The Captive Crossdresser Ch. 01

Twice a week she pushed the little laundry basket containing her soiled clothes and bedding through the flap and the next day it was returned freshly laundered and smelling wonderfully of fabric softener. Her meals were delivered twice a day: cereal in the morning with toast, a salad for her to put in the refrigerator for lunch and a hot meal in the evenings. There was wine in the fridge and milk which was replenished regularly every second day but not much else. She realised that her diet was being controlled but she never ate much anyway.

She made no unnecessary noise; she had soon realised the futility of shouting or crying for help. She kept her room clean using the cleaning requisites provided and kept herself meticulously clean as she always had. She exercised in the morning running on the spot and doing a retinue of pushups, sit-ups and jumping jacks. She had no sneakers to wear but she did have tights and a t-shirt to wear while she worked out.

And of course, as directed, she presented as Crystal at all times. Not that she really had any choice; it was that or present naked. The only exception was before she went to bed she removed her makeup and wig but she wore satin babydoll pyjamas to bed and in her head she was still Crystal. Using her femme voice came naturally. Colin had an effeminate lilt to his voice anyway and Mrs Cashmore had educated her in practicing a pleasing inflection which Crystal automatically adopted when she transformed.

The daily routine was easy enough to follow. She had very little body hair but she shaved away any rogue strands that might pop up on her body. Mrs Cashmore had showed her how to shape her eyebrows with tweezers and manicure scissors. Shaving the fluff from her face before applying makeup was a routine she was used to and as she had a 'day face' and 'evening face' she shaved before each makeup session.

She found the douching repulsive but she didn't argue and soon learned how to use the douche in the shower. She was glad that her diet was restricted because what she evacuated was distasteful enough; she didn't want to think what she might expel on a diet of curry or steak, liver and onions that her mother regarded as staple meals when she lived at home.

But she had to admit that knowing that she was totally clean inside and out was a somewhat pleasant feeling and made her feel confident.

Every morning the disembodied voice greeted her at the same time. The man obviously worked a fulltime job and Crystal wondered how that might work to her advantage in her bid to escape.

That voice was her only contact with the outside world. In the morning the man was usually brusque and in a hurry. His commands were sharp and short. On her breakfast tray would be a note telling her what to wear each day in the evenings and on weekends when the man was home from work. The man obviously knew the entire contents of the armoire because he was very specific, right down to what hosiery she was to wear.

Once she had settled down and behaved herself and began abiding by the rules, in the evenings the man would pull a chair up to the door and open the viewing ports and cat-flap and talk to her. At first it was disturbing how much he knew about her, but he must have planned her kidnapping meticulously so it wasn't that surprising. What was surprising was the rich timbre of his voice and his obvious passion and desire for her. Without seeing his face she replaced it with the face she had imagined her Mills and Boon paramour wore.

He complimented her on her obedience and always spoke flatteringly of her clothes, hair and makeup but was not averse to making suggestions or offering little criticisms:

"You should have brushed out the blonde wig a little longer so that it sat better."

"I liked the red leather skirt and white satin blouse with the red high heels but you need to make sure your hem is straight at all times."

"I should have stipulated the tan tights with the burgundy pencil dress; not the black."

"I liked that dusky hue to your voice this morning."

Crystal soon figured out that the man was watching her somehow and then she discovered the camera lens mounted in the corner of her bedsit and another in her bathroom.

The man never overtly threatened her but he refused to be drawn into a conversation about why he held her captive, how long he was going to hold her and what was his purpose in keeping her hostage. He would discuss the outside world but steered the conversation towards the daily news, fashion and the social pages of the newspaper which he read to her. He also supplied her with Mills and Boons and other bodice-rippers for her entertainment as she had no TV or wireless.

Anything to do with Crystal's family was off limits as was anything to do with the man's life outside of the house in which he lived.

But for all of that, Crystal craved their social intercourse. He was someone to talk to and he was educated and well versed in a number of subjects that fascinated her.

She knew what was happening to her. The term Stockholm Syndrome had only recently become popular but Crystal knew what it was: a condition in which hostages develop a psychological bond with their captors during captivity resulting from a rather specific set of circumstances, namely the power imbalances contained in hostage-taking, and kidnapping. Emotional bonds were formed between captors and captives, during intimate time together, but these bonds were quite irrational in light of the danger or risk endured by the victims.

But that is what was happening in the basement of the house on Cooper Street. Even though Crystal didn't know her captor's name she developed an emotional bond with him despite the circumstances. He knew so much about her, more than her friends or family, he nurtured her and rewarded her when she was good and punished her when she was bad.

The demands for sex came during the third week of her capture.

She knew it was coming despite the man's mostly pleasant demeanour. Why else would he hold her captive and have her presenting only as Crystal? There was no money for a ransom and Crystal held no state secrets.

The man's emotions were torn apart. One part of him wanted to kick open the door, throw Crystal on the bed and ravage her. The other more genteel and rational part of him wanted him to take his time and seduce her; to have her acquiesce to his advances. At first she would be tentative, anxious and confused but like the heroine in her Mills and Boons she would submit willingly.

