Chapter 1: The Secret Dream and the Registration
Lukas Berger, 28 years old, was a graphic designer living in a small, cozy apartment in a vibrant Munich neighborhood. His daily life revolved around deadlines, client emails, and Zoom meetings where he defended his creative ideas. But in his private moments, Lukas transformed into “Lina,” a confident alter ego that allowed him to shed his shyness. Lina was his passion: an elegant woman with a penchant for fashionable outfits, flawless makeup, and an aura of grace.
Lukas’ apartment was Lina’s domain. A large wardrobe housed a collection of dresses: an emerald-green cocktail dress, a flowing midnight-blue maxi dress, a black sheath dress, and several pastel-colored skirts. A dressing table held an impressive makeup collection: foundations, eyeshadow palettes, false eyelashes, a dozen lipsticks, and a shimmery highlighter. Lukas had spent months studying YouTube tutorials to perfect Lina’s look, from walking in high heels to modulating his voice. A particular treasure was a high-quality, skin-toned shapewear piece with a latex vagina that looked—and felt—completely realistic, even up close. The pronounced labia were so lifelike that, to anyone unaware of his secret, they appeared authentic, giving him a convincing feminine silhouette. Lukas’ natural, shoulder-length, dark brown hair was a gift for Lina; thick, glossy, and silky, it only needed styling to look feminine.
Despite his love for crossdressing, Lukas had never taken Lina into public. The idea was tempting but terrifying. One evening, as he danced in front of the mirror in his black sheath dress, his long hair styled in soft waves, with a salsa playlist in the background, a bold thought struck him. He dreamed of learning Latin American dances like salsa but felt out of place in dance classes as a man. Why not join as Lina? Women were in demand in such courses, and he could register discreetly as a female participant.
After a glass of white wine and an hour of nervous scrolling, Lukas found an ad for a salsa course at the Schwabing community center: “Wanted: Female participants for our beginner salsa course! Learn the basics in a warm atmosphere.” His fingers trembled as he filled out the registration form. “Lina Berger, 28, female,” he typed before hitting send. The confirmation email arrived instantly, and Lukas felt a mix of euphoria and panic. “This is crazy,” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.
The next day, he received a second email from the course instructor, Carmen Morales. The subject line read: “Welcome, Lina! A Few More Details.” Lukas opened it with a pounding heart. It read:
Dear Lina,
A warm welcome to our salsa course! I’m thrilled you’re joining us. To prepare everything for you, I need a bit more information:
Tell me a bit about yourself (e.g., job, hobbies, dance experience).
Your clothing size (for potential costumes).
Your measurements (bust, waist, hips, in cm).
Do you have dance shoes? If so, what kind (heel height, color)?
Please send your response by tomorrow evening. I’m looking forward to meeting you!
Best regards,
CarmenLukas stared at the screen, his stomach churning. Clothing size? Measurements? He grabbed a notepad and drafted a response. For the description, he wrote: “Hi Carmen, I’m Lina, 28, work in the creative industry, and love fashion and music. I’ve never danced before but am super excited to learn salsa!” The clothing size was tricky. He found a dress labeled “size 38” and went with that. For measurements, he panicked. Instead of researching, he invented numbers that seemed “feminine” without verifying: bust 95 cm, waist 60 cm, hips 100 cm—completely unrealistic proportions resembling a comic book character. Dance shoes? He owned black pumps with a 5 cm heel. “Black dance shoes, 5 cm heel,” he wrote.
His final response was:
Dear Carmen,
Thanks for your message! I’m Lina, 28, work in the creative industry, and love fashion and music. I’ve never danced but am thrilled about the course!
Clothing size: 38
Measurements: Bust 95 cm, Waist 60 cm, Hips 100 cm
Dance shoes: Black pumps, 5 cm heel
I’m excited for the course!
Best regards,
LinaLukas reread the email, oblivious to the absurdity of his measurements, and sent it. The confirmation came—“Great, Lina! Welcome!”—but the next day, another email from Carmen left him puzzled:
Dear Lina,
Thanks for your info! Your measurements (bust 95 cm, waist 60 cm, hips 100 cm) seem a bit unusual—almost like a mannequin! 😊 Can you confirm if they’re correct? Especially the bust (95 cm) seems large for size 38. Do you wear a bra? If so, what size (e.g., 75C, 80B)? This helps with costumes.
Best regards,
CarmenLukas’ heart skipped a beat. “Mannequin?” He had no clue about bra sizes and panicked. Instead of checking, he guessed again, vaguely recalling “85C” from a clothing label, thinking it sounded “normal.” His response was a chaotic attempt to seem confident:
Dear Carmen,
Haha, yeah, the measurements might be a bit… unique! 😅 They’re correct, I think. I wear a bra, size 85C. Sorry if that sounds weird!
Best regards,
LinaThe response was nonsensical—85C didn’t match his invented 95 cm bust or his actual flat chest (80 cm). Two days later, another email from Carmen arrived:
Dear Lina,
Thanks for the reply! 85C with a 95 cm bust seems unusual—normally that’d be closer to 75D or 80C. 😊 Can you clarify if you use padding or inserts to reach 95 cm? And what cup size (e.g., C, D) would you prefer for the costume? This is important for our seamstress, Ms. Huber.
