The Girl Inside (Parts 3, 4/4) by Princess Pervette. Back.

Part 3

Tuesday night I wore my first dress. Up in my room, she gave me a funny
looking bra first, with pockets in the cups. "A mastectomy bra," she
explained, as she gave me forms to put into the pockets. "We don't have
time for the attachable forms. We'll go back to them on the weekend."
Garter belt and nylons followed--and the garter back on, of course--and
then a slip.

"Now that you're a real girl, you can wear dresses," she said. The dress
was a pale blue with white accents. White buttons--which buttoned the
wrong way, the way they do on girls' clothes--and white ruffles.

It felt all wrong. Not uncomfortable; in fact, it was wonderfully
comfortable, with none of the confinement even the most generously cut
men's clothes have. But I had this feeling that I was doing something
deeply wrong. Wrong for me.

She saw the look on my face. "Feels funny, does it?"

It did. I was a man, and men didn't wear dresses.

She read my mind. "Men don't wear dresses, do they? But you aren't a
man any more. Remember, Girl, you've had a cock up your ass and in your
mouth." My face must have turned red. "I've made you into a girl, and
girls wear dresses."

The dress felt wrong, but suddenly, when she said that, exciting, too. As
I looked down at the blue fabric, I felt the same kind of thrill I had felt
the first time she had pantied me.

Contradictory feelings like this were to mark every new step in the
progress of our relationship. I would hate the very thought of doing
whatever it was she was demanding of me; but at the same time the fact that
I was being made to do something I found objectionable made it one more
mark of her domination, and that made it exciting.

"Girl Baby, domination can be nasty. Or it can be sweet. Some women like
to be nasty. Verbal abuse, making the slave eat off the floor, things like
that. They get off on it. I like being sweet. You're going to be my
slave, but not because I'm forcing you. Because you want it. And when you
see more of what it's like, you're going to want it very much."

The rest of that evening was drill. Sitting down--and learning to smooth
my skirt under me as I did so--and standing up. How to cross my legs while
sitting. How to hold myself. How to hold my head in a feminine way. Most
of the drill was walking. She gave me a pair of higher heels: 3 1/2 inches
instead of the two-inch ones on which I had started.

That evening, she said, "You have to become a girl from the inside out."
My heart skipped a beat. "It's not so much looking like a girl as it is
thinking like one."

Wednesday night it was a white blouse and a tan skirt. They looked lovely.
I could imagine, now, how they would feel, and I felt the first stirrings
of a compulsion that, in a few weeks, would become irresistible. I reached
out for them.

She drew them back. "If you want them, beg for them."

I dropped to my knees. "Oh, Mistress, please, may I have that skirt and
that blouse? I want them so very much."

"Why do you want them?"

"I want to wear them for you. Please, Mistress."

"Why do you want to wear them?"

"Because I'm a girl now." The words seemed to come automatically. "Your
girl. Because that's what a girl should wear. Please, Mistress."

She gave me one of her rare smiles. "I told you you would beg." And she
gave them to me.

The shoes had 4-inch heels. She must have spent a fortune on shoes for me.
Otherwise it was more drill. She told me she was pleased with my progress.
"You're beginning to look like a girl now, instead of like a man in drag."
She took more pictures. And she gave me my reward: I was allowed to lie
under her while she pleasured herself with my lips and tongue.

Before I left, she had me put in a new butt plug. The next size up. She
said, "Girl Baby, I promise you: by the time we're done with you, you'll
look like a girl even if you're wearing jeans and a T-shirt."

That night, Chuck asked me, "Are you going to spend all your spare time
with her?" I said something evasive and he just shook his head.

****

Thursday was the same as Wednesday. On Friday, I came home with my head
swimming. I had hardly been able to control the car as I drove. When I
came in, Chuck looked at me, at my glazed eyes, and at the shape of the
breast forms, which showed through my shirt.

"Ted? Ted...?" He waved a hand in front of me. "Are you there, Ted?"

With an effort, I returned to reality.

"Hi, Chuck," I said, weakly.

"My God, Chuck, you look as if you had been drugged. What did she give
you?"

"She didn't give me anything. She didn't need to. She fucked me again.
With her strap-on. I was tied up and fucked. Twice. Savagely. I can
hardly sit down. And in between, she used me...for her own pleasure."

"Ted, I'm seriously worried about you. I told you before, you've changed.
But it's getting worse. I hardly recognize you any more."

"Chuck...she told me to-night. Told me what she was doing." I couldn't
look at him. I whispered, "She told me she was making me into a slut. A
feminized sissy slut."

"And you're going to let her do it...?"

"Chuck...I like it! Not being a sissy--that's appalling--but belonging to
her. It's like a dream come true. And I can't control myself any more.
Last weekend, even earlier this week, I kept telling myself I could always
stop if it went too far. But I can't. I'm paralyzed. It *is* going too
far, and I can't stop. There's something it does for me, or does to me,
and I need it more and more. To-night, that second time she fucked me...
Chuck, it was the first time I was able to relax with that thing in me.
And I felt it...on my prostate."

I hesitated, then said, "Chuck...this is embarrassing to ask...but...
haven't you experienced something like that? I mean...with guys...?"

"Oh, yes, Ted. And you're right: at first it hurts like hell, but after
you've gotten used to it, there's nothing like it."

"It's like an addiction. It's been like an addiction, even before to-
night. I sit at the computer at work, and all I can do is wonder what
she's going to make me do next. And I can hardly wait for it."

"She's going to make you into a sissy slut, and you love it."

I swallowed hard. Then, feebly, barely above a whisper, "Yes...."

****

Saturday was a turning point. That morning, she told me, "We're going out,
Girl."

"You mean...like this?" I was dressed, with my breast forms cemented on,
wearing a white dress in a flowery print.

"Like that. Come on."

"Mistress, I can't do that. It's okay, inside here, with just us. With
nobody to see me. But outside...what if someone I know sees me...?"

"Oh, we won't be going locally. But sooner or later you're going to go
out, and I've decided that to-day is the day."

"No, Mistress, I can't do that. That's more than I can handle. More than
I'll ever be able to handle. Do I have a safeword...? Whatever it is, I'm
using it."

She snapped at me. "Girl, you're going out and liking it! Now get your
girly ass of yours out that door or I'm going to whip it black and blue,
and then you'll go out anyway! That, or else out you go, and you will
never see me again. This is what we call a Go/No-go Test."

I went.

I slinked out to the car, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as
possible. That was a hopeless task, because when I got into the car, she
corrected me and made me do it again.

"Butt first, Girl, and slide back onto the seat so your skirt doesn't get
wrinkled. Then draw your legs in." She made me do it three times. Then
she got in the driver's seat, putting a large box in the space between us.

It was a twenty-mile drive to the mall she had chosen. She drew up in
front of a beauty salon and parked. "Come on, Girl. We're going in here."

I stared at her. "Don't worry, Girl. They know me here. You aren't the
first girly boy I've brought here for a makeover, believe me."

I followed her in, legs quaking. The woman at the cash register cried,
"Laura!" and gave her a big hug. Then she looked at me. "This your latest
acquisition? Looks nice." I blushed furiously. She went on: "He's a real
find. The back room, I suppose?"

"Not necessarily, Ashley. It might be interesting to have everybody watch
her as she gets The Treatment."

I wanted to beg her not to subject me to that; but I was afraid that if I
did, she would insist on it. Mercifully, Ashley decided on the back room.

"Sit in the chair, Girl," Laura told me. "Be nice and we'll be nice. Give
us trouble and we'll strap you down."

"Might be fun to strap her down anyway," Ashley said with a grin. "Do you
remember what we did that time with Ralph? Or was that Steve?"

