The Women's Job - Part Time Job - Part 2

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We had dinner, and then Marcie said, "Time to practice, sweetie, as you promised."

I groaned but followed her into the bedroom. Marcie looked around for the clothes, and I explained where I had put them and why. She didn't say much, just "how thoughtful."

I stripped again, and feeling the beginnings of an erection, I quickly pulled on the pants.

She hooked up the bra, and in just a couple of minutes, I was dressed in the same outfit as last night. But this time, my cock was rock hard inside my pants.

Fortunately, the tight-fitting pants kept it pressed up against my stomach, unseen. Marcie taught me how to walk around more gracefully and told me how to sit like a lady. "No, no, keep your knees together, and cross your legs at the ankles.

You're not ready to learn how to cross your legs yet," she scolded. I tried to concentrate on everything she said, reminding myself that I had promised that I would do my best. Later that night, after we had showered, we made passionate love, and the aching I had been feeling from walking around in pants all night, with the silky material rubbing on my cock, finally subsided.

The rest of the week passed pretty much the same way, although we made love every night instead of, as usual, every other night or so. When we got up on Saturday morning, Marcie said, "You know, Donald, I'm beginning to think you might win that bet, after all."

"What made you say that?"

I asked. "Well, you've been practicing every evening,  but I don't think you are going to fool everyone like I thought you were. There's just not enough time to teach you everything you'll need to know.

I'm ready to  concede right now."

"No, that wouldn't be fair," I said. "I really am trying, you know."

In the back of my head, I was beginning to understand something else, but I guess I was just trying to convince her that I was being a good sport. "Well, we can keep trying, but we'll have to step up the pace a little."

I said I was, and she said, "Then you'll have to spend all weekend at it—are you still game?"

Again, I agreed, and she said, "You can't wear the same things all weekend, but I don't want you to wear your costume either. I'll run over to Patty's and get some fresh things,  I'm  sure  she  won't mind."

So while I was having a couple of cups of coffee, she went out, returning with another shopping bag of stuff. "I had some sexier things this time," she said. "Maybe you'll get into it more with more feminine frillies. Here, why don't you go put these on while I have a cup of  coffee?"

This was the first time I had dressed by myself, and when I saw what she had brought back, I immediately got turned on. I went into the bathroom and shaved as she had said I should.

The undies were all black, and very frilly indeed. I slipped on the pants, and I felt myself almost ready to come from the satin feel on my cock.

Without even thinking, I sat on the edge of the bed and jerked my cock into a gushing orgasm. There was no denying what had just happened now—wearing pants was a definite turn-on for me. I was wracked with guilt and doubts, but I knew I had to keep this hidden from Marcie. I slipped my arms through the straps of a longline black bra, which fortunately fastened in front. I zipped up the bra, feeling the tightness of it as it molded my upper body.

The next thing I picked up was a black girdle that had four garters hanging from the bottom. It looked as though it were half as wide as I needed for it to be able to fit over me, and I struggled to pull its tightness up over my legs and waist. It reached up to the bottom of the bra when I finally got it all the way up, but I felt like I could barely breathe with it on.

There was a pair of very sheer nylon stockings, which I carefully rolled up over my legs and managed to fasten to the garters once I figured out how they worked. Just then, Marcie came into the room and looked at me. "God, this girdle it tight," I said, "how do you women ever stand it?"

"We have to suffer for fashion, dear," she laughed, "and I think you're going to have to suffer a little bit more."

"What do you mean?"

I asked. "Your leg hair shows through the stockings, and I'm afraid you'll have to shave your legs."

"Now, wait just a minute," I protested. "I never agreed to anything like that!" "But if you're going to do your best, you can't have hairy legs, and besides, it's not like you go to a gym where anyone else could see you."

She proceeded to take off my stockings and march me into the bathroom.

I half-wanted to protest some more, but I also wanted to feel how the stockings would feel against my hairless skin.

Oh, how wonderful they felt my sleek legs being encased in the sheer nylons. "Are you starting to feel sexy?"

Marcie teased, but not waiting for a reply, she led me back into the bedroom. "I borrowed a cocktail dress from Patty," she said, fastening a flared crinoline petticoat around my waist and then putting a black satin dress over my arms and head. "Great," she said as I stood there in the short, sexy dress.

"The girdle and bra shaped you into the perfect size for the dress."

She placed a pair of very high-heeled black patent leather pumps in front of me, and I stepped up into them. She walked me over to her dressing table, helping me adjust to the 4" heels, and said, "We're going to go all the way today—a real makeover."

