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Subject: {Pervette}TG The Girl Inside 3/5 M/F M/M CD femdom
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{Pervette}TG: The Girl Inside (3/5) (M/F, M/M, CD, femdom)
This story was written by Princess Pervette. Despite a
certain compatibility, I am not the author. I am posting it for
Princess Pervette because she can't. -- Vickie Tern
Warning:
Contains adult material. Not to be read or downloaded by persons
considered underage in the jurisdiction in which they live.
May be posted to any appropriate newsgroup; may be archived on
any not-for-pay Web site.
"No, Laura, this is too much; I...."
She gave me a stinging slap on the face. "How dare you call me Laura?
You're going to be in bad trouble if you do that again. In fact, you're
in bad trouble already. Now get on your back or I'll knock you on your
back."
I'll give her this: she was very careful. I felt only the smallest twinge
of pain; mostly it was a sensation of being opened up. Stretched beyond
all reason. Insanely violated where no man should be violated.
"Don't worry, Baby. It's not going to do you any harm. That's the
smallest size." They came in different sizes...? "You've passed turds
that were bigger than this is. Now get up." She handed me a box of
tissues. "Here. Wipe yourself."
It was a weird sensation. It seemed bigger when I was standing than when I
had been lying down.
"Okay, here are your instructions, Baby. You're going to wear this all
week. Night and day. Take it out for your bowel movements, but once
you're done, put it back in. Oh...here...." She handed me the fat tube of
K-Y lubricant she had used on me when she inserted it. "You'll need this."
She gave me a little kiss as I went to the vestibule to put on my regular
clothes. "You've been a good baby. Except for calling me Laura. We'll
have to see about that. But otherwise good. Once I've gone back into the
house, you can change. I never want to see you dressed as a man again.
"Come back to-morrow night. At eight."
"La...Mistress, I can't come over here every evening."
"You can and you're going to. Baby, this is for real. I own you now.
That's what your garter means. See you to-morrow." And before I could say
anything more, she closed the door and was gone.
****
Monday night wasn't nice.
I arrived promptly at eight. There was a note on the inner door of the
vestibule. "Take off your boy clothes, then knock on the door." I shed my
clothes and knocked. Laura greeted me with a smile.
"That's my baby," she said, looking at my panties. "No boy clothes." She
gestured to me to come in, and we went up to my room. There was an open
bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.
"You've come along very nicely, Baby," she said. "Here." She poured me a
glass of champagne. "To your continued progress."
I took a couple of sips, and we talked. Then everything went black.
When I came to, I was on my back on the bed. As my head gradually cleared,
I realized that my arms were tied to the bedposts, and my legs were tied,
too, so they were pulled up around my shoulders. There was a bolster of
some kind under my butt, raising it off the bed. I felt vulnerable and
exposed. The panties were gone, and I could feel that the butt plug was
gone, too. And there was some kind of cloth in my mouth. Balled-up
panties, I learned later.
"We're going to have a little expiation, Baby. You called me Laura last
night."
I looked with horror at the implement she was holding. Black leather,
about a foot and a half long. Nasty looking. She drew it gently across my
butt. Then I saw her draw back, and she hit me across the butt with all
her force. I cried out into the gag: "MMMMMMMPH!"
"I told you we wouldn't do this regularly. But you've been arrogant..."
Crack! A second blow. "...and you have to be punished." A third blow.
This was nothing like the mild beating she had given me on Friday. My ass
was on fire.
After the fourth blow, there were tears in my eyes. After the fifth, I
screamed into the panties. I could feel the tears trickling down my
cheeks. I screamed on each of the remaining five blows. Then she stopped.
"Ten strokes should be enough. Next time, there'll be twenty. If there is
a next time." I silently resolved there wouldn't.
"We aren't done yet, Baby. To-night we're going to make a woman of you."
She went to the dresser and pulled out another of her mysterious objects.
"This is what is commonly known as a strap-on." She showed me by strapping
it on. A big, frightening dildo now stuck out from her loins.
"I was going to wait until we had opened you up a little more. After we
went to the next bigger plug. But it's time you were properly humbled,
and for that..." she climbed onto the bed "...there's nothing like a
thorough fucking."
