CYOA

Boxers

"....Silk Boxer Shorts. Ooooh they remind me of a pair of tap pants I own." Miss Jones raises one eyebrow in a thoughtful manner "Hmm yes tap pants which I believe have a much more attractive name in Europe of FRENCH knickers." chuckles to herself "Daphne you know who wears French Knickers don't you. Don't you think Alan would look cute in a more appropriate ensemble?"

You feel rather embarrassed, you have never really thought about what you put on as underwear and now you feel as though you are being mocked.

Daphne returns and without any timidity she reaches down to your waist squashed in the couch and whips your boxer shorts off leaving you rather exposed. Your hands instinctively cover your modesty.

"Aw look he is shy Daphne! Why don't you help him cover up?"

Daphne threads your feet through some leg holes and you feel a silky fabric sliding up your skin. She levers you out of the couch and slides the material up over your groin and butt. It teases against your skin and you look down to find out what on earth has just happened to you. You see a shiny silky voluminous pair of panties straining against your excited manhood. They are black and the back is covered in white ruffled lace.
You reach down to touch them and to cover your growing bulge.

"Whoa be careful darling! They are expensive and delicate and we can all see how much you seem to like them!" Mistress Jones raises a warning "Daphne put him in some mittens for now we don't want him to damage the expensive silk with his rough hands nor his excitement."

Panties you think! She has put me in panties? You are trying to process this information when the same silky sensation slides over your right hand. It is some kind of silk bag that covers your fingers and thumb restraining your hand. It is as you are looking at the changes to your right hand that Daphne slips a similar restrictive bag over your left hand.

You try to slip your hands out of the mittens but they are secured tightly around your wrists and the restrictive fabric makes it impossible to undo the well tied ribbon knotting them into place.

"Don't worry my sweet, we will help you with the rest, there is no need for you to use your hands for now. Later we can put them to good use."

Trapped in ruffled panties and bizarre silk mittens you realise you are at their mercy, the door is unlocked and well within reach but you can hardly run around the city dressed like this. You will have to play along for now.

"We need to perfect his figure Daphne, fill out that chest and pull in that waist a bit more."

Your arms are fed through the arm holes of what appears to be a black lacy bra, Daphne fixes the clasp around your back and adjusts the straps so that they lay tightly on your shoulders. The cups at the front are wrinkled and unfilled until Daphne reappears with a pair of false breasts made of some kind of fluid filled silicone material. These are slipped into place and you feel their weight pull your chest forward. You now have a rather large pair of breasts jutting out from your chest.

From behind you Daphne reaches around and pulls a section of stiff fabric around your waist. The corset nestles under your impressive bust with boned sections running down in vertical lines that form a V shape over your hips pointing at your panties.

As you examine the corset Daphne pulls the lacing at the back squeezing the air of your lungs. You gasp for air unable to breathe deeply, panting for breath you feel dizzy and faint, the world spins and you crumple to the floor.

The world comes back into focus with a jolt as a noxious smell races up your nose and kick starts your consciousness.

"Welcome back Ellen" The face in front of you speaks and you slowly piece together where you are. You remember the stern but beautiful face of Mistress Jones but who is Ellen?

"Take smaller breaths my dear you can only use the top of your lungs now but you will get used to it."

You are helped into a chair and slowly get a grip on your breathing. You can feel the corset forcing you to sit up straight. It is clamped around your waist like a vice but, as long as you stay calm, you can get enough oxygen to your brain.

Sat in the chair Miss Jones leans over and instructs you in turn, to pucker up, close and open your eyes and suck in your cheeks whilst various coloured make up products are applied. Daphne secures what must be a wig onto your head as you can see blonde hair frame your field of view. Miss Jones adjusts the wig and stands back to admire her work.

Next Daphne is at your feet and taking your legs she rolls a fishnet stocking up each one in turn. She secures the tops to clasps dangling from the bottom of your corset after carefully feeding them underneath your panties. You feel a deep sense of arousal as she fusses around your groin and try in vain to suppress the rush of blood. Looking down you can see faint traces of your fine blonde leg hair through the holes.

"Whilst you are not a particularly hirsute little sissy Ella later on we will need to
remove that unwanted hair if you are going to be a pretty girl"

You realise that the Ella Miss Jones keeps referring to is you. You think about trying to correct her, to remind her your name is Alan but you feel very vulnerable right now and it does not feel like a sensible thing to do.

Daphne still knelt before you slides your nylon clad feet into a pair of 4 inch platform heels. They each have an ankle strap that is fixed around and secured with a diamante encrusted silver padlock. Miss Jones pulls you to your feet and steadies you as you wobble, unused to the towering nature of your new footwear.

"Don't worry Ella you will get used to these heels, with practise comes perfection and you can practise as much as you want."

Regaining your balance you concentrate on staying up right and maintaining your shallow restricted breathing. You can't even bear to look down as Daphne tells you to step into your new uniform. You feel it pulled up your body fed onto your arms and zippered up at the back. As with your shoes you are aware that the top of the zipper is secured by a padlock as you hear it lock shut. You are told to step into a further item that is pulled up and positioned around your waist but the fear of falling prevents you from seeing what it is in detail.

Miss Jones lets go of your arm and both of the ladies stand before you and seem pleased with themselves.

"You scrub up rather well little Ella, and I am sure once we have polished off the rough edges and taught you how to hold yourself properly you will make a very pretty addition to my collection." Miss Jones smiles

Pretty addition to her collection, you wonder what she means, you have no intention of being part of anyone's collection but don't feel that you are in any position to argue at the moment.

"Daphne get the girl a mirror so she can she herself"

Again you know that it is you she is addressing as a girl. But it is not until you see the mirror that you can understand why. You can see that it is clearly your face from the features but they are feminized by make-up and softened by a neat blond bob. However the rest of the reflection is unrecognizable as yours being much more akin to the body of a woman with a full chest and curves exaggerated by a  black dress that flares out from the narrow waist into a full skirt held out by a luxuriant cascade of frilly petticoats. The short puffy sleeves and the high neck line are detailed with a delicate trim of white lace, matching the ruffle on the panties you are wearing. The fishnet stockings and black high heels make your legs seem slender and much longer than usual.  You are quite shocked. Even your burgeoning manhood is hidden underneath all the folds of organza, lace and silk. You raise a mitten clad hand to your face just to check the image is actually a reflection of yourself.

"Now Ella Daphne is going to present you with your apron and cap. These are a badge of honour for a maid so I want you to treat them with the upmost respect and that goes for the rest of your uniform. "

As Daphne places the full sized crisp white apron over your head and ties it around you waist you realise you are indeed dressed from head to toe as a glamorous foxy French maid.

To your surprise you feel very sexy. Most men find the idea of a French maid's uniform very alluring but generally on women not worn by themselves. But now you have overcome the problems of breathing and have managed to find you balance despite the weight of your new breasts and the precarious nature of your shoes you actually feel fantastic. You feel all girly and giggly as though the uniform was permeating into your body and altering your personality.