Makeup Therapy

There were a few specific things that made working the cosmetics counter the perfect job for a sissy. Since leaving my former male life far behind, I'd experimentally cycled through several new occupations, but this was the one that was truly for me. The draw was the pure femininity of the environment. Surrounded by the scent of sweet perfumes, endless rows of shimmering lipsticks in every imaginable shade, and the bright, polished glow of mirrored displays, it felt like a curated world where not a single trace of masculinity was ever allowed to break the spell.

Then came the dress code. The retailer designed it to give an air of the clinical and precise. I spent my days in a crisp, bright white pencil skirt and blouse, accented with a little flower logo of the brand I mainly sold. My long, bleach-blonde hair was always scraped back neatly and held at the back with a large pink clip. What I loved about it most was that the uniform was not a choice, but a requirement. What was not required, though, were the sheer stockings that glided over my smooth-shaven legs, nor was the garter belt or tallest of high heels. These were embellishments of my own design to which my employer saw no reason to object.

The overall sensation was divine. My impractical shoes often left a dull ache in my ankles, but I gladly traded that discomfort for the feminine sway of my walk and the sharp, rhythmic clicking of my heels on the tiled floor. The tight fit of the skirt forced a deliberate, graceful pace, while the constant, subtle tug of my garters, served as a delicious reminder of my nouveau femininity with every stride. But then there was the gentle bounce in my chest, a little present I'd gifted to myself two years earlier that had made me feel like a complete girl. The thrill of glimpsing my ample cleavage and the pleasure of my bra's constant embrace had never faded.

I wore a full face of makeup and kept my nails long and meticulously painted. I was, after all, a living advertisement for the products I sold. I was expected to greet each customer with a smile, wearing bright lipstick, and to display the artistry of my makeup with pride. I loved the feeling of being on display, head held high, chest out, standing among the gleaming counters like a girlish store mannequin, one that could smile, speak, and entice customers to my domain.

"Hey, Kaley!" shouted Freya, my co-worker and best friend. I lit up at the sight of her and gave her a little wave with my fingers as she bounded toward me, wrapping me in a warm hug and kissing me on the cheek. I adored the tactile nature of women's friendships. It was a world apart from the standoffishness of my previous male life. I used to go months without ever touching another human being, now I got the most wonderful hug every day.

"Love the earrings," I said, leaning closer to admire her diamonds as they caught the light.

"Cole got them for me."

"Expensive gifts, huh?" My eyes widened. "Interesting. So... are you two officially dating now?"

She glanced around to ensure privacy, then leaned in with a mischievous whisper. "Officially fucking." She paused, a slow, dreamy grin spreading across her lips. "Kaley, the sex was awesome."

I practically beamed, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. "Oh my god, that's such amazing news!" I squealed, clutching at her arm. "I knew it. I mean, the tension between you two was just off the charts. What are we talking, like, movie-level sex here?"

Freya laughed breathlessly. "Kaley, it was... I-can't-even-breathe level."

"I need details."

"Later. I've gotta go."

I caught her hand. "You can't drop that on me and just leave."

"I promise. Later." I let her go and watched her disappear with a smile on my lips.

As much as my life had radically improved recently, and as happy as I was, there was still something missing. I was living vicariously through Freya's relationships, hanging on every salacious little detail I could coax from her, but in truth I ached for everything she had. I wanted a man to squeeze me close to him, love me unconditionally, and surprise me with little gifts. I wanted someone curious about my thoughts and dreams, who encouraged me and made me feel like we were one. I wanted a man who could be my safe place and my favorite adventure, someone whose presence made the simplest of moments brighter. I longed for the warmth of endless attention and the feeling of being cherished and understood. And then I wanted to be fucked until I couldn't breathe.

I had a hole that needed filling, both figuratively and literally, but there was just one minor detail standing in the way of my desires: I wasn't even in the slightest attracted to the male form. I was hardly uncomfortable with the concept of touching a man in the way most most real men were, or at least seemed to be. The problem was that on my personal sexual spectrum, men fell into the neutral middle. I wasn't turned off, I just wasn't turned on either. I lacked the intrinsic passion, the drive, and the hunger to be the desperate, obsessive little cock addict I knew deep inside that I should be. If I was being honest, quite the opposite was going on: I was still having thoughts about women that were putting a little strain into my cock cage. There was no real logical reason why pursuing a relationship with a woman couldn't have fulfilled some of my needs, but I didn't want it to be that way. I wanted to experience love and sex like Freya did; she was my role model. I was determined to be a good girl. I was going to be a sissy for men.

While a life spent at the cosmetics counter had it's considerable feminine delights, it wasn't exactly doing much to help with my amorous desires. A tray of lipsticks was like kryptonite for men and few prospects came my way with which I might gain practice at being an outrageous flirt. On the occasions that they did materialize, it was always because they had a very committed significant other, just like the man approaching me now.

"May I help you with anything today, Sir?" I asked the balding customer in his late forties. He glanced away shyly, and it took him some moments to seemingly build up the courage to even utter a word.

"Erm ..." was all that came out. Not unusually for a man, he was clearly out of his element in my feminine lair and I tried to put him at ease.

"What's the occasion? Let me guess... it's her birthday and you have no idea what she likes, or anniversary or is it even a grumpy teenage daughter whining that Daddy just doesn't understand her?" I opened my arms, wafting my hands over the full range of products. "I have magical cures for all of your problems." He smiled and seemed a little more comfortable.

