It took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the bright day to the interior light of the warehouse. The space was dim and vast. There were voices, men’s voices, a group of guys chatting towards the back of the large open area, and someone dropped something metal on the hard floor. A pipe. They were constructing what looked like a small event stage. They wore jeans, T-shirts, flannels. One wore a bandanna on his head. I was afraid they would address me, ask what I wanted, what was I doing here. A few of them were looking over to me, seeing who was there, then they went back to their business.

The metal stairs were a few feet in front of me. They led up to a landing and the door which Malcolm, the driver who dropped me off, had told me I should enter. I went up the stairs and went in. Here was an office corridor with more doors. An indistinct voice or two from the offices softly reached me in the hallway. The door nearest to me had a sheet of paper tacked to it with one simple word: Jolene.

I can write for ages about this moment and the next two hours that passed in that room. I could go on about how welcoming the women were, how they put me at ease with their chatter and included me in all the decisions – skin treatment, the make-up, the hair, the shade of pink for my nails. They knew exactly what to do with me, and soon I found myself giving all the decisions over to them. They knew I wanted to be the most desirable, feminine girl I could possibly be transformed into.  At one point I asked how long they had been dressing for – their style was so casual yet feminine, their hair luscious but tied back and loose, their busts under their shirts so natural-moving and free. They laughed. One said, “Oh, no, honey. We’re born women. Now let’s get you properly dressed."

When they were through with me, I didn’t recognize myself. I almost cried at my reflection in the full-length mirror: Sultry hair framing my smooth face, my lined eyes giving me a feline air, my lips pouty and glistening. Even my expression was unfamiliar to me, so soft, open and curious but with a touch of naughtiness. Or was the troubled but innocent girl vibe coming from the pink ensemble? I wore pink from my high heels to my fishnet stockings, pink lace boy-short panties and a garter, my pink lace camisole draping over it all. A thrill went through me and I clenched the plug. A small dampness leaked from me. I could have stood there for a long time admiring their work, loving who they helped me become, but one of the women broke the spell.

“All right, you sexy babe. Are you ready to face the world?”

“What? No, I’m not going outside like this.”

“No, calm down. We’re just sending you next door for the interview.”

“What for?”

“I wouldn’t know. That’s what’s on your schedule. Interview with Christian. He’s right next door.”

This was to be my first time completely dressed in full sissy gear in front of a man. And what was this interview supposed to be about? I was nervous, yes, but when I looked once more in the mirror, I saw a bold, sexy woman looking back at me. A woman who knew she was desirable. A woman who could make any man hard for her. A woman who could make men melt. “Christian, you said his name was?” Even my voice had taken on a lilt that was beginning to match my appearance. I turned on my heels, thankful for all the practice I’d had in private, went to the door and stepped out.

***

He was sitting behind a black desk at the end of a plain white room. There was a couch along one wall, and an end table with a lamp. He wore a fitting white dress shirt that hinted at strong shoulders, a defined chest, thick strong biceps. His head was shaved and he sported a day-old stubble that softened the definition of his jawline. Mediterranean tan. As I approached the desk, he kept his eyes on me.

"Sit, please," he said.

I sat, legs crossed. His gaze seemed to look right into me, searching me. On the desk was an open folder with a few documents. A print-out. My name was at the top of the top page. My file.

"Jolene," he said.

"Yes?"

"I hope you are feeling comfortable here, Jolene."

"I am. Thank you." I felt a tremendous thrumming in me, as though his singular attention made me vibrate. I realised I was clenching my muscles, my thighs, and a ripple of pleasure rang from my plug up my spine. I shivered.

"Cold?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

"Good. Jolene, we have a little problem here with your file."

"Oh?" The thrumming shifted to my chest. I felt flustered, cornered. I suddenly feared this was a trap, that he was going to shake me down, threaten to out me unless I forked over a ton of money I didn't have. I felt a panic rise in me. "What's the trouble?"

"Well, Jolene, how are we supposed to deliver our services when you left your preferences blank?"

Shit. I got so caught up fantasizing about all the possibilities that I never settled on one. They had no idea what “ultimate sissy fantasy" I came here to fulfill. The truth was, I still didn’t know what that fantasy was.

"Oh, gosh, I totally forgot. I'm so sorry. I -"

"Shh, no, not to worry. This is why I called you in. Before you can move forward, we will clear this little issue up, and then I will send you on your way, ok? Not to worry."

"Oh good," I said with a wave of relief washing over me. I felt pleasantly dizzy, and in relaxing a sharp contraction rippled in my ass where the plug had been pressing against me.

"So, if you tell me what you want to experience, we can send the message through and get started. What do you say?"

"Ok. Sure, that'll be great."

Christian sat there looking at me still, a small smile on his face, his arms crossed. He leaned back in his chair. "So, what can we do for a pretty thing like you?"

The words couldn't come out of me. I was expected to tell this strange, handsome man the things I wanted men to do to me - a man sitting behind a desk, with all the information I had given already on paper between us.

