't smiled, yet.  "I'm the head nurse, and this is Beatrice.

She's in training.  The doctor will be in later to examine you.  Has

Mrs. Whittaker explained our medical procedures?"

  "No," I answered, sitting down beside her on a padded bench.  I was

confident and cool in my blue undies.  Beatrice, the slave-nurse, stood

before us ready for more abuse.  She shuffled her weight on her

obviously painful shoes, which generated a soft, steady tinkling from

her earrings.

  "Our greatest fear here is sexually-transmitted diseases.  That's

another reason for our tight security.  No one enters the premises

without a thorough examination.  When medical security is breached, we

have to shut down all operations immediately until everyone can be

tested, again."

  "You are not cleared, yet," she continued.  "If you so much as come

close to touching the face or genitals of anyone in this building, that

person will have to stop work and be re-examined.  If you run amok and

cause a serious breach of medical security, you will be fired.  Do you

understand?"

  My attention had been wandering to look at Beatrice; I could now tell

that she had a dildo strapped into her fanny.  Helene's last remark

brought me around with a start!

  "Yes," I responded, suddenly vulnerable, again, and wishing I were

dressed.

  "Good," she stood, and I found myself bathing in the sparkling, warm

rays of a sunny smile from Miss Bitch, herself!  "Let's get on with the

tests!"

  For the next hour, she was all smiles and light while she sampled and

tested everything testable in and on my body from my blood pressure to

my urine.  During the process, I was gradually stripped completely.

Obviously familiar with the sensitivities of boys like me, she saved my

bra and breast prostheses for last, even after my panties and harness!

I could tuck my penis back between my legs; I couldn't fake my flat

chest.

  Helene motioned Beatrice to stand right between us, facing me.  She

hurled a few more insults to the poor girl, and reached around to slap

her boobs, again.  Her lovely, innocent face plainly revealed that the

pain and humiliation were very real - and very welcome!  My prick

finally betrayed me, and stood stiffly before my loins to share the

sight of this woman's intense arousal!

  Helene reached into a cabinet for a white studded leather collar and

fastened it around Beatrice's pretty neck with a padlock.  She similarly

affixed the end of the silvery steel chain to the examination table,

then removed the spreader bar between Beatrice's arms.  She extracted

the white ball gag with a jerk.

  In a blinding flash of fury, Beatrice spun around to slap Helene!

Screaming a torrent of foul invective, she grabbed at her tormenter.

Expertly, Helene took her still-hobbled opponent about the waist and

wrestled her back until the pull of her collar bent her body over flat!

  Helene pinned her arms behind her back, and proceeded to spank her

exposed bottom until she was panting in fatigue, and Beatrice was

blubbering her apologies, her ass cherry red!

  "Stand up, bitch!" she shouted, and threw Beatrice towards the bench.

The girl fell, of course, and the white ankle spreader gave her a great

deal of difficulty in regaining her feet.  Helene stepped up, grabbed

the chain between her nipple clamps, and yanked them off in a single

motion.  Beatrice screamed and threw her sharp-nailed little fists up,

but did not strike her tormenter.  Deftly, Helene reattached the clamps

to the poor girl's labia!

  "That will teach you to turn on me like that, you little whore," fumed

Helene, as the loop of chain dangled between Beatrice's white-sheathed

legs.  "Now, get to work on Donna!"

  Through her sobs, Beatrice started asking me questions about my

medical history.  She donned a stethoscope and listened to my chest.

  It finally dawned on me.

  Beatrice was the doctor!

  With frequent reminders from Helene, generally administered along with

slaps to her buttocks and breasts, Beatrice performed a most thorough

examination.  During the process, she explained that hotel personnel

were not always treated to such a display when they visited the

infirmary, but that guests were.  She and Helene were trying out their

new routine on the staff, a common practice!  With all the explanations,

however, she never let up.  Helene was still in charge, and Beatrice

still wore her clamps!

  When she finished, Helene restored the gag and elbow spreader, then

removed the collar.  Beatrice was then prodded to help me get back into

my breasts, bra, corset, panties, hose, and shoes.

  Helene wouldn't let me put my blue velvet suit back on.  She

guaranteed me that I would never miss it, but it hurt to leave my very

favorite outfit behind!  I did manage to snatch my necklaces, though.

The gold and blue chains looked quite appealing against my bra!  I

marched proudly to the next station beside Helene, with a confident

stride, arrayed only in my undies and jewelry!

