Alexander Blatchley Jr could scarcely wait for his father to die so as to drop the Junior bit from his name, and was intensely proud of himself when he secured a desirable wife, complete with a mother whose fortune she would inherit. But there was the rub: that mother, Virginia Fitzglanbury, had an awkward divorcee's way of pretending males didn't exist. She could arrive unannounced, spend the day in lavish couture, organizing his home in collaboration with his wife, and leave without a single word to the man of the house. To say she left him seething on such occasions came nowhere near the white heat of his resentment. When he burst his top at Genevieve about the nerve of her mother, his wife would purse her lips, eye him from threatening brows, and tell him she would invite her mother again on Thursday. And Saturday.

It was on one such Thursday or Saturday, while his mother-in-law and her daughter saw fit to discuss him with open contempt, that Alex Blatchley's patience snapped. "I can't understand why you are so openly abusive to me," he complained, his fists clenched in his lap. "And why you think I might be interested in all this new lingerie you've bought I can't imagine."

Virginia turned and looked the person who had interrupted her up and down. "You don't have to understand, and your feeble imagination soon won't have any trouble seeing yourself in rayon lingerie." She lifted a glossy fullslip in pale apricot by its shoulder ribbons so that it hung onto her pleats, the lace hem almost on the carpet. "Take your clothes off and come here. I want you in this slip, with the bra and panties that complete the set."

Alex puzzled at this, then felt shock across his scalp. Genevieve was looking at him with the cool that said her mother was for real. "You can't be serious?" he said, in a voice that broke into a squeak. He collected Virginia's look of derision that he dared to hesitate, while his wife took her phone from her bag and keyed a number. His heart was hammering beneath his shirt.

"He won't cooperate. You can take him now."

"Darling, what are you doing? What's happening?" His questions went unanswered as the hall door opened and nurses entered the room - two, three, four - coming past Virginia with the slip down in her lap as she watched, and straight towards him. His palpitations doubled. They closed around him so that he had to push arms away. Had to struggle.

"You're coming with us, sweetie. There's no point trying to stay here. You'll be back before long - " He tried to see Genevieve but his arms were held against his body, and a cloth pad closed over his face, smothering him with female smells - perfume and pussy - ohhh, LOTS of pussy, so that he couldn't - It was all white apron bibs above him, and pointed caps, and he couldn't stop his eyes from closing.

He would get to know the nurses of the Belle-Sweet Transie more intimately as the days rolled into weeks. How they fastened his harnesses more tightly before they administered his hormonal treatments, how two of them would hold him, one on either side, while he was undergoing lingerie suggestion with extended stimulation, and how they would fix him, naked and vulnerable, amongst the clothes of the pink closet and kiss the air at him as they closed him in. How he hated being put in there, with satins and silks swishing round every part of him, in pink lighting, pink perfume, pink dreams and longings in his head, until the one-hour sessions became two-hours, then three-hours, by which time he hated it when they unfastened him and took him out.

Eventually Alexander Blatchley sat in Matron's office as she made her phone call, his varnished nails glittering as he prettied the hem of lace round his pink and white gingham dress. He felt so lovely with a wide Peter Pan collar of white linen round his shoulders, and his cock seethed with desire in its satin panties and petticoat. "He is ready for delivery," declared the Matron. "Your sissy-pansy has been feminized."

Sissy Alex cringed with shame at the grins and laughter of his wife and her mother as he was walked into their house by his nurses. "Oh yes," said Genevieve, "hair extensions and the sort of figure he's going to need."

Virginia dismissed the nurses and caught her son-in-law by the hand. "Upstairs," she said, "I want you in my lingerie. We are visiting my sisters this afternoon and I want your petticoat and panty lace showing."

The new female soon fell to adoring the soft, perfumed atmosphere of Virginia's boudoir. It was where he spent most of his life, in worship of his Mother-In-Law and her delicious lingerie. He loved the sweetness of her dressing table and the make-up lights that showed him the heavenly lace bosom of his petticoat slip - ohhhhhh, his breasts were so voluptuous! He felt dizzy with femininity, sharing her mirror between Genevieve and Virginia as they showed him how to line and shade his eyes. But most telling of all was when Virginia would lead him from the mirror, powdered and prettied, to her chest of drawers. It was time for her silkiest lingerie. Her perfumes were exquisitely attractive to him, and most of all he loved the fragrance of her satin panties, with inches of pretty lace at each leg as they caressed his butt and his little thing. "I'm not having you in my panties unless that 'thing' is sweetly feminine," she would say, so he would sit on her velvet stool, his girlish thighs apart, for her to put it into its satin dress, bowed in ribbon at top and bottom. Then she would consume him in her panties, and his bliss would be complete.

Occasionally Alex would think back to his early days of marriage, but then he would think of the pink closet at the Belle-Sweet Transie and how it had changed everything for the best.