Best regards,
CarmenLukas was overwhelmed. “Padding? Cup size?” He googled briefly but didn’t understand the charts and kept guessing. He chose “D” because it sounded “bigger” and tried to dodge the questions. His response was almost comical:
Dear Lina,
Sorry, I’m not great with measurements! 😅 I sometimes use padding, and cup D would be great for the costume, I think. The 95 cm is about right. Thanks for checking!
Best regards,
LinaCarmen didn’t let up. Another email came, this time with a slightly confused tone:
Dear Lina,
Haha, no worries, measurements are tricky! 😊 But 95 cm bust with 85C and a target cup D doesn’t quite add up. Do you have your own silicone inserts for cup D, or should we get some? If you have them, please confirm the exact size (e.g., C, D) so the costume fits. Ms. Huber needs precise details. 😊
Best regards,
CarmenLukas was at his wit’s end. “Silicone inserts?” In desperation, he responded with a mix of fantasy and helplessness:
Dear Carmen,
OMG, I’m such a mess with measurements! 😅 I don’t have my own inserts—could you get some? Cup D sounds good, I think. Thanks for being so patient!
Best regards,
LinaAfter this email, he heard nothing more, but his disastrous, almost laughable claims made him fear that Carmen and Ms. Huber thought he was a joke. His nervousness grew, but there was no turning back.
Chapter 2: The Transformation and the Seamstress
The first class was on a Thursday evening, and Lukas spent hours preparing. He showered, shaved thoroughly (face, legs, arms), and applied lavender-scented body lotion. Then he donned his skin-toned shapewear with the hyper-realistic latex vagina, which concealed his male anatomy and created a convincingly authentic feminine silhouette. The labia were so lifelike that they appeared real even up close. Over it, he wore a skin-toned shapewear bodysuit that shaped his waist. He chose a black dress with short sleeves and a knee-length hem—elegant but practical. While slipping it on, his long, dark brown hair briefly caught in the collar, but he freed it carefully. He styled his hair with a curling iron into soft waves that cascaded over his shoulders, securing them with a few hairpins to enhance the feminine look.
Makeup was a ritual. Lukas applied a light foundation, followed by concealer. He shaped his eyebrows with a brown pencil for a soft arch and created a subtle smoky-eye look: gray eyeshadow, black eyeliner, two coats of mascara. He skipped false eyelashes—too risky. A touch of pink blush highlighted his cheekbones, and a soft pink lipstick completed the look. Finally, he slipped into his black 5 cm pumps.
In front of the mirror, Lukas practiced his movements: swaying hips, shoulders back, a confident smile. His deep voice was a challenge, but he’d learned to soften and raise it. “Hi, I’m Lina,” he practiced, giggling. He packed a handbag with essentials: spare hairpins, lipstick, a compact mirror, a vial of Chanel No. 5, and makeup remover wipes. With a deep breath, he left the apartment.
Unbeknownst to Lukas, Ms. Gertrud Huber, the seamstress, had read his emails with growing interest. Publicly, she was a respected seamstress known for precision and strictness, a trusted figure for Carmen and the dance group. But in secret, she was “Mistress Seraphina,” a feared dominatrix specializing in humiliation, her dark side unknown to those around her. In her hidden studio behind heavy velvet curtains in her atelier, she kept whips, restraints, and custom outfits designed to humble her clients. Lukas’ chaotic emails, absurd measurements, and obvious evasions had piqued her instincts. “A crossdresser,” she murmured, reading his last email, a smile playing on her lips. “A perfect candidate for my… attention.” She decided to target him, exploiting his insecurity and humiliating him step by step, all while keeping her true intentions hidden from Carmen and the dance group.
Chapter 3: The Dance Hall
The Schwabing community center was a 1950s building. The dance hall had high windows overlooking a quiet side street and mirrored walls. The wooden floor creaked, and the air smelled of floor wax and old wood. A stereo played “Bailando” by Enrique Iglesias, and colorful fairy lights gave the room a festive vibe.
About twenty participants stood in groups. Most women wore athletic wear—leggings, tank tops, sneakers—while the men wore jeans or chinos and T-shirts. Lukas entered with small, confident steps. No one stared. He was just one of many.
The instructor, Carmen Morales, was a Cuban woman in her mid-40s with a wild mane of curls tamed by a red headband. She wore a tight black top, a knee-length skirt, and 8 cm dance shoes that clacked. “Welcome, my dears!” she called. “Salsa is passion! Ladies, you’re the queens! Gentlemen, you’re the frame!” Lukas joined the women’s line, his heart racing.
Carmen paired the group. Lukas was partnered with Paul, a shy accountant in his early 30s with tousled brown hair and slipping glasses. Paul was a poor dancer but polite. “Uh, you’re really good,” he mumbled after Lukas spun. Lukas smiled in his Lina voice: “Thanks, I practice a lot.” Inside, he was elated. The other women, especially Mia, a 25-year-old hairdresser with pink-tipped hair, admired his hair. “Lina, your hair is a dream! So glossy!” Mia said. Sophie, a quiet student, nodded: “How do you get it so silky?” Lukas smiled shyly: “Uh, good shampoo!”