"Er, birthday. It's my wife's birthday."

"Perfect. So we're looking at perfume then. Can you remember any brands she likes?" He looked blank. "Even the shape of any bottles? I'm great at guessing." He shook his head. I immediately brought out three of my most exclusive and ridiculously expensive lines. A girl has to hit her sales targets. "These are all top sellers and none can fail to impress. Want to sample them?"

"No thank you," he said quite firmly. "I'd like to go with something else."

"Already got too much perfume, huh?" Or maybe the problem was I'd started at way too high a price-point. "Moisturizer then. It makes a great gift." I pulled out something mid-range and made a point to show him the very reasonable price tag.

"Actually, I was thinking of getting her makeup. Can you tell me about lipsticks?"

"Oh!" There was a surprise; it was not the usual choice. "Of course, I can absolutely help you with that, Sir." I reached down and found a gift-set of five designer lipsticks. "These are lovely. They have a high pigment load, so you get strong color. It's a satin finish, so it gives just a little sheen without being too glossy. The formula also includes high-quality emollients for comfort."

"Great, I'll take those." I had a winner. I was just about to tap on the checkout, but he wasn't done. "Do you have nail polish?"

"Yes, Sir." I picked up a pre-packaged set of high-end products. "These are a new type of gel effect polish that just came onto the market. It's unbelievably hard wearing, I would say getting close to a salon finish. Buy her these and just imagine all the money she'll be saving on visits to the nail bar."

"Does it have pink?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm wearing it now." I wiggled my fingers, showing him my long, neon pink sissy nails.

"That's perfect," he said with a smile. "Is it easy to apply?"

It was very unusual for a male customer to ask questions. On the rare occasions a man came looking for makeup, he arrived with a very specific list of products directly supplied by the partner who was not to be disappointed. He would hand it over in silence, pleading with his expression to get the whole humiliating episode over with as fast as humanly possible. I'd package up the goods like lightening and the whole thing went down like a drug deal.

"Oh yeah, that's the beauty of these. Basically it's just regular air-dry, but goes almost as tough as lamp cured. Don't worry, it's got everything she needs. Just follow the instructions."

"Do you have the makeup for covering blemishes in the skin?"

"Uh huh, that would be foundation or concealer. Erm, if I could give you some advice, Sir, it's not an ideal gift because I'd need to see her to match it to her skin tone." I thought for a second. "What about a gift card? Bring her in and I'll be happy to pick out just the right one for her."

"No!" he said brusquely. "Thank you. I'll just take these please."

"This is a lovely gift, Sir." I rang it all up. "I am sure your wife will have a fabulous birthday."

It was a little over an hour later, nearing 6pm, and I was fussing over a display of makeup brushes. "Miss," said a voice, in a near whisper. I turned around, and my customer was back.

"Oh, hello again, Sir." I tottered over on my heels. "Great to see you so soon. Had second thoughts about that gift card, huh?" Unexpectedly, that was not what he wanted. He looked very distressed.

"I need your help," he said in a serious, quiet tone. I followed his gaze down to see his hands planted on the counter, tightly bound into threatening fists. I took a step back in fear, searching around for anyone who might answer my screams should there be trouble.

"What exactly is the problem, Sir?" I asked with a little trepidation. He glanced to his left and then right to make sure no one was watching. Very, slowly the fists unfurled into ten splayed fingers, each bearing a shiny, neon pink nail. I bent over to study the cause of his significant concern. "Hmm... you shouldn't have painted over your cuticles; you should have left a small gap at the base."

"No!" he said, in a still quiet but assertive voice. "How do I get rid of the damn stuff?"

"Okay, so you need acetone, but this is a way tougher polish than average. You'll have to file them all first and then soak for a while. It won't come off easy, that's the whole point."

"Can you do it?"

"Sure. No problem," I said, reaching for supplies, but his hands had curled back up into fists again. "Sir, you're going to have to let me at your fingers."

"How long will this take?" The humiliation was evident on his face, and he wasn't going to like my answer.

"Twenty minutes, maybe." I said with a grimace.

"Twenty minutes?!? Look, is there somewhere private we can go?"

"I really can't leave my station, Sir."

"Please!" he pleaded, with desperation in his eyes. "This is an emergency."

I'd never had an emergency on the makeup counter before and wasn't sure what to do. His hands in his pockets, he followed me to the large wheelchair-accessible bathroom at the rear of the store and I sat him down on the toilet lid while I got prepared at the sink.

"I've got the same problem as you," I said. "When I buy great gifts for other people, sometimes I end up stealing them for myself."

He laughed. "I think we both know it was never for my wife. It's not even her birthday."

"What happened?"

"Fine." He sighed with defeat. "I've always had this deep down, repressed feeling, that I just wanted to try this stuff. I got married at a young age and the opportunity just never came." I started filing down the toughened polish on one of his nails. "I just thought, you know, I wanted to see how it was and if not now, then when was it ever going to happen?"

"There's nothing wrong with that. Can't you bring it up with your wife?"

"I don't think so. She wouldn't understand. Things are good and always have been. I don't want to risk anything that might damage our relationship." He looked away. "But I just get so jealous seeing her wearing the pretty things. I don't know if that could ever make any sense to you?"

