Ilka's Place Pt. 05

After experiencing Chris' change to Janice -- what a change from a shy, nervous guy to a confident woman! -- I found myself feeling more sexually energized. I found myself being attracted to the idea of guys as girls. Girls with dicks. Guys with boobs. Panties over dicks. Lipstick and eye makeup!

Ilka was still asking me sometimes (not forcefully) to be her daughter. She bought me even more delicious lingerie and femme clothing.

One evening as she spooned me in bed, with me wearing a nightgown and hairpiece as usual, she whispered, "I know you want what I want, Bridget. I know you. You get excitement from become woman. You want this."

"I'm still not sure. It's such a big change. I don't want to lose my manhood."

With that, we began to fall asleep, her big warm body spreading warmth over me. I had a hardon, and I knew she knew.

As dawn began to penetrate in through her blinds, I was only too ready to have her vibrate me again. To hint at that, I again placed my hand over my penis under the blankets. She raised herself up on an elbow and looked at me half-humorously. Then she got up and returned with a little, wrapped box. She had me open it.

Inside was a mysterious little device, the use of which only slowly came to me. It was a clear plastic contraption held together with plastic pins.

"This I have for you," said Ilka with a knowing smile. "You know what it is?"

"I gather by the shape it's for a penis."

"For you. You like?"

"What's it for?"

Ilka shrugged. "Maybe to hold you, so you don't do your male sex all time with panty on or corselette."

"Why would I want to wear it?"

"Not want to or not want to. When I tell you to wear it, there's no choice, Brett. Or Bridget.

"But why?"

"I want you sex, I mean, I want you to be sex daughter, not sex son."

I was getting the picture. For sure. This European talk about sex like it's just another daily function! But as usual, I gave in to her insistence. Also, part of me wanted to see where this was going. My momma wanted to control my sex life .....

We fumbled around putting it on. I wondered where she got the idea to use it -- maybe she had looked at some porn online, or at some web site devoted to female domination?

As she first began to slip the tube on me, my dick began to get wet and hard, making its containment all the more difficult. She got some ice in a washcloth and holding it next to my penis softened it. We got the pins in place, and she dug out a tiny, precious little lock to seal it up.

Now she owned my dick. "You wear all time; only take it off when I decide," she dictated.

Sometimes I wondered if SHE masturbated. She certainly has never shared her sex life with me. She wasn't that old.

So, there I was, Brett the handyman, wearing panties as usual under my work clothing, and under that, a cock cage, with Ilka's tiny lock holding me in penis bondage. When she was away at work, I continued to wear some of my lingerie from time to time, only to be unable to stroke myself to climax. I even tried anal orgasms as I'd seen online, and was able to accomplish that once, but the climax was dry, and didn't take care of the growing pool of semen in me.

After wearing the cage for a week, without Ilka bringing up the subject of becoming Bridget again, I asked her one evening if she would use the vibrator on me, because that wouldn't involve me touching myself. I admitted I'd been feeling very "horny" (I had to explain the meaning of the word).

She said she'd do it if I dressed up all the way as a woman, using the lingerie and outer female clothing she'd bought. "Even lipstick and perfume," she said. "Pretend you're Bridget."

This was OK by me. I excitedly dressed -- half the excitement was in wearing women's things, and half looking forward to cuming. On went the corselette with breast forms along with nylons. A skirt and blouse. Clip-on earrings. Strappy shoes. My hairpiece was the final touch, after which she applied lipstick and perfume. Her choice of perfume was awful.

She had me look at myself in her full mirror. I looked rather frumpy and half-assed. Definitely not a Janice!

"So look, Bridget! You start to learn how to look like woman, you know. You look pretty, don't you think? Lipstick. Girl boobies."

"Not too bad."

She had me stand behind a chair, holding on to its backside so I was a bit tilted toward it, then she returned triumphantly with her vibrator. Now she stood behind me, raised my skirt up in back, reached between my legs with the vibrator's ball, and contacted my cock cage with it. The cage spread the vibration over my entire cock and balls -- making the sensation even more powerful.

She also had an arm around me, with a hand holding my silicone boobs. And again, she was nuzzling my Bridget hair.

"Now, think like Bridget," she admonished. "You have woman parts. You feel woman."

That got me going; she knew how to get into my mind. I really was imagining I had a cunt and vagina, and with that, I climaxed. I was spasming mightly as she spooned me.

"There, there," she cooed. "Now good? Have girl excited; feel like Bridget?"

"A little," I managed, still breathing heavily and with my pulse racing. It was as though this Bridget thing had been implanted in my mind.

Even after that pleasant interlude, I still wasn't ready to commit to being Bridget. To her credit, Ilka didn't get angry or too forceful. But of course, day by day, my sexual pool was returning, and Ilka hadn't said anything about removing my containment. I'd admit that wearing it carried just a little sexual tinge of pleasure -- the idea of her controlling me so intimately.

As my horniness mounted, I gravitated toward becoming Bridget, with the possibility of full sexuality returning. I found myself getting excited by thoughts of dressing and acting as Bridget, and having my sexuality moved over more into the female realm.

Finally, one evening at dinner (a creamy Hungarian casserole with fish, peas and potatoes) I admitted that I wanted to become her daughter -- but only if the cage came off.

"Oh Bridget, that makes me happy," she gushed. "Now I have even better than son, a daughter -- the best!"