The first hour was a whirlwind of basic steps, hip movements, and spins. Lukas was surprised at how natural it felt. His long hair swung elegantly, causing no issues. Carmen praised his grace—“Lina, more hips!”—and corrected his posture. By the end of the class, Lukas was exhausted but euphoric. Lina was a success.
Chapter 4: Friendships and the Fateful Announcement
Over the next weeks, the course became a highlight. Lukas refined Lina’s look, experimenting with outfits (a red wrap dress, a cream midi dress, a black jumpsuit) and getting faster with makeup. When dressing in tight outfits, his long hair occasionally caught, but he learned to tie it back first. He varied his hairstyles, from loose waves to elegant updos that showcased his hair. Mia constantly asked for haircare tips: “Lina, you have to spill your secret!” Anna, an energetic mother, said: “Your hair’s better than in any ad!” Lukas deflected but felt flattered.
His friendship with Mia grew, as did bonds with Sophie and Anna, who called salsa “therapy.” The men were a mix: Paul, who stumbled; Markus, a confident lawyer who flirted with Carmen; Tom, a quiet IT technician dancing only because his girlfriend insisted. Lukas felt accepted—until Carmen changed everything.
After the sixth class, Carmen announced: “My dears, big news! Our class has been chosen to perform at the city’s summer festival! A salsa performance in front of hundreds!” The group buzzed with excitement. Mia clapped, Sophie looked panicked, Paul muttered: “I’m gonna die.” Lukas felt the blood drain from his face.
Carmen continued: “The women will wear red sequined dresses—form-fitting, short skirts, low necklines, sexy! The men get black shirts and pants. A seamstress, Ms. Huber, will come next week to take measurements. She’s a genius!” Lukas’ mind raced. A public performance? In a form-fitting dress? And Ms. Huber, who’d read his ridiculous emails? Dropping out wasn’t an option; Carmen stressed: “We’re a team, no exceptions!”
Mia nudged him. “Lina, this’ll be epic! You’ll look like a goddess in red, and your hair will steal the show!” Lukas forced a smile. But in secret, Ms. Huber—aka Mistress Seraphina—was already plotting. She’d analyzed Lukas’ emails, sensed his insecurity, and decided to scrutinize him at the fitting. “He’ll be my next favorite,” she whispered, flipping through a sketchbook of humiliating costumes, her secret safe from Carmen and the group.
Chapter 5: The Seamstress and the Measurements
The measurement session was a week later, and Lukas was a nervous wreck. The email exchanges had rattled him, and he feared Ms. Huber was suspicious. He doubled down on preparation: he swapped his shapewear bodysuit for a tighter one that flattened his chest further and practiced making his shoulders appear narrower.
Ms. Gertrud Huber was a Schwabing institution. In her late 50s, with gray hair in a severe bun, she wore a tailored navy blouse, black trousers, and gold-rimmed glasses on a chain. Her slender, strong hands had perfectly manicured nails that clicked. She ran an atelier in the old town, known for precision, and was a trusted, if strict, partner for Carmen and the dance group. But as Mistress Seraphina, she was a legend in Munich’s underground scene, notorious for breaking clients through subtle humiliation—a secret she guarded expertly. Her eyes gleamed when she sensed weakness, and Lukas’ emails had electrified her. At the measurement session, she planned to test him, study his reactions, and refine her plan.
Ms. Huber arrived at the dance hall on time, pulling a suitcase of tools: measuring tapes, pins, fabric swatches, a notebook. “Ms. Huber will take your measurements!” Carmen called. Lukas lingered at the back, his heart pounding.
Ms. Huber started with the women, calling them behind a flimsy bamboo partition. Mia went first. Ms. Huber measured bust, waist, hips, arms, and leg length, scribbling notes. “Hold still, girl,” she said as Mia giggled. Sophie was next, then Anna. Ms. Huber was curious. “Broad shoulders for a woman,” she told Anna, who grinned: “From pushing strollers!” Lukas watched, his nerves fraying.
Carmen called: “Lina, your turn!” Lukas approached the partition, his pumps clicking. Ms. Huber sized him up, her eyes narrowing like a predator’s. “You’re very slim,” she said, her voice velvety but edged. “Your emails were… amusing. Bust 95 cm, waist 60 cm, cup D?” Lukas swallowed, his ridiculous fantasy measurements haunting him. Ms. Huber started with the bust, laying the tape over the bodysuit and frowning. “80 cm. Your 95 cm was rather… generous.” Lukas nodded, his face burning.
At the waist, she felt the firm bodysuit. “60 cm? More like 70 cm,” she said, a knowing smile on her lips. Lukas stammered: “Uh, shapewear. For the figure.” Ms. Huber raised an eyebrow, jotting a note. At the hips, she pressed lightly, her fingers lingering longer than necessary. “100 cm? More like 90 cm. Very creative numbers.” Lukas laughed nervously: “Yeah, I might’ve exaggerated!” Ms. Huber locked eyes with him, her gaze sparkling. “Interesting case, Lina,” she said, her voice dripping with subtext. “We’ll have fun.” She ran her fingers through his long hair, lingering as if marking him. “Lovely hair, very… natural,” she murmured, her tone amplifying Lukas’ panic.
