Chapter 3
When I woke up I felt incredibly weak and when I tried to move
I found out that I was restrained in some way. Realizing this I became
wide-awake in an instant. I remembered that it hadn't all just been a
bad dream. I really had been caught and enslaved. I tried sitting up in
bed, but was help down by some kind of webbing. When I tried opening my
eyes, the light seemed so bright that I had to squint to see anything.
It took a while before I could see anything and the first thing I laid
my eyes on was Mistress talking to the doctor. They were already looking
at me and now they approached me. I was lying in a hospital type bed, my
arms, legs and body strapped down but apparently I was left ungagged. As
Mistress looked down on me I tried to plead for her to please not turn
me into a sissy-slave: "Please Mistress..." I didn't get any further than
that. The voice uttering these words was not mine. At least it didn't
sound even remotely like the voice I remembered. The voice, which had
begged Mistress, was a high and very light soprano sounding as if it
hadn't spoken in some time. It couldn't be my voice so I tried again:
"Please..." I got no further this time. There was no doubt that it was
indeed my voice. I now had a fine, light and feminine voice! How long
had I been unconscious? I couldn't feel any bandages on me, not even on
my throat. But I could feel something on my chest, an unfamiliar weight
pressing down on my chest. It couldn't be! Had they already performed
all those dreadful changes on me? But how? I couldn't have unconscious
for that long. But apparently I had as Mistress sat down on the bed
beside me and ordered me to speak again. This time I couldn't think of
what to say. I was almost paralyzed, but Mistress cured this by slapping
my face until I started begging: "Please Mistress, please stop. I'm
sorry..." My new feminine voice broke as I began to cry, an utterly
feminine sound. Mistress was very pleased: "Excellent work doctor," she
said, "Shall we see if the rest of her is just as fine?" The doctor
agreed and together they released some of the straps holding me down and
helped me to sit up in bed, leaving my hands still tied down.
Sitting up I finally dared looked down my chest and saw that I now had a
pair of truly enormous tits. A pair of tits so huge they were vulgar.
And utterly fascinating. They were not only huge, but also almost
perfectly spherical with very large, very long nipples. I whimpered in
defeat as I saw them, my tears falling on my new tits. Mistress grabbed
my chin and forced me to look her in the eye. "Listen to me slave. The
physical part of your transformation is almost over. Now comes the
mental part, the hard part, and the sooner you submit, the easier it
will be for you. No matter what you do I'll break you and turn you into
a perfect little submissive sissy-slave. I mean just look at you. You
are all slut now." She directed my gaze down my own body and to the
changes made to it. Apart from the monstrous tits and the soprano voice,
I now had tiny hands and feet. So small in fact, that I could scarcely
believe it. My skin also looked much softer and when Mistress ran her
hand over my body I could feel that it was indeed softer. As her hand
touched my throat I could no longer feel my Adams-apple.
Sitting tied to the bed under the control of this cruel woman, I again
felt myself responding to her against my will and to my delight I found
that my cock had been left free. I didn't say anything, but when her
hand grazed it, my cock rose to full mast, throbbing and needy, in an
instant. Mistress chuckled at this and asked me: "Would you like to cum,
my little slut? Do you want Mistress to give you a handjob?" I
desperately wanted Mistress to jerk me off and instantly forgetting all
the horrible things she had done to me, I started to beg her to please
let me cum. She laughed at me and began manipulating my member, making
me gasp with desire as my body reacted to her expert touch. Just as I
was about to cum, she withdrew her hand and told me to beg harder.
Loosing all dignity I started to beg her, to implore her to please let
me cum. After laughing at me for a while, she resumed her manipulation
of my member only to leave me hanging again. Again I started begging and
soon I was locked into a cycle of almost ecstasy and tearful begging.
She manipulated me in this way for what seemed like ages and in the end
my cock was completely slick with pre-cum, but she did not allow me to
cum. Instead she finished by drying off the pre-cum and placing a large
ice-pack on my cock. I screamed with disappointment and shock, but she
only reacted with scorn and derision. After listening to my begging and
pleading for a few minutes more, she produced a large, black ball-gag
and stuffed it into my mouth. And then, making me completely desperate,
she imprisoned my member, now tiny and cold, inside the same chastity
device I had worn when I had first come to the clinic. After that she
was all business and soon I was collared and my, now mittened, hands
were tied to the collar. Then I was made to stand on the floor where I
got a most unpleasant surprise. As I tried to stand flatfooted on the
floor, I found that trying to do so caused me great pain in my claves
and in my feet. The only way to reduce the pain was to stand on the tips
of my toes and I suddenly understood that they had shortened my tendons
and that I would now have to wear very high-heels in order to walk. To
that end Mistress produced a pair of impossibly small, black leather
Oxfords with seven-inch stilettos. Very, very thin stilettos. Again I
had no choice and soon I stood swaying insecurely in the very small,
very high heels and Mistress secured a leash to the tip of my chastity
device.
