tagTranssexuals & CrossdressersMarion Turns Me Round Ch. 03

Marion Turns Me Round Ch. 03

byjomar©

You might want to read the earlier chapters for a bit of context.... On the other hand, you know what you're in for here. I hope you enjoy the kink, baby.

*****

Early the next morning I stood in my shower, water cascading over me, a razor in my hand. Things were accelerating rapidly now and I figured I'd go along until I was uncomfortable. After all, I could pull the plug at any point. I didn't have to shave my legs, for example, but Marion's words as I was leaving the previous night stayed with me. As did Stevie's obvious pleasure in wearing lingerie and being made up as a woman. That I was not repelled and had even come this far said something, didn't it? Though I wondered exactly what that was.

I lathered and shaved. The razor swept the hair away from my body and the simple act of shaving something other than my very light beard felt different, alien, maybe even feminine somehow, especially leaning down to shave my legs. I shaved and I shaved and when I was through I was smooth and hairless from the neck down. I had shaved everything, arms, underarms, pubic hair, legs, between my cheeks in case there was any there. I didn't have any chest hair but ran the razor over it anyway.

I toweled off and noticed the air felt different, faint currents moved delicately, enticingly across my hairless skin, caressing me. Subtle, but noticeable. Interesting.

I sat on the edge of my bed and held a sheer black thigh high in my hands. I gathered it as Marion had taught me, I pointed my toe and pulled it on and was amazed and my cock thickened. The stocking whispered up my leg, unimpeded by hair, the kiss of the nylon a startling, sensual feeling. My cock was hard. I pulled the other stocking on and settled it high on my thigh. My heart pounded in my chest. I had to relieve myself, my fantasies intriguing, before I could put on a black lacy tanga panty and I was swollen still. I put on my trousers and could sense a difference even then.

That night Marion was delighted to discover I'd shaved everything. Standing in her foyer in my stockings and panties, she rubbed her hands over me and cooed. "Very, very nice. Feels amazing doesn't it. And it's not just that you were used to hair, it's far deeper than that, baby." She stroked my arms, my tummy and below and said, "No, the lack of body hair makes you more sensitive, more vulnerable, receptive even. Have you felt it? That subtle femininity that being hair free brings out? I bet you have, baby, doesn't take long, does it. Wait here, I have just the thing for you."

Marion returned a short minute later and said, "Here, put this on, baby. It's a racerback cami with a satin front. See the lace on the back, and how the front is solid. It goes perfect with your stockings and panties." I took it from her and put it on and it seemed to just pour over my body and my cock thickened. It was loose fitting and the hem was just below my belly button. It flowed as Marion led me to the elegant leather couch, where Stevie waited. When I sat down Stevie straddled me and ran her fingers through my shoulder length hair and ground her bottom against my hard cock and kissed me, our tongues merged and I moaned into her mouth and my heart raced and pounded in my chest.

Stevie reached under my black satin camisole and tortured and toyed with my nipples and I felt her hard cock pressing and rubbing against my stomach and my heart pounded and blood rushed in my ears. She slid to the floor, peeled my panties down and, as she had done for weeks now, opened her red lips and took me in her mouth, worked slender, manicured fingers into my rear, stroked me and fucked me with her fingers and hands, kept me delightfully, gloriously on the brink and finally let me come as my hands gripped her brilliant blond hair and I made those final involuntary thrusts into her soft mouth. She rose, kissed me and I opened my breathless mouth to her probing tongue. She thanked me and I watched her ascend the wrought iron spiral staircase to Marion's bedroom, appreciating the view of that beautiful ass.

At the door Marion put her hand under my shirt, felt the satin camisole, kissed me and said, "Be here by ten Saturday morning, baby. We have some work to do." I nodded and she tormented me for a few of days at work, in the evenings, by not giving me any hint as to what she had in mind. She simply checked that I wore panties, and now stockings, and rewarded me with a blowjob or handjob, but dodged any question about Saturday.

*

Saturday arrived and I was nervous, my finger poised at Marion's doorbell. Today was the start of a long holiday weekend and I had a feeling things were about to really take off. I suspected Marion interpreted my having shaved all my body hair from the neck down as a "go ahead" of sorts, a not so tacit signal that she had my permission to push me further in her feminine direction. I wondered why I was doing this. I was terrified. I was thrilled. I wore a mocha colored fishnet and lace cheeky underneath my cargo shorts.

