She moved to her knees, facing down, shoulders back, those ample tits pushed forwards, tracing against the thin material of that button up shirt. Consuming thing, that, His shirt, His scent upon it. Position taken, facing the doorway, as she would tilt her head, the stolen glance from those eyes to the clock. Only a few minutes, and how she knew they would tick on for an eternity. Hips pushed back, that pert little ass of hers rested to her knees, as she would shift, hands smoothing the line of cotton to her tanned flesh, making sure it was perfectly aligned.

I graduated from high school in the top ten percent of my graduating class. At Moms request, under my male clothes at graduation, I wore garter belt, stockings and panties. My white dress shirt was actually a formal satin blouse. Had I dared to wear any more of these fine fashions, I think I would have surprised many of my classmates and teachers. In the fall, I enrolled at the university an hour from home.

They sat in Emilios dabbing the oil off their pizzas. It was relatively empty -- only a few of the other customers were from school. EJ and Seth sat next to each other, with Topher and Theo sitting across. Topher was telling a story. "So Cooledge hands out this test, right? And fucking Uzi writes out his phone number for the answers, like number one is seven, number two is three, like that. Then when Cooledge comes over and looks at it, he says, whats that? And Uzi says its

When I was growing up, I had a friend that lived across the street from me. His name was Billy. Now Billy and I were pretty good friends and did everything together. If you found me, you found Billy and vice-versa. Lots of time we were out in the open field behind my house in one of our two tree forts. They were simple and crude, but they were our palace and refuge away from the world. We were typical year olds, meaning skinny and gangly.

Even though I have not been writing about my experiences lately, I do look in on the site and I read all the comments on my contributions with interest. A recent comment dated -- on the Princess Appointment series was written by a woman asking advice about the role of humiliation as she begins to feminize her submissive husband. I strongly suggest that you, the reader, stop for a moment and read Barbaras letter now. This very well written piece raises some wonderful questions of philosophy and method regarding issues of domination and feminization. It make me think that it might be entertaining to produce a series as an advice column, using the Reader Comments

Ben Jaffe leaned back in his chair as he watched Elise on the monitor. What he saw confirmed the impression he had gleaned from her training records. Not once had she stood up since the guards had put her in the holding cell. The key to understanding her was the principle of order imposed from without. It explained her dedication. He recognized it from the way she completed her writing assignments.

It all started the day before Valentine Day. Paul was heading to clock out while David clocked in and Tony was heading for lunch. Paul heard the two guys talking and complaining. "Whats up guys?" "Was talking to the office." David complained. "The girls get to dress up in normal clothes while if the guys want out of their uniforms it has to be suits and ties.

Paul sat up in his canopied bed and gave a stretch. Pulling the pink comforter off, he swung his legs over the side. He loved the feel of his pink ankle length nightgown against his body and the bounce has breasts had given him since he been on hormones. He was now sixteen and been on hormones for the past five years to give him a developing figure that went unnoticed to his friends at work and school. He went into the bathroom, put the toilet lid down and sat to pee.

Julie appeared from the bedroom, interrupting my disturbing thoughts. I was relieved, in a way, which she had. My relief, however, was short-lived. She was and is a great organiser. Someone whos always getting other people to do things for their own good. Usually things they dont want to do but somehow it always turns out right though perhaps not as originally intended.

Kneeling there on Mr. Jones floor, Shannon continued to recall her horrible day. There was the awful humiliation at Dunkin Donuts. Then when she got to school, Mr. Jones had put her in the terrible spreader bar and handcuffs behind her. Miss Ryans art class had been bad, drawing the still photo taken while she had masturbated that boy off in the back of her sisters car. She had been forced to do it but no one knew that of course.