Mistress Seraphina was inwardly jubilant. Lukas’ nervousness, his evasions, and the obvious deception confirmed her suspicions. “A crossdresser posing as a woman,” she thought. “He’ll be perfect—unsure, easy to manipulate.” She planned to test him further at the fitting, giving him absurd costume pieces and reveling in his reactions, all while preparing him for her secret dominatrix sessions, unbeknownst to the dance group or Carmen.
Chapter 6: The Costume Crisis and Feminine Underwear
After the measurements, Lukas was panicked. Ms. Huber’s gaze and knowing smile had nearly exposed him, and the prospect of a fitting made him even more nervous. But the crisis grew. Carmen decided the women needed matching underwear. After the next class, she handed out gift bags with red lace push-up bras and tight shapewear panties. “This isn’t a regular performance!” she called. “These sets will give you curves!” The women laughed, while Lukas took the bag with trembling hands.
He peeked inside: the bra was red lace with ribbons and a firm band, size 80D, based on his absurd emails. The panties were high-cut with hip pads, rendering his own shapewear redundant. “This is nice,” he mumbled, as Mia winked: “Lina, you’ll look like a model!” Lukas stuffed the bag into his handbag, panicking. The bra was a problem—he had no chest to push up. The panties were too tight for his movements.
The women wanted to give Lina “more feminine curves.” After class, Mia, Sophie, and Anna pulled him aside. “Lina, you’re super slim, but for the dress, you need more va-va-voom!” Mia said. Sophie held up silicone breast inserts: “These fit the bra and look real!” Anna nodded: “And we’ve got hip pads for the panties.” Lukas took the inserts with a “Thanks,” overwhelmed but panicked.
Chapter 7: The Dramatic Fitting
The fitting was a week later at Ms. Huber’s atelier, a small shop in the old town with windows full of tailored dresses and a “Huber Couture” sign. Inside, it smelled of fabric and lavender, the walls covered with sketches and swatches. Ms. Huber greeted Lukas with a knowing smile that alarmed him. “Lina, come in. Your emails were… entertaining,” she said, her voice soft but sharp. She led him to a fitting room with a three-panel mirror, a velvet curtain, and a stool with pins. The room was cramped, heavy with the jasmine scent of her perfume.
The red sequined dress was stunning: a form-fitting cut with short sleeves, a deep V-neck, and a short skirt ending just above the knee. It sparkled like rubies but looked terrifyingly tight, like a corset. Lukas swallowed. Ms. Huber handed him the bra (80D) and panties. “Put these on, then the dress. I’ll help.” She paused, eyeing him with a glint. “Your measurements were… imaginative. Don’t worry, I’ve got silicone breasts for cup D, as requested.”
She pulled a box from her suitcase containing two skin-toned silicone breasts, far too large for Lukas’ slim frame—more like cup F than D. They were heavy, realistically shaped, with a glossy surface. Ms. Huber handed them to him with a barely concealed grin. “These will give you the presence you envisioned,” she said, her voice dripping with subtext. Lukas sensed she was testing him but nodded, his face burning, and took the box with trembling hands. Inside, Mistress Seraphina was already plotting: the oversized breasts were the first step to making him look ridiculous, and she’d use the fitting to amplify his insecurity.
Behind the curtain, the nightmare began. The shapewear panties were so tight that Lukas struggled to pull them over his hips. He sat on the stool, angled his legs, and tugged the fabric up, hyperventilating. The panties dug into his skin, and the hip pads felt clunky. He was sweating, and the curtain wobbled. “Everything okay?” Ms. Huber called, her voice amused. “Yeah, just… a second!” Lukas gasped, his Lina voice shaky.
The bra was a disaster. While putting it on, his long hair caught in the thin straps, and he had to untangle it carefully. Lukas fumbled with the oversized silicone breasts, which slipped and were heavy. When he fastened the bra, it was so tight he could barely breathe. The breasts protruded unnaturally, stretching the fabric absurdly. The clasp snagged, and Lukas contorted himself, nearly pulling down the curtain. “Please, no,” he whispered. He heard Ms. Huber’s footsteps. “Need help?” she asked, her voice now clearly amused. “No, I’ve got it!” Lukas called, panicking, as he smoothed his hair.
The dress was the ultimate challenge. It was so tight he couldn’t pull it over his head. Stepping into it, his hair caught in the zipper, and he freed it frantically. He pulled the dress over his legs and hips, but it snagged on the panty pads. He tugged harder, heard a faint rip, and froze. It was a seam at the hem, deliberately weakened by Ms. Huber to ensure later chaos. The fabric clung to his sweaty skin, and as he pulled it over his chest, it constricted him. The sequins scratched, and the deep neckline revealed the oversized silicone breasts, stretching the dress. He tried to close the zipper, but the breasts made it impossible. “Ms. Huber?” he called hesitantly. “Can you help?”