Marion opened the door and swept me in and kissed me. She checked my panties and was appreciative of my choice. She wore baggy navy blue cargo shorts, a form fitting white sleeveless button shirt, and sandals.

She grabbed her purse and we were out the door. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," she said, not without a measure of glee. Marion drove a short distance and turned into the parking lot of a tasteful strand of stores. We entered a salon that catered to both men and women. Marion chatted with the attractive petite stylist and showed her a picture of a male model. She nodded and smiled at me, hooked her arm in mine and led me back to get my hair washed. While the stylist snipped and clipped and cut and then put tinfoil and goop in my hair, another woman gave me a manicure and pedicure.

Working on my toes the woman commented that a lot of women bring their men in to sharpen them up, then 'confided' that she suspected some of the men were, you know, crossdressers because of the things they asked for. I blushed and wished I'd worn long pants because she couldn't help but notice my smooth, hairless legs. I replied that sounded interesting and that I guess it took all kinds. I was nervous but held my tongue and was relieved that it was clear polish she put on my fingers and toes.

It was finally done and the attractive stylist handed me a mirror. I saw light brown shoulder length hair with highlights. The cut was neither masculine or feminine, but looked like it could go either way depending on a variety of things. It was long enough to brush across my neck and shoulders, but wasn't overly long. The stylist said, "I feathered the ends some. It's very versatile and you can part it on the side or in the middle." She stood before me and fiddled with my hair. "Women tend to give a bit of a curl or use hairspray or other products to shape it a certain way. Guys just comb it and go. You know, I know the male model in the picture has this style, but I call it the Sandra Bullock, though it could also be called the Heidi Klum," she said and she winked at me and I tried not to blush. I hid behind the mirror and decided my hair looked nice and I figured it would go over just fine at the office since I was currently working on a hair product campaign at the ad agency.

When I returned to the waiting room Marion smiled and said, "Oh baby, that's looks even better than I expected. It's fabulous, Raven!" She paid and we returned to her condo. I had noticed my hair felt different, lighter, it flowed more easily and smoothly than before, almost like all the hairs worked in unison to sway and flow. Surprisingly, it felt sexy.

Marion undressed me in the foyer. Down to the mocha colored fishnet and lace cheeky panty. In her kitchen, I watched her make a pitcher of mimosas and we took it and two glasses up the wrought iron spiral staircase to her bedroom, her feminine sanctuary. We sat down at her vanity, feminine products and smells surrounded me. My heart was racing and my cock twitched.

She looked me over and said, "Let's see. For your virgin voyage we'll go with the mocha theme. We'll brighten it up later. But the mocha family can be sooo smoky sexy, one of my favorite palettes, in fact." She sorted though a drawer and pulled out fingernail polish, a light mocha shade, took my hand and started applying it.

"You're nails are a fairly long for a man, but not long enough for a woman." My cock stirred and thickened. "One quarter inch past the end of your finger is the perfect length. Just ask Stevie when you see her tonight. One quarter inch past the end of your finger is long enough to experience a feminine grace, but not so long as to look trashy or be clumsy. Grow yours out for me, baby. It should only take a week or two."

My cock thickened and swelled and Marion said, "Are you uncomfortable, baby? Here, let me help." Marion put down the nail polish and adjusted me, made me comfortable in the mocha fishnet and lace cheeky panty. "There, all better."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did, baby, but I know what you mean. Shoot," Marion said as she resumed polishing my nails.

"What do you get out of all of this? Why do you like this so much?"

"More than a fair question given where you're sitting, and what cute little panties you're sitting in. But to be honest, I'm not all that sure. It just turns me on, gets me worked up and hot. I love seeing a man bring out his inner woman. Watch him blossom and discover the pleasure of feminine submission."

"Submission?"

Marion began painting my toenails. "Not master-slave stuff, thought I do dabble," she winked at me, "but submission in the sense of letting a man have his way with you, baby. Opening up and embracing vulnerability instead of closing yourself off out of fear. It's no secret that orgasms are much better if you just let yourself go. Just let it all hang out. Laissez les bons temps rouler, right, baby?"

