Pantyhose Tied Forced

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Pantyhose Tied Forced
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Reluctant Boy-Girl by Pat T. My mother divorced my father because he beat her. He was rich, though, and got custody of me. My mother refused to turn me over, contending he beat me too. This simply wasn't true, but I guess Mom didn't want to give the bastard any satisfaction and I felt too sorry for her to tell anyone the truth. My mother hid me at one of her childhood friend's houses in Texas. The judge put Mom in jail until she revealed my whereabouts while my father hired a Private Investigator to find me. I called the woman I stayed with "Aunt" Helen although she wasn't really a relation. She, too, was divorced with a daughter named Tracy. Aunt Helen now hated all men and lectured me incessantly on how I had to be faithful to my mother and not contact my father under any circumstances. On fateful night as we watched TV my whereabouts, which had enjoyed some brief national attention, became news again. The announcer read a report that my father had contracted even more PIs and would begin contacting all of my mother's known acquaintances. My Aunt watched the conclusion of the piece and turned to me. "John," she said quietly, "I knew the time would come when they would search for you here. I have a plan, but I need your complete cooperation. Will you help your mother and me?" This was quite a lot of pressure to put on a thirteen year old. My mind in a frenzy, I simply nodded. "Thank you, John. As you know, some bad people will stop here soon looking for a young boy, but they won't find one. Do you know why?" I shook my head. "They won't find a young boy because you will be turned into a young girl! Tracy and I will transform you into such a convincing vision of femininity that no one will ever guess you were once a boy. Right Tracy?" "Oh, Mom, what a great idea! John will make a foxy girl. He can probably wear most of my things and his face is almost too pretty for a boy already. Let's start right now. What do you suggest, Mom, skirt or slacks?" "Since we want to prevent him from being identified as a boy, we'll need to go overboard on making sure everything about him just screams 'female'. That means no pants at any time and lots of girlish touches even in his most casual moments. We have to go overboard on lace, lingerie, heels, makeup, the works." I forget most of the details of that evening except that I went to bed wearing one of Tracy's nighties. My hair had been subjected to dizzying number of processes and then wound up in enormous rollers covered by a giant pink cap. My hands had been coated with skin softener and placed in white cotton gloves for the night. My face had been slathered in cold cream. Considering the strange sensations I was experiencing, it was amazing how quickly I fell asleep. I was awakened at six the next morning by Tracy. "Get up, sleepyhead. We've got a lot to do today. Go and wash your hands and face while I get your outfit ready." I obeyed. Returning, I saw that Tracy had made my bed and laid out a bewildering array of lacy apparel, a yellow dress and a pair of girls pumps. She handed me a pair of pale blue panties and let me modestly slip them on under my nightie before I took the nightie off. Next came a matching bra and dark brown pantyhose. She padded out my bra with cotton balls and taught me how to put on a blue slip by sliding it over my head. At this point she wrapped a plastic cape around my neck, sat me down and brushed out my hair. "Oh, it's darling! No one will ever suspect you're a boy." I sat still while she applied makeup. The smells were strange as was the feeling of my hair tickling my neck. Finally she removed my cape and let me get up. She held out my dress and let me step into it from the top "so you won't mess up your hair". I later learned that the style was a shirtwaist, yellow, with a hem hitting me a few inches above the knee. Tracy asked me to button the top. It was difficult because it buttoned backwards, but I finally got it right. She helped me slip into the brown leather sling back pumps. They had medium heels and it took me awhile to walk in them but Tracy was patient. "Real girls take a long time to learn how to manage their heels, too. You're doing fine." After she was satisfied, she had me wrestle with jewelry clasps until I was sporting a gold choker necklace, a charm bracelet, an ankle bracelet and four rings. Finally she sprayed me with perfume and led me downstairs to breakfast. It certainly felt strange masquerading as a girl. I had to watch my feet to keep from tripping in the heels and I found myself attracted to the nyloned legs and feminine pumps that were mine. My aunt made a tremendous fuss when I entered the kitchen, making me stand still as she walked around me. It