Forced Feminization Mindfuck Phonesex

JASMINE 1-844-332-2639 ext. 262

“Alright, gentlemen. Grab–him.”  And with that, my henchmen, strong, Eastern European men, hard men, who despise the likes of you, are upon you. Swiftly, they restrain you. And then I approach, my high heels clicking upon the tiles in the entryway to your home. “Yes, that’s right. When your wife she is away, that is when *I* decide to play!” My henchmen snicker derisively. “Oh what fun I have in store for you–or perhaps not so fun for you. But fun for me? Ha! Yes.”

I see the fear on your face, the outright shock that I have made good upon my oath to seek you out and find you. After all, I like England. The delightful shopping at the Duty Free at Heathrow alone makes it worth my while. And I have come prepared with my magic carpetbag. In it delicious surprises! But first, the mind fuck begins with the Rago panty girdle, the tightest I could find. “Put him on the floor, boys,” I command. Then Nicolai and Vlad, they toss you easily,  like the rag doll you are, face buried in the carpet, your bits now exposed for all of us to see.

“That absurd piece of meat between your legs will not be there for much longer.  I have already arranged for your SEX CHANGE operation.Say goodbye to your bits, Aarron!” I taunt.

Nicolai, Vlad and I share lusty laugh at your expense. And it will certainly not be the last!

You flail helplessly as we shove your bottom and bits into that tight panty girdle.

Whereupon I produce a brand new pair of Wolford pantyhose. Yes, Wolford pantyhose, the finest in the world.

“But first, let us rid you of that disgusting body hair.

With that, I advance menacingly upon you, a wicked crimson smile curving my lips. In my hand? An Epilady.

The seconds they drop like water torture. The seconds, they feel like hours as the Epilady rips your body hair from your legs.

 

Stunned and mindfucked into submission, you offer no resistance.

 

Finally, you know not how long later, your legs are encased in the pantyhose and over the breastforms that weigh down upon your chest, is a lacy white bra that matches your casually  elegant white button down shirtdress and and winter white three inch pumps.

My henchmen drag you outside and tie your wrists to the balustrade of your flat.

 

There is no escape. Your fate is sealed.

 

Nicolai cannot resist running his hand up and down your smooth pantyhose clad leg. “Mmm,” he grunts brutishly. “Feels almost like real woman.”

“Yes, Aaron,”  I say, narrowing my eyes as I regard you. “You wanted to be woman? Now you will know what it is to be the object of desire for men. Prepare to be eye candy. Prepare for the humiliation of catcalls everywhere you go.”

I stand before you and smirk.

“Your wife will be home soon. I will tell her ‘Aaron is not here. He has been replaced. Therefore, you are widowed. And by the way, say hello to Miss Katherine Anne Stanford.'”

 

JASMINE 1-844-332-2639 ext. 262

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