Public Cross Dressing Experience Ch. 03

The music was rhythmic, a monotonous synthetic beat, too precise actually, too perfect, and eventually the beat struck Donna like a pillow to the head. It didn't hurt; it simply enslaved him and his head began to almost imperceptibly bob up and down, invisible to those who did not know him. But he was incapable of dance. That required an effort, or an order. He sat there in a trance, waiting for instruction. Any orders would do.

A voice came out of the fog, "Are you ready for the room?"

"What?"

It was Tess, "Are you ready for the room?"

"The room. The room? What room?"

Jen smiled and glanced at Tess, saying, "He doesn't have a clue what's going on do you Donna?"

"Hey Jen, what's going on?" Donna asked. He took another prolonged drink of wine, like it was water and he was thirsty.

Tess said, testing, "You've dreamed of being a woman, haven't you Donna?"

His brow furrowed in confusion, "Yeah, I guess. I feel weird. Hey, lots of freaking beautiful women here. Holy shit!" He was slurring his words slightly.

Again Tess tested him, "Look in the mirror Donna. You ARE a woman, remember? Look at your hair and makeup. Feel your clothes, the corset."

"What?"

Donna stared for a few moments, and then tried to wiggle his torso while he touched his breasts and corseted waist. "Wait," he said, "What's going on? What's going on? What's going on? What's going...What's?" His voice trailed off as he tuned once again to the beat.

"God I love that music," he said absently.

Tess smiled and stifled a laugh. Then she said to him, "We're going to take you to the room now and use you for the rest of the night okay?"

"Sure. That's fine. Use for what?"

"A whore, a slut, cuz that's what you are, right?" Jen said, giggling.

"Huh?" He looked at himself again in the mirror and began touching his breasts and waist.

"I feel weird," he said, "Oh fuck, oo boy, this is weird..."

The drug increased its grip and squeezed him like the corset he was wearing. Jen said, "You're a woman tonight, remember? And you're a lesbian."

Donna shook his head and said, "No, yes, that's right, I'm a woman, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God...oh God...I'm a...Where am...?" His voice got shrill as he seemed to approach orgasm. And he was. Then he trailed off again and he was gone. Still there, but gone, awaiting instructions.

"Follow me Donna," Tess said, grinning, "And when I give you instructions, please answer "Yes ma'am"."

"Yes ma'am." His eyes were glazed and roaming, and his mouth hung slightly open. If not for his lipstick, his lips would have been dry as his mouth.

He followed the two of them to the back of the bar where a corridor left the main room to the right and ended after about ten feet at a dead end. To their left was a door with two lights over it, one green, one red. The green one was on, but the door was locked. Tess put a key into the lock and turned.

Donna looked on in a trance. He knew what was happening, but was looking on as if he was a casual observer from afar. The feeling was puzzling, interesting, and intriguing. Like a twisty country road, he wanted to see what was around the next corner.

The door closed behind them with a whooshing, sound-proofed thump. The outside music disappeared as if a switch had been flipped. There were two light switches beside the door. Over one it said "green', over the other, it said "red". Tess flicked the "red" switch, and, invisible to them all, a red light went on over the door on the outside. To those that were in the know, that meant "A scene in progress, do not disturb".

And it was truly a scene.

Donna passively looked around the room. It was dimly lit with red lighting, and a smell of leather pervaded all. Seven other women stood were scattered about the rather large room, some with glasses of wine. To Donna, they seemed unreal. Their lips seemed to move as they chatted and smiled at each other and at him, but he did not hear anything. This baffled him, and he wondered if he had lost his hearing, until Tess whispered into his ear, "These are the women who are going to use you tonight. Make sure you satisfy them all. Is that clear?"

He wondered what that meant, removed from reality as he was, but he said, "Yes, ma'am."

Tess paraded him among the women and was allowed to touch them as they touched him. They lifted his skirt, felt his breasts, and kissed his lips. He felt dizzy with desire.

"Now, I'm going to put this on you so you always remain hard for them." It was Tess or Jen. He was confused now, but it didn't matter.

"Yes, yes, of course," he answered, as if that was obvious.

She lifted his skirt and he stood there obediently as she fastened a strap-on dildo to him so that his new false penis bobbed provocatively up and down in front of him, and above his own member which was dwarfed by comparison. She dropped the skirt back down and all the girls laughed at the tent in his skirt, for it had two poles, only one of which would be used.