She stood in front of me and first attached false nails to my fingers.

Then she began applying all kinds of cosmetics to my face, gluing on false eyelashes as the final step. Then she pulled a curly brunette wig out of a bag, placed it on my head, and brushed it out a little. "My God," she said, "I said you'd be better looking than Dustin Hoffman, but I never expected this!" She stepped away from me in front of the mirror, and what I saw reflected back nearly knocked me off my seat—there was a gorgeous woman looking back at me. I couldn't believe my eyes; I couldn't recognize myself at all.

I sat there, stunned. "I, y, you made me..."

I was at a loss for words. "Stunning, that's the only word for you, stunning," Marcie supplied. She helped me stand up on the heels and walked me over to the full-length mirror. The image there was even better and more powerful than what I had seen in the face-only dressing mirror. From the curly hair to the spike-heeled feet, there would have been no doubt in anyone's mind that this gorgeous creature was anything but a woman.

Marcie stood next to me, and we were mostly a study in contrast, the petite blonde and the tall brunette, one dressed for the day, the other for the evening. But there were similarities as well: the womanly figures, the sleek, stockinged legs, and definitely the female faces. She turned to me and put her arms around me, then, hesitating for a split second, kissed me hard on the lips.

"I've never kissed a woman before, and even though I know it's you, my mind tells me that's what I just did."

I looked deeply into her eyes and said, "But I'm still the man who loves you, underneath all this, you know."

Her hand moved down and brushed the front of my skirt, feeling the erection beneath the feminine coverings.

"D, does dressing like this turn you on, Donald?"

She asked in a quiet, low voice. I didn't know what to say, and I hesitated before answering. I had finally admitted to myself that it did, but I wondered what effect it would have on our relationship if I admitted it to her. We had always been honest with each other before, but I knew this was a potential crisis situation, and there was no way for me to predict the outcome.

Believing that honesty was the only way to go, however, I said, "I can't explain it, and this is something I've never even thought of before, but it is exciting, Marcie, very exciting."

She weighed this in her mind for a moment, and then she said, "Donald, I can't explain it either, but kissing you dressed like that was exciting to me, too.

I've never wanted to kiss a woman before, but seeing you like that, knowing that you're a man underneath the clothes, has also gotten me all hot. I don't know if it's a one-time thing or something more. She stopped talking when I kissed her, and with our arms around each other, we hurried over to the bed. Without stopping to take off any clothes, we began to make love to each other.

Later on, as we lay next to each other, Marcie said that she felt like she had a new girlfriend, and I gave her a hug. "But, you know," I said, "we can't stay in bed all day; I still have so much to learn if I'm going to be able to carry this off for a whole night at the party."

So we got up, and for the rest of the day, Marcie tutored me on the fine points of femininity—walking, sitting, eating—everything I would need to know in order to pass undetected as a woman.

That night, when it was time for bed, she helped me out of the things I had been wearing all day, and though they had been tight and restraining, and it really felt good to get my girdle off, I missed them when they were gone. I started to walk into the bathroom carrying my robe, but Marcie stopped me and handed me a baby doll nightie set. "Maybe you should keep practicing," she teased, and taking it from her, I smiled and gave her a kiss.

After my shower, I dried myself off and pulled the frilly pants on, again feeling the wonderful sensations flooding over my cock. The feelings spread to my entire body as I slipped the short nightie on. I looked in the mirror, and even without the curly wig and the makeup, I felt feminine and wonderful.

Marcie said, "You look cute in that, and I'm glad that `one-size-fits-all' is good for you."

"Me, too," I responded, "and speaking of 'one-size-fits-all' ", I took her hand and placed it on my erection, nestled inside my pants.

"We hopped into bed and again made love.

When I woke up the next day, I lay there thinking for a while about what had happened and what might be in store for the future. I decided not to worry about anything but rather to just let things work out themselves. I got up, feeling the soft nylon surrounding my body, and went downstairs to make some coffee. As I sat there drinking it, I found myself automatically sitting in a very ladylike way, crossing my legs as a woman would.

I looked down at my shaved legs, which, of course, seemed strange, and remembered how the nylons had felt yesterday. Marcie walked into the kitchen about twenty minutes later, and I had a brief feeling of anxiety, wondering how she might react this morning to seeing me without makeup and my masculine haircut. But she cut my worrying short when she came over and kissed me and said, "I love you; I really, really do!" After she had her coffee, she announced that it was time for today's training to start, and we went into the bedroom to dress.

