Please find below the fourth part of my story, for inclusion in the Transgender Control section.
- Amanda Stern
Welcome to the fourth chapter of this kinky tale. if you have any comments or reactions, please don't hesitate to email me, as I adore hearing from anyone who shares my love of crossdressing, writing or both. And do think about donating to help support this wonderful site.
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MY NEW CAREER - PART 4
"That's it doll, go a little further", the voice behind me urged. I straightened briefly, then bent forward again, keeping my legs straight and reaching down as far as I could go. To my surprise, I felt my fingers touch the floor - no mean feat, given the size of the heels I had on. All that flexibility training was clearly paying off ... Careful not to overbalance, I ran my hands lightly over the back of my fishnet-clad legs, then brought them back down to grab my ankles. Pushing my butt out a little further, I gave it a wiggle.
"Fuck, yeah ..." I heard the muttered words and then felt his hands roaming up my legs, where my own had just been. He stopped briefly at the tops of my stockings, caressing the smooth flesh there, before moving higher to fondle my satin-covered bottom. As he eased the panties down, exposing my butt, I heard a different voice. "Go on", the second man urged, "give it to her!"
There was a pause, and it took all my discipline not to cry out, as my ass cheeks were parted and something was slipped inside ...
I had been at Ceder College for a month now and life had settled into something of a routine after that crazy first day. Every weekday I took a train into the city, in full dress and makeup. For the first few days I had gone out while it was still dark, then hid somewhere until the College opened. But as my makeup and deportment skills improved, I became more confident and started both going and returning home in daylight - which also meant I got a lot more sleep!
Gradually too I became more confident in looking around while I traveled, though I still tried to avoid talking to anyone. I began noticing how much attention I was getting from other passengers, which freaked me out, until I realised two things: the people either staring or surreptitiously peeking at me we're almost always men; and their looks suggested admiration or even lust, not the condemnation I feared. In public, to strangers at least, it seemed I was passing as a girl.
That in turn had a lot to do with the lessons I was getting. Each day I had sessions with Lily and/or Daniel on hair and makeup, while other classes covered all the physical aspects of being female: how to walk, sit, stand and even dance. I was also given vocal training, though It was hard not to lapse into a ridiculous falsetto. In addition, there was at least one exercise session a day, usually involving aerobics or poledancing, plus lots of stretching and core stability work.
i was eating well too. The College had me on a very healthy diet, both in the food I was given there and in what I was permitted to eat at home. (All my home shopping was done with a special credit card, whose use the College could monitor.) Between the diet and the workouts, my body was becoming nicely toned. Repeated depilatory treatments also seemed to have more or less permanently denuded me of body hair, so I no longer needed to shave - or to apply quite so much foundation to hide any stubble.
One unexpected change was to my clothing. I had thought the school uniform I'd been given on the first day would be a permanent feature. In fact, however, I rotated through a series of what I thought of as fantasy uniforms: sometimes I was a nurse, then a maid, a cheerleader, a flight attendant ... While I had to wear these all day, except when at exercise, I was also given more "normal" clothes to wear the rest of the time, including when going to and from the College. More normal, that is, for women - and the high heeled shoes remained a permanent feature, their length gradually increasing as I grew accustomed to them.
On the weekends I could choose my own outfits ... except that after a visit from a College security guard, all my male clothing had been removed, and I was forbidden to replace them. I generally spent the weekend alone in my apartment, unwilling to take my new female persona out.
The exception was on Saturday nights, which I now routinely spent with Mr Stokes, my landlord. The College had refused to let me access my account or use my new credit card to pay any rent, so I had been forced to negotiate a permanent arrangement where I would come and be his "girlfriend" once a week. Each visit still ended with me giving him a handjob - although I had learned now to keep my face out of the way when he came. But he had also insisted on us having dinner as well, and on spending the night chatting or watching TV together. On our most recent "date", he had even talked me into going to the movies together. We had sat in the back row and, so help me, "canoodled" ...
On a more positive note,I had seen far less of the principals than I had feared. Mr Everett seemed to have been away, while I only had one session each week with his sister. That was just as well, because they were invariably both painful and humiliating. The dominatrix I had glimpsed at the end of my first day was clearly her preferred persona, judging by the enthusiasm with which she went to work on me.
