BDSM Library - Unknown Waifish Model Page 53

Unknown Waifish Model Page 53

Provided By: BDSM Library
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Synopsis: Life is good for Dave. Only problem is, his lover is married. Not a big problem . . . until he starts getting into Dave's head and getting Dave in trouble.
Waifish Model on Page Fifty-three

Ch.1

Copyright 2003 by Couture

We lay curled up to one another in the hotel bed, Sandra and I.  I looked
forward  to the day we'd no longer have to make do with hotel beds and the
occasional  foray to my apartment.  Yes, one day soon, she would leave her
bastard of a  husband and move in with me. 

God, she was beautiful.  Her blonde hair was mussed up, as she lay on the
pillow.   Her face had the tranquil look that only comes during sleep.  She
looked like an  angel.  I kissed her forehead and went to whisper, "I love you,"
in her ear. 

What came out was, "You're nothing but a whore Sandra.  A piece of shit 
cheating whore!"

Where did that come from?  I would never say anything like that.  It was my 
voice, but the accent was different.

"What?"  She sat up in the bed suddenly.    Her eyes welled with tears.

Why was she crying?  She knew I'd never hurt her.  I went to apologize, but 
again, I lost control of my tongue.  "You heard me," I said.  "You're a whore. 
A  two dollar piece of shit.  You've just been a hole for me to rest my dick,
but  you're all played out."

"Y-you said you loved me."  She pulled the bedspread tightly around her body 
and got out of bed, searching for her discarded clothes.  "We made plans."

"I used you," I said.  It was my voice, but it wasn't me.  I could never sound
that  uncaring.  "It was fun, but now it's done."

Her hurt look changed to anger.  "Y-y-you bastard!"  She pulled her dress on and 
stepped into her heels.

"Y-y-y-you s-s-stupid re-re-retard." I mimicked as the door slammed. 

I sat there alone and in shock.  What the hell just happened?  It was as if I
was a  prisoner in my own body.  The last few weeks had been weird.  There had
been  blackouts, but nothing like this.  Was I going insane?

"Ha-ha-ha," I laughed a dryly.  "God, this is gonna to be fun. . ."

***********

I got the hell out of there.  I would try to apologize to Sandra later, but
first I had  to figure out what was wrong with me.  I needed to make an
appointment to see  my doctor.  Was this some form of Tourettes?  However,
instead of driving home,  I turned off at the mall.  The problem was; I didn't
want to go to the mall.  I had  once again become a bystander in my own body.

It was even worse than at the hotel room.  I stopped at the bank and emptied my 
accounts.  And somehow my savings balance had about three times more money  in
it than it should have.  I would have been startled, but honestly, I was numb to 
everything by this point.  Then I went to the lingerie store and I bought a lot
of  things. I even tried the stuff on.  Dear God, I even told the sales girl I
was buying  it for myself.  I tried to stop myself, but I had no control over
myself or even the  blush that burned in my cheeks.

Next, I bought dresses, make-up, had my ears pierced, and visited a hairstylist
for  a feminine cut.  Lord, I even had my nails done.  Whoever or whatever
control me  was exacting a full measure of revenge.  By the time I was finished,
I was two- thousand dollars poorer and looked like the biggest fag in the city. 
Yet, I still had  over a hundred and fifty thousand from the bank stuffed in my
purse.

When I finally got control of my body again, I drove straight home.  I was in a 
state of shock.  I just wanted to lie down, wake up and this bad dream be over.  
Instead, I took a bath.  Well, I didn't, but whatever or whoever that controlled
me  did.  I even shaved off all of my body hair. 

After I dried, I put on some of the clothes I bought at the mall.  The women's 
clothes.  Then I packed the rest away into a suitcase.  I stood in front of the
mirror  and smiled.  I looked like a whore.  My lips pursed and blew myself a
kiss.   "Fasten your seat belts Davie, this is where it gets good," I said to
myself.  Then I  was sure of it.  There was some entity and somehow it had
control of me . . .  totally.

I went outside and picked up the lighter fluid from my grill and poured it all
over  the floor.

"Please stop, please stop.  I'll do anything, I begged silently, unable to so
much as  move my lips.  Then I called a cab.  When the cab arrived, I put my bag
clothes  in.

"Wait here sweetie," I told the cabbie.  "I forgot my tampax."

I went back inside and lit the lighter fluid, then high-tailed it back to the
car.  

"I want to go to 1105 Manilla Ave," I told the cabbie.  "Please hurry sugar, I'm 
running late."

 Behind us, the smoke rose.  I wanted to do anything, but I couldn't even
scream.   I was a prisoner within my own body.

When we arrived at our destination, I got my bags from the car and entered the 
building I had never seen before in my life.  Once I was inside, I could tell it
was  some sort of medical facility based on how some of the women were dressed. 
I  went to the receptionist.  "Hi, my name is Chrissy.  I'm here for my 
appointment."

"Sure, have a seat," she said.  "We'll be with you in just a moment."

I went to the waiting room, picked up a Vogue magazine, and popped a piece of 
gum in my mouth.

"Eenie-meenie-miny-moe, you're gonna be a pretty ho'" I said, inserting a 
fingernail about mid-way in the magazine and opening it up to pages fifty-seven 
and fifty-eight.  I'll always remember that page and the picture of the skinny
dark- haired model walking down the runway.  She had a stick figure, long legs
that  went straight down.  The thin fabric of the dress was transparent, drawing
my  gaze to the dark pink nipples atop her fledgling breasts.   Her face was
pretty, but  she had a body that was designed for fashion designers, not men. 
My mind was  racing.  What was going on?  What did the voice that was speaking
with my lips  mean?  I should be trembling in fear, but instead my foot idly
bobbed the heel I  was wearing up and down.   I casually blew a bubble and
popped it.

"The doctor will see you now," the nurse said, helping me to my feet by my arm. 
"Don't worry about the bags honey, we'll see to them."

I took the magazine in with me to the doctor's office.  I prayed the doctor
would  be able to shed some light on whatever condition was affecting me.

The doctor was an older woman - petite with graying hair.  She looked very 
professional. 

"Hi," she said, shaking my hand.  "I'm Dr. Adams and you must be Chrissie."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, while inside I screamed, 'No! No! My name is David.  
Please help me!'

"Pleased to finally meet you.  I really had no idea what to expect from talking 
with you over the phone."

I never talked with you before, I wanted to scream.  Instead, I said, "Well, can 
you help me?"

"I think we can.  What is it exactly that I can do for you?"

You can help me get control of my body again.  I handed her the magazine.  "Can 
you do that?"

She looked at it critically for a moment, picked up a pen, walked over to me,
and  began to draw on my face.  After a moment, she said, "I think we can come
pretty  close.  But are you sure about this, yes?  You are certain?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said.  "I'm certain."

She frowned.  "This is really not typical.  There's supposed to be a wait. . .
and  counseling."

"Will this change your mind?"  I opened my bag and showed her the money.

She counted out the money I gave her and put it in her desk drawer.  "Are you 
certain?

"I'm positively positive."

"Okay, let's do this then."  She turned and called a nurse on the phone.

What's happening to me! I tried to scream but nothing came out.  Instead, I 
meekly put on the hospital gown, took a sedative from the nurse, and was laid 
down on bed.  Shortly, I was wheeled into the operating room. 

Don't do this!  Don't do this!  Whatever you are doing, please don't do this! 
But  my lips didn't move.

The doctor held the mask above my mouth.  "Are you certain?" she asked.

"Do it," I replied. 

"Count backwards from a hundred," she said, as she placed the mask on my  mouth.

There was an evil laugh, and the strangest thing . . . it was coming from me.

**********

When I woke up, I was still hearing the laugh, only this time I realized it
wasn't  me laughing.

"Ugh" I groaned as I tried to sit up.  Instead, I puked. 

A plastic container was thrust into my hands  "That's it Dave, let it all come
out,"  someone said.  I recognized the voice.  At least I thought I did, but I
had only  heard it a couple of times before.  Yet, there it was and I couldn't
deny it.  It was  Sandra's husband Phil!

"What's happening to me?" I asked.  I couldn't see and I hurt all over. 

"You've just had surgery, so don't try to move.  You also have bandages over 
your eyes."

Was it all a bad dream?  How much was real?

"Something is wrong.  I can't control my body?" I croaked hoarsely.  I tried to 
clear my throat, but couldn't.

