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Happy St Patricks Day - transgender transsexual cross dresser crossdresser bondage pictures stories fiction story

Let me tell you the tale of Josie. If you can, try to read it in a soft Irish accent, it'll help!

Josie is just a little under five foot tall, but is shaped so exquisitely that you never notice that you look down to talk to her. She has the most wonderful legs, and her body is taut and very trim. She always wears clothes that conceal as much of her skin as possible.

For example, yesterday she wore her usual double layer tops of black scoop neck T-shirt over which is her tight grey top which hugs her body almost like a second skin. If you look closely, you can see the outline of her bra, as well as the seams of the C cups supporting her firm, pert breasts. Her knee length black skirt shows off her curvy bottom, and the opaque black tights hide the skin of her legs down to her modest two-inch heeled black shoes.

Her auburn hair is cut quite severely, but when you look into her eyes you can almost see the Emerald Isle looking back at you. As for when she smiles, treasure these times, they are rare. When she smiles, you forget everything and just listen to her every word, just waiting for the beautiful, soft Irish accent to caress your ears once more.

But things are not always what they seem. You note the wedding ring on her finger and realize that she is already spoken for, and you die a little inside.


She was wooed and courted by Brian, a fellow from Donegal, and she fell in love with him, as he had the first time he saw her, like everyone did. They married ten years ago, on St Patrick's Day 1992, and the honeymoon was strange, unfortunately only a sign of things to come.

They booked into their hotel on the first night, and although Brian did not seem any different, things had changed between them. Josie did not know what had happened, what she had done, or not done for that matter. Josie at the beginning of her wedding night - transgender transsexual cross dresser crossdresser bondage pictures stories fiction storyThat wedding night they went to bed, and she was nervous; her first time with a man and there she was, in her white baby doll nightie and matching frilly white panties with her luxurious hair cascading down well below her shoulders. Brian was wearing his usual paisley pajamas. She could not believe it when he pulled on a condom! This was their wedding night, and did not the Pope himself say that any form of contraception was a sin?!

Before she could ask him what he was playing at, he pushed her to the mattress and ripped her baby doll off, the nylon wisps flying all over. He forced himself into her, holding her arms down, and had sex with her. Not a word was spoken by Brian before or during the act. Basically, he raped her. There was no way this act could be described as making love, he simply used her for sex and was quite violent toward her.

When she tried to say anything, or tried to push him away, he slapped her, hard, never on the face, only where the bruises wouldn't show.

Afterwards, Josie stumbled to the en-suite bathroom and washed herself clean, time and time again, crying as she relived the experience. What had she done to deserve this? She was a good Irish girl, a colleen from the Isle; what could she do? Her religion did not allow for divorce, nor could she resist Brian, he was nearly six foot tall and outweighed her by nearly a hundred pounds.

"Come out of there, ye little bitch!" Brian shouted, banging on the locked door. "Don't ye make me break down this door! If ye do, I'll beat ye 'til ye bleed!"

Josie cowered in the corner of the shower as the banging got louder and louder. Finally, just before the lock splintered, she found some courage from somewhere and got up, with just a towel wrapped around her breasts, covering her crotch, giving her a little modesty, and slid the bolt back.

Brian stormed in, his face as red as the towel around Josie. He took one step toward her, then hit her hard with a fist to her chin, and sent her flying backwards into the shower cubicle again.

"Don't ye ever lock a door on me again, ye hear! If ye do, or if ye dare tell anyone, I'll kill ye! Do ye understand me, ye little harlot? And don't ye ever let me catch you wearing clothes like that flimsy thing again. Also, get yer damn hair cut, too, I don't want anyone looking at ye, I'm the only one to look at ye! Ye hear me?" he demanded.

"Yes, Brian," she sobbed.

"Oh yes, when we are alone, don't call me Brian. Ye will address me as Master. Do ye understand me? Every time you forget, I'll beat you again!"

"Yes, Bri...sorry, yes, Master." She sniffled.

"That's better, now, get yourself dressed. We's leaving Ireland and heading for the bastard's isles. I'm going to set up a terrorist cell in the North of England. They'll regret the day they stuck their noses into our business!"

"What, leave Ireland?! But what about ma family, ma old mother, ma da?" Josie stuttered.


"Don't ye question me again, or I'll have the lads visit yer parents. They'll never nae what hit them!" he threatened.

Josie loved her parents, and could see no way out of this nightmare. All she could do was obey her husband, and hope that someday something would happen to free her. But what, or when, if ever, she had no idea.

