TITLE    : Charisma Ch. 01
STORYID  : charisma-ch-01
SUMMARY  : A shemale receives a new wardrobe--of enchanted clothing.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2004-09-02
CATEGORY : transgender-crossdressers
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |none|


Tiffany De Vine wondered whether the ladies' dressing room in which she was about to try on a brassiere was under surveillance by some fat, obese fucker with a day's stubble of beard and a cum-stained crotch. Probably, she thought; it would be just her luck. Well, if some slob was drooling over her image on a "security" monitor somewhere, she'd give him a little something to remember after she'd tried on the bra.



A fancy item of clothing, pink and frilly, it was adorned with lacy lavender bows and ribbons--and the tag attached to it promised that the bra would "lift and separate" to provide "cleavage enhancement." Despite the hormones she'd taken for the past year, Tiffany was a little on the petite side, with "B" cup breasts. She'd never had any complaints, but, well, like a lot of women, genetic girls included, she'd like to have bigger boobs--provided that she didn't have to undergo more surgery. She'd had quite enough operations lately; she didn't want any more.



She looked around the small, curtained cubicle once more, looking for a hidden camera. She didn't see any sign of such an instrument, but she wasn't reassured. Shrugging, she unbuttoned her blouse, removed the top, and hung it on the hook that had been provided for this purpose. She wasn't wearing a bra of her own, so, if anyone was watching her, he (or she) would be feasting his (or her) eyes on her tits right now. Tiffany glanced at the smooth, creamy mounds that rose from her chest, topped with puffy, pink areolas surrounding her stiff, swollen nipples. She had beautiful breasts, she thought. She was proud of them, even though they were, perhaps, a little small. She smiled. If the bra performed the magic that it promised, in lifting and separating her boobs, it would give her plenty of eye-catching cleavage.



She lifted the cups to her breasts, slipped her arms through the straps, and secured the clasp behind her back. The bra fit wonderfully, and, Tiffany saw by consulting the mirror, lived up to its promise. She looked as if she'd gone magically from a "B" to a "C" cup, and her sleek, firm breasts jutted from her chest like rockets. She grinned at her reflection, deciding to buy the wonderful brassiere regardless of its seemingly exorbitant price. A bra that could do such magic to her figure was worth whatever the manufacturer charged. Who was the manufacturer, anyway, she wondered? She looked at the attached tag. The manufacturer's name, Charisma, and address were printed on the label. The address was right here in San Diego! She'd never heard of such a company, but she was going to pay a visit to its corporate offices. She wanted to thank the president for offering such a splendid bra to the public. She also wanted to see what other items of apparel, innerwear as well as outerwear, the company might offer.



She removed the bra, replaced it on its hanger, and put her blouse on again. She parted the curtain and was about to step out of the dressing room when she remembered that she'd promised herself to give whoever might be watching her over a closed-circuit television camera a little something to remember after she'd tried on the bra. She hung the hanger on the hook, unfastened her jeans, slipped the denim over her smooth ivory thighs, and lowered her silk panties to reveal the soft, limp, circumcised penis that dangled before the small pouch of her scrotum. She grinned. That ought to give any secret admirer a bit of a shock, she thought. Smiling, she tugged up her panties and jeans, reclaimed the brassiere, and hastened to the front of the store, where she purchased the bra.



On her way home, Tiffany turned every man's head; quite a few women also ogled her. Unlike the men, who gazed with naked lust and longing upon her cleavage, the women looked either disgusted or envious. Whichever feeling the women displayed made Tiffany feel good, and the men's obvious desire to do more than simply look at her tits made Tiffany's nipples stiffen and her cock swell. By the time she arrived home, her breasts were sore, and her balls ached. She loved her new bra!



Charisma was located at 1111 North Highland Avenue, which was about ten miles from Tiffany's apartment. She was there in twenty minutes--or was she? She checked the address again; sure enough, it read 1111 North Highland Avenue. Had she copied it incorrectly? She frowned, remembering the numerals and words on the tag that had been attached to the brassiere. No, she'd gotten the address right, she was certain. If that were the case, though, why was she looking at the office of Silver Shield Insurance? A terrifying thought occurred to her. Maybe Charisma had gone out of business! She gulped. Please, God, don't let that be true! she prayed. Telling herself that there was only one way to find out, she entered the insurance office.



An elderly gray-haired man wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and a three-piece suit looked up at her as she entered. Standing, he smiled, offering her his hand. She accepted it, and they shook. "I'm Martin Fenner," he announced.  "What can I do for you?"





"I'm trying to locate a company named Charisma," Tiffany replied. "It used to be located here."



Mr. Fenner's smile faded as he realized he wouldn't be selling an insurance policy to his visitor. He frowned. "Charisma?"



Tiffany nodded, hoping against hope that the elderly man could help her.



The insurance agent nodded, raising a forefinger. "Ah, yes! Charisma!"



