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Be A Lady - Or Else (Chris James)

Be A Lady - Or Else by Chris James

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George Roberts has somehow run up thousands of pounds of debt and, in order to escape the debt collectors waiting to break his ankles, slips out of the house dressed as a woman. Big mistake! The whole thing has been set up by his devoted and loyal secretary, who arranges for him to be shipped out to Thailand. There he wakes in prison, to be told that he is awaiting a life of servitude in a brothel. When the full horror of that has hit him, he is offered a deal ... prepared to do anything to avoid that fate, George agrees to swap sex organs with a certain lady who was behind the whole thing. From then on there is no stopping the ‘downward’ rush, from simply wearing Georgina’s clothes, George is all set to become Georgina!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 2 / 2018

No. words: 40600

Style: Bondage/BDSM Fetishes, Fem Dom - F/M

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Chapter One

I looked in dismay at the letter I had just received. It seemed my latest attempt at escaping from my financial disaster had ended as badly as the others.
It was unbelievable: nobody’s luck could be as bad as mine over the past six months. There must be some other explanation. I faced dismissal from the financial corporation where I worked, my investment plans on their behalf had plummeted and to cover the losses in what should have been short term, I had opened an illegal secret account which now showed a loss of £2,000,000.
The letter informed me that no further transactions would be allowed without the personal authorisation of my Managing Director, and full details of the account’s transactions would be sent to him in seven days unless a substantial reduction in the overdraft was forthcoming by that date.
My attempt at the gaming tables had been equally disastrous; I now owed £500,000 to one of London’s more unscrupulous Casinos, where debts were recovered or paid for in a most unpleasant manner.
I collapsed into the armchair as my mind began to work overtime, trying to find an escape from the calamity in which I found myself: fake suicide, sudden disappearance, marry a millionairess, or win the lottery. It had to be something dramatic and the sooner the better, or my life wouldn’t be worth living.
Suddenly I was brought back to reality by the shrill ring of my doorbell. Looking through the window, I saw with relief that Susan, my secretary, had arrived. When I opened the door, she swept past me into the lounge with her usual imperious air.
“Good morning, Sir. You said something about an emergency when you phoned. It must be to call at 7.00am on Saturday! What can I do to help?”
I had to confide in someone, even though I had serious doubts Susan could do anything for me at that moment. I paused, looking at the attractive blonde in her smart suit, and decided to explain the full predicament in which I found myself. It would all come out in seven days anyway, and perhaps she could help. If not, she had time to distant herself from my problems.
“It’s a long story; you’d better sit down,” I said.
She carefully lowered herself into my favourite armchair. This immediately unnerved me as on previous visits I had clearly shown the chair was mine by sitting in it as soon as she entered the room. I looked at her and saw a totally different woman to the secretary I had known for the past eighteen months.
“Well, what is it that’s so important you drag me here at this time on a Saturday morning?” The sharp way she said it destroyed any confidence I still possessed. Somehow the fact of her being there on a Saturday, in a suit, gave her an aura of authority which made me feel inferior. Standing before her with eyes lowered, I told her of my financial affairs, how I had bent and twisted the rules on Stock market dealings to the extent that, if it came to light, I would almost certainly face criminal charges for fraud. Also, if Crown Casinos found me, I would be lucky to escape permanent injury, if not worse.
