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The night air was pleasant, cool and slightly moist against your skin, but it brought you no peace. As you leaned out over the balcony, surveying the reflecting pools and gardens of the estate stretching out into the moonlight, you tried to relax, enjoy the panorama, and ignore the sound of the music, laughter, and dancing in the ballroom down the hall from the study whose window you had flung open. Flung open at the end of a mad flight from the ball, trying to escape that which you most desired and, yet, by which you were most terrified.

The party had begun pleasantly enough. You had come unescorted, determined you have a good time regardless of who had or had not come with you. There were enough unattached men, or just outrageous flirts, to more than fill a casual night. Perhaps you would meet someone interesting, or particularly attractive, you had thought, but put the subject from your mind: no expectations except for diversion.

Then, two hours or so after the first dancing had begun, she had entered the room. It was between dances, and the crowd was busy with angling through the floor, looking for someone to ask for the next dance, or making themselves obvious to the person they wished would ask them. When the dark figured had filled the doorway, many had turned to look. Most had given a quick, appreciative glance, and then returned to their partners. You had not; although you were across the room, you stopped and stared as if turned to stone.

She was tall, at least six feet. She was dressed in black, in a perfect coachman’s uniform. She wore tight pants fit into calf-high boots, shiny and well-polished. Her vest, cut to give her a tight V-figure, was closed with a double row of bright silver buttons. Those, and her white cravat, were the only thing which were not black, black to the point of absorbing the light around her. Her hands and fingers were long and delicate as she casually tapped the palm of one hand with a riding crop. Her features were strong, aristocratic, not feminine except in their beauty. Her close-cropped hair was nearly completely concealed by a coachman’s top hat. But her eyes drew you most of all. Large, intense, as dark as her clothing, they held to the promise of lust, passion, power and even cruelty

The band struck up a waltz on a slightly off note, shocking you back to reality. You dimly were aware of your partner taking your hand and leading you onto the dance floor, and the movement gradually brought you to earth. Occasionally as the dance progressed, you would glimpse her dancing with women (and always leading). But after every dance, she was someplace else, asking someone else to dance; you could never seem to get near to her. Finally, the impression of her first appearance faded, and the evening continued.

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The phone rang, and Jennifer jumped. Darlene, her roommate, gave her an annoyed look and picked up the phone. “Hello? Yeah, this is Darlene. Huh? Oh, sure…I have it right here.” Flashing Jennifer another annoyed look, she picked up her math assignment sheet and started to read an assignment from it.

Jenny hugged her pillow close to her, listening to the phone conversation and trying to take refuge in its relative normalcy. It wasn’t him. Thank god it wasn’t him. She pressed her cheek into the soft fabric of the pillow, and held it tightly. Her eyes stared to the side, her mind fighting once again to deny what had happened to her before. It seemed like a dream now, but Jennifer knew it had not been a dream. She could not wake up from this nightmare.

She heard the click as Darlene hung up, and heard her roommate stand. She didn’t look, but she knew the expression that was on Darlene’s face; it was Darlene’s exasperation look, with her eyebrows jagged and her lips pursed together tightly. Jennifer had been seeing Darlene’s exasperation look quite a bit lately.

“You want to tell me what the hell is going on, Jennifer?” Darlene snapped. “I can see being startled by the phone, once, maybe twice, but EVERY FUCKING TIME? What’s gotten into you? You’re so jumpy lately… and you won’t tell me why! What’s wrong, Jennifer?”

Jennifer was silent for a moment. Once again, she was tempted to just blurt out the whole story, about Mark, about his powers, what he had done to her. And once again, she stopped herself. For one, she didn’t want to draw anyone into this beside herself. And for another…who would believe her? Jenny barely believed it herself.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she mumbled.

“What?!? The hell, nothing’s wrong! You’ve completely weirded out on me, Jen! You stay in the room all day, moping around, staring into space. You won’t answer the phone anymore, and it seems to scare you to death whenever it rings…you won’t talk to anyone, you don’t go out anymore…you can’t tell me nothing’s wrong. Give me some credit, Jennifer!”

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“He’s obsessed with boobs,” complained Maria, a new recruit to Mistress Jennifer’s cadre of dominant feminizers of hapless men. “My husband Bob just stares at any woman with a full figure–the fuller the better.”

It was easy to see why this disturbed her. Maria, though extremely attractive, was a petite, small-boned woman who was far from buxom. I was privy to this conversation, along with Teasing Tammy, because Jennifer, Maria, and Tammy’s sister and dominatrix, Susan, intended to use us to bring the unsuspecting Bob into a trap–a trap that would deprive him of his manliness forever, it seemed.

Tammy, though only 16, had been designed by Susan and Jennifer as the ultimate cock-tease, with full 35 C breasts. Although my own alternate persona, Sissy Dani, was generally less generously endowed, for this adventure I was also padded out to Playmate-like dimensions.

