Themes: tg, forced feminization 

------- Legend -------
*bold*
_This_is_underlined_
/Italic/
--------------------


  General standard generic disclaimer: If you are
offended by sex, rape, men being turned in to women,
sodomy or homosexuality; if reading such material is
illegal in your area or you are under age, then do not
read this story. General standard generic end to
general standard generic disclaimer - you have been
warned.

	"In all the above exercises, and after every
	exercise, please remember to give unlimited
	praise to your dog. I always tell my pupils to
	bring the right hand down and scratch the dog's
	chest after every exercise. Dogs love this, and
	stay still with a benign expression on their 
	faces as long as you like to continue it."
		  From "Dog Training My Way" by Barbara Woodhouse



"Degraded Assets"
By Quiet Savage

Part 3 of 6 - "On the outside"

	"Bunny! Bunny!" she hated him and his pet name for
her but she was obliged to respond. It was a rule, the
"20 second" rule, one of many she now labored under.

	"I'll be there in a second, baby." she called from
her knees where she was scrubbing the floor.

	"BUNNY!!!" good lord! He hadn't heard her. She was
now in violation of the "20 second" rule. She
struggled to her feet, reset her cut offs and halter
and shuffled into the living room.

	He looked up at her from the couch, ogling her. Bruce
was reading 'Nascar', "Get me something to drink."

	As she returned he took the drink and told her to
strip down, it was punishment time. Sometimes he would
save up the infractions and punish her all at once at
the end of the day. Other times, like now, punishment
was instant. She argued that she had responded in time
but this act of "defiance" instead of helping had
doubled her punishment, 20 whacks on the bottom.

	Naked she docilely stretched across his lap, "Count'm
out, Bunny."

	"One... two... three..."

	Being naked like this, being totally exposed,
reminded her of another time she was naked and exposed
- the first day she was being forced into her new
life.

-----

	She was lying across Kate's desk naked, ass sore from
its first reaming by her new "husband", Bruce. Bob
Cone was blabbering on but she couldn't focus on his
words...

	"Why all the weeping? I've heard of women crying at
weddings, but your own? This is the first day of the
rest of your life! But you shouldn't feel too bad,
many girls feel a profound sense of loss when they
first become a woman."

	Of course, Missy was not a woman. Just a few years
ago she was Mike who under Kate's control had turned
himself into a beautiful she male.

	Bob continued, "In any case, you need to compose
yourself. You need to go home with your husband. This
is a place of business, no place for a little woman
like you. You should be home in the kitchen."

	Bruce, now fully clothed stepped forward, "Get up,
Missy, I'm taking you home."

	She reached for her crumbled dress only to have it
snatched away by Bob, "You won't need that, just yet."

	He tossed the dress to Bruce, "Take her out like
this, bare ass naked. I want everyone to see what's
going on, I want them to know the score."

	Bruce put his strong arm around her and walked her to
the elevator, defeated, she offered no resistance.
There were audible gasps as the office doors opened -
there in the lobby were customers and fellow employees
all shocked to see the naked woman with a penis.
Missy's face was flush; her eyes never came close to
approaching the horizon line. Silently they walked
past a dozen people, Bruce's arm pushing her the whole
way. She was at least relieved that the elevator came
quickly and no one was on board.

	For weeks the office was a buzz about the incident,
no one knew exactly what happened and speculation ran
rampant; it was just one of those weird things that
happens. It the end it boiled down to the one thing
everyone knew for sure - so Missy was really a dude?
Wow. No one was able to make the connection between
Mike and Missy, then again, there was no real reason
to. The women all laughed about it, they had always
known that there was something different about her
they told each other. Some women were very cross, very
cross indeed, with Missy. Here they had to go to spin
class three times a week, or else had to try to get
over themselves by reading such trash as
_The_Feminine_Mystique_ and then this "thing", a man,
had come in and shown them all up. How did "he" get
such a body? Of course, none of the women said it THAT
way; it was all hidden in platitudes and code words-
"disgusting!", "a crime on nature!" or "against God's
plan!"