Now, I have rather short hair, and I didn't know what they were going to
do about that. At the start, all they did was shampoo it and slick it
down flat. Then they scrubbed my face and began to apply all kinds of
cosmetics. I didn't know what any of them were, and the words they used
--foundation, concealer, blush, and so on, meant nothing to me. I was
scared, sitting there and not knowing what they were doing to me or how
long--dreadful thought!--the after-effects would last. I couldn't go in
to work looking like this.

While one girl was working on my face, another one did my nails. Careful
filing and trimming, and then what seemed like coat after coat of polish.
Before she applied the polish, she asked Laura whether I should have fake
nails applied. "No, leave them natural," she said, to my immense relief,
but then added, "We can have fake ones the next time." Next time...!

They trimmed my toenails, too, and painted them a bright red. They pierced
my ears with a gun and put in little studs.

I found out what they were going to do about my hair when Laura opened the
box she had brought. It was a wig. A full, brunette wig. They carefully
fitted it on me.

"There!" Laura said. "She's going to look smashing at the party to-night!"

"Party...!" I gasped.

"Oh, yes, Girl. You're having your coming out party to-night. I have
heaps of friends who are dying to get a look at you!"

I was appalled. I started to protest, but then realized that that would
be useless. I decided that this had gone too far. Once I was out of this
place, and back home from Laura's, that was going to be it. Thrill or no
thrill--love or no love, even--being made to look like a damned fool was
unacceptable. Out of her life forever, she had said when she talked about
a Go/No-go Test. I should have chosen that alternative.

After some more fussing around, they finally let me see myself in the
mirror.

I looked awful.

You know, when you read stories about men who are forcibly feminized, there
inevitably comes the moment when they see themselves in the mirror. And,
unfailingly, they find themselves transformed into beautiful girls, or
women. Don't you believe it. I looked like a man in a wig and makeup.
Even I could see that the makeup had been ludicrously overdone--too much
of everything, my lips made to look full and pouty. They had made me into
a slut. A feminized, sissy slut, just as Laura had promised. I was
horrified--and fascinated.

"Oh, he looks *darling*!" Ashley exclaimed.

"She'll do," Laura said.

I finally found my voice. "Mistress...I'm sorry...but please, let's be
realistic. I look like the wrath of God."

"That's the reward we all get for working on you so patiently?" Laura
asked. "Believe me, you're going to pay for that remark. And you're going
to have to learn to accept our judgment. If we say you look good, you look
good, no matter what your silly masculine vanity thinks. We'll train you
out of that, believe me, Girl."

"But...I can't go home looking like this!"

"You aren't going home. You're coming back with me, and we're going to get
you ready for your debut to-night."

****

Getting ready turned out to be as big a production as the makeover. She
had me remove the butt plug and cleanse myself. Then she had me shave my
legs again, to remove the stubble, and touch up my armpits. ("No, Girl,
underarms. Girls don't have armpits; they have underarms.") She took it
upon herself to shave what she called my "bikini line."

After dinner, she dressed me. Open-crotch panties, my first pair. My male
parts kept finding their way through the opening, because she didn't have
me wear the gaff, but there was nothing to be done about that. Black
garter belt and fishnet stockings. Black wet-look miniskirt. Bright red
blouse. Earrings in my newly-pierced ears, which were painful. The wig.
Black heels, five inches high. My blue garter. Finally, just before the
party, she sprayed me with cheap perfume.

"You're going to make me proud, aren't you, Girl Baby? Proud of what a
slutty girl I've made of you."

She made me wait in the bedroom. When everyone had arrived, she came up
and said, "Here's where you make your grand entrance, Girl."

I could hardly walk. My knees were shaking, I was in a cold sweat, and
the heels were treacherous, especially as I walked downstairs. Holding the
railing in a tight grip, I went slowly, one step at a time, trying to put
off my humiliation for as long as possible--but also trying to avoid
falling.

There were six guests. When I entered the living room, there was a chorus
of cries. One of the women whistled. They all congratulated Laura.

"Oh, Laura," one of them cried, "you've done it again. Look at her! Would
you believe that THAT was once a man?" I blushed under my makeup.

She turned to me. "I've got to congratulate you, too, Girl. This is your
Big Day, isn't it? How special that must be for you! And how grateful you
must be to Laura for all she's done for you! You are grateful, aren't
you?"

I was feeling my usual mix of contradictory feelings. I simultaneously
wanted to get the hell out of there and go home and also wanted to be
displayed in my slutty getup. It was as if Laura had engendered a split in
my personality, half the old, masculine Ted and half the new, naughty slut
who hadn't even been given a name yet--just "Girl."

But, split or no split, I knew what was expected of me. I curtseyed, eyes
downcast, and said, "Yes, Ma'am. Very grateful. She's done such wonderful
things for me. And to me."

"That's very sweet, Girl. Laura, may I give her a little kissy?" Laura
said Yes, and I walked over and received a little peck on my cheek.

"All right, Baby Girl," Laura said. "Kissies are nice, but you have work
to do." I took drink orders, minced off to the kitchen, teetering a bit on
my heels, prepared the drinks, and served them.

That was the first part of the evening. Serving drinks, emptying ashtrays,
passing about plates of munchies. Meanwhile, Laura told them about my
training. She spoke about me as if I weren't there, as if I weren't able
to hear and writhe with embarrassment as she casually mentioned things like
my butt plug and her dildos.

One of them cried, "All this in only a little more than a week? Laura,
you're a wonder!"

"Well, I had unusually good material to work with this time," Laura
answered. "My little baby doesn't realize it yet, but she has a lot of
girl inside her. More than any of my previous slaves. So all I had to do
was release it, and there it was."

That came as a shock. I hadn't known that.

"She's come along fast, and I'm going to take her further. Further than
I've ever taken anybody before."

Later in the evening, one of the women--Martha, her name was--asked, "So
just how good a slut is she, anyway?"

"Try her and find out," Laura said. Then she turned to all the women.
"Ladies, I'm turning my slave over to you for to-night. From now until the
party breaks up, please regard her as your slave as well as mine."

I was horrified--but not really surprised. I think I had an inkling that
something like this might be on the program. She went on: "After all,
that's what this party was for. Don't worry; I know her limits, and if you
exceed any of them, I'll safeword on her behalf."

Martha turned to me. "All right, Girly Girl, come over here and kneel
before me."

I walked over and fell on my knees.

"You have my permission to lift my skirt, Girly."

I lifted it. She wasn't wearing any panties. "What do you see?" she
asked.

I pondered a suitable reply. Finally, I said, "Heaven, Mistress."

She clapped her hands. "Oh, Girly, you've got the right attitude, all
right!" She slid forward in her seat and opened her legs. "All right,
little slutty girl, take your taste of heaven."

I put my face into her femininity and fell to. Her pubic hair had a
pleasant, musky smell that excited me. I wanted to ask her to sit on my
face for her pleasure, but felt that would be out of line. But this had
always been a lovely way to have sex, and I gave her my very best, drawing
on my experience of other women. I teased her clitoris with my lips and
tongue, and then, when a movement of her hips suggested that she wanted
attention elsewhere, lapped the juices now flowing freely from her labia.

She was noisy. And appreciative. I tongued and kissed her to a climax,
and she subsided with sighs and a few sobs. Finally, she found words.
"Laura, you've got a perfect treasure here." Then, to me: "Oh, Girly, I
hope I can arrange a long-term loan one of these days."

Martha was the first. But Laura said things would be more convenient
upstairs, so we all went up to my room. Laura had me lie on my back and
trussed me up: arms toward the head of the bed, legs up over my head, a
bolster under my butt, and a thick leather strap around my waist and around
the bed so I was completely immobilized. "There," Laura said. "You can
use her at both ends now."

And five of them did. I knew now why she had had me wear split-crotch
panties. They changed off, one riding my face while another impaled me
with the strap-on. Again and again, my face awash in their feminine
juices, my ass relaxed now to the point that the dildo slipped in
effortlessly. If this was their idea of being a sissy slut slave, I was
beginning to like it.