I looked at her imploringly. She ignored me. She swabbed more K-Y onto my
butt and got into position.
"Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. If you don't fight it,
that will be the easy way. Fight it and you'll get fucked just the same,
and it's going to hurt like hell. Worse than the beating."
I didn't want to fight it. But I was terrified and couldn't help myself.
Instinctively, I fought it anyway. I felt her pressing on my asshole, and
involuntarily I tightened up. "If you don't relax, Baby, you're going
to suffer." Being told to relax...knowing you've GOT to relax: there's
nothing more calculated to tense you up. She pressed harder and began to
get the dildo in. I felt as if I was being split in two. This was nothing
like the gentle way she had inserted the plug, or even like the somewhat
less gentle way in which I had struggled to get it back in that morning.
She was right. It was worse than the beating. I cried out into the gag,
but she was relentless. Every fraction of an inch brought fresh pain.
I never knew the rectum had so many barriers to penetration, and as each
barrier was assaulted and gave way, I felt a fresh, firey stab of pain.
And once it was in, I knew, she would be fucking me: back and forth into
my violated ass. I didn't think I would be able to stand it.
With one final thrust that seemed to tear my insides apart, she got all the
way in. I think I passed out, because the next thing I knew, she was hard
at work, fucking me.
"Fucking you, you arrogant little slut. This will cut you down to size."
She thrust in and out. "Fucked like a girl. Not even fucked by a man.
Fucked by a woman. Your precious masculine ego...how does it feel now?"
I couldn't worry about how my ego felt. All I could think of was how my
butt felt. It was on fire. And her assault was unrelenting. She rode me
for what must have been a quarter of an hour. It felt like an eternity.
But as she continued fucking me, I started to relax in spite of myself, and
the pain began to ease up. Then, just as I began to enjoy the experience,
she stopped and slowly withdrew.
She removed the panty gag. "Thank me, Baby. Thank me for fucking you."
I had to clear my throat a couple of times, and to swallow. She waited
patiently, watching me. Finally, I got it out. "Thank you, Mistress, for
making me into a woman."
"A woman? Not yet. But soon. Now thank me for the beating. I would have
had you thank me while I was beating you if you hadn't been gagged. Start
by thanking me for the first blow." I thanked her" "Thank you, Mistress,
for the first one." She made me thank her ten times: for the first stroke,
then for the second, calling out each one by number, up through the tenth
blow.
She put the butt plug back in. It seemed very small now. Then she wiped
off my ass and untied me. I was stiff from being trussed up. With an
effort, I sat up.
She wiped the dildo clean with a moist tissue. There were brown stains on
the tissue. Brown...and red. She had drawn blood. She wiped it dry with
a second tissue. Then she poured me a fresh glass of champagne. "Don't
worry, this glass is all right. No more knockout drops." She lifted her
glass. "To our adventures together," she said.
I lifted my glass. "To your new girl," I answered.
"No. Not quite yet. Be patient, Baby.
As we sipped our champagne, she said, "The first couple of times being
fucked are always a little rough. But after that you'll get to like it.
By the time we're done working togther, you'll love it. You'll love it so
much that you'll relax automatically. You'll be happy to invite your guest
in."
I suddenly felt an unexpected surge of emotion. Tears came to my eyes.
"I love you, Mistress," I said. My voice broke.
"Of course you do," she said calmly. "I knew you would. You're a
true submissive, and you love your Mistress. And you're going to love
everything I do to you."
We emptied our glasses. "Now, I have one more exercise for my baby. Kneel
down in front of me." I got to my knees. "When you don't take a cock up
your ass, you'll take it in your mouth. We don't have a cock handy..." she
gave me that cold smile again "...so we'll have to make do with the strap-
on."
She stood before me, the dildo pointing obscenely toward my mouth. "This
isn't the best way. I'll show you the best way some other evening when
your butt isn't sore and you can lie on your back. But on your knees is a
good idea, just the same. It's like kneeling to pray. Very appropriate."
And she pushed the dildo forward so it touched my lips. "Open up and suck
it, Baby."
At least she had wiped it clean. I opened up and my goddess thrust
forward. For the first time in my life I learned how an erect penis feels
in your mouth. I thought fleetingly of Chuck. This must be second nature
to him.
