A Real Live Barbie Doll

[Muffins]

I found this story about this guy named Greg who is a crossdresser. And I thought I would share it with you guys
THIS IS NOT MY WORK!!!!

My name is Barbie Doll, or it is now. You can call me Barbie for short. It used to be Greg. This is my story. I had to write it down on paper smuggled a sheet at a time to a secret cache, using the remaining ink from spent pens, so there will be a written account of my experiences, if someone will ever find them...


Chapter One - Come into my parlor, said the spider...

Act I - Caught

I met Madam - that's the only name she allows me to use now - three years ago. It was not the first acquaintance, because she was my boss, at work (now she's my Mistress for everything). There was a theft of sensitive material, and Madam ordered everyone searched - she had friends in high places who could deliver the right warrants. I had the bad luck of wearing feminine undergarments that day. Madam called me into Her office, and closed the door.

"So you like to dress like a girl, in frilly underwear?" she said, half-mockingly, half-seductively. I said nothing.

"You don't have to answer anything, sissy boy." she said icily, waving a folder. "It's all in this report" and she tossed it onto the desk in front of me. I just sat there, sheepishly, silent, more from shame than anything else, with a good measure of avoiding self-incrimination.

"News travels fast. By this time, half the company knows about your undies." I looked up, shocked. "No, I didn't say anything. You don't get up where I am on the ladder unless you learn some measure of discretion. In any case, it would get me into trouble because you could very easily sue me for hate or discrimination or something like that." She paused for several seconds, obviously for a psychological effect. It worked. I was nervous as hell, nearly wetting my panty.

"I can't fire you, at least not on these grounds. But I do like you. You're punctual, efficient, and creative. Up to now, your file is spotless. But you will be having a rough time with the other employees from now on. I cannot allow that. I need a united team, not a bunch of kids ganging up on the odd man out." I digested the words, and it seemed she was playing with me. Little did I know then that this impression had much more far-reaching implications. I was half-expecting the usual bogus "you're not a team player" excuse for being fired.

"You cannot quit, because you are under contract." That was true. I was stuck and if I quit, it would be a breach of contract, and I would be sued by Madam's army of lawyers. The bare minimum it would cost me is the cessation penalty. And my own lawyer. I would be ruined.

"I want you to work for me, personally." That startled the hell out of me. My face went blank. "Of course, if you want to. The other alternative is dismissal, in a couple of weeks, after you have been through hell with the rest of your co-workers, and when I have a solid reason to fire you." I finally gathered up the courage to speak.

"What do you propose, ma'am?" I asked somberly.

"I need you at home, a personal assistant of sorts. You will be getting a raise in salary, and you will be lodged at my expense, in house." Something in the back of my mind clicked wrong, but I ignored it. I was in an apartment at the moment, single, and in the past few years the rent was raised substantially, in addition to rising costs for heat, gas to drive to work, and so on. I'm not even getting into the exasperating neighbors. She must have detected my uncertainty, and added, gently, "I can give you a few days to think about it. Paid leave. This weekend, Saturday, I want you to come over to my house, and we will discuss my offer in more depth."

I thought hard for a few seconds, my train of thought interrupted by a cold "If you don't give me a firm answer by then, I guarantee that you will be so miserable over the next couple of weeks that you will beg me to fire you." I decided to take her offer of paid leave, and agreed to meet with her, in her home, the following Saturday at 9 am sharp. She firmly requested, before I left her office, to wear my girly stuff on Saturday.

I went straight home, and just let myself drop in the recliner. I drank several beers, watching TV distractedly, because my mind wandered to the day's events. If it wasn't for Madam's request, earlier, I would have taken every bit of female clothing I had and put it in the charity collection bin at the nearby strip mall.

The second day, I started drifting into a mild depression. What the hell was I going to do now? I couldn't even cite the company as a reference! If an interviewer called them, they would find out the truth! If I quit, I would be sued, and the stain of a breach of contract would be on my record - very bad for job prospects. Even so, in a job interview, the inevitable question would be asked: why did I quit? Interviewers can detect any attempts to conceal an awkward truth. No matter how much I tried to find an exit from this situation, the only way out was Madam...