"It makes more sense than you know." I moved to his other hand. "I fully understand everything there is to know about sneaking around to try on makeup and clothes. I don't usually tell people this so soon, but I was born a boy."

"You're very pretty. I would never have known."

"Thank you, that means a lot to hear someone say that. It's been a lot of hard work." I smiled. "And you're looking at a lot of makeup."

"I'm not sure I'd turn out like you, no matter how much makeup I used." I applied acetone to cotton wool and attached it to one of his nails with a soak-off clip.

I studied his features. "You'd be surprised. I think something could be done with the right artistry."

"Well, it's never going to happen. I don't have anywhere to even try. I had to resort to putting on nail polish in my car." He suddenly remembered something. "Oh hell, I need to call my wife." He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. "Hey honey, I'm going to be a little late this evening ..." I only heard one side of the conversation. "Sorry, yeah, that's right, I got held up with a difficult client again." He glanced at me and I grinned. "I can't leave now. You know how it is ... love you too." He hung up.

"Can your most difficult client ask what is it you do?"

"I'm a therapist, clinical psychologist." He held up his free hand, nails towards me, highlighting the irony. "Therapist, heal thyself, huh?"

"Sometimes you spend so long helping others, you forget your own needs." An opportunity had presented itself. "Could I ask you a quick question?"

He laughed. "I get that a lot, and the question is never quick, but someone as kind and understanding as you deserves a free session. You've got until my nails are done. Hit me."

"Okay, so, say just hypothetically, there was a boy who is now a girl, but she wasn't attracted to men in any way. How could she make herself more attracted?"

"That's not a path I would go down at all. We'd talk about why the, uh, hypothetical girl, was unhappy with her natural sexuality and see what we could do to make her more comfortable with who she was."

"But, hypothetically, say she really wanted to be obsessed with men and that was her desire. Could you do it?"

"Kaley, why would you want that?"

"How did you know my name?" I asked, startled. "Is that one of your special psychologist tricks?"

"I think you're confusing me with a mentalist. It's written on your name tag."

I looked down. "Oh, yeah. Well, okay, then... Mike!" I stared at him, looking for a flicker of surprise.

"My name's Ellis."

"I just thought I'd take a shot and maybe you'd be impressed. Nice name."

"You're avoiding the question."

"I don't yet know if I am going to be this way forever. I am currently enjoying, shall we say, a long vacation in the feminine world, sampling all of its finest delights, and I want the all-inclusive package deal."

He thought for a moment. "I think we need a long, exploratory discussion about this and then I write a new paper for the Journal of Psychological Science."

"Ellis, I am fully cognizant of the fact that you believe I am nothing but three mental illnesses in a skirt, and hell, you might even be right, but let's get real, who isn't? I am very happy with myself and I know what I want, so how about I sweeten the deal for you and we skip that part." He didn't say anything and just stared at me with a poker face. "If you give me the therapy I want, how about I give you the therapy that you need?"

"What kind of therapy is it you think I need, Kaley?"

"I have a nice, private place you can come to and dress up as often as you want. I will do your makeup and your pretty pink nails and you can keep a whole wardrobe of clothes. Now, you answer this question for me Ellis: do you want my number?"

...

"Okay, I'm ready. Make me a cock slut."

The sensual woman, in the fullness of her prime, stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of my apartment with a dreamy smile. Her chestnut-brown wig fell in soft waves to her shoulders, its side parting framing the face I had meticulously made up, with warm bronze shadow blended around the eyes, fine black liner sweeping into delicate wings, and mascara darkening her lashes. A touch of rose blush warmed her cheeks, and her lips were painted a deep, satin red.

She wore a fitted black velvet dress with three-quarter sleeves. A narrow gold chain rested at her collarbone, paired with small drop earrings and a slim bracelet. Her sheer stockings disappeared into pointed black heels. She brushed a loose wave back from her cheek, a wine glass poised in her other hand, as she gazed out over the city lights.

"I think you mean, awaken a profound appreciation for the masculine physique." Ellis hadn't taken long to decide he could use a little makeup therapy, and we'd had a lot a fun together through the afternoon. He turned back to me, sipping from his glass.

"That too." I lay on my couch, bouncing up and down with excitement. "Can we get started now?"

Ellis glanced around my spacious and luxuriously furnished living room. "Retail pay must have improved since I was young."

"I wouldn't bank on that."

"Which begs the question ..." He gestured around. "If I'm not prying too much."

"I came out ahead when I divorced my rich husband."

"Kaley, you got me here to help you become attracted to men."

"Yeah, he found out I was a lesbian, that's why he divorced me." Ellis laughed, and strode over to my shelves, filled with books and knickknacks.

"I'll tell you what I think, Kaley. I believe you are a very independent, self-made woman." He picked up a large, heavy tome of dense Greek text, and began flicking through the pages. "You were a mathematician of some kind, and at a particularly advanced level. I can't even begin to understand any of this stuff." He put it back and picked up another book that seemed to catch his eye. "And you used to work in finance. Am I getting warm?"

"Not even slightly." I curled my finger around my hair and pouted. "I can't even add two numbers together, Ellis."

"Uh huh," he said with disbelief. He picked up an intricately carved, checkerboard-patterned wooden box from the shelf and started playing with it. "What's this?" he asked.