"Make it thoroughly wet. Now put your lips just around the head. Lick the
underside of the head with your tongue. Guys like that."
I did as she said, feeling the V at the bottom of the glans on my tongue.
Then, following her instructions, I bobbed my head back and forth on her
cock.
As I did, I felt her fingers on my nipples. I hadn't known that nipples
could be so sensitive. As she stroked, pulled, pinched, and gently twisted
them, there seemed to be a direct nervous path from them down to my crotch.
I thought of what a girl I was being and felt myself getting hard. Under
the stimulus, I began sucking as if I were demented.
As I did so, she kept urging me on. "Suck it, Baby. Suck it like it was
a real one! Remember how it was when I did it for you. Keep sucking it!"
Finally she told me that was enough.
"Okay, Girl, you've been penetrated at each end. You're a real Girl now.
You've earned the title."
That was the first time she called me Girl. But not the last.
****
Part 3
Tuesday night I wore my first dress. Up in my room, she gave me a funny
looking bra first, with pockets in the cups. "A mastectomy bra," she
explained, as she gave me forms to put into the pockets. "We don't have
time for the attachable forms. We'll go back to them on the weekend."
Garter belt and nylons followed--and the garter back on, of course--and
then a slip.
"Now that you're a real girl, you can wear dresses," she said. The dress
was a pale blue with white accents. White buttons--which buttoned the
wrong way, the way they do on girls' clothes--and white ruffles.
It felt all wrong. Not uncomfortable; in fact, it was wonderfully
comfortable, with none of the confinement even the most generously cut
men's clothes have. But I had this feeling that I was doing something
deeply wrong. Wrong for me.
She saw the look on my face. "Feels funny, does it?"
It did. I was a man, and men didn't wear dresses.
She read my mind. "Men don't wear dresses, do they? But you aren't a
man any more. Remember, Girl, you've had a cock up your ass and in your
mouth." My face must have turned red. "I've made you into a girl, and
girls wear dresses."
The dress felt wrong, but suddenly, when she said that, exciting, too. As
I looked down at the blue fabric, I felt the same kind of thrill I had felt
the first time she had pantied me.
Contradictory feelings like this were to mark every new step in the
progress of our relationship. I would hate the very thought of doing
whatever it was she was demanding of me; but at the same time the fact that
I was being made to do something I found objectionable made it one more
mark of her domination, and that made it exciting.
"Girl Baby, domination can be nasty. Or it can be sweet. Some women like
to be nasty. Verbal abuse, making the slave eat off the floor, things like
that. They get off on it. I like being sweet. You're going to be my
slave, but not because I'm forcing you. Because you want it. And when you
see more of what it's like, you're going to want it very much."
The rest of that evening was drill. Sitting down--and learning to smooth
my skirt under me as I did so--and standing up. How to cross my legs while
sitting. How to hold myself. How to hold my head in a feminine way. Most
of the drill was walking. She gave me a pair of higher heels: 3 1/2 inches
instead of the two-inch ones on which I had started.
That evening, she said, "You have to become a girl from the inside out."
My heart skipped a beat. "It's not so much looking like a girl as it is
thinking like one."
Wednesday night it was a white blouse and a tan skirt. They looked lovely.
I could imagine, now, how they would feel, and I felt the first stirrings
of a compulsion that, in a few weeks, would become irresistible. I reached
out for them.
She drew them back. "If you want them, beg for them."
I dropped to my knees. "Oh, Mistress, please, may I have that skirt and
that blouse? I want them so very much."
"Why do you want them?"
"I want to wear them for you. Please, Mistress."
"Why do you want to wear them?"
"Because I'm a girl now." The words seemed to come automatically. "Your
girl. Because that's what a girl should wear. Please, Mistress."
She gave me one of her rare smiles. "I told you you would beg." And she
gave them to me.
The shoes had 4-inch heels. She must have spent a fortune on shoes for me.
Otherwise it was more drill. She told me she was pleased with my progress.
"You're beginning to look like a girl now, instead of like a man in drag."
She took more pictures. And she gave me my reward: I was allowed to lie
under her while she pleasured herself with my lips and tongue.
Before I left, she had me put in a new butt plug. The next size up. She
said, "Girl Baby, I promise you: by the time we're done with you, you'll
look like a girl even if you're wearing jeans and a T-shirt."