"What are you talking about?" Phil asked.  "It must be the drugs."

"C-can I go home?" 

"Sure.  Let me get your stuff and then we'll go."

The nurse at the front desk tried to stop us, but I signed myself out.  I just
wanted  to get home where things would get back to normal.  But, when I got to
the car  my head started to clear.  I realized I probably should have stayed at
the hospital.   I was effectively blind and there was no way I could take care
of myself in the  shape I was in and the last thing I needed to do was to leave
with the husband of  the wife I had been screwing, I don't care how rational he
seemed.

"Phil," I said.  "I better go back in."

"I'm afraid that isn't an option anymore Chrissie.  It never was."  He chuckled. 

Chrissie?  What was going on?  What had happened?  "Wait.  Let me out.  Let me 
out right now." I tried to shout, but it came out as a hoarse whisper.

He grabbed my head and pushed against me lips.  The pain was incredible.  
Something had been done to them in the clinic.  I was quickly reduced to sobs.

"Are you going to be nice," he said.  I had no choice but to follow his
directions. 

I nodded my head. 

"Good." 

He drove me and I had no idea where we ended up.  I found out later.  It was
back  to his house, down to the basement.  I was crying and sobbing in fear.  At
least I  was able to cry and sob in fear.  As long as I could control myself,
there was  hope.

"You'll only be secured while you heal," he said, while he cuffed me to the bed.  
"After that, I'll let you go."

"Please let me go.  Please don't hurt me.  I'll never see Sandra again.  You'll 
never see me again. .  . EVER."  God, how I meant it.  I was more scared than I 
had ever been in my life.

"Here," he said.  "Let's put these heels on you.  Don't you like pretty heels? 
And  then you'll have to be quiet and be nice, otherwise things will go very bad
for  you."

How could someone who sounded so calm and rational kidnap and abuse me as  he
had?  The calmness scared me and I believed every word he said.  Bad for me?   I
had no idea what it meant, and I had no intention of finding out.  Several times 
during the next few weeks I spent in the basement, whenever he left for work, I 
tried to scream and shout to get someone to hear me, but all that earned me was
a  gag shaped like a small penis jammed into my mouth the next day.  "Just be 
patient, you don't have but a few more days before I let you go," he said
calmly. 

By the end of the three weeks, I had some idea what was happening, but I wasn't 
sure quite how far things had gone.  I must have had some cosmetic surgery at
the  clinic and he was feeding me a daily dose of pills.  I think he might have
been  tranquilizing me too.  He was obviously paying me back for what I did to
his  wife. 

"Today's the day," Phil said.  "Are you ready?"

"Phil, please . . ." My voice had gradually turned higher.  My voice had changed 
through my ordeal and it was hard to reason with someone when your voice was  so
high, especially when you weren't used to it.

I felt him moving the gown away from my crotch.  "Phil, please," let's be 
reasonable.  "I'll pay you anything you want."  Jesus, what was he going to do?

"I'm afraid you are about out of money Chrissie," he said.  "So I think we are 
going to have to make other arrangements."

He grabbed my penis.  "Hold still, this might hurt a bit."

I struggled weakly against him.  What was he, some sort of queer?  Or worse, did 
he plan to emasculate me in revenge?  "Please don't-aaaaaaahhhh," I cried.  The 
pain was sharp, but centralized.  I still had my dick.  "Aahhh-gggoood-jesus,
that  hurts."  I felt something push in and secured around my cock. 

"That takes care of that bit.  Now let's see what's underneath."

He cut off the bandages and helped me walk to a mirror.  I was weak from 
inactivity. 

The image that greeted me was a shock.  I cried out in shock.  I was black and 
blue and there were multiple scars.  And the face, the body, they weren't even 
mine.  They belonged to the girl from the magazine!  I looked very much like
her.   The only difference . . . I had a penis.  A penis that had a silver band
around it  from which hung a tiny bell.  But everything else, from the pixy
nose, the high  cheekbones, the full mouth, the breasts, the sculpted abs, down
to my firm  bottom, was most definitely female.

"A little bruising," he said, "But on the whole Chrissie, I would say you're 
looking pretty good."  The bastard cupped my ass.  "Except for the breasts that
is.   Jeez, why couldn't it have been a swimsuit model?"

"Stop it." I pulled away from him.  "Don't come near me you bastard.  I mean
it."

He smiled and sat down by the dresser.  "You know Chrissie, the whole time you 
were with my wife, I wanted you dead.  When she wasn't here where she was 
supposed to be, I would sit on the sofa and think about her.  I would wonder who 
my little bitch was fucking when she should be keeping me happy and my house 
cleaned.  With all my being I wished I could see what she was doing. . . who she 
was doing.

Then one time, my wish came true.  I saw her.  But what I wanted to see was who 
she was fucking.  I couldn't because you know how I saw her?  I saw you fucking 
her from your very own eyes. 

I didn't believe it at first, but I discovered I could do it - look through your
eyes  at will.  Not a good thing . . . being able to see another man screwing
your wife,  but then one day I discovered that not only could I see through your
eyes . . . heh  heh heh, I could make you do things."

He was crazy.  A lunatic.  I backed to the door.  Just a little further and I
would  make my break.  He closed his eyes, as I reached for the knob.

Then I calmly walked back over to him.  I didn't want to.  I wanted to run.  The 
bastard was doing it.  He really could control me.  I struggled to take back
control,  even as I knelt in front of him.  Even as my hands reached for his
zipper and freed  his large black cock. 

I finally got control of my body and pulled my hand off his cock hardening 
manhood.  I had been giving him a handjob. 

"You faggot.  You sick fucker," I accused.

"Faggot?" He laughed.  "I'm not the one giving out handjobs."

"You made me do it.  You did it to yourself."

"If you say so Sissy Chrissie.  By the way, is it okay if I call you
Sissy-Chrissie?"

"Oh yeah stud," I replied in a breathy voice, once again taking his cock in my 
hand and stroking it.  "What else would you call a sissy like me?"

"Maybe fucktoy," he said, and I had control back again. 

I snatched my hand back off his cock. 

"Awww, that was feeling so nice Sissy."  He grabbed my by the ear and tugged  my
face up.  "Now I'm only gonna 'splain this once.  You cost me my last wife, 
even though she wasn't much of one anyway.  Now she's gone and yer gonna  take
her place whether you like it or not.  Yer gonna cook.  Yer gonna clean.  And 
yer keep me satisfied like a good little wifie should.  Yer gonna do everything
I  say for a year and then I'll let you go back to being good ol' Dave. 
Otherwise, I'll  grab your mind and do nasty things like this. 

He closed his eyes and I grasped the silver collar around my penis.  I tugged it
and  splitting pain shot up my spine.  "Arggg!  Oh God please," I begged, when I
could  speak again. 

The monster opened his dark menacing eyes.  "And that was only a taste.  I could 
make you cut it off you know.  I could make you go downtown and turn yourself 
over to a pimp.  Make you take herion.  I could even make you kill yourself, but 
that doesn't sound like it's as much fun.  So let's try again. 

Chrissie, it really felt nice when you were stroking my cock."

This time he didn't enter my mind and force me, but the threat was there. 
Either  he would make me and do worse, or I would do it by choice.  I took a
deep breath,  grabbed the bastard's cock and stroked it.  Never in a million
years would I ever  have imagined I would have another man's cock in my hand. 
It was hard and  throbbed.  It was damp with sweat.  The piercing in my cock
throbbed in pain.   Arousal was the furthest thought from my mind.

"That's nice Chrissie.   A little faster please and cup my balls.  You know how 
this is done, don't you, you stupid little bimbo."

He closed his eyes again.  I grabbed the collar on my cock and tugged again. 
Pain  shot out from my cock and wracked my whole body.  I squealed and tears 
streamed from my eyes.  When I had control over myself again, I cupped his balls 
as I stroked him with my now quivering hands.  I rolled them around in my hand 
like some of my better lovers had done for me. 

"Now say, Daddy, Sissy-Chrissie is sorry for being such a stupid little bimbo."

"D-daddy, S-Sissy-Chrissie is s-sorry for b-being such a -s-s-tupid little
bimbo."   I knew why Sandra hated this bastard so much.  He was one evil
motherfucker.   But Sandra could leave and I could not.  The bastard owned me
for a year.  And if  this was any indication, it was going to be a very long
year.

"Don't pout so Sissy-Chrissie.  I think even a dumb little cheating bimbo like
you  can think of a better use for those pouting lips, can't you?"