By the time they released me at the end of the evening, I was no longer
thinking straight. So many women, and all hot for me, all using me--at one
end or the other.

Laura sent me home in my slutty drag. Maybe people saw me as I left my car
and went inside, and maybe they didn't. I was beyond caring.

When he saw my face, and how I was dressed, Chuck said, "Teddy, dear, are
you all right? My God, that woman...! What are they doing to you?"

He had never called me "dear" before.

In response to my questioning look, he went on. "It's the way you look.
Not what you're wearing. Well...that, but it's that glassy-eyed look on
your face...like a mystic...as if you were in ecstasy."

In a very low voice, I said, "That was just it, Chuck. Ecstasy. When
Laura told me what she was going to do, that she was going to put me on
exhibit in front of all her women friends, I dreaded it. But when the
party took off, and they were all using me.... Anyway, when Laura said I
was their slut and they all began to have their way with me.... Funny,
old-fashioned expression, isn't that, `having their way'? But that was
what it was. When that happened, I really got into it. Chuck, I *liked*
being their slut."

"Slut? Is that what they call you? What's your femme name? Kind of hard
to figure a feminine form of Ted. Tedetta? Tedessa? Tessa...? Oh...of
course: Theodora, I suppose."

"No; she just calls me Baby, or Girl. That or Baby Girl, or sometimes Girl
Baby."

"You mean, she's done all this to you and she hasn't had the decency to
give you a name? You're right, Teddy. Just a feminized slut. That's all
you are to her. A nameless pair of holes."

I looked at him. "Chuck...I'd do anything to have that experience again."

"Ted, she's destroying you. I've known you and lived with you for half a
dozen years now, and you aren't the same person any more. Not the same
guy."

There were tears in his eyes. "Teddy, I've got to tell you this. I love
you, Teddy. I don't mean, I want to get into the sack with you. I know,
that's not your thing, and I respect that. But I love having you around,
just being with you. It's been so many years. When I come home, and
you're there, or when I'm here and you come in, my whole world just lights
up.

"I don't want to lose you, Teddy. Oh...I know, I will some day. You'll
get married, and I'll be your best man, and I'll manage. It'll be all
right. Just knowing you're happy will make me happy."

This came as a complete surprise to me. Chuck had always concealed his
feelings, to the point that I hadn't had any inkling that they existed.

"But this isn't marriage. This is something else. She's taking Ted away.
Taking you away completely. It's not as if Ted were just somewhere else,
with a wife. Ted isn't anywhere now. Or hardly anywhere."

My sleep that night was troubled with dreams. Dreams of abasement and
slavery, of women using me in every conceivable way....

****

The phone blasted me out of bed Sunday morning. Through the haze of semi-
consciousness, I heard Laura.

"Get your cute little ass over here, Baby Girl."

"You mean, now?"

"I mean, right away."

I didn't know what to expect. When I got there, I changed as usual and
walked in in my bra and panties (and garter), the way she liked. I found
a sumptuous breakfast laid out. Juice. Eggs. Bacon. Pancakes.

"To-day we celebrate your coming out, Baby. Go upstairs, throw on a dress,
and come back down here."

And all day Sunday was one long celebration. For once she was all smiles.
She kissed me, over and over; she pampered me; she put me in a luxurious,
lacy peignoir I hadn't worn before; she had me wear nice comfortable girl's
slippers instead of heels. In the afternoon we went upstairs and she
tied me up and gave me one of her fantastic, controlling blow jobs. I
surrendered to her as I lay there helpless, abject.

The next week was given over to drill. More practice in walking in heels,
moving, sitting down, the same things we had practised the week before,
over and over again. Make-up and hair care. Another butt plug, bigger
still. And dildo practice, at both ends.

"It's not enough to look like a slut, Girl. You've got to feel like one.
You've got to be one, inside."

****

The following Saturday, we had another party. I was much more secure in my
heels, now, and when I made my entrance I did a little turn, flaring out my
short skirt for their delight. Then I stopped cold. This evening's crowd
was mixed.

There were the same six women as last week, but with them were five men.

When we went up to my room for sex, the men came along. If it had been
thrilling to serve the women last week, it was doubly thrilling now as I
realized that I was being used--humiliated and used--while the men were
watching me.

But after I had satisfied five of the women, Laura announced that it was
now the men's turn. "Slutty girls are for men," she said, looking at me
as I lay strapped down in the bed, "not just for women. And it's time we
broke you in." The men had by now stripped. "You're going to do this out
of love for me, Girl, aren't you?"

That, I realized, was what all the dildo practice--and the butt plugs--
had been for. Opening me up and training my lips and tongue for the Real
Thing. And here in the room there were five men with five Real Things
standing erect, waiting for my services.

They took me two at a time, one at each end. But they kept changing off,
so I ended up being fucked many more times that I had expected. The men in
my ass used condoms, for which I was grateful at first; but then each man,
as he finished, carefully stripped off the condom and emptied it into my
mouth.

It was nasty, at the start. I wasn't gay, and the idea of gay sex repelled
me. But then the same old urge took hold of me--the urge to be a feminized
slut at the bidding of my Mistress. And as I remembered her words--"out of
love for me"--I began to have the same delirious excitement I had had the
Saturday before, and that I had had earlier this evening as the women used
me. Stripped down to bra and open-crotch panties and being used, finally,
as a real girl. And I began to get hard inside my panties.

When the men were finally spent, one of them noted my excitement. "Hey,
Laura, look at the little slut's hard-on!" one of them cried. "Should we
let the little cunt jerk off?"

Laura bristled at the word. "Watch your tongue. Not cunt. Not from you.
She's a little slutty girl, all right, but she's my little slutty girl, not
yours."

She turned to me. "Yes, Girl Baby, you're excited. I knew you would be; I
meant you to be." She sat on the bed next to me. "I think we should show
these nice people how I can dominate you with my lips."

And she gave me one of her fantastic blow jobs, right there in the midst
of the crowd. I think they understood the domination, too. More loss of
control: lying there strapped to the bed, my arms immobilized, passive,
as she brought me again and again almost to the peak, until finally I was
whimpering and begging her to let me come. It was a virtuoso performance,
and as I trembled, coming down from the experience, I was proud of her.
Proud of her and proud of how well I had served her and her twelve guests.

We went back downstairs for drinks later. As I was preparing drinks and
getting more munchies in the kitchen, it suddenly struck me that one of
the women had never used me. Not last week, and not this week, either.
While I was wondering about this, I heard a movement behind me. Then an
embarrassed cough. I turned around. It was the sixth woman herself.

"You did very well to-night," she said.

"Thank you," I said. Then: "But I noticed that you didn't...er...indulge."

"I wasn't allowed to," she told me. "My name is Ralph, by the way. Or
used to be. I belong to Mistress Julia. She brought me here so I could
see what Mistress Laura had done to you."

"You mean, you're...?"

She smiled. "You could say I was one of Mistress Laura's alumnae," she
said.

I stared at her. "You mean you've been here, and you've been through...?"

"Please. We won't have much time to talk. Yes, I was one of her girls.
She did to me just the same things she's doing to you. Only I think she's
going to do even more to you before she's done."

That was what Laura had said the week before.

She wasn't smiling. "She'll feminize you and use you, and eventually
she'll get tired of you."

"And then...?"

"She'll pass you on to someone else. The way she handed me over to
Mistress Julia."

I was aghast. "She dumped you? How could you stand it? I think it would
kill me."

"She made it pretty easy. And inevitable. She said I should go out of my
love for her. You do love her, don't you?"

I nodded.

"All her slaves do. It's love, and it's the satisfaction of their hidden
desires. And when the time comes, you'll go."

