tagTranssexuals & CrossdressersMikey becomes Melodie

Mikey becomes Melodie

bytiffanyfoxe©

The very first day that I met Heather she made it clear to me that sex was very important to her. That same night, when she first saw me with my pants down, she explained that since my penis was way too small to ever satisfy her, she expected me to service her with my tongue and lips whenever she wanted.

All my life I'd always loved fantasizing about being dominated by a woman, being forced to dress up as a girl and obey her every command, so when she made me kneel between her legs and lick her cunt that night, I loved it. I did wish that she'd let me actually put my penis inside her but when I asked if I could, she just laughed at me and told me to forget it, saying, "You have to be kidding! I have absolutely no interest in ever letting you put that ridiculously tiny and completely worthless little thing of yours inside me." And she laughed and shook her head in disgust.

From then on, that was the way things were except on very rare occasions. I knew that there was nothing that I could do about it so I just did as I was told, did my best to service her pussy with my tongue. I learned to be happy that after I'd licked her until she came she'd occasionally let me stand in front of her and masturbate, maybe once every week or two.

Even on those rare occasions when she'd let me play with myself until I came, she'd tell me how useless my little penis was, how it could never satisfy her, what a complete waste and failure I was as a man, and that she could never understand why she put up with me. It never took long for me to cum because I was only allowed to do it so rarely, and afterwards she always humiliated me even more.

Of course, we both knew why she put up with me; it was because of the trust fund that my aunt and uncle had left for me. The trust fund wouldn't become completely mine until I was 35 years old -- nearly 13 years from the time that Heather and I had met. I was fresh out of college and went to work at bank as a teller, more for something to do than because I needed the job; the income from the trust fund was enough for me to live on very comfortably. Heather was the assistant manager of the bank, and one day she'd noticed me staring at her -- she was absolutely gorgeous, with long almost white blonde hair and the face and body of a super model except for her big full breasts, much bigger than any model would have. She came over to me, beckoned with one imperious finger and I followed her into her office, then at her gesture I closed the door behind me.

"You were staring at me," she said, eyes narrowed and glaring at me. "Almost drooling. That is not acceptable in this bank. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire you right now." Then without waiting for me to respond, she went on. "And don't give me any crap about you needing the job. I wouldn't believe you."

I blinked. What did she mean about not believing that I needed the job. How could she know that? She quickly answered my silent question.

"I looked at our payroll records. You haven't cashed your paycheck a single week since you started here a month and a half ago. Your job application says you just finished college, but you aren't cashing your paychecks. Why is that?" Her eyes narrowed even more. "What the hell is up with you?"

I explained about the trust fund, and admitted that I hadn't cashed the checks; they were accumulating in the top drawer of my dresser.

She grinned. "So, you have money. And you like to look at me. Well, I think I'll let you take me out to dinner tonight." It was not a question. "I know your address; I'll pick you up at six. Be ready, I do not like to be kept waiting." She pointed to the door. "Now go back to your station. And don't stare at me anymore."

From there things progressed rapidly. We went to a very expensive restaurant for dinner, had a very expensive bottle of champagne, and after dinner (which of course she had me pay for) she took me to a jewelry store and picked out a lovely pair of diamond earrings which she also had me pay for with my credit card.

She then took me to her apartment where she ordered me to strip naked in front of her, then kneel between her legs and lick her twat until she came twice. While I licked her she kept telling me what a worthless little pansy I was, with such a tiny little thing between my legs that she'd never allow me to put it inside her, and that I was lucky that she allowed me to service her cunt with my tongue. Afterwards she had me stand in front of her and beg her to let me fuck her while she teased me about how little my penis was, then told me to masturbate for her. I jerked my little cock frantically and quickly shot a big load of sticky wet cum into my hand while she watched me, still laughing and rolling her eyes. Then, to my dismay, she ordered me to lift my cum covered hand to my lips and to lick up all of my own sperm and eat it. And of course ever since that was what I had to do on those rare occasions when she allowed me to masturbate.

I was totally and completely humiliated, and I loved it, knowing that I'd happily submit to anything she wanted if I could continue to serve her like this.