She crept past Brian back into the bedroom to get dressed. Already her legs and arms were showing the signs of bruising, so she rummaged through her suitcase for her opaque tights, slipping her bruised legs into them. Next she stepped into her frilly red lace panties and digging the matching bra out, slipped her bruised breasts into the cups. Reaching behind herself, wincing with the pain in her arms, she slipped the catches and adjusted the straps over her shoulders. Looking at the bruises coming out on her arms, she decided to go with a black long sleeved jumper and a demure, though tight, knee length red skirt.

That night was the last time they had sex. Even kissing was out, in fact, the only form of affection Brian allowed his beautiful Josie was that he would occasionally hold her hand whilst in public. Often, though, he would squeeze her hand so hard, threatening to beat her later if she cried out, that it would sometimes take hours for the pain to subside.

Over the next ten years, Josie suffered much at the hands of her husband. He admitted he didn't love her after all, he only needed a wife to allay suspicion whilst slipping into and living in England.

Josie's bruises and abuse steadily got worse and worse until she wore opaque tights and long sleeved jumpers all the time. When the summers got too hot for tights, she switched to jeans or trousers, never shorts, never able to sun bathe. Her life was, in short, a living hell.

Brian arranged for various terrorist cells to be active throughout the British Isles. Some were successful in setting off bombs, or robbing banks to fund their activities, others less so. Some got caught, others where killed by the Armed Response Units when they refused to surrender.

The present day:

Josie had been working in a local newsagents for the last year or so, and had gotten friendly with a few of the customers. There was one in particular, he was so pleasant to her, asking about her every time he called in for his weekly papers, happy to spend a little time with her, in-between her serving the other customers. She started to look forward to his visits; unfortunately, she let her pleasure show once too often at home. Brian got wind of something, and decided to watch his wife one day, without her knowing it.

From the window of the cafe across the road, he could see her working behind the till. Nothing came of his watching until he saw the tall man who stood talking to Josie. He was there far too long to be buying, and besides, whenever someone came to pay, he would step away, then return to his Josie until the next customer came. Brian had never seen Josie so animated, not since before he married her and took her away from all she knew.

That night, Brian was waiting for Josie as she left the newsagents. "Hello, me darling, I just thought I'd walk ye home," he said, as he came up behind her and grabbed her arm.

Josie jumped at the suddenness of his approach, never mind the fact that Brian had come to meet her, a thing he never did.

She was nervous. What was he up to, she wondered?

Just then, as they passed the alley beside the town's bakery, he pulled into the dark alley and threw her against the wall. She bounced! Son of a bitch, that hurt.

With the blood streaming down her nose, she fell to the ground and looked up at the darkened shape of her violent husband. "What? What are you doing, what's wrong, Master?" she whispered in terror.

"What's wrong, ye little bitch? I'll tell you what's wrong!" Brian screamed. "Who's dat fellow ye'r seeing? Hey? That fellow ye'r so friendly with this marning! Huh? Well, ye going tell before I beat the crap out of ye?"

"Who? But he's just a customer (wish he was more, though). He's nice and talks to me, that's all," Josie replied.

"Ah, well, he won't be for much longer! I'll fix him, the English bastard, sniffing round moy wife like that!" he threatened. "But as for ye, ye little slut, I'll make sure that no one want's anything more to do with ye!"

"By God," Josie said, now very scared, "I wish that somehow ye would get what is coming to ye, ye murdering scum!"

"Oh, ye do, do ye?! Well, ye won't be around to see dat, if it ever comes to dat!" Brian blustered, as he moved toward her, heavy boot raised to start kicking her. This time, he thought, would be the last time he had this sort of fun with Josie; she'd be dead after this evening.

As his foot swung toward Josie, the alley lit up, almost as if a searchlight had been turned on. His foot slowed until it stopped, mere inches away from the prone figure on the ground. He could not move, though he was still aware of his surroundings. He could not turn to see where the light was coming from, nor could he speak, as he found out as he tried to do so.

Josie, however, could see what was happening. Looking up at Brian, his face frozen in the contortion of rage that was on him before he froze, she peered around his leg to get a better view of the source of the light.

Incredibly, there was a doorway, filled with a bright light, slightly green in cast, but the doorway was perhaps a foot off the ground, in the middle of the alley. In mid air, between the walls, where no door had any right to exist, but there it was. Then, as she watched, her beautiful eyes watering both from the pain of Brian's beating, and from squinting into the light, a tall figure, dressed in flowing green robes with a small pointed hat, stepped from the doorway and alit gently on the ground.

"What is happening? Am I dead? Are ye an angel come to take me away?" she asked in wonderment.

"No, my child," the tall stranger said, in a voice so deep the very walls of the alley seemed to tremble. "You are not dead, and I'm no angel. I am Janus. I am a God, and you called for God to help you, and, being by a portal of power (the back of the bakery) you summoned me."

