LGBT Stories

I must have dozed off, I forgot for an instant where I was. But the soft restraint of the wool all around me brought me back. I was in a seamless envelope of wool, with my hands tied over my head, and my ankles bound. Only my hands and feet were exposed. My hands and feet and my limp cock, which protruded from this bizarre sight out of hastily cut hole in the wool. The wool was a soft brown blend, and stretched with my movements, and I could see dimly the outlines of the room through the weave, the room were I was effectively being held prisoner. Hard to believe this normal looking bedroom, in this normal Manhattan apartment building, could be my cage. The people on the other side of the wall had no idea, no idea what had happened in here. And it was all my own fault.

I had put an ad in the NYPeople personals section, under the Different Interests section, the section that usually catered to TVs, sado-masochists, submissives - people actually not that different than me. But my ad had been different - WANTED: SWEATER GIRL. SWM iso F who loves sweaters, who understands my addiction to angora, and who might torment me with cashmere, make me wear mohair. Older women ok, Big Breasts a plus. I will serve you in wool.

(more…)

I could hear them talking, breathing, sweating on the other side of the curtain, but I could not see. The world was dark, thanks to the tight lycra hood which covered my head.

“NOW.” The voice hissed in my ear like an angry cat. She was standing right next to me. Then I felt the tug on the collar that encircled my neck. I was pulled roughly forward, by a leash, into the light. I heard the crowd react. I heard the appreciative ooohs and aaahs, the guttural noises of desire. And why not - what they saw was a tall, leggy woman, clothed in a tight woolen sweater that left nothing to the imagination. The sweater barely covered the 38D breasts that they had fitted me with. On top of that they had bound my arms behind my back, pushing my tits forward. The tiny woolen miniskirt barely covered my groin, and the edges of the waist cincher were visible, pulled taut by the garters and fishnet stockings that encased my legs.

I stumbled on my five inch heels and moved forward, trying to keep up with the tugs on the leash. It was unbelievable that one month ago I had been a man, leading a normal life.

Well almost normal.

(more…)

I had never seen a sweater so tight.

She stood up, and I watched her unbutton her jeans, thinking this has to be a dream. The sweater caught the late afternoon light and lit up along the edges, framing her breasts in a halo of soft curves. She rolled her paints down at the waist. There just below her belt line I could see the sweater continued, still tight, still form fitting, it slid down her back, along her broad hips. She pulled her pants back up.

“All the way to my feet”, she said, sad and scared, “and I can’t take it off - it won’t come off!”

She had been babbling like this for more than an hour now, as the sun went down, this stranger who had walked in off the street. She had not introduced herself, she had just started talking, and I had listened, mesmerized by her frantic claims and her unusual appearance. She had the most curvaceous body I had seen in a long time, some people might have called her fat, but to me she seemed almost sculptural. She was big, six feet easy, and her wide hips were set off by her breasts, bigger still, which made her waist seem tiny. Her thighs also started big, wide and powerful looking, but her calves were thin and graceful. She had this shock of black hair that ended in unruly bangs right above her pale green eyes. Her face was strong, angular, not especially beautiful, but striking. There was definitely something about her. I mean aside from her outfit - she wore jeans, and hiking boots, not uncommon for the North Country - but the SWEATER…she was wearing this tight grey sweater bodysuit, this weird knit with nothing underneath, and that was her problem.

(more…)

I saw her as soon as I came into the dining room of the hotel, and unconsciously sat a table where I could see her clearly. She was lovely, a six foot tall blonde goddess, late thirties, with sharp Germanic features, and a short masculine hairstyle. The reason I noticed her though was her clothes, she was dressed in a shockingly tight grey sweater dress, cashmere i think, that went up from her booted calves to the edge of her chin, ending in a slim turtleneck. On top of that she was wearing a cropped angora cardigan, also grey but lighter, that barely covered her large breasts. It was, unfortunately for me, a vision straight from my dreams. I ate my dinner transfixed, not tasting the food, just staring at her. I think she was sitting with another woman, younger, and an Asian man, but I would not have noticed. Over coffee I took out my pocket diary and tried to sketch her, to capture her beauty, but my days as an aspiring artist were long past. I am obsessed with sweaters and there was some sort of trigger effect when I saw her: my heart beat faster, my pants were suddenly tight, my hands felt sweaty. I started instead to write down how I felt, to write another one of my elaborate fantasies, only this time starring her. If I could have talked to her, I would have, but I became too wrapped up in my private fantasies to overcome my shyness. (more…)