That night, Chuck asked me, "Are you going to spend all your spare time
with her?" I said something evasive and he just shook his head.
****
Thursday was the same as Wednesday. On Friday, I came home with my head
swimming. I had hardly been able to control the car as I drove. When I
came in, Chuck looked at me, at my glazed eyes, and at the shape of the
breast forms, which showed through my shirt.
"Ted? Ted...?" He waved a hand in front of me. "Are you there, Ted?"
With an effort, I returned to reality.
"Hi, Chuck," I said, weakly.
"My God, Chuck, you look as if you had been drugged. What did she give
you?"
"She didn't give me anything. She didn't need to. She fucked me again.
With her strap-on. I was tied up and fucked. Twice. Savagely. I can
hardly sit down. And in between, she used me...for her own pleasure."
"Ted, I'm seriously worried about you. I told you before, you've changed.
But it's getting worse. I hardly recognize you any more."
"Chuck...she told me to-night. Told me what she was doing." I couldn't
look at him. I whispered, "She told me she was making me into a slut. A
feminized sissy slut."
"And you're going to let her do it...?"
"Chuck...I like it! Not being a sissy--that's appalling--but belonging to
her. It's like a dream come true. And I can't control myself any more.
Last weekend, even earlier this week, I kept telling myself I could always
stop if it went too far. But I can't. I'm paralyzed. It *is* going too
far, and I can't stop. There's something it does for me, or does to me,
and I need it more and more. To-night, that second time she fucked me...
Chuck, it was the first time I was able to relax with that thing in me.
And I felt it...on my prostate."
I hesitated, then said, "Chuck...this is embarrassing to ask...but...
haven't you experienced something like that? I mean...with guys...?"
"Oh, yes, Ted. And you're right: at first it hurts like hell, but after
you've gotten used to it, there's nothing like it."
"It's like an addiction. It's been like an addiction, even before to-
night. I sit at the computer at work, and all I can do is wonder what
she's going to make me do next. And I can hardly wait for it."
"She's going to make you into a sissy slut, and you love it."
I swallowed hard. Then, feebly, barely above a whisper, "Yes...."
****
Saturday was a turning point. That morning, she told me, "We're going out,
Girl."
"You mean...like this?" I was dressed, with my breast forms cemented on,
wearing a white dress in a flowery print.
"Like that. Come on."
"Mistress, I can't do that. It's okay, inside here, with just us. With
nobody to see me. But outside...what if someone I know sees me...?"
"Oh, we won't be going locally. But sooner or later you're going to go
out, and I've decided that to-day is the day."
"No, Mistress, I can't do that. That's more than I can handle. More than
I'll ever be able to handle. Do I have a safeword...? Whatever it is, I'm
using it."
She snapped at me. "Girl, you're going out and liking it! Now get your
girly ass of yours out that door or I'm going to whip it black and blue,
and then you'll go out anyway! That, or else out you go, and you will
never see me again. This is what we call a Go/No-go Test."
I went.
I slinked out to the car, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as
possible. That was a hopeless task, because when I got into the car, she
corrected me and made me do it again.
"Butt first, Girl, and slide back onto the seat so your skirt doesn't get
wrinkled. Then draw your legs in." She made me do it three times. Then
she got in the driver's seat, putting a large box in the space between us.
It was a twenty-mile drive to the mall she had chosen. She drew up in
front of a beauty salon and parked. "Come on, Girl. We're going in here."
I stared at her. "Don't worry, Girl. They know me here. You aren't the
first girly boy I've brought here for a makeover, believe me."
I followed her in, legs quaking. The woman at the cash register cried,
"Laura!" and gave her a big hug. Then she looked at me. "This your latest
acquisition? Looks nice." I blushed furiously. She went on: "He's a real
find. The back room, I suppose?"
"Not necessarily, Ashley. It might be interesting to have everybody watch
her as she gets The Treatment."
I wanted to beg her not to subject me to that; but I was afraid that if I
did, she would insist on it. Mercifully, Ashley decided on the back room.
"Sit in the chair, Girl," Laura told me. "Be nice and we'll be nice. Give
us trouble and we'll strap you down."