She went on. "When she makes her men into girls, they stay that way.
She's very thorough, as I guess you must know by now, and she takes only
men she knows are promising."

"Well...if I may say so, she was certainly thorough with you. I would
never have dreamed you weren't...." I stopped, embarrassed.

"Give her six months and nobody will dream you aren't, either. Maybe less
than six months. You're already a good deal closer to passing than you
think. How long has it been?"

"Only a couple of weeks."

"I remember when I had been her girl for two weeks. I wasn't anywhere near
as far along then as you are now."

I thought of something. "Have you met any other of her, um, `alumnae'?"

"A couple."

"Are they all like us?"

"Pretty much. The ones she gives to men are generally the more slutty
ones. That will probably happen to you. She's made you sluttier than she
made me."

She leaned closer to me. I could smell the cologne she was wearing. "Just
watch out," she said, quietly. "Not for her; for yourself. She'll take
you as far as you want to go--and then a little further.

"The whole process is driven by your desires, more than you think. That's
the way she works. She's like a mind reader. She doesn't ask you what you
want; she knows. And she gives you what you want. That's why her girls
are so devoted to her. She gives them all they ever wanted--and then a
little bit more. That's why you have to watch out. For that little bit
more. Don't let your desires get out of hand, or you'll find yourself in
deeper than you want to be. Much deeper."

"Was that what happened to you?"

Before she could answer me, there was a voice:

"You, Lady Boy! What are you doing here?" It was Mistress Julia. "Did I
give you permission to talk to Laura's slut?"

"No, Mistress," my friend answered.

"Come back here and let little slut here tend to her work!" She took hold
of Ralph by one ear and carried her off. "You're going to pay for this,"
I could hear her exclaiming. "You're going back into your cage for this!
And I'm going to make you do the garbage men again, don't think I won't...!"

I didn't have time to think about Ralph and her punishment. I was stricken
with worry. Handed off to another Mistress. I didn't think I'd be able to
stand that. And the possibility hung over the rest of the evening like a
black cloud.

As I was leaving, Laura handed me a videotape. "For your friend Chuck," she
said.

When I got home, however, Chuck was in bed asleep. I was glad not to have
to give him any explanations. If I had looked ecstatic last week, I must
have looked out of my mind this time. I stripped down to my bra and
panties and collapsed onto the bed and into a night of troubled dreams.

****

Sunday was another celebration, even more festive than the one the week
before. She preferred the carrot to the stick, she had said, and this day
was all carrot. She had bought me more clothes, and she had me put on a
fashion show for her. Bikinis, thongs, tap pants, sissy panties; dresses,
gowns, robes, bodysuits, teddies, pantyhose...the collection seemed
endless. I noticed a Wolford's label on the pantyhose. I knew by now how
Wolford's prices ran: she had gone all out.

I was wishing I could discuss my conversation with Ralph, but I didn't want
to disturb the happiness of the day. As I decked myself out in one outfit
after another, all I could think was: I mustn't let her get tired of me.

Sunday evening I watched the videotape with Chuck. I was stunned. Laura
had taped the five men as they were using me. There I was, on the bed, my
dress turned up, with a man pumping into my mouth and another one butt-
fucking me. Two of the women were holding my legs in the air, by the
ankles.

Chuck said, "I don't want to watch this."

"Chuck, if you don't, I'll get in trouble." Now the men had changed off.
One of them was emptying his condom into my mouth. Laura had told me not
to swallow, and there was a close-up of my mouth, white with the ejaculate
of three of the men. But the scene went on and on, as the men continued
to possess me, and for the first time I saw my degradation at one remove
instead of experiencing it. I was embarrassed to have Chuck see this, but
of course that was what Laura wanted. And in spite of myself, as the
images awakened memories of that dizzying experience, I found myself
excited by what I saw. I suddenly wished I was still back there, still
being used.

At the end, Laura's face came into view. "Chuckie, this is what your
roomie is doing at my place. Dressing like a girl and getting ploughed.
Aren't you jealous?" And the tape went blank.

Chuck was silent for a long time. Then he said, very quietly, "I didn't
think you were gay, Teddy."

"I'm not."

"But I saw your face. I was watching the video; I was watching your face.
You were getting off on it. You had that same goofy look I've seen when
you've come back from her. Your eyes were glazed--as if you were on
another planet."

"Chuck, I don't get off on the men. I get off on being made to do it. By
her."

"The woman's a monster."

I had a sudden realization. "No, Chuck, if anybody's a monster, it's me.
Or something inside of me. She just found it and let it out of its cage."

****

Monday evening she took me out to dinner and then to a private home. I
wondered: Was this to be another orgy? But it turned out to be the home of
a friend of hers who was a physician.

"Sylvia, this is the girl I was telling you about."

"Oh, she's cute, isn't she?" Then, to me: "Come into my examining room,
Honey."

And she gave me a complete physical. Eyes, ears, nose, throat, chest,
genitals...the works. "Hmm. Her anus shows some signs of wear and tear.
A bit...well, looser...than normal. Been using her very hard?"

"Yes, my Baby Girl has been, well, fucked over pretty thoroughly. And
there are the butt plugs, of course. There's no problem, is there?"

"No, but there could be in the long run. I'm going to teach her to do
Kegels."

She explained that Kegel exercises were designed to firm up the sphincters.
"You don't want to become incontinent in your old age, Honey," she said,
"making messes in your panties."

She took a blood sample, and then we went home. When I asked Laura what
all this was about, she gave me no answer.

But on Wednesday, when I arrived, I found out. Laura had a little bottle
of pills for me.

"Hormones," she said in answer to my enquiring look. "The next stage.
That's why we went to the doctor. You have to take these under medical
supervision."

I didn't like this idea at all. "Er...Mistress...that's a little further
than I'd care to go."

"How far you go is my decision, not yours."

"But I would grow boobs, wouldn't I? I can't handle that! They would
show. At work I'm a man. My career...that would ruin my life."

"It would ruin Ted's life, you mean. But Ted's life was already ruined
from the moment you chose to work with me. Don't you understand that?
Hasn't that been implicit from the beginning? We are destroying Ted.
Killing him. That's what your commitment is about, what all our work
together is about. Slowly killing him. You aren't going to be Ted any
more. You're going to be my little slutty Girl Baby."

I remembered what Chuck had said to me: "Ted isn't anywhere now."

"I...er...Mistress, let me think about this...."

"You don't need to think about it, Baby Girl," she said. "Don't worry your
little head with thinking. I can think for you. That's what I'm here for.
Just take the pills like a good little girl, and leave the thinking to me."

She had a glass of water. She opened the bottle, removed the cotton from
the top, and shook out a little purple pill. "Now, be a brave little girl
for me, Baby, and take your pill."

Well...how much harm could one little pill do? I could take it now and
renew the question later on. That was so much easier than disputing the
whole issue with her right now. I took the pill and washed it down.

"That's a girl. You have a natural gift, you know. I'm taking you further
into femininity than I've ever taken anybody before. You should feel good
about that. Proud of it."

And, as so often when she talked to me, I did.

****

Life went on. I was much more calm at work now, and better able to
concentrate on the job. The work went smoothly. I had grown so used to
panties now that I hardly realized I had them on. And they had come to
feel natural on me. Natural--and right.

My hormone treatment continued, and so did Laura's training sessions.
Feminine behavior, in ever greater and more minute detail. I was much more
presentable now. When I went for another makeover, I sat in the front of
the shop, not the back room, and nobody "read" me.

Then came work on my voice. She got a videotape about voice training, and
we spent hours working with it as I tried to get it right: not a falsetto,
but a higher register than usual, and great emphasis on intonation and even
on vocabulary. It gradually became a habit. One evening at home I slipped
into my feminine voice and didn't realize it until I saw the look on
Chuck's face.

