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Category: Erotica/Fetish Erotica
Description: One man and a dozen dominatrix! Forced crossdressing and humiliation are only the beginning. When Chris stops at Ruthie's, he figures it for just another two-bit desert honky-tonk, where girls dance for dollars and the booze runs free. Little does he know that his pit-stop will lead him into a bizarre and sexy new life...because the ladies at Ruthie's aren't your run-of-the-mill strippers. They are mistresses of the art of dominating and feminizing wayward men, transforming them through mind-games and sensuous tortures into smoking hot girls. Their pride and joy, the lovely, leggy Lena, has been stolen away by a rival mistress named Momma Bear. The girls want Chris's help in getting their favorite slave-doll back, and they'll stop at nothing to persuade him. Chris will be tied, tormented, tickled half to death, and put in touch with his feminine side?in a serious way. GIRLVILLE is Colin's fetish masterpiece, originally published under another name almost a decade ago. Long out of print, it is dripping with lusty foot worship, tight bondage, tacky wigs, tackier makeup, terrifying tickle-torture, steamy dommes, and the wickedest femdom imaginings this side of that cat who wrote VENUS IN FURS, GIRLVILLE is a place you'll want to visit again and again. Because, trust us?feminization is a drag. Literally.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler,
eBookwise Release Date: November 2011

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [205 KB]
Words: 45544
Reading time: 130-182 min.

CHAPTER ONE

The desert heat came down on Chris like a blanket as he got out of his car. Hot as a bitch, he thought, wincing against the sun. As he stood surveying the bleak surroundings, he felt the prickle of sweat on his forehead. He took a deep pull on the bottle of water he had bought in the last town, three hours back, but it had gone tepid, even in the Porsche's air-conditioning. With a shrug, Chris tossed the bottle aside. It bounced once on the strip of concrete he had parked on, then lay on its side, water pouring out. The water made a grey stain that spread and faded almost instantly. Chris had half-expected it to go up in a hissing cloud of steam.

There were two gas-pumps on the concrete, old ones topped with big plastic globes that Chris knew probably lit up at night. In the blinding mid-day sun, they looked dead. The pumps sat outside a wide, ramshackle building of weathered grey boards. A neon sign -- as dead looking at this hour as the globes on the pumps -- sat on the roof. RUTHIE'S, it said. Another sign sat out in front of the building, the kind of plastic, free-standing sign set in front of roadside businesses to attract passing drivers.

Time and desert wind had stripped about half the black plastic letters from the sign's surface, apparently working at random. R T IES, the sign read now. GAS. CO BEE. B AU T FU G I LS EV RY N IT.

Chris grinned. Bautfu gils, huh? He leaned an arm into the Porsche's open window and gave the horn a blast. The place looked deserted, but he had spotted a pickup truck parked behind the building as he'd driven up, and the truck was gleaming in the sun, freshly washed. Somebody had to be here. Somebody'd better be, Chris frowned, thumbing the horn again. The Porsche's gas-tank wasn't quite empty, but in another half-hour or so he'd be running on fumes. The map said there was another town up the highway, but it would take him a good hour to reach it.

He honked a third time, but the building showed no signs of life. Shrugging, Chris stepped over to one of the pumps and unholstered its nozzle.

RUTHIE's door banged open suddenly and a tall blonde girl came running out. "Closed!" she shouted. Her voice carried perfectly over the still air. It sounded cautious, hostile. "We're closed, mister!"

Chris regarded her calmly, the nozzle still in his hand. "I just need some gas," he told her. His eyes roamed up and down her body as she came running up. In the city, he would have been careful about doing that, but out here in Tumbleweed Central, you didn't have to worry about threats of lawsuits, or even snotty remarks from some bitch who thought her ass was made of gold because she had one more zero on her paycheck than you did.

The women were the one good thing about being out here, Chris thought. The ones in the last town had treated him real nice -- there had been this one little piece he remembered with particular fondness; she had given him some excellent head in the men's room, and hadn't charged him a penny. All he had had to do was spin her a yarn about coming back for her on his way back east, after his meeting finished. He would take her back to New York with him, he told her. She could get a job as a model. He knew people. The eager way she had eaten up the lie -- almost as eagerly as she had gobbled his cock -- had damned near broken Chris's heart.

