Chapter 2. (You can read chapter 1 [Here](

This is torture, the most delightful sort of torture.
Her fingers are digging into my chest, poking through my shirt with sharp bronze fingernails.
Her body is wrapped tightly against mine, her wide hips grinding against my supple little ass. My smooth, shaven cock twitches desperately under my trousers, but I expect no release any time soon. Her soft, warm lips explore my neck, leaving bronze colored lipstick stains all over my pale skin. Her teeth nibble on my earlobe, and I can feel her warm breath, and the faint smell of lavender.

“Good girl.” She whispers, stepping back. I am left wanting, trembling, shaken.

“We will start by dressing you up darling. Follow me to the bathroom.”
She takes long strides down the hallway and I can’t help but stare at her ass shaking, her bare feet padding over the wooden floor, the gentle creaking of black satin swirling behind her.
She opens the door to the bathroom and ushers me in, a single lock of chestnut colored hair slipping out of her tight ponytail. Her splending green eyes regard me with intrigue.

I enter the bathroom, my shoulders slightly leaning forwards in a sheepish pose, still shaken by the sudden change of events.
The room is completely white. White walls, covered by shiny white tiles, a white countertop, white ceramic sink, and a white metallic tap.
In front of me is a vast mirror, that spans most of the wall behind the sink. The actual toilet and bathtub are at the far end of the room, hidden behind a smaller door.

Contrasting starkly against the heavenly white counter are a series of small objects, neatly lined up in a row, all a sultry dark red, with some metallic highlights.
A tube of lipstick, a small bottle of nail polish, an eyeliner pencil.
*She had prepared for this. She knew I would accept. She knows me too well.*

“Strip before you sit down darling. Boy clothes are not for you anymore.”
She stands in front of the door and crosses her arms right under her heavy, jiggly breasts. The satin relaxes, and the fabric parts to reveal a scandalous amount of cleavage.
I stare, but she does not seem to mind.
I can’t refuse her orders.

I begin unbuttoning my shirt, slowly revealing a perfectly flat, perfectly shaven chest, a thin, fair neck.
I push my tight jeans down, my long legs finally free, and then I take off my shoes. My feet are soft and pale, smaller than those of your average 20 year old. My arches are high, and my toes are slender, my toenails perfectly rounded.
Once again I stare at myself in the mirror: my ribs are faintly visible under my skin, and my bubble butt juts out happily, wrapped in soft black underwear, and balanced geometrically by a sizeable erection, tenting the dark fabric on the opposite side.
I gulp, and finally reveal my throbbing cock to my aunt and mistress. It is perfectly shaven and smooth, long and slightly thicker than average. It would be quite the instrument to satisfy women, if only I weren’t so preoccupied with being like them.

She stares me up and down, inspecting every inch of my body brazenly, like I am a piece of meat, and not a person worthy of any respect. My cock twitches desperately, but she does not seem to mind.
“Good girl. Now sit, and I will begin my work.”

I fall down on the chair in front of the mirror, my mind gone blank after having been called a girl. My lips hang half-open in a dumb stare, and put up no resistance as the pasty red lipstick begin covering them. Feeling my Mistress’ fingers touching my face fills me with unwavering adoration, and I am left enraptured, waiting for her orders.

“So, how long have you been doing this, slut?” She asks in a sultry, deep tone.

“I’ve been curious for about a year, but I bought the clothes just a month ago. I acted like they were a gift for my girlfriend.” I reply immediately, unable to put a filter between my brain and my mouth.

“Good, good. And what else have you been doing? Some chatting, perhaps with men?”

“I have snapped a couple of pictures of my feet, and spread them over the internet. With the heels on, nobody could figure out that I’m a boy.”

I look up in the mirror. My lips are painted a dark, bloody red. They shimmer in the focused artificial light that is set up on top of the mirror.

“Oh, but you are not a boy. Have you ever seen a boy look this good with lipstick?”
She giggle softly, putting the lipstick back on the counter and switching to the eyeliner.
“No dear, you are clearly a girl. You are a sultry little bitch, looking for the attentions of men on the internet. Isn’t that right?”

She places a gentle kiss on my cheek, and my body writhes with excitement.

“We are not so different, you and me. Are we, *Luna*?”

The name echoes inside my mind, taking me far, far away from reality. Minutes pass as I’m adrift, in which both my fingers and my toes are painted a dark shade of red, to match my lips and my aggressive eyeliner.

When I come to, I look into the mirror, and Luna stares back.
I have never felt more like myself.

“Mistress…” I start, turning around in my chair and looking up at my object of worship, at my creator, the woman that turned me into who I am.
“This is so wrong.” I declare, still unable to take my eyes off of hers.
“But it feels so right…”

Whimpering, I move my head closer towards her. Sitting naked in front of her mistress, a young woman’s dick throbs, in excitement and adoration. She closes her eyes.

My Mistress wraps her left hand around my throat, closing it shut, and presses her lips on mine. I moan deeply into the kiss, quivering onto my seat as I taste once again the sweet nectar that is her saliva. She shoves her tongue down my throat, and I suck on it eagerly, desperate to taste her more. I nibble on her lip, our lipsticks mixing together and smearing all over our faces.

She wraps her free hand around the base of my cock, slowly pumping it up and down, and cutting my breath short.
My hips follow her motions, desperate for more friction: her fingers squeeze my length better than any woman ever could, better than I could squeeze it myself. My pink, swollen tip twitches, my perfectly round balls aching for release.

With an high pitched whimper, drowned out both by her tongue and by her hand wrapped around my neck, my cock starts spurting thick, warm filaments of gooey cum all over her hand.
White streaks paint over her supple but slightly blemished skin, her bronze and glossy fingernails, her shiny, golden wedding ring.

She breaks the kiss, and shoves my head backwards, extending her arm and presenting the cum-glazed hand to me.

Without a word I plunge my face against her palm, lapping up my own cum. I lick over her palm, making quick work of a puddle of savory semen. I suck on her fingers, swirling my tongue in between each one to make sure that every warm drop of sperm will slide down my throat instead of disgracing my Mistress’ perfect hand.

“Good girl. Now we can dress you up.” She chides, and without another word struts out of the room, waiting for me.
I fix up my lipstick, wiping off the smeared red streaks with my finger, my glossy nails shining with every delicate motion.
I look at myself with a satisfied smirk, my own cock slowly coming back to an erect state.
I let my hips sway left and right when I walk out of the bathroom, making sure I put heel before toe, one foot in front of the other. That is how a woman like me should walk, that is how I will walk from now on.

NSFW: yes