Magic Dress - Celia Pt. 01

Part 1

CHAPTER 1

Feminizing a husband takes time and patience but I was rapidly running out of both. The time it takes is part of the satisfaction: it is something to be enjoyed slowly, not achieved overnight. His resistance and how you overcome it makes the end result so much better. (At least that's what it said on the websites praising it.) You should run to targets, not deadlines. Unfortunately, I had set myself one.

It was all down to Phyllis, my greatest friend and greatest rival at university. OK, she was a little prettier than me but not much. I don't think she was smarter. But she got a first-class degree while I only got a 2.1 honours. She only scraped her grade, I just missed it. There were just a few marks between us. I did better on exams, but it was the project which tipped her over. A good first-class mark: better than anything she had done before. I was sure she had got some postgraduate to help or even write it. That was the thing. She could control men. She was the one who got the best-looking boy in our year, but of course ditched him for others. She was the President of the student society; I was the Secretary, the one who does the actual work. She, of course, got the thanks. She got the black exchange student with the enormous cock. It was not just a rumour, she got him to show us in her room one day!

She found herself an Ivy League graduate from a wealthy family and was now living it up in the USA. However, she had visited little old Britain for a holiday, and I went to see her in her posh hotel, along with her rich husband. Gary was not very prepossessing. Not very tall, fairly slim, long dark hair and a rather square jaw. Nothing to write home about. Apart from the fact that he was dressed in women's clothes and had full makeup. He curtseyed when we were introduced.

"We travel with two sets of clothes," she explained. "One his man clothes for business, and one for his proper clothes like this for the rest of the time. It took me eighteen months to train him to be Vanessa. Don't you think I've done well?"

"Most impressive!" I said. "Phyllis, you're amazing!" which I knew was the right thing to say.

"I'm so happy for you both," I added.

She was very glad to explain how she had done it, and her husband was an obedient girl at home, though a powerful man outside. We had afternoon tea in the room, served by her husband of course.

I was curious to see if I could do something similar. Not that I was jealous or anything, just interested. It was nearly two years later and I wanted to show Phyllis my girly husband when she visited in two months' time.

The beginning had been easy -- I just appealed to male vanity. I didn't like stubble against my delicate skin, so of course he should shave in the morning and when he came home for the evening. In fact, I didn't like hairy men, so it would be nice if he shaved his legs. I appreciated the smooth skin -- something to stroke as I sucked his cock, so it progressed to general removal of body hair, then waxing to save shaving (and of course as many male media personalities did).

Long hair styled in a unisex salon was definitely in for men, and of course everyone used moisturizer to prevent wrinkles in later years. He got into the habit of carrying a chapstick so that his lips would always be lightly greased. It saves flaking and is so much better for kissing.

Proper men had no problem in wearing a floral or frilly shirt, and trousers or jackets with a bit of colour in them. Leave the dark suits for the old fuddy-duddies.

For health reasons, we switched to a herbal tea. The taste took some getting used to, for both of us, but we managed. I told him it was said to be particularly good for sexual health, which was true, that was said of it. I didn't mention that it was the sexual health of women, as it contained natural oestrogens. I think it helped me, and I thought it had some effect on him.

I got him to help choose my clothes (guiding him exactly where I wanted, of course) but getting him to learn the different sorts of clothes and fashions; and to develop a basic taste (the taste I intended for him). I praised his judgment in choosing pretty underwear for me.

Obviously as a New Man he would share the housework. An apron was practical, and the fact that it was a frilly pinafore was just amusing. I bought him a knee-length paisley dressing gown in artificial silk which showed his legs and said it made him look aristocratic. A kaftan made him look cool. Coloured underpants of course. I bought him cotton nightshirts -- so much more comfortable than pyjamas.

Essentially, I had got him used to much of the feel of feminine clothes, and lipstick and makeup without actually putting him in real ones. His behaviour around the house was more feminine, and the oestrogens had definitely softened him. I said I hated body-builders, and loved the feel of his body (which was true).