But this girl, Chris thought cautiously, might not be so accommodating -- or gullible. She was good-looking, but in a lean, mean way, like the desert wind had whittled her down to the bare essentials of what constituted a woman. Chris was pretty tall, but this girl had a good half-head on him, and she was as thin as a rail. Her long blonde hair was half in braids and half loose; it hung down to her ass, stray wisps floating up as she ran, and it seemed to have silver streaks in it -- the kind you sometimes saw emerge in old, weathered wood. Her face was narrow and sullen, and Chris was startled to see that her glaring eyes were purple -- not blue or green, but actually a deep, startling purple.

"Well, there ain't no gas," she snapped. She wore a tight halter and dusty, torn-up jeans. Even though her feet were bare, her long toes painted red and glinting with silver rings, Chris noticed that she was standing on the broiling-hot concrete with no apparent discomfort.

Chris tried a smile on her. Her mouth twisted a little as she looked at him, as though she were tasting something sour. "What do you mean, no gas?" he asked, trying to make his voice gently reasonable.

The girl snatched the pump out of his hands. "Gas-trucks ain't come," she said, slamming the pump back in place. "And they ain't gonna come no more. Told you, we're closed. For good. And you gotta go," she said firmly, folding her arms over her skinny chest.

If it were a man ordering him to leave, Chris probably would have simply shrugged and gotten back into his car and chanced the hour-long drive to the next town. He had seen what happened to strangers out here when they tried to take on the locals. But this was just a girl, and her nasal, nasty voice was starting to piss him off. He knew he had to be careful. There might well be a guy back in RUTHIE's, maybe a couple of guys. Even so, the idea of retreating meekly on the girl's say-so didn't sit well with him. Not at all.

"Well, where can I get gas, then?" he persisted, folding his own arms to make it clear to this bitch that he could be every bit as stubborn as she.

"In Clark, up that way," the girl said, nodding at the highway. "There's a real big Exxon up there, with a store on the side. You can get gassed up, buy you a lollipop, whatever you want." Her strange purple eyes flicked once over his polo shirt (with big sweat-stains starting to spread on it now), his khaki pants and his shiny loafers. Her mouth twisted again.

Chris frowned. He didn't like that lollipop crack.

"Well, can I at least come in and use your phone?" he said, only too aware that his voice was developing that little bitchy, strident snarl he had so often laughed at in his female colleagues.

"Phone's broke," the girl said promptly. She glanced around her in a bored way, apparently to let him Chris know any useless more conversation would be. Suddenly her eyes bulged. She pointed at something on the ground. "Is that yours?" she said, indicating Chris's abandoned water bottle. "Did you just throw that there?"

Chris felt himself flushing. "No," he lied, unsure of why he was even bothering. Like nobody out here in West Bumfuck ever littered! "It was there when I pulled up. Somebody else must've left it there."

"Don't gimme that shit," the girl spat. Her finger was still pointing, and shaking a little now. "Nobody round here drinks that bottled water. You pick that up, mister, and I mean right now!"

Chris glared at her. "Why don't you say 'please?'" he grated. It was the only thing he could think to say.

"Why don't I knock all your pretty white teeth out?" the girl returned, with a calm ferocity that made Chris actually step backward, until his ass hit the Porsche's door. He could see that she wasn't kidding. The hand that had been pointing at the bottle was now curled into a small, but very capable-looking fist. "Because I've had one hell of a day, and I'm getting just a little tired of you, mister..."

"Sarah," a voice called behind them, in the general direction of RUTHIE's door. Chris and the girl both started and looked towards the voice, almost guiltily, like children caught fighting.

Another blonde was standing on RUTHIE's porch, this one wrapped in what looked like a pink bathrobe. She scampered towards them. "Sarah, what's goin' on?"

"Nothin," Sarah said coolly. "Go on back inside, Tammy, I'm just about finished here."

Chris took the opportunity to give Tammy a once-over. He liked her a lot better than Sarah, he decided. She actually had tits, for one thing; her whole look was softer, rounder. Her hair was butter-yellow and hung around her sleepy face like a lion's mane. She stared at Chris nervously, plucking at the sash of her robe and shuffling her feet in their ridiculous, fuzzy slippers.