"Wow! I summoned... Portal? God? Bejesus!" Josie struggled to take all this in.

"NO, not Jesus, Janus! Now that we've got that cleared up, let me see what I can do for you. Well, first let's get you cleaned up." Janus waved his arms gently, and a soft golden glow settled over Josie, who felt her pains disappearing as the bruises and cracked ribs healed. As the glow disappeared, she found herself standing at the side of Janus, her clothes also clean and repaired.

"Now, Josie, what do you really want from life? Hmm, tell me child, do you wish to stay married to this thug?"

"No, but it is a sin to think of divorce, the Holy Father himself said so," Josie sobbed.

"Well, actually he didn't, but that Pope fellow thinks it is, so he says so. The real Holy Father, or Mother, depending upon which side of the universe he/she wakes up, allows for a couple of alternatives. Or shall We say, allows Us to offer an alternative or two.

"Tell me, Josie, do you like children?" Janus asked. By the way, all this time, Josie had been talking to the kinder half of Janus, as would become clear shortly.

"Oh yes, I do, but Brian would never allow me to become pregnant. In fact, he's never made love to me at all, just forced himself on me ten years ago tonight on our wedding night," Josie recalled.

"Oh, I think we can do something about that," Janus offered. Then, turning to Brian, with a {flicker} Janus looked more cruel somehow, yet the same.

"Now, Brian," the voice of Janus was darker, deeper than before. Brian found himself turning to face the hawk nosed stranger. He had never being so scared before. He looked into the eyes of a cruel God, and wet himself. He could just think the litany to himself, 'Holy Mother of God, Protect me, Holy Mother of...'

"Don't even try to blaspheme your way out of this situation, boy! The Holy Mother wants nothing whatsoever to do with you now. Why not direct your prayers to me?! I'm the God you need to worry about now.

"I think the best thing that we can do for you, is to give you a fresh start in life, and {flicker} give the woman what she has always wanted. {flicker} So be it!" With a wave of his hands, the darker Janus cast his power over Brian and a golden glow covered him from head to toe.

At first Brian could feel nothing happening, then he realized that he was shrinking, his clothes slipping off himself into a pile on the alley floor. He was soon quite naked, but still he shrank. Then he realized that he was growing younger, his body slimming down fast. His penis shrank away as he grew ever younger, then finally disappeared! His last few coherent thoughts, apart from, 'Oh God, NO!' were 'Shit, I'm a girl!' and 'mamma, mamma.'

Janus stepped forward and gathered the newly created infant girl into his arms, and resting his hand on the child's forehead, completely wiped any remaining traces of Brian out of the baby. He then placed suitable memories in both the infant and Josie, whose beloved husband had died in a car crash before the birth of their beautiful daughter, Bryony, two years ago. As for Bryony, she received the knowledge that her mother loved her very much and she would grow up tall and strong, blessed as she was, by a rather tall leprechaun. Well, it was St Patrick's Day, and never let it be said that Janus didn't have a sense of humor.

Josie took the infant from Janus' arms without any memories of what had happened, nor any recognition of Janus. In fact, she no longer remembered nor saw the God in front of her. As she left the alley with Bryony, she all but bumped into the tall customer from the newsagents who had felt compelled to walk this way this evening. Strange, he'd had no call to walk this street before.

"Oh, hi, Josie. What are you doing out this late?" he asked, surprised to find her coming out of an alley with her baby, too.

"Hello, yourself. Oh, I just needed a walk and some fresh air. Hmm, I don't suppose, erm..."

"Erm, yourself. I don't suppose you'd...erm, well..."

<Oh, get on with it!> seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Well, I don't suppose you'd allow me to walk you home?" he stammered.

"Oh, I'd love it! I thought ye'd never ask!" Josie said, pleased beyond relief that perhaps, just perhaps, she had finally met the man she could be happy with.

Arm in arm, the couple walked away into their future, baby Bryony cuddled between them, safe and secure in the knowledge that soon she would have a new father, as well as a brother or sister or two.

Janus stood watching, as the group moved away.

"Yes, brother, I think they will be happy together. A match really made in Heaven! Little Josie will finally be able to dress in clothes that can show off her skin, even to sunbathe in skimpy bikinis, perhaps we could stop off and watch sometime!"

{flicker} "No doubt about it, brother. This time Josie has the right man. He will give them both all the love in the world."

{flicker} "You're getting soft! Let's go see if we can find some deserving soul to torment somewhere, and can we PLEASE get rid of this stupid green hat and get back to our white robes?!"

With that, the God of Doors and trickery stepped into the floating doorway of light and as both he and it disappeared, there could be heard, floating in the air, a faint, "Top o'the morning to ye all!"

Happy St Patrick's Day!

The End.

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