	And the men? Some wanted to outright kill Missy for
the perceived deception she had subjected them to. At
the other end of the spectrum were the guys that still
thought she was cute - as long as she kept "it" tucked
away it was alright, right? But mostly the latter kept
such notions to themselves else they fall pray to the
former.

	For that first month Missy was kept totally nude and
chained, forced to do house work without full use of
her joints. Her exposed nakedness was a turn on for
Bruce who demanded sex from her several times a day.
At some point during that first month she stopped
resisting his advances, stopped crying each time it
happened. She went from being a rape victim to a
reluctant but compliant participant in her own
degradation. It was only then that the chains came off
and Missy was allowed to put on clothing.

-----

	"...seventeen ...eighteen." she cringed. These were
no love taps, they were hard and fast causing a sting
with each hit. Bruce never held back.

	"...TWENTY!" she said with relief and added, "Thank
you, sir."

	"You're welcome", he was rubbing her large womanly
ass admiring his work and the deep blush he had
brought out, "My Bunny's tail isn't so cottony white
now, is it?"

	Bruce flipped her, bringing her face to face with him
on his lap, "Why do you make me do these things,
Bunny? Why won't you be a good girl?"

"But..."

	She was suppressing the urge to cry, strike out or
even argue. She was in the right here! She had
responded in the time limit. But there was no getting
out of it, no reasoning. Bruce was right, she was a
bad girl, he was always right.

	Missy felt his hand on her, working the exposed head
of her penis. When they had first gotten home she had
no interest in sex or being let out of her little
cage. The thought, no the ACT, of sex with Bruce and
her own slavery was very counter-erotic. However, her
needs had slowly returned. And this man, Bruce, was
fully in control of those needs; he could bring them
out of her at any time and in any situation. Here she
was naked on another man's lap, her ass still sore
from a beating and under Bruce's manipulation, her
small penis was beginning to strain against its metal
restriction.

	She moaned, moaned like a woman. Bruce was watching
her, a cruel grin on his face, "What does my Bunny
want?"

	I want to scream! To run away! To see you DEAD! But,
she realized, these were all empty fantasies, flights
of fancy that would never come to pass. She needed to
be more pragmatic. More in the here and now.

	"Bunny wants sex." she let out in a breathy moan. The
words were less then calculated, Bruce wanted her to
be direct and she was.

	"And how does Bunny want it?"

	Crap! Here was the decision. She would never get it
unless she gave it to him and it had become her
decision just how she would supply it.

"Bunny wants to suck your cock."

	Here she was expressing a desire she really didn't
have in the third person, like she wasn't even there.
Missy didn't want to suck cock; Missy didn't want to
have sex with men at all. Missy only wanted to be let
out of her cage so she could take care of business, to
extinguish that fire. But for Missy to get what she
wanted Bunny had to give Bruce what HE wanted.

	"You know Missy," he said coldly, "You're only one
point away from being able to 'relieve' yourself. If
you want me to fuck you, you can get off right away,
tonight. But it probably won't be till tomorrow if you
go the other way."

	When it was clear that Missy's desires had returned
in full force the "point system" had been established.
Each sexual act had it's own point value but the two
biggest were oral (half point) and anal (one full
point). Missy's reward for achieving the magic three
points was to be allowed to play with herself. By any
stretch of the imagination it was a lame reward, but
it had become her only outlet and as such had become
the strongest incentive in the world to her. She was
now one point from achieving the release her body
demanded. A suck today, a suck tomorrow and she would
have it. Or a poke from Bruce's massive rod and she
could have it right now. It was tempting, and she
needed it so badly. But she couldn't, after all the
times she had allowed him to do it, it never got any
better. Anal, as Missy experienced it, was always
rough, painful and humiliating. She could feel him
back there, moving, probing her very soul. Oral was
just as humiliating but she had some measure of
control. And Bruce was so much more gentle about it,
allowing her to work instead of forcing his pleasure
from her. Even though it was worth twice as many
points, Missy tried to give Bruce that "gift" as few
times as possible.

	"Bunny wants to suck your cock." she repeated,
adding, "Bunny wants it in her mouth."

