Involuntary Cross Dressing/TG - For two years, Elliot's wicked stepmother and horrible stepbrothers have been forcing him into to clean the house, dressing him in his mother's old clothes and working him to the bone without rest....

Now, on the night of the Princess's Ball, the 20 year old orphan dreams of escaping to the palace and ingratiating himself with a well-to-do woman.

When a bumbling fairy godmother bursts through the window, he thinks his dreams have been answered! Of course, they're actually just beginning.

This sneak peek covers the first page of the story (ending well before the final transformation). The full thing can be viewed at my patreon, https://www.patreon.com/princesskay

Elliot bent down at the fireplace, scrubbing the dirtied bricks with his brush as he tried to clear the worst of soot off the stone. The only visible effect was dirtying his own skin with ash and cinders, and staining the blue fabric of the dress his step brothers had forced him into, and dirtying the maid headband they’d mockingly placed on his head do a dark black.

“Cinder Elli,” called Jonathan from behind him. “You’re dirtying your pretty dress, Cinder Elli. How ever will you go to the princess’s ball?”

There was a meaty thwack, what Elliot assumed was a fist meeting a shoulder. That would be Rufus, who let out a low chuckle to confirm the blond boy’s thoughts. “Like we’d let him go to the princess’s ball. Right bro? He doesn’t even have a tuxedo to wear.”

“That’s not the point,” Jonathan sighed. Elliot knew from experience that even his stepbrother would be rubbing his shoulder after that punch. Though he had a certain patience in his voice, that he always lacked when talking to Elliot. Or Ellie for short, as they liked to call him whenever they had him stuffed in one of his biological mother’s old dresses.

Cinder Elli now, he supposed, and he sighed as he looked down at the soot soiled garment. Then he returned his attention to washing the stones, quietly brushing at it, back and forth, back and forth. The motions were soothing, and soon his his thoughts began to slowly drift, back to the dress he wore.

Outfits were really all he had left of his mother, but his new stepmother had hated the fact that his father kept them around; thought he was still in love with his dead wife. Now that she’d been bitterly widowed by an out of control horse, she’d eagerly burned every belonging that Eliot might have laid claim to, especially the clothes. Except for the clothes belonging to his departed mother - those she’d decided to donate…. To Elliot.

It had been two years ago, shortly after his eighteenth birthday, that the blond had first been forced into lacie garments. He had protested at the time, as the brothers Rufus and Jonathan held his legs apart, and their mother carefully cut away his clothes with a kitchen knife. She’d stripped him completely naked, and then forced a pair of silken white panties across his privates. Embarrassingly, the soft cloth almost felt good, but he worried about his unwashed body soiling his mother’s clothes.

They’d forced a a bra around his arms, though they thankfully didn’t stuff it, and then placed a red dress over his head. Eliot remembered clearly that it had been a sleeveless number that hung loosely around his completely flat chest, showing off the pink bra, and his slender arms. His hard work around the house had let him build a little muscle, but the lack of food or proper nutrition had stunted his growth at five foot 3, and had kept him from developing much visual bulk. He was lanky, waist thin enough that Rufus could cup him around it with his hands and make thumbs and fingers touch.

He was also stunted in…. Other ways, below the belt. Though he wasn’t sure if that was a result of malnutrition or just how his body was designed. Either way, it sometimes made him wonder if the family didn’t have things right. Forcing him into dresses, occasionally even putting his mother’s makeup on him…. He really looked like a girl, in lipstick and blush, with the right contouring. His narrow face could be made rounded and sweet, with any angles clearly the result of starvation over manhood. Jonathan had joked that the only way he was ever going to the date was as some boy’s date, if he could find someone who enjoyed a sissy like him. Because certainly no girls would.

Sometimes, he worried they were right. That he did belong in dresses, and makeup. It seemed to suit him so well, and as the years had gone by he’d grown so used to it….. At twenty, he dressed without thought, and pulled his shoulder length hair into a casual ponytail each morning and applied the blush and lipstick without any prompting. Yet saying that this form suited him would be like letting his brothers win.

Which brought Elliot’s thoughts back to the present. To the princess ball.