Tricked Into Feminization

Part 11

Frank had to go through dozens of pairs of stockings with the close attentiveness of the shop assistant. Frank's mother kept forcing him to answer questions. "Do you prefer lacey floral patterned stockings, or geometric patterns?" "Would you prefer lace-tops or a Cuban heel?" Frank was mortified to have to express a preference for any of these.

Eventually it was whittled down to six pairs of stockings. "So these are your favourites?" his mother asked. Frank squirmed but smiled. "Yes mummy." The assistant took the six pairs to bag them. "Do you prefer stockings to tights?" she asked Frank. Again Frank forced his smile. "Yes", he lied. He could feel his stockings and suspenders moving as he walked beside her. "They are so much prettier than tights aren't they." Frank wished she'd stop. "Yes."

"Now for panties", his mother announced. Frank winced as she marched over to a display of lacey underwear. "Do you prefer this pair with flowers or the pair with hearts?" his mother ask him as the assistant arrived beside them again. "We're going to look at jewellery for a while", his mother told them. "We'll be back in thirty minutes or so. You can take your time." The assistant smiled and said "we can go through our whole collection of panties so. Do you like yours lace-trimmed?" Frank wanted to die.

Finally he was given the credit card and told to go to the till with the assistant to purchase his dresses, stockings and panties. The assistant held each item up individually to scan it and fold it. By the time she got to the stockings a queue had formed. Frank saw the people smirking as the assistant held up each item of underwear. One had no bar code. "Maureen!" the assistant called out across the store. "Could you check the price on the white lace-top stockings please?" Frank cringed.

The queue had lengthened as she got to the panties - each pair with their frills and lace and pastel colours totally visible in their clear plastic wrapping. Frank was mortified as he walked by the queue clutching his shopping bags of dresses, stockings and panties.

Next was lunch at the Grand Hotel. It was very busy being lunchtime Saturday. They had to wait by the door for a seat to become free. Frank was highly conscious of all the ladies at the tables checking out his rounded figure with his boobs, corseted-waist and padded bottom, filling out his dress nicely. As he flounced passed their tables they noticed the seams on his stockings running down to his five-inch heels.

When lunch was finishing his mother announced plans for the afternoon. "Now you need some nice blouses and skirts too. And I know a shop with especially lovely camisoles and slips."

By the time they were done Frank could barely hold the multiple bags of shopping containing his dresses, blouses, skirts, camisoles, slips, stockings and panties. He couldn't keep up in his heels and the wind kept catching his bags and slowing him down further.

Back at home he surveyed the packed wardrobe and chest of drawers wondering how he was going to find room for his new dresses and underwear. He felt sick as he hung his new dresses and pressed his piles of stockings and panties into the drawers, knowing he was going to have to wear all of these in the coming weeks.

The following Saturdays they dolled Frank up in his new dresses, stockings and panties. He had to wear the corset with all of these dresses since he'd been fitted for them when he was wearing it. His boobs, padded bottom and high-heels ensured he presented a mature feminine figure.

One Saturday as he was finally easing his aching feet out of the five-inch heels after walking around in them for 12 hours and loosening the strings on his corset, he dared to beg his mother. "Do I have to wear all this?" he asked, gesturing to the shaping wear and stockings. "Oh do you not want to look so grown up?" He shrugged. He just didn't want to be so trussed up. "I suppose not." "OK we'll find something else for you to wear tomorrow."

Frank was surprised at her response as he lay back in his pink nightie, visualizing himself in a normal dress or skirt and blouse. That was the height of his ambition now.