Three days later she moved into my house, a nice sized three bedroom place on a ½ acre lot on a rather remote street in the hills, and took complete control of my life. She had me add her name to my checking, savings, and credit card accounts, then took away all of my credit cards and my check book and put me on a strict allowance. She made me do all the housework; vacuuming, dusting, cleaning the bathrooms and the kitchen, washing and putting away all dishes, take care of all the grocery shopping and cooking, and do all her laundry, and mine. The only money she gave me was to go shopping, or take her nice clothes to the dry cleaner, or run errands, and I always had to bring her the receipts and make sure that I gave her back all the change. She also arranged with the bank for me work reduced hours, starting at 9 and getting off at 4 so that I was still at the house after she left and back to the house at least an hour before she got home.

She then had me transferred to a different bank branch because she said she didn't want to have to put up with seeing me during the day, and arranged for direct deposit of my paychecks so that all my earnings went into the bank accounts which now really belonged to her.

Every day she made me strip naked and kneel between her legs to service her pussy both in the morning and in the evening, and sometimes three or four times a day on weekends. But although servicing her got me really turned on and made my little penis very hard, she enjoyed refusing to allow me to cum except for the once every few weeks, and then of course she always forced me to cum in my hand and then swallow all of my sperm while she watched me. She also told me that if she ever caught me masturbating without her permission she'd make me sit outside on the back deck of the house, naked except for a pair of her panties over my head and face for 24 hours, which was terrifying to me, so I never played with myself at all.

Then, on the first month anniversary of our first date, she came home about an hour later than normal, her arms loaded with bags and packages, piled them on the couch and called me into the living room.

I came in as she called, having become well trained in doing whatever she ordered me to do, wondering what she wanted.

She looked at me strangely, then nodded. "OK," she announced. "Time to move to the next step." She grinned, then laughed out loud.

"Take off your clothes." I figured she was going to have me service her, which was nothing particularly new, but I was wrong. Still, I quickly stripped off my jeans and tee shirt, then my underwear and stood in front of her, expecting her to pull up her skirt, take off her panties, and order me to lick her twat until she came.

Instead, she then handed me one of the bags and told me to open it.

To my surprise, inside was a beautiful hot pink lace brassiere and a matching pair of incredibly skimpy pink lace panties, a package of pantyhose and the most incredible high heeled pumps that I'd ever seen. They were a fluorescent hot pink, with 1 ½" platforms and 6" spiked heels, and I couldn't help thinking how beautiful I would look in that gorgeous lingerie and those beautiful pink pumps on me. In fact, to my embarrassment, just holding and looking at the bra, panties and sexy shoes made my little penis start getting hard right away.

Heather rolled her eyes, shaking her head and laughing. "It figures. I should have known that just looking at such pretty things would make your ridiculous little thing get all excited.

"But before you get to put any of those on, you need to go in the bathroom, get in the shower, and shave your entire body. Your legs, your groin, your chest & underarms -- everywhere, and shave your face again, too. I'm going to take you out with me to the city tomorrow night and we need to start getting you ready."

I couldn't believe the implications of the lingerie and high heels with what she'd said. "Um...did you say...you're taking me out with you to the city..?" and held up the lingerie and heels. "And...what...umm...what are these for?"

"They're for you to wear, silly." She giggled and shook her head. "Now go shave yourself and come back here when you're done. Come back naked." Then she took the lingerie and shoes out of my hands and shooed me away towards the bathroom.

I didn't know what was happening, but I had learned in the weeks since Heather had taken over my life that it didn't matter whether I understood what was happening. I was completely and totally in her power, and I had no choice but to do whatever she told me to, so I hurried into the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and got into the shower. I quickly shaved every part of my body, legs, chest, arms, underarms, groin, going over every part of me twice to make sure I'd done the best job I could.

After drying off I somewhat tremulously went back to the living room, realizing both that my little penis was very hard, and that I was quite conscious of the smoothness of my legs, arms, chest and everything, and feeling almost feminine in the new hairlessness of my body.