was weird wearing girls clothes but I tried to make the best of it and play along. After eating, I started to learn how to do 'girl' chores. My aunt slipped an apron over my head and tied an enormous bow in back. I was handed a pair of rubber gloves and told to do the breakfast dishes. I had a easy enough time of it but I kept having to peer over my breasts. A strange feeling came over me as I realized that boys would be attracted to me in my disguise! I tried to get used to my new identity, but I couldn't ignore how the hosiery hugged my legs, how the heels changed my posture-forcing my breasts and fanny out invitingly. Eventually I finished up the dishes, cleaned up the kitchen and joined my aunt and Tracy in the living room. "John," my aunt began, "Tracy and I were just saying that we need to call you something feminine. What's your favorite girl's name?" I stammered that I had never thought about it. "Well, then, how about 'Heather'? I just love that name, don't you Tracy?" "Wow, Mom, that's great! OK with you Heather?" Consistent with most of my other action in the last two days, I simply nodded dumbly. "Well, Heather, we're about ready for your public debut. My friend Debbie runs a beauty parlor and she's agreed to give you the works. Tracy, get Heather set up with a purse." Before I knew it, I had a purse stuck in my hand and was propelled out the front door. What a clatter I made in my heels! The sight of sunlight bouncing off my yellow dress filled me with fear of discovery. I made my way as fast as possible to the car and jumped in the back seat. The drive into town was uneventful. After my aunt pulled up in front of the beauty parlor, I opened the door and slid out as I always have. The difference was that in a dress, I succeeded in having it ride up to my waist. Two boys whistled appreciably at the leg show I had provided. Tracy giggled as I turned several shades of red. We entered the beauty parlor and Debbie introduced herself. "Oh, Helen, he's adorable. We'll have him all dolled up in no time. Strip down to your bra and panties and put on a robe, honey." I went behind a curtain and, struggled out of all the clothing, put on the short pink terricloth robe and rejoined Debbie. As soon as I sat in the chair Debbie and two other beauticians practically attacked me! One girl waxed my legs and gave me a pedicure. The second installed ceramic nails and pierced my ears. Debbie, meanwhile, cut my hair, gave me a perm and plucked my eyebrows. Although most of the procedures were uncomfortable, I still got the impression that I was pampered. While I sat under the hair dryer, Tracy handed me fashion magazines to read. I couldn't hear over the roar of the dryer, but Tracy would point to an outfit and then point at me, indicating that I would look good in it. My hair was styled and I was sent to get dressed again. My nails made everything more difficult, but I managed to put it all back on. The pantyhose and slip felt different against my hairless legs. I returned to the chair and waited while Debbie restored my makeup. The trip home was uneventful except for my sore earlobes. Once there, my feminine training shifted into high gear! Tracy had me put on a pair of spike heels at least 4" tall and balanced a book on my head to teach me how to walk convincingly. While I minced back and forth, she read me teenage romance novels and quizzed me on the girls' actions. "What would you have done if you were Sarah? Would you wear a long prom gown or a sexy short one? How would you have dressed for that big date with Bob? Do you think it's embarrassing wearing those little cheerleading skirts? What do you think that wedding gown felt like?" Before long I was concentrating on the questions, only occasionally thinking about managing my heels. Aunt Helen came in after about an hour and gave me few pointers. "Put one foot directly in front of the other- it will give you a wiggle. And keep your legs together as you walk. You should feel you nylons rub against on another with every step." After another hour, me feet ached! Tracy let me change into a pair of flats and had me practice sitting in a chair, crossing my legs and then getting up. The goal was twofold- to keep my skirts unwrinkled and to avoid displaying more of my feminine underpinnings than I wanted to. It turned out that I tended to be too modest! "A girl is used to putting her legs on display every day. We don't think twice about flashing a little thigh and the boys love it. As long as your panties don't show, it's probably OK." At last the exercise was over and I was given another teenage romance novel to study until bedtime. I had to write down each outfit mentioned and guess about what underthings would be appropriate. Finally, under Tracy's direction, I put my hair up in rollers, creamed off my makeup, took my 'vitamins' and applied the