At the start of each "lesson" my cock and balls were elaborately tied up, then imprisoned in a kind of metal cage. Plugs of increasing length and thickness were inserted into my butt, gradually stretching my asshole. i was forced to lick, suck and gag on a range of dildos, the largest of which by far was attached to a harness strapped to Miss Everett. I was in constant fear that she might use it on my tender rear passage, but for some reason that never happened. On two occasions though, I was forced to watch the principal brutally fuck another student, one male and one female. I couldn't help be turned on by the sight, though the restraints on my genitals ensured that my arousal was both agonising and unfulfilled.
As for the other students at the College, I would see them from time to time, most commonly at lunchtime or in exercise classes, but conversation was strictly forbidden so I learned nothing about them - nor indeed what we were training for. They were a mixture of men and women, with a few more that might have been either. Without exception, they looked young and attractive. The men all wore the same school uniform I'd seen on Jason. By contrast the women, or proto-women - it seemed reasonable to suppose there were more like me - were dressed in the same range of uniforms that I had been given. Each looked sexy and stunning, and if circumstances had been different I would have been counting my blessings at being surrounded by such pulchritude.
Today, however, the routine was broken. It started when I arrived and, as usual, checked in with Grace, the receptionist. I waited patiently in line with some of the other "female" students to receive the key that would take me to my assigned dressing room, where I would change into whatever uniform had been selected for the day.
When I got to the front of the queue, Grace pressed a key into my hand - and also something else. It felt like a small slip of paper. I looked up to see her give a small, warning shake of her head. Aloud, she said: "Special instructions for today - you're to report back here at noon, understood?"
I paused, then said "Yes, Miss" and strode away to find my dressing room. In it I found a fantasy police uniform, with a light blue shirt, dark blue jacket and short skirt, black cap, black fishnet stockings and platform heels that must have been at least six inches high.
While I pretended to sort through these items, I snuck a peek at the paper Grace had given me, shielding it carefully from any cameras that might be watching. On it were scrawled the words "Meet me for a drink at 6pm, Bar 43". There was no signature. Thoughtfully I screwed up it up, then paid a visit to the bathroom, where I flushed it away.
As I sat on the toilet - something I was doing exclusively these days, rather than standing up to pee - I wondered if it was some kind of trap. After some thought, I resolved to keep the appointment, as it seemed as good a way as any of getting more information about the organisation that had trapped and effectively imprisoned me. Besides, she was really hot ...
At noon, I went back to reception and was directed by another staff member - there was no sign of Grace - to a door I'd never seen before. Entering it, I found myself in a corridor that seemed to stretch off for hundreds of metres in both directions. Following the instructions I'd been given, I took a left turn and walked for some considerable time until I came to another door, on which I knocked.
To my surprise, it opened to reveal Mr Everett, who ushered me into what seemed to be a small waiting room. At the other end was a door, from behind which came the faint sound of music.
"Ah, the lovely Katy!", exclaimed the principal in his cultured baritone. "I hear you've been doing very wel in your lessons.. Sit yourself down, the test will be getting under way soon." Doing what I was told, I waited for him to tell me what this "test" might be. But he lapsed into silence and I knew better by now not to ask.
It was perhaps five minutes later when the end door opened. A tall blonde in a white nurse's outfit walked in, preceded by a hubbub of voices and the thump of loud electronic music. The girl, who I recognised as another of the students at the College, went straight to Mr Everett and handed him a pile of what looked like cash, in notes of various denominations. He quickly counted the money, then smiled at her and said: "Thank you Taylor, looks like you've done well - off you go for lunch now." Without a glance in my direction, the blonde swept through the room and exited the way I'd come in.
"Okay Katy, it's your turn now", Mr Everett said, pointing to the source of the noise. My incomprehension obviously showed on my face, because as I joined him at the open door, he said: "This is a test. You've got four songs and about twenty minutes to earn at least a hundred dollars. It shouldn't be too hard - if you make an effort. If you don't, you'll be out of the College ... and those lovely photos will be all over the Internet. Go on now."
As he pushed me through the door, I saw that I was at the side of a small stage, with a silver pole in the middle and a floor that was bathed in a pearly white glow. A curtain near the door prevented me from seeing anything else. Uncertain of what to do, I stood there motionless, until I heard a voice announce "And now, Club Angel presents, for her first ever performance ... Officer Katy!!!!"