  The next chore was a complete makeover.  In my previous, bi-modal

existence, it had never been possible to get a professional makeup job.

I'd done pretty well by myself, but to Robert of Paradise Lodge I owe an

eternal debt; he took my pleasant countenance and somehow made me

radiantly beautiful!

  Although he was an exceptionally warm, empathetic, and caring man,

Robert displayed not the tiniest hint of homosexuality.  He was in his

late twenties, about six-one, with a solid, athletic build.  His black

hair was progressively styled, but without undue flash, neatly framing

his rectangular, clean-shaven face.

  We talked as he started on my hair.  His rich baritone voice,

commanding presence, and charming manner reduced my insides to jelly in

two minutes flat.  I'm a big, take-charge gal, but I nearly melted in

the grip of his strong hands as he helped me up into the high

beautician's chair.  He left me feeling positively frail!

  With surprising sensitivity, he replaced my eyeglasses with a pair of

blue plastic beach blinders before removing my wig.  The booth was

surrounded by mirrors - I'd have been terribly self-conscious watching

him watch my thinning, decidedly masculine hairline.  (Thank God I'd

taken my electrolysis treatments years ago.  I couldn't have taken him

shaving my face!)

  To my utter astonishment, he quickly proceeded to shave my head

absolutely bald, then replaced my glasses!  Somehow, in the bizarre

vulnerability of a small, bespectacled, heavily made-up face set on a

naked dome, I looked more feminine now than when I came in!

  Why in the world had I never tried this before?  For the first time in

my life, (a turn of phrase frequently appropriate over the next few

weeks) I could delight in trying on wigs without the irritating

intrusion of the "old" me into the scene!

  I say "I" tried on wigs - Robert ran the show surely and skillfully!

He was very careful, checking for cap fit and length, and he paid

particular attention to the color match with my skin and eyes.  He

worked each one with his tools, some briefly and some he almost

completely restyled.  When satisfied, he tilted my chair back and

proceeded to cleanse away every nonessential atom from my neck up!  I

shone like a new car!

  For the next hour, I had little notion of what he was doing.  Starting

on my eyebrows with fluids and tweezers, and ending with a heavy squirt

of candy-sweet perfume, he worked an endless sequence of miracles on my

face.  I never did get a good look at the manicurist who managed to do

my nails while Robert worked!

  When he finally whirled me around to face the mirror, I was genuinely

confused!  Only those fortunate women who have undergone a complete,

professional makeover will believe me when I say it took five seconds

before I realized that the darkly sensuous, almost sinister, creature in

the glass was my own reflection!

  My hair was black, an almost glossy smooth helmet that framed my

features with razor-precise bangs, sweeping forward to a point under

each ear.  Low-set, sharply-defined black arcing brows bounded my deep,

velvety purple lids.  Their color was blended downward to the shade of

dusty coal behind the almost impenetrable stockade of my long, curling

lashes.  My lower lashes were also thickened, with the merest suggestion

of violet surrounding the thin black band of liner.

  My skin is naturally a dusky beige, but my makeup was one shade darker

than that.  There was just a hint of purplish blue in the dark, burnt

red on my cheeks and satin-finished lips that made my complexion seem

almost Latin.  My cheeks were artfully hollowed; I even detected subtle

traces of shading on my septum and chin.

  My face could have been drafted and airbrushed, it was so perfect!  I

toyed with it for a while, mugging in the mirror.  As I warmed up to it,

I found that a sultry, sophisticated glare worked wonders!  A hint of a

smile was magically transformed into an evil smirk!  I was a modern-day

vamp - forbidden sex incarnate!  Just let an unsuspecting male fall into

my clutches!  He would sink forever into the hellfires raging behind my

penetrating black eyes!

  I could hardly wait to get to the fitting room, now!  I had been so

proud of my blue undies and necklace.  How utterly vapid they seemed in

my newfound wickedness!

  During the next four hours, with only a short break for yogurt for

lunch, the coercive nature of my employment was completely forgotten in

an intoxicating world of satin, lace, and silk!  I was helped by the

sweetest dear I ever met at the lodge, Wilma.

  Wilma was fifty-five or so, with a cute face, though she had never

been a stunning beauty.  She had not fought the advance of the years,

but wore them gracefully.  There were many single gray strands in her

thick smooth cap of short black hair.  Her dimpled cheeks and rich, full

mouth were particularly attractive.  Her makeup was very light except

for the thick, frosty pink gloss bordered with a dusky rose pencil line

that colored her lips.  Whenever she talked, my eyes were fixed on them.