“Oh just try it on, don’t act so..stereotypical.”

I started to protest again, I mean I was not trying to be a jerk, but I did not feel like serving as Leena’s dress dummy all afternoon. I felt uncomfortable enough around her and her clothes. The way she dressed made me crazy and I knew she would tease me all afternoon if I let her. It was my own fault really, I approached her at her last ‘fashion show’ and offered to take some pictures. I really did like her designs, but mostly because of my own peculiar fetishes. Leena worked a lot with sweaters and wool, knit creations she called them, and those creations did something to me. I remember clearly her first show, and the first model, coming out in a striped wool tube dress that started at the chin and descended all the way to her ankles. It gave me goose bumps. So I had become friends with her, even shot some photos, but I did not think I could try any of her clothes on without revealing my…peculiarities. And here she was asking me to stand in for her model, while she finished her latest dress: an angora sweater dress that looked like something Morticia Adams would wear. I stammered another excuse and Leena let me off the hook for the moment. She did have a way of getting what she wanted though, grinning up at you from under her dark severe bangs. She was short, and very buxom, and dressed in her own clothes she was VERY attractive. I may love sweaters, but it is a tight sweater on a full-figured woman that really kills me.

(more…)

When I heard her voice on the phone I knew I was in trouble.

Keith, are your parents still away?, she asked. I said yes, for two more weeks. Well I want to thank you for taking care of my plants this past weekend. Why don1t you come down to my house right now -

I cut her off, telling her I was too busy, on my way out, but she wasn1t having any of it, she insisted I come right over. Besides, she said, I want to show you something.

When she I hung up I felt like a cornered fugitive, forced to face my crime. I mean here I was home for the first week of my first summer after college, all on my own while my parents toured South America, and the first thing I had done was get myself caught as a pervert, as some sort of sexual deviant. Mrs. Drew was this forty year old neighbor of ours, she lived on her own, and I had agreed to water her plants. And while she was gone, I guess I got a little curious and poked around in her closet. I mean Mrs. Drew is not unattractive, she in fact always got me a little excited. And mostly because of the way she dresses - she almost always wears a tight sweater over her curvaceous breasts. It1s not like a sex thing with her, she just loves sweaters, like as a fashion statement. I remember when I first met her she came over to our house in this long sweater dress, and I was mes-merized. In her long white hair, and her buxom figure, she became a sort of icon to my sex-starved teenage mind. I had not given her much thought during college, having my hands full with the real thing. But when I got back home, there was a note from my constantly-traveling parents to water Mrs. Drew1s plants. So I went down there, not really thinking about her or her sweaters. But as I was watering her plants in her library, I noticed a picture of her on the desk in an especially revealing sweater, very tight, and very soft, and as I stared at the photo I thought I could see nipples embossed on the soft edge of her bosom. And then things got out of hand. I wasn1t sexually excited going over there, but suddenly I was hornier then I had been in months.

(more…)

PART 1

In the bar I had sat uncaring, watching the beautiful people meander past. I was feeling sorry for myself . My girlfriend had left me for another man.

Well she had left me for a variety of reasons.

I was alone. About to be apartmentless. I was in no mood to talk. The bartender had already asked me a thousand questions about my situation, but I figured that was her job. I wanted nothing to do with women that night.

But SHE sat down next to me, a beautiful girl wearing some incredible shoesthat I had been staring at. SHE said the words which would tie me to her tree:

“Wanna try these on?”