"Might be fun to strap her down anyway," Ashley said with a grin. "Do you
remember what we did that time with Ralph? Or was that Steve?"
Now, I have rather short hair, and I didn't know what they were going to
do about that. At the start, all they did was shampoo it and slick it
down flat. Then they scrubbed my face and began to apply all kinds of
cosmetics. I didn't know what any of them were, and the words they used
--foundation, concealer, blush, and so on, meant nothing to me. I was
scared, sitting there and not knowing what they were doing to me or how
long--dreadful thought!--the after-effects would last. I couldn't go in
to work looking like this.
While one girl was working on my face, another one did my nails. Careful
filing and trimming, and then what seemed like coat after coat of polish.
Before she applied the polish, she asked Laura whether I should have fake
nails applied. "No, leave them natural," she said, to my immense relief,
but then added, "We can have fake ones the next time." Next time...!
They trimmed my toenails, too, and painted them a bright red. They pierced
my ears with a gun and put in little studs.
I found out what they were going to do about my hair when Laura opened the
box she had brought. It was a wig. A full, brunette wig. They carefully
fitted it on me.
"There!" Laura said. "She's going to look smashing at the party to-night!"
"Party...!" I gasped.
"Oh, yes, Girl. You're having your coming out party to-night. I have
heaps of friends who are dying to get a look at you!"
I was appalled. I started to protest, but then realized that that would
be useless. I decided that this had gone too far. Once I was out of this
place, and back home from Laura's, that was going to be it. Thrill or no
thrill--love or no love, even--being made to look like a damned fool was
unacceptable. Out of her life forever, she had said when she talked about
a Go/No-go Test. I should have chosen that alternative.
After some more fussing around, they finally let me see myself in the
mirror.
I looked awful.
You know, when you read stories about men who are forcibly feminized, there
inevitably comes the moment when they see themselves in the mirror. And,
unfailingly, they find themselves transformed into beautiful girls, or
women. Don't you believe it. I looked like a man in a wig and makeup.
Even I could see that the makeup had been ludicrously overdone--too much
of everything, my lips made to look full and pouty. They had made me into
a slut. A feminized, sissy slut, just as Laura had promised. I was
horrified--and fascinated.
"Oh, he looks *darling*!" Ashley exclaimed.
"She'll do," Laura said.
I finally found my voice. "Mistress...I'm sorry...but please, let's be
realistic. I look like the wrath of God."
"That's the reward we all get for working on you so patiently?" Laura
asked. "Believe me, you're going to pay for that remark. And you're going
to have to learn to accept our judgment. If we say you look good, you look
good, no matter what your silly masculine vanity thinks. We'll train you
out of that, believe me, Girl."
"But...I can't go home looking like this!"
"You aren't going home. You're coming back with me, and we're going to get
you ready for your debut to-night."
****
Getting ready turned out to be as big a production as the makeover. She
had me remove the butt plug and cleanse myself. Then she had me shave my
legs again, to remove the stubble, and touch up my armpits. ("No, Girl,
underarms. Girls don't have armpits; they have underarms.") She took it
upon herself to shave what she called my "bikini line."
After dinner, she dressed me. Open-crotch panties, my first pair. My male
parts kept finding their way through the opening, because she didn't have
me wear the gaff, but there was nothing to be done about that. Black
garter belt and fishnet stockings. Black wet-look miniskirt. Bright red
blouse. Earrings in my newly-pierced ears, which were painful. The wig.
Black heels, five inches high. My blue garter. Finally, just before the
party, she sprayed me with cheap perfume.
"You're going to make me proud, aren't you, Girl Baby? Proud of what a
slutty girl I've made of you."
She made me wait in the bedroom. When everyone had arrived, she came up
and said, "Here's where you make your grand entrance, Girl."
I could hardly walk. My knees were shaking, I was in a cold sweat, and
the heels were treacherous, especially as I walked downstairs. Holding the
railing in a tight grip, I went slowly, one step at a time, trying to put
off my humiliation for as long as possible--but also trying to avoid
falling.
There were six guests. When I entered the living room, there was a chorus
of cries. One of the women whistled. They all congratulated Laura.
"Oh, Laura," one of them cried, "you've done it again. Look at her! Would
you believe that THAT was once a man?" I blushed under my makeup.