His eyes continued to scan the room. It was padded, like a cell in an insane asylum, and in comparison to the electronic music he had just left behind, the silence here was soft and blunt, snickers, moans and gasps disappearing in the air like steam on a hot day. Bondage tables were strewn about, and tethering points were everywhere on the floor, ceiling and walls. Chains and leather and rubber paraphernalia hung about, hoods, corsets, blindfolds, gags, dildos. Donna took it all in, emotionless but understanding, in effect just passive and accepting, awaiting instructions.

"Donna?" Tess said.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Lie down on this table while we tie you down."

"Yes ma'am." And he lay on his stomach on the nearest table, the soft leather padding cold but forgiving underneath him.

"On your back please."

He flipped over and put his hands out when asked, while leather cuffs were attached, then locked to rings on the table and cinched tight. Several straps were pulled over his arms and legs and torso and consecutively cinched tight as well so that he could not move a muscle.

When he was secured, all nine women clustered around him chatting incessantly and excitedly. Periodically some touched him or caressed his penis. To Don, it all felt surreal, like he was watching from afar, but he felt each touch, heard each whisper. His skirt had been pulled up over his corseted belly, and some of the women verbally marveled at his conversion to femininity.

One said, "Just what I've been dreaming of, a woman with a penis."

It was Janet, and Tess responded to her dream by saying, "Then you can have him first. Do what you like, and whatever is left open, one of us will take. We've got lots of time, and lots of wine."

And with a flourish Tess said, "Ladies, start your engines..."

It was a dreamlike scene to Donna as he looked about at all the women in various stages of dress or undress, like he had been abducted by aliens and they were discussing what experiments to administer to this strange being before them. Periodically he tried to break his bondage, just to see if he could, but there were so many bonds that, although muscles could be tightened, no movement could be attained.

Janet came at him from behind his head, sitting on his face gently so it was obvious what he had to do. She quickly became aroused and involuntarily thrust her hips forward and backward, sometimes downward and angling so that his nose was pressed against her anal opening. Through it all he was impassive but aroused himself, wanting to do more, but only able to do what she dictated by her own movements. Periodically, he could not breathe as she squashed him with her impassioned weight. When panic arose within him, she somehow knew and pulled up to allow him to regain his breath. Then it began again, and so on, until finally Janet wanted to be filled.

She pulled herself off his face and squirmed toward his penis which was aching to have her. Relieved that he could breathe without obstruction, he waited with excitement to enter her, but with confusion, he felt her rise and fall at his groin area, accompanied by gasps and moans. Soon, the sounds of her filled the room as she reached orgasm time and time again.

Donna, in his drugged state, was not connecting the dots. He was puzzled as to why he felt nothing but excitement, an unrelenting denial of physical release. Then even as Janet writhed on top of him in ecstasy, another vagina descended upon his mouth and the cycle began again.

This new woman brought new sounds of passion to the room, even while the other girls continued to sip wine around him and watch. In the distance he heard statements like, "I want to go next" or "you just had him, let Judith use him for awhile". Time stood still as he laid there, a human receptacle for the women's lust. After what seemed like an eternity, he realized that he was just an object of their lust, and had to simply perform for them.

This was not for him; it was strictly for their fantasies.

"Water, can I have a glass of water?" he heard himself say. His abuse had continued for several hours but had now stopped for a few moments while the women chatted and laughed around his tethered body. His lips were numb and tingling, and his jaw ached from oral exertion. One of the women laughed and poured some white wine down his open mouth. He choked and sputtered but drank as much as he could. This was repeated several times until he had had enough.

In a rare moment of quiet in the sexual drama, one of the girls spoke up excitedly, "He's thirsty, so anybody need to pee? How about some golden showers for him? Is that allowed here? Or do we have to go to my place?"

There was a chorus of both yays and nays about the idea but Tess spoke up with authority, "Nobody here is going to pee into my Donna's mouth, period. He belongs to me and I make the rules. I might do that some time, but not now, not here."

Everyone nodded in agreement to that and Tess added, "Has everyone had their fill of him now?"

It was 1:35 AM and everyone said yes, adding tidbits of private information like, "I'm too sore" or "my knees are too wobbly" amid gales of laughter. Donna laid there like the sexual apparatus he had become and listened, expressionless but knowing, and distantly processed his state of sexual objectification.

Tess smiled at their responses and said, "Good. Now I'm going to mount him and make him cum. And I said no pee in his mouth, but I didn't say anything about his own cum, did I?"