I stared in disbelief.  Surely he wouldn't.   I shook my head.  No -no - no.

"When I ask Sissy question, Sissy is always to answer."  He closed his eyes.

No I couldn't bear it.  Not another tug.  I tried to fight him but it was
useless.  My  hand reached down, grabbed the piercing and tugged.  Pain wracked
my body and  I screamed.

"S-sissy-C-chrissie can think of a better use for her lips," I forced out.

"That's much better, but in the future use smaller words and sound excited.  
Bimbos really shouldn't try to pretend they are smart.  So what Daddy's little 
bimbo like to do with her lips?"

Tears streamed down my eyes.  Not only of pain but from his twisted humiliation.  
There was no escape from this evil bastard.  He could get into my very own mind.  
I tried to think of a way to reason with him, but he closed his eyes.  No, I
couldn't  take it again.  I couldn't allow him to make me pull on the piercing.

"Sissy Chrissie wants to suck your cock," I burst out, before he could make me 
hurt myself again.

"My-my maybe Sissy's got a little brain tucked away in that vacant head of
hers,"  he chuckled.  "Go on.  *Do it.*"

I took his cock and guided it close to my mouth, but stopped just short of my
lips.   I could smell the heavy scent of his sex.  It was nothing like that of a
woman.  I  wondered if I could I really do this?  What choice did I have? 
But-but-there was  only one detail that nagged at my mind like a prickly thorn. 

"Will Daddy really let Sissy-Chrissie go after a year?"  I had to know.  I just
had  to.  A year.  A year I could take. Perhaps. . .

"Only a year, my stupid little fucktoy.  In case you don't know, that's three 
hundred and sixty-five days.  And that's three hundred and sixty-five days
Sissy- slut has to wear a collar on her clitty.  That should keep her from
fucking around .  . . should keep her from getting cocky, cause Daddy has all
the cock she needs.   Now start to work you little cocksucker, before Daddy gets
mad."

His cock was much larger than mine, I realized as I moved closer.  I slid the 
mushroom like purple head into my mouth and sucked.  It tasted partially of
sweat  and there was a hint of something more bitter.  Dear God, it was
official, I was  now a cocksucker. 

He pulled me off by my hair.  "You take the cake for stupidity.  Even the
dumbest  slut knows ya' gotta lick it first."

Bastard.  Didn't he know how hard this was for me?  "I'm sorry," I muttered.

He grabbed my nose and pinched.  "Not I, Sissie-Chrissie can't help being such a 
stupid bimbo.  Now, say it and lick my balls."

Sick fuck!  This was going to be hell.  The longest year of my life.  "S-sissie-
Chrissie can't-can't help being such a stupid bimbo."  I licked his balls.  They 
tasted even more salty than his cock.  Only one of the women I had dated had
ever  done that for me.  She was a slut - what I called easy at the time.  I
guess I was  too.  There was no way to escape it.  At least for a year.

I licked my way up his shaft, pulled his foreskin back and licked the head.  I 
wanted to puke.  My distaste had to be written all over my face.

"Mmmm-that's nice," Phil said.  "I guess you know how to do something right."

I began to move up and down his shaft, sucking him, wanting to puke.  I hated
it.   I hated him. I massaged his balls.  I just wanted him to cum as quickly as
possible,  so I could it over with.

He reached down and pinched one of my already sore nipples.  I squealed around 
his cock. 

"That's better.  Let me hear some noises and slurping.  Daddy's getting real
tired  of havin' to tell his little fucktoy to do everything."

I moaned.  I slurped.  I bobbed faster and faster.  I could feel his prick
growing  larger and harder.  His balls drew up.  God he was large.  His cock
stretched my  lips and banged against the back of my throat.  I kept a hand
around his shaft to  keep from choking.  It pulsed in my mouth.

"Ugh," he grunted and I felt the first spurt in the back of my mouth.  I tried
to pull  off, but he held me fast.

"You know better," he groaned, his cock spurting again and again.  "Suck . .
.suck  . . .ahhh suck it all."

I kept sucking until he was spent.  The flavor was horrible.  I wanted to gag.  
Instead, I swallowed.  I knew I had to.  Finally, when it was over, he let go of
my  head so I could lift up.

"Now, lick it clean," he said. 

I thought about rebelling, but he closed his eyes, which probably meant that he 
was going to punish me if I refused.  I steeled myself and began lapping at his 
cock.  The cum was sticky and it was harder than I imagined to clean the 
congealed cum from his cock.

"That was real nice Chrissie, but I had to tell you to do everything.  You're
going  to be my little wifie for a year.  That means you are supposed to
volunteer to do  nice things to please me.  And you're gonna hafta start smiling
and acting like you  enjoy it . . . just like a real wife."

"Yes Daddy."  I managed to force a smile to my lips and wiped the tears from my 
eyes.  It was going to be a long year.

To be continued. . .

Waifish Model on Page Fifty-three Ch.2
by Couture


(TG, MM, MC)

Please do not read if under 18 years of age or 
offended by sexually explicit stories and situations.  

(c) 2003 Couture

***********

I blinked away the tears welling in my eyes and looked 
at the cute brunette in front of me critically.

She wore white.  White heels, white stockings, white 
g-string panties, white lace corset.  The corset was 
tight and gave her an exaggerated hour-glass figure.  
Her breasts were pushed up by the corset.  Hair that 
was short and dark, with bangs so long they had to be 
constantly tucked behind her ears to keep them out of 
her eyes.

The sight of her made my heart speed in my chest.  I 
couldn't help but want her.  A woman that looked the 
way she did had to know what men thought about when 
they looked at her.  A woman like that would should 
have given me a hard on like you wouldn't believe.

Why was I crying?  Because, the woman I was watching 
wasn't in front of me at all.  I was looking at a 
mirror.  The woman was me.     

The erection I should be having?  The thought made me 
cry even harder.  My cock was collared and wouldn't 
get erect even if I stopped taking the pills that 
bastard Phil was feeding me daily.

Phil, the bastard, he had caught me with his wife and 
sought revenge.  Instead of punching me out like a 
real man, he had somehow got inside my head and made 
me do things - things that transformed me into the 
feminine creature I now was.  Then he offered me a 
deal. 

Be his wife for a year.  A year and then I was free.  

I agreed.  What choice did I have? 

And tonight?  Tonight was our wedding night and I was 
the blushing bride.  Phil decided to save money, so he 
cut out the whole wedding ceremony.  (Not that I 
minded in the least.)

We went straight to Vegas for the honeymoon.  Oh yeah, 
and I was the blushing bride.  And why was I blushing?  

I was the bride sans dress.  

"They cost too much and it ain't like you can wear it 
again," Phil had said.

He was impossible to argue with.  His powers over me 
were like a God.  "Yes, daddy," I replied.

I looked back in the mirror.  Shit, my bangs had 
fallen in my face again.  I hated them.  I hated 
looking so cute.  

I tucked the stray hair behind my ear and then I tried 
to smooth down my nipples.  I didn't want Phil 
thinking I was turned on.  I wasn't.  I was only 
scared, and though Vegas was hot, the room was cold.

There was a knock on the door that made me start.  
Thankfully, it wasn't on the bathroom door.  It would 
probably be room service.  Anyway, Phil was in the 
room, I hoped he would get it instead of embarrassing 
me further.

My hands were shaking and time was running out.  I 
tried to think of someway to get out of my situation, 
but it was useless.  He had me.  And tonight, tonight 
I had a feeling Phil would want more than the blowjobs 
I had been giving him since he took me from the 
clinic.

There was a knock on the bathroom door.  My heart 
pounded and wouldn't stop.  

"Just a minute more Daddy," I said, voice trembling.  
"I'm not quite finished."  

"It's time Chrissie," he said.  "Get your hot little 
ass out here."

He could get inside my head and make me open the door 
if he wanted.  I wouldn't let that happen again if I 
could help it; the sadistic bastard always punished me 
when he did.  Rather, he made me do the punishing.  If 
I was going to do it, I was going to do it walking 
like a man . . . in heels that is.

"Yes, daddy," I said meekly as I exited.  I gasped 
when I saw the bellboy standing there, eyes gaping, 
staring at my chest.

Breasts. . . my breasts!  I kept forgetting.  My hands 
flew up to cover my nakedness.

Phil took my wrist and easily forced my hand down.  
"Don't you start being modest now, you were the one 
who wanted to get married in your undies," he laughed.    

