Forced Fem?

It was forced. Or at least, it was not what I thought I wanted. Boys do not wear lingerie. Boys do not wear dresses. Boys do not want to look like pretty girls.

Something gave me away. The something that let her know she was correct, as always. Something indicated that telling me to slip on a garter belt, stockings, a bra, and panties was EXACTLY what I wanted, no matter how much I protested.

That something, of course, was the tent in my panties. The straining. The lump. Small as I was, there was no masking the swelling of my penis.

I started out protesting. By the time she helped me fasten the bra around my thin chest, my protests had grown weaker. With every heart beat, more blood flowed to my panties. My cries grew softer and softer as I grew harder and harder.

She knew it. She saw it. She was pleased by it.