Ms. Huber pulled back the curtain. Lukas stood there, the dress half-on, zipper open, his long hair slightly disheveled, the silicone breasts overly prominent. Her eyes gleamed, a suppressed smile on her lips. “Oh, the breasts are… larger than your 95 cm,” she said, her voice ironic. She yanked the zipper shut, tugged at the breasts to “adjust” them. The fabric strained, and Lukas felt crushed. “Breathe shallowly,” she said dryly, her eyes boring into his.
She began pinning the dress. “The breasts don’t sit right,” she said, smoothing the chest area. She pressed, and one silicone breast shifted, making a squishing sound. Lukas flinched, a squeak escaping him. Ms. Huber paused. “Odd fit,” she murmured. “Almost like they weren’t… made for you.” Lukas stammered: “Uh, they’re new.” Ms. Huber moved to the hips, feeling the panty pads. “And these? Very firm.” She pressed, and a pad shifted, rustling. “You’re a very unusual case, Lina,” she said slowly, her voice laced with a tone that heightened Lukas’ panic. She ran her fingers through his long hair, murmuring, “Very authentic.” Lukas laughed nervously: “Yeah, I like it special!”
Mistress Seraphina savored every second. Lukas’ discomfort, his stammering responses, and the absurd breasts were a delight. She planned to humiliate him further at the performance, perhaps with a costume to expose him. “He’ll be my favorite project,” she thought, driving a pin in with unnecessary force.
The unmasking drew closer when she asked him to turn. The tight dress made movement difficult, and the oversized breasts threw him off balance. He stumbled, bumped the stool, and the curtain wobbled. Ms. Huber grabbed his hair as if to fix it, her fingers lingering too long. “Gorgeous hair,” she said, a knowing smile on her lips. But her phone rang—a client. “Wait here,” she said and left.
Lukas struggled out of the dress. His hair caught in the zipper again, and he freed it carefully. The zipper jammed, and he contorted to open it, nearly knocking over the mirror. The dress clung to his skin, snagging on the panty pads, causing a loud rip. The bra was a nightmare—his hair caught in the straps again, and the silicone breasts fell out, rolling across the floor. Lukas knelt to pick them up as Ms. Huber returned. He jumped up, breasts in hand, stammering: “Uh, they fell out!” Ms. Huber raised an eyebrow, her smile wider. “Better watch your… accessories,” she said.
He changed into normal clothes—a loose blouse and leggings, careful not to tangle his hair—and handed back the dress. “It fits,” he said hastily. “I’ll take it!” Ms. Huber nodded, her gaze following him. “See you at the festival, Lina,” she said, and Lukas was sure she knew more.
Chapter 8: The Revelation and Preparation
Back at his apartment, Lukas called Mia and spilled everything, including Ms. Huber’s suspicious behavior, the ridiculous emails, and the oversized silicone breasts. Mia laughed: “You’re Lina? That’s amazing! And those emails? I nearly fell off my chair!” Mia helped with his makeup and showed him how to style his long hair into elegant updos or loose waves. She wanted to swap the oversized breasts for smaller inserts (cup D), but Lukas decided to keep the large silicone ones (cup F), thinking they better matched his invented measurements.
During rehearsals for the summer festival, Lukas noticed the shapewear panties with hip pads restricted his movements. During fast spins, he felt constricted, and the pads shifted, distracting him. Without considering the consequences, he decided to skip the panties for the performance. His own skin-toned shapewear with the hyper-realistic latex vagina was tight enough to conceal his anatomy, and he wore the thin, skin-toned dance tights Carmen required for all women. He checked his look in the mirror: the tights were sheer, but the shapewear was invisible to outsiders, and the dress covered everything. “It’ll be fine,” he muttered, ignoring how risky his choice was.
Meanwhile, Ms. Huber, as Mistress Seraphina, was preparing. She’d rigged the red sequined dress with a weak seam that would tear during fast movements. She planned to intervene after the performance, dressing Lukas in an even more humiliating outfit and parading him through the festival, exploiting his naivety. “He’ll be my masterpiece,” she thought, inspecting a bright yellow hobble dress, high strappy sandals with jingling bells, and the oversized silicone breasts in her atelier—an ensemble designed for such occasions. Her dark side remained a well-guarded secret from the dance group and Carmen.
Chapter 9: The Big Performance and the Mishap
The summer festival day was warm and sunny, and the English Garden was alive. The open-air stage was a large wooden structure adorned with colorful pennants and flowers, surrounded by hundreds of spectators on blankets and folding chairs. Children ran with cotton candy, and the air smelled of bratwurst and freshly brewed beer. The stage was slightly elevated, with a slick surface that could get slippery during fast movements. Spotlights focused on the dancers, and a makeshift sound system was ready to blast vibrant salsa music over the crowd.
