tagTranssexuals & CrossdressersLady In The House Ch. 13

Lady In The House Ch. 13


I awoke in my cell the next morning unaware of the terrible fate that had befallen my sister Angie. I knew that Steve had sent his henchman Danny to do something to her in retribution for my recalcitrance but I didn't know exactly what that evil bastard Steve was capable of.

I lay there shivering with dread hoping that Danny had just given Angie a warning, or at worst that he'd shown her the pictures that Steve had taken of me dressed as a woman being forced to fellate him as a means to scare her and embarrass me. God, I hope those bastards hadn't hurt Angie, or even worse, hurt her daughter.

The prison was waking up and I could hear the clatter of cell doors opening and the underlying drone of prison life; the sounds of men pissing into steel toilet bowls, the muffled farts and the cries and curses of the inmates as they prepared for another day of boredom and brutality.

I forced myself to get up and shave and brush my teeth. I used the toilet and cleaned my rear passage with soap and water; I did not want to suffer the indignity of the previous day when I was not prepared for penetration. I collected my soap and towel and waited for the guard to unlock my cell so that I could take my shower. A burly guard looked through the peephole into my cell and then unlocked the door.

"Come on sugar; get your arse moving down to the shower block," he said sarcastically.

I wondered what he meant by calling me sugar. There was no doubt that Steve had put some of the guards on his payroll. The warden was allowing him to run a prison brothel; but even though Steve had plenty of inmate henchmen working for him, he would also need some of the guards on his payroll. It was the same scheme that Eddie had used when he was running all of the illegal activities inside Chelmsford Prison.

I went down to the shower block and scrubbed myself clean. I deliberately made no eye contact with any of the other inmates but I knew that some of them were looking at me and whispering. It was obvious to everyone in the communal shower that my body had been fully shaved and I would undoubtedly have got some unwelcome attention by the 'bull dykes' except for the fact that word had obviously gotten around that I was one of Steve's 'girls'. No one in Chelmsford fucked with Steve or his 'property'.

Once safely locked back in my cell I was alone and found myself wondering exactly what had happened to Angie yesterday. The longer I was left alone in my cell the more I worried and imagined the worst. My cell door opened without warning and 'Iron Bar' Steve sauntered in and slammed the door closed. I crawled onto my bunk scrunching myself up against the wall, as far away from him as possible.

"Well if it isn't Mike or should I say Michele. All refreshed after a good night's sleep?" he asked.

Steve was carrying a large carry bag, which he dumped on the floor before pitching himself down on the end of my bunk and I hunched myself further against the wall.

"Oh what's the matter honey; you bashful? You don't look too bashful in this picture do you?" he teased and pulled out his highly illegal mobile phone and showed me the screensaver on the digital display. It was a picture of me dressed as a woman wearing full makeup fellating him.

"Look Mike, these are the pictures your sister got to see yesterday," he smiled evilly at me.

Then he played with the menus on his phone, flicking through the pictures he had taken of me with his penis in my mouth. Although I was being forced to participate, the pictures didn't show that. They portrayed me as a heavily made up tart fellating a well built, tattooed, con; there was nothing to indicate that I was anything but a willing participant.

"Take that filth away from me," I whimpered, pushing the phone away.

"Oh no Michele; you already knew about these pictures. I just wanted to show you how well they turned out."

"The real reason I'm here is to show these," he went on, fiddling with the phone in order to open a new picture folder.

"The quality ain't the best; Danny's a fucking hopeless photographer; he never gets the light right, and the composition is all fucked up............but; you get a real understanding of what the subject is feeling," he laughed and pushed the screen back into my face.

I was horrified. There was a picture of my sister Angie! Steve pushed the buttons on the phone showing me a series of pictures of her sprawled in the corner of a filthy doorway, her pantyhose and knickers were down around her knees, her skirt and slip had been hiked up to reveal her privates. Angie's attractive; heavily madeup face held an expression of mixed fear and revulsion. Her jacket, blouse, skirt and legs were covered in ropes of sticky white semen. In the last two pictures Angie's face was contorted by a look of repulsion; they were pictures of Danny's tumescent penis being rubbed over her semen-splattered face.

