Darla dresses you.

You are quickly towelled dry once you are out of the shower. The towels are soft and fluffy, natural cotton. You squirm uncomfortably when Darla dries your chest; the soft natural fibres tickle nipples that have been constantly teased since your transformation and seem destined to be permanently stiff and sensitive. Your attendant takes far too much delight for your liking as she pats dry your labia and the exposed clitoris. You moan softly and try to turn your hips away from her touch as yet again the small, but stiffly erect remnant of your once impressive cock is touched and tickled and responds by impotently twitching and bobbing up and down.

"Oh my god," Darla giggles, giving your jerking clitoris another light rub. "I swear that will never get old. It's sooo cute, like that little thing still thinks it's a real dick."

Once you are dried off. Darla leads you to the red locker that matches your wrist and ankle cuffs. When you come to a halt, she opens the locker door. Your new clothing for the competition, what little there is of it, is laid out inside. An extremely short red skirt of some ultra-thin and satiny material is on a clothes hanger. On a shelf above the skirt is a pair of high-heeled ankle boots and a leather collar, both in the now familiar bright shade of red.

"Is that it?" You protest. "That's all I get to wear? Don't I at least get a robe like yours for when I'm not in front of the cameras?"

"Of course not, you silly little thing," Darla confirms that this is indeed your entire wardrobe and gives your bare ass a light slap that stings just a little to chide you for your complaint. "You sluts...I mean contestants...still have male sex drives. Seeing each other barely dressed keeps you as randy as a boar in a pen full of sows. Lessen you're batting for the other team already, of course."

"I most certainly am not," You declare, feeling your cheeks grow hot once more. "This is strictly for the cash; I won't be in this body long and even if I was I'd never get aroused by another guy."

"Course you wouldn't, Honey," Darla agrees without a shred of sincerity. "You're just a regular het dude, just with a tight sweet pussy and perky little titties, ain't you?"

Darla does not release your shackled wrists, perhaps afraid that you'd be jilling yourself off as soon as her back was turned. You have to endure the indignity of being dressed by your babysitter as if you were a toddler. You step, one foot at a time, into the skirt as Darla holds it open at ankle height. Then she slides the thin, silky material up your smoothly hairless legs. The light fabric slides over your still erect clit and makes you shudder with its deliciously soft caress on your sensitive bud. Next, you are guided to sit on a bench as the heeled pumps are buckled up on your feet. Lastly, the leather collar, with a leashing ring at your throat, is fastened around your slim neck.

"There, don't you look like a pretty girl now?" Darla coos. "In your pretty little skirt and that beautiful collar around that slim neck. And those pumps lifting your heels show off those lovely legs and make that tight tiny butt stick out so adorably."

"Now that we got you all gussied up and looking so pretty, we can get that hair tidied up," Darla tells you. "Honestly, you look like a little ragamuffin with it freshly grown and messy. I think a cutesy pixie bob and a straight fringe will suit your pretty face just fine, and some subtle makeup, just enough to highlight that fresh-faced waif look you're rocking."