	"Okay, it's your decision." Missy had expected him to
let her up, to initiate sex or go back to work. But
Bruce just held her, playing with her tits, "Bunny,
I'm not going to want to make out with you after you
do that."

	Missy just stared at him with a slight squint in her
eyes. That was another advantage of oral, afterwards
Bruce didn't get all tender trying to fool the both of
them into thinking they were a real couple.
Apparently, he didn't like the taste of cum on his
lover's lips.

	"So Bunny... tell me what I want to hear." She knew
the right response, she just didn't want to say it. It
was the one thing she still fought against.

	"Tell me, Bunny, tell me what I want to hear." His
fingerers were biting into her nipple, twisting. Her
erection was soon forgotten under the pain from her
breast.

	Still she fought back the urge to say it, of all the
humiliating, degrading acts this was the worst. She
had given him so much, why was this so important?
Maybe, because he knew it was important to HER.

	The pressure continued, "Why do you make this so
hard, Bunny? Every time? Just say it."

	The pain was increasing; she knew she would break.
Better to say it and be done with it. With a pained
voice, a gasp, she let it out, "I love  you."

	His hand moved away, she gulped the air, "I love you,
Bruce."

	It was something Mike had never said, not to a high
school sweetheart, not to Kate, not even to his own
mother.

	"That wasn't so bad? Was it?"

	"Yes," she thought to herself, "Yes it was."

	"Now kiss me, Bunny."

	The exposed woman on his lap reached up behind his
neck and pulled him down onto her lips.

=====

	"Ideal coping behavior is characteristically learned,
	while ideal expressive behavior is characteristically
	unlearned.We do not have to learn how to feel helpless
	or look healthy or be stupid or show anger, while we do
	ordinarily have to learn how to build bookshelves, ride
	a bicycle, or dress ourselves...       ...Also coping
	behavior tends to die out unless rewarded; expression
	often persists without reward or reinforcement..."
		  		   From "Motivation and Personality"
		  		   			    by Abraham H. Maslow

Part 4 of 6 - "Forced down, to look up"

	Her life had degraded into a joke, or more like one
sick joke after another. And she took it, forced
through each hoop. She could just hear Bob laughing in
the back of her mind. Still, she told herself, it was
just best to not think about it and do as she was
told.

	Everything was strictly controlled and regulated by a
well-ordered set of rules with Bruce as the enforcer,
quite the perceptive and ruthless enforcer at that.
Bruce had a way, Missy wasn't sure how, but he seemed
able to see everything she did, hear every sound she
made. His "psychic" link scared her, even when he was
away she never felt like she was alone.

	The rules for the wife were much stricter then the
simple rules Cone had set out for her. Only the most
superficial decisions were left up to her, not even
her wardrobe. Shortly after she had arrived at his
home, she sat naked and chained, as she watched Kate
arrive with two suitcases. They contained all her
worldly possessions, at least the one's Kate was
willing to part with, mostly clothing. Bruce ripped
into them. Forming two piles on the floor one for what
was to stay the other for what would go. Most of it
went. No harsh colors or heavy fabrics. No skirts
below two inches above the knee. Bare shoulders,
exposed midriff, or deep cleavage shirts only. No
white panties. And no, absolutely NO pants! He did
make on exception.

	Holding up one of her collection of designer jeans,
"I'm going to cut these off. Short. They'll look good
on you as you do house work. I always was a sucker for
a gal in cut offs."

	Her recreation time was strictly controlled as well.
No more TV, newspapers, tabloids, books or other
visual and mental stimuli that Bruce said would
"ral-her-up." Only romance novels and print outs. The
romance novels were all the usual fair, mostly about
some maiden swept off her feet by a big romantic hunk.
The print outs were a whole different story. They were
explicit sex stories about people very much in Missy's
situation. They were mostly written in the first
person from the victims point of view and all had
roughly the same plot- some man for what ever reason
is kidnapped or tricked or otherwise forced into
becoming a woman. He is then forced to have sex with
men. Apparently there were a bunch of weirdoes out
there, on the internet, in chat rooms and IRC, meeting
in dark clubs,...   or SOMEWHERE; Missy wasn't sure,
that have this fantasy about forcibly changing a man
into a woman. And from the volume she had to read,
they wrote endlessly about it. In the stories the
protagonist initially fights what he has become but in
the end she always gives in, to come to love what she
is now and the man or men that fuck her.

