Sam gets dressed

Sam watched his own hands reach down and pull up the fishnet tights. Dragging the strange-textured material up past his knees and on over his exposed-feeling thighs. Those fingers didn't pause for a second in lifting up the ridiculously short skirt they'd found, some relic his sister had long grown out of he assumed. The extremely loose-weaved stockings slid under this, but over the laced and silky panties they had already graced him with.

Somehow… whoever was in control of him had managed to rummage through his sibling's entire wardrobe and find the most overtly revealing outfit they possibly could, scattering everything else here and there with reckless abandon as they did so. There was little hope whoever it was would tidy up the evidence afterwards, he supposed… hiding this whole embarrassing affair away? Perhaps he'd still have time to do so after they'd had their fun and got bored though… it was a hope Sam's fevered mind held onto like a cliff edge.

Because the reality of the moment at hand… Staring at his own reflection in the mirror. Feeling the tightness of his sister’s underwear upon his constrained masculinity… It was almost too much to handle. Some sick fuck, somewhere out there in the wider world, was getting off on dressing him up like this. Using his body as nothing less than a doll. Sam shivered with frustratingly impotent rage. Shame, embarrassment and humiliation that he couldn't even begin to express. That reflection of his form only smiling and pouting as it flaunted the tie-front crop-top it had **** upon him.

Now that mirrored view of Sam stepped closer, leering in with uncanny eagerness sketched across familiar features. It reached up and tied its mid-length hair up into two, cutesy pigtails. The kind of cocktease stylings a teenage popstar might exhibit. Then it immediately began delving greedily into the huge box of cosmetics his sister kept on hand. Sam felt the delicate sensations of brushes flowing across his cheeks, as foundation, contours and blusher were splashed on with giddy enthusiasm. A clearly practised, if overly-excited hand added deep patches of eyeshadow and careful lines of eyeliner, before moving on to mascara.

The sensations were oddly pleasant, though internally the young man baulked every time one of his hands brought a pencil or sharp brush so close to his own eyeballs. He sincerely doubted he could have been anywhere near so precise if he had actually been in control of those fingers… which would have brought up some interesting questions regarding the technology and muscle memory, were it not for the current situation at hand. As it was, Sam was more horrified by the acknowledgement that he couldn't even act on the reflex to blink as his puppet-master **** his eyelids wide to paint every indication of femininity across an already slim and soft visage.

With an exaggerated flourish, the features in the mirror finished with some candy-red lipstick. Blowing a delightedly cheeky little kiss at themselves and the results of all this fastidious work. Sam was horrified by how effective the transformation was… He could still see himself in that face, if you knew where to look… But the overlaid facsimile of a cheeky, young teen harlot was overbearing. The kind of girl who hung around in malls in movies catching as many leering glances from older men as she could, presumably to try and work out some complicated issues and insecurities with 'Daddy' at home.

Combined with the completely unsubtle outfit and his own naturally not-that masculine figure… What winked at him from the mirror was a cheap porno waiting to happen. A 90's MTV music video where any moment the protagonist was going to pull a lollipop from out of nowhere and start prostrating herself across the bonnet of a sports car. Only… the protagonist was him… and there was nothing he could do about it.