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Carla
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Hi.
First I want to apologize for the mess which I created with the Joe
Bates Saga here. To prevent such things in the future will use inews
direct and hope to hide much as I can. If anybody out there knows how
handle inews perfect, please contact me. Oh besides that, the host
which allready appear in the header is not my home host but this is
the first one I ever had and don't mail bomb it. There some really
brave people on it. :)
So much for the technical terms. Here comes now an other story from
the depth of the net.
I didn't write this story and haven't any claims on it. It would be
nice if the author give me a ping. As ever comments are welcome and
flames goes >/dev/null.
Enjoy the story.
Ciao
Nostrumo
>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut her with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Carla
For some time, I had been indulging in facials in a local full-service
beauty salon, but I didn't know what my wife would think about it,
so I never told her. Then one day, she picked up the phone, and it
was the lady at the beauty salon calling to confirm my appointment
for a facial the next day.
She didn't mention anything about it that night, but as I left for
work the next morning, she handed me an envelope. "While you're
at the salon this afternoon getting your facial, would you mind
picking up a few items for me? I've just written them down in
here."
The envelope was sealed and addressed to Delia, the esthetician.
"Oh yes," she added, "just so you won't forget, be sure to give it to
her before she gets started. And one more thing. They asked that
you get there about a half hour early." She smiled in a way that
almost scared me.
When I got to the salon, I handed the envelope to Delia. She began
giggling and said, "I'm glad you got here early. We're going to need
a little extra time."
"Why?" I asked.
"Your wife wanted us to do a few special things. First, let's go
ahead and get your nails done."
She took the envelope and walked over to the third in a row of
manicurists, all of them busy. "Read this and follow the
instructions with him," said Delia. "He's not allowed to read the
note. Just initial it when you're done and bring him back over to
me."
The manicurist read the note, looked up and asked, "Don't you
think you'd rather wait and take care of the other services first?"
Delia thought for a moment. "Maybe that's not a bad idea." She
turned to me. "Come on back, and we'll get started."
Delia took me to the back area where she usually does facials, but
this time she directed me to a different room. "Before we get
started on the facial, we need to go in here for a few minutes," she
said.
After settling me in the chair, she stood back and reached over and
brushed my eyebrows. I noticed her long, red nails.
1
2____Carla_____________________________________________________________________
"We're going to do a couple of things with your eyes," she said.
First, we're going to dye your eyelashes so that they'll stand out
better. We're also going to do something about those bushy
eyebrows."
She had me close my eyes while she applied a heavy coat of liquid
to my lashes. "This will have to stay on for about ten minutes.
Meanwhile, keep your eyes closed, and I'll go ahead and work on
your brows."
Soon, I felt her spreading something warm over my brows. "This is
hot wax," she explained. "It's how we go about shaping eyebrows,
and it saves a lot of tweezing." She placed a piece of cloth on top of
the wax and jerked it away.
She continued her work, chattering as she went along. "This will
really look nice. I'm giving you a nice, high, sharply defined arch.
You'll still have a definite brow, but it will look much better, and
very different."
"How different?" I wondered to myself.
She cleaned the dye off my lashes and stepped back. "We need a
little curl here," she said. She picked up a small device that held
my lashes in place for a couple of minutes.
Finally, she let me open my eyes and gave me a hand mirror. "Take
a look and tell me what you think," she said.
I couldn't believe what I saw. My eyes were different, all right. My
eyelashes, already long and dark, looked longer and darker still.
The brows were virtually gone except for a very delicate shape high
above the brow.
"Some people like to leave the brows thicker," she said, "but I think
the more sculptured look is far more refined, don't you agree?" she
said.
I mumbled my agreement.
"Now, go out front and wait for me, and I'll be there in a minute,"
she said.
After a couple of minutes, she came out. I felt certain that every
woman in the salon was looking at nothing by my eyes.
Delia motioned toward a tall chair in front of a mirror, in plain
sight of everyone in the salon. On the table were palettes of all
types of makeup - shadows, blushes, powder, lip color and
everything else conceivable.
"I know the eyes are a big change, but you'll get used to it. You'll
like them better once we get your makeup done.
"What do you mean makeup?" I asked.
"You're getting a makeover today," she said.
"You're kidding."
"Nope. You're getting the works, Carla."
Now I was really getting worried. Only once had I been called
_Carla_______________________________________________________________________3_
Carla, and that was when my wife was making a joke about turning
me into a woman.
Delia started with foundation, sponging on a heavy layer. Then she
moved on to blush. She looked over to her palate of colors and
selected a strong pink. "Let's try this," she said.
For several minutes, she carefully brushed the blusher onto my
upper cheekbones, blending a couple of other colors with it.
When it came time to work on the eyes, she took even more care.
She called over one of the hairdressers from across the room.
"Could you give me a second opinion, Renee?"