And the parties continued. Not every week, but never more than two or
three weeks apart, and now many of them were all-male parties. Always the
same, with Baby Girl the center of attraction, the party slut, the easy
fuck, available to anyone who wanted her. One evening we never made it as
far as my room; I ended up on the living room floor with my skirt over my
head and one man after another in me. Somewhere inside me there was that
voice protesting that this was not what Ted did, that Ted wasn't a fag,
that Ted didn't let men fuck him this way. But that voice was drowned out
by the knowledge that I was under the sway of my Mistress, that I was doing
this out of obedience to her. The excitement, the vertigo that that sweet
knowledge engendered, always carried the day, and, as I felt my men
thrusting into my butt and down my throat, I loved it. I cried out; I
moaned; I squealed; I wanted more; I couldn't get enough of it.

A few days after I had started the hormones, I noticed that my nipples were
tender. Tender and maybe a bit swollen; I couldn't be sure.

We paid a couple of visits to Laura's physician friend, so she could see
how I was doing under the hormones. She said there were no problems.

Then, one morning after I had been on the pills for a little more than a
month, I was showering and noticed that I had distinct projections on my
chest. Not obvious, but the beginning of breasts. I panicked. How could
I conceal these at work?

Laura noticed them, too. "Oh, my sweet little girl!" she exclaimed.
"You're coming along! Okay, I've got to get you a training bra. We'll put
you into it to-morrow night."

The Girl Inside
Part 4

That was the first time I ran away. I came home that night and couldn't
sleep. I lay in bed, feeling my nascent breasts and wishing they would
somehow shrink back down again.

I had been going through this entire process with Laura like a sleepwalker
or like someone in a trance. And now I woke up for the first time. It hit
me: How weird all this was. I remembered that inner voice, the one that
kept objecting that this wasn't the real Ted, that Ted didn't do things
like that or let things like that be done to him. I had not heard that
voice for some time; now I did again. Then, too, I suddenly saw myself as
I would look in others' eyes--in the eyes of my colleagues at work. Me,
Ted, the take-charge guy, wearing panties and dresses. Dressed like a
whore. Providing sexual services to all comers. Being used in the most
degrading manner. And, lately, alone with Laura, letting her use my mouth
as a urinal--her newest step in my training. My God...! How long would
that particular exercise remain private...?

My life would never be the same again, she had told me at the beginning.
And the prospect had only made me more eager. And when she started me on
hormones, she had said we were destroying Ted. I had taken them anyway,
under the sweet, hypnotic sway of her domination, thrusting the reality of
what they would do to me out of my mind. But here the reality was, now, in
the form of unmistakable swellings on my chest. I couldn't live with this.

When I have that kind of sleepless night, the only thing that will let me
finally drop off is making some kind of decision. Some kind of resolution
to be carried out the next day. "To-morrow, first thing, I'm going to..."
something. And that night I decided that I was going to break it off.

When I told Chuck that in the morning, he told me I had come to my senses
at last. "It's the only way you'll survive, Ted. I would have told you to
break it off long ago, but the decision had to come from you, not me."

I remembered what Laura had said--that Ted's life was already ruined, that
we were slowly killing him.

I didn't go to Laura's that evening. She phoned me, but we let the
answering machine take the call and didn't pick up. I sat around in a
comfortable dress, one of the feminine outfits Laura had encouraged me to
take home with me...and then, realizing what I was doing, changed to a
shirt and shorts. And I took off my ruffled blue garter and threw it away.

But I was still wearing panties. I told myself that that was because I had
thrown all the other underwear away. But I hadn't; I had kept a couple of
pairs for doctor visits. I remembered that and reflected wryly that the
only physician I had seen since this whole business started was Laura's
friend who had prescribed the hormones.

The hormones. I got the bottle and flushed the remaining pills down the
toilet.

But I was still wearing the panties. And as Laura's unanswered calls
continued for the next couple of days, I continued to wear them. One
morning I put on my Jockey shorts. They felt terrible. Well, I told
myself, if it's merely a matter of comfort...and put on panties instead.

Work was hell that week. I couldn't concentrate. I went about in a fog,
sleepless after nights of terrible dreams. Dreams of loss, of deprivation,
of wandering endlessly in empty wastes. Other dreams, about Laura's
parties. Still others about dresses and lingerie. But always, in the end,
more dreams of emptiness and desolation.

I worried about my boobies, which--maybe it was just my imagination, but
they seemed to be still growing, even after I had stopped the pills.

But I worried more about dressing. I was unable to stop. I had managed
for the first two days, just wearing panties; but the third day, when I
came home from work, I took off my jacket and tie (I dressed more formally
than most of the guys in my section) and looked in the closet for a change
of clothes. The dresses were still there. I had meant to throw them out,
but somehow, I had kept procrastinating. And I saw a nice blue dress that
I knew was the most comfortable thing I had. Loose and flowing, but not
bulky or hard to manage. And I remembered how nice it looked.

And I put it on.

Chuck frowned. "I thought you were over all that now."

"Well, it's only clothes, after all."

"Ted, when a man puts on a dress, it isn't `only clothes'."

"Well...but I'm in the mood for something comfortable."

All he said was, "Yeah, right."

****

My rebellion lasted only a week. I had stopped seeing Laura on a Tuesday.
I broke down the following Tuesday. I dialed her number.

"Mistress...?"

"Who is this?" She knew perfectly well who it was.

"Mistress, it's me. Your Girl Baby."

"What do you want?"

"I...I want to come back."

"It's a little late for that now."

"Mistress, please. I've tried to get along without you, and I can't."

"So you think you can just drop me when you feel like it, not saying good
bye or giving me a word of explanation and not returning my calls, and then
just pick me up again when you want. It doesn't work that way, Ted."

Ted. Not Girl or Baby; just Ted.

"Mistress, I implore you." Chuck gave me a disgusted look. "I need you.
More than I can say. Isn't there something I can do? Something that will
change your mind?"

It's clear to me now that she meant to have me back. But it wasn't then.
She let me suffer for a good five minutes on the phone while I pleaded with
her and abased myself to her.

Finally, she said, "No. Not to-night. Call me again this time to-morrow
and we'll see."

When I called the next night, she told me to come over.

When I got there, I stripped to my underwear, as I always did, and walked
in. She took one look at me and said, "Where's your garter?"

Oh, God. I had forgotten about that.

"I...er...when I ran away...well, I.... Well...it's gone."

"You have a lot to answer for, Girl. And you're going to answer for it to-
night. Follow me."

We went, not to my room, but to the basement. Unfinished. Bare concrete
walls. When we got there, there was another woman there already. Martha,
the first woman I had pleasured at that first party. She was holding a
whip.

The place was cold and dark, lit only by candles. There were shadows
everywhere. I was terrified. This was far more than I had bargained for.
Laura must have seen it in my face. She said, "This is your expiation,
Girl. You didn't expect to get off scot free, did you?" I shook my head.
"Take off your bra and panties and go to the wall. No, over there. Not so
close." I backed up a step. "Now put your hands up against the wall, as
if you were being searched. Hold them there."

Martha came over to me and spoke to me gently as I stood there naked. "My
dear girl," she said, "I want you to see what I'm going to use." She held
it up. "This is what is known as a flogger." It was a fearful object, a
handle with lots of thin strips of leather attached to it. "I'm not going
to be gentle with you. This is punishment, after all.

"But it can also be a new step forward. If you take this in the right
spirit, you can discover new depths within yourself. It will be painful--
very painful--but it can be fulfilling. Such fulfilment as you have never
known. I promise you that. Now..." she held the object up to my face
"...kiss the instrument of your punishment."

I kissed it.

"You are making this offering of your own free will. That's why you're
standing there instead of lying bound. Your willingness to suffer is your
gift to us. And your pain will be our gift to you."

