Soft Femboy in Making

Sunday evening Priya has you in the dusty-rose spaghetti dress again. The thin straps sit delicately on your shoulders, the neckline shows a soft, clear line of cleavage, and the hem rides high enough that most of your smooth thighs are visible when you sit. Your longer hair falls in loose waves around a face that has grown softer over the weeks.
She is in the kitchen when the front door, which she left unlocked on purpose, pushes open.
Arjun’s voice calls out, casual. “Priya? I brought back the extension cords—”
He stops completely when he steps into the living room and sees you.
You are curled on the couch, legs tucked to the side, the short dress riding higher on your thighs. The soft upper curves of your breasts are clearly visible above the neckline. Your face goes hot instantly.
Arjun’s eyes move over you in one slow, thorough pass — the cute, slightly flushed face framed by longer hair, the small sexy shape of your breasts under the thin fabric, the exposed soft thighs, the narrow waist. Something hungry and quietly pleased settles in his expression.
“Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t look away quickly. His voice is lower than usual. “I didn’t realise…”
Priya appears from the kitchen, completely unbothered. “It’s fine, Arjun. He’s comfortable like this at home.” She smiles. “You can put the cords in the garage.”
Arjun nods slowly, but his gaze returns to you one more time. There is no shock. Only open appreciation.
“You look really good,” he says quietly, almost to himself, before he finally steps away.
Two days later it happens with Vikram.
You are in the bedroom trying on a new black spaghetti dress — even shorter, the neckline lower, the fabric thinner. Your small breasts sit softly against it, a delicate line of cleavage showing. The dress barely covers the tops of your thighs.
Priya has left the bedroom door half-open while she answers a delivery at the front.
Vikram’s familiar voice carries down the hall. He appears in the doorway and freezes.
His eyes go wide for half a second, then darken with something deeper. They travel slowly over your soft face, the longer hair, the way the dress clings to your small sexy breasts and leaves your thighs almost completely bare. He doesn’t speak immediately. He just looks, openly, as if he is committing every detail to memory.
“Karthik…” His voice is rough. “You look… fuck. You look beautiful.”
You instinctively start to cross your arms over your chest. He notices and gives a small, almost gentle shake of his head.
“Don’t. Please.” He steps one foot inside the room but doesn’t come closer. “I’ve liked you for years. Soft. Pretty. But this…” His eyes drop again to the clear shape of your breasts and the smooth expanse of thigh. “This is better than I used to imagine. You’re the kind of boy who makes men like me feel proud.”
Your heart is hammering. “Proud?”
Vikram’s mouth curves into a small, hungry smile.
“Yeah. Proud. There’s something special about a soft boy who starts showing his body like this. The cute face, the little breasts, the way your thighs look when a dress rides up… it feels like winning something rare. Most men never get to see a boy this pretty up close, let alone watch him blush and stay still while they look.” His voice drops further. “Making a femboy feel weak and feminine, watching him get embarrassed and still not cover up… that’s the part that feels best. Knowing he knows you’re enjoying his body, and he’s letting you.”
You feel your face go scarlet. The words settle low in your stomach, humiliating and hot at the same time.
Priya’s voice comes from behind him, calm and lightly amused.
“He’s been learning to take compliments better.” She rests a hand on Vikram’s arm as she passes, then walks over to you and gently pulls your arms down so the soft cleavage and the short hem of the dress are fully visible again. “Haven’t you?”
You look between them, voice small and embarrassed.
“…It’s humiliating when you both look at me like that. In a dress. With these showing.” Your hand flutters near your chest, then drops. “But I don’t hate it as much as I should. That’s the part that makes me feel weakest.”
Vikram’s eyes are dark with open desire and quiet pride.
“That’s exactly what makes boys like you so special,” he says softly. “The way you feel the humiliation and still stay soft. Still let us look. Still get warm from it.” His gaze lingers on the small curves of your breasts and the bare thighs. “You’re becoming the kind of pretty that men like us dream about keeping.”
Priya stands beside you, one hand stroking your lower back in slow, approving circles.
“He needs to hear more of that,” she tells Vikram lightly. “It settles deeper when it comes from someone who actually wants him this way.”
You stand there in the short black spaghetti dress, small breasts softly on display, thighs exposed, face burning, while two men look at you with the kind of hungry, proud appreciation that makes your knees feel weak.
And the most humiliating part is how clearly both of them can see that you are starting to like the way their eyes make you feel.