By now the drug's effects had peaked and were beginning to wane, being replaced with a fatigue and an increased awareness of his participation in these events. He pulled at his bonds to no avail. He did not want semen, his own semen or anybody's semen, in his mouth. But he was unable to verbalize it now. It was like the drug gave something back but took something away. The effort to talk was too great. And he needed and wanted to cum at any cost.

The sequence began the same way, with Tess sitting on his mouth, but this time she pushed the strap-on aside and gently massaged Donna's penis while she rode his tongue. Donna would have bucked like a horse if he could, but all he could do was moan and close his eyes, hoping and praying that he would be allowed to cum.

Suddenly, Tess left him. Donna's mouth reached for her, but nothing was there but cold wafts of air. He opened his eyes to see Tess straddle him, this time over his penis, and facing him. She plunged down upon him and they both gasped and moaned while Tess leaned with her hands on Donna's breasts, kneading them. Bending forward they kissed, a lesbian kiss of such gentleness and passion that Donna was overwhelmed with need and love for her. With the only available means in his body he pushed his lips upward, parting her lips with his tongue, sucking her up while she gently pumped up and down on his penis.

Tess lifted her head and whispered, "Slowly, slowly Donna...that's it, slowly. I love you...slowly, yes, that's it. I'm going to let you cum...but not yet. Don't cum Donna...no. I need to cum first. I cum first...yes..." Her breath started to get ragged, but she continued to talk to Donna, preparing him for the end.

"Slowly, yes, yes..slow...ly, oh, yes. I'll tell you when to cum. Then you...clean..me up. I'll, I'll...oh God...I'll tell you...when, oh, jeez..."

Donna listened and obeyed, lost in subspace, waiting for his trigger to be pulled. Within seconds, Tess cried out for God and also screamed out, "Cum, oh God, Donna cum...oh, fuck!" Her screams became wordless as she bucked up and down on his penis. It intensified when she felt the high pressure spurt of semen inside her, and everything became more slippery.

Within seconds, the revulsion of having something foreign inside her reared its head. She detested that, but sometimes craved it at the same time, a lesbian's paradox. She squeezed her muscles shut and left the now useless penis behind and sat on Donna's face. She felt his mouth open and his tongue extend. She coughed and expelled as much as she could while he licked and sucked her clean.

She looked down at Donna in triumph. He looked up at her in submissive awe. Only now she saw a man in drag and he suddenly realized he was a man in drag.

Poof! The bubble of fantasy had burst.

Now she hugged him, but with no fantasies cluttering the scene. Their costumes of fetish and fantasy became irrelevant. It was pure and clean, mind to mind communication. She pulled his head to her breast and let him suckle while the others looked on in sacred silence, some turning away in honor of their private intimacy.

No one said a word, as exhaustion had consumed them all. Respectfully, they undid Donna's bondage, pulled him up and redid his makeup so that he was passable once again. He slowly came around, still stunned and in passive mode, but aware.

Tess held his face in her hands and said, "Ok, we're done with you sweetie. I'm going to take you home. You won't remember much of this tomorrow, but remember this please: I love you. And your name is Donna."

Donna awoke in his bed the next day and sat up, his head exploding with ache. He was undressed except for his corset which was still locked on and his bra which was still filled with the heavy silicone breast inserts. His long flowing hair that had been attached with surgical glue to his shaved head seemed to be a very real part of him as he sat up, brushing it from his face. Stumbling into the bathroom to pee, he instinctively sat down on the toilet with his pounding head in his hands.

When he was done he stood up and observed himself in the mirror, periodically closing his eyes in pain.

Out loud he said, "What the fuck are you doing? Jesus!"

He felt behind him and clutched the lock at the top of the corset where the sealed flap contained the laces and pulled. Nothing. Opening the makeup drawer, he saw the scissors and put them in his hand, holding them like a man with a gun contemplating suicide. He brought the blades toward the base of the corset, but stopped.

He couldn't do it. The hug of the corset was too much. It wasn't the toughness of the fabric; it was the weakness of his heart, so the corset held him like the addiction that it was.

As he stared at himself, a grim look came across his face, his lips straightening like a ruler. Now he had to look like a woman to make it all right. After all, a man in a corset was ridiculous, a parody of humanity. Like there was no other choice, he washed his face, shaved, and reapplied all his makeup, taking extreme care to create perfection. When he was done, a warmth swaddled him like a blanket and suddenly decisions came to him.

He knew which skirt and blouse he wanted to wear today. And he knew which high heels would match. His mind started to race as, in comparison to a man, women's choices for clothing were only confined by imagination. He felt like a blank canvas to be painted.

And so it began again. It always did.