"So you've done this before?"

"Well, to be honest one has to have the right tools and Stevie has gone the farthest the fastest, though I'm seeing some real potential in you so far. But to answer your question, only one to two before Steve. Though I must say, I've fucked all my boyfriends' asses. Not that I'm into triple digits or anything, baby, but you'd be surprised how many men learn to enjoy, even look forward to bending over and taking a hard one up the ass." "There! We'll let those dry while I work on your lovely face." She poured me another glass and I took a long sip, careful of my light mocha manicured nails. Marion gathered my hair and pinned it back with something that looked like a potato chip bag clip with teeth.

"Hmm, just a sec. Be right back." Marion padded out of the bathroom and I looked in the mirror. Held my hands out and looked at my nails, framed my face. I had good bone structure. Nice cheekbones, nose, eyebrows. And you might say my lips were a bit full for a man, but overall I didn't think I looked really feminine. Androgynous sprang to mind, especially with my slender build.

Marion returned and said, "I thought I had one around here somewhere," and held up some flimsy material. She shook it when I didn't move and I held my arms up toward her. She slipped my arms through the straps, onto me and reached around me. Marion looked into my eyes as she clasped it, her beautiful face so close, and said, "Besides stockings, there's nothing that carries more femininity than a sexy bra. The straps, the material covering your breasts. Too bad you'll never feel that special feminine pleasure of your breasts swaying and heaving when you move, when you're getting fucked. This one matches your panties, baby. It's sheer and very, very thin. Men love that. Men love to see your hard nipples."

I looked down at it, looked at myself in the mirror, at a sheer mocha colored bra. The triangle of cloth covered my nipples and more and it was flat, like a training bra. It looked nice and felt kind of good, under the circumstances, that is. "Lovely. Absolutely lovely. There are flat chested women out there who like to look sexy, baby. You'll just be one more, but I have a feeling you're going to stand out."

Marion spun me away from the mirror, picked up some tweezers and began plucking at my eyebrows. "I'm shaping your eyebrows. Women have to attend to every little detail. We'll get yours looking sexy, baby. And it's a good thing you don't have much of a beard to speak of. It's very light and barely there. I like that in a man. Last thing I want to worry about is whisker burn when I'm riding his face with his tongue all up inside of me." She pulled back, looked me over, plucked one more eyebrow and said, "Perfect."

She picked up some medieval looking tool and said, "Now for your eyelashes. You're so lucky to have nice full ones, but women have to emphasize the eyes. Men love big, sexy eyes." She clamped the thing over my eyelashes and squeezed it. This puts a little curl in, just a hint." She put some stuff on a tiny brush at the end of a stick and brushed it across my eyelashes. "This will give them a bit more color, more depth." She did some other stuff around my eyes with other brushes and products

Marion opened a thin round case, another brush, larger, softer and swept it over my face. "I'm not a fan of too much makeup. Too many women cake it on, don't really know what they're doing. But if it's done right, baby, you shouldn't even notice it's there. And there's different ways to apply it for different lighting situations, but that's advanced femininity. We won't worry about it for now."

She uncapped a tube and said, "Some light cinnamon gloss on your lips and we're about done." Marion rubbed the gloss over my lips, had me press my lips together in a certain way, inspected her work and winked at me.

Reaching behind my head Marion unclipped my hair. She fluffed it, brushed it, used a curling iron on it fluffed it again, made me bend over so my hair was pointing downward, sprayed it with something, had me whip my head back up, did a few more things with it and said, "Voila!"

"Stay like that. Don't peek. I'll be right back." I was dying to look, but did as she asked. My cock thickened.

She retuned moments later with several items and hung a dress on a hook. In her hand were earrings and bracelets. I put on the bangly bracelets and she handed me the earrings and said, "Put these on." They were gold colored, three twisty pieces of metal a couple of inches long dangled from a small hoop. I took out the studs in my ears, the bracelets clinking. I tilted my head to get my hair out of the way and Marion said, "Perfect. You're a natural, baby. That's exactly how a woman does it." I blushed and put the other one in. The weight of them was noticeable.