	To Missy it was very strange because she was in that
exact situation and KNEW, that's not how it worked.
The mind, her mind, was simply not that malleable. And
the funny part, the joke they were playing on Missy,
was that all the names and physical descriptions in
the stories were changed to fit her exact situation.
She read story after story of the actions of "Bob",
"Bruce", "Kate" and how poor "Missy" eventually comes
around. She hated reading this garbage but she had to,
it was part of the rules.

	The stories were having an effect, though. Day by
day, inch by inch, Missy's world was closing in on
her. Anything that would give her perspective on her
situation, any outside influence, was stripped away.
Her life now was solely comprised of Bruce and the
house. All she had were the stories, they were her
only mental escape. They weighed heavy on her mind and
she, unconsciously at first, began to incorporate the
ideas and concepts in them into her own thought
process. Even though she knew the stories were
psychologically wrong, she did develop the fantasy,
the hope, that they could on some level be true. Missy
had the normal human drive to be happy, to find
balance even in suffering. These fictional characters
on the pages, some of them seemed so real and she
began to project her own visuals, emotions, thoughts
and voice onto them, filling in the obvious gaps of
the printed word. Placing herself in the stories she
wished that, just like the characters in the  stories,
she would someday find happiness in her new life.

	All the time they were watching, tracking each
change, watching for the kinks in Mike's armor that
showed his deeper feelings, how he was weakening and
bending to their will. In time Missy would accept her
enslavement as the natural order of things.

	One of the "kinks" was evident on a "date" with
Bruce. These dates were a reward for doing a good job
with the house and happened infrequently. They were
usually solely comprised of the stereotypical date -
movie and dinner but sometimes he would take her to
the park and what not. She hadn't before, but now she
really enjoyed feeding the geese. They were the only
creatures she was allowed to interact with, she wished
she could fly away with them. She had to be prepared
for the date - an hour of make up and prep. And the
outfits she was forced to don were always sexual
fantasy get ups.

	Back in the day, when she was with Kate, she would
not have minded wearing such an outfit. Back then she
was in control of her sexuality, she was in control of
how she acted, how she was perceived by those around
her and the locations she showed herself in. But such
things were no longer up to her. She now needed
protection, protection from the leers and advances of
men. Bruce was that protection, one look at that big
brute of a man and she was free to be as sexy as she
pleased. But, of course, such things were not up to
her either.

	That night she was costumed as the catholic
schoolgirl with an abbreviated skirt. It wasn't as
over the top as some of the outfits she had worn but
was noticeable to those turned on by such a display.
Bruce and Missy were sitting in a corner booth of a
rough bar and she was flat out drunk.

	"Why was Bruce forcing so many drinks down me?" Missy
wondered.

	He could have anything he wanted, if she wouldn't
give it he could force it from her. And the shock
belt, that would send her into what looked like
convulsions to an onlooker, kept her tied to him.
There was no need for the alcohol. It was all part of
this stupid game, "look what I can do to you, Missy. I
can make you so blind drunk that you can't walk." And
for Missy it wasn't so bad, being drunk did ease some
of the stress. After each date it was not uncommon for
Bruce to carry Missy up the stairs, either propping
her up as her crutch or over his shoulder.

	She was silently forming a trust bond with Bruce. The
more she needed him, even if that need was forced, the
more he was there. Not molesting her, or taking
advantage of the situation (he did that when she
didn't "need" him), but taking care of her in her time
of need, contrived as it may be. He dressed her for
bed, tucked her in, cradled her on her side so she
wouldn't roll over onto her back and choke on her own
vomit. Consciously she hated Bruce but the perception
was forming deep in the recesses of her mind that this
hated man who controlled every aspect of her life
could at least be trusted to take care of her.

	So there they were in the corner booth, his arm
around her stuffing bad bar food into her mouth,
"What's the matter, Bunny? Didn't you like the movie?"