She turned to me. "I've got to congratulate you, too, Girl. This is your
Big Day, isn't it? How special that must be for you! And how grateful you
must be to Laura for all she's done for you! You are grateful, aren't
you?"
I was feeling my usual mix of contradictory feelings. I simultaneously
wanted to get the hell out of there and go home and also wanted to be
displayed in my slutty getup. It was as if Laura had engendered a split in
my personality, half the old, masculine Ted and half the new, naughty slut
who hadn't even been given a name yet--just "Girl."
But, split or no split, I knew what was expected of me. I curtseyed, eyes
downcast, and said, "Yes, Ma'am. Very grateful. She's done such wonderful
things for me. And to me."
"That's very sweet, Girl. Laura, may I give her a little kissy?" Laura
said Yes, and I walked over and received a little peck on my cheek.
"All right, Baby Girl," Laura said. "Kissies are nice, but you have work
to do." I took drink orders, minced off to the kitchen, teetering a bit on
my heels, prepared the drinks, and served them.
That was the first part of the evening. Serving drinks, emptying ashtrays,
passing about plates of munchies. Meanwhile, Laura told them about my
training. She spoke about me as if I weren't there, as if I weren't able
to hear and writhe with embarrassment as she casually mentioned things like
my butt plug and her dildos.
One of them cried, "All this in only a little more than a week? Laura,
you're a wonder!"
"Well, I had unusually good material to work with this time," Laura
answered. "My little baby doesn't realize it yet, but she has a lot of
girl inside her. More than any of my previous slaves. So all I had to do
was release it, and there it was."
That came as a shock. I hadn't known that.
"She's come along fast, and I'm going to take her further. Further than
I've ever taken anybody before."
Later in the evening, one of the women--Martha, her name was--asked, "So
just how good a slut is she, anyway?"
"Try her and find out," Laura said. Then she turned to all the women.
"Ladies, I'm turning my slave over to you for to-night. From now until the
party breaks up, please regard her as your slave as well as mine."
I was horrified--but not really surprised. I think I had an inkling that
something like this might be on the program. She went on: "After all,
that's what this party was for. Don't worry; I know her limits, and if you
exceed any of them, I'll safeword on her behalf."
Martha turned to me. "All right, Girly Girl, come over here and kneel
before me."
I walked over and fell on my knees.
"You have my permission to lift my skirt, Girly."
I lifted it. She wasn't wearing any panties. "What do you see?" she
asked.
I pondered a suitable reply. Finally, I said, "Heaven, Mistress."
She clapped her hands. "Oh, Girly, you've got the right attitude, all
right!" She slid forward in her seat and opened her legs. "All right,
little slutty girl, take your taste of heaven."
I put my face into her femininity and fell to. Her pubic hair had a
pleasant, musky smell that excited me. I wanted to ask her to sit on my
face for her pleasure, but felt that would be out of line. But this had
always been a lovely way to have sex, and I gave her my very best, drawing
on my experience of other women. I teased her clitoris with my lips and
tongue, and then, when a movement of her hips suggested that she wanted
attention elsewhere, lapped the juices now flowing freely from her labia.
She was noisy. And appreciative. I tongued and kissed her to a climax,
and she subsided with sighs and a few sobs. Finally, she found words.
"Laura, you've got a perfect treasure here." Then, to me: "Oh, Girly, I
hope I can arrange a long-term loan one of these days."
Martha was the first. But Laura said things would be more convenient
upstairs, so we all went up to my room. Laura had me lie on my back and
trussed me up: arms toward the head of the bed, legs up over my head, a
bolster under my butt, and a thick leather strap around my waist and around
the bed so I was completely immobilized. "There," Laura said. "You can
use her at both ends now."
And five of them did. I knew now why she had had me wear split-crotch
panties. They changed off, one riding my face while another impaled me
with the strap-on. Again and again, my face awash in their feminine
juices, my ass relaxed now to the point that the dildo slipped in
effortlessly. If this was their idea of being a sissy slut slave, I was
beginning to like it.
By the time they released me at the end of the evening, I was no longer
thinking straight. So many women, and all hot for me, all using me--at one
end or the other.
end 3/5
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