I lowered my head into my hands and started to sob. This was entirely my fault. Because I hadn't been compliant whist being forced into transvestite prostitution and had not heeded Steve's warning to please the punters, my sister had been violated. I was heartbroken. My head was spinning; what could I possibly do fix this; or at least ensure that it never happened again?

"Ok. I'm sorry. I'll do whatever you tell me to do; I promise. Just don't go near my sister again. Please!" I begged.

"Oh no, little miss fucking smart-arse; I warned you what would happen if you fucked with me and I make no guarantees to you about anything. You fuck up again or try any of your sneaky shit and I'll unleash Danny again; besides he likes your sister, I'm not sure I can keep him off her. And as for your spunky little niece........." he finished, his face split with a depraved grin.

"I promise; I promise; I promise!" I pleaded.

"Well we'll see about that you sneaky cunt. Before you got transferred back here to Chelmsford you tried to cut a deal with the authorities for easy time in exchange for giving up your accomplices and it backfired on you right?"

I nodded the affirmative and kept my head bowed.

"As you know, because of your testimony the Governor's brother got caught with his fingers in the government's cookie jar and he went down for it. That's why you ended up back here in Chelmsford isn't it?" he finished.

I looked up meekly and nodded.

"Well it seems the Governor wants to pay a visit to the cunt who got his brother banged up and who is also responsible for him getting demoted to warden of this rat hole of a jail instead of being the Governor of a nice cushy reform facility instead."

"So now; it's not like the Governor can waltz on down to E Block where he can be seen by all the inmates and guards now is it? I mean he's the boss and he needs to keep a degree of separation from the rabble."

"As you remember from previous personal experience, Eddie used to deliver some of the girls to the Governors office to keep them amused, but this guy is the epitome of discretion."

"However the Warden is determined to see you; and in particular he want's to see what I've done to you. So in that bag there are the necessary items that you will require to change from Mike into Michele."

"So get fucking cracking sweetheart; you got a VIP visitor coming to see you in an hour. Now we'll see if you can do what your fucking-well told!" Steve spat at me and stood up.

As he went out the door he looked back and smiled.

"By the way; my sources tell me that you are to have a visitor later this afternoon."

"It's your sister!"

"Now get fucking dressed," he smirked, and slammed the cell door behind him on the way out.

The last time I was in Chelmsford I had been one of the girls that Eddie delivered to one of the previous wardens. I had stupidly tried to win him over using my sexual guile and it had backfired on me completely. I was determined I wouldn't try any of the same tricks this time; I couldn't afford to play with the wellbeing of my sister and niece.

I opened the bag that Steve had delivered and was not really surprised by its contents; female attire, breastforms, a wig, cosmetics, lingerie, perfume and the obligatory pair of high-heels. Resigned, I emptied the bag of its contents and laid them out on my cot.

I knew that I wouldn't be disturbed until the warden arrived and was grateful to have a completely walled-in cell with a solid steel door; the thought of dressing whilst the other inmates and guards watched me through a barred cell was something I didn't even want to contemplate.

I arranged the cosmetics on the small shelf fixed above my sink and stood in front of the mirror to start what was again becoming a familiar ritual. I put a layer of foundation on my face and applied powder from a compact to set it. I rouged my cheeks and applied plenty of black eyeliner and heavy mascara to my eyes and lashes. I carefully applied aqua-blue eyeshadow to my eyelids and then put a coat of pink eyeshadow above that brushing it up to my eyebrows and out to the extremities of my eye sockets.

I applied two-coat plum-red coloured lipstick, colouring my lips with the applicator and then setting the lipstick with the clear, glossy topcoat. Lastly I gave my face a fine dusting of finishing powder being careful to keep it off my mascara. There; the perfect whore's face, made up to perfection. I guessed that Carmel had packed the bag because the makeup was the exact style she would have had me wear in my E Block workroom.

Satisfied with my makeup I stepped into a black satin-lined suspender belt, the garter straps dangled down and tickled the tops of my thighs. I then squeezed into a matching satin brassiere. I pushed the silicon breastforms into the cups of the bra and arranged them to look as natural as possible and then sat down on the cot.