She decided that I should wear regular daytime clothes today, and she gave me a set of pink undies, which I immediately put on, savoring the feeling of nylon against my groin and chest. She looked at me and giggled, and when I asked her what was so funny, she told me that my chest hair didn't really go too well with the pink bra. I felt myself blush, and she hurried over and hugged me so I would understand she wasn't making fun of me.

I took off the bra, and we went into the bathroom, where I shaved my chest, which truthfully had never been all that hairy. Putting the bra back on felt better than before, though, and she gave me pantyhose and a skirt and blouse to put on. Next, she applied cosmetics for a more natural daytime look and placed the curly wig on my head. When she moved aside to let me look, I could recognize myself, but the face I saw was clearly feminine.

"I think you should wear heels again," she said, "because that will be the most difficult thing to get used to."

I didn't mind a bit, though,  because I loved how they made my legs look in the sheer pantyhose and how they helped me walk with a feminine sway. We didn't spend the whole day in training as such, though we did spend some time looking through some of her magazines, but concentrated on doing some things around the house so that dressing would become a more natural thing for me.

She also taught me a little about makeup so that if I had to fix myself up at the party, I'd be able to do it. The hardest thing, I think, was remembering to try to keep the pitch of my voice higher than normal so I would sound, as well as look, like a woman.

The rest of the week went by pretty quickly, with me dressing up each night for more practice. Actually, I wore pants all week and a nightgown she had bought for me every night. I practiced putting on basic makeup a few times and actually got to be fairly good at it. Then it was finally Saturday, and in the early afternoon, Marcie said that it was time to start getting ready. "But it's so early; it won't take us that long."

"Don't be silly, dear," she said. "We're barely going to be on time, even starting right now."

She drew me a bubble bath, and I relaxed in the scented water for a while, until she came in and said that I should shave my legs and chest. I did that while I was still in the tub. I got out and was ready to start shaving my face when she suggested that, since we were going to be out for hours and I didn't want a five o'clock shadow to appear, I should use a hair remover lotion. She put the liquid on me, and I felt a strong tingling as it did its work.

I waited about fifteen minutes, sitting there while Marcie took her own bath and shaved her legs and underarms. I hadn't done the latter, and when she looked quizzically at me, I just nodded as if to say sure. She lathered my underarms and carefully shaved me. I don't have much hair on my arms, but she decided that what I did had to go as well. I washed off the hair remover from my face, and we went into the bedroom. I felt more naked than I ever had before, with all my hair gone, but I realized how feminine my smooth, hairless body made me feel.

"Just out of curiosity," I asked, "what exactly is my costume going to be?"

Marcie had made me promise not to look in her closet or the shopping bags, and I hadn't, as much as I had wanted to. "Well, I guess I can tell you now since you'll be finding out anyway," she said. "You're going to wear the costume Patty had for last year, Scarlett O'Hara from `Gone with the Wind'!" The memory of the beautiful gowns in the movie immediately flooded my brain.

And then I remembered the difficulty Scarlett had getting down to a figure that would fit into the gowns! Oh, God, I thought, What did I get myself into with this silly bet? Well, the first thing I found myself getting into was a pair of long satin bloomers with lots of ribbons of lace around the whole garment. When I put them on, the silky feel almost drove me crazy, and Marcie just smiled when she saw the reaction I had. Next came the corset, and this was unbelievable if you've never worn one. Marcie laid it down on the bed, and I slipped my arms through the top straps and lay on top of it. Then she began to lace up the back. It extended down from the top of my hips, and the first few eyelets weren't too bad.

But then, as she moved up toward my waist, the boned corset began to pull me in tighter and tighter. Marcie sat on top of me and pulled with all her strength to close the corset back together. "Stop," I said, "I just can't get that small," but Marcie just kissed me on the back of my neck and whispered, "But you have to, or the gown won't fit."

She continued lacing me unmercifully, and I tried to get accustomed to breathing without being able to really draw in air. The confining corset, I could feel, was molding me into the shape it wanted, regardless of the body it was enclosing.

Even when my waist had been pulled all the way in, the tight laces compressed the flesh of my chest, pushing the excess up toward the bra's half-cups. I didn't realize how much there really was until after she had finished the lacing and I stood up. "I think that would be just a little more," Marcie mused, and she went over to her underwear drawer and removed the padding from one of her bras.

She worked one into the bottom of each cup, pulling up on my gathered flesh so that it rested on top. When she had finished, I walked over to the mirror, still trying to get enough air to breathe, and saw the result. There was the sweep of female hips, and my waist must have been drawn in at least six inches.

