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/