I thought I had misheard her. Maybe she meant seats. I stared at her uncomprehending. And she was so attractive-short dark hair in heavy bangs, a large pair of lips, and pale sharp features, enough to wake me up. She sat in the stool easily, wearing a long leather coat, just a pair of legs and those impressive heels sticking out the bottom.

(more…)

michelle’s red, moist mouth tenderly enveloped and engulfed the hard, red cock of a man she barely knew. His moans filled the darkened room as she twirled her tongue around the head of his shaft — her dainty hand pumping the shaft as one who innately knew what to do with such a throbbing piece of male meat. she was pumping him and engulfing more of his cock into her eager mouth as if her life depended upon it. In a way it did! — for unless michelle could prove that she could seduce and conquer any man, she would forever remain against her will in the body of a seductive female.

The man — no one would know his name — was begging for relief now. He had met michelle only an hour before. He was a married man — a man of repute — a man minding his own business until michelle took aim on his vulnerable sexual appetite. she was dressed to kill, she was. A black leather mini dress hugged her body like a second skin. her legs were encased in silk and stood upon six inch heels in her black boots. her hair was tossed and wild, even like the makeup she wore. her eyes were accented in just the right shades of black — her lips bright red — her perfume, exotic — her earrings were the replicas of handcuffs — and around her neck she wore a band of condoms. He didn’t have a chance.

He was begging out loud now — “make me CUM! SUCK me, you whore!” michelle was pumping him like the pro she had become and knew that soon she would have his seed within her. At just the right moment she stuck her index finger deep into his ass — and then he came. Cum dribbled out her mouth and nose as he erupted like he hadn’t since teenage years, some 20 years before. STILL she sucked and fingered him until he was thoroughly spent. He laid back while michelle deposited her mouthful of cum into a bag she retrieved from her purse. She only had another two quarts of cum to deposit into that bag tonight if she would ever harbor any hopes toward regaining her masculine identity. But THAT — would never happen.

(more…)

I take a deep breath before I knock on the door. After which I
knock on the door three times as instructed. A moment passes and a
voice bids me to enter. The room is sparse, there is a chair before me
, a small couch, end table and coffee table. I shut the door behind me,
as I do, the voice speaks, yet I see no one as yet.
“Stand next to the chair in front of you. Left arm nearest the chair.
Set your bag behind the chair.”
The voice is precise, and calm, with a cool tone. I do as told, setting
the bag of the things I was told to bring and moving next to the
chair.
“Close your eyes and keep them that way until I tell you otherwise.”
After I close my eyes I hear a door shut, followed by footsteps easily
moving across the carpet. She comes near and blows across my face.
Her perfume caresses my nose, not heavy, just letting me know she’s
near. Her voice comes from behind me.
“Strip down and place all your clothes on the chair. DO NOT open your
eyes.”
I remove my shirt first, and place it on the chair. Then my shoes,
socks, pants and underwear follow. I am completely naked and a
little embarrassed. From in front, her voice.
“Take one step to your right. Then spread your legs by stepping right
again.” and I did so.

(more…)

Dorothy and her step mother Gwen remembered an incident which had caused them great amusement. An English gentlemen had said to an American woman:

“You’re a Napoleon in petticoats.”

The phrase was antique even then. He meant it as a compliment. She did not take it that way.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He tried to explain.

“I mean that you were very good at “Diplomacy” this afternoon.”

Dorothy was curious. She butted in to the conversation at the next table.

“What are you two on about?”

The gentleman explained.

“Diplomacy” is a game about conquering Europe. Mildred here just beat 4 men at it. I was saying she was brilliant.”

The woman still did not like it.

“Yes but you meant that I was good “for a woman”. You said a Napoleon “in petticoats”. I almost never wear a dress anyway.”

Dorothy explained her curiosity.

“You see my older brother is called Napoleon. For a few seconds I had a very funny picture in my mind.”

