|
You are only seeing a fraction of my work. If you want to see it all join my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/itsmetoo If you are already a supporter, go to the Table Of Contents on my Patreon and click the proper link to get the new password. |
Captioned Images Series: Reveal 3
Created: 02/07/2025
Vincent rubbed his eyes, still groggy from sleep, and stretched as he got out of bed. He walked over to his dresser, pulling open the drawer with a practiced motion—only to freeze.
Lacy bras in soft pastels and silky panties in delicate floral patterns lay neatly folded where his usual boxers and undershirts should be. His breath hitched. This wasn’t right. He didn’t own any of this.
He reached in hesitantly, fingers brushing against the smooth fabric. A shiver ran down his spine, and an unfamiliar compulsion took hold. His mind screamed at him to close the drawer and walk away, but his hands moved of their own accord. He grabbed a lilac bra with intricate lace trim and matching panties. His pulse pounded in his ears as he slid them on. The bra fit snugly, the soft cups padded pressing against his chest in a way that sent an eerie mix of discomfort and eerie familiarity through him.
He sat on the bed as he snaked his fingers through one leg of some nude pantyhose and then slipped them over his toe to his ankle, over his calf and to his knee, then he did the same with his other foot. He stood as he pulled the hose up his legs to his waist.
“No… I don’t want to,” he muttered, shaking his head. But he was already moving, his steps almost robotic, as he made his way to the closet.
The doors creaked open, revealing an ensemble that sent another shockwave through his body—a flowing minidress in a pale rose color, with delicate embroidery along the hem. Next to it, a matching pair of kitten-heeled pumps and a light chiffon shawl lay waiting. Vincent swallowed hard.
“I won’t… I can’t,” he whispered, his voice almost pleading. Yet, his trembling hands reached out, fingers brushing against the fabric. The second he made contact, something inside him surrendered. Before he knew it, he was slipping the dress over his head, the soft fabric cascading over his frame, embracing him like a second skin.
The shawl draped effortlessly over his shoulders, and he stepped into the dainty shoes, wobbling slightly as the unfamiliar heel lifted him just a touch higher. His breath came in short gasps as he turned toward the bathroom, heart hammering.
There, on the counter, an array of makeup lay waiting. Next to it, a jewelry box stood open, revealing pearl earrings and a dainty silver necklace. He clutched the sink, fingers digging into the porcelain, willing himself to stop.
“Please… stop,” he gasped, his reflection in the mirror staring back with wide, panicked eyes.
But the moment his fingertips grazed the lipstick, a deep crimson shade, his resolve shattered. He applied it with practiced precision, even though he had no memory of ever doing it before. Mascara coated his lashes, blush dusted his cheeks, and finally, the earrings clicked into place, dangling delicately against his skin.
He turned away from the mirror, his breath coming in ragged, unsteady bursts. His feet carried him down the hallway, past the kitchen, to the front door. His hand hovered over his keys—his lifeline, his way back inside—but he ignored them.
Step by step, he moved forward, his fingers wrapping around the doorknob.
The door opened.
He stepped onto the porch.
And behind him, the door clicked shut, locking him out.
The evening breeze kissed his exposed skin as he stood frozen on the threshold of the outside world, dressed as a woman with no way back in.
Made with Microsoft AI Image Generator