"Mother and daughter," I added.

"I give you whatever you need more to be Bridget," she added. "You just tell your momma, OK?"

"Yes."

"We celebrate," she said, as she brought out some expensive Hungarian liquor. We toasted each other with shot glasses.

As the strong drink burned down my throat, I soon grew more effusive, explaining I'd done work for a shy crossdresser in the apartment complex and that he was an expert at appearing female, and that I could approach him about helping me with the proper makeup and styling.

"I hope you wouldn't have a bad opinion about him, Ilka," I said. "I think that he too deserves your understanding, like me. Like your lost brother."

"It OK. Probably he knows American makekup better than me." She laughed heartily.

Before we retired for the night, she removed the cock cage and retired it to its little box. She wanted me to go to bed wearing a filled-out bra -- which her hand went over as we fell asleep.

The very next day, I began life as Bridget. Actually, I liked the name. I had always liked that name.

Mornings on weekdays, I was Bridget. I got up, slipped into bra and panties, panty hose, and a modest little dress. To that I added cute loafers, lipstick, mascara and a hairpiece. By this time, I'd learned how to shave very closely and to cover my tiny stubble with a cover-up makeup.

We'd make breakfast together, and I'd pack a lunch for her. Before leaving, she'd give me a heartfelt hug and tiny kiss, saying, "Goodbye, my munchkin."

I'd proceed to clean up the place and do the dishes, and maybe masturbate. In the afternoon I reverted to Brett (with panties or corselette underneath), becoming the dependable handyman. Just before Ilka returned from the barbershop, I would become Bridget again and start dinner.

My becoming Bridget had such a noticeable effect on Ilka. It was an irrational fantasy, but she really did treat me entirely as her daughter. There was that strong mother-daughter connection. Part of me loved playing the role, almost to the point where I felt I had real tits and a cunt. I even felt my voice slipping into feminine inflections and tone when around her.

Part of my success was due to visits with Janice, who was only too glad to help me join her "sorority." She gave me lists of things to buy, spent hours helping me understand and apply makeup, and showed me the best ways to shave. She loved, and I mean loved, dressing me as Ilka's daughter. She insisted that I adopt a demure, college-freshwoman look, and to not appear too sexy or suggestive.

When she had me all dolled up as Bridget -- no surprise here -- we made out sometimes when our feminine passions boiled over, and we simply had to kiss, and then sex ensued -- either masturbating each other or her giving me a blow job. I just wasn't comfortable with the idea of sucking her dick, and I know that disappointed her, but she didn't say anything.

I had to be so careful not to let Ilka figure out that we had sex.

My fears that Ilka wanted to coerce me into having sex with her were unfounded. There was still the spooning at night, and she delighted in vibrating me on weekends, but that was about it.

I showed her a list of things Janice suggested I have, so we made several more shopping trips. The expense was of no concern for Ilka, as long as I looked more and more like a daughter. We agreed I'd grow my hair out, so any more haircuts were done in a more feminine fashion.

I soon enough fell into this routine, but sometimes I wished I could be Bridget all the time. Switching between the two took some effort, and inwardly, I wanted to live either as male or female.

Through all of this, I certainly hadn't forgotten about Maryanne. About a month after my first visit, she called again because of moth infestation in her pantry. Yes, this time she actually did have a problem!

As I walked in, her place was even neater than before. She wore burgundy-colored velvet pants that I found very attractive, along with a fitted, almost-starched white shirt though which I could see hints of her bra. Her long hair was let down. She'd obviously dressed up for me.

After I placed some a couple moth traps and had her dispose of some infested foodstuffs, I asked her how her job and life were going.

She stood there learning against a doorframe. "Very nicely, thank you. I joined a hiking club, and I've made a few friends there."

I silently wondered if she'd found any male companions, or buddies with benefits.

"You're dressed so nicely tonight; planning to go out?" I ventured.

"No, not really. Well, I wanted to look good for you, tell the truth."

"And here am I in my work clothes. If I'd known, I'd have dressed up too!"

We both laughed.

She asked if I had a girlfriend, and I could honestly say that I hadn't ventured in that direction. The Bridget side of me went unmentioned.

"I'm not usually so direct, but I want to ask you, Brett, if we could be friends. I like you, and I want to know you better. Maybe we could go out for dinner sometime, or see a movie?"

I was taken aback by her honesty. She seemed so home-town-girlish and nice, and I've always liked women who were, to use an old-fashioned word, forthright. Yes, forthright and not calculating.

I instinctively went over and held her hand -- a warm and inviting hand. At that, both she and I leaned forward to kiss. Ah, what a delicate and tentative kiss that was! Just the mere touch of lips seemed so sensual and electric!

I reached around her waist and pulled her too me, but gently. For a moment we looked into each other's eyes. Then we kissed again, with a little more urgency this time. But I knew not to push things along.

After that, we just hugged each other, and I loved to have her head on my shoulder, and feeling her long hair alongside my ears.

And that was that. I think both our hearts were beating madly.

We talked some more. She told me about some experiences with guys (and one girl) in high school, but that she was still a virgin. If fact, she said, our kiss was her very first romantic kiss ever! I felt so privileged, and ... it appealed to my male vanity.

I naturally wanted more.

I wondered what Ilka would think about me dating a woman, and what Maryanne would think if she knew I had a fantasy of becoming Bridget all the time.

(To be continued.)