I could feel the expectancy in the air, the tension. Martha lit some
sticks of incense. As their scent began to pervade the area, I felt as
if I were going to take part in some kind of sacred ritual. A ritual of
atonement, with me as the sacrificial victim. Laura had been the priestess
of my feminization; Martha was to be the priestess of my atonement.

She started gently, in spite of what she had said. She just brushed
the leather tips across my butt. Then across my back, just below the
shoulders. Just firm enough to stroke without tickling. She did that two
or three times. Then the gentlest, softest blows. No pain at all, just
barely beyond those first brushes.

She settled into a rhythm. One stroke every second or two, it seemed to
me. It was clear that this was going to be a very long session. My heart
was pounding. The blows were sharper now, and beginning to sting. One to
the back, one to the butt. The tempo was steady, but I never knew where
the next blow would fall.

The pain was acute now, and undeniable. I was whimpering. I wondered
how long I would be able to stand it. In an effort to keep control over
myself, I remembered the beatings Laura had given me. I remembered how
I had made the pain an offering to her, and I tried to make this scene
an offering to her, too. A love offering, she said. But a penitential
offering, too. And I tried to concentrate on the pain, to make it a more
perfect offering. I was proud that they had trusted me to stand there
without having to be tied up, and I resolved to show myself worthy of their
trust. I remembered how Laura had made me thank her after she had beaten
me. Martha hadn't asked for that, but I started saying, soundlessly,
"Thank you, Mistress," every time she struck.

The force of the blows steadily increased. The sound of them echoed off
the walls and floor of the basement. It seemed to me now that she was
hitting me with her full force. But the pain had been transformed, as
it had been that time with Laura, but more so now. I won't lie to you--
it hurt like hell, and it got steadily worse as she hit spots that were
already tender from being hit before--but yes, the pain had gone into
something else. Like it? No, I didn't like it. I was groaning now as she
hit me, and the tears were streaming down my cheeks. But liking or not
liking didn't come into it. I was in a dreamlike state. It was as if the
basement, the candles, even the women, had all disappeared. There was
nothing but me and the pain, the steady rhythm of fire on my back. That
and the sacramental odor of the incense. But I felt airborne. "Chariots
of fire"--the phrase came back to me from somewhere, and that was what I
was, a chariot of fire, flying through empty space, empty except for the
pain and my cries.

I don't know how long I was in that curious state. I didn't come out of it
until the force of her strokes had diminished considerably. She kept at
it, but tapering off now, and at the end there was nothing but the same
gentle stroking with which she had started. My hands, I realized, were
still on the wall. They were raw; my fingers must have been clawing at it
while I was in that other world.

She stepped around to my side. "My darling, what a brave girl you were!
I'm so proud of you! Here: one more thing. I want you to kiss the whip
once more. Show us how grateful you are for what I did to you." Without
thinking, I took one hand off the wall and grasped the whip. As I did so,
the skin across my upper back protested. It felt like hot lead poured on
me. But I held on to the flogger, pressed it to my lips, and gave it a
long, tender kiss.

"You've had a real experience, haven't you, Girl?" she said when she saw
how I had kissed it. "Tell me what it was like." So I told her about that
strange world I had been in, my dream-like state when I flew. She nodded.
"That's called headspace, Girl. Not many people experience it that
intensely the first time. That's a gift. Laura's right; you're a natural.
You could take much, much more than I gave you."

"Mistress Martha...I'm completely worn out. But even so, I feel as if I'm
...well, alive. Supremely alive. I've never felt so alive. Alive in a
way that I've never been before. As if I had never really lived before
this."

Martha nodded. "You're a good sub. And that feeling of being alive is
your reward. If you were mine, I could train you to the point that you
would submit to anything to get that feeling. Absolutely anything."

Laura and Martha between them rubbed some kind of salve on me. I could
hardly bear to be touched, but as the medication, whatever it was, began to
take effect, the fire damped down, and I began to feel human again.

"Now, put your things on." Laura handed me the panties, and I put them on.
She handed me the bra, and, very gingerly, I drew it about me. I winced as
it touched my back, and, seeing that, Martha took it out of my hands and
put it on me with the cups in front, so I wouldn't have to twist it around.
They were both very gentle.

Then Laura said, "On your knees, Girl."

I knelt before her on the hard concrete. Her eyes bored into me. "Whose
little girl are you?"

"Yours, Mistress."

"And what kind of clothes do girls wear, Baby?"

"Girls' clothes, Mistress."

"And you're going to be my girl forever, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Forever. Say it."

"Forever."

She collared me again. Only this time it about my neck, not my thigh.
It resembled my old garter, however. Not a leather collar, but blue and
ruffled, fully as feminine as the garter had been. I think she may have
adapted it from a garter. She had provided a snap closure in the back, so
she could get it about my neck that first time and so I could take it off
while bathing. And I wore it from that time on.

Then we went back upstairs again, and Laura settled down to business.
"Baby, I want you to move in with me. Here. For good. I don't trust that
friend of yours, Chuck. He must have been behind this."

I told her he hadn't been, that it had been my decision when I saw my
breasts beginning to grow.

"I don't believe you. It's not that I think you're lying to me. I don't
think you realize the influence he has over you. You told me he was gay,
and you said there was nothing between you. But you don't know. You know
your own feelings, but not his." I did know his feelings, I thought. He
had told me he loved me.

"I think he's jealous," she went on. "You've never given yourself to him,
and here you're giving yourself to one man after another. And they're
real studs. There are lots of them and there's only one of him. He can't
compete. Not on any terms. Not with them, not with you. That's why I
sent him the videotape that time. So he could see how much more of a man
each of those guys were than he ever could be, and how much more of a girl
you are."

"Mistress, all that happened was that he was embarrassed. Embarrassed to
see what I was doing...er, what they were doing to me."

"And were you embarrassed?"

"To have him see it? Only because he was. But watching what had happened
to me, what they had done to me...I was excited."

She smiled at that.

"Next," she went on, "you're going to live as a girl full time. We're
going to continue the program you so rudely interrupted and carry it to
completion. Those are the only terms on which I'll take you back.

"Finally, I want you to quit your job. You don't belong to them; you
belong to me. And you're going to be my full-time feminized slave. I'm
not rich, but I can afford to keep you, and if we ever do need more
money...well, I'll find ways for you to earn it."

None of these prospects appealed to me. Especially the last. There had
been hints of a promotion for me, with a substantial increase in salary,
and this was the very worst time to leave. But I remembered the horrifying
effects of my week of deprivation. It was a simple choice: either accede
to Laura's demands or go on living with that deprivation. Permanently.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Yes what? You mean yes, you'll quit your job and live here as my kept
girl?"

Words of one syllable. Put that way, it was unsettling. But I hesitated
only a moment, and said, "Yes, Mistress."

A live-in slave. I had consented to that. My head swirled at the
prospect. But how was I going to break this to Chuck? How would he take
it?

All he said, when I told him, was, "I saw this coming. It's been nice
knowing you, Teddy."

I was afraid I would have nightmares after Martha's flogging. But my sleep
was sound and peaceful, and I woke up the next morning with a buoyant
feeling of well-being.

****

I moved in that week. And on Friday night, Laura made me write a letter
to my employers. I almost didn't, because of the way she wanted me to
write it. She made me write, "From now on I'm going to live only for my
Mistress as her feminized sissy slut." And she selected a photograph for
me to enclose. It was an early one that she had taken the night of our
first party, not one of the more recent ones in which I looked like a
real woman. It was one of the worst she had ever taken, with me in my
miniskirt, fishnet stockings...the works. I hadn't known how to wear
clothes then, and it showed in the picture. I was unmistakably a man,
wearing the most appalling drag imaginable.

"You're burning your bridges, Baby," she said. I certainly was.