	She smiled lazily up at him, it was so rare that he
asked her opinion, "I don't know. It was okay." She
said of the action romance, the kind of movie where
the heroine initially hates the hero but is head over
heels by the end.

	"Who was that guy in the third act? And why was I
suppose to care when he got shot?" Bruce let her
ramble on, "And why was John helping Ladron? He had
killed his brother? Why would he do that?"

	"And why after she escaped from the kidnappers she
went back to her old boyfriend's house?" unable to
support it's weight she let her head fall on to the
table, "He's the one that gave her to them! She
should'a gone to the cops. It didn't make any sense,
that was the worst mistake I ever saw."

	She put her head to the side, trying to get
comfortable, "And using slang that's twenty years out
of date? That writer must'd been out of it for ALONG
time. That was a joke. Where's she been, some foreign
asylum or in a cave?"

	Bruce just laughed, "I don't know Bunny, I didn't
think of that."

	There she was in all her femininity analyzing plot
points, the motivations of the characters, and
inconsistencies in the script. Bruce, all real men for
that matter, didn't care about such things. They just
wanted to see a chick's tits or see something blow up,
blow up real good.

	Other things were less obvious but cumulative. The
way she carried herself, the way she smiled sometimes.
The light banter between her and Bruce was less
forced, as if she were adapting to him. Her submission
to Bruce was becoming near reflexive, like it never
even occurred to her to do otherwise. And the big
change was how Missy was seeking approval from Bruce
in every aspect of her life. She was reaching for
something, she wanted to talk about herself and her
situation. She wanted confirmation that she was a
person and not just a place for Bruce to shoot his
load. She even once asked him if he thought she was
fat! Was she aware of how clichéd such a plea was? Or
was that the point? In either case it was slipped in
so casually, under the radar, that it didn't matter,
she seemed concerned about the answer, either way.
Next, they joked to themselves, she'll be asking Bruce
what he was thinking.

	But some kinks were less subtle. One evening the
pin-hole camera in the privy caught something most
interesting. The cameras were there to keep an eye on
Missy. Hidden as they were they were not the blunt
instruments of oppression they otherwise could have
been but silently tracked her movements. That night
they caught quite the show.

	Missy was cleaning the bathroom, one of Bruce's
"Playboy's" on the back of the toilet. She was not
allowed to look at such things, but her natural male
tendencies you know. She picked up the book spinning
it this way and that as she flipped through the pages.
1 min., 2 min, 5 minutes went by. She was now in the
back of the book looking at something. What was it? A
pretty girl? Some outfit? A piece of art on the
colored pages? The camera couldn't see. She put the
magazine back and began to walk out. She then stopped
as if thinking the better of something, as this might
be her last chance, and went to the book again. She
immediately flipped to the back, the page now in clear
view of the camera. Bob nearly busted a gut when he
saw the tape; he had to watch it over and over. She
was looking at a full page ad for one of those
counterfeit steroid products. The ad featured a
well-toned man bear and smooth chested wearing a pair
of tight bike shorts that clearly showed the outline
of his large package. In a men's sex book Missy had
found the one thing that might be considered a turn on
for a woman, AND not only had she found it - she went
back to look at it.

	Later that week Bruce made a point of showing her the
book and telling her that he had found her finger
prints all over it, he flipped to the ad telling her
that - this - is all she should be interested in. As
she stretched across his lap for a spanking he
explained, "But I don't think he would like you,
Bunny. A guy that takes care of his body like that? He
probably likes other men, not women like you."

	Fingerprints? How could that be? What about the ad?
The exact ad she looked at, it seemed like more than
random chance. Well, it's best not to think about it
Missy told herself. It's my fault for looking and I
had better not do it again.

	Little Missy was coming along nicely. She was now
introspective, self- loathing, emotionally dependent,
submissive and sexually responsive. They had adapted
her to her new life, it was time to move on. It was
time to kick it up a notch to a level she wouldn't
understand but would silently accept. It was time to
take Missy's private hell and make it so very public,
putting her on display for the world to see.