"It's a puzzle box. You have to slide around the squares to figure out how to unlock it, and then you can put small keepsakes inside it." He fiddled around with it for what seemed like an eternity. Frustrated at his incompetence, I got up and snatched it from his hand. "Look, it's clearly chess, themed. Obviously you just slide around the chess pieces into a checkmate. You've completely messed this up, let me fix it ... " I slid around the squares into the correct order, the box snapped open and I smugly handed it back to him.

"I knew someone like you wouldn't be able to resist solving it for me." He grinned at his exposure of me. He closed up the box and placed it back on the shelf.

"Must have been a friend showed me how to do it," I mumbled, glancing away.

"Now, most folks want everyone to know just how smart and accomplished they are, but you enjoy play-acting being dumb." He sat on an easy chair. "I would really love to have a conversation. I could write a great paper."

"Quit analyzing me."

"I just find you professionally interesting."

"I want my session now, Ellis, as we agreed." I took up my position again on the couch.

"Fine. Well, since you clearly enjoy role-play, we'll start with that. There's a group of theories called 'embodied cognition'. This means that your mental state can mirror what your body is physically doing. For example, say you clenched your fists, it might make you feel angrier, but force a smile, it can make you feel a little happier. So what we're going to do with this, is instead mimic a highly sexually aroused state. What I want you to do is close your eyes and think about someone who is incredibly attractive to you as vividly as you can."

That was easy: I thought about Freya naked, on her knees. "I'm done."

"Now pay very close attention to what's happening in your body. Describe to me what's going on."

"I don't know exactly. I kind of feel, perhaps something like anxiety. I have a little tightness in my chest."

"That's good, sexual arousal is a very closely related feeling to anxiety. Hold that thought and sit up." Ellis leaned forward. "Next we need a man. What kind of guy do you want to be attracted to?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't think about this in advance?" he said, slightly annoyed. "Just tell me the name of an attractive male celebrity or something." He snapped his fingers. "Quick, before your memory of the feelings fades." I shrugged. "Okay, don't worry about it. Wait, one second." He felt the side of his skirt and looked at me with a smile. "I forgot I don't have pockets."

I laughed. "Yeah I still do that. I love those little feminine reminders."

He looked around for his phone, and on finding it, prodded at the screen. "What do you think of that guy?"

He showed me a picture of a man somewhere in his mid-twenties with short blonde hair and light, well-trimmed stubble that followed his jawline and added a rugged edge. He had on a casual teal colored polo shirt, the fabric pulling slightly across his chest and shoulders hinting at a lean, athletic build. It was clear he wasn't a stranger to the gym and took care of himself. Over that was a brown canvas apron bearing a large prominent logo that looked half-way between a leaf and a coffee bean, clearly implying he had some kind of serving job.

"Who is he?"

"James, my fickle daughter's fleeting ex-boyfriend, if he was around long enough to call him that. She sent me these photos and he seemed like a nice boy, but I never got to meet him even once before they split. She picked him up when she came home from college recently, drooled over him for two weeks straight and I was forced to hear all about it, against my will, in far more graphic detail than any father ever should. Just to put you in the picture as to the true extent of the horror I had to endure, she even told me about the tattoo on his upper thigh."

"So what weird tattoo does James have on his upper thigh?"

"That's not the point, Kaley, and maybe one day when you're a parent you'll understand. It's more a problem of considering exactly how my innocent little angel knows anything at all about what a guy has in that very private region, and even worse that she should tell me about it. I think I'm scarred for life."

"Sounds like you need a good therapist," I said with a grin. "Know anybody?"

"Fortunately I do. But anyway, I have it on good authority that this young gentleman must be considered very hot indeed by ladies of discerning taste. So what do you think?"

"I don't know, Ellis. I feel absolutely nothing. I might as well be looking at a rock."

"Say something positive about him. Come on now, try."

I stared at the photo, struggling to come up with any words. "Er, nice smile... I guess?"

"Very good. A nice smile. That's a great start. So James here, is going to be ... something like your teenage crush that has never left you since when you were a girl. Perhaps this boy was in a band and you had a poster of him on your wall. He is the template that defines your type, he represents the characteristics that you look for in a man."

"Whatever you think," I said with indifference. "Works for me."

He handed me the phone. "Look at the picture and try to recall those feelings of sexual excitement from earlier." My eyes drifted. "No, Kaley, focus hard on the screen. When you're attracted, you're fixated; you can't pull your eyes away and nothing else matters but looking at the object of your desire. Make sure you stare right into his eyes. When you do that, as with anyone at all, it can increase your heart rate."

"I'm staring." I wasn't feeling much.

"Now try to recall that slightly anxious feeling from earlier and exactly how you felt. It's like method acting. Force your body back into the precise same state as best you can. Work at it. Build a little light tension in your chest, your pelvic floor, and you core."

"You sound like my yoga teacher."

"Make your breathing very shallow; you have a little breathlessness when you're in love."

"Uh huh."

"Now, do a brief period of hyperventilating." I changed to fast, short, controlled bursts. "Just for a second, now, then back to slow shallow breathing. Alternate between those two states a couple of times."

"Good. Now I want you to recall a memory that gave you a rush, a little like fear but something fun. Go over the top of a rollercoaster in you mind but keep fixating on the picture."

"Now what we're doing is called 'misattribution'. You're going to associate the false aroused feelings you've manufactured in your body with handsome James here."

"What do I do now?"