"Can you tell me where the company moved?"



Mr. Fenner chuckled. "Charisma's not a company," he said.



Now, it was Tiffany who frowned. "I don't understand," she admitted. "I mean, I bought an article of clothing from them just this morning, and the tag had this address on it."



"Charisma's a lady," Mr. Fenner announced. "A wonderful, charming lady--and a hell of a seamstress. Her shop was located here, before she moved."



"Oh!" Tiffany blushed at her mistake. "Can you tell me where she's relocated?"



Mr. Fenner nodded. "As a matter of fact, I can," he declared. "Just a moment, please." He returned to his desk, consulted a file, and scribbled her new address. Handing the slip of paper to Tiffany, he said, "She's one of my customers."



Tiffany beamed. "Thanks."



"My pleasure," the insurance agent said, his eyes taking in the bounty of Tiffany's magnificent bosom.



She saw him staring, and her smile broadened. They never get too old to admire a pair of tits, she thought, especially when they're enhanced by such a wonderful product as the bra she wore beneath her tight silk blouse.



The new address was on the outskirts of town. It was still early in the day. Rush hour wouldn't start for another couple of hours. She could make it to the new address in half an hour or less. She was excited, because she wouldn't have to settle for complimenting some executive about the wonderful bra; she could thank its creator, Charisma, herself!



The next address wasn't home to Charisma, either. It was occupied by Blanche Deevers, a beautician. Blanche, a tall, striking redhead, was busy teasing the frizzy blonde tresses of a willowy blonde when the bell tinkled above her shop's front door, announcing Tiffany's entrance.



"Be right with you," Blanche called.



"Oh, I'm not here for a haircut or a makeover," Tiffany said.



"What do you want, then, honey? A manicure?"



Tiffany blushed. "Just some information, I'm afraid." Blanche's features hardened. "You a cop?" she demanded. It was obvious to Tiffany that the beautician didn't care for police officers.



"No, nothing like that."



Blanche addressed her customer: "Do you mind?"



"Go ahead," the blonde replied.



Blanche left her client in the chair, came to the counter at the front of the store, and addressed Tiffany from behind the cash register. "What do you want to know?"



"I'm looking for a lady named Charisma," she said. "I went to the address where she was supposed to work, but it turned out to be occupied by an insurance agent. He gave me your address. He said it was Charisma's new place of business."



Blanche took in this information with a deadpan expression. The beautician's eyes swept over Tiffany's body, sizing her up. Blanche's gaze lingered upon the jutting cleavage. Blanche didn't seem to be too friendly, Tiffany thought. It seemed unlikely she'd be cooperative. Maybe she'd wasted her time in coming here.



After a long pause, Blanche demanded, "What do you want with Charisma?"



Blushing, Tiffany explained.



Blanche surprised her with a smile. "Charisma sold me this place a week ago. She decided to retire, she said. I guess she hasn't notified her insurance agent yet."



"Do you have her new address?"



"I have a phone number." Blanche scribbled the exchange onto a notepad beside the cash register, tore off the top sheet of paper, and handed it to her visitor. "Charisma can decide whether she wants to give out her address."



Taking the phone number, Tiffany smiled. "Thanks."



Blanche watched Tiffany as she walked to the door. Her visitor's ass was as fine as her perfect pair of tits. If it hadn't been for her customer, Blanche would have asked Tiffany for a date. She'd loved to have sucked those firm, round breasts and made the beautiful young woman's clit stiffen and swell under the lashes of her tongue. Sighing deeply, she returned to the young blonde in the chair. They kissed, and Blanche cupped one of her customer's pert breasts, giving it a friendly squeeze before she picked up the comb and resumed teasing the blonde's frizzy hair. If Charisma had friends like the babe who'd just left, Charisma was one lucky bitch, she thought.



"Tiffany Lawson," Tiffany identified herself in response to the question that the lady at the other end of the line had asked her.



"Why do you want to see me?"



"I bought one of your bras," Tiffany explained. "It's fabulous! I just have to meet you." After a long moment of silence, Tiffany added, "Please."



Charisma gave her the address at which she could be found--at least, Tiffany hoped it was the address, finally, at which the superb seamstress could be located and not just another dead end.



Driving like the wind down the broad boulevard that fronted the Pacific Ocean, Tiffany was soon driving up to the huge wrought-iron gate in tall brick wall that enclosed Charisma's ten-acre estate.



After she'd identified herself to the butler who'd responded to her pressing of the bell beside the gate, the massive gateway opened, admitting her, and Tiffany drove up the quarter mile driveway that led to the mansion at the top of the knoll. Charisma's chauffeur met her, whisking her car away as she walked up the wide, steep flight of marble stairs that led to the porch at the front of the massive stone house. She stood before the tall, heavy black doors with their gold-plated knocker, knob, and frame, and rang the bell to announce her presence.



