MISTRESS JASMINE 1-844-332-2639 ext. 262
“I just love the way you do your makeup, Tara. And your lipstick!” said the girl at the delicatessen where Todd Stanwick had been dispatched yet again to get the office lunch orders. “What colour and brand is it?” He wasn’t sure whether that was mockery in her eyes or not. Did she recognize him from school and know that he was not a girl but a boy dressed as one? He couldn’t tell but he was desperate that she not discover his secret. He had often admired her from afar, riding on her bicycle, her blonde hair shining, whipping behind her in the wind, her high cheekbones magnets for the sun. He had had a crush on her in what seemed like a previous lifetime, before his mother had started this mad game which was forcing him to play. The Tara Stanwick game, where he was forced to feminize, forced to pretend he was a girl.