So that was it, Chris thought, grinning. They were a couple of dykes. What did they call it? Butch and femme. And Miss Sarah couldn't wait for the big, bad city-slicker to leave so she could go back to snacking on her girlfriend's pussy.

"I was telling your ... friend here that I'm out of gas," Chris said smoothly.

"Ooh, that's too bad," Tammy said. Her eyes were green and wide. She smiled at him and twisted a yellow curl around one finger. "We don't have no gas. The trucks..."

"I know," Chris said, trying to keep from snapping at her. "The trucks didn't come. And you're closed." He had hoped Tammy would say something along the lines of, well, help yourself, we've got plenty of gas. He would have loved to see the resulting look on Miss Sarah's face.

"Tell you what, though? How 'bout you come on in and have a beer with us? You look awful hot." Dyke or no, the small girl's manner was unmistakably flirtatious. Probably she liked cock as much as pussy. Probably she would've fucked a horse, if it bought her a break from the ministrations of her hard-as-nails girlfriend.

Chris smirked triumphantly at Sarah, expecting a truly wonderful tantrum. None came. The tall girl lifted one foot, idly inspecting the polish on her toes. "You sure that's a good idea?" she asked Tammy. "After all that's ... you know, just happened?"

"I think it's a real good idea," Tammy gushed, taking Chris's arm. Her green eyes were fixed on him, shining. "Don't you? I mean, look at him."

Sarah and Chris both stared at her. Sarah said, "You mean, him...?" She made an odd, circular motion with one fingertip.

Tammy nodded, smiling slyly. "Haven't really looked at him, have you? No, you were just upset about yesterday, but look..." Her hand reached out suddenly and Chris jumped as it slid down the front of his pants. The minute it moved away he sprouted an uncomfortably obvious hard-on.

Sarah padded around Chris as though he were a car she was thinking of buying. "Well," she said, "I guess you might have a point there, honey. You always did have a better eye than me." Her voice was considerably softer now.

Chris was confused. The girls apparently wanted to take him in and fuck him, which was fine by him -- he thought he could get used to Sarah's angles if he had Tammy's curves to balance them out -- but all this talk about 'what happened yesterday,' and now this business about how he lookedEit was weird.

"Okay," Sarah told him suddenly, her voice decided. "You want a beer? You wanna come visit with us for a while?" She took a step in the direction of the building, raising an eyebrow in invitation.

"Thought you didn't like me," Chris said stiffly. This was all happening so damned fast. What if this was some kind of set-up? What if they drugged him and stole his car, or ...

Sarah shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Aw, I was just upset, just like Tammy said. Don't mind me. Do you wanna beer? They're nice and cold," she added, and actually smiled. Chris was startled by how beautiful the smile made her look. She reached out and stroked his cheek. Her fingers were rough, but her touch was gentler than Chris would have believed. Sarah's purple eyes stared into his. They seemed to be aiming a stream of tenderness and lust right at him, like a laser-beam. Her lips moved, mouthing a word. The word was Fuck. Chris's pants suddenly felt tight.

"Sure he wants a beer," Tammy said, getting behind him and giving him a little push on the ass. "Poor baby's all hot and tired." She rose up on the toes of her slippers and licked his ear. "We know how to treat hot babies," she purred.

Chris was decided now. Sometimes you had to just go with the flow. Wasn't that what the guys always said?

"Well, just for a minute," Chris said, painfully aware that he was blushing. How was this for an unexpected turn of events? A minute ago he thought he was going to get his ass whipped by some hick girl out in the middle of nowhere. Now the hick girl and her cute friend were going to lay his body down and -- if the promises implicit in their words and gestures were any indication -- take him to Paradise. "Will my car be okay?"

"It'll be fine," Tammy said, leading him towards RUTHIE's as though he were a child being taught his first steps. "Nobody comes out this way, not any more."

"You all go on ahead," Sarah said. "I just got something to do real quick, then I'll be in and..." she licked her lips at Chris.

As Tammy led him up to RUTHIE's door, Chris glanced once over his shoulder. He caught a brief glimpse of Sarah kneeling in front of the stand-up sign by the gas-pumps, hurriedly removing the remaining letters. The Porsche gleamed in the sun a couple of yards away from her, and then Chris was being pulled into the darkness and cool, air-conditioned air of RUTHIE's.

He never saw his car again.