Only Helene's horrible threats kept me from covering Wilma's inviting

mouth with kisses!

  Wilma also had a marvelous figure!  Her breasts were very large, and

were set off beautifully by her soft, slick coral and white nylon dress.

It draped snugly over her bosom, then fell loosely from her belt to

swish around her shapely legs.  I'd have paid erotic attention to her

gorgeous bustline sooner and more often, were it not for the cheerful,

almost motherly, warmth she exuded!

  We spent the first hour with shoes.  She measured my foot from all

angles, then had me try dozens of pairs of sandals, pumps, boots, and

bizarre creations that defied description.  She took a series of

photographs of my legs with a range of heel heights from flat to seven

inches.  The seven-incher had no sole as such - just a reinforced ballet

toe like Beatrice had worn!  She had me walk in all of them, while she

took a constant stream of notes on her clipboard.

  With my legs in order, Wilma worked her way up.  She produced an

improbable contraption that looked rather like a pair of flesh-colored

rubber panties.  I pulled down my pretty blue satin pants.  By leaning

on Wilma's shoulders, I managed to wiggle my fanny into the surprisingly

weighty, and incredibly tight fitting, garment.  Its function became

clear as she helped me smooth it into place.  It was a combination

penis-restraint, vulva imitation, and fanny and hip pad!

  "We call this one the `rubber duckie,'" she joked.  "It's a bitch

because you have to take it off to pee-pee.  It looks real enough to

wear under a negligee, but it's best with dresses and pants.  There is

another model with an open crotch when you want to be a little more

honest."  We giggled together!

  She reached playfully for the remarkably realistic crotch.  "Put a

little K-Y in here, and some old fart can diddle you under your skirt

until you pretend to come!  He'll never know the difference!"

  We both laughed, but I was thoroughly intrigued by the thought; I

could feel her finger through the rubber against my throbbing prick!  I

wouldn't necessarily have to pretend to come!

  After numerous measurements and inquiries as to my experience and

taste, she next brought out a stout black satin corset and proceeded to

lace me up.  Repeatedly, she encouraged me to blow out my breath, suck

in my tummy, and bear up under the strain as she took in the slack.

  Just when I thought I'd never breathe again, she shouted in triumph

and tied off the laces!  I had been very proud of my twenty-eight inch

waist when I arrived.  I generally had a full-breasted figure, and had

considered my waist quite attractive!  I gasped, and Wilma giggled as

she showed me the tape - twenty three inches!

  She turned a panel to reveal a full-length mirror.  My eyes were

bulging out, and my forced shallow breathing was barely keeping me

alive, but my God!  I had never looked so good as now!  My new, wide

hips made a tremendous difference to my figure by reducing my shoulders

in proportion.  I was ten times more feminine than when I walked in!

"Imagine that in a clingy black evening gown," she smiled, and I hugged

the delightful woman in rapture!

  With my waist firmly bound, Wilma helped me work through a long

succession of different breast prostheses and bras to hold them.  We

tried so many lovely things while she maintained a stream of

complements, advice, and racy remarks!

  The tight corset had pushed up my own breast-flesh to respectable

proportions.  I got a big kick out of my pretty, feminine figure, seeing

and feeling my very own nipples through a transparent black tricot B-cup

bra!  We also tried some outrageously large, and amazingly convincing,

bazooms that had me drooling in the mirror.  Wilma even showed me how to

adjust my posture and my walk in order to wear them gracefully!

  My favorites, though, were a set of D-cup rubber and silicone falsies.

She took great pains to match my skin color.  Wilma helped me into a

slinky black satin half-bra to take their weight, then attached their

edges to my chest with spirit gum.  A little expert touch-up with non-

smear body makeup completely hid the seams.

  She told me how to take care of them.  They were tricky little devils,

with a concealed wick for handling perspiration, and even a way to make

the nipples swell or relax!

  I had never imagined it possible!  She let me alone for a while.  I

fondled and petted my new breasts for long minutes in amazement, staring

at the deep decollete beneath my chin!  Without a doubt, I could have

sex in this outfit right now, and my partner would never know my breasts

to be false!  I was in rapture, when the room started spinning dizzily

about my head!

  I sat down hard on the bench, almost blacking out completely before

Wilma's calming voice brought me around.

  "Relax, honey," she cooed.  "Breathe very slowly, but as deeply as you

can."

  "Oh my," I apologized.  "I can't believe I actually fainted!  I've

never done that before in my life!"