The third day, I tried to clear out my mind and start psyching myself up for Saturday's meeting with Madam, looking at the positive aspects of the offer. A raise, a decent roof over my head, a quiet job away from the rat race, no traffic to fight every morning and evening. It was that or try to land any job I could find, with the added weight of either being psychologically tortured by my co-workers every day for the next few weeks, until Madam decided that firing me was merciful (like shooting an injured horse), or being sued into abject poverty for breach of contract.

My mind returned to the question of her request that I wear my frillies to the meeting. Why in the world would she ask that? Just to embarass me? It's too late for that, I thought. Then it dawned on me that she didn't mind my undergarment preferences. A thought then entered my mind that later, in hindsight, I should have avoided: she'll let me wear them any time! At that point, I resolved to open my mind to any possibility, any offer, and consider them objectively before saying no. I made a list of pros and cons of accepting Madam's offer, though the list of cons probably would have been longer had I known then what I know now.

Saturday finally came, and I rose early to take a good, hot shower, clean myself up, shave (I hadn't shaved since that fateful day... my shaver's motor complained loudly), and put on my nicest feminine undies. Madam had requested it, and there was an irresistible quality to her. When she requested something, one felt compelled to comply.

Driving over to Madam's house, I had major butterflies in my stomach. As the distance to my destination diminished, my nerves became progressively shakier, and the butterflies coalesced into a cold knot. My heart pumped hard, I could hear my pulse in my ears, over the road noise.

At 8:55 am, I pulled into the entrance, and stopped in front of the high metal gate that blocked the drive up to her luxurious home. I rolled down the window and pressed the intercom button on the box next to the car. "Yes?" a female voice replied. I named myself. "Enter." I watched the gates open, and I rolled forward. In the rearview mirror, I saw the them close behind me. For a moment, I had a feeling of entrapment, like I just driven into a prison.

I pulled up to the parking area, near the front door, and parked my car next to a large, spotless ruby red Ford. Madam's car. My dingy little import sedan looked like a cheap toy next to it. I got out and locked the door, and started up the steps to the front door. My pace was sluggish, like I had to fight against molasses, or the feeling one has in a dream when trying to run away from something. I still could hear my heart pumping furiously in my ears, and my chest was pounding quite perceptibly. I was scared out of my wits.

Before I reached the door, it was opened by a fifty-something maid in a black uniform with a white apron, and that little cap with the lace edge on her head. She looked dour, a pinched old prune who seemed to have little room in her heart for anything remotely resembling fun. "Please follow me, sir." she said unemotionally. I recognized the voice from the intercom.

I followed her along, the hard heels of her pumps on the marble floor could be heard echoing through the house. Other sounds of heels could also be heard, muffled by walls and distance. Other than that, it was deathly quiet in the place. It gave me the creeps, and didn't do any good for my nerves. It felt like I was about to crumple down on the floor and roll myself up in a fetal position.

The maid led me up to a double door, and ordered, "Wait here" before rapping sharply three times on the right hand door. I heard Madam's voice call out, "Show him in!". My heart almost stopped, and my fight-or-flight instinct almost decided in favor of the latter. The maid opened the door, and waved me inside without further comment.

[Coyote]

is this from Boundanna.com?

[Officelover]

Originally Posted by Muffins

I found this story about this guy named Greg who is a crossdresser. And I thought I would share it with you guys
THIS IS NOT MY WORK!!!!

We can only assume it is...

Anyways, regardless as to whoever wrote this story, it's fabulous, original, and great. Some of it is a little tough to believe, but I SO love the idea of a Barbie Doll. On the other hand, I don't see why he wouldn't take the two weeks of "emotional bullying" by his cowrorkers, and get away scott free?

[Muffins]

Yes this is from boundanna :P Yeah it's a pretty interesting story if you guys still want me to post the story here I will. There is like 7-8 acts. And a part 2 :P I'll update it every day from now on.

[Muffins]

Well Act II and III were fairly short so I put em together.