But, best of all, there was the swelling of breasts as my own flesh rose out of the half cups of the corset top, looking like real breasts. The cups pushed me together, creating cleavage, and Marcie said, "Fantastic. I was a little worried because the gown is kind of low-cut."

There were six long garters hanging down from the bottom of the corset, and Marcie sat me down while she rolled stockings up over my smooth legs and fastened them snugly, snaking the elastic straps through the bloomers.

I held her head tightly against me after I came, and the feeling of love passed strongly between us. She stayed there for a moment or two, then said in a husky voice, "We'd better get moving."

She got my petticoat out of the closet, a voluminous bulk of crinoline and lace. "There's no easy way to get into this, but just step inside and try to move your feet until they're on the floor.

I stepped inside the waistband and sort of walked my feet forward until they had cleared the crinoline tent. Marcie buttoned up the back of the waistband.

which fit perfectly around my corseted waist. From the waist down, all I could see was the bulky petticoat,  spreading around me like a  pyramid of snow,  extending down to the floor.   I  twirled back and forth, delighting in the feeling of the rougher petticoat material swishing against my silken stockings and panties. The only things left were the shoes and gown, and after she had helped me into emerald green high heels, the petticoat was raised off the floor an inch or so.

That had worried me, whether I was going to keep tripping on it, having forgotten that my heels would lift me into the air.  I stood there looking in the mirror when I heard a soft rustling sound behind me.  Marcie had gotten the gown out of the closet, and I bent down a little, raising my hands so that she could lift it over me.  It was a beautiful emerald green velvet, lined with satin, and it slid down around me with a silky woosh-sound. I closed my eyes, not wanting to look until Marcie had fastened the back buttons.

When she said she was finished, I opened my eyes and saw the lovely gown around me, my breast tops rising above the neckline, and the long sleeves fitting around my arms,  ending in green lacy cuffs.  The gown fit perfectly, and Marcie had to practically drag me away to put on my makeup.

She worked quickly,  and with the final touches of thick black lashes and a long wavy wig, I was ready.  She put a costume jewelry necklace around my neck and clipped matching earrings to my lobes.  Again, the sight of myself had me speechless, and Jenny sprayed a little perfume on me, completing my journey to femininity.

When I was able to speak, I asked Marcie what costume she was wearing, and she told me that she was going to be a flapper from the '20s.  She got herself into her things pretty quickly and stood next to me in front of the mirror. Again, we were a study in contrasts, her short, slinky dress against my elaborate gown, her unfettered body versus my shaped and restrained one. But there was no doubt about it, when you looked at us, all you saw were two beautiful females.

I must admit, my face was not a soft example of feminine perfection in the classic sense, but rather a striking, handsome one in the female sense of handsome. We got together the things we needed and were almost ready to go when I said to her, "Marcie, I have a problem. I know no one will be able to see it under my petticoat and gown, but I am as hard as a rock underneath. I'm worried I won't be able to control myself with my bloomers rubbing against me all night."

She didn't even hesitate, she had disappeared beneath my clothes, and the sensation of coming was almost like a surreal dream. She came as well, and she rested her face against the bare tops of my thighs for a minute or two.

When she finally reemerged, we hugged each other, and then she suggested that I needed something to prevent accidents for the rest of the night. She went into the bathroom for a minute, then into her undie drawer, and came back with a sanitary napkin and a belt to hold it on.

"This should do the trick," she said, and she disappeared under my gown again.  I felt her pulling down my bloomers and fastening the belt around me, then pulling back my now-limp cock between my thighs.  She held it in position with the napkin, then pulled my bloomers back up to hold the entire thing in place.  We were now ready to go, and she placed another napkin in the purse I was going to carry, "in case you have an accident later, dear. We girls always have to be prepared for that."

She drove us to the catering hall where the party was going to be held, and on the way, I admitted how apprehensive I was.

"You know, I'm still worried that I'll be found out."

"So what," she said, "don't forget it's Halloween and everyone is in one costume or another. Yours is just more elaborate than most."

Her words comforted me a little, but I still had mixed feelings some guilt at dressing as a woman, some fear that I would be discovered and ridiculed, and, of course, some wonderful feelings about the touch of these clothes on me.

When we got there, and walked into the party, there were at least a hundred people already there, and I asked her, "How many people do they expect?"

Her answer, "at least a couple of hundred" made me shudder a little, here I was dressed as a woman in front of that many people, but on the other hand, with that large a crowd, I thought I could manage to stay in the background.