We were sent out to meet Bob at one of his favorite hangouts, a bar that specialized in attracting men who “appreciated” bosomy types. I was dressed for “bear”–a skin-tight white satin cocktail dress that played up my bogus breasts with a very short skirt, five-inch white satin heels, and dramatic make-up. Tammy had also been dressed to look older: She wore a black leather outfit, also extremely tight and short, with six-inch heels and equally dramatic make-up.

Our instructions (enforced by the post-hypnotic suggestions that created our submissive personalities) were to approach Bob, get him to buy us drinks, and then get him back to Jennifer’s house for his own transformation.

Within minutes after we arrived, I spotted Bob at the bar. “Well, hello there,” I cooed as I approached him, playing up my charms as much as I could.

“Hello yourself, little lady,” Bob replied, smiling. He looked me up and down, pausing noticeably (as expected) at my bust line. “And who’s this little heartbreaker?” he asked, as Tammy sidled up to his other side.

“That’s my sister, Tammy,” I replied. “I’m Dani.”

He put his arms around our waists, in the process letting his hands graze our “boobs.” I suggested he buy us a round of drinks. He made the order, and I told him and Tammy to find a quiet table and I would bring the drinks when they were ready. Bob readily agreed, seeing a chance, I suppose, to make a little time with the enticing Tammy while alone.

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Jennifer was a frosh at Jefferson College, and so far she liked it a lot. As she walked down toward the gym, she smiled to herself at the California weather. It was nothing like the weather in Alaska. Here it was, the middle of February, and she could walk around in shorts without worrying about freezing to death. Others complained that it was cold and told her she was a nut for wearing shorts. Obviously they didn’t come from Alaska like she did. To her, the crisp chill in the air was more refreshing than it was chilling, and she knew that after running around the track a few times, she would actually be hot.

Jennifer liked to run; it was a good way to keep in shape, and it was a good way to daydream while still being productive. She was a good student and very responsible, and this was her way to escape the constant academic pressures she put upon herself. She could jog around the track a few times, letting her body do the work while her mind wandered onto other things. Others wouldn’t believe her, but running relaxed her. (Her roommate thought she was crazy, but then again, Jenny’s roommate was a plump girl who looked like she had never exercised a day in her life.)

Jenny was wearing a tank top and a loose fitting pair of shorts. Underneath the shorts, she wore a pair of those tight-fitting bike pants, made of the stretchy black material. This was mostly to keep her warm, and to keep her decent. Plus, whenever she ran in panties, they got all drenched in her sweat and basically became too disgusting to wear. Similarly, under her tanktop, Jenny wore a tightfitting elastic top over her breasts. The reason for this was that she hated the feeling of running in the discomfort of a bra, and if she wore nothing, she bounced, and that became painful after awhile.

Jenny was happy with her body, unlike most women, and this happiness gave her a very visible confidence. This confidence almost did more to make her attractive than her actual physical appearance. Jenny had dark hair and tan skin, and a nice smile. When she had first arrived on campus, men had swarmed around her, mostly frat guys checking out the new women, but Jenny had made it through without acquiring any boyfriends. She was not one that had to have a boyfriend; on the whole, she preferred not to, as they took up a lot of time and never seemed to be much worth it. She didn’t need the time-drain. Yes, Jenny would only settle for a boyfriend that she actually loved, and the frat guys soon gave up on her, disgusted, and moved to other prey.

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August 6, 1990

What makes a person crazy? I mean, how do I know when I’m losing my mind? Maybe I’m just imagining things. Stress, yeah that’s it. Now, calm down Amanda and just try to be calm.

There it is again!

For God’s sake, why doesn’t it leave me alone?

I keep hearing this voice. It’s calling my name. I know, I know, how can such a simple thing scare me so much? Well, its weird! I can be working, or reading, and suddenly I hear, clear as a bell, “Amanda.” I turn, and there’s no one there. I’m alone in the house right now. My roomates are still at work – I came home early because of this stupid voice.

It’s been going on for nearly 3 months now. Since I graduated, in fact. It started out as maybe once or twice a week, now it’s up to several times a day. Out of nowhere, “Amanda.”

It’s a male voice. I know that much. So I’m hallucinating that a man is speaking to me. Maybe I’m desperate. I’m smiling as I write that, because, no, I’m not desperate. If I were desperate I would have agreed to go out with Shane last week. But no, I won’t date him. I’ve heard too much about his fast hands. Rob on the other hand is a possibility, but he’s not even noticed I’m anywhere around yet.

Okay, I’m calmer now, and I think I’ll be able to sleep. I’ll just turn out the light and sleep, and there won’t be any more strange voices to bother me.

August 17, 1990

It’s 4 AM and I just woke up from the strangest dream. The sheets are soaked with sweat and my hands are shaking so hard that this is hardly readable. I’ve never had a dream like that before in my life. I wish dreams weren’t so hazy. If I could only recall it clearly I think I might understand…

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