Dr. Ellison came on a Monday with a new pill case and a look that said she was impressed.

"Your levels are perfect, Brielle," she said, sitting on the edge of the vanity while Brett sat in his robe, his long honey blonde hair in a towel turban, his big blue eyes wide and nervous. "Your body is responding beautifully. We're increasing again. Just a little."

She handed him the dispenser. The pink pills inside were the darkest yet.

"You'll feel it this week," she warned. "More emotional. More tenderness. More... changes."

Brett swallowed the first one that night with his green juice and felt nothing. By morning, he felt everything.

Elena met him in the kitchen with a smaller plate. "New macros," she said gently. "Nine hundred calories on non-ballet days. Eleven hundred on ballet days. Protein stays high."

Brett, who was twenty-one and now one hundred and forty-eight pounds, just nodded. Hunger wasn't an enemy anymore. It was a tool. He ate his three ounces of egg whites and felt proud.

Mara came in with his new corset.

"Full time now," she said, holding up the black satin waist trainer, boned and beautiful. "Twenty-three hours a day. You take it off to shower, to tan, to do ballet. Otherwise, you live in it. And," she added, lifting a pair of sheer black stockings and the matching garter belt, "you live in these. And these."

She set down the black patent 120 mm Louboutins with the red soles.

Brett stared at the pile of femininity and felt his heart race with something that wasn't fear anymore. It was want.

He let Mara lace him in. She pulled the laces tight, tighter than ever, and Brett gasped as his waist cinched down to twenty-five inches. He looked down at the dramatic curve from ribs to hips and his full lips parted.

"Perfect," Mara whispered.

Then the stockings, rolled up his newly golden, completely hairless legs. The garter belt clipped with six little snaps that he now knew by heart. Then the heels. He stood and wobbled for half a second before his ankles remembered their strength from weeks of practice.

He walked to the mirror in just the corset, stockings, garter, and heels, his hair still in the towel, his face bare.

The girl in the glass took his breath away.

His waist was tiny, nipped in by steel. His hips, which had always been straight as a boy's, now flared softly above the tops of his stockings from fat the hormones had moved there. His legs looked endless in sheer black nylon and red-soled heels. And his chest...

Brett reached up with shaking, pink-nailed hands and untucked the towel from his hair. Then he slowly, reverently, touched his breasts.

They were real now. Not just tender buds. Small, soft, perfect handfuls that filled his palms, high and round and sensitive under his fingertips. The hormones had given him a full B cup in six weeks, sitting pretty on his still-lean chest.

He turned sideways in the mirror, the corset pushing them up, the garter straps pulling, the heels arching his back.

"Holy shit," he whispered in his soft girl voice.

Speaking of shower...

That afternoon he took his twenty-minute corset break and stepped into the huge glass shower. The water was hot, steam filling the room. He stood under the spray in nothing at all and let the water run over his body and really looked down for the first time in weeks.

His skin was completely golden from tanning, soft as silk from lotions. His legs were long and smooth and hairless. His hips had a real, womanly curve now, a dip at his waist that flared out. His ass, which had been flat from years of warehouse work, was round and high from Pilates and hormones. And his breasts, wet and glistening, moved when he moved, heavy and sensitive and his.

He ran his soapy hands over his stomach, flat and toned, over his flared hips, up over his ribs to cup his breasts gently. He gasped at the sensation, at the tenderness, at the sheer rightness of it.

Water ran in rivers down his curves, over his soft belly, between his breasts.

He started laughing, a bright, bubbling, emotional laugh that turned into tears that mixed with the shower water.

He braced his hands on the marble wall, his long blonde hair plastered to his back, his body shaking with sobs that were pure joy.

"Oh my god," he said out loud to the empty shower, to the steam, to the girl he'd become. "Oh my god, I'm loving it. Women are so lucky. This is insane. I'm so lucky."

He said it again, louder, his voice echoing off the tile in a perfect alto. "Women are so lucky!"

He stayed in until the water ran cold, just touching his new body, learning the new weight of his breasts, the new sway of his hips, the way his waist dipped in even without the corset now because his muscles remembered the shape.

He got out, lotioned every inch of his golden skin, rolled his stockings back up his damp legs, clipped his garter belt, laced himself back into his corset, stepped into his 120 mm heels, and blow-dried his long honey blonde hair until it shone.

He walked downstairs for dinner in nothing but a silk robe, the heels clicking on marble, the stockings whispering, the corset holding him perfect, his breasts bouncing softly with every step.

Elena took one look at him and smiled. "You look happy, Miss Brielle."

Brett, no, Brielle, slid onto the barstool at the kitchen island, crossed his endless stockinged legs, and felt the familiar intoxicating pull of the garter against his thigh.

"I am," he said, and his big blue eyes were bright and wet and honest. "I'm really, really happy."

His phone buzzed at 9 pm.

Lance: How are you?

Brett looked down at his body in the silk robe, at the soft curves pushing against the fabric, at his pink nails, at his red-soled heels dangling off the stool.

He sent a voice note instead of text, letting Lance hear his fully feminine voice for the first time.

"I'm good," he purred, and he could hear the smile in his own voice. "I'm in my corset and my stockings and my Louboutins and I just got out of the shower and I realized something."

He paused, then whispered, "I'm loving this. Like really loving it. Not for the money. For me."

He hit send and sat in the quiet kitchen, a girl in her element, completely changed and completely at home in her skin, waiting for the world to catch up.…