Renee, an attractive fortyish woman with perfect makeup and inch-
long fingernails started over, but when she was still halfway across
the room, she said, "Sure. How's our girl looking over here,
anyway?"
Still talking loudly, Renee walked up by my chair and said loudly,
"Ooh! This is going to be one pretty girl."
"What I was wondering," said Delia, "is whether I should go with
some of these dark smoky colors or whether you think the blues
would be better?"
Renee held samples of both and exchanged intense looks between
them and my eyes.
"He has such beautiful brown eyes, I think I'd go with the blues for
contrast. That would be much more dramatic, don't you think?"
Delia nodded in agreement.
"And how about those eyelashes. Did you ever see any so long and
thick? I assume you're going to really show those off," she said.
"You can be sure of that," said Delia with a grin. She was really
beginning to enjoy herself. "We'll get to the mascara shortly.
There's so much we can do with these eyes, it'll take a while."
She began working with the shadows, starting with a base, followed
by a light opal across the lower and inner lid and a series of
increasingly dark, blended colors from the blue family as she moved
out toward my perfectly sculpted eyebrows.
"Now this is what really makes it work," she said, picking up the
darkest, richest color yet. "We put this just around the corners,
really heavy. That really makes the eyes look bigger."
She followed with thick black liner on top and bottom, then came
to the mascara. "Renee," she called back across the room. "I'm
ready to do her mascara. Do you want to see this?"
"I sure do," shouted Renee, as she worked on an attractive woman's
hair. "Send her over."
"Go see what Renee thinks," said Delia after applying several
layers.
I sheepishly walked over to her chair, having to pass every other
hairdresser and manicurist in the shop.
4____Carla_____________________________________________________________________
"You've really outdone yourself. She looks great!" said Renee.
"Let me see," asked one of the manicurists. All hopes of keeping a
low profile were gone. Every hair stylist and manicurist and
customer in the place was gathered around talking about the sissy
being made up, and the snickers were becoming constant.
"When do I get to work on her?" asked the manicurist to whom
Delia had first introduced me.
"Soon," said Delia. "I'm almost finished with her, for now."
"I'll wait," she said. "I've blocked out an hour and a half of time,
since we're doing a full set of nails."
"About all we need now is lipstick," said Delia. She started with a
dark red pencil. "We'll outline the outside a bit. Your wife was
right when she said your lips are a little thin, but this will help."
She filled in the middle with a very dark, rich red.
"Ready for the nails now, Carla?" she asked as she put away her
brushes.
"I'm ready," said Denise, the manicurist. "Send her over."
Now I realized fully why they had decided to do the makeup first.
That way, I'd have to sit in the middle of the salon, fully made up,
so everyone could see Delia's handiwork while I was getting my
nails done.
Being referred to so freely as "her" was beginning to feel almost
natural.
She re-read my wife's mysterious note, then organized her tools.
"Settle back, you'll be here a while," she said. "We're going to go
with an in-between length, if you don't mind. We don't usually go
with the really long ones for beginners."
The in-between length turned out to extend a full inch from my
fingers.
As she was finishing the extensions, she called over to Renee.
"What was that color we used on you?" she asked.
"Hot pink, no. 43, I think," she said, walking over to the table.
"Let's see," said Denise. "How do you think it would work on
Carla?"
"It doesn't really match her lipstick," she said.
"I think you should go darker," said a manicurist loudly from three
tables over. I wanted to disappear.
"Me too," said Renee.
"How about this?" asked Denise, holding up a bottle of bright red.
"Perfect," said Renee.
She painted my long nails with a clear base coat, followed by two
coats of the red, which seemed much darker on the nails than in the
bottle. Finally, a shiny top coat of clear polish followed.
"Go show Renee and Delia and see what they think," said Denise. I
_Carla_______________________________________________________________________5_
walked over to Renee's chair. "Beautiful!" she said. "Hold them up
for Gladys to see," she said, referring to the woman whose hair she
was cutting.
"Did you ever see anything so pretty?" she asked.
Next I reported back to Delia.
"Am I through now?" I asked, still eager to leave the shop but, I
must admit, enjoying an enormous erection.
"You can go, but you still have a couple of other errands to run
first," she said. She pulled out the note and read it again, giggled,
put it back into the envelope and sealed it with tape.
"From here," she said, "you're to take this to Pink Lace and give it
to the manager there."
"Like this?" I asked in horror. Pink Lace was an upscale lingerie
store located in the middle of the city's biggest shopping mall.
There was no way to even get to the store without being seen by at
least 100 people.
"Like this," she said. "In fact, she explicitly said you're to go
straight from here."
Somehow, I made it to Pink Lace without being seen by anybody I
knew, as best I could tell. A couple of women looking at camisoles
in the front of the store stared at my beautiful eyes as I walked to
the counter in the back.