But watching the beautiful creature he held captive in his basement on the black and white screen was no substitute for actually touching her. When he spoke to her through the door he could smell her perfume, he could hear the delightful inflection in her voice when she was excited about something. He had seen her many times up close before he captured her although she had never noticed him and he watched her on his screen as she went about her day in his cellar.

He did not watch the camera fitted in the bathroom. He did not want to see the necessities that she carried out in order to transform for him. He liked to watch her select her clothes and lay them out after she had carefully applied her makeup and fitted her wig. Watching her stepping into her hose and lingerie always aroused him but she aroused him easily anyway.

The way she dangled a high heel from her foot when her legs were crossed, the way she absentmindedly straightened her skirt as she stood, the way she straightened the seams of her stockings, the way she preened in front of the mirror... every little thing she did was delightful.

Passion and lust finally overcame reason but the man would only go so far. His lustful self argued that the glory hole had been cut in the door for a specific purpose and his reasoned self argued that it was merely a peephole for him to spy on her while he was seated, talking to her through the door.

The man had not brought Crystal her dinner but she could hear him moving around upstairs so she knew he was home. Maybe he had visitors? But he never had visitors.

She eventually heard his footsteps on the stairs and she scurried to the door like Pavlov's dog.

Instead of the cat-flat opening at the bottom of the door the glory hole opened and an engorged penis was pushed through the hole.

Crystal was shocked and stepped away from the door.

"You know what to do Crystal," the man growled.

'Had he been drinking?' she thought.

He sounded different.

Crystal was repelled by the appendage. It was long, thick and veiny with a shiny pink glans and a tiny bubble of clear pre-ejaculate had formed at the eye.

It looked powerful and evil and she was repulsed by it.

Crystal was disappointed that the man had resorted to such a clumsy and callous form of seduction; if that's what this was.

"Take it away! It's disgusting!" Crystal cried.

The lights went out and she had no dinner.

That was Thursday night.

The lights came on Friday morning long enough for her to use the bathroom and dress and then the glory hole opened and the man thrust his appendage through it.

Crystal just sat on the bed refusing to move but unable to look away from the hard sleek flesh poking through the door.

The lights went out and she was not fed that day.

Nor the next, nor the next, nor the next.

Crystal knew that she couldn't continue this way. She was hungry and living in total darkness except for the one hour of light the man granted her. Her days were torture.

She knew the man could easily come through the door and overpower her. She was slight and undernourished and half-blind and she could tell the man was powerful even though all she had seen was his thick, muscled forearm when he pushed things through the cat-flap at the bottom of the door.

The man wanted her to submit. To begrudgingly but willingly bend to his will. And eventually she did.

When the lights came on on the fifth day of her torture she carried out her ablutions, put on her makeup, perfume, knickers and nylons and dressed only in a satin full-slip and high heels she tentatively approached the door.

The man heard the click-clack of her high heels and he flung open the viewing port. She was coming towards the door. Even though she had rushed getting ready for the day she looked beautiful and alluring. Her green eyes embellished by her heavy eye makeup, her high cheekbones rouged, her lips all the more fuller coated in bright red lipstick. Her slim body contoured by the pink satin slip, her long legs encased in silky-sheer tan nylons.

He flipped open the cover on the glory hole and pushed his erect penis through it. His breathing was heavy and it became heavier as she approached the door. He breathed in her perfume and his eyes met hers and he could see the fear and trepidation in them. Part of him despised himself for causing that fear and he felt very sorry for Crystal but the dark half of him delighted in the consternation he had caused her and her eventual surrender to his demands.

Crystal looked away from the man's icy-blue eyes staring at her through the viewing port and she looked down at his engorged manliness poking through the glory hole. For a fleeting second she thought of grabbing it and twisting it violently or raking it with her long painted nails but she knew she would do neither.

The phallus was fully erect and rampant: silky skin with steel beneath, blue veins below the translucent smooth flesh, the mushroom-shaped head smooth and shiny. Crystal had to admit to herself that it was indeed a magnificent specimen of manhood.

Crystal stopped short of the door and returned her gaze to the man's eyes which seemed emotionless. She sensed that he condemned himself for what he was doing but somehow she understood his frustration. He had held her captive for over three weeks and had watched her, always dressed sophisticatedly or provocatively depending on how her captor demanded she dress. She could imagine the frustration she caused him, like a beautiful butterfly kept in a glass jar she was easily observed but if one was to reach in and touch her they would remove the pretty colours from her wings and if they touched her too often she would lose all of her colour and beauty.

Crystal was aware that she was partly blaming herself for her captor's impatience and frustration which she knew was ridiculous but the two of them had developed a rapport, a relationship of sorts, during her captivity and she felt an emotional bond to the man.

She cautiously reached out and with one fingertip she gingerly touched the flesh which seemed to shudder at her touch.

The man gasped as he felt Crystal's fingertip caress his engorged manhood. Finite sparks of delight rippled from the place where she touched him. Crystal saw his eyes gleam and heard his sharp intake of breath.

