The Feminization of Todd Stanwick-Part 4

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.

Every morning that fateful summer, Todd Stanwick arose and prepared like a warrior going into battle to face the day of humiliation and confusion that awaited him. His mother was invariably already awake and ready to pounce on him. He was already wearing the panty girdle since she made him wear it at night and he was too afraid of her to refuse so the mind fuck was never ceasing. But each day, nevertheless, held fresh humiliations for him.

The weight of the breast forms that his mother forced him to wear inside his lacy bra, the removal of his body hair, the pantyhose that he put on at his mother’s command, the blouse, the short skirt that showed off his legs–the way nobody, not even his mother, called him “Todd” anymore. No, now it was Tara. He began to forget who Todd was. He was a girl with no past considering what new humiliations the future held for him and whether he could escape them and how.

He did not realize that the girl at the deli knew exactly who he was, had recognized him very shortly after having encountered him and had told all the other girls about it as well. Each day they asked him questions about where he had got his “pretty blouse” and told him how nice his legs were. “How lucky you are to work in that office, Tara,” the girl said, slyly. “They only hire the prettiest girls to work there! And you get to dress in such nice clothes too!”

Each morning his mother helped him get ready for the office, teaching him how to put on cosmetics, picking out his wardrobe of lingerie, skirts, blouses, dresses, pantyhose and heels for him and laying it out. He could not know that his mother wanted him to stop her, that she was intensifying her efforts to feminize him because she hoped to frighten him off, that she wanted him to back out and that at any time he could have simply said “No”, and she would have breathed a sigh of relief.

And so on he went with the Tara Stanwick game, desperate not to be exposed as a cross-dresser, as the boy who was pretending to be a girl.

It seemed to him that the only way out of his predicament was to keep pretending, hope not to be found out and return to his former life at the end of the summer. If only he could pass as a girl then–no one would find out!

He could not have been more confused. He could not have been more humiliated and mind-fucked. And he could not have been more wrong.

 

-To Be Continued_

 

MISTRESS JASMINE 1-844-332-2639 ext. 262

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