She handed me sheer light mocha stockings and said, "Put these on." I took one and gathered it and leaned down and pointed my painted toes and experienced such a sense of femininity that it shocked me. My lips, my hair flowing and framing my face, the pull of the earrings as I leaned over, my bra straps making their presence known on my shoulders and back, the weight and tinkle of the bracelets, my pretty mocha colored manicured toenails slipping into that sheer, gossamer-like stocking.

My cock thickened as I pulled the stocking up and up and up. It glided and whispered up my long, smooth leg. I pulled it way up to there and my wrist brushed my cock as I adjusted the stocking's resting place so high on my thigh and I almost let out a moan. My cock thickened even more as the next stocking glided effortlessly up my leg.

She handed me a shoe. A high heeled shoe. Tan with brown highlights. "It's a three incher, baby. It's a starter shoe for you. Put it on."

Again, reaching down, feminine fabric and trappings flowing and tugging and sliding against one another. I felt delicate, pretty somehow, desirable even. I put the other shoe on and said, "It feels weird to not have my heels on the ground."

"I know. But you'll get used to it, baby. Heels are sooo sexy. They're like the bra, so feminine. Here, put this on." Marion handed me the chocolate colored dress she had placed on the hook.

I took it and stood up, somewhat shaky in the high heels. "Here, let me help so you won't muss your hair and makeup. She held the dress for me and slid it over my head and down, the fabric barely touching my hair.

Marion adjusted it on me, looked me over and said softly, "Unbelievable. In my wildest dreams I never would have guessed you'd be this perfect. Stevie's going to be so jealous. Oh my god. Look."

My stomach was churning as Marion turned me to face the mirror. When I saw myself I was stunned. I was looking at an image of a person that was me and not me. I stared at a beautiful woman. Stylish light brown hair with highlights that looked even better than at the salon, a more than pretty face, dangly earrings glinting in the light. The dress had what Marion called a modified scallop neckline that would have showed cleavage if I had any. It was sleeveless, the shoulder straps were a little over an inch wide and it was tight; form fitting to the waist where it became wider and flared out until ending about mid-thigh. I tuned my head to the side and my hair flowed across my shoulders and settled. I turned to the side and the dress flowed prettily and settled and my cock stirred.

Marion seemed stunned. "You could pass, baby. You could go out right now and pass and nobody would ever know. Spectacular."

"I'm speechless. How did you do it?"

"I just brought out the woman in you. You have a great face and body for it. Like Stevie, but even prettier. Don't tell him I said that. Isn't the dress fantastic! You're wearing a pleated tank sweater dress and it looks fabulous on you. Come." Marion filled our glasses with the remains of the pitcher and we walked into the bedroom.

I was unsteady and she took my glass and set it down. She put on some high heels and showed me how to walk in them. I practiced and after a short time had the hang of it, at least in the three inch version. Marion had changed into dark blue slacks that she called Capri pants, a loose white sleeveless blouse and dark burgundy high heels.

We walked downstairs and I had to be especially careful on the wrought iron spiral staircase. Marion made another pitcher of mimosas and we sat on her elegant leather couch and chatted a little about work.

"How's the hair color campaign going."

"Great, we've got some good ideas to pitch." My lips felt funny with the gloss on them.

She nodded at me and took a sip of her mimosa. "Your hair will be a natural." I laughed. We worked at an ad agency and were encouraged to "Live the Brand" and "Be the Product." People were always changing their looks depending on the product campaign they were currently working on.

I looked at my hands and said, "Maybe I'll land on a fingernail polish job."

"Or lingerie."

"Or makeup."

"Ooh, a dress line job. Now that would be special. You could come in like you are now and you'd still be under the radar. Maybe I could pull a few strings. Call in a few favors. Would you like that, baby? Maybe hike up my skirt for the right manager and get you on a job where you can be a woman at work?" She scooted closer to me and I tucked my hair behind my ear with a manicured finger and caught my reflection in the artwork's glass frame across the room and could scarcely believe what I saw.

Marion fingered my hair, twirled it. "You know, when you let your hair grow out I overheard a couple of people joking about nicknaming you Pejic. They weren't being mean, baby, I think more interested, and if I read those boys right, and I'm sure I did, a tad jealous and turned on even."

"Boys?"

"Well, one was a girl."

"Hmm. Pejic?"

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