The liar!  He was the one who had sent me into the 
bathroom with nothing but panties, stockings, garters, 
and heels.

He shrugged his shoulders at the bellhop.  "Women. . 
." he said conspiratorially.  "Come on, let's do it on 
the balcony."

Phil slid open the glass door and led me out onto the 
balcony.  My heart was racing.  I felt like I was out 
of breath.  What did he want to do on the balcony?  
Why was the bellhop there?

Out on the balcony, Phil pulled me close and 
whispered.  "You better smile and act the part or 
you're gonna find yourself giving blowjobs to every 
salesmen at the bar."

It would be preferable to blowing you, asshole.  But, 
I dared not utter those words.  If he wanted, not only 
would I blow them, I would blow him as well, and there 
was nothing I could do to stop it.    "Yes, daddy," I 
said, and shivered from the night air or perhaps his 
chilling words.  I hated calling him that, but that 
was one of the few rules he had given me.  Rules I had 
learned to obey by painful example.

"Okay, let's do this," he said to the bellboy, handing 
him a piece of paper, a camera, and two twenties.

The bellboy pocketed the cash and looked at the paper.  
"Do you Chrissie take Phil Barnes as your husband, to 
love honor and obey?"

The bellboy looked at me with a smirk.  He was staring 
at my breasts.  I was a size 32A.  Not the size to 
inspire awe, only enough to be rewarded with a knowing 
smirk.  Phil grinned a shit-eaten grin, leering at me, 
surely knowing what must be going through my mind.

"I do," I replied meekly.  

"And do you Phil, promise to ahh . . ." The bellboy 
looked down at the paper and narrowed his eyes, just 
to be sure he was reading it properly.  "To ah- *take* 
Chrissie?"

Phil chuckled.  The bastard.  "You bet."

"You may now kiss the bride."  

Phil grabbed me and kissed me deeply before I even 
knew what was going on.  I didn't even have time to 
think about it as I kissed a man for the first time.  
He put his hand down my panties and groped my ass.

I saw the flash of the camera from my closed eyelids.  
Phil pulled away.  

"Lock the door behind you," he told the bellboy.  "And 
leave the camera on the dresser."

I heard the glass doors slide shut.  My knees were 
weak.  I wasn't ready for this.  I don't think I would 
ever be ready.  "Please Phil.  Please don't make me do 
this."

He spun me around and pushed me against the balcony.  
I looked down seven stories and the world began to 
spin.  I was afraid of heights.   

"What did you call me?" he hissed, pushing my torso 
over the balcony.  Shit I had called him Phil.  I had 
broken a rule.  

"I'm sorry.  I'm sorry Daddy." I begged.  "Oh God, 
please Daddy, don't hurt me, I'm scared."

"Wedding jitters, huh?  Well, just be a good girl and 
there's nothing to be afraid of."  He pushed my legs 
apart.  I felt a finger sneak into my panties and prod 
my hole.  There was nothing I could do.  With the 
ground three stories below and Phil behind me, I was 
caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.  Owww!  
Jesus the friction from his callused finger burned 
like mad.

"Ouch."  I tried to pull away, but couldn't.  

"Does it hurt?"  He kept poking.

"Yes."

"Then be a good little wifie and say, please Sweetie, 
be gentle with my cherry."

His finger was like sandpaper and he knew it.  He was 
trying to humiliate me.  A few people by the pool were 
now openly staring at me.  Luckily, only my head was 
visible.

"Please Sweetie, please be gentle with my cherry," I 
whispered.

"I didn't hear you."  He pushed his finger in and 
twisted.

"Ouch!"  I winced, my pride rapidly dwindling.  
"Please Sweetie, be gentle with my cherry."  I 
shuddered, knowing the people below must have heard 
me.

"That's real good.  Uh-huh, and it looks like you are 
starting to attract a crowd."  He tapped my arsehole 
again.  Not hurting it, just letting me know he could 
if he wanted to.  "What was this again?"

"My cherry."  I said it loudly enough to be overheard 
again.

Thankfully, the finger was removed, but it soon 
returned.  This time it was cold and slick.  It 
slipped past my tight defenses, and pressed inside me.

"There," Phil said, moving his finger in and out, 
fucking me with it.  "That's not so bad is it?"

"Please Phil," I whispered.  "Don't make me do this.  
I'm not gay."

"Of course not," he said, causing my heart to leap 
with new hope, only to dash it away.  "You're a 
married woman.  It's okay for us to fuck now."

"But - ugh-" I grunted as his finger burrowed in me to 
the knuckle.  "I don't want to."

"God, you're tight," Phil said, as he removed his 
finger.  "I can't wait to feel you around my fucking 
cock."  His hands grasped my hips and I felt the head 
of his cock nestled between the cheeks of my bottom.  
Involuntarily clenching my arse, I moved closer to the 
railing.

"Please. . . ," I begged.  "Please don't."

 "Kinky slut," he said, prodding me with his dick, 
pushing me forward even more.  "Gonna give them all a 
show huh?"

Several people pointed at me and I realized my breasts 
were uncovered.  I tried to cover them with my hands, 
but that gave me no leverage to keep from being pushed 
further toward the rail.  I could feel his dick 
penetrating me and there was nothing I could do about 
it.  I could barely stand and the high heel shoes I 
was wearing didn't help a bit.

I hated this part of my transformation the most- being 
so weak.  "Please Phil, I'm going to fall," I whined.  
Tears welled in my eyes.

"Then grab the fucking rail."

"But my breasts . . ."

"Those aren't breasts, just little bee-stings.  
Somebody tell me why did it have to be page fifty-
eight?"

My face flushed with embarrassment.  I hated my 
breasts too.  As strange as it sounds, I wanted them 
bigger.  Phil's one big rule was to never let anyone 
discover I was a man or I'd find myself working as a 
whore, strung out on drugs.  I could forget about the 
year's service, it would be that way for *life*.  
Anyway, small breasts attract the wrong sort of 
attention when you are someone like me.

"Maybe you should ask me to cover them for you," Phil 
whispered.

At last a good idea and while he went to get a top for 
me or at least a bra, I could get off the balcony and 
collect my thoughts, maybe even persuade him not to do 
this.

"Please Sweetie," I gasped.  "Would you get me 
something to cover my breasts with?"

His hands moved from my hips, along my sides, and 
grabbed my wrists.  I struggled briefly as he sought 
to pull my hands away from my breasts, but he was 
stronger.  Down below, everyone stared at my lewd 
display.  Phil placed my hands on the rail and used 
his on to cover my breasts.  Not quite what I had in 
mind, but at least I was covered.

"Here it comes baby," he said, and pushed his hips 
forward.

Christ, his penis hurt!  It opened me, it kept 
penetrated me and there was nothing I could do about 
it.  I grimaced in pain, giving a long and drawn out, 
"Owww fuck. . ."  The people watched below.  To them I 
was a girl being fucked - a virgin being taken on her 
honeymoon.  But inside, I was a heterosexual male; my 
body feminized and chastised, taken from behind by 
another man.  Ugh- Oh God, a large man.  A large 
sadistic black man.

"Just relax and go with it," he whispered thickly in 
my ear.  But it was impossible.  With something that 
big invading your ass, the body's reaction is to 
clench.  I couldn't overcome it and each time I 
clenched, it hurt even more.

But he never stopped.  Monster!  In fact, he lurched 
faster and faster.  His fingers played with my 
nipples, tugging and tweaking the hardened nubs.  They 
hurt and my ass burned with pain.  

"Play with your clit," he said.  "It will help."

At that point, I would do anything to lessen the pain, 
even play with myself for this bastard.  I reached my 
hand down and attempted to tug on my collared cock.  

"Ouch!" I cried, as he viciously tweaked my nipples.

"Girls don't tug," he said.  "Girls finger.  Up and 
down and around and around in little circles."

Evil bastard.  He got off on robbing me of every last 
strip of my masculinity.  But, hell I gave up, I 
starting stroking myself.  Anything to take my mind 
off the pain.  I followed orders and did my best to 
imitate what I remembered from watching women pleasure 
themselves.  While I couldn't get an erection, I found 
that I could still feel pleasure and soon the pleasure 
grew, emanating from my groin and moving to my newly 
acquired sensitive nipples and even to my ass.  I 
tried my best to resist, but my body betrayed me by 
pushing back against him, gasping and grunting as he 
took me.  The bell attached to the ring on my cock 
jingled faster and faster.