"You practice, practice and practice again. Being a cock slut is about putting in the ground work."

"You mean connoisseur of the masculine physique."

"That too. From now on, every time you see a guy who looks a little like your crush, you run through the fake attraction procedure without fail. Eventually, regardless of how smart you are, your confused little brain is going to be tricked into thinking that must be what gets you off."

The phone buzzed. "You got a message." I handed it back to Ellis. He looked at it and slipped the device into his nonexistent pocket. It clattered to the floor.

"I will never get used to that. I hope replacement phone screens are not too expensive."

"What are we doing next?"

"That was my wife, and my curfew for being 'out with boys' has expired. I was going to suggest CBT, but I don't have time tonight. "

"That's OK; I'm not into that anyway. I just wear a cock cage, that's as far as I go."

Ellis blinked and looked at me with confusion. "Kaley, what exactly do you believe CBT is?"

"Cock and Ball Torture."

"What in the hell kind of porn sites do you young folks visit these days? Things have come a long way since jacking off to the lingerie catalog, I'll tell you that." He looked at me with disbelief. "It means Cognitive Behavioral Therapy."

"Oh."

"But you wear a cock cage, huh? I am not unfamiliar with that. I had a patient once who used one of those. So that's a chastity thing fixed with a lock around your genitals and you use it to keep yourself sexually frustrated. Are we on the same page?"

"Yeah. It's a good one. Really secure."

"Would you mind if I asked whether you can orgasm while wearing it?"

"Not even slightly."

"That is extremely useful for your particular treatment requirements. Can I get the key or whatever it is you lock it with, please?"

"Love to!" I said enthusiastically. "This is turning out better than I hoped."

"Yeah, I don't think you'll be saying that in a few days." I handed him the keys. "Kaley, I have very much enjoyed myself this evening and I have to thank you so much for your kindness and patience in helping me out. Can you take off my makeup please, I will leave you with some homework and I would love to do this again soon."

The 'homework' turned out to be nothing like I remembered from college. I lay on the couch on my side, naked except for stockings and a bra. Ellis had sent me the pictures of James and I had them on my TV screen. He'd told me to place a bottle of perfume open nearby. It was one of the expensive ones I sold and I was specifically instructed never to wear it, but always to have the aroma around when I engaged in this particular activity.

I fixated on the screen, on James, and ran through my faux attraction checklist, forcing a little tightness in my pelvic floor and a little anxiety with shallow breathing. Then I reached behind me, feeling around until I found what I'd placed there. I crossed one thigh over the other and slowly slid my large, vibrating, Bad Girl Dominator into my well-lubricated behind.

Ellis had told me that the most important factor in my journey came down to the three M's - masturbation, masturbation and more masturbation. If I wanted to change what got me off, I needed to masturbate to my material of choice as often as possible, and critically to make certain it was strictly only ever that. I needed to rigorously control my thoughts and make sure nothing impure ever entered them while I was doing the deed; not a single thought of a naked women must ever cross my mind. I didn't have to just use James' photo, I could switch it up with a little male-on-male porn if I liked, but I had to make certain whatever visual stimulus I used was always appropriate to my desired outcome.

Masturbation didn't mean I'd come; there was no chance of that in my tightly locked state and only Ellis would ever get to decide the time when that happened. The best I could hope for was to edge. I would find my spot, my little clitoris would strain and then I'd have to withdraw and recover. I'd do it again, and again and again, never once earning any relief.

...

I'd told my employer I needed to visit my doctor; it was almost true. Sometimes Ellis couldn't visit me due to family commitments and I'd go see him at his office for my treatment at times when he wasn't busy during the day. Of course it wasn't possible for him to dress up there, but we kept score and always made sure we were even. He'd get a complimentary makeup therapy session from me when he could be available.

I lay on a comfortable couch, my head turned, staring straight at him as he looked at me with a smile, his fingers arched under his chin.

"So how's it going?" he asked.

"You're very devious."

"How am I devious, Kaley?"

"That perfume I set out when I masturbate, you knew full well I sell it at my work. Every time the aroma hits me at my counter, I suddenly only have one thing on my mind and can barely concentrate."

"That's the idea. Aromas are one of the most powerful ways to build associations and recollections. That's what you smell when you get off and the association works in both directions."

"It makes me feel so horny. I have this urgency that makes me want to get home immediately and reach for my toy."

"That's good." I watched him make a note. "And what's going on with your male desire role play?"

"At first it was frustrating, I missed parts out and I didn't see the point. But then I stuck at it and now I feel it's just starting to become something I slip into without thought."

"Excellent progress. It's like learning to drive a car. As a student, you have to think about every single little action and run through a mental checklist. I have to press the accelerator now by this amount, I have to press the brake, I have to using the turning signal. You make endless mistakes and it's frustrating, exhausting even. But then over time, after weeks of dedicated practice, it just becomes completely natural. You can drive for miles thinking about something else and hardly have any recollection of driving at all. If you keep up the practice, that's how it'll be. You'll have that special feeling happen automatically, for the right man, of course."

I watched him scribble something down. "Ellis, are you making notes for that paper you talked about?"

"No," he said, putting the pad down. "I always make notes on my patient's progress."

I furrowed my brow. "Now why don't I believe you?"

He smiled, changing the subject. "I think we should take your role play to the next level. I want you to bring in some outwardly visible, exaggerated female mannerisms of attraction on top of your internal feelings."