Unfortunately, I was unable to make the next step of getting him into a proper female outfit. I tried jokes and bets, but he was probably beginning to suspect something and was resisting. I had less than two months if I wanted to show Phyllis I was as good as her. Somehow, I couldn't stop myself. I had to try to beat her, or at least match her.

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CHAPTER 2

There was nothing for it. The final frontier. To boldly go where no woman has gone before. It was Friday evening and I said it.

"Howard, darling, if you'll let me dress you up as a woman, I'll let you fuck my ass!"

It was pretty much equal for both of us. Something we really did not want to do in exchange for something we did.

I said we had to do it properly. Armed with his measurements we went out on Saturday morning and choose clothes together. There was a tussle over tights or stockings and suspenders, so we bought both. We agreed on a modest bust, and bought a couple of bras. Some frilly panties and some floral ones. A floral dress, and a skirt and a blouse. I bought a pretty nightdress, though he said that was not part of the deal.

We had completed our shopping when we passed by a rack 'reduced to clear'. On the end was a green dress. "That's quite nice," he said. For future, please note: he said, not me. By chance it was the right size and cheap, so it was added to the pile.

Back home he showered and I insisted on full preparations. Nail varnish on feet and hands. Final shaves. My deodorant. Full makeup, and hair styled with mousse and hairspray.

Bra and panties, tights and the floral dress. We both agreed he looked good. His stiff cock told me something else.

"Right," he said, "I've done what you asked. Let's get this off, and fuck your ass!"

I refused until we had tried them all.

The blouse, skirt and stockings looked sexy, though the big bulge at the front looked odd.

"Now can I fuck your ass?" he asked hopefully.

"No, one more to go."

On with the green dress. It was the nicest of the lot. Oddly his bulge no longer showed, but I realised that was due to the skirt flaring out from above it.

Well, I had managed this hurdle. Would I be able to get him to do it again? Could I persuade him to at least pretend when Phyllis was around? Yes, I should have thought of that before. I was sure he would be up to playing the joke.

Meanwhile, there was my forfeit to pay.

"OK. Take it off, and you can fuck my ass."

"There's no hurry," he replied a little absently, and admired himself in the mirror.

"I think you should wear it for the rest of the evening," I said, and he seemed glad of the suggestion.

"OK, just to please you, darling," he said.

He put on some slippers and the pinafore and we made some dinner together. Then he made me some coffee and went to do the dishes. We watched TV and chatted about the news, people we knew and everything except the fact that my husband was sitting there as a woman.

At bedtime, he seemed a little sorry to take off the dress and very reluctant to lose the bra. I took off both our makeups, and creamed our faces for the night. The usual toilet and washing.

"Shall we do the nightdress?" I asked.

"Why not? May as well do it all."

"OK, darling," I said, resigned to my fate. "Ass time. I suggest you try a finger and some jelly first and we can take it slowly."

He thought for a moment. "Perhaps not this time. It's been quite a day, so let's just cuddle."

We cuddled and he soon went to sleep. It took me quite a bit longer.

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CHAPTER 3

When I woke up, it was later than I expected. He was gone so I went downstairs to find him in the floral dress eating some cereal. He was also wearing lipstick.

"What's this?" I said in surprise.

"I'm wearing a dress," he answered. "Isn't that what you wanted? Coffee?"

"Er, yes," I said uncertainly, and went to make my breakfast.

"There's not much difference between a nightshirt and a nightdress," he remarked casually. "Or a kaftan and a dress. This is nice, don't you think? Though I do like the green one."

"I like you in both," I said, quite amazed.

"Sorry I couldn't do more than the lipstick," he apologised. "You'll have to teach me the rest."

Then he turned to me and said in a more assertive way: "Now what's this really all about? Why are you trying to get me to be like a woman? Aren't I good enough for you as a man? Are you a lesbian? Do you have some secret femdom fantasies? Just tell me."

So I told him.

"For fuck's sake!" he responded. "Why didn't you just tell me? You wanted to get one up on that stuck-up bitch Phyllis by playing another of her stupid games?"

"Steady on," I said. "She's my best friend."