Heather looked up and grinned as I walked in, then told me to stand in front of her with my hands behind my back. As I did, my little penis was rampantly erect -- though of course still tiny -- and I realized from the heat in my cheeks that I must be blushing intensely.

She stood there looking at me for several minutes while I wondered what would come next, then spoke.

"Well, Mikey. Would you like to put on these pretty panties and bra, and these nylons and sexy pumps?" She held them up, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

Of course I did very much want to put on all those lovely things, but I wasn't sure what to do. Then she asked again, impatiently.

"Well, do you, Mikey, or do I send you outside to sit on the deck with a pair of my panties over your face?" I knew I didn't want that!

"Yes, Heather," I answered submissively. "I'd love to put on the bra, panties, nylons and high heels."

Without any hesitation she reached out and slapped me on my cock and balls really hard with the palm of her hand, then slapped me again backhanded, hitting my cock and balls even harder this time. The pain and shock of her hitting my tender little genitals drove into my groin like a streak of electricity, shooting up through my entire body, and tears instantly sprung to my eyes as she grinned at me.

"From now on, Mikey, whenever you speak to me you will address me as "Miss Heather" or "Mistress Heather", or even just "mistress" but you'll never, ever again address me just as Heather." And she reached out and again slapped my cock and balls three times, back and forth, back and forth, rocking me backwards with the blows of her open hand and then the back of her hand, the hard stinging slaps on my balls and penis sending shooting, incredibly wracking pain from my groin up through my whole body as I staggered, almost stumbling under the force of her hitting me.

"Yes, Miss Heather," I gasped. "Yes, Miss Heather, yes, Mistress Heather," I moaned, tears streaming down my face, my voice trembling with the pain and the fear of her hitting me again. But she kept on hitting me, again and again, slapping my balls and tiny penis back and forth, back and forth so many times that I lost count. I couldn't help myself, I just stood there as she punished my little balls and hard little cock, sobbing pitifully, crying like a little girl, the tears running down my face. Finally, she stopped and smiled ever so sweetly at me.

"Do you understand, Mikey?"

"Yes, Mistress Heather, Miss Heather, yes, I understand. Please, mistress, please don't spank me anymore. Please, please I promise I'll be good."

"You'll be a good little girl from now on, won't you, Mikey?"

"Oh, yes, Miss Heather. I'll be a good little girl. I'll do whatever you want, anytime, Mistress Heather. Please, please don't spank me anymore. Please..."

"Now, Mikey, if you want me to let you put on these sexy girly things, you'll have to beg me, you'll have to convince me.

"Now get down on your knees and beg me, you little sissy." She laughed and shook her head. "I love to have you on your knees in front of me, begging me like the useless pathetic little sissy that you are."

I quickly sank to my knees, and in a soft, pleading almost whisper I begged her.

"Please, Miss Heather. Please could I put on those beautiful panties and that lovely bra. Please, could I? And could I put on those nylons and those gorgeous pumps, please? Please let me put on those pretty girly things so I look like a good little girl for you. Please, mistress?"

Laughing and shaking her head in disgust, she handed me the beautiful hot pink lace bra and told me to put it on, then gave me the lovely matching panties and ordered me step into them and pull them up about my hips, tucking my little penis into the soft, silky lace panties. She then had me sit on the couch and showed me how to very carefully put on the pantyhose. They were all sheer from my toes to the waistband, a beautiful suntan shade that made my newly smooth shaven legs look just lovely; very feminine indeed.

Next she handed me those incredible beautiful hot pink high heeled pumps and told me put them on and walk to the hallway and back. Since it was the first time I'd ever worn high heels I found that pretty hard, and felt that I was barely teetering along, taking tiny little steps and almost stumbling several times.

Miss Heather laughed and laughed at my clumsiness in the high heels, but told me that I'd just need to keep practicing, and made me keep walking back and forth across the living room and down the full length of the hallway, over and over. As the saying goes, practice makes perfect, and within ten or fifteen minutes or so I was able to walk without stumbling. She then began coaching me on how to walk as a real girl would when trying to look sexy, placing one foot in front of the other, making my bottom swing back and forth in those gorgeous panties, and still she kept me practicing, walking up and back, up and back.