"Like what?"

"When she sees someone she likes, she straightens her clothes without even thinking, she plays with her jewelry." I started to follow his advice. "That's good, Kaley. It's called preening. She's unconsciously trying to make herself attractive to him. And then she touches herself." I reached between my thighs. "Not there!" he said with a raised voice. I retracted my hand. "She touches her collarbone, her neck, her wrists, in a heightened sense of tactile awareness."

"Anything else?"

"Draw attention to your mouth. Put your finger to your lips. Maybe you could do your lipstick, if convenient."

"It's quite a lot to remember."

"You'll get used to it. I'll send you a list with some more ideas."

"Ellis, can I have my key, please. I'm kind of ready."

"Is that so." He reached into his pocket, and I reached out, expecting my key to be delivered, but instead he produced a quarter. He flipped it high in the air and caught it. "Sorry, fate says not today."

"That's how you decide, you flip a coin?"

"Do you know why gamblers keep coming back to the roulette wheel?" I shook my head. "Variable rewards. Sometimes, they win, but they can't tell exactly when it's going to happen."

"Guess I'll have to try again tomorrow."

"Exactly." He grinned. "Let's see if we can get you some kind of relief in a different way. Today I'd like to do some visualization practice. I never actually do this with patients, and you'll soon understand why, this is something private between my wife and me. I think doing this exercise will help build an appreciation in you for what a man can offer a lady."

"Intriguing."

He dimmed the lights and had me settle into the couch with my eyes closed. He started speaking in a low, steady voice and taking me through dozens of stages of progressive relaxation, concentrating on tightening muscles and then releasing the tension, until ultimately, I just drifted away. For me, the world disappeared until all that existed was blackness and his voice. Through his words, he started to get me to visualize that I was naked with my lover.

My imaginary partner slid his hand under the small of my back, and the sensation made my skin bloom into goosebumps. What I'd never realized before now was that it all started with anticipation. Every nerve ending between my legs felt amplified, and warm honey pooled in my belly. My nipples tightened into hard, aching points, so impossibly sensitive that even the gentle brush of fabric made me draw a sharp breath. My thighs shifted, restless, the insides of them already slick, my body needily asking for him.

When he first pressed into me, I held my breath, feeling a slow, spreading stretch, a fullness advancing outward from the center, reaching the walls, nudging nerves I forgot I had. I was a body being opened up, filled and impossibly aware. A ring of muscles yielded to him in slow degrees. The stretch was almost too much and exactly enough at the same time. My hips tilted up from the couch, desperate for more of him.

He thrust again. It sent shockwaves of heat rolling through me, and my hands grasped the cushions. He went deeper. The angle changed, and suddenly every stroke was dragging across a spot inside of me that made stars burst behind my closed eyes. My back arched clean off the couch. I began to whimper; my hands scrabbled for something, anything to hold onto. The pleasure wasn't just building, it was flooding, spilling over the edges, hot and electric, climbing up through my belly and into my chest until every rib felt it.

The tension was incredibly tight, like a wire stretched ready to break. My whole body went rigid, every muscle locked up and then, just like that ... it snapped. The orgasms rolled through me in waves, one after the other, each starting deep in my core and washing outward with such intensity I could hardly breathe. I clenched against him, clamping down hard, fluttering and spasming in rhythmic pulses that seemed to go on and on. Heat poured through me, down my thighs, up into my spine and my scalp, and then I screamed.

There was a bang at the door and I jolted wide awake, immediately collapsing from my arched position into the couch.

"Ellis!" shouted a woman. "Everything okay in there?"

"We're all fine in here, Donna," Ellis shouted back. "Sorry about the noise."

"My god Ellis, your wife will never leave you," I said, panting hard on the couch. "Forget the psychology practice; any man who can get women off with his voice like that should be a millionaire by the end of the month."

"I'm pleased you enjoyed it. Now, tell me, would you like to go again?"

"Hell yeah."

"Then you'll promise to do all your exercises without fail."

"I'll be a good girl."

"Well, okay then." I snuggled up and closed my eyes. "And this time, tone it down, don't go frightening my receptionist again."

...

I'd taken Freya to dinner at a little Italian place, mostly because I'd been dying for an update on Cole since she'd messaged me three exclamation points and nothing else.

"You will never guess where he's taking me on vacation."

"Don't make me guess. Just tell me," I pleaded.

"The Maldives."

I nearly knocked over my water glass. "Shut up. Are you serious?"

"Dead serious." She pulled out her phone and started scrolling, then turned the screen toward me. A bungalow perched on stilts over beautiful turquoise water. "It's an over-water villa. With a glass floor, Kaley. You can watch the fish from your bed."

"That's insane. When did he tell you?"

"Last night, over drinks. He slid me the itinerary across the table like it was nothing, like he was passing me a napkin." She pressed a hand to her chest. "I think I actually made a sound. The couple next to us looked over, and I ... "

I'd stopped listening.

The waiter briefly appeared at our table to set down breadsticks, sleeves rolled to the elbow, a day's worth of stubble along his jaw, blonde hair damp at the temples like he'd just splashed water on his face. I forgot where I was and my body slipped into its routine as intense desire washed over me. I slid a little lower in my chair, my fingertips drifting to my parted lips. The restaurant blurred and went far away as I watched him walk back toward the kitchen.

