Friday, January 7, 2011

A Boy's Transformation - XXXVIII

"Oh Brandy, stop pouting. It will just be us girls," sister Joan admonishes. "Plus the dancer, but he doesn’t count. So don’t ruin my party."

A sullen Brandy has been told of his/her duties. With the main party site to be the basement, someone needs to bring refreshments from the kitchen and make sure all guests are properly served. Mother Jensen has found an excuse not to be home. With most of the girls attaining age eighteen, it is time to trust and let girls be girls. Thus the hiring of a male stripper.

Ms. Jensen’s initial reaction to the libidinous form of planned entertainment was negative.

‘Oh mom, most of them are bisexual to the point of being outright gay. Nothing will happen’, Joan, in response, explaining the preferences of males who strip. Added was the notion that all festivities would be in a private home, and the dancer... gay, straight or in between... would be greatly outnumbered. Permission granted.

Yes, Mother Jensen conceded, but only for a late afternoon party. The antics were not to go into the night.

"And you’ll get to wear clothes, Brandy! Doesn’t that excite?" Joan notes with enthusiasm in holding up the brief garment.

Contrived by Miss Lu, the planned covering is simply a thong, nothing more then a set of strings with a small patch to cover the braceleted penis-turned-clitoris. It will serve to hold in place the anal probe and is intended to allay questions. Brandy’s male mammary glands are passable as the undeveloped breasts of a girl. And if the empty scrotal sac peeks out of the thong?.. so be it. The male stripper should divert most roving female eyes.

So the kitchen is filled with catered food, covered trays of hors d’oeuvres waiting to be served. Sister Evelyn spent hours coiffing, applying makeup, manicuring, pedicuring, Brandy has never looked more alluring. And he/she did spend some mirror time smiling in self adulation. But then came the realization... the entire world will be at the Jensen home!

The thought of exposure... to so many... totally naked... but for the thin set of strings which is really not more than the string harness he/she dons daily!

"Your tassels are cute. How does they make your nipples feel?" Joan bluntly inquires.

Added to the ribbons forcing the plumping male breasts to prominence, Miss Lu spent inordinate time on the nipples, pulling each pink nub into a small and tight stretchy cone of rubber bringing such to greatly protrude. The very tips of the compressed nipples are forced through the open ends. In constricting the circulation such appear as bright red cherries. Attached and dangling from the cylinders are bejeweled colorful feathery plumes, swinging about and gently teasing the otherwise useless once male nipples, brought to great sensitivity by abundant hormones.

"They tickle," Brandy bashfully replies, knowing that the wickedly tantalizing baubles have forced the nubs to crinkle in constant arousal.

"Makes you look very pretty... and sultry," sister Joan compliments pinching the well exposed buttocks. "Do you want to wear your bells?.. down there?"

Gratefully Brandy has been given a reprieve from donning the recently added scrotal bells, the less attention drawn to once male tidbits the better. He/she shakes her head vigorously, the shame of appearing attired in nothing but a thong before so many considered to be challenge enough.

"You’ll hear the guests arrive, Brandy. Most don’t know I once had a brother, so just be the girl you’ve become... and bow your head and curtsy when you serve. A nice little subservient dip at the knees when you offer food or drink," dancer Joan gracefully mimicking the demanded gesture.

Joan steps back to admire brother turned sister. The breasts are particularly attractive, the body of each gland encircled in pink as always but the yellow and crimson feathery tassels appear to be cherries perched on deliciously edible mounds of flesh. The ornamentation is intended to distract... and it does. Only the most promiscuous set of eyes will overly wander to the pubes where the tiny braceleted penis/clitoris rests beneath a brief patch of pink.

The door bell rings, the first guest arriving, ending the brief visual inspection.

Brandy’s afternoon of the ultimate mental torment begins.

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