A second finger joined the first and she softly and hesitantly stroked the tender flesh and she heard the man gasp a second time.

"Yes," he whispered.

Crystal could see the need in the man's eyes; the yearning, the devotion to her. His desperation was palpable; it was almost like he was begging her.

She circled two fingers around the corona of the man's glans which was so big that her fingertips barely met. A string of silvery pre-seminal fluid oozed from the eye of the man's penis and Crystal became fascinated by it. She had caused this. She was responsible for the man's responses.

The man sighed as Crystal's fingers circled the head of his penis. Her touch was delightful and seductive; there was nothing seedy or repulsive about it. Waves of tingling delight ran down the shaft of his penis and he desperately wanted her to take his manhood in her hand and stroke it.

"Please," he whispered and Crystal returned her gaze to the man's eyes which were now full of needful respect.

Crystal unconsciously licked her upper lip with the tip of her tongue and the man's penis shuddered in her grasp. He was begging her with his words and his gaze. For this single moment in time the power dynamic had been reversed. She could easily hurt him or just walk away and leave him frustrated.

Crustal took a step closer to the door so that her eyes were mere inches from the viewing port; the man's engorged cock level with her thighs.

She stared directly into the man's eyes and gripped his turgid weapon with all of the fingers of right hand and began to stroke it. The viscous rope of pre-ejaculate was gathered by her little finger and lubricated the steel-like shaft as she ran her fingers up and down it cautiously. She could feel the power in it, the heat, the masculinity and forcefulness in the sinews and flesh.

The man's knees gave way and he clung onto the doorframe to stop himself from collapsing when Crystal began to stroke his organ. The closeness of her body through the door, her beautiful face framed in the viewing port, the musky scent of her perfume, the look of trepidation which concealed an undercurrent of quiet control in her emerald-green eyes, the feel of her silken grip on his manhood; it was overwhelming.

Waves of pleasure radiated from his throbbing manhood as Crystal slowly and featherlightly caressed it with her soft fingers.

The penis erupted in her hand but Crystal just stood her ground and glared at the man through the viewing port. She projected her shame and her disappointment in him with her gaze but the man cared not. He was enraptured by the orgasm that coursed through his body and his eyes portrayed only pleasure and lust.

She felt the scalding issue splash on her wrist and spatter on her thigh but she held onto the quivering spongy organ and stroked it harder, squeezing the semen from the erupting vessel until it was drained.

The man sighed and gasped and struggled to stay upright as the beautiful woman on the other side of the door gently but precociously milked him of his seed. He realised that for that moment in time she held the power; he would do anything for her to continue to stroke his quivering knot.

When the man began to recover from his orgasm Crystal let go of his organ. Her eyes slowly glazed over, her hands hung loosely at her sides, the fingers of her right hand dripped semen onto the floor, her slip soaked up the spend he had spattered on her thigh. She couldn't move. She couldn't think. The enormity of what had just happened; the change in dynamic hit her with the force of a comet.

The man regained his composure and extracted his cock from the glory hole. He wiped himself with the tissues he had brought just for that purpose. He had used them often enough when he masturbated looking at Crystal through the viewing port.

"Clean yourself up. Put on the burgundy pencil dress with the white satin blouse and tan nylons," the man said coldly.

"I'll be back with your breakfast," he closed the viewing port and the glory hole.

Crystal went into the bathroom and removed her slip and dropped it in the washing basket. She washed her hands in the sink and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She hated the woman looking back at her. She had acquiesced far too easily; she should have stuck it out. The man would have seen reason or let her go eventually, now she had fuelled the fire.

What concerned the most was that her own penis was engorged, trapped inside her knickers and tights and she desperately wanted to relieve the stress of it but she knew the man had a camera in her bathroom. The man had confessed that he never watched her taking her ablutions because he found it distasteful and she deserved privacy while she did so.

Crystal guiltily eased her penis from along her perineum and freed it from her knickers and tights. She reached into the washing basket and took out the full-slip and held it to her nose as she masturbated into the sink, breathing in the heady scent of the man's ejaculate. She wept briefly afterwards, disgusted with herself. Then she regained her composure and dressed as she had been ordered to.

After breakfast the man had her sit next to the door while he read her the morning newspaper and they both drank tea. Neither of them mentioned what had just happened, they chatted like it was any other day.

But things had changed and there was no going back.

To be continued

Author's note: By way of explanation the word 'pantyhose' invokes an image of sheer hosiery which incorporates a fitted 'panty' sometimes made of the same sheer fabric as the legs and sometimes made of a heavier blend of lycra/nylon. The term pantyhose originated in the United States and in Britain these garments are called 'sheer tights'. The term tights alone refers to all such garments regardless of whether they are sheer lingerie or sturdy outerwear. My hypothesis is that the Brits never adopted the word 'pantyhose' because they use the word 'knickers' rather than 'panties'. I use both vernaculars in this story because it is set in the UK but hopefully it appeals worldwide audiences.

Oh... and don't forget to leave me a comment or two.