"No," he said firmly. "You're HER best friend. Remember we met in your final year at university and I had to put up with her in order to be able to be with you."

We were both silent for a while.

"OK," he finally said. "I'm up for it. When are you going to see her?"

I told him.

"Doesn't leave much time, does it, but I'll try. On that day you will be accompanied by an obedient feminized husband as far as I can manage. I can't wait to see the look on her face."

"You'd really do it?"

"Of course. It'll be fun. On one condition, though."

I thought to myself 'here comes the assfucking -- I just hope I can take it'.

"And what is that?" I asked in weaker voice than I intended.

"Can we give up that fucking awful herbal tea? If you want to give me hormones, let's get some tablets."

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CHAPTER 4

Howard took charge, but put me in charge, as it were.

"Look," he said, "there's two things. Firstly, you have to teach me to be a woman quite quickly, so you tell me what to want and I'll do it. Secondly, you are supposed to have trained me into it, so we should practise you giving orders and me taking them, so it is convincing. I suggest you call me Celia from now on."

"Now, finish your breakfast and let's get back to bed because this has really made me horny."

Fortunately, there was no assfucking, just enthusiastic lovemaking. Then we got up and started his lessons.

Just putting on makeup and explaining every step took till lunch. Then we took it off again.

After lunch he insisted we went to a major shoe shop before they closed to buy some shoes for him. He was wearing panties and a slip under his shirt and jeans, to get into practice. He wore a pair of my socks, as they were fairly stretchy.

So far as anyone was concerned, we were a couple looking for shoes for the wife. We found some flats, mid heels and moderate high heels. I tried them on and walked around so we could see what they were like. We then selected two sizes larger, which he quickly put on, nodded, and put back in the box. The assistants were busy with other customers, so he put on the flats, and took a few steps.

"OK, let's go!"

Back home, he put on makeup with my corrections, then a bra, the blouse, skirt and tights and walked around in the flat shoes. Obviously, he walked like a man. He wanted to be taught how to walk like a woman.

It was harder than I thought despite my enthusiastic pupil. I just acted as a woman out of habit: I had never analysed it. I suppose some things were due to slightly different anatomy, others were just learned. He wanted to know how and why I did things in a different way, and I generally did not know.

The internet descriptions and videos confused us, but we made a start. By the end of the week he was holding himself something like one of the videos in flat shoes, and even managing a handbag in a fairly female fashion. The next two weeks were the mid heels. I remembered how long it had taken me, but he was determined despite getting sore. We allowed ourselves three weeks at the end to try to master the actual high heels.

Meanwhile he was dressed as a woman each evening and most of the weekends, but there was much more.

A few days into the first week he remarked "This isn't the first time I've dressed as a woman, you know." I expressed my surprise in a less than ladylike way.

"Really," he continued with a smile. "I went to a boys-only grammar school and was in the school play. The character was named Celia, so that's why I chose the name. It was quite a good character, but obviously I had no idea how to be a woman. I volunteered because someone dared me to, but quite liked being outrageous. Funnily enough, the play the year before had a female character in a green dress similar to this one, but it wasn't in the costumes for my play. I suppose it had been borrowed from one of the teachers' wives."

"I'm looking forward to my next performance," he added.

He also started making a plan.

"As I understand it, your rival has forced her husband to be a woman against his will, but only in private. How can we top that?"

"Actually," I said, "Celia is prettier." Oops!

"That's either a big insult or the nicest thing you've ever said!" he laughed.

"Obviously you will do it quicker, but we have to be convincing. I propose we go through the stages of my training and you take some photographs. I'll fiddle the dates on the images, just in case."

He took a big breath.

"I don't know if I can do this, but let's say you made me into a willing woman, not just an obedient sissy."

We did something a bit naughty. We bought clothes in a shop, took them home, tried them, took photos, then returned them as not suitable. But we did keep some, and it enabled us to try things out which we could not do in the shop. Other people do it, but I have always felt guilty. So we acquired an increased wardrobe and some pictures.