Lukas was a nervous wreck, but Mia’s support gave him confidence. She helped with his makeup: a dramatic look with red lipstick, gold eyeshadow, and false eyelashes that highlighted his eyes. He styled his long, dark brown hair in loose waves that swayed with movement, secured with a few hairpins to keep them in place. The red sequined dress was a masterpiece: form-fitting, with short sleeves, a deep V-neck, and a short skirt that flared during spins. While putting it on, his hair briefly caught in the zipper, but he freed it quickly. Lukas wore his skin-toned shapewear with the hyper-realistic latex vagina, creating an authentic feminine silhouette, and the thin, skin-toned dance tights that shimmered slightly. Without the shapewear panties, he felt freer in his movements, but the tights were so sheer that the latex vagina would be visible if the dress shifted. He wore the oversized silicone breasts (cup F), which were heavy and unnaturally prominent.
Just before the performance, as the group waited backstage, Ms. Huber appeared unexpectedly. She wore her severe bun and gold-rimmed glasses, carrying a small fabric bag. She approached Lukas, a knowing smile on her lips. “Lina, I have something for you,” she said, her voice dripping with subtext. She pulled out a new dance bra, red like the dress, with lace trim and deep cups. “This suits your… generous measurements better. The cups will hold the breasts securely, perfect for the stage.” Lukas, overwhelmed and nervous, took the bra gratefully. “Oh, thank you, Ms. Huber,” he said, his Lina voice shaky. He assumed a dance bra would stabilize the breasts, not noticing the glint in Ms. Huber’s eyes. As Mistress Seraphina, she’d chosen the bra deliberately: extremely light, with thin straps and minimal support, designed to let the oversized breasts bounce freely, ensuring Lukas’ humiliation on stage.
In a rushed corner backstage, Lukas changed into the bra. His hair caught in the straps, but he freed it carefully. The new dance bra had firm cups that encased the oversized silicone breasts (cup F) securely, preventing them from falling out. But the straps were so thin, and the bra so light and elastic, it offered almost no support—almost as if he weren’t wearing one. Lukas, in his haste, didn’t notice. He put the dress back on, his hair catching in the zipper again, but he freed it quickly. He checked himself in a compact mirror and felt ready. “All good,” he murmured, unaware of the looming disaster.
Carmen gathered the group, her curly mane bouncing as she gave instructions. “You’re my stars!” she called. “Lina, you’re in the front row—your spins are perfect!” Lukas nodded, his stomach churning. The front row meant all eyes would be on him. The choreography was demanding: fast basic steps, elegant spins, hip movements, and a dramatic lift in the finale. Lukas had mastered the steps, but the stage, the crowd, and his risky costume changes made him nervous.
The music started—a vibrant salsa rhythm with trumpet accents and a pulsing beat. The group took the stage in a tight formation, the women in glittering red dresses, the men in black shirts and pants. Lukas, in the front row, felt the heat of the spotlights on his skin. The crowd clapped, and children in the front rows waved. Lukas let the music carry him, his hips swaying in rhythm, his arms moving gracefully, and his black pumps gliding over the stage. His long hair swung with each movement, causing no issues, and the dress’s sequins sparkled. The audience cheered, and Mia whispered: “Your hair is insane!” But from the first fast steps, the crowd noticed something unusual: Lukas’ oversized silicone breasts, held by Ms. Huber’s dance bra, moved so freely they seemed unbound. The bra, with its thin straps and near-nonexistent support, let the breasts bounce wildly up and down, like loose objects under the dress. The effect was comical, almost slapstick, and the crowd burst into laughter, some clapping enthusiastically, with a man in the front row shouting: “Now that’s a show!” Lukas, immersed in the dance, assumed the applause was for his elegance.
Mia, dancing beside him, winked, and Paul, his partner, kept up bravely, though his glasses kept slipping. The choreography intensified. Lukas executed a fast spin followed by a deep hip movement, earning “Olé!” shouts from the crowd. With each spin, the oversized silicone breasts bounced uncontrollably, the deep V-neck emphasizing the chaotic motion, and his long hair swirled like a veil, adding drama without causing issues. But the critical moment came mid-performance. The choreography called for a rapid sequence of spins where the women thrust their hips outward, making the skirts flare. Lukas threw himself into the move, legs wide, the dress swirling upward. Unbeknownst to him, the hem’s weakened seam, rigged by Ms. Huber, gave way with a soft “rip.” The tear ran from hem to hip, and the dress gaped open, exposing his entire lower body.
The thin dance tights were practically transparent under the harsh spotlights, and the skin-toned shapewear with the hyper-realistic latex vagina, with its pronounced labia, was starkly visible to the entire audience. The labia, so lifelike they looked real even up close, were revealed in vivid detail through the sheer tights and the torn dress, sending the crowd into a mix of shock, laughter, and applause. Some gasped, others whistled, and many assumed it was a bold, intentional part of the show. Lukas, lost in the dance, noticed nothing of the mishap. He executed the next spin, the torn dress flapping further, keeping the latex vagina in view, its lifelike labia spotlighted.
The oversized silicone breasts continued bouncing as if no bra were present, pushing the scene’s absurdity to new heights. His long hair flew with each spin, adding a dramatic, almost cinematic effect without causing issues. The audience clapped frantically, some standing, and a teen in the front row shouted: “Best show ever!” Lukas smiled broadly, convinced the enthusiasm was for his dance skills. The choreography led him through more spins and hip movements, the torn dress flaring repeatedly, exposing the lower garment fully. The latex vagina, with its hyper-realistic labia, remained a constant, unmissable sight, while the breasts danced like unbound objects. Lukas moved with grace and confidence, oblivious to the catastrophe.