  "You've never worn a corset that tight before, silly!" she laughed in

relief.  I was falling head over heels in love with this marvelous

woman!  Behind her smile, she was almost crying, she was so glad that I

was OK!  What a gem!

  "You're all through, anyway, Donna.  Sit here for a moment and get

your breath, then you'll have to get dressed and go to dinner."

  In panic, I clutched my pretty new breasts with one arm and her with

the other.  "Oh, Please, Wilma," I begged, "don't make me take them

off!"

  "That's why I saved them for last, honey!" she replied.  "I knew you'd

love them!  Keep them on.  Just be sure to take them off for at least

sixteen hours out of forty-eight, or you'll develop skin problems.  I'll

have the spirit gum and things sent to your room."

  I squealed in delight and tried to kiss her, an attempt she fended off

sweetly.

  "Let's find you something to wear, honey," she said, picking up her

measuring tape.  "I've only got half an hour left to measure you, dress

you, and get you over to dinner."

  She recorded the distances between and around every conceivable point

on my newfound figure, then headed for the wardrobe room.

  "Can I look for myself?" I asked, following her.

  "Some other time, Donna," she smiled.  "You can follow me, but I'd

better pick out your things.  There isn't time to dawdle!"

  We stepped into the next room, and for the umpteenth time today, I was

flabbergasted.

  "This is the big barn I saw from outside!" I exclaimed.  I was in a

huge cavern of a room, at least a hundred feet long, with a ceiling

three stories above me, and the entire space was filled with chain-

driven laundry racks bearing every conceivable kind of costume, male and

female!  Some racks carried massive loads of heavy, voluminous gowns.

Others seemed to be holding little more than odd bits of string and

patches.  They seemed to be grouped more or less by function and color,

but there were so many that the pattern wasn't obvious to me!

  "This is mostly for clothes," she explained, starting a rack of

dresses humming into motion.  "The shoes, foundations, and accessories

are in the basement.  I pulled out a pile of things close to your size

while you were in the infirmary, so I wouldn't have to come back here

for bras and corsets.

  "Ah, here's the right area," she chirped, slowing the rack to inspect

a long line of slithery black dresses more closely.  "Just the one!"

  We went back to the fitting room, where I slipped the divinely soft

silk dress up over my enlarged hips and slithered my arms into the long

sleeves.  The midriff was done in stiff, horizontally-pleated folds that

perfectly complemented my tiny new waist!  The top of the midriff

pointed up in a shallow inverted "V" between my breasts, where it met

the neckline plunging down between soft, wide, pointed lapels.  The

sleeves were puffed slightly at the shoulder.

  Wilma replaced its thick shoulder pads with thin stiff ones before

zipping me up.  Wow!  The bodice was rather full, but it was stretched

tightly enough over the bare tips of my large breasts to make it

perfectly clear they were not covered by a bra.  I reached in to operate

the little devices that made my nipples swell!  It was electrifying to

see the stunning valley between my swollen breasts, each with a perky

little point begging to be kissed!  I closed my eyes to keep from

fainting, again.

  "Turn around and look at the back," Wilma prompted.  I spun around.

  "Oh, Wilma!" I gasped.  "I've never been so happy in my life!"  My

obviously un-pantied ass jutted out like a shelf in the rear, the soft

dress falling in two distinct cascades, clearly showing the crack

between the round cheeks!

  I hurried across the room, then walked back slowly, watching myself

approach the mirror.  Only in my wildest dreams had I pictured myself as

such an tantalizing, downright sexy, woman!  Not the least disturbing

trace of masculinity remained.  I was perfect at last!

  Before I knew it, I was blubbering on Wilma's shoulder.  "Thank you,

Wilma, thank you, thank you," was all I could manage between my sobs.

She patted my shoulder gently and cried with me.

  "There, there, honey," she soothed me with an emotion-choked voice.

"You know, I don't often get the chance to make this big a change in one

of my girls.  It's almost as rewarding for me as for you!"

  We blubbered at each other for a while, then started the first day of

my training.  For ten whole weeks, I walked, talked, ate, and even slept

as a vibrant, attractive woman!  I learned to be a wholesome maiden, a

flirty coquette, and a domineering mistress.  I learned to take care of

my feminine prostheses as if they were a part of my own body.  I learned

from the resident experts how to make up and dress myself to the best

advantage.  I even stopped envying real girls.  After all, how many real

women had the opportunity to add or subtract six inches from their hips

or bust as the occasion required?  Almost before I knew it, I was ready

to serve our guests!



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