(more…)

It was not easy being a girl in 1951. For me strangely it got easier in 1952. Life changed for a couple of boys I knew as well.

I am Frances, known as Franky. I was the oldest in the family. 20 whole minutes older than my brother. Born December 16 1933. There were six of us in all- five girls and a boy.

I remember feeling it was very unfair that I had to share a room with Lesley (16) and Toni (14) . Mat got a room to himself. Jo (13) resented sharing a small room with Sophie who was not yet 6.

We were poor. I know it was supposed to be the age of affluence. Well it was not for our family. Nor for Westford as a whole. Lots of men were without work.

I liked my dad. We were always pretty good children. However we seemed to be specially well behaved when he was at home. He listened to us. I didn’t think about it at the time but I even remember him helping mum with housework.

In fact I had spied in them almost simultaneously cuddling, kissing and hugging whilst washing dishes and drying up together. I now think that it was a strange kind of fore-play.

My dad was also a hero. He never shot at anyone. Instead for 6 years he stoked the boilers that drove the ships that kept us all fed. On May 4 1945 his ship struck a mine.

My mother was, in her way, a heroine. She managed to keep all of us during that time. During the war she also worked in a factory making parachutes. I am proud of both of my parents.

(more…)

I was small for may age. My face was rather smooth. My long hair had been really carefully styled- in pig tails with pink bows.

If you did not know you could just about believe that I was a tallish 10 year old girl who was dressed rather young for her age. `aunt’ Janice had taken me to a tea room. She knew several of the ladies who were there.

My little sister Sophie was wearing green overalls. You could believe she was a boy. We were sitting next to a mother and her daughter. Sophie said to the little girl.

“I’m Sophie, what’s your name?”

“I’m Jane?”

Then Jane turned to me and asked

“What’s your name?”

I had been warned what I should say. I said it.

“I’m Tommy.”

Then Jane commented.

“That is a funny name for a girl. Why are you called Tommy.”

Aunt Janice looked at me and said

“Tell her.”

“I am called Tommy …”

I started whispering. Aunt Janice did not let me get away with that.

“Don’t whisper, speak clearly child.”

She fingered her metal hairbrush. I had no alternative. I obeyed. I spoke more clearly.

(more…)

It was Friday afternoon and I was on my way home. It was only a
half day of school that day. Parent/Teacher conferences or some
bullshit. Who cared I had another half day that I didn’t have to be in that
crummy new school? The school itself was OK, I guess. But the other kids
there didn’t seem to want to make an “outsider” feel welcome. No really
overt hostility, mind you, just an indifferent and biased attitude. Almost
all the kids were from wealthy families, and they knew I was just an “upper
middle class” slob. They looked down on me for that and tended to
dissociate themselves from me. Just as well, being a bespectacled (almost)
16 years old non-athletic bookworm suited me fine.
Ninety-nine percent of the other students were either 90210 model
dorks (guys and girls), brawny beefcake sports guys or lithe, sinewy
cheerleader types. You could count the overweight or nerdy people on one
hand (well, maybe two or three hands). But all of them were even more
obscenely wealthy than the others, which ostracized me even greater than
the less well-to-doers.
It also didn’t help being brought into the freshman class near the
end of the school year. Not only did I not know anybody, as a freshman, I
was bottom feeder on the school foodchain. Several people had gone out of
their way to make me feel . . . inadequate to their standards. A few had
even physically accosted me. Nothing major, just your usual rude bumps or
accidental trips.