Willing myself to move, I walked onto the stage, as a new track started, a recent dance hit with a heavy, insistent beat. From the middle of the stage, the fierce glow of the lights allowed me to see nothing, but from in front of me and to my left I heard applause and catcalls. I froze again for a moment and then a voice in my head said "dance, you idiot!" So I grabbed the pole and started to gyrate around it, doing my best to remember some of the moves I'd been learning in the exercise classes.
The renewed applause and appreciation seemed to suggest I was on the right track. But what I was supposed to do next? I couldn't strip off my uniform, I had ... nothing to show. Or rather, too much, in one department at least. I could keep dancing, but how then was I supposed to earn the money I'd been told to get? Would someone come and give it to me?
I decided I needed to get a better idea of what was around the stage, so I left the pole and, as sinuously as I could manage, half-crawled and half-slithered to the edge of the stage. Sitting up, I spread my legs wide a made a show of displaying my stocking tops, which drew another cheer. >From this vantage point I could see that there were chairs and tables arrayed close to the stage, occupied by well-dressed men, most in suits. A number of them were holding up bills and beckoning to me. Ah-hah ...
Spotting a flight of narrow steps that led down from the stage, I rose to my feet and then carefully sashayed down them, all the while keeping to the beat of the music. I then strolled along the narrow strip of floor between the stage and the seating, carrying myself like a supermodel on a catwalk, occasionally stopping to pirouette and blow kisses at the appreciative crowd. From this vantage point I could see that there was more to the Club than this one stage. I glimpsed another dancer giving a performance on a separate stage, while there also seemed to be other girls in uniform sitting and talking to customers at a long bar than ran down the centre of the room.
When I had traversed both sides of the stage from which I'd descended, I retraced my steps to stand in front of the audience member who seemed to have been flourishing the largest amount of cash, a sweaty, balding, middle-aged man with a pot belly. As another song started I straddled him, lowered myself until I was over and not quite on his lap, and started writhing to the new beat, taking care that the police woman's cap did not fall off the curls that Daniel had given me today.
In a sudden burst of creativity, I grabbed the balding man's tie and pulled him closer to me, then said as seductively as I could, though loud enough to be overheard: "Have you been a bad boy? I think you should pay a fine to Officer Katy, don't you?" As his companions cheered and hooted, my target nodded enthusiastically,
Suddenly realising that I perhaps didn't have enough in front to sustain any close attention - perhaps I should have accepted the fake boobs after all? - I decided I should be showing off what seemed to be my most attractive assets. So I straightened up, swivelled round and bent forward. At the customer's urging, I got lower still, wiggling my behind in his face and encouraging him to run his hands over me. But it was quite a shock when he pulled my panties aside ... and tucked a wad of notes into the crease between my exposed buttocks.
As his mates roared their approval, I quickly reached around, grabbed the cash and tucked it away in the top pocket of my police jacket. Then leaning forward again, I looked up at my benefactor from between my legs and called out in what I hoped was a playful voice: "Thank you sir, and now ... you can kiss my ass goodbye!" To more approbation, he delivered a peck to each buttock, before I pulled up my panties and moved on to the next target.
I had time to do three more repeat performances before the last song neared its end. Resuming the stage, I did a few more spins of the pole before bowing - I had no idea how to curtsy- and exiting the stage to wild applause.
After counting the pile of notes I handed over back in the waiting room, Mt Everett smiled and nodded his approval. "Well Katy, it seems you're a natural. You can start regular work at the Club tomorrow - I'll have you added to the rota. It will only be for a couple of hours each day though, and you'll still be taking lessons the rest of the time. Half of everything you earn you keep - or at least, we put it away for you, until we feel you can, ah, be trusted. That's it then - you know the way back."
As I trudged back along the corridor, I had a lot to think about. It seemed clear now that my new career was to involve working in some sort of high class strip club. And I had very much conflicting emotions about what I'd just done.
On the one hand, it had been degrading to have all those men ogling and pawing me - even if they'd evidently kept to what I assumed was a fairly strict code on where to touch the dancers. Yet on the other, I felt quite proud at how well I'd been received ... and indeed at how much I'd been able to arouse them. There was a kind of, well, power there that I could never have imagined I could possibly exercise ...
All in all then, it was with a certain amount of satisfaction that I headed off for lunch - and not just because I'd dodged expulsion and the scandal I feared would immediately follow.