Act II - The Offer

The large study was lined with bookshelves on three of the four walls, all filled with books that seemed to be antiques for the most part. I knew that Madam was well-educated and well-read, but this was impressive.

"Sit down." she ordered gently. I felt totally compelled to obey. I sat in a chair across from Madam, a large, elaborately and finely finished oak desk separating us. The only other sound in the room, apart from her voice and my pounding heart, was a clock slowly tick-tocking away. Agonizing seconds passed before that irresistible voice spoke again, accompanied by those dark, nearly black eyes drilling into my soul.

"I have always liked you, Greg." This was the first time she referred to me by my first name. "You're polite, gallant, sensitive to the ladies. I suppose that the feminine side that you cultivate under your manly clothes helps you see the other side of the coin." Her voice changed from firm authority to gentle conversation. I had never seen that from her before. I fell into the trap, and relaxed. Then tensed up again. "I like that part of you." She was toying with me! I'm not a praying man... girl... but at that moment I prayed that she would get to the point.

"You are also very expedient when it comes to expressing your thoughts, even if right now you are quite silent. So I will honor you by getting to the point." Relief.

"I need a personal assistant, to manage my personal affairs. Your organizational skills are exceptional, and that's why I'm giving you a chance. You will arrange my schedules, take calls, read and sort my business mail, and generally keep things tidy in my office and wherever I tell you." I ventured a few words. "A kind of personal secretary?" A corner of her mouth turned up, and she eyed me, her gaze sweeping up and down. "Yes, that and a bit more." She paused and stood up. "Come with me."

In her heels, which were always high stilettos with a hard tip that made a very special sound (the kind that makes me shudder in desire when I hear it), she was taller than me. I figured that she was about the same height, and build (I'm rather slim), but for her waist - it was gorgeously small compared to the rest of her finely tailored attributes. It made me want to put my hands around it, just to see if I could connect my fingers on either side. I followed her, and she must have known that I was surreptitiously observing her backside because she was swinging it just enough to get me going, the hem of her tight skirt going this way and that. The sound of her heels on the hard floor didn't do much to help keep my urges down.

Madam is a lovely woman, combining the raw sexiness of Melinda Clarke and the mature beauty of Marg Helgenberger. And maybe a dash of Caroline Munro's intense gaze. Her black hair went to just below her shoulders. Her hands have long, thin fingers, looking that much longer because of the magnificently manicured fingernails. Did I mention those eyes? She was no slouch in the boob department, either. A lot of guys wish their boss could be this hot.

"This is a very large house, and I need people to keep it tidy and organized." "The maid?" "Yes, that's Templeton, the head maid. I suggest you mind her instructions." I figured that was not a mere suggestion. "You will also run into Lennox, her right-hand and night maid." Madam led me around, showing me each room, until we came back to her study. I made to sit down, and she said, "It's not over yet."

Madam opened what looked like a closet door, but it led to a medium-sized room, part dressing room and part doll museum. Two whole walls were displays lined with Barbie dolls, of every possible era. "Nearly every collectible Barbie is here, including the very first from 1959, and its ancestor, a German doll called Bild Lilly. I worked very hard to build this collection." she said as she went to the table at the room's center. Her hand went into her jacket's pocket for a second or two and reemerged. The middle of the table rose up, exposing a glass case containing a very old, worn Barbie doll. Her blonde hair was dingy, her clothes faded, the plastic flesh lighter here and there, exposed to years and years of sunlight. "That's my very first Barbie. It's not worth much as a collector's item, but it is very valuable to me. She was my perpetual playmate, always loyal, no matter how many times my parents moved." I started feeling sympathy for this woman, this grande dame. Now I noticed something about her, as she stood there. Her waist, her physique, it was almost Barbie-like in proportions! More like the old Barbies, before they made them "anatomically correct" in 2000. Actually, Madam had much nicer curves - she was not molded in plastic! She was very fit.

It was very unusual for Madam to share her innermost feelings like this, especially with an employee. The display case retracted into the tabletop and she urged me back into the study. "You may sit." her tone returned to a more formal one. I obeyed.