Finally, after nearly three quarters of an hour she said that was enough, that I should come and stand in front of her again.

It was an amazing experience to stand there in front of this incredibly beautiful woman in just my new pink bra and panties, with pantyhose and those unbelievably beautiful pink platformed pumps. I knew that my tiny little penis was so hard that it was very visible in my lovely panties, and I expected her to have me kneel between her legs and lick her twat until she came. But I was wrong.

Instead she pulled a chair from the dining room next to the couch and had me sit in it.

"Now for your makeup, sweetie." My what? I thought.

Miss Heather then took out her purse and gave me a full makeover. Hot pink eye shadow on my eyelids with a sparkly silver over the hot pink, lighter pink on the brow just above my lids, then several thick, heavy coats of deep black mascara, followed by a sparkling pink blush on my cheeks and finally hot pink lipstick on my lips followed by a glittery pink lipgloss.

When she finished, she looked at me with a smile and nodded, handing me her makeup mirror so that I could see the results of her work.

I was stunned. The makeup had completely transformed my face; I truly looked like a very pretty young girl of no more than 18 to 20 years old. And if I wore my new bra and panties, nylons and high heels I was sure that with a wig and falsies and either a dress or a skirt and blouse no one would ever guess that I wasn't really and truly a girl.

I was speechless, my eyelashes fluttering, my cheeks blushing with embarrassment and pleasure, and I couldn't help myself from asking her, "Umm, Mistress Heather? "Did...did you get me a wig and falsies, and maybe a dress, or a skirt & blouse to wear when you take me out with you?"

She looked at me in amusement, then started giggling, and finally broke out laughing. Why was she laughing at me like that, I wondered. If she were dressing me up like this, doing my face up so pretty and all, why was my asking about a wig, falsies and a dress so funny? Then she answered.

"No, silly. I didn't get you any of those things." She grinned. "But I did get you these." And reaching into another bag she took out a pink tee shirt and white shorts -- but as soon as I saw them, I realized that the shorts were really tiny, and that the tee shirt had something written on it.

She handed me the tiny little white shorts and told me to put them on. As I took them, I realized that they were even smaller than I'd thought. As I sat back down on the chair to put my feet through the legs, then stood to pull them up, I discovered that not only were they very little, they were absolutely skin tight. I had to struggle to pull them up over my hips and around my bottom, and then to fasten them around my waist. My goodness they were short! They left two to three inches of my smooth shaven nylon covered bottom exposed -- probably the shortest little short-shorts I'd ever seen, and I was wearing them! They made my nylon sheathed legs look unbelievably sexy and feminine and my lipstick covered lips were parted in a mixture of dismay and delight as I looked down at myself.

Then she handed me the tee-shirt, a hot pink ladies style that looked like it would barely reach to the top of my short-shorts with light pink lettering and lots of tiny little lip prints, like someone wearing light pink lipstick had kissed it all over. When I read the lettering, which was on both the front and the back and matched the light pink color of the lip prints I thought I'd faint. It said:

"I love to have my girlfriend dress me up as a girly-girl, but I'm really just a useless little sissy boy."

Oh my god, I thought. Could she really be planning to take me out dressed up like this and wearing that tee shirt? My mouth fell open and the expression on my face must have told her what I was thinking.

"Yes, sweetie. That is exactly how you're going to go out with me tomorrow. Dressed up like a girly-girl, but with no wig, no falsies, and your sweet little boy's haircut combed just like a boy.

"I think you're going to be just adorable." And she laughed and laughed and laughed. Finally, she stopped and still giggling said,

"But there are a couple of things we need to do tonight, so you'll be ready for tomorrow." Again I unconsciously fluttered my mascara covered eyelashes, wondering what else she could possibly have in mind.

She cocked her head to the side slightly. "Well, if you're going to be a real girly-girl, you need to be able to wear earrings. And no real girl in today's world would wear clip on earrings, so we'll have to take you out to get your ears pierced." She glanced down at her watch.

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bytiffanyfoxe© 5 comments/ 79399 views/ 23 favorites

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