We hired a French maid outfit from a costume shop. No problem about getting something the right size and shape for a joke at a party. This produced two good pictures. One with him standing in a very masculine way looking sullen, and one with a false smile and a silly pose. As if he had been ordered to look happy and sexy but did not like it. The makeup was of course excessive and unconvincing, and the wig supplied was just right. Early days in the training.

We bought a cheap wig to hide his nice hair, and he wore it apparently doing the housework in underwear or a short skirt. He insisted that he did everything which was supposed to have happened. I did order him around and he did clean the toilet, make beds, serve food and so on. None of the pictures were actually untrue, and I would not be lying. It was just happening in a few weeks with an enthusiastic pupil.

Slowly the pictures showed him as more feminine and happier.

Then the big one. I checked outside that the coast was clear, and he came and stood outside our front door, smiling, posed with a handbag and a hip out just a little. A quick picture, and back in.

Surprisingly, he bought the herbal oestrogen pills and took them.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," he said. "It's only for a few weeks, and we might as well go through with it."

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CHAPTER 5

We (or rather he) had decided that we would make a holiday of it. Instead of going to Chester or Brighton as we had thought, we would spend our holiday fund on dressing us both and visiting London when Phyllis was there. He essentially forced me to buy myself some smart clothes at higher prices than I would normally have considered. We booked three nights at a modest hotel in Kensington, and first-class rail tickets (well in advance at slack times) quite cheap. His clothes budget was small in comparison.

The plan was to go down the night before, meet Phyllis and her husband, then enjoy the local Museums: the Victoria and Albert, the Natural History, and the Science Museum and generally relax. He thought he might spend at least some of the time walking around as Celia.

About a week before the travel things were going well. I had grown used to Celia about the house, and she now had feminine habits. She did most of the housework partly (she said) to practise moving about in mid or high heels.

Suddenly he said "I'm going to do it!" and of course, I asked what?

"I'm going to travel on the train as Celia!"

"Are you sure? I know we were going to say that you did, but can you really do it?"

"Yes, if you help me. And you can take a picture of me on the train to prove it. That'll show them!"

"Brave darling!" I said as I hugged and kissed him.

Helping him was not what I expected.

"I have to go out a few times in public and you have to make me."

"Oh," I said. "Where do you want to go?"

"Nowhere," he said. "It's got to be your idea. You've trained me, remember? We'll tell the truth."

Then I did something very brave.

"Get your handbag," I ordered. "We're going for a walk."

"What now?"

"Yes now. And high heels."

We walked along the street where we lived. We might have met neighbours or friends. I don't know which of us was more nervous, but it was probably me. Handbags on arms, heels clacking, him still tottering a bit. Two women going somewhere.

As we reached the bus stop a bus pulled in and a man got off. I recognised him, but not to speak to. We nodded at each other. On impulse I got on, saying "Come on Celia!"

I bought two tickets and we sat in silence until we got to town. It was early evening at the beginning of summer. Some shops had shut but the big shopping centres were still going, and people were heading for restaurants. A bit early for the clubs, but the bars were filling up. Lots of people, mostly happy and well-dressed for the evening, some girls in very little. We walked around slowly and of course nobody paid any attention to us at all. I began to relax, and could sense that Celia was, too.

We sat down on a bench for a while, and I noted that Celia did it properly. Yes, my husband was well-trained!

After about half an hour of walking around we both needed the loo (nerves, I suppose) so we went to the large M & S, who always have good toilets. The coffee shop was closed, so there was no-one else around as we used the facilities, which of course included checking makeup and hair. Another first for Celia!

We had a look through the lingerie, and might have bought something if an assistant had not noticed us with the bras and offered to measure us as she was a trained fitter. We scurried away, and took the bus home.

At home we just flopped emotionally exhausted.

"Thank you," said my dear husband Celia. "I think that must have been as hard on you as it was on me, but we managed it. I don't know how to thank you."

A few minutes later, he said "Oh yes I do."

He went away and I heard the shower running. Eventually he came back. A naked man with a stiff cock. That was definitely thanks enough. So much for herbal oestrogen!

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