"Excuse me, are you the manager?" I asked a saleslady.
"She is," the lady said, pointing to another. The manager was
talking with two other employees.
"My wife said I was to give you this," I said, handing her the
envelope. She gave me along look, giggled slightly, then opened the
envelope as the other two looked on. They read the note over her
shoulder. "Delia called and told us to expect you," she said. "She
told us you looked good, but I didn't really know you looked THIS
good."
She laid the letter on the counter and read, laughing out loud.
Then she got up and began moving around the store. First, she
picked out a pair of black lace panties on a hanger.
"Here are your black lace panties," she said loudly enough for
everyone to hear, holding them up ceremoniously as she walked
toward the checkout counter. "Let's see, you also need a camisole
and some thigh-highs. Come over here with me."
We walked over to the rack with camisoles. She picked one of
flowing black satin and held it up to me. "I think this will fit all
right," she said, still talking in a loud voice. "Let me go to the back
and get your thigh-highs and you'll be ready. How tall are you?"
"Five ten," I said, quietly.
"Let's see, that'll be a queen size. Listen, you'll need to go ahead
and put these on, so why don't we pull off the tags. I'll hand you
the stockings over the door."
6____Carla_____________________________________________________________________
She cut the tags off the panties and camisole in plain sight and
handed them to me. "Go on in that stall and put these on, and I'll
be there in a minute," she said in a loud voice.
I looked at the stall in horror. It was one of those with a door from
shoulder to knees. There was no way to change in there without
being recognized by everybody in the store.
I removed my shoes, pants and underwear and had just put on the
pants. I was about to put my own male underwear over the black
lace she she arrived with the stockings.
"Like these?" she asked loudly, having opened them. She made me
look over the stall door and watch as she ran her hands across them.
"Yes," I said, "they're lovely."
"Good," she said. "Hand me your regular underwear and socks,
since you'll be wearing your new things."
I wadded them up so they wouldn't be so obvious and handed them
to her, but as soon as they were in her hands, she spread them
apart and shock them out in the middle of the store. "I must say,
the new lace ones are a big improvement, Carla," she said.
There was that name again. Everybody was in on the joke but me.
I saw her walk behind the counter and drop them in the cash
register. "You won't be needing these," she said.
When I emerged, wearing my new lingerie under my men's clothing,
the manager was puzzling over the bill. "I forgot to get the size off
that camisole you're wearing," she said. She came around to my
back, reached down under my shirt and pulled it up so she cold see
the tag. "Sorry about that. I wanted to put the size in the card
we'll have on you in our file. That'll make it easier for us to fit you
in the future."
I paid for the panties, stockings and camisole and started to leave.
"Not so fast," said the manager. "You have one more stop to
make."
She took my wife's note, initialed it, and sealed it with a gold seal
bearing the lingerie shop's insignia. "Go now to Dimensions, and
give this to them. They'll know what to do."
I thanked her, took the envelope, and started out. As I reached the
door, the manager called out, "Are those panties comfortable? I
want to make sure they're the right size."
I nodded, assuring her they were fine.
"Thanks, Carla. See you again soon," she called from across the
store. The other customers giggled.
Dimensions was in the same mall, at the other end. I had gone
about 30 feet when someone called, "Wait, Carla!"
It was one of the salesgirls from Pink Lace. "We decided maybe
somebody should go along with you," she said. "Besides, I know
the manager of Dimensions." She introduced herself as Julie.
_Carla_______________________________________________________________________7_
We strolled along, with her talking loudly about how to take care of
my new lingerie, asking if everything was comfortable, and making
sure the thigh-highs weren't slipping. All along the way, people saw
my make-up and heard her talking and snickered to themselves or
whispered to their companions.
To my chagrin, Dimension's was a large, wide-open store that
happened to be crowded at the moment. "Oh, I almost forgot,"
said Julie. "They're having a big sale today."
She located her friend across the way and called to her.
"What have we here?" said the manager, who identified herself as
Robin. She was relatively young, about 30, with two-inch
fingernails, long, blond hair, a tiny, skin-tight black dress and
four-inch heels.
"This is Carla," said Julie. "She got her makeup and nails done
over at Delia's and we fixed her up with some really nice undies.
She has a note that will give you the complete picture."
"Let's see it," said Robin. She tore open the seal and read the
entire note.
"Looks like you've had a full day, Carla," she said. "But I think
you'll really enjoy shopping with us. As you can see, almost
everybody else in town does," she said with dramatic sweep of her
hand.
"Well," said Julie, "I'll leave her to you. Do us a favor and send her
back by when you finish so we can see the finished product."
"You bet," said Robin. "She'll really be something."
As Julie left, Robin asked me if I'd mind waiting a few minutes. "I
have another customer I need to finish with. Meanwhile, one of our
other ladies can get you started."