"I want to, umm..."

"Go ahead. You can say it," Christan said. "You are safe here."

"Um..."

"Maybe you need my help? Ok. I will ask you, and you can say yes, you want to do that, or no, you don't want to do that thing. Ok?"

"Ok."

"So Jolene, do you want to suck on a cock?"

His bluntness shook me. "Yes."

"Good. Yes what, though? Tell me the whole thing, exactly how you want it. Communication is key here."

"I want to suck on a cock," I said.

"Good girl, Jolene. Now tell me, do you want to suck on a thick cock? Would you like that?"

"Yes," I said, my breath escaping me.

"Good," he said, standing up. He came around the desk to my side, taller than I had imagined he was when sitting down. His hands went right to his belt buckle, a bulge already pushing against his black trousers. He stood there in front of me. "Now, Jolene, to not waste time, I will take out my cock, and I want you to really think about if you want to suck on it, ok?" And as he spoke he undid the belt, unzipped his zipper and pulled his pants and underwear down. His cock sprang out, hard as a rock already. It was thick and veiny. It pulsed there in front of me, mere inches away. I was breathless.

"Do you want to suck this cock, Jolene?"

"Yes."

"Good girl. Now you will suck on this cock, and tell daddy all the naughty things you want to happen to you today. Ok? Go ahead, open your mouth."

I opened my mouth, and he put the tip of his cock between my lips.

"Lick it," he said. "Kiss it."

I did as he said. His cock was salty. I instinctively cupped his balls with my right hand. His sack was heavy on my palm, and I slid the bulbous head of his cock and a good inch of the shaft over my tongue. I was leaking in my panties.

"Mmm, Jolene, you are good at this. I can see already you have practice. Spit on it. Make it wet and you will get it farther down."

I popped it out and spit, and instantly I was enraptured, forgetting myself as I sucked on this stranger's dick. He continued to encourage me, called me a good girl, asked if I was hungry, and his words swirled in my head like a spell.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

I popped his dick out of my mouth and said, "I want your dick." I slipped it back in.

"You have it, baby," he said, the head of his thick meat nearing my throat now. "Maybe you need more? You want to be fucked by two men, maybe five? Tell me."

I was on fire, I couldn't take his dick out of me. I needed it. I craved it even though he gave me all I could take of it. I wanted his cum so bad. "Mmm-hmm" was all I could get out.

He pulled his cock out and slapped it against my cheek. My mouth was open, asking for more. He popped it back in, took it out, and bounced it on my face a few times. It met my waiting tongue, my lips, my open mouth. He shoved his cock in again, all the way into my throat so suddenly that I gagged. He pulled it out again. He hitched his pants up, stuffed his hard-on back inside, and rebuckled his belt.

"Very good, Jolene. You can sit back for a moment, ok?"

I was confused... I wanted more. He went back to business as usual.

"I think I know what to do with you, if you will allow me, yes?" he said. "I will make the plan. Do I have your consent?"

"Ok. But what I really want is your cock. Right now."

"I know, baby," he said. He was already writing something in pen on my file. "I will call one of the girls to fix your make-up. Your mascara is running."

He took out a cell phone, made the call, spoke something in Italian and hung up. A moment later, one of the girls came in to touch me up while Christian quietly scribbled his plan on the paper. The girl and I made eye contact as she fixed my liner, and she gave me a devious smile.

When the girl left, Christian still wasn't done. I was left to sit there awkwardly, feeling rejected and on edge and incredibly turned on at the same time.

Finally he looked up at me. "It will take just a little longer, Jolene. I want every detail right for you...If you promise not to ruin your makeup, you can come under the desk and finish what you started. Ok, little slut? Do you like to be called a little slut?"

My heart thumped. "Yes, daddy. Thank you." I got on all fours, crawled under the desk and put my head over his lap. I undid the belt, unzipped his pants, reached in and took his raging hard-on out. Slowly, succulently, I caressed his cock head and shaft with my mouth, letting the pulses and jumps of his cock guide me, which made it pulse and jump even more. Soon, in this slowness, this sensualness, I felt I could sense his pleasure, the exact degree and flavor of it to my touch. It was in my power to spill his cum when I wanted it.

"Such a good little slut," he said.

I wanted his load so bad, but I teased and teased, brought him right up to the edge and kept him there.

"Fuck," he said.

I couldn't take it anymore. After a few delicate swipes of my wet lips up and down the shaft, encompassing the head, I slid him all the way into my mouth. His cock head hit my throat and I forced it in. The head pulsed wide. His whole being trembled, and he spilled his seed in me with mighty groan, filling my throat and mouth. I gagged but held on. His cum leaked from my lips onto my chin. I swallowed what I could, slid his cock out, and wiped clean my chin with the back of my hand. I lovingly licked his cock clean.

His pen was on the floor.

"Thank you, daddy," I said, holding onto his now soft but large member.

"Good, good girl," he sighed. "I believe you are ready."

I was ready, and eager, to officially start my adventure.