The butler answered. "Please, do come in," he incited in the same arrogant tone of voice he'd used in communicating with her over the intercom when she'd been parked outside the gate. "Madam will see you forthwith."



Tiffany followed the tuxedo-garbed servant through the luxuriously appointed lobby and into a parlor full of antique furniture. She seated herself on a large, comfortable couch upholstered in red velvet, surveying the room. The furnishings were elegant and opulent, indicating the wealth of the mansion's mistress more eloquently than words or reputation could hope to have done. Tiffany glanced at the sapphire necklace, the violet velvet blouse, and the black leather mini-skirt and matching thigh-high boots she wore, hoping that Charisma would not think her hopelessly gauche and vulgar. Her breasts, enhanced by the wonderful brassiere that Charisma had created, gave her some confidence. She knew that many men--and women--found her costume sexy and her physical charms sexier. She hoped that Charisma would also find her attractive.



"Hello, my dear!"



Tiffany rose, blushing, as her hostess entered the room.



"My, but you are a lovely young thing," Charisma said, her eyes sparkling as her gaze swept over Tiffany's figure. "Oh, but your breasts are superb!" Tiffany blushed. "Thanks to you," she said. "Your brassiere--it's amazing."



"Nonsense. It can enhance only those charms that belong to you by the grace of God."



"In my case, I had a little help," Tiffany demurred. In answer to her hostess' arched eyebrow, Tiffany explained, "I'm a shemale."



Charisma studied Tiffany's cleavage. "You haven't had surgery there," she concluded.



Tiffany smiled. "No, just hormones."



"They're lovely."



"I have you to thank for that."



"Nonsense. As I said, my brassiere can enhance only those charms that belong to you--whether by God's grace or through a little hormonal assistance."



"When I saw what your bra does for my figure, I just had to thank you," Tiffany gushed.



Charisma sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. "Please, sit."



Tiffany sat.



"Seeing what it does for you--both the inner and the outer you--is all the thanks I need," Charisma declared. "I would like to see you without the bra--and without the blouse--if I may."



Tiffany reddened, but she did as she was bidden, removing the velvet blouse and the lavender brassiere beneath and placing both carefully on the cushion between her and her hostess. She was shocked when she realized that her breasts remained as full and pronounced as they'd been while she'd been wearing the brassiere. She stared at her enlarged breasts, confusion, fear, and delight on her astonished countenance.



Charisma grinned at Tiffany's confusion. "I'm a sorceress," she confided, "and my apparel is enchanted. Once its effects occur, they are permanent. Your breasts will remain forever their new, increased size, whether you wear the brassiere or not."



"But how? I mean, really? I mean--"



Charisma laughed. "I told you," she said. "I'm magic. My clothes are magic. Now, you--or, rather, your breasts--are magic, too." Tiffany cupped her enlarged breasts in her hands and squeezed them. They were real, not an illusion. They were genuine, not a fantasy. "Wow!"



Charisma's hands swept over Tiffany's breasts. The enchantress' long, slender fingers curled as they compressed the silken mounds, making deep indentations in the ivory flesh. Tiffany moaned, letting her own hands fall from her bosom as she squirmed on the couch, angling her upper body toward her hostess. "I was impressed," Charisma confided to her guest, "by your perseverance in locating me, just so you could thank me for having fashioned the brassiere that gave you these exquisite breasts."



Tiffany groaned, feeling her nipples respond to Charisma's fondling hands and stroking fingers. Her cock also bulged, forming a tent of the front of her black leather mini-skirt. "How did you know I'd--persevered?" Tiffany asked.



"Mr. Fenner and Ms. Deevers--Martin and Blanche--informed me, of course."



The real estate agent and the beautician, Tiffany identified Charisma's informants. "I see," she said. She felt the stiffness of her cock, insistent beneath her mini-skirt, and she was aware of how it jutted from her groin, just as she was conscious of how her nipples protruded from the centers of her swollen areolas. She swallowed, embarrassed. But Charisma not only seemed not to mind these exhibitions of her guest's ardor, but also to enjoy them.



"What I didn't realize," the sorceress said, smiling, "was that you are a shemale."



Tiffany gulped. She hoped that her transgendered status wasn't offensive to her hostess. Tiffany sure didn't want a sorceress to be annoyed at her. "I hope that's all right with you," she said, her voice trembling.



While she continued to knead and squeeze and stroke first one and then the other of Tiffany's new and improved breasts with her left hand, Charisma reached up Tiffany's mini-skirt with her right hand and caressed Tiffany's genitals. "Nonsense," she said. "I think shemales are the sexiest creatures on the planet." Charisma's lips found Tiffany's, and the sorceress seamstress kissed her shemale visitor hard before slipping the tip of her moist pink tongue into the soft red cavern of Tiffany's warm, wet mouth.



. . . to be continued. . . .