There I was on the balcony of a large hotel in Vegas 
in broad daylight, moaning and groaning while a large 
black man was taking my ass while clutching my 
breasts. To anyone looking, I was a thin blonde girl, 
clearly enjoying what was happening to her on her 
wedding night.  Not just enjoying it, but getting 
ready to orgasm.  Little did they know how much I 
desired *not* to orgasm.  Not like this.  And 
certainly not for *him*.  

Oh, but no matter what I desired, my body had other 
ideas.    It wanted it.  It needed it.    

"I feel you getting tighter baby girl," he laughed.  
"You're loving this, aren't you?"

"No," I grunted.  But, the truth was, it did feel good 
in some sick way.

"You're lying," he said, grabbing my hand, pulling it 
away from my collared cock, and forcing it back to the 
handrail.  "But anyway, let's talk about something for 
a minute."

God, there I was, penetrated from the rear, nearly 
naked and on display to the people watching from the 
pool.  How could he want to talk at a time like this?  
My cheeks burned with humiliation.  "Please," I 
begged.

"You want some more of this, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes," I admitted, with tears flowing from my eyes.  I 
didn't want to be fucked; I only wanted to go back 
inside.  I only wanted my life back.

"You're doing a pretty good job of keeping up with 
your marriage vows so far," he said.  "At least the 
obey part.   But what about the honor part?  Huh?"

"I don't know."  I just wanted back in to the bedroom.  
"What do you want me to do?"

"You're trying to obey again.  To honor, you have to 
think for yourself.  Now, I'm gonna finish fucking 
your tight little puss, but if you want to cum to, you 
need to think of a way to honor me."

And he started fucking me again and as much as I 
wanted to just let him finish using me, deep inside, I 
knew I needed to cum too.  It had been weeks and by 
now I was desperate.  I didn't want to give him the 
satisfaction, but I could feel his cock grow longer 
and harder.  Oh, that black bastard, he was going to 
cum regardless.  My resistance and pride crumbled.

"Daddy," I grunted, whispering as he fucked me.  "I do 
honor you.  Please let me cum."

"So you are proud of me?  Of your marriage?  Of 
getting your cherry busted?  You don't act proud to 
me.  Stuck up bitch.  You act ashamed."

I was ashamed.  Deeply ashamed.  I wasn't a girl, but 
a guy.  I wasn't supposed to be the one getting 
fucked.  I looked down at the people below.  They were 
still staring, wondering what was going on up here, 
wondering who was fucking me, wondering what kind of 
girl would let someone do this to her. My cheeks and 
ears burned with the fire of humiliation.  I couldn't 
bear to do it, but I did it anyway.  I honored him the 
only way I knew how.

"Oh yes, Daddy," I cried.  "That's it.  Pop my cherry.  
Make me your wife."  I was dirt.  No, I was lower than 
dirt.  I was an earthworm that lived beneath a pig's 
sty.

"That's it bitch, honor me," he said.  "Go ahead and 
ugh - ugh -play with your clit, but you better hurry.  
I'm ah- ready to cum.  Fuck if I ain't ready."

He didn't have to tell me twice.  My hand flew down.  
It was a blur as I fingered my cock through my 
panties, making quick circles.   

His hands left my breasts and grabbed my hips, as he 
pounded into me.  I wanted to cover them from the 
leering gaze of the onlookers below, at least my 
tender nips, but all I could do was hold on tight to 
the rail and absorb the force of his body colliding 
with my own.  The sound of our bodies slapping 
together was so loud that it drowned out the ringing 
bell that was mounted to my collared cock.  There was 
no way the people staring didn't know what was 
happening.  Suddenly, I felt a wrenching surge of 
pleasure and the pressure in my cock grew as I 
struggled to cum against the ring that bound me.  My 
cock glowed with pleasure. I came but not like I used 
to.  Instead of my passion peeking in spurts, it just 
sort of flowed from me.  I cried out as my ass 
spasmed.  Cried so loud that the people down at the 
pool started pointing, mothers hustled their children 
back inside, hand over their young eyes.  But at the 
moment I didn't care.  I had experienced release - 
glorious sweet release. I felt the cock in my ass 
swell and then, he must have cum too because it was 
sliding quite easily now.  He thrust hard several more 
times and then he finally slowed.  

"Ah . . ." Phil sighed, letting go of my hips.  I slid 
down to my knees on the concrete floor of the balcony.

"Shit, you a good lay," Phil said, as he grabbed my 
nose and pulled me face first toward his filthy cock.    
What the fuck was he doing?  Surely he didn't expect. 
. . Oh God no!

He continued pulling my nose, relentlessly moving me 
closer to his cock.  A cock made dirty by my ass and 
his congealing filthy juice.  

"Stop," I said through clenched teeth.  "You're 
dirty."

"Think of it as a reminder to keep your self clean for 
me," he said dryly.  "Now do it, or you'll be down at 
the bar hustling your ass to convention goers."

"Plea-mmphh" I tried to beg, but he ignored me, 
thrusting into my mouth.  It was horrible.  I wanted 
to wretch, but I somehow managed to finish.  

"Good girl," he smiled down at me and tussled my hair.  
"Why don't you make yourself pretty for me?  Be sure 
to use some mouthwash, and then maybe we can go down 
and do some gambling."

At that point, anything would be better than what had 
just happened to me.  I gladly went downstairs to the 
casino with him.  I never got to gamble.  Just blow on 
his dice.  In three days, he took me countless times, 
in more ways than I could have imagined.

And that is the story of how I spent my honeymoon with 
my enemy, my kidnapper, the black bastard who was now
. . . my husband.

To be continued. . .

*******

If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the 
author.  Your comments are their only payment.  
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is 
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unless explicitly indicated.


Waifish Model on Page Fifty-three
by Couture
email: couture_writes@hotmail.com 

(TG, MM, MC)

Please do not read if under 18 years of age or 
offended by sexually explicit stories and situations.  

(c) 2003 Couture

***********

When we got back home, the honeymoon was over.  He 
even told me so.  He had come home from work and by 
the look in his eyes, he was furious.

"Okay little girl," he said, walking toward me, a 
looped leather belt swinging menacingly from his hand.  
"The honeymoon is over.  And haven't I been good to 
you?  Haven't I explained what a good little wifie 
should do?  How she should act?  How she should dress?  
And now I come home, after a hard day's work and you 
weren't even waiting at the door for me and where's my 
dinner?"

"I'm sorry Sweetie.  I lost track of time and dinner 
is almost ready." I said, backing away, and then 
making a run for it as he kept coming.

I can see why the Chinese used to bind their women's 
feet.  I could have probably given him a run for his 
money, but not in heels.  He caught me easily, dragged 
me to the sofa, and gave my ass a beating with the 
belt.  I struggled at first, but he kept whipping me 
until I hung limply in his lap, gasping for breath, 
tears rolling down my eyes.

"Get your self cleaned up," he said.  "You look like 
shit."

I freshened up in the bathroom, and dried my tears.  
Afterwards, I served him dinner as if nothing in the 
world had ever happened.  We ate and watched TV like a 
normal couple, then went to bed.  The belt on the 
nightstand caught me eyes.  He must have seen my 
stare.

"Yeah, bitch, and there it will stay until you learn 
to start acting right," he said.  "Think of it as a 
reminder."

God he was a monster - a fiend - a black ogre.  He 
pulled the sheet back, displaying his semi-erect cock.  
"You wanna ride, huh?  Does wifie want a good fuck 
tonight?"

"no," I whispered.  I looked down at my painted 
toenails, the memory of my earlier whipping still 
fresh in my mind.

"Too bad," he said.  "Oh well, there's other ways you 
can take care of your husband's needs, so come on up 
here and perform your wifely duties."

I obeyed.  Like a robot, I performed the deed exactly 
as he had instructed weeks ago.  I even swallowed his 
vile seed and cleaned his cock, before putting it back 
in his shorts.  Afterwards, he snuggled up behind me 
and went to sleep.  I was tired and not long in 
following.

*************

I hated that belt.  It stayed there on the nightstand 
. . . a reminder of what would happen with any little 
mistake or disobedience.  After being whipped every 
night or two for a solid week, I couldn't sit.  It 
even hurt to stand.  There was always something I 
would mess up.  And with the knowledge of what would 
happen when I did make a mistake, it made me even more 
likely to do something wrong.   