She called to a cute salesgirl who couldn't be more than 25. "This
is Lisa. Lisa, Carla here will be purchasing two or three complete
outfits. Could you go ahead and get started picking some things
out?"
"Glad to," said Lisa. She gave me a close looking over. "I'd guess
he's about a 12-14. In our sizes, that would be a large."
She read the note, which Robin had handed her. As she read, I got
a half dozen looks from other customers, ranging from disapproval
to amused snickering.
"Let's take this one at a time," she said. "First, she wants you to
have a new miniskirt outfit." She led me over to a rack of short
skirts and picked out one that was black and pleated all the way
around.
"You'll like this little 'flirt skirt,'" she said. She pulled one off and
held it up to my waist. "Yes, I think a large will do it, but we'll
have you slip into it just to make sure."
I'd had a feeling my wife might want me trying on the clothes, but
at least, I thought, I could do so in the privacy of a booth and not
8____Carla_____________________________________________________________________
traipse around the store like other customers.
She picked out a sweater to go with it. "Try these on and let's see
how it looks," she said. She took me to a booth surrounded by
women primping and analyzing new outfits, unlocked the door, and
handed me the skirt and top.
"Come find me when you get these on," she said. I had no intention
of leaving the booth. Then I looked around and realized there were
no mirrors inside it. Lisa noticed my discomfort.
"We had all the mirrors taken out. That way, we can actually see
items on our ladies and advise them. You'll get a better fit that
way," she said.
I put on the skirt and top, then stepped nervously outside the
booth. Robin was back.
"Oh, Carla, that's great for starters. You're going to need some
pumps to go with that."
She took me, still in the skirt, over to the shoe area and had me
fitted in some black pumps with four-inch heels. "These will be
perfect," said the shoe saleslady as I walked back and forth in front
of a floor mirror, balancing on the heels.
An hour later, Robin and Lisa had picked out three different outfits
- the skirt and sweater, some stirrups and a sexy top with a
colorful scarf, and a more formal dress, slip up to my thigh. For
each outfit, they picked out shoes, a purse, earrings and a necklace.
And for each, I'd had to parade around the crowded shop in
women's clothes, trying on shoes and being fitted for jewelry, belts
and other accessories.
"Let's put back on that first outfit one more time," said Robin. I
did so and stepped back outside for another look. "Good. That's
the one we'll let you wear home."
I had long since given up arguing. I paid for the clothes and Robin
made a major production of checking to make sure the tags were off
my flirt skirt. Like the manager of Pink Lace, she tossed my male
clothes in the trash.
"Lisa," said Robin, "they wanted me to take Carla back over to
Pink Lace so they could see the final product. Can you run things
here for a while?"
"Sure," said Lisa with a grin. "But Carla, you come back and see
me, okay?"
I assured her I would, and we began the long hike in four-inch heels
to the lingerie store.
The women there loved it, and finally, I was on my way home.
When I arrived, I was uncertain about what to expect.
I walked in, wobbling on my heels - a set of four-inch pink pumps.
My wife, sipping on a drink while watching television, looked over
and used the remote control to turn off the set.
"Well, now, aren't you a pretty thing, Carla?" she said. "But that
_Carla_______________________________________________________________________9_
hair isn't nearly long enough. We're going to have to get you a wig
until it grows out."
"I can't let it grow out," I said. "This is all fun for a joke, but I
have to keep working, you know."
"Yes, it's fun all right, but it's no joke, dear," she said. "I called
your office today and told them you'd resigned."
For a moment, I lost my breath. My wife had inherited enough
money to support us indefinitely, so she wasn't necessarily bluffing.
"From now on, you're Carla," she said. "You see, I've long since
been lesbian, and this is the only way I could stay married to you.
You don't mind, do you?"
I didn't know what to say.
"Just how far is this going to go?" I asked.
"Just as far as I say. For now, you'll find I've replaced all your ugly
old male clothes for a female wardrobe. You'll also find a depilatory
in the bathroom. You're to use it tonight on all your bodily hair -
and I mean ALL of it - before you go to bed. And I've bought you
some new perfume. I'd love it of you'd keep some on for me - from
now on, at all times."
Epilogue:
A year has passed since my wife sent the note with me to the
beauty salon. I still go there each week to get my artificial nails
filled in, for a pedicure, and to get my hair fixed. It's cut in a
darling little wedge now.
I began taking hormones a few months ago, and I'm amazed at the
changes. My voice has gone up dramatically, and I've begun
growing breasts. All of my body hair has been removed by
electrolysis. Soon, I'll have breast implants, and after that, my wife
promises to have the process completed. I'll be a complete woman.
For now, I am still a man, nominally. I am, at all times, in the most
feminine of all states, wearing beautiful lingerie, knockout dresses
and pants outfits, high heels, and fully made up. And, of course,
wearing her favorite perfume.
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