"Yeah," Freya said dryly. "I think I looked something like that."

My head snapped around. "Huh?"

"Hello? I was in the middle of the best story of my life." She raised an eyebrow. "You look like you just had an orgasm. Something nice distracting you?"

I sat up straight, grabbed the menu I'd already ordered from, and studied it like it might be on the test. "Maybe a little."

"Maybe a lot. I've never seen you this way before. It's sweet."

I put down the menu. "Freya, I want to ask you a question. How do you attract a guy?"

She laughed and reached for her wine. "What do you mean, Kaley? It just comes naturally."

"No, it doesn't. Nobody is born knowing how to do it and certainly not me." I lowered my voice and looked at the waiter. "Say I wanted my legs wrapped around that one tonight. What do I do?"

She studied me for a long moment, then set down her glass and folded her hands like a surgeon about to explain a procedure. "Okay. First, stop looking at him so obviously, like he's dessert or something."

"I'm not looking at him that way."

"You are. Second, you need a reason to talk to him that isn't 'I want you.' Ask him something he has to answer with more than one word. What's good here, what would he order, anything."

"That's it?"

"No, that's the easy part. The next part is what you do with his answer." She leaned back, tapping her nail against the stem of her glass. "Say he tells you the gnocchi is the best thing on the menu. Most women say 'great, I'll have that' and he walks away. You say, 'Is that what you'd cook for someone?' Now he's not talking about gnocchi anymore. He's talking about himself, and he knows you know it."

"That's a lot to come up with on the spot."

"You don't have to be clever. You just have to be curious. Ask a question, listen to the answer, then ask a second question about the answer. That's the whole shtick. Nobody ever gets a second question." She held up two fingers. "Also, slow down. When you're nervous, you talk fast. Slow your voice and drop it a little, so he has to lean in to hear you."

"If I do that, I'll sound like I'm narrating a nature documentary or something."

"You'll sound like someone who isn't in a hurry. That's the sexiest thing there is." She sipped her wine. "Then you hold eye contact one second longer than is comfortable. Count it in your head if you have to. And you smile as he looks away, not before. Let him wonder what that was about."

"And if he doesn't look away?"

Freya's grin turned slow and satisfied. "Then you've already won, and you can stop taking notes."

"And if I panic?"

"Then you panic with confidence."

...

It was Friday afternoon and I didn't have work. I hadn't seen Ellis for several days but today he had no clients and had come over. He was sitting at my dresser wearing a rich, crimson evening gown in soft satin, tailored neatly at the waist and falling in a smooth, elegant line to his ankles.

"Are you sure we actually did hypnosis?" I asked as I was busy taking off his makeup.

"Very sure."

"I feel like I fell asleep. I can't remember a single thing about it. I was probably snoring."

"No, you were purring away gently like a kitten, but you were definitely not asleep, just very deeply focused."

"So what exactly did we do?"

"After I got you relaxed, I talked to you in depth about appreciating the aesthetics of a gentleman's genitalia."

"I don't feel any different." Ellis was back to looking like his male self. I carefully checked him for any possible remaining makeup residue; I didn't want to get him in trouble with his wife, and finished up with a light moisturizer. He stood up and I unzipped his dress for him. He went to take off his panties and I turned away sharply.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I didn't want to suddenly fall to my knees if I happened to catch sight of your dick."

Ellis laughed. "It was just a little exercise to heighten your visual appreciation for the parts that come along with your gender of choice. Don't worry, you're not going to do anything insane."

I fished under my bed and pulled out the box containing my Bad Girl. I put it on my bed, opened it up and looked at it. I almost immediately felt a little strain down below. "I've got some feelings going on in my cock cage; maybe it's working."

"That's good."

"Ellis, I'm really in need. Can I have my key?" I pleaded with a whining voice.

"Nope," he said, looking around for his shirt.

"Aren't you going to flip your coin or something?"

"I don't think so."

"But it's been nearly a week. It's the longest I've ever been locked." I picked up his suit pants and went through his pockets.

"It's not in there, Kaley." he said, snatching back his pants. "I've hidden it."

"You hid it? Where?!?"

"I'm not telling, but it's good to know you're feeling keen. I rather hoped you would be by now."

He opened his briefcase, and to my surprise, he took my dildo from the bed and dropped it inside.

"Ellis! What are you doing? I need that."

"No you don't, I got you a better one." He retrieved from his case a stainless steel, torpedo-shaped coffee flask of about twenty ounces capacity and a little over two inches in diameter.

"Ellis, I don't know what kind of slack-holed super-whore you think I am, but there is no way I am ever going to ever get that inside me."

"And I do not want to be dialing 911, so don't even try."

"I thought you said you got me a new sex toy."

"You know, Kaley, I think your mathematical brain just cannot resist a puzzle, so I am leaving you with with an unscratched itch that I know is going to go round and round in your mind and drive you crazy. I believe, though, that a girl of your caliber could solve it, and when you do, I think you'll find the key to your needs. But let me just give you a little extra incentive."

He picked up a perfume from my dresser and opened the bottle, dabbing far too much Eau de Masturbation all around the nape my neck. The scent immediately made me think about getting myself filled.

"Please, Ellis, I'm desperate."

"That's what you've always fantasized about, isn't it? Becoming a desperate little cock addict." He picked up his suit jacket and locked his case. "Well, now you are."