“Why tell me?” she asked, her face hard. “I’m not stupid, I’ve known for months you were into debt and irregularities way over your head.” In a sudden burst of honesty which shocked me, she said: “I’ve never liked you or your methods of business. It would rather please me to see the newspaper headlines:- ‘George Roberts, 25 year old Financial Dealer, sentenced to 20 years gaol for fraud.’ The only problem is, some of the dirt might rub off, and I might find it difficult to get another job.”
“Will you help me?” I begged, her comments making me even more nervous and afraid of the future. “It would be to your advantage as well.”
She sat looking at me with an arrogant and disdainful glare.
I thumped the table with my hand. “Answer me!” I snapped as an amused smile crossed her face.
“Yes, I’ll help you; but at the end of the day you may wish I hadn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
She ignored my question and stood up, saying: “Right, I must go and make arrangements. Obviously you’ll have to disappear completely. The best way of doing that has always been fake suicide, so while I’m gone, think what’s going into a couple of notes, then write and sign them. One will be left here, the other in your car which will eventually be found in Ashdown Forest. I should be back by about 2.00 to pick you up.”
I blinked at the sudden torrent of instructions which were changing my life and found myself speechless.
“Don’t pack anything, we’ll arrange to find you some clothes: somebody committing suicide doesn’t take a suitcase with them.”
She had by this time reached the door. She opened it and was gone before I had any chance of asking what she intended doing to help.
As soon as she’d left, I once again looked at the letter which had so disrupted my life. I just couldn’t begin to understand how my affairs had got into such a state: it didn’t seem possible investments could have made such losses. I was always so careful to ‘hedge the bets’, and as for the shadow account, what had prompted me to try such a madcap scheme? Then I recalled it was Susan’s idea, she’d read about it in a novel, or so she’d said. What was her game? This keenness to help me escape, the suggested suicide notes, and I hadn’t forgotten the comment about possibly regretting it at the end of the day, either. I picked up the telephone and began to make calls to try and check the facts on the financial mess, but the fact it was Saturday morning made this more difficult than I believed. I also made efforts to trace Susan’s background, but once again drew a blank. I sat down and considered other ways of escaping the fast closing net of people who wanted to string me up by the neck, but the only ones likely to want to help me all seemed to be missing when I tried to contact them.
I glanced out of the window and quickly drew back in alarm. There was a car parked opposite: clearly visible in the back seat was the gorilla who called himself the doorman at Crown Casino. I rushed through to the kitchen, locked the back door, hurried upstairs and looked towards my garage in the back mews. The door of the garage stood open and my Citroen was missing. Where had it gone? Why was I being victimised like this? I couldn’t call the police for fear of retribution from the gorilla, and I didn’t want to risk them poking around in my affairs. I either had to trust Susan or call a taxi, in which case I could and probably would be followed wherever I chose to go.
An hour later I was still standing in my bedroom, bemused, unable to think clearly what to do. Finally I picked up the extension telephone, intending to contact another of my business colleagues and found total silence. Someone had even cut that contact with the rest of the world.
I clearly had no choice but to wait, and trust Susan when she arrived. Meanwhile the fake suicide notes needed writing. There was no point in delaying any longer; Susan’s plan was likely to be the only one which could work, as she was the only one outside the house. I just had to hope she had the right ideas.
Half an hour later, after many attempts, two notes lay on the bedside table. I picked up the first and read it through again:-
To whom it may concern,
I have reached the end of my tether, my career and financial standing are in ruins, attempts to rectify the situation has led me into making rash and to say the least unethical, accountancy dealings which could result in my being sent to jail. I could not bear this to happen so the best solution is for me to end my life.
Sorry for the distress I have caused.
George Roberts

