Forced Crossdressing Novels & Stories

Her one saving grace was that the tempo was slow enough for her to catch up with the others. Caitlin again scanned the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of Caleb. But with all the costumes and masks, it was impossible to even tell who was really male or female. Occasionally, long hair sprawled out the back, and that made it easy, but some women wore their hair tucked in, covered up by a high collar, and dressed in men’s clothing. And some men, Caitlin noticed, strangely enough, dressed in gowns; she could only tell they were men by the muscles in their calves. She had never imagined that there would be any cross-dressing in this century. Was there anything off-limits?

The dress I wore was so thin and small that I almost felt their eyes watching my privates. "She looks like full of juice," Kruz's comment made me look away in disgust. I wouldn’t have worn this dress if it wasn’t for the ritual. "Lift up your dress," Kruz came in front of Prince Conrad, who hadn't spoken a word till now. "I said grab your dress and lift it up all the way to your bre**ts," Kruz was shamelessly licking his lips as he kept mumbling to me. Every step he took near me resulted in me taking two steps backwards.

I was dressed in a way I had never been dressed in my life. The cloth that fell around me was heavy and beautiful, a deep gold with threads that caught the light and held it, flowing from my shoulders to the floor in long, perfect folds. My throat, wrists, and fingers were covered in diamonds – not just a few small ones. I mean the kind of jewels that look like they weren't made by human hands, clear and cold and shining with their own light. My hair was arranged with a neatness and care that I could feel even in the dream, pinned and styled in a way that made the back of my neck feel both bare and grand at the same time.

Pain shoots through my bones, and tears pierce the corners of my eyes. I hear footsteps coming from the hallway, but before I know it, the bitch is on the floor too, screaming and writhing. Ares appears and only takes in the scene in one flimsy second before stalking closer to us. He doesn’t rush to our aid. Instead, he looks at me accusingly. “What did you do, Annika?” Ares questions, positioning himself between me and her. I shake my head exasperatedly, hoping that this time, he believes me. But hope has been nonexistent since I got married to Ares Brooker. "Nothing," I answer through clenched teeth. "She pushed me."

Reaching for the small bag I had packed with me, I pulled out the red lacey dress I had planned to wear for my private birthday dinner with Jason. It stopped just below my butt, showing a lot of cleavage. Not exactly something I would wear out, even for a club, but in desperate times… “This would do,” I said to myself, smiling. With my new motive in mind, I jumped into the shower. Can't believe I'm really doing this. *** The bar was loud and chaotic, exactly what I needed. The bass thumped in rhythm to my heart beat, and I danced along with the crowd, shouting loudly.

The blatant discrimination against Simon already had my blood boiling, but curiosity burned hotter: just how many men did Imogen keep behind my back? Meeting the man's haughty glare head-on, I fired back, "Wearing a mask means you're infectious? Then your baseball cap must mean you're brain-dead." Before I could finish, Simon tugged urgently at my sleeve. His eyes were wide with worry, silently pleading for me not to argue. I ruffled his hair reassuringly, but my words ignited Thomas's anger. In a flash, he yanked Simon's mask off. "My girlfriend owns this bookstore, and I say no masks are allowed!"

This of course reduced the stress of never being able to crossdress at all but increased the longing for wanting to do it more openly and more often. One of the aspects of my longing is that I will often imagine myself as some woman that I see on the street or in some other normal situation. Dr. Lane refers to this as gender transference; I call it a "wanna-be crush." Most men would see a hot, attractive woman and fantasize about being with her; I fantasize about actually being her. Sometimes it's just to feel the sexy, feminine clothes she's wearing, but often I imagine getting laid by one of those male admirers.

The kid steps out into the dim light of the bedroom, and the expression on his face is one of pure, unadulterated misery. He is wearing a black-and-white omega maid’s uniform. Cross-dressing!

he said. “Hmm” I rubbed my jaw at the thought of the brave little girl swimming across here. She didn’t look like she had the strength to lift her arms, never mind fight the current of this water. “Alright people, let’s cross over.” I encouraged them. The men started stripping their clothes in order to shift as crossing in our 'were' forms would be easier, the river was wide, too wide to leap across even for me. I was wearing my metallic fabric pants and crop top, so I just shifted without having to remove clothes. The fabric snapped at the sides and rolled up as my body took on its wolf form. Goddess, I loved this outfit. I really had to ask Aunt Olivia where she had this made and get the p

A woman's dress did not offer that security; in fact, a few days after her abjuration, she told a member of the court that "an important English lord had entered prison and tried to take it by force.’ She dressed as a man again, perhaps to try to avoid sexual abuse or, according to Jean Massieu's testimony, because the guards had removed her dress and she had nothing else to wear. —They cheated her from the start.- Yolie whispers in a slightly more compassionate tone. — Yes. The fact that she returned to wearing men's clothing was interpreted by the court as a relapse into the crime of heresy for transvestism, although the inquisitor who presided over the appeals court that examined the case