The music built to the finale, and Lukas prepared for the lift with Paul. Paul, nervous as ever, wavered as he lifted Lukas. Lukas’ long hair partially fell from its style, earning more applause as the crowd saw it as part of the drama, but it didn’t get caught. In a moment of panic, Lukas adjusted his hair and kept dancing, now with a wilder, untamed mane. The torn dress fluttered with each move, the latex vagina still starkly visible through the sheer tights, its lifelike labia a focal point. The oversized breasts bounced further, as if no bra existed, sending the crowd into roaring laughter. The audience erupted in cheers and applause, convinced the reveal was part of the performance.
As the music ended, the group struck a dramatic final pose, Lukas in the center, one hand on his hip, the dress a tattered glittery spectacle, the oversized breasts slightly askew from the last spin but still wildly mobile, his long hair in a chaotic but glamorous state. The latex vagina, with its hyper-realistic labia, remained visible through the torn seam and sheer tights as he held the pose, still unaware. The crowd leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering, some shouting “Encore!” Carmen shot him an approving look from the side. Lukas left the stage with the group, the torn dress flapping, the latex vagina visible until his exit, and the oversized breasts bouncing with each step. He smiled radiantly, convinced he’d wowed the crowd with his dance artistry.
Chapter 10: The Humiliation Continues
Backstage, the group burst into laughter and applause, but Lukas noticed Mia, Sophie, and Anna staring at him wide-eyed. Before Mia could warn him, Ms. Huber appeared with a concerned expression, masking her true intentions. To the dance group and Carmen, she was the trusted seamstress, her professionalism unquestioned; no one suspected her as Mistress Seraphina. She wore her severe bun and gold-rimmed glasses, carrying a large fabric bag. “Lina, dear,” she said with feigned care, her voice gentle but authoritative, “your dress is completely ruined! You can’t walk through the festival like this—people would laugh.” Lukas, still dazed from the performance, looked down and gasped: the skirt was torn from hip to hem, the dance tights revealing the latex vagina’s lifelike labia in stark detail. “Oh no,” he muttered, his face burning.
Ms. Huber placed a hand on his shoulder, her fingers pressing slightly, asserting control. “Don’t worry, I happen to have a dress for a client that’ll fit you perfectly. Put it on so no one sees you like this.” She handed him the bag, her eyes glinting with suppressed glee. Lukas, overwhelmed and grateful for the supposed rescue, nodded. “Thank you, Ms. Huber, that’s so kind!” Mia, Sophie, and Anna wanted to intervene, but Ms. Huber’s sharp look silenced them. “I’ll take care of Lina,” she said firmly, and the women stepped back, unsure, seeing her as the reputable seamstress.
In a makeshift changing area behind a flimsy partition, Lukas opened the bag. Inside was a long, bright yellow hobble dress reaching his ankles, with a high, rigid stand-up collar so stiff and tight it fixed his head, forcing him to look straight ahead without turning. It came with matching yellow lingerie: a lace bra and panties, both thin and slightly sheer, and yellow strappy high-heeled sandals with 10 cm heels, their narrow straps offering little support and adorned with small, bright bells that jingled loudly with each step. The oversized silicone breasts (cup F) from the performance were to be reused, as Ms. Huber emphasized: “Keep the breasts, Lina—they suit your… striking style.” Lukas hesitated, but Ms. Huber’s voice came through the partition: “Hurry, Lina, we don’t want anyone seeing you like this!” Panicked, he stripped off the torn clothes, his long hair catching briefly in the red dress’s zipper, but he freed it quickly.
The yellow lingerie was a nightmare. The lace bra was too tight, the oversized silicone breasts (cup F) protruded unnaturally, and the thin straps dug into his shoulders. Ms. Huber had chosen the bra to offer minimal support, like the dance bra, so the breasts swung wildly with each move, as if no bra were present. The panties were so skimpy they barely covered the latex vagina, whose lifelike labia shimmered through the thin fabric. The hobble dress was worse. It was so tight it allowed only tiny, mincing steps, like a corset for his legs. The rigid stand-up collar gripped his neck like a vise, locking his head in place and preventing any movement, forcing him to stare straight ahead. The material—a special fabric Ms. Huber designed—seemed opaque to Lukas but was nearly transparent to onlookers, except for the collar. From the outside, the yellow lingerie, wildly swinging silicone breasts, and latex vagina with its lifelike labia were clearly visible, a comical and humiliating sight. While putting it on, his hair caught in the collar, and he freed it with difficulty, sweating, unable to turn his head to see better.
The strappy sandals were a catastrophe. The narrow straps cut into his feet, and the high heels were so wobbly that Lukas nearly lost his balance with each step. The bright bells on the straps jingled loudly and piercingly with every move, a cheerful but humiliating sound that drew everyone’s attention. He clung to the partition to put them on, his legs trembling as he took a test step, nearly stumbling. The oversized silicone breasts swung wildly, making balance even harder. “This is really hard to walk in,” Lukas muttered, his voice shaky, as the bells jingled merrily.