Then, with only a short goodbye to the doctor, she yanked my leash and
led me out of the clinic. This proved to be very difficult for me as I
tried adjusting to the new shoes and to my new tits, swinging freely on
my chest, making me loose my balance. I not so much walked as waddled
behind Mistress on the way out of the clinic and into her car. On the
way I caught a glimpse of myself in a large window and saw the changes
to my body. The only resemblance I had to a boy now was my imprisoned
member. Everything else looked feminine: my skin was soft and smooth,
what little in way of angles my face had had was now soft and feminine.
Even my hair was now a cute black pageboy. Of course we stopped on the
sidewalk so that Mistress could greet some old friends and they could
prod and feel me up. And here I got the final nasty surprise of the day
when one of Mistress' acquaintances asked: "What's her name?" Mistress
replied: "I've decided that her name from now on is Sylvia." I started
at this, but a hard slap from Mistress halted my small rebellion.
Sylvia? She was going to call me Sylvia? For some reason the loss of my
name struck me very hard and I once again started crying, sparking a
shower of derisive remarks from Mistress and her friends.
I was still sobbing when Mistress pushed me into the backseat of her car
and drove me back to her house.
At the house we were once again met by Diane at the door. The outfit she
had worn the first time I saw her must have been a disguise so as not to
alarm me, because now her outfit was much sexier and much more
revealing. On her feet were black Oxfords with seven-inch stilettos,
impossibly thin. Her dress was made of black satin and it was so short
that when she turned around I had a clear view of her black, satin
panties. Her uniform dress was equipped with a small, purely decorative
white apron and on her blonde hair a small white maids hat was perched.
Diane wore no restrains of any kind, but then again it was perfectly
clear that she had been broken and would never again rebel against her
master or mistress. She was ready to be sold and she knew it.
Once inside Mistress gave Diane my leash and told her to lead me into
the basement and prepare me for my first lessons. Then she went upstairs
while Diane led me to the elevator. Inside the elevator Diane spoke to
me in hurried tones: "Please... I'm sorry, but I had no choice. Escape is
impossible from this place and Mistress is so hard." She faltered a
little before continuing: "It will be much easier if you obey from the
beginning. Just submit. It's much less painful. Please. I'm so sorry."
Se trailed off here as the elevator came to a halt and she led me into
the dungeon. She escorted my to a large open area in the dungeon and
instructed me to stand still until Mistress arrived. Then she herself
took up position along the wall; feet together, back straight, chest
out, hands behind her back, head down and with her mouth slightly open.
I would soon learn that this was the standard position for a
sissy-slave. We waited like that for a couple of minutes before Mistress
arrived. Just seeing her almost made me aroused. She had changed into a
full-body, red leather suit with knee-high, black stiletto boots. Her
hair was still drawn back into a tight bun and in her right hand she
held a riding crop, slapping it against her boot as she walked. She now
looked every bit the dominant and I felt how my knees went weak with a
combination of submissive lust and sheer hopelessness. There could be no
escape from this woman; that was perfectly clear to me.
With that my training began. The first day it was learning how to walk
properly: elegantly and sexy, my ass swaying in the most enticing
manner. Whenever I didn't perform as well as she wanted me to, she would
use the whip and by the end of the day most of my body had marks from
the crop. Dominating me obviously turned Mistress on and several times
during the day both Diane and I had to service her orally and not just
her pussy. The worst punishment that day, one that reduced me to a
pleading, babbling wreck, came when I hesitated in licking her asshole
clean, a most disgusting task. This of course meant that I had to
perform this duty for the next several days before I was again allowed
to lick Mistress' pussy.
Training filled my entire universe for the next several weeks. Or at
least I think it took several weeks, because I quickly lost all sense of
time. I was kept in the basement and all I did was train to be perfect
little sissy-slave: walking correctly, behaving correctly, proper
feminine gestures and speaking, proper slave behavior. A lot of it
focused on me accepting and embracing the fact that I was no longer Tom,
the independent young man, but Sylvia, the docile and obedient little
sissy-slave. This was not only accomplished by training, but also by a
program of conditioning, or at least that is what I think it was. Every
night I would be equipped with a diaper, sat down in a chair and bound
to it before Mistress put earphones over my ears and a set of virtual
reality glass over my eyes. I have no idea what I was subjected to
sitting like that, but when the glasses and the earphones were removed I
would be dazed and confused for several minutes and Diane would have to
change my diaper, because I had invariably soiled myself. Somehow
whatever images and sound were played to me made me loose control over
my bowels. It was most humiliating and I had no real idea what went on,
except that I could feel my, already very limited, resistance fading and
I could feel how I more and more accepted that I was Sylvia and not Tom.
When the initial training was over after those weeks in the basement, I
thought of myself as Sylvia and I was well on my way to becoming just
like Diane, docile and obedient. I had effectively been broken.