-----

	She sat there mouth watering at the site of the
steak. She was only allowed a salad, her almost
exclusive protein source was now Bruce. Still it was
good to be out of the house and to a real restaurant
not one those holes Bruce takes her to. It was good
despite the company they were keeping.

	Bruce spoke softly almost begging, "You see Mr. Cone,
Bunny has expressed an interest in becoming more...
womanly."

	Bob looked up with a smile, dabbing his face with a
clean white cloth napkin he looked directly at her,
"That's great! I'm glad to see you've come to terms
with yourself, Mike."

	To her horror Missy recognized what they were talking
about. As submissive as she was she couldn't let it
stand. But her little girl resistance was weak at best
and spoken in a passive whisper, "Bruce we never
talked about..."

	"Bunny! Shut up." she was cut off.

	Bob continued on, "You know Missy, or is it 'Bunny'
now, I knew this day would come. It really shows how
capable you are of personal growth," he was calling
the waiter over, "let's celebrate. I assume I'm the
first you've told? I'm honored."

	Yea, he was the first they told! Bruce hadn't even
told Missy about it. Besides, who else was there to
tell?

	Bruce continued, trying not to bother Bob as he
talked to the waiter, "Well, Mr. Cone... There are
considerations, you know. With Bunny choosing the home
life and the rules and all. And Bunny is so high
maintenance; Kate's been good about giving me time off
to take care of her. But the value of a dollar."

	Bob lit a cigarette, "I see? So to be blunt you're
asking me for money. For my help?"

	"Well, yea. Seeing how, you know, you are responsible
for her condition."

	As insane as it sounds Missy's heart skipped a beat.
Was Bruce standing up for her?

	"No, Bruce," he pounded the table, "only one person
is 'responsible for her condition' and that person is
the only blonde at this table."

	"Sir, there is no smoking in this restaurant," Bob
raised his eyes to the waiter delivering drinks.
Immediately he produced a money clip and handed the
kid a $100 bill, "Bring me an ash tray or butter dish
or something."

	"Yes, sir." the waiter scurried off.

	"Ever read children's books, Bruce?"

	Bruce scrunched up his face in a confused look, "No."

	"You really should, there is a lot of wisdom in those
books. I was reading this one to Bob jr. the other
day, it was no _Thidwick_the_Big_Hearted_Moose_ or
_The_Lonely_Doll_," he pointed at Missy, "You might be
interested in that one." his finger moved down and
tapped the table, "Write it down even. Dare Wright was
a fascinating woman."

	The sissy was shocked at being included in the
conversation at all, "Okay."

	"Anyway, I was reading this book to Bob jr., it was
called _If_You_Give_a_Mouse_a_Cookie_. It's about this
kid that gives a mouse a cookie, then the mouse wants
a glass of milk..." He waved his hand around rotating
it at the wrist, "Long story short the kid gives the
mouse thing after thing until, finally, the mouse asks
for another cookie... you see?"

	Bob took a sip of his drink. How can a man drink out
one end of his mouth and still hold a cigarette in the
other? Missy had never seen it done before.

	"You come to me for one thing then the next, where
does it end?"

	Bruce pushed on in the face of this ludicrous line of
argument, "It's just the rules on Bunny are so strict,
I don't see how she could do it even if she wanted to
work and that's the only way it's going to happen. I
don't have the means to pay for both our needs and her
wishes. Couldn't you, you know, share the wealth?"

	"Bruce, those rules are on her, not you. She needs to
understand financial matters are no longer her
concern. I wouldn't see any breach if the pay checks
were made out to you, as long as she doesn't tell you
what to do with it. A wife needs to worship her
husband, it's her duty to lay all she has at his
feet."

	He stopped lost in a moment of thought, "Then again,
we don't want her working too long outside of the
home."

	"What do you mean?"

	"I have an idea how 'Bunny' here can make some quick
cash. I'll have my people set it up. A face that
pretty should be shared."

	The way Bob was smiling at her made Missy's blood run
cold.

Copyright 2004 Quiet Savage
Quietsavage@yahoo.com
/~qsavage/