I was so careful.  Everything was perfect and then . . 
.and then while I was dusting, I knocked the lamp off 
the table and broke it.  To make matters worse, I 
cried and my makeup ran.  Two whippings.  Phil was due 
home at any moment.  What was I going to do?  

And then it hit me.  Maybe I was going about this the 
wrong way.  I was still thinking like a man trapped in 
a woman's body, but what would a woman do in my 
situation?  Maybe leave?  Maybe. . . 

I went to the bathroom and wiped the smeared makeup 
from my face.  I hurriedly put it back on.  I did a 
horrible job, but I hoped it wouldn't matter.  Then, I 
put on a pair of stockings, followed by the shortest, 
tiniest mini-skirt in the closet and the highest heels 
I could find.

I heard his car pull up.  Shit, I hadn't even started 
dinner.  I hurried to the front door, looked out the 
peephole and waited for Phil.  When he approached, I 
opened the door and put on my best June Cleaver act.  

"Hi honey, how was your day?" I beamed.

"It was okay, and yours?" he asked, hugging me.

Okay, it was now or never.  "I had the most horrible 
day."  I kissed him - even slipped him a little tongue 
and nibbled his lower lip, doing my best to hide my 
revulsion.  "I was such a clumsy clumsy girl.  I broke 
the lamp and then I started crying. . ."  It was so 
humiliating.  I prayed it would work.

As I was talking, I noticed Phil wasn't looking at me, 
but at the breast peeking out from my unbuttoned 
shirt.  He opened the shirt the rest of the way and 
casually rolled my nipple between his fingers.  Right 
there with the front door opened behind him.

"And then I was late making dinner because I had to 
fix my makeup."  I stamped my foot and pouted.  I 
could feel my nipples responding to his touch.  The 
sensation was so far the only good thing that had 
happened to me since this all began.  "You're not mad, 
are you?"

"Maybe not."  Phil said, as he slipped the shirt from 
my shoulders and then pushed me down to my knees.

Shit, old man Gruthers was across the street watching 
us.  Leering at my exposed breasts.  "Ah sweetie- old 
man Gruthers is watching," I hissed.

"Let him watch."  Phil unzipped his pants and unwound 
his rapidly swelling cock.

God how my ass ached, but I knew I had to do it if I 
was going to avoid the belt, and then it would ache 
even more.  With one hand, I attempted to preserve my 
modesty, and with the other I braced myself against 
Phil's thigh, while I licked the bulbous purple head 
of his cock.

"Do it right," Phil said in a voice that brooked no 
compromise.  "You know how I like it."

I knew how he liked it, but I didn't like doing it out 
there in the open like we were.  Not where anyone 
could walk by and see.  I took a quick peak.  Mr. 
Gruthers, the old bastard was fondling his cock 
through his pants and grinning stupidly.  I was forced 
to bare my small breasts to him when I cupped Phil's 
balls with my left hand.  With my right, I held his 
cock against his belly, while I licked and sucked him 
from the bottom of his hairy balls to the tip of his 
thick black cock.

Then, I started sucking him in earnest.  I knew well 
enough how to do it.  I had received enough blowjobs 
in the past and by now, given Phil quite a few myself.  
I rolled his balls in my palm, jacking his cock in a 
twisting motion, all the while; I bobbed my head up 
and down.  The bracelets on my wrists jangled as I 
worked, serving as a loud ringing reminder of what a 
slut I had become.  

"Fuck!" Phil gasped.  "I'm getting ready to cum slut.  
Open up."  He pulled out and grabbed his cock from my 
grasp, jerking himself off, while I held my mouth 
open.  I hated it when he did that.  It was bad enough 
when he just came in my mouth.  But when he pulled 
out, it not only ended up in my mouth, but all over my 
face.  And that is exactly what he did.  

Afterwards, I dutifully cleaned his prick and put it 
back in his pants.  I know Mr. Gruthers got a good 
look at me with my face covered in semen.  I shuddered 
to think of what must have been going through his bald 
wrinkled head.

I went to wipe my face clean.  

"No, leave it," Phil said.  "I think you look cute 
like that."

Yeah, cute.  A cute slut.  A cute cum slut.  

Other than the strange feeling of drying cum on my 
face, the evening was pretty normal.  No spanking or 
punishment had been given.  An outsider would have 
seen a husband and wife.  However, I knew the truth.   
I had once been a man and turned into Phil's wife.  
Less of a wife and more of a sex slave to the black 
bastard.

That evening I gave myself an enema before bed.  I 
suspected that we might have sex, and I shuddered as I 
remembered the last time back in Vegas when I had to 
clean him afterwards.  No, I wouldn't let that happen 
again if I could help it.  After that, I put on some 
lingerie, and a couple of sprays of perfume.  I knew 
that the belt was still on the nightstand, though he 
had made no mention of punishment.

"Looking good," Phil said from the bed.  "That pussy 
getting lonely?"

No, my pussy wasn't lonely.  My ass just didn't want 
to be whipped.  And to be honest, I only needed to cum 
and to hell with the rest of it.  But the only way I 
was allowed release was when he was in me . . . in my 
ass.  He was an evil fuck, a bastard beyond compare.  
I hated him, yet I climbed into bed, gave him his 
required kiss on the cheek and turned my back to him 
without a word.

He snuggled up behind me.  I could feel his cock 
in the valley of my arse.  It grew hard and soon he was 
humping against me.  My body betrayed me and I soon 
found myself moving back against him. 

"That pussy *is* getting lonely, ain't it?"

"Yes." I admitted.

"Then tell me.  Tell me what Chrissie wants." 

I was glad it was dark so he couldn't see my face.  
"Chrissie needs your fat cock in her pussy daddy.   
Chrissie needs a good fucking."

"Turn over.  I want to fuck you like a dog," he said.  
"I'm gonna work you hard tonight."

It hurt.  I wondered if I would ever get used to his 
huge prick.  In Vegas, I was allowed to masturbate, 
which seemed to take the edge off.  This time, he held 
my hands behind my back while he took me.  The 
lubrication I put in my ass in the bathroom helped at 
first, but it eventually started burning painfully, 
making me forget the aching from my earlier whippings.  
I needed him finish, and finish quickly, so I spread 
my legs and arched my back.  

"Give it to me Daddy," I groaned, in hopes of speeding 
his release.  "Ah.  Ouch.  Fuck me with your fat cock- 
fill me with your cum.  Ugh.  Ugh.   Drown me in it.  
Just hurry. Ugh.  Ouch."

"Do it now," he said, letting go of my arms.  "I'm 
close.  Gonna cum.  Gonna fill you up.  Oh God, gonna 
give it all to you."

I didn't need to be told twice.  I masturbated as 
quickly as I was able.  I wasn't even allowed to jerk 
it.  I had to rub it beneath my fingers like a woman 
rubbed her clit.  In the end, it didn't matter.  I 
came massively, and with each spasm, my ass clenched 
against his twitching cock, his cum cooling the 
irritated lining of my insides.

I slipped into sleep easily for the first time since 
we had been back . . . even though I was in the wet 
spot.

*************

That's pretty much how it went for the rest of the 
year.  It was tough at times, and while Phil treated 
me better and didn't whip me with the belt anymore, he 
would still warm my bottom and make me cry with his 
hand.  One of the hardest things was that I had no one 
to talk to during my ordeal.  When neighbors came over 
to visit, Phil ordered me to do humiliating things, 
like flirt with the men right in front of their wives.  
And if I didn't do it, didn't make both the men and 
the women think that I was the biggest slut in the 
neighborhood, then Phil would jump in my mind, take 
control and make me go so far as to place my hand on 
their cock and give them a squeeze or a stroke.  

To avoid this fate, I would flirt voluntarily.  A wink 
- a flash of panties - a seductive lick on whatever I 
was eating, it was usually enough to satisfy Phil.  It 
was also enough to make the men try to get me alone 
and get into my panties from that moment forward.  It 
was also enough to make me the neighborhood leper as 
far as the wives were concerned.  The worse part?  
Even though I slept with no one but Phil, everyone 
condidered me the neighborhood slut.

And Phil, the evil bastard, loved every moment of my 
humiliation.  One of his favorite things was for me 
give him a blowjob while his friends were in the room 
or to fuck me in the restroom of a crowded restaurant.  
It was horrible.  