I dropped it, thumped the table with my fist, and threw myself down on the bed in sheer frustration, looking at my watch. Susan would not arrive for another two hours. Eventually I dozed, waking with a start at the noise of something dropping through the letterbox.
I peered anxiously out of the bedroom door and down the stairs to see an envelope on the doormat. I crept down, snatched it up and hurried into the lounge. A single sheet of paper was inside, and crudely written in thick black pencil was a menacing message:
We’re waiting, George. We know you’re there, the minute you step outside the door, we will be on you. A slice here, a boot there, ankles under the car wheels, I wouldn’t like to be you afterwards. Mr Edgers doesn’t like welchers, especially when they owe as much as you do, George.
The Debt Collectors.

I sat down heavily into the armchair furthest from the window and sat, shaking with anxiety and fear. This was totally out of my depth. In financial dealings I could be as ruthless as any man, but physical action and pain were not my scene.
I looked again at my watch, half an hour to go before my saviour arrived, but how she intended getting me out of the house without the thugs getting me, I had no idea.
I heard a key in the front door, and literally yelped with fear as it opened. It was with overwhelming relief I saw Susan and another woman come in.
“Hello, George,” said Susan, “How are you feeling? Still want my help to escape the consequences of your follies?”
“Yes, yes, but let’s hurry before those gorillas across the road break in.” I gabbled in pure panic as I showed her the note which had been thrust through the door.
“Right, upstairs to your bedroom,” she ordered. “Time for disguise.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“They’re not very likely to just sit there and let you leave, are they?” she replied. By this time, we were all in my bedroom, but I still had no idea what was going on. She pointed to the other woman, who had not yet spoken. “This is Georgina, a registered deaf and dumb person.” Susan put her bag on the bed, and tipped out the contents: a complete set of female underclothes, a pair of shoes and a false bust.
“Oh, no,” I backed off, nervous. “No way am I going to dress as a woman!”
Susan beckoned to Georgina, then turned to me and said, “Right, we’re off, find your own way out of your predicament.” She started to leave the room.
“Wait, “I pleaded, realising she meant it, “Surely there’s another way.”
She turned back and glared at me. “I know you despise women and treat them like dirt, but we account for about half the population and sometimes we have our uses - even to you men, so make up your mind. Either you leave here as Georgina or stay and face the consequences.”
“Very well,” I gave in, having no other way open to me. “What do I have to do?”
Susan came back in the room, followed by Georgina. With a broad smile across her face she said, “To start with, completely undress and take a shower: when you’ve finished, come back into this room.”
Reluctantly, very reluctantly I did as instructed. It seemed I was set on a pathway I could not divert from. When I returned to the bedroom Susan held out a very feminine pair of nylon knickers.
“Right, these for a start.”
I attempted to protest that my own underclothes would surely suffice.
She shook her head. “Oh, no, it’s most important you dress completely and correctly, so you’re reminded of what you’re trying to portray. That way it’s far more convincing.”
I took the garment and put them on, but hesitated when she handed me a rather strong looking panti-corselet.
“Hurry up,” she urged, “we haven’t got all day.” I took it and even more reluctantly eased the strong material over my legs, lower body, and finally my chest before slipping my arms through the shoulder straps and adjusting it.
“Now to give your figure the correct appearance up top,” she said, and I took the false bust she thrust at me. They fitted into the bra cups perfectly and the garment pulling in my waist and emphasising my hips. I looked in the mirror and had to admit that my body shape certainly no longer looked masculine.
“Right, Georgina,” she touched me on the shoulder as she said it, “That should help remind you of the role you’re portraying. Stockings will be more appropriate than tights, I think.” She then handed me a set of suspenders to fix to the bottom of the corsets, followed by black stockings.
I continued to dress in the garments handed to me, still wondering what I was doing and why I was doing it.
“Stop!” she said suddenly. “Look in the mirror, getting quite pretty and sexy, aren’t we? I wonder how those thugs over the road would treat you now? Shall I call them?”
“Enjoying this humiliation of me, aren’t you?” I said bitterly. “Let’s get it finished and get me away from here.”
Susan turned to the real Georgina and mimed that she should take off her cardigan, blouse and skirt.
“All girls together here, I’m sure she won’t mind taking them off with you in the room.” I looked away, not wanting to watch her undress, and just took the garments which were given to me. To my surprise they fitted perfectly. Finally a pair of black court shoes with fairly low heels were taken from a bag.
“Sit on that stool by the dressing table, and I’ll try to do something with your face. I see you gave yourself a good shave earlier; the hair growth is obviously not excessive, there’s no tell-tale sign of a ‘five o’clock shadow’.”
It was the strangest sensation, feeling the smooth silk of cosmetics on my face. The transformation was also strange: George Roberts was disappearing under a layer of colour. When she had finished, I was told to remain there while she fitted a wig that matched almost exactly the hairstyle of the real Georgina. When I looked once more in the mirror I was shocked: the resemblance was remarkable.
“Stand up, Georgina.”
“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,” I replied, denying what the mirror reflected. “I’m not Georgina or a woman and you know it.”
In very severe tones, Susan retorted, “I’m risking a lot to help. Unless you co-operate fully by behaving like a woman, answering to the name of Georgina, we will not deceive those thugs over the road, let alone anyone else we meet.”
“Very well,” I replied, cowed by her severity and aware I really had no choice in the matter, “I’ll try my best.”
She then handed me a hairbrush. “Let me see how you would brush your hair to give it bounce and shape.”
I looked in the mirror and tried in what I realised was a rather pathetic manner to do as I was told.
“Useless, give it here.” She snatched the brush back, stood before me and styled the wig. “Right, we’ll go downstairs now. You lead the way, let’s see if you can make a better job of that.”