I was still feeling relatively upbeat later that afternoon when I strolled into Bar 43, a wine bar a few blocks away from the College, to keep my appointment with Grace. I was a couple of steps inside before I realised with a shock that this was the first public place I'd entered since being feminised, aside from the lobby of the building that housed the College, the station and the trains I took each day. For a moment I stopped, then shrugged and continued. If today's performance hadn't convinced me I could pass as a woman, nothing ever would ...
I found Grace sitting at a table in a relatively quiet corner. She had changed out of the "uniform" she habitually wore at work into a sleeveless blue dress, whose short skirt showed off her glorious legs. Her brunette hair, usually coiled up in a tight bun, had been untied and hung loose and long. She looked simply stunning. By contrast, I wore a more utilitarian blouse and skirt, with tan stockings, though my customarily high heels lent a small touch of glamour.
She got up to greet me and, to my surprise, reached in to give me a peck on the cheek. "Hi Katy", she said brightly, "I'm so glad you came." She waved me to sit down and sank back into her own seat,
"Hello Miss", I said politely. She waved her hand. "Oh, don't be silly, call me Grace, we're not at work now.. Listen, what do you want to drink?"
"Uh, thanks Grace", I replied, then said a little awkwardly: "I wouldn't mind a glass of wine, but I'm afraid you'll have to pay. They, er, don't leave me any money you see, and I can't use my credit card ..."
"Of course, don't worry about it", she said and signalled a waiter. After our drinks had arrived, she read the question in my expression, leant forward and said quietly: "Look, I'm not here on the College's behalf, okay?I just thought you've looked so ... lonely and lost at the College, and I thought you might like a bit of company. You know, from someone who ... might know what you're going through?"
On a sudden intuition, I said: "You ... used to work in the Club, didn't you? Before you became a receptionist, I mean. So you've been a student there as well, right?"
Grace nodded. "Yeah, but I really don't want to talk about work, okay? I just thought we might have a bit of drink, and get to know one another." She took a sip of her wine, then grabbed my hand and in a lighter voice said: "Hey, what's this nail colour you're wearing, is it new? It really suits you ..."
So we spent a very pleasant hour and half just chatting. I tried once or twice to steer the conversation round to the College and its activities, but she wasn't having any of it. When we parted, we agreed to catch up once a week, but no more than that, to minimise the chances of being caught by someone at the College.
When I got back to the apartment, it was with a lighter heart than at any time since my life had been forcibly put into the Everetts' control - notwithstanding the prospect of starting work in the Club the following day. To my surprise, however, there was a note on my door asking me to drop in and see my landlord.
Mr Stokes had a nervous look when he let me into his ground floor apartment. After insisting on making me a cup of tea, he sat down opposite me and sighed. "Look Katy, I've got some bad news ... well, news, anyway. My accountant has told me that I can't keep tax-deducting all the expenses of the apartment you live in, unless I'm actually receiving at least a market rent for it. And without the tax deductions, I just can't afford it to keep leasing it out."
He twisted his fingers together and continued: "Look, I promised not to ask any questions about why you ... suddenly started looking the, er, way you do, and why you never seem to have any money at all." He held up his hand to forestall my objection. "And I'm not asking now, okay? You don't have to tell me. But the thing is, I just can't continue with our ... arrangement. Either you start paying rent, or I find a new tenant. So, that's it, I'm afraid."
I slumped back in my chair. And the day had been going so well ... kind of. What the hell was I going to do? I couldn't see the College suddenly giving me access to any money, even if I was earning it. Mr Everett had made that pretty clear only today. And if I didn't have any means of support,, who on earth would take me in?
"Unless ..." I looked up to see my landlord looking at me intently. "Unless what Graeme?" I asked.
"Um, unless you came and, er, lived with me?" he said haltingly, and then continued with a rush. "You know, I enjoy your company, and it would be lovely to have you here. I mean, you wouldn't need to do any cooking, maybe just help out with the housework on the weekend ... and the bed's, you know, pretty big ..." He tailed off and looked at me with a pleading expression.
Oh god, I thought, he's asking me to live with him - sleep with him, even. And he's at least forty years older than me ... not to mention being a man, for fuck's sake! ... Though, to be fair, he's also polite, kind and pretty decent company when he not trying to put his tongue down my throat or my hand on his big, fat cock ...
Picking up my tea, I took a long sip, then asked: "Can I sleep on it?"
[to be continued]