Soft Femboy in Making

Five days later you return to the small tailor shop alone. Priya thinks you are only picking up the trial blouses. You have not told her — or Arjun, or Vikram — how the first measuring session actually felt. Something about the tailor’s eyes and the way he spoke made you keep it private.
Today you wear a soft button-down over a thin crop top and short shorts. Your small breasts move under the fabric with every step. The moment the bell rings, the same male tailor looks up and smiles like he has been waiting.
“Back for the trial,” he says. “Good. Come to the back. Curtain stays open enough for light.”
In the narrow fitting area he has the maroon and cream blouses ready. He watches you unbutton the shirt without any shame in his gaze.
“Crop top off too,” he says calmly. “I need the blouse directly on the skin to check the bust properly.”
Your face burns, but you pull it off. The cool air touches your bare small breasts for a second before he slides the maroon blouse onto you. His hands move slowly — adjusting the neckline, smoothing the fabric over the soft curves, tugging the underbust seam so everything sits tight and lifted. A clear line of cleavage appears.
He stands behind you, both of you facing the mirror, and lets his hands rest on your waist.
“I’ve been thinking about you since last time,” he murmurs. “A real Telugu femboy walking into my shop, soft face, little breasts already growing, asking for sexy blouses like a wife. You look almost like a beautiful trans girl in the making. The kind I’ve watched for years.”
Your breath catches. “You… watch a lot of that?”
“Years,” he admits, voice low and pleased. “My biggest fetish. Soft boys turning more feminine. Small pretty breasts, narrow waists, shy faces that get embarrassed when you talk dirty to them. I used to think I’d only ever see it on screens. Then you walked in.” His fingers stroke upward and deliberately cup the soft shape of your breasts through the tight blouse. “Finding a local Telugu boy who already looks like this… it makes me very happy. And a little greedy.”
You stare at your reflection — flushed face, longer hair, small breasts pushed up by the blouse he is still adjusting — and feel the humiliation settle deep.
He keeps talking while his hands move.
“In my favorite videos, the men don’t just look. They use the femboys. Properly. Cock in their mouths, between their soft thighs, sometimes deeper. And the boys who take it regularly always seem to get softer faster. Prettier. Their breasts look fuller, their skin silkier, their faces more feminine. I’ve always believed there’s something about a man’s cum on a femboy’s body that helps the change. On the chest… on the tongue… inside. Like it feeds the softness.”
Your thighs press together. The words are filthy and direct, and they land hotter than you want to admit.
The tailor notices and smiles in the mirror.
“Does your wife know how much you blush when a man talks to you like this?” he asks. “Do the two of you talk about men a lot? About what they might want to do to a soft boy with little breasts like these?”
You swallow hard. Your voice comes out quiet and rough.
“…We talk about it. She likes telling me when men stare at her… and then she makes me admit I’d rather they were staring at me. She knows I get hard from it. She likes that part.”
“Good.” His thumbs brush over your nipples through the fabric, slow and deliberate. “Does she know that some men believe fucking a femboy regularly makes him grow more feminine? That taking cum on these soft little breasts, or swallowing it, or feeling it inside, can push the body further? Make the chest fuller, the waist narrower, the whole boy prettier and weaker?”
Your face is burning. You force yourself to answer instead of staying silent.
“She’s never said it like that… but she wants me softer. She wants men to want me. If she heard the way you’re talking, she would probably get excited and make me listen to more of it.”
The tailor’s breath is warm against your ear now.
“I would love to be one of the men who helps a Telugu femboy like you get softer. Dressing you in tight blouses is already special. But imagining you on your knees, or bent over, taking a cock while these pretty little breasts hang and bounce… then coming on them so the cum soaks into the soft skin… that is the kind of dream I never thought would stand in my actual shop.” His hands squeeze gently. “You’re the first real one. That makes me proud. And very dirty in my head.”
You can feel how hard your nipples are under his fingers. The humiliation is intense, but so is the heat low in your stomach.
“…You’re saying all of this while your hands are still on me,” you whisper. “It’s making me feel really weak. And I haven’t told you to stop.”
“I know.” He sounds deeply satisfied. “That’s why boys like you are addictive. You feel the shame and still stay still. Still listen. Still get warm when a man describes using your body to make you more feminine.”
He finally steps back, but his eyes stay on your chest in the tight maroon blouse.
“Final pieces will be ready in three days. Come alone again. Wear something even easier to remove underneath. I want more time with these.” His gaze drops openly to your small breasts. “And I want to hear more about the conversations you have with your wife when she talks about men. Every detail you can remember. It feeds the fantasy.”
You leave the shop with the trial blouse hidden under your shirt, face hot, thighs pressed together, and the tailor’s filthy words looping in your mind — cum on soft breasts, cock making a femboy prettier, the proud way he called you the first real Telugu one he has ever touched.
You tell no one.
Not Priya.
Not Arjun.
Not Vikram.