I carefully slipped a pair of fully-fashioned black nylon stockings up my legs and adjusted the back-seams so they were straight and fixed them to the silver clips on my suspender straps. A subtle feeling of stimulation shuddered through my body as the gossamer nylons slid up my shaved legs. The feelings intensified as I pulled a pair of black nylon full-cut panties up my legs and smoothed them around my buttocks and adjusted the waistband over my suspender belt. I suppressed my feelings of arousal and concentrated on getting dressed.

I stepped into a black satin full-slip, my body tingling at the feel of the slip on my bare skin and the whisper of the lace hem on my stocking encased legs. I stepped into a navy-blue pin-striped pencil skirt, closed the zipper on the side, adjusted the waist and pulled the hem of the skirt down over the lacy hem of my slip. The skirt was tight around my buttocks and thighs and there was a split in the back that came up to mid-thigh; the hem of the skirt rested six inches above my knees. If the skirt wasn't so tight and didn't have the back-split it would almost have been modest.

Next I buttoned myself into the pure white, long-sleeved, satin blouse and tucked it into the waistband of my skirt. I sat on the cot and stepped into a pair of black eight-inch heel patent leather pumps. I opened a little felt-lined drawstring bag and as I guessed, it contained jewellery. I slipped a gold anklet over my right ankle and admired the way the fine gold chain glittered against my sheer black stockings. I clipped on a pair of gold drop earrings and put two gold bangles on each of my wrists. I fumbled with the clasp of a gold chain necklace until it was fastened around my neck.

I stood up and looked in the mirror and carefully fitted the jet-black wig. The fringe rested on my eyebrows and the bob sat on my shoulders. I combed out the wig and noticed it had subtle red streaks which highlighted it superbly. Finally, I donned a pin-striped navy-blue jacket which matched my skirt. It was tight and clinched at the waist; the sleeves were cut short enough to show off some blouse cuff and my gold bangles.

I looked like a businesswoman; or an executive secretary who unfortunately had acquired the dress-sense of a trollop. I would look quite presentable in any boardroom if the skirt wasn't so tight and split up the back, if the jacket wasn't so figure hugging, if my heels weren't so high, if my hosiery wasn't so lewd, if my makeup wasn't so heavy. If! If! If! If! If!

There was no doubt to me that Carmel had carefully selected this outfit; in fact I hazarded a guess that someone (the Warden?) had specifically asked for a certain look. I kicked off my high-heels and climbed carefully up onto my cot and stood up on it so that I could see as of much of myself as possible in the small wall-mounted mirror.

Then it dawned on me! I know who I looked like!

I was dressed in the spitting image of my sister Angie!!!

Could it be coincidence? I thought not. There is no such thing as a fucking coincidence in the dark underworld of Chelmsford prison. I guessed I would find out soon enough; I set my resolve not to upset the Warden or Steve today. I was terrified at the thought of having to face Angie this afternoon when she came to visit. How could I explain to her that it was my fault that she had been raped? But, I needed to see her so that we could work some sort of plan to enable her to escape from the clutches of Steve's outside henchmen.

A small bottle of "Poison" perfume had been included with the cosmetics and I spayed generous amounts on my neck and décolletage then a quick squirt under my skirt. 'An old girl like me remembers old tricks I guess,' I thought, almost breaking into a smile despite the helplessness of my situation.

'Carmel; you might be a prison brothel madam and fag-hag but sometimes your blood's worth bottling!' I thought to myself when I saw the tell-tale rectangular bulge in one of the side pockets of the carry-bag. I unzipped the pocket and smiled with pathetic glee as I reached in and pulled out a packet of Marlboro's and a plastic Bic lighter. I had kicked most of my bad habits that I had taken up in Chelmsford Prison all those years ago. Now that I was back inside, I might as well at least take up a bad habit that I enjoyed I thought, and lit a cigarette.

I sat back down on the cot to await the Warden. I stepped back into my pumps and started painting my nails as I whiled away the time. I tried to think of anything but what had happened to my sister. I chain smoked cigarettes while I carefully put two coats of plumb-red nailpolish on my fingernails. It was important to match nailpolish and lipstick, I remembered what Carmel had taught me.

At some stage during my reverie I realised I had no way of removing my makeup and nailpolish when the Warden had finished his visit; unless Steve was going to bring me some facial cleanser and nailpolish remover. 'What the fuck!' I thought; 'removing my makeup is the least of worries right now.'

I was suddenly shocked out of my trance by the rattle of keys in my cell door; and then it slowly opened.

