Book Excerpt for Billie Ballerina

Billie Ballerina -- Extract

Frustration * Finally, a Chance * The Interview * William Out of Work * The Special Interview * The Transformation Room * In a Tutu * The Dance Lesson * Wet Diapers * The Good Life * Diapers Under a Business Suit?

#1 Pamper-ed Husbands Series

Wendy

Cover graphic design by Drew at idrewdesign on Fiverr.com.

The right of Wendy to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988.

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

"Come on, Bill," she said. "We've got to get you cleaned up before you even see the Transformation Room. When you do, you'll love it, I promise."

She switched on a side light controlled by a rheostat, turning it up just enough so Bill could see that Wendy had discarded her own clothes and wore only a slinky black nightie.

Maybe he'd get lucky yet.

But he could not see far into the Transformation Room to see what it was like. There was only black darkness beyond the feeble glow.

She pinched his ear lobe and pulled him toward a door which opened into a large bathroom, about the size of locker room.

She had him lie down on his back in a cushioned spot on the floor, but his ass was over a grill set into the floor. She lifted each foot and put it into a stirrup. That held them up high with his legs spread wide.

She raised her hand to grab a nozzle attached to a long length of tubing.

"You need a stronger circulation," Wendy said, "so I'm giving you the red pepper enema." She paused for effect. "But don't worry, it's not too strong."

She smeared some lube on the nozzle, then shoved it into Bill's asshole.

He gasped as the water and red pepper gushed into his intestines.

If this wasn't hot, he couldn't imagine what was. Not the water temperature, but the pepper inside it, burned the sides of his intestines, removing whatever shit he had clinging there.

After he was full, Wendy massaged his tummy, making sure the water was squeezed evenly through his intestine. After over half an hour, Wendy had him squat over the grating.

He'd been shocked by the slush of shit that ran out along with the water. Every time he thought he was finished, his belly gurgled and more water sluiced out his ass.

Finally Wendy lowered him back down. "Now for some soothing peppermint," she told him, and grabbed a different nozzle and jammed it into him.

Bill smelled the mint scent, and it did indeed sooth his insides, though he now felt more energetic.

He squatted again, and yet more shit poured out of him, until he was sure there could be no more left.

And yet Wendy had just begun. Now that he was clean on the inside, he needed to be clean on the outside.

She shoved him into an upright bowl of sheet metal, and turned on a strong spray of hot water.

Then she coated him with a slimy green goo he called her special soap. Only instead of cleaning him, it pulled every hair follicle from inside his skin, so he was soon as hairless as a baby from the neck down -- only it would be permanent.

Later, when he had time to think, Bill would realize that she didn't depilorize his facial hair because people might notice that all the men who worked for Rockport had no sign of hair growing on their cheeks and necks.

Once that was done, Wendy rinsed him off, then scrubbed him with a powerful industrial cleaner that took off every piece of dust, fleck of dry dead skin and hint of an odor. She rinsed him again with the hot water like a fire hose gushing, until he was a totally sodden, submissive limp lump.

Wendy rubbed him with a thick fluffy towel, then dried him thoroughly with a fan of hot hair. She led him into the main room, which was still too dark to see, and laid him flat on his back on a soft bed.

"Now it's time to learn your deepest desire," Wendy said in a soft, slow voice, occasionally repeating phrases such as "deepest desire."

"Now I strongly suggest you take deep, long breaths, breathing in slowly, holding just long enough, and then letting it out slowly and fully, emptying your lungs so they again suck in the cool, life-giving air of this Transformation Room . . ."

"You are relaxing, letting all your troubles and cares vanish into nothingness, which is all they ever were, nothing. You are in a safe place here in the Transformation Room, where nothing can reach you, nothing can hurt you . . ."

Between the drug, Wendy's trained voice and what Bill could recognize even as he was falling under it as a hypnotic induction, Bill was growing more and more relaxed, going deeper and deeper into a cloudy, space inside his mind where he could not distinguish between was he was imagining under suggestion, images the drug was projecting into his consciousness, and what was really there.

Inside the Transformation Room, the rheostat seemed to be sliding slowly toward the light, revealing that it was a large bedroom obviously designed for a little kid . . . no, no sports equipment or the color blue . . . but pink carpeting, lighter pink walls, a doll house in the corner, dolls and stuffed animals scattered around on the shelves, feminine dresser drawers, a closet full of little girl clothes -- a little girl's room.

She's making me crazy, Bill thought. Why would she take me into a little girl's room? Remembering that he was naked, he certainly hoped there was no girl in it now.

As he continued to relax and sink deeper into intense trance, Bill felt his heart and mind open up to the vibrations of the room, the little girl feeling of total femininity, and he began to cry though he didn't know why.

"Yes, it feels so good, doesn't it?" Wendy said. "To be a big man allowed to become a helpless little baby girl. It's what every man like you needs."

Yes, somehow Bill could perceive the entire room and its contents, and groove in harmony with it. The dresser drawers were full of ruffled panties of all kinds: plain cotton ones for everyday wear, Barbie doll panties, panties with bright red hearts and, best of all, silky panties just full of ruffles in all pastel shades of white, pink, yellow, green, blue and lavender.

In the closet hung indescribably darling little girl dresses and slips and petticoats, with incredible bows, lace and ruffles.

And somehow, though he didn't understand, Bill knew all the clothes in the room were his size, though made to fit the shape of a little girl. They'd been made just for him, as though Diane had given Wendy his sizes.

And he thought this whole thing was crazy. He couldn't wait to get out of here and run to the newspapers to give them this story. Maybe he'd write a book and sell it for a lot of money.

And then, suddenly, with a shock of electricity jolting him, he noticed the other outfit hanging in the closet . . .

The ballerina set.

The pink tights, pink leotard and, of course, pink tutu with a big burst of white ruffles around the waist.

Now Bill cried so hard he thought he'd never stop.