I carefully took hold of the bannister and walked as daintily as possible down the stairs and into the lounge, then sat into the chair, adjusting the skirt as I did so, anxious not to give Susan any more cause to complain. It felt strange and yet -
“Very good,” she observed with a half-smile of victory, “We must have found your secret vice. Done this before, haven’t you?”
“No, never.” I quickly answered.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” she smiled as she spoke but somehow it was a cold empty smile. “We’re going soon. The plan is this. The other Georgina will wait in the bedroom, dressed in your shirt and tie, making sure our friends across the road get occasional glimpses of movement, until we’re safely out of the area. I’ll then make a telephone call, asking a taxi to call at your address and collect her, by which time she’ll be dressed normally once more as herself.”
She picked up one of the ‘Suicide Notes’ I had previously written, put it in the middle of the table, and then put the other into her handbag.
“Are you ready? I’ll unlock the door of the passenger side, you follow and get in as elegantly as you can. It’s not easy with a skirt on. I’ll go round and get into the driver’s seat, leaving you to close your door. Make a mess of this and we’re both in trouble.”
I reached out and gripped her hand. “I’m scared.”
“Breathe deeply, think positively. Walk carefully with small steps; remember, you’re now Georgina.”
Before I could say anything else, she opened the front door and stepped outside. Afraid of losing my only chance of escape, I followed immediately. As planned, she unlocked the car door and I quickly eased myself into the passenger seat. A couple walked past and the woman smiled. By this time Susan was also in the car, the engine was started and we were away.
“Did you see the goons?” she asked. “They were going to get out to check us, but conveniently those people walked past.”
I looked at her and said, “You didn’t organise them as well, did you?” She laughed and said nothing. I let her concentrate on driving, not wanting to pursue the matter. I had plenty of other things to think about, the heat of the wig, the strange clothes, the feel of the cosmetics. We left the suburbs and drove towards Sussex, through Godstone, East Grinstead and Forest Row and onto Ashdown Forest, where she suddenly slowed and swung off the main road onto a driveway, over a cattle grid. We then went along a winding track leading through a wood before coming to a stop in front of a large old rambling building.
Susan stopped the engine and turned to me. “Let me do all the talking. This is the Headquarters of the ‘Women’s International Freedom Movement’, a very good organisation, it does a lot to help underprivileged and persecuted women. But - HQ’s staffed by extremists; there’s no way you’d be allowed to stay or get their help unless they believe you’ve rejected masculinity and wish to become a woman. It’s the only way I can help you escape the clutches of those thugs, and the police. They should be able to arrange your departure from the country in four or five days. You’ll then be safe. Sorry, but it’ll be necessary to pose as a transsexual called Georgina till then. I’ll help as much as possible.”
I was shattered, such ideas had never entered my head. The thought of dressing this way even for one more day was terrible.
“No, I won’t do it,” I said immediately, vehemently. The clothes suddenly constricted me, I wanted to tear them off, to scrub my face clean, to release myself from the underclothes and feel free again.
“Oh dear, when I tell the leader, she’ll be angry. I imagine she’ll be straight on the telephone to our friends, the gorillas, and when they arrive, hand you over just as you are for them to deal with.”
Panic set in, counter acting the anger of a few moments earlier. Despondently I gave up fighting. “All right, I’ll do as you say, so long as it’s only for a few days.”
Before any more could be said the door opened and three women approached our car.
“Good evening,” said the obvious leader, “I’m Barbara, Vice Chairperson of our organisation. Which one of you needs our help?” She was everyone’s idea of the woman wanting to be a man: close cropped hair, hard face, no figure. I didn’t fancy her at all, or the two equally severe women with her.
Susan was already out of the car and, opening my door, said, “This is Georgina, she wishes desperately to become one of us, but has been persecuted at home and dismissed from her job because of her yearning to become a better and more complete person.” It sounded like a comic set piece but seemed to work. I inwardly cringed but didn’t dare protest as Barbara clutched me to her, kissed me on the cheek, saying, “Of course we’ll help, there’s a suite of rooms you and Susan can use for the next few days while we arrange things.”
I followed the women into the building, passed through a large hall and climbed a wide magnificent flight of stairs, went along a corridor, through a door and into a compact living room. It was light, airy and attractively decorated.
“Kitchen off to the left, bedroom, bathroom and toilet to the right,” said Barbara, as if she was an estate agent priming us for a purchase. “We’ll bring you a meal tonight, you’re probably exhausted after your journey and tribulations. You can tell us the full story tomorrow.” They left, leaving me with Susan.
“How on earth do you expect me to fabricate a story that’ll satisfy their probing minds?” I exploded as soon as we were alone.
“Don’t worry,” she replied. “We have all evening to work on it and convince ourselves that you mean it.”
“I don’t mean it, though, the sooner I get out of these clothes the better!”
She stopped my tirade with an upraised hand. “Either you cooperate and at least try to think it would be a good idea, or I tell her the truth, in which case, when they’ve finished with you - as I said - they’ll doubtless hand you over to the thugs. It’s not too late to do that.”
“All right, I’ll try, but it’s going to be very difficult to put any conviction into it. Anyway, I’m bursting to go to the toilet.” I turned and walked across the room.
“Now don’t forget, Georgina, you’re a woman, that applies as much in the loo as elsewhere.” I didn’t answer her, but nevertheless did as I was told, even though it was the strangest sensation, lifting up my skirt and removing the underclothes. Their touch was seductively silky, the feeling going deep into my mind. I’m a male! I shouted silently, even as my hands gripped the silk and told me another story.

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This author specialises in first class enforced feminisation stories.


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