(more…)

“Hah!Hah!” she laughed, placing her hands on her rather voluptous
hips, “You lost the bet and now you’ve got to do whaaaaateeeeever I want!”
Sharon was positively exuberant at this prospect. In fact, she fairly
glowed. I knew I was in trouble then. But still I had to try and get out of
whatever my crazy lover had cooked up for me.
“But Sharon, sweetikins, darling lover o’mine,” I started to say.
” Uh uh, buster,” she said wagging a finger at me, “You made a bet
and lost. You said if you won I had to be your ` stuningly sultry servile
sex slave’ and if I won that I could choose a task for you. And you lost!”
Sharon fairly squealed that last part. She was just enjoying this too, too
much for my liking. I could see the almost evil intent burning in her
bright green eyes.
Well, I thought to myself as I eyed her tall yet shapely figure, If
it involves sex with this gorgeous creature, it can’t be all bad. The sex
with Sharon was always great. It was as if she were my perfect compatible
playmate. Being just an inch or so shorter than me made kissing her fine
featured face while doing the vertical bed-dance almost too easy. And she
wasn’t one of those Barbie girls either, with thier ten inch waists and
over proportioned tits and hips. No, Sharon was a good sized woman, and I
don’t maen fat or overweight, either. Muscular, wiyhout being bulky, was
more like it. Like I said, my perfect sex partner and a hell of a
conversationalist to boot.

(more…)

As I stepped into the department store, I had to resist the
natural urge to turn left and head for the electronics section.
Instead, I turned right, penetrating deep into the mysterious
world of women’s apparel. Feeling conspicuous, I tried to look as
if I belonged, relieved that there were no crowds so early in the
day. This was the third time I had attempted this, and I was
determined not to chicken out again.
I knew what I wanted, but not where to find it - and I was
far too nervous to ask for help. Of course, it ended up being in
the last place I looked. Wandering anxiously through the aisles
of women’s lingerie, I tried not to look embarrassed - and failed
miserably. Everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by lacy, silky,
feminine treasures. And I’m not just talking about the plain old
bras and cheap panties you see in most stores. This was a proper
lingerie department, with everything from garter belts to
expensive stockings to the fanciest babydolls and teddies you’ve
ever seen.
Finally, on my third pass through, I spotted the wall
display I wanted, tucked around a corner. The moment I saw them,
my embarrassment faded, replaced by an intense longing. Carefully
selecting three pairs of the fancy, floral-print panties - all in
my size - I carried them proudly to the cashier.
An attractive, middle-aged woman, she smiled as she totalled
up my sale. “That’ll be $13.77,” she told me. “Would you like a
box?”

(more…)

As I stepped up and rang the doorbell, I was so nervous I
was literally shaking. Not only did I feel self-conscious,
dressed as I was, but I had no idea what awaited me on the other
side of that door.
Lonely, depressed and fed up with the drunks, single mothers
and cheap hookers who seemed to frequent the local bar scene, I
had decided to try a personal ad. I didn’t want to deal with the
cost and hassle of placing my own ad, so I just replied to a few
that had caught my interest. While most of the people turned out
to be either insincere or just not my type, one woman turned out
to be just what I was looking for. Which was quite surprising.
*
SWF, early 30s, seeks closet sissy in need of
proper training. Under my stern supervision you
will soon learn to obey my every whim and
anticipate my every desire. You must be very
submissive, but inexperienced, as I prefer to
work with a blank slate. Bi curious preferred,
but will adjust to suit.
*

(more…)

“Alright, David, how’s that feel?”
Red-faced, I replied “A little strange.”
“That’s to be expected. What I meant to ask was whether or
not it was uncomfortable? Too tight? Too loose?”
“No, I think it’s okay. Not that I have anything to judge it
against.”
“Very well.” Checking her watch, the nurse told me “I’ll
just step out for a moment to gather the appropriate make-up and
perfume, and when I come back the glue should be just about set.”
Laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder, she smiled “There’s no
need to be nervous. Once we get you dressed, you’ll feel like a
completely different person.”
I laughed. Looking down at the prosthetic breasts she had
attached to my chest, I wondered again what I had gotten myself
into. It had all sounded harmless - not to mention profitable - a
week ago in the doctor’s office, but I was beginning to have my
doubts. This definitely hadn’t been what I’d had in mind when I’d
first spotted that help-wanted ad.
* * *
Absently tapping the phone against my thigh, I’d spent a
good twenty minutes debating whether or not to call. The job had
sounded intriguing, and I had needed the money, but it all
sounded too good to be true. I must have read the ad over a dozen
times.
Needed Immediately:
Male participants
for sexual therapy
sessions.
Supervision and
guidance provided by
our highly-skilled
counsellors.
Convenient hours and
good money. Call
today: 555-7273.