Really, I don't know how I managed. The only thing 
that kept me sane was the knowledge that I only had to 
do it for a year.  There was also the fact that even 
though he controlled my physically, my mind was still 
my own.  

A year - all three hundred and sixty five days of it, 
is a long time, but it finally passed.  I was even 
especially nice yesterday and went out of my way to 
put Phil in a good mood.  The house was spotless and I 
had even given him as much sex as he could stand.  I 
did it even though he hadn't let me cum in quite 
some time.  Yes, that was one of the things that had 
been difficult.  At the start, I was allowed to 
masturbate for a few moments right before he was about 
to climax.  But as time passed, this started to 
change.  At first, he told me that when the sex was 
especially good, I could cum.   Well, I watched porn 
movies and read articles . . . the sex was as good
good.  As good as I could make it.  I did things for him
that no woman had done for me.  Yet, still my own 
release was delayed.  First for a few days, then every 
week or so.  I tried harder and harder to please him, 
yet still he allowed me to cum less and less.

It was now a year since this all started and my last
orgasm was three weeks ago.   I was horny, agitated, 
yet I was thankfully relieved that my ordeal would 
finally be over.

When Phil came home from work, my bags were packed and 
by the door, and the house was spotless.

"You ready to go, huh?" he asked.

"Yes, daddy."  I wondered if I still had to call him 
daddy now that it was over- now that I was leaving the 
evil bastard once and for all.  Well, better safe than 
sorry I decided.  "Can you help me take my bags to the 
car?"

"Nope," he said.  "Call a cab.  I'm done with you."  
He sat down in his recliner and turned on the TV.  I 
could feel my blood pressure rising.  I had been his 
slave, a virtual prisoner in his house for a year and 
he didn't even have the decency to give me a ride.  
Well, fuck him!  I called the cab company and they 
said they would have someone over in ten minutes or 
so.  

Still, there was one problem that remained, but I had 
a good idea on how I could solve it.  

I went to the refrigerator got out a beer.  I was 
wearing a thin white half T-shirt that was very tight, 
a likewise small and tight pair of low-cut shorts, and 
heels.  I know, you think that maybe it was my idea, 
but I assure you it was not.  The only clothes I had 
were what Phil had bought me, and what I was wearing 
was about as casual and as modest as anything in my 
closet.  Anyway, it made it really easy to carry out 
my plan.  I touched the cold beer bottle to my bare 
midriff.  It didn't take long before my nipples were 
poking out through my thin cotton T-shirt.

I returned to the living room.  "I thought you might 
like a beer," I said, handing it to him.

He took the beer and set it on the end table.   His 
eyes roamed up and down my body, especially my chest.  
"What do you want?"

Shit, he was going to make this hard for me.  "Look, I 
was wondering if. . ."  I batted my eyelashes and bit 
my lip.  I was using every trick at my disposal.  

Phil stood up and pulled me into his embrace, kissing 
me forcefully.  His strong arms wrapped around my 
body, while his hands groped my rear.  I could feel 
his erection pressing against my stomach.  God I was 
so horny it wasn't even funny.  When he broke the 
kiss, I had to make a special effort to continue.  "I 
was wondering if you would give me a little money for 
the cab, baby?"

"No," he said curtly, as he grabbed my roughly, turned 
me around, and pushed me against the front window.  
"But you can earn it."

He began to strip me.  First my small T-shirt, and 
then my tight hip-hugging shorts.  I kept hold of the 
front so he could pull them down in the back enough to 
enter me.

"Wait - my. . ." I was under strict orders never to 
expose my cock to anyone. . .and that included Phil.  
However, with the window in front of me, Phil behind, 
and shorts too tight to fit my hand inside, there was 
little I could do.

"You better keep it covered, Chrissie" he warned 
menacingly.  "You better keep it covered *real* goddamn
good."

 "Yes, daddy."  I managed to move my penis to the 
front of my shorts and hid it behind my hand.  It 
wasn't hard to do because it was embarrassingly small 
after the hormone treatments and the effects of the 
ring that kept me from getting an erection.  I heard 
his zipper fall and then the blinds were raised; I was 
exposed to anyone who cared to look.  One final 
humiliation I had to endure.

He spread my cheeks and spit on my rear passage.  His 
stubby finger massaged it in.  He took my waist in his 
hands possessively.  I knew what was next.  

"Oh I'm gonna miss this tight little pussy," he said, 
and then pushed into me.  It hurt a little at first, 
but I quickly became accustomed to it.  A lot had 
changed in a year's time.  He pumped me a few minutes 
and then . . . to my surprise . . . he stopped.  

A five dollar fell from my shoulder to the floor.  
"I'd say that's about all this is worth."

Bastard!  He wanted to humiliate me thoroughly.  He 
was going to make me *earn* it.  Well, earn it I 
would, anything to get away from him.  I squeezed his 
prick internally and began to move beneath him.  "You 
want to make me earn it?" I asked.  "What do you want 
me to do?  Want me to act like a slut?  Your white 
nympho slut?"  I fucked him faster.  It was no longer 
pretend.  I was so horny I could scream and palming my 
cock as I was, the stimulation was the most I had been 
allowed in a month.  "You want to spank me daddy?  
Huh?  Have I been a bad girl?"

He spanked my ass hard.  I could still feel the sting.   

"That's it.  Spank my ass.  Spank it," I moaned.  The 
blows fell faster.  "Tell me daddy, how much is this 
worth?"

Several more bills fell to the floor.  Then the 
spanking resumed.  I had no clue how money lay at my 
feet.  I only knew that I was getting close.  Close to 
coming.  Closer to paying for my cab ride with every 
moment.

"I want more.  Give it to me hard.  Pinch my nipples.  
Spank my ass."  Shit, my legs were trembling.  My toes 
were tingling.  I was getting so close.  I closed my 
eyes and waited for my climax to overtake me. 

But, before it happened, I felt a tugging at my wrist.  
My hand was still covering my crotch, but I couldn't 
stimulate myself.  I struggled against it, but it was 
no use.  He was so much stronger.  "Not yet," he said.  
"We need to talk first."

"Please," I begged pushing back against him.  Phil 
laughed and motioned out the window.   The cab was 
outside.  The driver was thoroughly engrossed in the 
show.

"Where you gonna go Chrissie?" Phil asked.  He started 
moving back and forth slowly inside of me.

It was so hard to think.  I had it all worked out just 
minutes ago, but it seemed so cloudy now.  Mostly all 
I could think about was the cock pulsing in my ass.  
"I'm going to stay with my parents and then try to get 
my old life back again."

"How do you think they are gonna feel when a cutie 
like you shows up on their doorstep, huh?"  Phil's 
fingers roamed my body, tugged at my nipples, and ran 
through my hair.  "You know, the paper said you stole 
a bunch of money from work, burned down your house and 
then fled the country."

"I didn't steal anything!" and then I remembered the 
extra money.  He must have stolen it while he had 
control of my body.  It all started falling into 
place.

"I helped you out there," he said.  "I wanted a good 
job done with your surgery and it was more expensive 
getting it done at the last minute like that."

I was so mad I could die.  He tricked me!  He had 
strung me out all along, with no intention of letting 
me go.  

His grip on my wrist relaxed, I was touching myself 
again.  He moved my hand around in a small circle.  
"So what you gonna do?" he asked.

God, so hard to think.  "I don't know."  His cock was 
really plowing me.  His pelvis spanked my ass, while 
his balls slapped against my hand.  

"Stay here with me," Phil grunted.  "Another year.  
Ugh.  Fuck.  Same rules."

"Please don't," I begged.  I was still his- still 
trapped - not only in this female body, but stuck 
having homosexual sex for another year.  The thought 
was unbearable.  And one thing stuck in my mind.  I 
felt I had to get some sort of compromise.  I couldn't 
let him have his way again.  "At least let me cum.  
Let me cum-ahhh-whenever I want."

"You cum when I say."  He fucked me even harder.  It 
was starting to hurt, yet it still felt good, so 
goddamn good.  "I'm training you.  Ahh!  Training you 
like a bitch.  Training you to cum from me fucking 
you.  Just from fucking your tight little pussy.  
Soon, that's gonna be the only way you can cum.  Soon, 
it will be the only way you *want* to cum."

"No!" I groaned.