She took out a thick folder. "I did a bit of research. I know both your parents have passed away. And you don't seem to have anyone else in your life, no close family, a few acquaintances, not really close... Your finances are precarious, though." I felt very uncomfortable having my life dissected like this.

"I can help you. I have an amended version of the contract on hand, and it is binding on both of us. I guarantee in writing that you will be housed, fed, clothed and otherwise taken good care of for as long as necessary. In return, you must pledge your loyalty to me, work for me efficiently and obediently, and obey all the house rules." This offer was too good to be true, but I was desperate enough to accept anything to avoid the financial doom that was awaiting me in what I figured would be a year and a half, at most.

"What does my current underwear have to do with all this?" I ventured, a bit more courageously and acting businesslike, believing that it would impress Madam now that she had offered me a post of apparently vital importance to her. She smiled faintly, her eyes bright. "It has everything to do with this." she said, teasingly. The cold knot reappeared in my gut.

"You are here because your little fetish got you in trouble. I am offering you a way to fulfill that fetish, all the while allowing you to prosper and feel useful. Remember, you are still bound by the old contract to work for me for another two years. The amendments extend the contract indefinitely, with guaranteed job security. Leaving is a breach of contract, and I doubt you will last more than a week, two at the most, if you decide to continue honoring the contract as it is now." She was right about that, and she was putting the best foot forward before dropping the bomb. I had a suspicion as to what it was.

Act III - Point of no return

"There is one thing I don't have in my Barbie collection, and it is something that was never produced or marketed." Seconds of suspense, as she drilled her gaze into me. "A real, live Barbie doll." My jaw dropped.

"What?!?" I exploded, carelessly. The deep drilling of her eyes turned into ice picks. "I suggest you control yourself, from now on." Madam said sharply, adding, "Either way, whether you accept the amended contract or not. Most especially if you accept." The gentle conversation tone was gone too. She softened a bit, and sat on the edge of the large desk, near me. In my field of view, her slender waist flared out to her curved hips, down the length of her skirt, along her black nylon sheathed legs, to those wonderful high heeled shoes that I loved hearing on the floor at work.

"Greg, I understand your reticence. You will have to give up everything around you. Not that you have much right now, according to my sources." I could smell her perfume now, it was a scent that drove me wild, in normal circumstances. Her mature air, she must have been in her mid to late forties, and impeccable dressing style, made her quite desirable. I had just turned twenty-five. She was old enough to be my mother. I looked for an escape.

"I-I... How will I take care of my personal affairs? My apartment? My stuff?" She put a gentle hand on my shoulder, reassuring me, "Everything will be taken care of, not the least of which, you. I promise that you will be taken care of, not harmed."

"Can't one of your maids be..." my words trailed off as I was grasping at straws that I found were non-existent. "That would not be the same. I can't be a woman with her, and she can't be a man to me." she said, leaning closer, and I could feel her breath on my neck. I succumbed to a moment of weakness, and started crying silently. I was out of options, save for Madam...

"I will take care of you, Greg, just like I take care of my collection. My Barbie dolls are precious to me. And I have to admit, you're the kind of man I like."

"Can't I be Ken, then?" I asked, sobbing. "No, I don't collect Kens." Her tone changed to a playful one. "It would be fun! We can both be satisfied, fulfilled. You like dressing up like a girl, no? I have always wanted to have a live Barbie doll to play with. And a decent man to play with when I need one." The last sentence was deliberately pronounced with a slow, sultry tone. Something inside me snapped. I took her hand, the one resting on my shoulder, and squeezed. "I accept your terms."

Considering the options available at the time, it was the best one. I was guaranteed lodgings, food, all the feminine clothing I wanted - and more, generous pay (nearly double), and a secure, fulfilling job. And the side benefits seemed to be, initially, quite interesting. How many men have dreamed of sleeping with their female employer, especially if she's hot like Madam? My glands won out over my neurons, and I signed.

[Odiefrom]

Very creative, and clever (directed at the original author, wherever they are). Many thanks for bringing this to the site, I otherwise would have never seen it (towards Muffins).

[Muffins]

If you guys want me to continue just say sooo.