We lived together for four months. Over that time, my breasts began
to develop and my skin took on a softer texture. My balls seemed to be
getting smaller, and I began to have a hard time getting erections. I
finally lost the ability altogether. I learned my feminine voice to the
point that it became second nature with me. We went to her beautician
friends, and they started me on a course of electrolysis to remove my
beard. That was hell; my face would be puffy and inflamed after every
session, and the sessions themselves were torture. I would have preferred
Martha's whippings.

I had ample opportunity to compare, too. Every once in a while, she came
by and gave me another treatment, usually with just the three of us, but
a couple of times at a party. And each time, I fell deeper into what she
called "headspace"--that dissociated state in which the world dropped away
and I was in a delirium of mingled pain and ecstasy. She would have me
report my feelings after each session, and fairly early on she said,
"You've got the potential to be a world-class sub, you know. It's a pity
Laura isn't into this the way I am. I love Laura, you know. Otherwise I
would take you away from her."

And nearly every week Laura had what she called her slut parties. They
were for men only these days, and she would sit and watch while the men
used me as their whore. A slut: that's what she had said she would make
me, and that was what I had become. I had gotten to the point that I was
proud to be a good slut, a skillful slut, a hot little number. One evening
she had me kneel in the john and invited the men to use my mouth as a
urinal. I was able to take most of it, but quite a bit ended up on the
floor; afterward they watched as she made me kneel and lick up the mess.
She videotaped the whole episode, too, and one afternoon the following week
we watched it so we could re-live my humiliation.

On two occasions she took me off to a motel where a man met us, used me,
and paid her. I was a hooker now; a whore. "You're doing this for me,
Girl Baby. Out of love for me. A love offering." And, in the midst of
the shame and degradation, I had to admit that it was an easy offering
to make. I liked it. I liked the feeling of my customer in my mouth as
I lay crosswise on the bed on my back, my male organs concealed by the
gaff, my head hanging over the edge as he thrust into me, and I loved the
realization that I was doing it for Her.

****

One evening, Laura said to me, "You know, I think you should lose those
balls."

I stared at her.

"They aren't good for anything any more, are they? Can you get it up any
more?"

I said No, I couldn't.

"Your gaff would be so much smoother without them, you know. I think you
should make the sacrifice. Such a little thing, and yet so important to
me. Because you love me and you're my girl. You would be a real girl
then. Could you do that for me?"

We had just had a hot sex session, with me in a pale mauve teddy covered
with black lace, and my head was still in the clouds. And after four
months of living as her collared, feminized slave I was in heaven, ready to
do anything for her.

"Can you show me that you love me more than you love your own balls?" she
continued. "Can you say that? Say it for me: `I love you more than I love
my own balls.'"

This was exciting beyond measure. I couldn't control myself; this was the
ultimate offering, the final step in my feminized submission. And I said
it: "Yes, Mistress; I love you more than I love my own balls." As I look
back, this seems fantastic to me now. Did I really say that? Yes, I did.

"And you will make this sacrifice for me? This act of perfect love?"

I had read fantasy stories in which women cut off their boyfriends' balls
and made earrings or trinkets of some sort from them. I asked, "What would
you do with...them?"

"Oh, we'll throw them out. You don't really want the nasty things around,
do you? Maybe we could burn them. A ritual gesture."

"And...what about my...?"

"Oh, your other little thing? We'll leave that. That can be your clit,
Girl. A tiny little thing our guests can play with if they like."

She went on. "It won't be pleasant. It will be very painful. It will be
some days before you're up and about. But you'll do this for me, won't
you? The supreme act of love."

I said yes.

I went through the rest of that day in a daze. A supreme act of love...!
I was finally going to become a real girl! I thought briefly of asking
Laura whether a full sex-change operation might be a better idea, but
decided against it. I went up to the john and looked down at my shrunken
genitalia. I tucked my balls up into my abdomen and pulled back the sac,
trying to see how I would look.

****

As always, night brought darker thoughts. Much darker. I had thrilled at
the thought of being made into a "real girl" all day. But the thrill was
gone now, and the thought of losing my balls filled me with horror. There
were two sides to the coin. And the longer I looked at that reverse side,
the worse it became. I had read the word on one of the newsgroups:
"orchiectomy." It sounded scary.

But I didn't need to be told that the choice was between leaving her--
running away again--and letting her go ahead with the surgery. It was a
choice between living without my balls and living without her. I didn't
think I could live without her.

If I ran away again, that would be as irreversible as the orchiectomy would
be. There would be no coming back this time. I would have to live with
the separation this time. She had said the operation would be painful.
But what about the pain of living without my Mistress, whom I had come to
love and to need? And after all, my balls were not good for much anyway by
now. I had been effectively castrated already. Chemically castrated, by
the hormones. No kids, ever. Probably no marriage, even. Would it matter
if she went the rest of the way? Wouldn't it be just a formality? Why not
just let them go and enjoy being that much more of a girl?

But there seems to be an instinctive drive to protect them. A very
powerful urge. I had hidden them away in the afternoon; now I cupped my
hands over them, protectively.

Then I thought about my future. How long could I expect this to last,
after all? Ralph had said that she would eventually get tired of me and
give me away. So actually the choice was between losing her now or losing
my balls and losing her anyway, sooner or later.

How would I live if I were back on my own? I thought about my career. I
had thrown it away. That letter.... Even now, my cheeks burned at the
thought of it. There had been no reply.

There had to be something else. Maybe work as a temp. Maybe do some
moonlighting out of our apartment--assuming Chuck would let me return.
Assuming he hadn't found another roommate. And there were lots of broad-
minded computer companies out there, places with nondiscrimination policies
covering almost any sexual kink imaginable.

What would happen to my feminization? There could be no getting away from
that. She had seduced me into it, and I had fallen in love with it. Was
this going to continue the rest of my life? Yes, I thought...it probably
would. As Laura had told her guests, she had awakened something in me that
I hadn't known existed, and it had taken posession of me. It had posessed
me, not Laura.

It was a long night. But as the hours wore on, the balance gradually
shifted in the direction of refusal. I cupped my poor little balls in my
hand again. Whether it made sense on any rational basis or not, whether
they were functional or not, I wanted to keep them.

Once again, I finally managed to get to sleep by making a decision. I
would tell her No.

I told her the next morning over breakfast. She took it surprisingly well.
All she said was, "I'm very disappointed in you, Baby Girl. I had thought
your love for me was greater than that. You told me last night that you
loved me more than you loved your own balls. That was such a darling
tribute. I was so touched. I'm sorry now to see that you can be so
selfish."

I wore a plain blue skirt and a white blouse that day. I helped her with
the housework, as I always did those days, and we went out to a matinee
that afternoon.

That evening, we had a glorious threesome with Martha. I was tied spread-
eagle on the bed, and my face was awash in their secretions as I served,
first Laura and then Martha. Then they tied my ankles so my legs were over
my head and took turns at me with the strap-on. I had come to love the way
it felt inside me. Finally, Martha used her flogger on my exposed butt and
once again took me deep into headspace. Between the sexual service and the
flogging, it was unquestionably the most marvellous session I had ever had
with them. I was in ecstasy by the time we finished.

I was just coming down from the high when they left. I called out: "Oh,
Mistress...aren't you going to untie me?"

"Oh, no, Baby. I've scheduled your surgery for to-morrow, and you can just
wait here until we're ready to go. I want to make sure you don't miss the
Big Event." She smiled. "You didn't really think I was going to take No
for an answer, did you?" And she closed the door.

I froze. I came down from my post-flogging ecstasy with a bang. I was
angry. If anything had been needed to harden my resolve, this betrayal
would have been it.

I wasn't going to let this happen if I could prevent it. That meant
getting away. I had a long time to think about strategy. It was clear
that an early escape would be better. She might very well knock me out
with an injection before she untied me. So my problem was to find a way
to untie myself to-night.