Ms. Huber, waiting behind the partition, responded with a mocking laugh. “Hard, Lina? Surely a woman like you isn’t new to such shoes?” Her voice was sweet but sharp as a blade. “Those sandals are the least a lady like you should master. Or perhaps you’re not as practiced in moving femininely as you claim?” She paused, letting the words sink in, then continued: “The bells are a special touch—they ensure everyone notices your… grace.” Lukas, his head fixed by the rigid collar, couldn’t look at her, but his face burned with shame. “Uh, I’ll try,” he stammered, taking another wobbly step, the bells jingling, the silicone breasts swinging like pendulums.
Ms. Huber pulled back the partition, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Perfect, Lina,” she said, her voice velvety. “You look… ravishing. Come, I’ll take you to my shop to fix your costume.” Lukas, still believing she was helping, nodded, unable to move his head, and murmured: “Thanks, Ms. Huber.” He didn’t notice Mia, Sophie, and Anna exchanging worried glances, unable to intervene, seeing Ms. Huber as a trusted seamstress.
Ms. Huber led Lukas through the festival, her hand firmly on his arm, ensuring he couldn’t escape. The hobble dress forced tiny, mincing steps, and the strappy sandals made each step a balancing act. The bells jingled loudly with every wobbly step, drawing eyes like a beacon. Lukas wobbled, nearly stumbling every other step, and clung to Ms. Huber’s arm to avoid falling. The oversized silicone breasts swung wildly with each unsteady step, as if no bra were present, pushing the scene’s absurdity to extremes. The rigid collar locked his head, forcing him to stare straight ahead, so he only caught the laughing faces in his peripheral vision, unable to see the mocking stares. The bright yellow color glowed in the evening sun, and the nearly transparent fabric revealed everything: the lingerie, the wildly swinging silicone breasts, the latex vagina with its lifelike labia.
Passersby stopped, stared, and burst into laughter. Children pointed, adults whispered, and some took photos. The bells jingled incessantly, a cheerful but humiliating sound drawing all eyes to Lukas. “What a show!” a man called. “Better than the performance!” a woman giggled. Lukas smiled awkwardly, convinced people were celebrating his dance skills. “They really loved me,” he muttered, mincing along beside Ms. Huber, the bells jingling, his long hair bouncing with each unsteady step, the oversized breasts swinging like pendulums.
Ms. Huber seized every chance to humiliate him further. When he stumbled again, the bells jingling loudly, she said, loud enough for passersby to hear: “Really, Lina, every woman knows how to walk in such sandals. Haven’t you ever learned to move properly?” She paused, letting the words sink in, then added: “The bells are charming, aren’t they? They ensure no one misses your… presence.” Lukas, unable to turn his head, could only stare ahead, his face burning, as the crowd giggled. “I… I’m trying,” he stammered, taking another wobbly step, the bells jingling, the silicone breasts swinging wildly.
At a crowded stall, Ms. Huber deliberately stopped, forcing Lukas to mince in place, the bells jingling incessantly. “Lina, you must try harder,” she said in a saccharine, mocking tone. “Such shoes are a must for a woman like you. Or are you not as practiced as you claim?” Passersby laughed, some clapped, and Lukas, forced to stare ahead, couldn’t see the mocking stares but felt the humiliation. “I… I’m doing it,” he muttered, trying not to fall, the bells jingling, the silicone breasts swinging with each step.
Ms. Huber, as Mistress Seraphina, was in her element, but to the world, she remained the respectable seamstress. She nodded to passersby as if proud of her “work,” whispering to Lukas: “Look how they admire you, Lina.” Her voice was sweet, but her eyes gleamed with malice. She led him through the festival’s busiest streets, past beer stalls, carousels, and music stages, where the crowds were thickest. Each step was a humiliation Lukas didn’t notice. His long hair caught slightly in the collar, and he brushed it back, unable to turn his head to gauge the crowd’s stares. The rigid collar constricted his neck, the tight dress made him sweat, the wobbly sandals with jingling bells forced him to lean on Ms. Huber, and the wildly swinging silicone breasts turned each step into a slapstick performance, while the transparent fabric exposed his body to all.
When they reached Ms. Huber’s atelier, she locked the door and flipped the sign to “Closed.” The shop was silent, save for the hum of an old neon tube. Ms. Huber turned to Lukas, her smile now openly predatory. “You were quite special today, Lina,” she said, her voice low and commanding. “I think we’ll have a lot of fun together.” Lukas, still clueless, nodded nervously, unable to move his head. “Uh, thanks for the dress, Ms. Huber. Can I get my normal outfit now?”
Ms. Huber—Mistress Seraphina—stepped closer, her gold-rimmed glasses glinting. “Oh, Lina,” she whispered, “we’re just getting started.” She ran her fingers through his long hair, lingering, and Lukas felt a shiver he couldn’t place. The door to the back room, where her dominatrix studio awaited, stood slightly ajar, a red velvet curtain swaying in the breeze.
Interested in continuing the story?
Write in the comments.
