This Girl Inside Me
Fiction by Miss Ivy Omigosh
It’s funny how some women can see right into you, and know what you really want, even before you’re ready to acknowledge it or give it a name.
I lay on Marta’s bed in my lingerie and stockings, my wrists and ankles bound to the four poster frame. The growing spot of pre-cum on my sheer pink frilly-backed panties showed that no matter how much I protested, I belonged in lingerie and she had been right. Marta stood over me with her smartphone, using the camera app to make a Vine loop to post on Twitter that would show the progress of the stain. Marta put her right red-polished fingernail to her lip and pursed her crimson lips thoughtfully. “Sweetie, I’m think I’m going to tweet: ‘His voice said no but his cock said yes.’ Unless you want me to phrase it differently, Patricia?”
“My name is Patrick,” I said, unable to keep the whine out of my voice. “Please let me up, Marta. This game has gone far enough.”
“No, Patricia. You know what will happen if you resist. Let me remind you yet again, because you seem to forget when you get into this mood of stubborn resistance: are years of legal trouble worth skipping a few hours or days of panty-wearing instead?”
“But you’re not just putting me in panties and bras…you’ve dressed me like a maid…and put me in this wig with two ponytails…and the lipstick and rouge and eyelashes and—”
“AND YOU LOVE IT. Confess, Patricia!” She took another shot of the cum-stain on my panty. Her plan was to film it bit by bit until the Vine showed, in stop motion, the growth of my creamy badge of crossdressing shame.
I tugged at my wrist bonds, I tried to pull my feet in the soft white ropes off the wooden posts of the bed, but it was useless. Or maybe I didn’t pull hard enough? I didn’t want to break her bed, after all. Wasn’t that just being considerate of me?
But why was I trying to be considerate when I was her PRISONER??
Tears actually started pooling in my eyes, even as the miserable pre-cum spot betrayed me with unrelenting truth. Marta laughed as she filmed it more. “I’m almost done, sweetness,” she said. “Then I’ll just upload it to Twitter and the world will enjoy your cute little boner pressing against the nylon and showing how excited you are by being turned into a girl!”
“Ohmigosh, Marta, please—”
“Don’t worry, Patty Doll, I won’t use your name UNLESS YOU MAKE ME MAD! Ha-ha!”
I closed my eyes. How could it get any worse?
And to think it had all started out so normal, so fun…
Read the full story in Forced Womanhood 72
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