The important thing was not to panic. Consider the problem logically.
Hands first; that was essential. If I got my hands free it would be easy
to untie my ankles. How to get loose...?

I've read thrillers in which the hero was trussed up and still managed to
extricate himself. I would never have been able to do that, if they had
tied me up as securely as the heroes in those stories, or even as securely
as they usually did. But they had failed, or perhaps forgotten, to strap
my waist down to the bed the way they usually did, and that was what saved
me. If they hadn't made that little mistake, the rest of my life would
have been different. And my ankles were still tied to the bedhead, the
same as my hands. Because of that, all I had to do was work my way up
toward the head of the bed, levering myself by using my elbows against the
bed. Then I could reach the knots that tied the scarves to the bedposts.
Untying a knot with only one hand took time, but it wasn't impossible.
Right hand free...left hand free...then the ankles. I sat up in bed.

I pondered my next move. I couldn't do anything until Laura was safely
asleep. Then I could leave by the door or by the window. Leaving by the
door meant sneaking through the house and hoping I wouldn't wake Laura.
Going out the window meant lowering myself with the aid of the bedsheets.
That was probably safer; I didn't care to contemplate what might happen if
Laura caught me.

In the end, I left by the door, anyway. I waited until it was 4 AM. In
the mean time, I dressed in the clothes I had worn that day, put on my wig,
re-did my makeup, which had been ruined in the course of our three-way, and
checked my purse. I had about twenty dollars there--more than enough for
a taxi. I looked around my room again and again, to make sure I wasn't
forgetting anything. Once I was out, I wouldn't be able to go back. I
pondered writing Laura a farewell note, but then I thought of something
better. I unsnapped my collar and carefully placed it on a pillow right in
the middle of the bed, where she couldn't miss it. That would tell her as
much as any note could.

I selected a pair of low-heeled walking shoes and carried them in my hands.
I slung my purse from my shoulder. I opened the door. Heart pounding, I
went down the hallway past Laura's room to the stairs. I breathed more
easily once I was downstairs. I let myself out and put on my shoes in the
vestibule.

Now...where to go? To Chuck's place, of course; that was the only
possibility. I had thought of taking a taxi, but I was in a residential
neighborhood and the likelihood of finding a cruising cab at this hour was
microscopic. The nearest shopping was about ten blocks away. I walked in
that direction. The streets were deserted. Then I found a phone booth. I
would have to call Chuck at some point or other in any case.... I dialed
his number.

I heard the phone ringing. Then the answering machine picked up. Chuck's
voice: "We can't come to the phone just now...." Oh, shit. But then I
heard Chuck himself, sleepy, saying Hello.

"Chuck? ...It's me. Ted."

He was wide awake in a moment. "Teddy! What's happened?"

"I've run away, Chuck. For good. I'm in Laura's neighborhood and there
isn't a taxi in sight. Can you...would you come and get me?"

"Sure. Where are you, exactly?"

I named the streets. Then I thought. "Wait a minute, Chuck. I can't stay
here waiting. If a patrol car comes by and they see me just standing about
in drag, they'll ask questions. Lots of questions. I don't need that.
Let me walk to the shopping center and I'll find a shop with a doorway
where I can wait without being, well, conspicuous." I suggested a place
and told him where it was.

When he picked me up, I felt safe for the first time. I eased my sore butt
into the car and he drove me home.

"I wouldn't do this for just anybody, you know. I was...entertaining...a
boyfriend and he slept over. He was miffed when I turned him out, but I
told him it was an emergency."

"My God, Chuck! You did that for me?"

"You know I love you, Teddy. And what would you have done if I hadn't?"

I reached over and kissed him. I had never done that before. "Chuck...I
apologize. I always knew you were a wonderful guy...." I couldn't say any
more. I realized I was crying.

****

This has been the story of Laura and me. And that's where it ended. For
good. But of course, there was an aftermath.

I can tell it briefly. It was a year and a half ago that I moved back in
with Chuck, who like an angel took me back and forgave me everything. I've
never seen Laura since that night. My escape was the final, unforgivable
sin. She never made any attempt to reach me again. I suppose she still
lives around here, but our paths have never crossed.

Baby Girl is gone forever, but the old Ted is gone, too. There's a new Ted
now, a blend of the two and better than either: more whole, more together.

I found work as a temp, at first, after I had salvaged some of my masculine
appearance. Then one of the companies invited me to stay. That lasted for
a few, very profitable months. Now I run my own consulting business, just
as I had envisioned the night before my escape.

And, once I was working out of our apartment, I happily gave up masculinity
for good. Yes, I still wear dresses. I never even considered purging.
I'm a crossdresser for life; I had learned that the first time I ran away.
Laura had taught me to love women's clothes, or, as she would have said,
she had released the girl inside. That was her one undoubted gift to me,
and I have to be grateful to her for that, in spite of everything else. I
live as a woman full time; the only difference was that I've dumped the
slutty clothes and kept only the pretty, ladylike ones.

I never did recover my penile functioning; I'm castrated for life. Damaged
goods.

I didn't miss being a slut. But I missed being dominated. I missed the
things I did for Laura, and that she did to me. Not all of them, but many
of them. I missed her control, so much that sometimes I ached with longing
for it. I went to professional dominatrices a couple of times, but they
weren't the same. None of them could compare with Laura. The magic wasn't
there; she had been someone special. She had had to be; no ordinary woman
could have taken me to the outrageous lengths she had.

Then one day, when I was out shopping, I ran into Martha. We hugged, and
we had lunch together. I told her how I had escaped and how Chuck had
wonderfully taken me back, about my life as it had turned out, about my
consulting business. It took most of the lunch to tell her.

"Laura was furious, you know," she said after I had finished. "She was
going to come after you. Overpower you and take you back. She called and
asked me to help, but I talked her out of it. After all...who do you think
made sure we just happened to `forget' to belt you down to the bed?"

"You...?"

"My dear, domination is one thing. It's sweet and wonderful, as you know.
But treachery--that's out of bounds. I couldn't connive at that."

Then she smiled. "You were always such a marvellous sub. I always said I
would like to take you away from her. And now you're free, aren't you?"
She looked at me. "Would you consider...?"

I would. Over that lunch we worked out a tentative agreement that
eventually became permanent. I would not move in with her; I would
continue to live on my own as a girl, but we would have regular sessions
again. I would be a part-time slave, not a full-time one. And she wanted
me to be a lady for her, not a slut. That was what I wanted, too.

How that arrangement has worked out in practice is another story. But
I will say this much: Laura may have been the one with the sweet words
and tender persuasion, and Martha may be the one with the frightening
assortment of whips and toys; but underneath all that talk of love, Laura
had cared only about Laura, while Martha is a warm and generous human
being. And she gave me a new, feminine name, which Laura could never be
bothered to do. I'm Stephanie now. I'm her lovely lady, with gowns and
nice dresses instead of vinyl miniskirts and fishnet hose. Pretty pumps
instead of stiletto-heeled boots. It's a deeply satisfying relationship.
I get all the joy of servitude with her, and the bliss of my frequent trips
into headspace; but I also have the joy of loving and being owned by a kind
and basically decent woman. A Mistress who is a hundred times the woman
Laura was.

I live with Chuck as my lover, too. It's a pretty chaste arrangement most
of the time, because of the after-effects of the hormones; but when he's
horny, I'm available. I owe him that. Laura made me used to serving men,
and Mistress Martha permits it. It's a funny exchange; I used to be more
of a man than he was--or so I thought, anyway. Now I'm more of a girl than
he was, or ever wanted to be. He lets me keep my girls' things on for sex,
the way I used to do at Laura's parties, and that makes me happy.

I love that guy--as much as I do Martha, but in a different way. Inside, I
still don't feel I'm gay, but I won't argue the point.

Princess Pervette
July, 1998

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