But the breaking wasn't the whole story. I had also begun actively
enjoying my status as a slave and one thing in particular provided me
with great pleasure: worshipping Mistress. Licking her boots or her ass,
although surely disgusting in itself had begun giving me great pleasure
and I reveled in it, because so far Mistress had been right: there were
no other pleasures in my life. It was hard work. The workload only
increased when I was allowed out of the dungeon. Now that I was almost
completely feminine, the only remotely masculine thing left to me being
my severely chastised penis, I was cast into the same role as Diane,
that of the slave maid. And like Diane I was outfitted with a uniform,
only this uniform was even sexier and more provocative than Diane's.
First Mistress shoved a large, pink butt-plug up my ass, most
humiliating, but also very nice. I was beginning to take pleasure
wherever I could get it, in the little things, and having my ass packed
was one thing I surely enjoyed. My sex training, apart from licking
Mistress' pussy, had not yet started, but already I was looking forward
to the day when some stud would hopefully fuck my ass, only hard, really
hard. Being denied an orgasm for so long, I had reached a state of
almost perpetual horniness. At the same time I was beginning to loose
hope that my cock would ever be allowed out of its dreadful prison and
my mind had started to turn towards other options, the principal one
being the prospect of having a big, hard cock rammed up my ass. Once my
butt-plug as in place, my chastity tube would be pulled back between my
legs, a wire attached to its tip, and the wire would be secured to a
very thin leather strap around my waist. My crotch was now almost
completely smooth and completing this was accomplished by a pair of
tiny, pink rubber panties, compressing my genitals almost unbearably. It
was most painful, but one of the things I had earned early in my
training was to smile and say "thank you" no matter what Mistress did to
me. The alternative was invariably more painful; electric shocks to my
tits and to my balls being just two examples. After the panties came my
stocking: pink rubber stocking ending mid-thigh and thus leaving a large
patch of bare, uncompressed skin free below the hem of my tiny maid's
uniform, which was also made from skin-tight, pink rubber. The uniform
had short sleeves and a very large cutout for my ample cleavage. I wore
no bra so my hug tits swung almost freely. "Almost", because the uniform
was so tight it provided some measure of support as it compressed my
boobs. Under the uniform, around my waist I was fitted with a very
constrictive corset, compressing my already narrow waist down to about
sixteen inches. On my hands were black, rubber opera gloves extending to
just above my elbows and around my neck I wore a broad, black leather
collar, which together with the big, black ball-gag in my mouth
definitively marked me as slave. My wrists and ankles were shackled with
shiny, steel cuffs and connected by short, steel chains no more than
seven inches. Finally my feet were shod with pink Oxfords with seven and
a half inch, ultra-thin stilettos. The shoes were at least two sizes too
small for my already impossibly small feet and they hurt me terribly,
but after a week of training and punishment my style of walking was
perfect: sexy and provocative and I smiled gratefully at Mistress every
time I put them on. Strangely my smile was not false. Although the shoes
were the single most painful and difficult element in my entire
(although very limited) wardrobe I loved them dearly. I loved them for
two reasons: Firstly because they signaled my helplessness and
submission to Mistress and secondly, and most importantly, because I had
discovered yet another disturbing thing about myself. As a man I had
greatly enjoyed, as most men do I guess, the sight of a beautiful woman
wearing high heels. If the woman knew how to walk in them, the heels
invariably made her legs and ass more attractive and more elegant. Now
as a sissy I found that this liking had been greatly amplified. I loved
what they did for my looks and I loved the delicious feeling of
helplessness I got when wearing these hopelessly impractical shoes, the
feeling that the stilettos somehow controlled me, forcing me to be more
perfect as a sissy-slave. When passing a reflecting surface I would
always sneak a glance at my feet and legs, relishing in their elegant
but strained position. It is a feeling that has stayed with me for all
these years. The higher and thinner the heel, the more strained the
position of the foot, the better. I am a hopeless foot- and shoe
fetishist and high-heels are among my biggest turn-ons, especially if
it's me wearing the stilettos.
Thus dressed as a proper little sissy-slut of a maid I started my real
training. The endless lessons in walking, talking and proper behavior
for a slave continued at undiminished strength, but at the same time I
had to perform my new maid duties. As if this wasn't enough Mistress now
began giving me proper sex training, for the first time bringing
outsiders in to spank me, torture me, fuck me or receive blowjobs and
handjobs. I was very shy at first, but it no longer came as a surprise
to me when I found out that I liked giving someone an orgasm, even if I
wasn't allowed to cum. I was falling very quickly into my role as a
sissy-slave and I had now come to believe, as I still do, that I was the
lowest creature on the planet and that I should be grateful for any
attention, no matter how painful or demeaning, that my betters showed
me. My only regret was the constant itch in my crotch, the ever-present
unfulfilled need that made my balls ache and filled my panties with that
most unsatisfying liquid in the world: pre-cum. How I hate pre-cum! It,
more than anything else, more than my beloved shoes or the tight
revealing and demeaning clothes I am forced to wear, signals my total
and utter submission and the complete frustration, the total lack of
sexual release, that I must endure because of what I am. I know that I
don't deserve to be allowed to cum and yet I hope for it all the time.
It fills a huge part of my universe.