lotions. I slipped into a pink baby doll set and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of lace and lingerie. The next morning I showered with a cap on and dusted myself with scented powder. Tracy knocked on the bathroom door and told me that we were going to the mall and I was pick out my own outfit. With my hair up in curlers, wearing a pink terrycloth robe and selecting dress from my closet, it struck me that anyone seeing this would have a hard time believing I was a boy. I finally settled on a simple black sheath with little cap sleeves. I laid it on the bed and picked out a pair of black leather pumps with little roses on the toes. Concentrating, I slipped on a pair of nylon panties and a new pair of off-black support pantyhose. I had to slide my male equipment down between my legs to give me a credible girlish front. I donned a padded black bra as Tracy had showed me by hooking it up in front and then twisting it around into position. Next I tugged on a black full slip and adjusted the shoulder straps. I sat down and took the rollers out of my hair and brushed it out. It still looked good! I sponged on some light foundation and managed to get my mascara on without smearing it. A little blusher and lip gloss completed my makeup. I stepped into my dress and shrugged it over my shoulders. What a time I had zipping it up! I stepped into the heels and minced over the full length mirror. The dress was kind of short, but not too inappropriate, I thought. Remembering my fashion magazines, I clipped on a string of pearls and pinned on a silver broach. I would have changed earrings but my ears still were too sore. I carefully descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. Both Tracy and my aunt went into another round of gushing over my feminized self. They complimented my on my choices and even made me hike up my skirts to show them my lingerie. After a light breakfast, Tracy gave me a shoulder bag and we all drove over to the mall. I was a little more confident slipping out of the car this time and even managed a smile when my aunt commented on what a racket we three were making in our heels. We visited clothing stores, one after another. Dressed as a boy, I only caught a quick glance at ladies lingerie in stores. Now, here I was not only slowly examining frilly little undergarments, but I was forced to consider actually wearing them! It was embarrassing to consider how much of a sissy I had become virtually overnight. I'm sure I blushed as the salesgirls folded each piece and carefully packed them. The two females seemed to have unlimited energy as they helped me try on outfit after outfit. I wound up with two everyday dresses, plenty of blouses and skirts, a strapless cocktail dress and a suit. The shoe store was next and I noticed the clerk looking up my dress as he fitted me with each pair. I tried to remember Tracy's training and understand that girls really didn't mind a little ogling. My aunt and Tracy made all the selections and I wound up with two pairs of truly towering pumps, one with open toes, a pair of strappy sandals and a pair of red ballerina flats. I was exhausted when the two relented and, loaded down with boxes, returned home. I was storing the purchases when Tracy entered my room and casually mentioned that we were going to a dance that night! The thought of a boy reacting to my girlish appearance revolted me but Tracy explained it was just practice on how to act feminine. After dinner, while Tracy was getting herself ready, Aunt Helen concentrated on me. She started with a tight bustier, complete with garters, and white glitter stockings. I wiggled into a red control panty and caught a glance of myself in the mirror- I wasn't the best built female in the world, but I looked sexy. She seated me at my make up table and pinned my hair up in a pretty french twist complete with flowers. She made me up more dramatically than before and tied a short crinoline around my nipped waist. I was zipped into the sleeveless silver cocktail dress before buckling on the strappy silver sandals. She clipped on a fake diamond choker, silver ankle bracelet and carefully substituted long dangling earrings for my "trainers". A tiny wrist watch, several costume rings, a liberal dosing with perfume and I was ready. I didn't want to admit it, but I felt pretty! I made my way downstairs to wait for Tracy. What a strange sensation- my crinoline was making a racket under my dress while the garters tugged my nylons into wrinkle-free perfection with each step. I sat down carefully only to have the hem of my dress pop up to eye level. My aunt laughed and explained that with my full petticoats I had to sit on the very edge of a chair to keep my modesty. Tracy came down the stairs, looking beautiful, and we complimented each other. I was still admiring her when the doorbell