Jon stood in the walk-in closet, scanning through the array of sexy, revealing outfits that adorned the racks. He wanted to test some of the parameters he'd set forth in the machine for his new life as Jenni. His fingers grazed over a collection of short skirts, dresses with plunging necklines, and delicate tops that left little to the imagination, and felt himself drawn to them, despite having never worn anything of the sort as a guy.
But his gaze settled on a long-sleeve sweater, its fabric adorned with soft pastel colors. It was undeniably girly and feminine, but a departure from skimpy attire that Jon was wearing now. The lack of skin it would show made a small something inside of Jon protest.
"I want to always wear sexy clothes; short skirts and dresses, low-cut tops, revealing outfits, and high heels.”
Ignoring the feeling for now with a curious mixture of determination and uncertainty, Jon carefully selected the sweater and pulled it off the hanger. He glanced down at his current outfit—the tight, low-cut dress that accentuated his curves—and decided to try layering the sweater over it.
As he slipped his arms into the sleeves of the sweater, a shift occurred within him. Jon felt a twinge of hesitation, a whisper of doubt creeping into his mind. The sweater truly was a departure from the unabashedly sexy aesthetic that he was realizing now he strongly identified with.
In that moment, Jon found himself grappling with conflicting desires. On one hand, there was a determination to prove his willpower and overcome his new compulsions. On the other hand, there was a pull towards the allure of skin-baring outfits and seductive attire that somehow, inexplicably, just felt familiar.
As Jon adjusted the sweater and gazed at his reflection in the nearby mirror, he couldn't help but scrutinize the appearance. The sweater softened his look, and added a touch of elegance. But it wasn't him.
Despite the novelty of the sweater, Jon couldn't shake the urge to peel it off, to revert back to the comfort zone of short skirts and revealing tops. He marveled at how true that was; they were his comfort zone now. The thought of toning down his appearance clashed with the deeply ingrained impulses instilled by the transformation machine.
With a sigh, Jon reluctantly peeled off the sweater and hung it back in the closet, opting to stick with the provocative outfit that felt more in line with his current mindset.
What about if he dared to defy the compulsion to wear high heels? Already they were hurting his feet. He had heard women complain of the aching pain so often. With a mixture of apprehension and determination, he decided to test the boundaries of that too.
Taking a deep breath, Jon bent at the waist, his ass on display as he reached down with his long nails and took off his stiletto heels, feeling the solid surface of the hardwood floor beneath his feet. At first, there was a fleeting sense of relief as the pressure on his toes eased, but it was quickly overshadowed by a growing unease.
As he attempted to take a step forward, Jon felt a wave of discomfort wash over him. It was as though an invisible force was tugging at him, urging him to put the heels back on. The absence of the familiar click-clack of his shoes against the floor felt... unsettling, leaving him feeling unbalanced and vulnerable.
With each step, Jon's resolve wavered. The compulsion to wear high heels grew stronger with every passing moment, gnawing at him from the inside. It was as though his very identity was tied to the shoes, and without them, he felt incomplete; as though his transformed self yearned for the heightened sense of glamour and sophistication that the heels provided, despite the physical discomfort they caused.
Despite his best efforts to resist, Jon found himself drawn back to the vanity, his hand reaching out instinctively for his discarded heels. As he slipped them back on, a sense of relief washed over him, the familiar click of the heels against the floor restoring a sense of normalcy. Wearing heels was suddenly "normalcy" now. Wow. The machine was comprehensive.
In that moment, Jon realized the extent to which the machine had reshaped his desires and preferences. The compulsion to wear high heels wasn't just a fleeting whim; it was an integral part of his new identity as a feminine, girly girl. And try as he might, Jon couldn't deny embracing that identity wholeheartedly.
But now he knew the extent of it. He really was completely compelled to conform to wearing heels.
He caught himself gazing in the mirror, subconsciously fixing his hair. Accentuated by the tight embrace of his skirt, his posture was unmistakably provocative, one leg crossed over the other, showcasing the length of his slender legs and the curve of his shapely calf.
"I am habitually checking my appearance."
A flicker of realization crossed his mind. Was this really him? Was he really standing like that? His cheeks flushed as he became acutely aware of the suggestive nature of his pose. It was as though his body had a mind of its own, effortlessly slipping into a posture that exuded confidence and sensuality. But Jon couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through him as he struck the pose; there was something undeniably empowering about it.
There was one more compulsion he wanted to test.
“I want to always carry a handbag so that I can primp and touch up my makeup frequently.”
As Jon purposefully left his handbag on the vanity table and sauntered out of the walk-in closet, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of anticipation mixed with apprehension.
He enjoyed as each step his hips swayed naturally. His slender legs, encased in the tight fabric of his skirt, brushed together softly, heightening his awareness of his own sensuality. The rigid heels clicked against the polished floor, their presence a constant reminder of his changed state. His bare skin tingled with each brush of the fabric against his curves. He felt the weight of his hair cascading down his back, its soft strands trailing lightly against his shoulders.
As Jon approached the door of the bedroom, he felt a sense of anxiety. He hesitated, a subconscious urge pulling him back towards the vanity where his handbag lay in wait.
Jon determinedly attempted to push past the compulsion, the innate desire to comply. But the surge of discomfort prickled at the back of his mind, intensifying with each subsequent step away from the vanity.
Like attempting to walk against a powerful current, the nagging sense of wrongness was easily undermining his resolve. He just couldn't bring himself to leave the room without the handbag. It wouldn't be right.
Finally, with a resigned, high-pitch sigh, Jon gave in to the insistent pull, hurrying back with mincing steps to retrieve his handbag. As he hung it on his elbow, his hand held limp-wristed and daintily in the air, a sense of relief washed over him, the discomfort fading immediately. He felt... complete again.
For added measure, he assessed his appearance in the mirror, fixing his hair again and pulling his dress down a touch to reveal more cleavage.
The transformation machine was binding him to his own prescribed whims with an unyielding grip. The totality of this was not lost on Jon.
The knowledge that he was unable to deviate from these predetermined behaviors, even if he wanted to, sent a thrill through him. He had willingly stepped into a labyrinth of his own making, and was totally ensnared.
The thrill of being trapped within the confines of his own desires mingled with a sense of apprehension at the loss of control. Yet, beneath it all, there was an undeniable rush of excitement.