"Yes!"  He grabbed me by my hair and pushed me against 
the windowpane.  He pounded me brutally.   "I've been 
training you for so much and you don't even know it.  
Ha-ha.  Training you to get off on getting me off.  
Training you to get off on showing off that hot little 
body.  Look out the window.  That cabbie is watching 
you right now. Watching you getting fucked and 
imagining fucking you himself.  Training you to get 
off from turning men on.  And you are getting off, 
aren't you Chrissie?  Come on, you love it, admit it."

"No."  Wearing the clothes I wore and being forced to 
perform sexual act with Phil while others watched 
humiliated me to the core.  Everyone thought I was a 
slut, but I wasn't.  I had only had sex with Phil.  
And everyone thought I was some sort of sexy 
exhibitionist.  I wasn't that either.  I was forced to 
wear those tight revealing clothes, my one thought was 
to make sure my bulge wasn't showing.  Everyone 
thought I was *that* sort of woman, but the thing was, 
I wasn't any sort of woman.  I wasn't even *a* woman.

But, dear God, I was the sort of woman that had always 
turned me on as a man.  A woman who would do anything, 
yet only did it for her man.  I was my own fantasy, 
and yes, Phil was right, it turned me on.  Every time 
I looked in a mirror or saw myself through other's 
eyes, it made me want to fuck myself.  Lord, what was 
happening to me?  I needed a break.  I needed time to 
think.

"Admit it," Phil demanded.


"Ugh-Oh God, ugh-you're right," I admitted, tears 
flowed from my eyes.

"I know I'm right," he said.  "Just look at you.  You 
can't be a man.  You never were.  Go on.  Tell me what 
you are."

He was right.  There was no way that anyone could look 
at me and see me for anything else than. . . "A 
woman."

"No, not a woman.  Not with those tight narrow little 
hips.  Not with those perky little titties.  No, 
bitch.  You a girl.  You only a girl.  Go on, say it."

"Ugh-ugh-I'm-a-girl."

That's right bitch," he said, kicking my legs further 
apart.  "You my Boo girl.  And what am I?"

I couldn't say it.  Wouldn't.

He let my hand go.  "Go on.  You can play with your 
clittie this time, but soon, ahh soon you gonna cum 
from just this alone, my fat cock in your tight little 
cunt. Oh yeah bitch, I think I'm gonna train you to 
cum on command.  To cum when I say.  Any time any 
place.  Go on Boo, diddle it.  You know you want to."

Oh God, he was right.  I wanted to.  I needed to.  I 
rubbed my clittie, circling it with my fingers.  Oh, I 
was so close.  My ass was on fire.  

"You'll stay with me for two years," he said, 
increasing my term.  "Same deal."

"Please," I begged.  "Just let me cum."

"You'll do it like I say," he said.  "Same deal.  You 
wanna try for three?"

I couldn't even imagine what I would be like after two 
years.  I didn't even recognize myself after one.  
"Okay."  I was defeated, the battle had been lost long 
ago.  

"I'm gonna cum soon.  You better hurry up," he said, 
stroking me faster, banging me against the window.  
"Tell  me what I want to hear and I'll let you rub it 
the way you want."

"Oh please!"

"What's my name?" he said, hammering me so hard, I 
could hardly keep my balance.  

"Daddy," I groaned.

"That's right bitch," he grunted.  "Who's your daddy?"

"You are!  Oh fuck!  You are. . . "  

"Fuck I'm gonna nut," he said.  "If you're gonna do it 
bitch, you better do it quick."

I didn't need to be told twice.  "Wait for me," I 
begged.  "Oh fuck, wait for me."

"Ten-nine-eight-seven," he counted down.

My hand was a blur.  The timber had been dry for so 
long and it didn't take long for the flame rise up and 
consume me.  When he hit one, in a blaze of passion it 
happened.  "Oh god-oh god," I moaned.  I was coming.  
Oh it was too much.  I came like never before.  

"Oh yeah, just like that.  Soon you'll be doing that 
whenever I say," I remembered Phil saying.  After that 
I blacked out with his cock still pulsing inside of 
me.

When I came to, Phil was untangling his sweaty body 
from my own.  

"Here, get dressed," he said, patting me on the ass.

I slid the back of my shorts back up and then pulled 
on my shirt.  I was in such a sexual daze, I forgot 
rule number one.  My hand darted forward to cover the 
small bulge in my shorts.  

"I'm gonna let it slide this time," Phil said.  "But 
you better damn sure have it tucked back in when you 
go tell the cabby you don't need him anymore."

I darted for the bedroom.  

"Where are you going?" he said.

"I've got to change," I said.  There was no way I 
could go out like this.  The thin white shirt clung to 
my sweaty body like a second skin.  My small perky 
nipples were visible through the now translucent 
fabric.  But the main reason was my shorts.  They were 
now soaked with cum at both my ass and my crotch. 

"No," he said.  "Tuck it and go out there just like 
that.  I want him to know what sort of girl I got."

My sexual numbness was fading fast and turning into 
sheer fright and humiliation.  God, would the cabbie 
recognize the stain in the front or would he assume 
that I had soiled them due to being 'wet'. I secured 
my cock between the cheeks of my bottom, doing my best 
to hide my cock from prying eyes.  "Yes, daddy."

Phil handed me a ten dollar bill he picked up from the 
money piled on the floor.  "Give him this for his 
trouble."

I nodded my head.  My face burned with heat as I made 
my way to the cab.  God, why didn't I just grab the 
money on the floor and make a run for it?  The cabby 
leered at me the whole way to his car, his eyes 
fixated on my breasts and crotch.  I thought about 
getting in the car and seeing how far ten dollars 
would take me.  The thought didn't last long.  It 
wouldn't last long and there was no telling what the 
cabby would do.  A year ago, I would have felt 
confident in protecting myself, but now, now, I felt 
powerless and scared.  I tried hand the cabby the 
money and thanked him for waiting.  

"You've tipped me plenty already," he said, and I 
glanced over and saw the balled up tissues in the 
passenger seat.  Shit, the bastard had masturbated while 
looking at me through the window!  

"Glad to see you two make up."   He gave me a 
lecherous grin.  Two of his teeth were missing.  Hell, 
even if I got in the car, the thought of what this 
leering bastard would do to me sent a shiver down my 
spine.

My thoughts of leaving faded even faster.  I had hoped 
he would leave and save me the embarrassment of him 
seeing the rear of my cum-stained shorts, but instead 
he waited and watched.  I could feel his cold 
penetrating stare as I turned and walked to the house.  
Worse, I could feel myself getting turned on by my 
continued humiliation and exhibition.

Two years!  I couldn't even remember what David was 
like anymore.  When I thought of myself, I saw the 
image of the waifish model from page fifty-three from 
April's Vogue magazine, not the young virile man I 
used to be.  More and more my fantasies weren't of 
women, but of men.  Black men.  Of Phil.  Of a cabby 
watching my ass swish as I fled quickly back to my 
house in cum-stained shorts.  

Phil said he was training me!  Training me to cum like 
a woman and exposing me like this was part of his 
training too.  Who knew what else his perverted 
devious mind had in store.  Oh God, what had I become 
in only one year?  What would I be in two?  I rubbed 
my thighs together, practically strutting back to the 
house like some sort of street whore.  David?  David 
was lost that day, and only Chrissie remained.  Even 
as I walked back in the house, I knew Phil would be 
waiting, ready to continue with his sick sordid plan.

Two years.  Just a year ago, I had been a man with an 
attractive female lover.  I had a successful job.  
Then Phil took control of my mind and made me do 
things . . . perverted thing I had never imagined.

Now, I had no job and I was the attractive female 
lover.  Christ, I even turned myself on when I looked 
in the mirror.  I was going to have to have iron will 
and determination, just to remain Chrissie and not be 
turned into the slutty sex starved exhibitionist Phil 
had in mind.  And the worst part, he wasn't even going 
into my mind and forcing me . . .now I was a willing, 
albeit reluctant participant.  God, my mind that I 
thought was safe, was slowly but surely changing, 
changing the way Phil wanted it.

Phil moved into the doorway, a collar and leash in one 
hand, a blindfold in the other.  My stomach leapt in 
fright.  I looked back for the cab, my one chance to 
escape, and it was pulling away.  I wondered if old 
man Gruthers was watching from across the street.  A 
collar, a leash and a blindfold.  Training me?  Oh 
God, what did he have in mind?  I could feel my face 
warming; my nipples hardening; my trapped cock 
struggling against the band of steel that encircled 
it.  My mind, my mind faltered against the cage that 
Phil was building around it.

Two years was going to be a very long time.


The end

*******

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