rang. "Here's our dates," she announced with a twinkle in her eye. "Dates!" I screeched, "I can't go out with a boy!" But Tracy had already let the two in and my aunt was gently propelling me towards the one introduced as "Mike." Tracy was paired up with Dave. I sputtered out "Thank You" in a high voice when Mike told me I looked terrific. Aunt Helen wrapped a lace shawl around my shoulders and handed me a silver clutch purse. She took photos of the four of us and I tried my best to smile. Mike offered his arm and it turned out I needed it as I might have fallen teetering down the steps in my new heels. I'm sure I looked delightfully helpless and feminine. Dave had brought his Camaro and it was impossible to get into the low back seat with any modesty! We drove to the dance with me constantly fighting to keep my skirts down but only succeeding in putting on a private peep show for Mike. What a contrast it was to look down and see Mike's sturdy shoes and thick trousers next to my fragile sandals and delicate nylons with my painted toe nails peeking through. How had I gotten myself into this? What if this big guy found out I was really a boy dressed up? Feeling my bare arm against his tweed jacket, I quickly decided my only option was to act a feminine as possible. Choking on my words I fluttered my eyelashes and told Mike how strong he was. He responded by casually resting a hand on my nyloned thigh. We got to the dance and again I put on quite a show getting out of the car. Tracy just smiled at my startled expression when Mike put his arm around my waist and ushered me in. I was never a good dancer, let alone in heels, but when Mike and I started a waltz he led masterfully. I just stayed on my toes while he kept balance for us both. It was humiliating to feel his hand on my back, toying with the zipper and bustier snaps. Every now and then he would grind his hips into me and even wearing a crinoline I could feel his manhood pressed against me. I, meanwhile, had my equipment tucked up and couldn't respond under any circumstances. Whenever he twirled me, my skirts rode up exposing my stocking tops, garters, and even my red panties! Several of the real girls glared at me and my brazen display. Tracy was no help at all, threatening to expose me if I didn't adjust my garters while Mike looked on. I felt totally embarrassed watching the boys in their suits, knowing that I should be among them instead of wearing a pretty dress and passing myself off as a girl. Boys were supposed to do important deeds to succeed, while I had been carefully prepared to present my feminine charms to anyone who cared to look. With Mike's dancing skill, however, I finally relaxed a little and tried to enjoy myself as I glided across the floor. The evening ended with me a little less frantic in the Camaro's back seat. I let Mike put his arm around me and even let him give me a peck on the cheek at the door. I felt like a complete sissy and broke into tears as soon as Tracy and I got inside. Here I was, a boy, wearing a dress and sobbing into a lace hankie with mascara streaks down my cheeks. My Aunt cleaned me up and made me take a hot bath before bed. I think it was that episode that broke my will. Starting that next day I was resigned to my pretty skirts and stopped thinking about the next time I would be wearing trousers. I became more aware of women's fashions and admired a girl's appearance instead of mentally undressing her. I began thinking of the feminine finery in the closet as my own. I completely mastered the art of walking in heels and no longer felt angry when a boy admired my legs. I became addicted to romance novels putting myself alternately in the male and female roles. My aunt taught we dressmaking and embroidery. Soon I was making some of my own outfits. The so-called 'vitamins' that I had been taking every day turned out to be female hormones. The first inkling I had of the truth was when I noticed lumps under my nipples. I confronted my aunt who explained that she merely wanted to keep my masculine drives under control and that the slight changes to my body were only a temporary side effect. Tracy was aware of the changes, of course, and made a big deal out of the first time I filled out a 34B bra without padding. My hips had added weight as well, making my panties fit better. I had been masquerading in skirts for almost four months when Aunt Helen informed me that she considered me convincing enough as a girl to risk a trip to see my mother, who was temporarily out of jail pending appeal. This involved an unescorted plane flight and my first solo outing since my feminization. The morning of my trip found me sitting in the foyer looking out the front window. I was wearing a burgundy suit with a white see-through blouse with a standup collar revealing an
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