(more…)

Lunch had been surprisingly good - a pleasant fruit salad with a nice white
wine, then some lightly braised filet of sole with baby carrots - a
different, but just as tasty white wine to accompany it, then a Baba au rhum
with a spicy dessert wine to wash it down - one that I was unfamiliar with.

The three girls had really surprised me with their invitation - after all, I
hadn’t been altogether nice to them during the semester. Somehow or other
though, they had discovered the date I was due to depart on my two month
traveling vacation, and had practically pleaded with me to come to their
house for lunch immediately before my departure. As a matter of fact, my car
was sitting in their driveway, packed with my suitcases - I would be on my
way the minute I left their door. I raised my glass.

“To the three girls with everything that anyone could wish for - looks,
intelligence - and very wealthy parents! Dorothy? Karen? Alice? Your
health - and thank you for a lovely going away lunch. Cheers!”

Dorothy was in the process of tidying up. She was wearing a floral apron
over her pants and blouse. She smiled, took the hem of the apron in her
hands and dropped me a small curtsey, her dark hair bobbing delightfully as
she did so.

(more…)

Edwin Smuck pressed the enter key on his computer and chuckled as
the signals were sent out onto the Internet. He smiled broadly as he took
pleasure in doing the Lord’s work. Every since Yahoo had listed the Fiction
Mania site, he had conducted a war on the sinful Internet web page.

Edwin had hacked into over a hundred different computer servers around the
world and had inserted programs that, even this second, were inundating the
Fiction Mania server with thousands of pinging packets. The Fiction Mania
server’s firewall would be blazing as if it were being hosed down with
napalm!

Edwin’s mother had raised him to follow the Righteous Path. She had taught
him just how evil it was to be a man. He still had painful memories of the
times when he was a pubescent teenager and she would let him look at
suggestive pictures of women and girls. She would watch for the tell tale
signs of an erection, and as soon as she knew her young son was excited by
the photos, she would use her paddle on his youthful bottom until his
erection was gone. She wanted her son to be a “good boy” and did not want
him to associate girls and erections with pleasure. It had worked all too
well.

Edwin had grown up avoiding women. His mother’s training had been very
successful. Edwin was short, skinny, had blonde hair, blue eyes and was a
little effeminate. His mother had divorced his father when he was a baby
and he had never had a male role model. Religion had been his steady diet
as he had grown to become a young adult. At the age of thirteen, he had
designed web pages for his mother’s church. By the age of fifteen, he was
hacking into the sex site’s web pages and causing damage. It was in the
name of the Lord, so, it was justified.

(more…)

Strong hands pulled mine behind me, and I felt and heard the unmistakable
sensations of a nylon tie-wrap locking my wrists securely behind me. A deep
brown voice whispered into my ear, “Well, well, well, what do we have hear?
Looks like I got myself a little piece of white meat to play with”.

A very large black hand clasped tightly over my mouth prevented me from
responding, protesting, or finding out what the fuck was going on, the
voice continued: “I tell you what Whitey, we’re going to try a little
experiment. I’m going to outline what your future could hold, and if your
reaction is as I suspect it will be, we will see what we can do about
making it all come true.”

What the fuck was he on about? My thoughts were interrupted by his right
hand began easing itself under my belt, past my fly and into the confines
of my underwear. It continued its exploration, oblivious of my pathetic
attempts to gain my liberty until I felt his fingers encircle my flaccid
member.

“Not very big down here are you Whitey?” he teased, before slowly squeezing
my penis and continuing, “OK, let’s get started. What I see for you is a
life time spent serving me as my personal little white sissy boy slave.”

(more…)