"Come back and let me out in half an hour!" a voice from outside my cell demanded.

"Unless there is an emergency I am NOT to be disturbed understand!" the harsh voice went on.

"Yes Guv' nor!" some anonymous guard grovelled in reply.

The Warden stepped into my cell and the lock rattled shut as the door slammed shut behind him. The Governor, (as the inmates and most of guards called him) was a slim man in his early fifties. He looked distinguished with carefully coiffured greying collar-length hair and smart dark business suit. His immaculate white shirt accentuated his tanned complexion. He was handsome but grave. He reminded me of the movie actor Sam Elliot; he had the same deep gravely voice when he spoke.

"Cover the peephole!" he commanded pulling a small roll of masking tape from his pocket and tossing it at me.

As I clattered over to the cell door tottering on my high-heels I thought to myself that I was glad that I didn't have to walk around all day in these eight-inch heels and the tight pencil skirt. I had to take short steps because the tight skirt restricted my stride and walking in the precariously high heels forced me to concentrate on maintaining my balance. The effect on my gait walking in the high-heels and tight skirt caused my ample bottom to swing seductively from side to side and I could feel the Warden's eyes on my arse.

I stuck a couple of pieces of the masking tape over the spy-hole in my cell door and wondered if the Governor had a predilection for transvestites. I didn't know about that, but he proved he was certainly wily and prison savvy by what he said next.

"I don't give a fuck who sees you dressed like that, or what they see you doing in here, but I'm not going to give my guards or that sneaky fuck 'Iron Bar' Steve the opportunity to blackmail me by taking any pictures through that peephole." he said.

"I didn't get to be the Governor of one of Her Majesty's finest penal institutions by being stupid."

"Which brings me to my why I'm here," he went on.

"You have caused me and my brother a considerable amount of trouble haven't you?" he said.

"I'm so sorry Governor, I......."

"Shut the fuck up you dumb cunt; the question was rhetorical!" he cut me off.

"My brother's inside prison and I'm been appointed here to Chelmsford because of the evidence you gave to certain authorities hoping to get your sentence shortened to easy time in a minimum security facility."

"Well I've put a fucking end to that; haven't I?" he snarled.

I knew better than to try to answer him and stood there with my head bowed.

"But turning you over to Steve and his sleazy deviate cohorts is only part of your punishment. Sure your enduring humiliation and pain, being forced to become a transvestite prison prostitute gives me great satisfaction; but this is personal, so I need some personal revenge you understand?" he went on.

I bowed my head lower looking down at my pumps.

"I expect you to answer me this time," he growled.

"I'm so sorry Warden, I didn't mean for all this to happen. I was just trying to.............."

"Oh shut the fuck up! I don't know why I bothered to let you talk," he barked.

"Don't talk anymore unless I command it; understand?"

I nodded compliance.

"And fucking look at me; at least have the guts to face the man who is about to punish you for your transgressions!" he said.

I looked up, took a step forward and stood compliantly in the middle of the cell with my arms by my sides.

The Warden's eyes slid over my body starting with my heavily made-up face then sliding over my tight jacketed body, over my pencil skirt, lingering on my sleek black nyloned legs and finally down to my shiny high-heeled pumps.

He reached out and placed a hand on my face and then gently stroked the fringe out of my eyes.

"Pretty," he mumbled, and his hand continued down the front of my body finally resting on my waist distractedly playing with the material of my pencil skirt.

"I'll tell you this; I don't like transvestites! They're not right in the head. If you want to be a woman at least finish the job and cut off your cock, take some hormones and at least pretend to be a proper woman not just some guy in a skirt," he sneered.

I wanted to tell him that I didn't want to be a transvestite; that I was being forced into being one; but I knew that he knew that already, and I also knew better than to talk when had told me to shut up.

"I find the operation Steve is running in E Block very distasteful; but I get a very good cash return on it, so I'm prepared to put up with it," he went on.

"Steve has offered me the services of his transvestite trollops before you understand; but as I just said, I find them offensive."

"You however are a different matter! You have caused my brother and me considerable hardship and discomfort now I intend to do the same to you. I intend to do this personally do you understand!" he growled in my face.

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byMicheleNylons© 0 comments/ 40889 views/ 7 favorites

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