"Ellis, you can't leave me like this."

"Kaley, we've been at this for weeks and it's time for the training wheels to come off. Let me know when you solve it."

"Ellis!" He walked out of the apartment.

I glanced around in panic and picked up the flask. I was so desperate I slipped down my panties and, despite the impossibility of the task, I gave it a try anyway. Inevitably, I did not get far. What was he talking about? He got me a new sex toy? What did he mean? I threw the flask on the bed and despaired, but then, I noticed there was a folded cardboard tag still attached to it describing the place where it was bought. I opened it up and a distinctive logo immediately caught my eye. Suddenly, everything fell into place.

I rushed to refresh my makeup, grabbed my purse, and raced out of the door. It took me a little searching and then twenty minutes to get across town, but eventually, I found the place. It was an organic coffee shop with the same leaf and bean logo I'd seen many times before. I walked in, past the display of mugs, mokas, flasks, and other coffee-related items for sale. I looked towards the counter, and then it hit me like a train.

My knees buckled underneath me to such an extent that I had to lean on a chair for support. My breathing went so shallow I nearly fainted, my anxiety hit the roof, and I had tension just about everywhere. I slumped into the seat. A member of staff saw my distress and hurried over to me.

"Excuse me, are you feeling okay?" asked the rugged-looking barista with concern.

"I'm just great, thanks," I said staring at his muscles under his green polo shirt. "In fact, I don't think I've ever felt better."

"Are you sure? You seemed a little unsteady there," he said with concern. He brushed his hands through his blonde hair and touched his name tag. "My name's James." I already knew, and I couldn't take my eyes off him. "Can I at least save you getting up again and bring you something over?"

"That'd be really kind of you, thanks." I thought for a second. "What's good here? What would you order?"

"Erm, the honey cortado is my favorite."

"Honey cortado, huh?" I let it sit a second, slowing my voice and dropping it just enough that he had to step closer. "Is that what you recommend to everyone?"

I looked into his eyes, holding my gaze. One second, passed. Then two. And three. The discomfort was palpable and my pulse was loud in my ears.

"Only to the people I want to come back," he said, with his nice smile.

A few hours later, I was sitting on my couch wearing a tight pink mini-dress, its soft fabric clinging to my curves and skimming high over my thighs. Beneath it, my underwired bra lifted and shaped my breasts, giving the dress's neckline a more than teasing curve. I'd spent forever on my makeup: a smooth foundation, rosy blush, and pink-brown shadow blended over my lids, with fine eyeliner and mascara to make my eyes look wide and bright. A sweep of shimmer caught the light along my cheekbones and the inner corners of my eyes. Glossy lipstick made my lips as full as possible.

I snuggled up against James' shoulder, my bleach-blonde curls spilling out over his chest. It seemed Freya had given me sage advice. I'd made him dinner and we were watching a movie together, but I had no idea what was going on. Intoxicated with the aroma of my new favorite perfume, I was barely paying attention at all. I gently swept the side of his leg with my pink, painted fingernail and turned to him with my inviting lips. I just had one small problem on my mind.

"James, I have something I feel I need to tell you, before anything gets too far."

"What is it?"

I shook a little, hoping it would go well. "I'm actually a trans girl. Is that going to be a problem?"

He was silent and thoughtful for a few seconds. I couldn't read his expression, and I sat there in fear of rejection. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. "What's life without new experiences?"

That was the most wonderful thing anyone had ever said to me. My eyes closed, my lips touched his and I felt every part a complete woman. A man, this man, was what I truly desired and I had no other thoughts clouding my mind. Everything felt right; everything felt as it should.

I pulled away from him, looking deeply into his eyes. I didn't know if it was the hypnosis or the perfume, but all I could think about was one single thing. I slipped off the couch to my knees and worked down his pants, bathing in the sight of his manhood. Alive with anticipation, I slowly moved my lips towards him and left a lipstick imprint on the tip. My tongue could hardly wait, and I, very slowly, licked a small string of pre-cum from him, tasting another man for first time in my life and savoring every moment. To my delight, he started to swell, and I eagerly got my mouth around him. The sensation of his shaft was almost electric against my lips. I had no hesitation in working up a rhythm.

It took me many minutes of hard work to get him to come, and I gladly swallowed it all down. I slipped from his shaft, exhausted, my head falling into his lap as I contemplated what to do next. I'd love to have him inside me but wasn't sure, in my locked state, whether I could take it. It was only then that I opened my eyes and noticed something on James' upper thigh. He had a discreet tattoo depicting the outline of three chess pieces. The connections flew together in my brain.

"That sneaky fucker!" I exclaimed.

"Kaley, everything alright down there?" James asked, surprised at my reaction.

I lifted my head from his lap. "Everything's wonderful. Do you want to take this through to the bedroom?"

"I'd really like that." He smiled.

I pointed the way and told him I just needed a couple of minutes to do some girly stuff. As soon as he was out of sight, I rushed to the puzzle box on my shelf. The positions of the pieces were scrambled. My mind worked overtime to complete it and then, finally, it popped open. Just as I'd hoped, waiting inside for me, was the key to my cock cage.

"Be there in just a second!" I shouted. I rapidly unlocked myself to my enormous relief. I was just about to go through when I caught sight of my phone resting on the table. I picked it up and sent a quick message to Ellis containing just one word.

"Checkmate."